scribble

Full Size Mirror

2015-04-12T22:32:00.004-07:00

It struck me like a big blow, it was bitter and it still is. Such realization otherwise I would love to call it enlightenment, could happen in such unlikely place?

Yeah it did, once and for all. It was highly commercial mall, with the name of one of the greatest traveler of all time Ibn Battuta. I have always admired and fascinated by the adventure and the zest to travel that this great traveler have lived through. Before I read about the Ibn Battuta, I have met one nomadic traveler when I was kid. We called him Kabuli Wala (Man from Kabul, Afghan). He travelled all the way from afghan, crossed Pakistan and India to reach the southernmost state.

I can’t call him a beggar, but he received alms from neighborhood and disappeared for months and came back again with dry fruits and cashew. We all loved Kabuli Wala, he was living representations on nomadic nature of mankind that was overruled by settlement culture. May be I am a border line nomad or settler.

Well, this is what my friends complain about, the trivia is more elaborate that the original story itself J. enough is enough

After a long time I saw myself without shirt in a full size mirror, I belly is really growing out. The waist is 33 now, and I was trying out waist 32 pants and medium slim fist shirt in that dressing room. I have to do something before it’s too late. I am resetting myself to diet mode.. but wait they have ordered pizza, so may be tomorrow.

Kurumbachi

2010-03-25T03:45:00.000-07:00

Ever since I have known her she had thick wrinkles on the face and she was lean and very thin. She looked like she is in her 50s that was when I was 5, last time I saw her was during my graduation (almost 10 years back) she looked the same then. She was ever 50. She was dark like any other workers of her class; the unforgiving tropical sun gives such a tan especially for someone who worked outside on the fields or garden. She was cheremathi lower class based on caste system evidently existed one time, and silently prevailing even now. She had a strange name; probably it may not be strange enough for her parents to give her that name. And to this day I don’t know whether it was her real name, everyone called her “Kurumbachi”.

Our rented house was very close to my first school, one minute walk. That makes it easy for me to sneak out from school and hide somewhere at home. The house had a big front courtyard, largely shaded by two cheeni trees. These trees didn’t behave well to make Kurumbachi’s work more difficult. Those trees tormented Kurumbachi every season, the spring with flowers, autumn with leaves, summer with dried fruit, and of course monsoon with everything including the branches. Every morning she cleaned our courtyard religiously, for atomically smaller wage and breakfast.

She lived 2 KMs away, every morning she would start from her house barefooted and with empty stomach, walked all the way to our home. As soon as she reaches, she drinks a black tea and starts working. After the work she eats breakfast, mostly two or three dosas, idly or chapathis dipping in black tea. I haven’t seen her eating any egg, meat or even drinking milk. I often felt very sad when I saw her sitting on kitchen floor eating the rolled dosa. When she sees me watching her, she always gives me sincere smile that would stand out from a million fake ones I had and might have in future. I think she never cursed or complained about her life or else she can’t smile that openly. She had a happy face; maybe she does not realize life can me more comfortable. Comfortable enough so that she done need to walk 2 KMs for couple of grams of sugar and carbohydrates.

I live every moment, every hour, every day, every month, every year in need for more, more peace, more love, more money, more power, more friends and what not. Kurumbachi lived, walked long for food, smiled and she always had very little of everything. I like to believe she lived happily.

Swiss GOTCHA

2009-06-01T10:23:00.000-07:00

What was that expression on his face? After a tiring day of apartment shopping I was left with that hard to answer question. Sujith have decided to pay homage to entire builder fraternity by visiting their sales offices and construction site, on search for an apartment. He wanted to buy an apartment!!! may be he needed a company or a support for in his 3000 K shopping, he asked me to go with him. That’s how I ended up spending most of last weekend roaming in and around Wakad and Aundh. Thanks man for spicing up my otherwise sleepy weekend (not really).

Coming back to the question, what was his expression? On last Sunday, we had already visited two construction sites and we decided to go for the third and last one for the day. “Swiss County” they got a very impressive name and an even more seductive price tag. We have at least seen 100 to 200 bill board ads of the “Swiss County” it read “Get More for less”;

2000 K for a two bed room, hall, and kitchen apartment. Comparing with prices of other apartments “Swiss County” was exceptionally worthy; trust me I am an expert now. No wonder the ads took us to their sales office; we waited for 5 minutes to meet a sales officer. I must tell you their air cooler and ice cold water provided real comfort in the waiting room.

Now I am ready to introduce our hero the sales officer, sadly I don’t know his name. We told him we have seen the advertisement and we are here to enquire. That’s the expression I was talking about, that came to his face when we told him this. Later that night I figured it out, I am calling it a GOTCHA SMILE. He said, that’s the base price and the area is very small compared to other apartments and if we are fortunate enough they will deliver the same earliest by end of next year. Much more than his words, his expression said it all “We Tricked you”. The ready to live apartment costs as much as twice the advertised prices. Our effort to make him explain what base cost meant was futile. It’s high time for bringing more awareness to general public and stringent consumer protection laws. I know blogging this might not solve this issue, however anyone who stumble upon my blog can save petrol expense by avoiding a drive till Swiss County.

Typos

2008-11-14T08:49:00.000-08:00

Typos, is it something that gives a sarcastic smile on one’s face. Not always though. Sometimes things can go beyond a smile. Once a student wrote a word “Gramar”; on the first page of his note book. The very first page, line and the heading was a glaring mistake that got aged and overlooked till that day. During the inspection, one of the senior directors of the institution picked some lucky student and asked to submit their English note book; the celebrated mouth-eaten typo was revealed to the whole world. I had a hard time getting over that incident. Oops! Did I say I had a hard time? Ok that’s pretty much it is.

I didn’t learn much from that one though; I made a million typos there after too. Million may be little extravagant exaggeration, anyway enough of the drama.
I saw this billboard on my way to hometown from Bangalore. It said LEMAN TEA… 7.00. I was not director of the shopping complex to punish them for having a typo on the hoarding, so I am just posting it here for everyone. In fact I wasn’t punished for the “Gramar” issue, but the consequence was humiliating.

Living High!!!

2008-09-12T05:23:00.000-07:00

Living High!!!

I had fascination about the people who lived their life in skyscraper apartments. Moreover I believed that they are missing scent of the soil. Sometime we are left with no choice and we can’t even think otherwise and hence, now I live in seventh floor. My new job brought me to this city where only millionaire can afford an independent house. The fact is I live far from the downtown, that doesn’t explain the hectic traffic and dust. Well why I should complain about all the odd things that I have chose myself. So let me be nice and be in agreement with this city and thank god letting me live and experience this.

It’s very easy to read date printed in an airline itinerary; there is arrival and departure date. You just follow the rules, and then you can fly to the destination. Provided you should not read your arrival date as your departure date. I learned this in a hard way. Anyway I reached on time for joining to office. There I met one HR lady (young) who reminded me about my first grade teacher. Not that she wore glasses and not that she recited rhymes. It would have been better that way, I was thinking while she was explaining the formalities She presented things as if we are new to corporate environment and she repeated these words over million times “you are not supposed to”. We were fortunate enough, she didn’t shout “silence and sit up straight”.

And I started another phase of my career, so far things are good and I am living HIGH.

Winy Memories

2008-02-11T14:02:00.000-08:00

Three of us walked to hostel, I was carrying a bucket. We barely spoke till we entered the hostel then we locked sliding grill door. As we stepped in to the hostel I saw light of relief brightening my friends' fright shadowed face. Haunted by apprehension of getting caught in this lurking business, we were weighing in our minds the damages it can cause. We have successfully completed the second stage of Operation Bloody Wine.

To me wine meant something sweet and tasty, and for that matter I thought entire alcoholic liquors are like wine. I was still a high school boy who has tasted wine in imagination when we commissioned Operation Bloody Wine. Of the many I have invited for dedicating their service to this operation only two responded positively. Others, oh well they just declined my offer saying it's highly unlikely that this project would be successful and a high school boy never made wine. Making wine and drinking were considered to be sins of highest magnitude; most of them didn't approve OBW due to that very reason. They sacrificed the adventure for reasons they thought would save them from troubles. In my hindsight I realized OBW would have been utter failure if we were a large group. For this reason I would like to express my deepest gratitude to those who declined my offer. Without your support this operation would not be successful good job guys. Well done!!! Thanks!!!

There were a few cashew trees in our campus; those were leased to local farmers. Farmers never cared for fruits they plucked the nut out of fruit and piled the fruit under the tress; THERE!!! We found our raw material. Under cover juicing, bottling and fermenting that’s our first task. We gathered at vegetables garden behind our hostel, that’s the best place to bury bottled juice for fermentation so we decided to carry out juicing in same place. We three split our tasks and consecrated ourselves to perform it with perfection. Watch man, squeezer man and those were the roles. I can’t remember if the squeezer guys washed their hands before they started extracting the blood out of poor cashews fruits. Fortunate enough, no one passed by tricking my eagle eyes.

Juice was mixed with sugar and we bottled the same and buried deep under.

We stood in front of the hostel for a while for preparing of executing the very final stage OBW. Third one is more critical than all stages, consumption. This is a rare situation where in production was easier than consumption like an atom bomb. We have successfully smuggled the bottle from the depths of our garden to hostel, we have everything we wanted. One last time we invited some friends again to join the party, thinking their dislike would have abated. The response was more intense and furious. In that hostile environment we tasted wine, and then we acted like we are drunk. In fact anticipation of intoxication blocked its own way, eagerness brought only awakens.

Drink once and earn title drunkard, it happened to us. We became drunkards in hostel mate's eyes. None ever spoke of jubilant team of OBW or OBW as such so now it remain as my obligation to dig a hole on earth and yell out that we broke one of the ten commandments of high school hostel law. Now I am pretty relieved.

Nut/s

2007-11-21T11:24:00.000-08:00

There are not many street vendors in this small city. Most of the evenings I have been to this place, I have seen this peanut seller. He carries a small bag of roasted peanuts. What make him special is his pestering ways of selling his merchandise. He importunes everyone to buy at least one small packet of peanut. I feel, he thinks everyone on the street have only one intention for coming here, that’s his peanuts. He is very lean and hungry look. Sympathy I have for his state often overshadowed by his manners.

Last night I bought a packet of peanut from him, it didn’t taste good. I think it was roasted a week ago or so. Fact that he still has an old stock of peanut is disturbing; he did not sell much last week. A small packet of fried peanut costs 2 rupee, that’s the only size he sells. His bag is very small; it can hardly contain 50 small packets. If he usually sells entire stock in a day then I would not have this old stock. He can’t sell 50 packets a day, that’s what it’s coming to.

Let me try to guess how much he earns by selling peanut. “Have you ever heard about success story of millionaire MR. Peanut”, mother asked her kids. She started narrating MR. Peanut’s story. She explained to kids how I got myself to peanut business and made my fortune. May be I would conclude roasted peanut business is profitable after I find how much the peanut seller makes, this could really inspire me to start new business. Years later this fictitious mother and kids would become real.

One kg of ground nut would cost around Rs 20, fuel for processing ground nut to roasted peanuts would cost around Rs 10 and packaging would cost around Rs 2. He can make 50 packets of peanuts from one kg, this is just my speculation in fact I am unaware how much a packet of roasted peanut weigh. He invested Rs 32 for producing 50 packets. Now comes the difficult part calculating operating and marketing costs. Business is not just math or peanut it’s a vision; if you have it you can sell anything, not necessarily you would make profit though. Labors nowadays are paid Rs 150 for 8 hours of work (minimum wages). Every hour peanut seller work on his peanut can be rated same as labor wage. Say he spend one hour to prepare peanuts and 8 hours to sell it then total human effort has a value of Rs 168.75. He runs his business in loss; loss percentage is increasing with every other word he said to customers. May be it’s his frustration that is transferred to his customers when he compels them. There should be someway to help these two groups, buyer and seller. Yes, Eat More Peanuts! That is how we can resolve this. I have decided to buy peanut every single time I see him. At sight of this guy, I will walk to him get one packet at least and won’t let him utter a word.

Never Turn Back

2007-11-08T13:48:00.000-08:00

Back bench, the reason I always chose her was to have a broad vision. Nerds were on first or second row, insignificant souls like me preferred back bench. Those who sat in front saw nothing but a black board and teacher; I knew a bunch of things about his classroom which no one else knows since I sat on my favorite spot “Back Bench”. The law of perception is very simple; depth of perception is directly proportional to distance from black board. I believed and followed this theory; in fact that was the only homage that I can do for my own theories.

She was sitting sideways and presented frequent glances and smile. She joined school today as a member of student exchange program.

I was under transformation and at most curious about physiological and psychological changes that I was undergoing. Smile, touch, company and scent of girls never felt the same as before. My sound was not hard enough though; there were thin layer of facial hair I admired on mirror every morning. This is my adolescence.

She was standing in principal’s office with other students when I first met her, they are from Uttar Pradesh. They spoke different language, had different culture and they came from very far state. I live in South and they live in North. Its destiny that brought us together and it’s my destiny to be loved and love a girl who traveled more than two thousand miles to meet me. What else than love she would have in her mind if she were to spend this much time looking at me with a sweetest smile ever? Love, Love at first sight I could not wait to hear this from her, Can this happen to me?

Gradually many boys noticed the silent strong currents for love flowing through that class room. To be truthful, I enjoyed those envied harsh looks of other boys. A boy with a notorious diffidence won heart of a girl on the very first day, first hour, first moment, and first sight. It’s hard to digest for the majority of heroes and other stars. My reputation was growing every second, I heard murmurs, and I felt like a celebrity chased by tabloid reporters.

“I hate this fame, I am simple man; only thing is a girl loves, she fell in love at first sight. She is beautiful, she does not speak my language, and she is different from other girls in my class. Guys we are all same, don’t be jealous may be she might not be your girl. Good luck next time boys”. I addressed all other boys who never proved that a girl fell in love with them at the first sight, in mind. No one heard anything, but I smiled as with a glittering success of instant love.

She will be in my school till next year; however she can opt to stay here for one more year. We will have two years together, two years …two years of loving… two years of being loved… Then she would leave…
After another two years I will join college in Delhi. We will miss each other for two years in between; the flame of this love will never dwindle. Delhi is not that far from UP, even she will be in Delhi. Delhi is much colder than here during winter. We would walk hand in had feeling the warmth of love. This love is what nation wants, cultural union, embodiment of national unity among diversity.

With each of her smile and glance there was a new dream born, feathered its wings and flew to sky. One after the other I dreamt all stages of our life and love.

I have to learn Hindi, my Hindi is poor. I know for sure she will learn my language, how can she neglect her lover’s language. In those special moments of love she may speak only her language, I can’t really run for dictionary or ask her for translation all the time. I am going to library tomorrow to get some Hindi book. Prem Chand I heard that he is a good writer. I will get one of his works. Unfortunately I know only one writer.
I know Hindi film celebrities, Hindi films that would be a good way to learn Hindi. Moreover her name is Rekha, most desirable woman in Hindi Films has same name. Yes, Hindi films, that’s what I should do..

Study hour passed very quickly, now its dinner time. We will be in same class again tomorrow at seven o clock. I sat there motionless; everyone is busy keeping their belongings to locker. There she comes, with her friend.

As she came closer and closer my heart trembled and made big pounding noise, this is painfully sweet. She stood near to me, she is prettier when closer. I could hear her panting, Come on, don’t be scared, and make this night unforgettable.
I love you, aren’t my eyes saying that, so please I can’t wait. I said to her without words or sound in my mind. Then once and for all she broke silence. “You know what; you look like my younger brother. I miss him so much; I can not meet him again in next six months. I can’t keep my eyes off you, I like you”

She wept and left, castles of dreams I built was shattered. She loves me for a different reason that I thought. She left after one year, during that year she saw her little brother in me. My lover Rekha died at my presence on the very first night I started loving her. However north Indian festivals brought her memories today is Diwali.

Sculptor’s Story

2007-10-05T11:08:00.000-07:00

“Pavement was covered with dried leaves; trees were blooming spreading the fragrance and colors. A warm day of spring set perfect stage for that romantic walk. He was overwhelmed with love and admiration for her. His senses where tickled with touch of her soft palm. They walked hand in hand slowly in silence. He knew she always enjoyed his playful nature, they stopped near the fence and he sat on it. Offered his hand in charm like a dancer, she need help to climb over the fence for sure. In these romantic moments body and mind would dance in synchronized rhythm. There wasn’t any reason I would say but I am not sure, for her body to let her mind down. Complex gastro intestinal reaction in her body produced some unpleasant sounds of nature. His eyes are filled, trees looked withered, flowers looked dry and dull, warm day felt as heat of hell. Her palm felt like dirty mold of moist clay. “

“Next day it rained and washed away their love“

Sculptor’s narration went to a pause, and then he lighted a cigarette.

Though I haven’t met sculptor in last few years I could not bury this story he told me. It came to my mind many times; I saw its interpretations change. These lovers reincarnated; they loved, admired, strolled through the same pavement and finally lost on the way somewhere.

Fever

2007-10-01T17:26:00.001-07:00

I wouldn’t have met him if I wouldn’t have missed my bus station. I overslept in the crowded bus and missed the station. Soon after the bus passed the station the bus conductor woke me up. Alas!!! I am nowhere; “you need to get out of this bus right now” bus conductor gave me an order which I was not expecting. I contended saying it’s not my fault. He made the bus stop with his powerful whistle. Bus stopped at whistle of conductor like an obedient child. Then he made a comment that I can’t ride this bus for free, and he has seen this tricks many times in his career. I was deeply insulted; I walked back to my bus station. Those days there was something or other written in every penny, every penny had something to do for me. I can’t change what is written on it. If I did I would have to walk all my way to my home. If I take a taxi to bus station I would not have enough money to buy ticket for the next bus I need to take. I walked under the blistering sun, cursing my bad luck.

I reached noisy bus station exhausted and soaked in sweat. I have started my journey last night and haven’t had a good meal by then. I felt miserable and less privileged than any of my friends in the college. I was thinking about my friend who always booked his ticket on A/C bus, I never traveled in air conditioned bus. I wasn’t jealous, I was sad though. I stood there brooding over the revilement that a conductor showed.

I wanted something to drink; sun really oozed every drop of fluid I had in my body.
I walked up to a small tea shop. I realized I am going to rewrite something which is already written on the coins I had in pocket. While I was having tea, I saw a little boy staring at me. When I looked back, he kept his head down. He carried a writing pad with some papers clipped on it. He wore a shabby shirt and shorts which is not to his size. He looked miserable and lean with his eyes sunk. I called him waving my hand, he looked scared. We walked slowly to me. I smiled and asked him what his name was. In fact I don’t really remember his name now. I will call him Irfan.

I have carried a writing pad and papers long time back. I knew what that meant. I did my primary schooling in a government funded institution. All we knew about in the school was scarcity, scarcity of books, pencils, food and sometimes even water. The best things I could think of in that school are teachers and a mango tree. There was this day when school kitchen fell on its knees crushing my friend to death. After moaning for one week, school reopened and started operation as if nothing happened. Though it left many parents in agony; that his child being in danger of old buildings which are waiting for a reason to fell down. By gods grace nothing worse happened there after bloody incident which took life of an innocent kid and my friend. During the exam season government would not supply schools funds to buy papers. Student would bring paper for the exams, which would be clipped to the writing pad. That’s how I know about the Irfans who carried writing board and papers clipped on it.

I asked him if I can see his question paper, he showed it to me.
“How was your exam?”
“It was OK”.
“Did you attend it well?”
“No”
“Why?”
“I don’t know anything”
I didn’t ask him anything more, for him like every other less privileged one would have a sad story. Story about his abandonment, misery, struggles and anxiety, I wasn’t prepared to hear that. Now that I have rewritten what was written on my coin all I can do is repeat it. I asked him whether I can get him something to eat or drink. He didn’t say yes, neither had he said no. I ordered something for him. As soon as he finished eating he ran away.

I realized I had to walk for some distance to get home; I didn’t have enough money for whole journey. Good thing that I am not thinking about the conductor, and I don’t feel insulted either. I was thinking about Irfans running around my state, deprived of childhood. That fever lasted for two to three days, I never thought about him again. I went back to college after a few days. There after no Irfans ran to me either.

Smoky House

2007-09-21T15:55:00.000-07:00

Every habit that is a part of our lives now, would have nurtured over a period of time. Even after recurrent persuasion to oneself to keep away from certain habits they keep falling for it. I know I am one among the million smokers. There is absolutely multifariousness among smokers. Heterogeneity among the platoon of smokers is not a matter of big surprise when compared to number of smokers in the world. I am referring to diverse smoking habits and not any diverseness of other sort. Before I write all these let me place one thing on board, I don’t intend to glorify smoking habits.

Some smoke only when they are drunk, some after every meal some need coffee and there are some who always smoke. There was some special kind who needed a house under construction, to smoke a cigarette. I started smoking when I was a high school student (17 years old maybe); my family would be extremely disappointed if they see me smoke or even if they hear from someone that their son is a smoker. This would cause drastic cut in the pocket money thus leading to mental agony which affects my enlightenment. It’s intertwined; everything had a bearing on smoking which in turn was possible only from that house. So I smoked only under cover.

I am not sure even to this day that house is fully built. This house is very near to the place I lived; only half of the construction was over. No doors no windows, walls are not plastered, floor wasn't finished either. There were piles bricks kept in some of the rooms, there were other stuffs used for construction as well scattered all over the places. This house is sitting in middle of 3-4 acres of land this offered a lot of privacy, silence and solitude. One could not ask for more than this place to be a breeding ground for budding smokers. We smoked, we spoke, we discussed a bunch of stuff, we argued, we planned and once we even drunk from that house. Trespassing is not a crime in those days, those times where prehistoric before I wrote this and published in my blog. In fact I enjoyed every moment I spent in that no man’s house. I never met or argued owner of this house about my visit to his house.

This house stood as a symbol of someone’s aspiration. I wished that house stayed the way it was forever. I haven’t cared about the man who would have weave dreams around his house. For me it was a place to hide and smoke. Now it has lost its glory, I wish when I see the house again it’s completely build.

I am going to my hometown this weekend; would go to that house again, if it is completely built and there is some one staying. I would ring bells and ask them whether they have found my lighter lost there 8 years back. No, I don't think that's a good idea, they will be scared and moreover I am acting crazy for no reason. I may sometimes just pass by and see our old hangout place. Now trespassing is illegal I would just abide by the law.

Cousin From Salvadore

2007-09-17T15:44:00.001-07:00

"My cousin, she is from Salvadore. She was in United States last month. She said she miss her land. For me countries like Salvadore, Ecuador are poor countries. I can't imagine why she wanted to go back". I wasn't expecting him to talk to me; I was standing near to the pool in the Hotel I stayed for eight months. I met him once at the gym and once from office. I knew he was a new employee in the office I worked as a contractor. It was very late at night I was waiting for my laundry to finish, so as the Arab lady. She told me that I look like someone she already met. I asked her whether she is sure that I am not any of character in "One Thousand and One Night". Anyway she is not that significant character in my story. She plays a part of silent witness. Mazin, he is main character. However this is all about me so he comes only second, though he has been quoted at the beginning of the story. Having said its all about me I should give my characters a fair introduction.

Mazin: He says he is from Algeria; however he doesn’t have any root there. He is an American, born and brought up in US. I was confused when he said he is originally from Algeria. That wasn't typical, Mazin. We will deal with that matter later anyway. If I explain everything here I don't have anything to write for the third character. He is an advocate, now stopped practicing. He wanted some different kind of job and joined the company I was working in US.

Arab Lady: When I was walking through the hotel lobby I found a lady in black dress covering her head. I turned back and looked at her again and smiled. I saw her and kids most of the days from that day, when I was leaving for office.

Before all the characters in the story met, the third character was in hot water tub thinking about the hotel and this placed he lived for so long. He already has a belonging to that place; some unknown force is pulling him to that place though this place offered me high altitudes of solitude, and boredom in abundance. The Arab lady came to the hot water tub and started talking to him. She asked do you have any cousins or someone who lived in the same hotel last year. He said it may be same person that you met previous year. She said she comes here every year from Kuwait to spend summer vacation. He just spoke to her an hour before everyone met near the smoking lounge. That's the reason why this lady does not contribute to main theme of the story.

Me: It’s not important who I am. I lived in that hotel for eight long months. Now I am standing there smoking and talking to Mazin and the Arab lady. Mazin was so different than I thought; when we met in Gym he said this gym is not going to work for him. It’s in a way true; the gym had only three equipments. Someday out of tiredness some of the equipment stopped and took rest. He came to gym on the day when the steps machine was on leave. I was on my good boy thread mill. He asked me do you go this gym everyday. I looked at the pathetic gym but I decided to say truth. I said, most of the days yes. I am not going to leave this poor gym alone. She has been supporting me well, though some of her equipments were misbehaving at times. It’s not her fault, moreover there comes a stranger who has never seen her in real beauty if he is to make fun of her, I am going to stand besides her and support her. I told him that there is a big gym near by and gave him directions, he thanked me left. I gave myself to my love for that poor gym.

Now Mazin speaks totally different things than o first meeting. He is asking me whether I am happy to leave US. He expects me to be sad, for him India wasn't a better place to live than US. Then he told about his cousin from Salvadore. While we talked he told me and the silent Arab lady lot of things about his life. I was thinking about how mazin introduced himself to us. He said I am from Algeria, then he said he don’t know anyone there. For him only place he know as his country is US. I am in a dilemma why did he say he is from Algeria. Why he is not saying I am an American? What would I be telling if I have been living in US for say 25 years? Can I introduce myself as an American? I don’t know. I wish Mazin was not confused. I was a bit confused; I already have lot of things imbibed from that life style. Not that I have changed beyond recognition, still I would say I am not the way I was. One part of me always wanted to go back, but I agree there was another side for that coin. I have already started enjoying the glory within scheduled mechanical life. Glory of intoxication and sound of bar music may be that was the force of gravity. May be smile of Thai girl who served dinner the other night in the bar was the impel I felt. May be the hot water tub, may be the poor gym that nobody cared to visit. I don’t know what I am going to miss when I leave here. I know one thing for sure, even mazin is not American. I want to be a place where my identity is not questioned, the place where most of others and myself where identified by not so broad term for distinction. However I still loved that place.

I said there are only 3 characters in my story, now I have so much in mind I may need to introduce many. No it’s not easy to do that, it’s not reasonable too. “The Boy” thinks authors should introduce all characters when story starts. I agree with the boy who traveled to Egypt for finding the treasure. So there are no more characters.

I am just another man who has been distracted by influences of this affluent nation the comfort and the freedom that it offered for some time of my life. Again I stand corrected I need to go back, I don’t belong here. I haven’t enjoyed all it offered, I can’t. I am not leading a futile attempt to act like someone else. I have to be real; the first thing I am going to do after coming back to my place is go fishing. I am glad that when I reach there, there will be rain to wash away what I have conceived. Let it wash away. I will have a clean start all over again.

On my way back I saw the movie “Name Sake” directed my Mira Nair. This movie pictures truthful sides of integration of cultures, assimilation and cultural struggles. I am glad I saw that on the very moment I needed more insight to the matter. Finally this is not a story and mazin is happy living there, the Arab lady would have already left to Kuwait after her vacation and me… oh well I am back to my place, started wearing the costumes that never suited the climate, sitting in office dreaming of new places to visit and working on meeting my targets.

"Why Not"

2007-09-15T16:58:00.000-07:00

I got into Auto Rickshaw, Are you wondering what an Auto Rickshaw is? Okay let me explain, Auto Rickshaw is a three wheeler vehicle. Its cheap and one of the popular public transports.

Anyway that's not my story. Again I got into Auto Rickshaw and told the driver the place I wanted to go to. To my surprise he said "Why Not". I didn’t say a thank you, I was shocked. I have been living in small towns in India for more than 25 Years. I am sure I would be able to understand what "Why not" means from age of 15. This is the first time I am hearing a rickshaw driver saying "Why Not" in 10 years of my Auto Rickshaw expeditions. Most of the time the words I have exchanged with drivers where argument about the fare, when they tried to over charge me (Way too much than what’s displayed in fare meter). There were some good drivers I have dealt with (me gratefully remembering their service); however they never said "Why Not". I was impressed with the courtesy that this driver showed to his passenger. I am honored.

With that unusual pleasant start of my journey, I was sitting in the rickshaw relaxed and watching the driver cruising through the idle road to take me to the destination. The silence was broke spontaneously. Driver turned back and asked me have you used perfumes? Now I am sure that I smell good, how ever he sounded like I did some awful mistake. I wasn't sure that what I should tell him or what he would say or act if I responded that’s none of your business. I didn't respond to him, I just watched him driving. He continued, "You know what perfume kills sweat glands, don’t apply in on your body". "I won’t" then I smiled. I didn't want to disappoint him moreover I had this feeling that he is different kind of Auto Rickshaw Driver. What is different kind? To this day I believe that there are four kinds of men. Sane, insane, men who are pronounced to be insane by others and men who decided to act insane by choice these are the four kinds. I was trying to figure out category he belongs to. Soon I decided not to think too much about it; sincerely I don’t want to be included in "others" referred in third category. He is just different rickshaw driver who said "Why Not" and thought me perfume kills sweat glands. If perfume I used really killed my sweat glands then he has every right to accuse me for having done that to my body.

Then he started singing some songs, for a moment I thought I am in Venice. How cool will that be if every Auto Rickshaw driver sings all the way he drive? He asked me if it’s OK if he is singing. Its ok I said, for whatever reason I haven’t thanked him for doing that.

After a while he stopped singing, I was just waiting eagerly for next. I had this feeling that he is going to tell me something which no other rickshaw driver said before. He already did it twice, the third is obvious. I didn't have to wait too long. He said "There is nothing in this world, but sex and ego" he said this in English. Allah! I never heard these kinds of philosophies from an auto driver. I didn't say anything. He continued, "Don’t fall for it; I don’t know what kind of man you are".

I was just shocked... then he started singing again.
He wished me good luck and drove away when I paid and got off...
I had everything in that auto rickshaw... music, science, health, theology and philosophy... The fun ride is over... again back to Auto Rickshaw... driver who does not sing... and do not speak philosophy... And who do not speak English.

Now onwards I am expecting more from any auto rickshaw drivers so that I don’t have to write these again.