writer's block...

At World's End

2009-09-06T17:02:00.000-07:00

We switch on my Tom Tom GPS unit as I pull out of the parking lot. I press 'Home' and it analyzes the 500 odd routes and gives me the 'Go'. We start.

It is close to 9 PM and we haven't had dinner yet. As we drive toward the exit, I browse the 'points of interest along the route' looking for any food joint close by. Most places close by 9 PM, even on a Saturday. Folks here have 'dinner' by 6 PM and say 'good night' by 7. It is past 'bedtime' in this city; the 'unholy' hours. So with little time to spare, we hurriedly browse the list of available options within 2 miles of our location. Between sushi bars and steak houses, our chances do not look very bright. As we enter the road and circle the first round-about, we see a TGI Fridays to the right. My co-passenger makes a half-hearted attempt at forcing me to turn. As always, indecision prevails. That split second makes the difference between life and 'the dark ride through hell'. I miss the turn. Had I made that turn, I wouldn't be writing today.

I miss the turn. We drive on and look at the 'points of interest along the route' once again. A few unfamiliar American and Italian restaurants show up. We see a Chilis to the left. No road going left. We see a pizza joint to the left. No road going left. We drive on at 15 miles below the speed limit, as cars pass me with frustrated bursts of acceleration. Clearly I am pushing them over the edge. We amble on with rising trepidation.

Shortly, shops and businesses are replaced by dark, barren parks and reflections that indicate the presence of large bodies of water. Soon after, we take the highway and I step on the gas.

On the expressway, I frantically search the available food joints in my GPS for the tenth time. Suddenly another 'TGI Fridays' pops up. 2 miles to go. Yipee! My heart leaps with joy, for we are about to 'feast'! The poor soul sitting beside me eats at 8 PM everyday; its close to 9:30 PM, no food yet. I select 'TGI Fridays' and let Tom Tom guide me.

A couple of minutes later, on the highway at 55 miles an hour, the GPS blurts out 'You have reached your destination!'. I stare blankly at the GPS, trying to comprehend what just happened. There it is hanging on my windshield staring back at me with a triumphant smirk. I look around. I am on a flyover, with an acceleration lane merging onto my right. Curse Tom Tom for their practical jokes. Two hungry souls are hanging on to that blasted software for survival, and here it is; 'reached your destination' on a god forsaken highway.

I figure it could have been my mistake. So we pull over and re-do the whole points-of-interest thing. We turn back and start all over again. Sure enough! At the same exact location on the highway; the dumb thing announces - 'You have reached your destination!'. Mission aborted with bonus curses to the Tom Tom.

6 miles after, we take a food exit; both of us clearly desperate for any sign of food. With rotten luck, we find a closed 24-hour Burger King. So we track down a Friendly's and eat; we eat what we come to term as 'food', bread and lettuce. The cows refused to eat it. So we do. Thank god for fiesty cows, This is the best and most successful part of this story. Now begins horror. We follow Tom Tom out of Friendly's and toward home. It starts with a four lane road, well lit; no vehicles at this hour. At the end of the road, we make a turn.

It opens into a small two lane road, just wide enough to fit my 2001 Toyota Corolla (its slightly wider than the Beetle, in case you didn't know). Road lights recede behind us. It is a bright night; a day after full moon. The sky is lit up, and the man in the moon watches over us. However the dense foliage on either side of the road blocks out any trace of moonlight. We plummet into darkness; the only beam of white coming from my car. The low beam of bright light creates a stark contrast of white and black. Everything within the beam is bright white. Anything just outside is pitch black. This is some kind of high-density impenetrable darkness, too thick for light to illuminate. At any other time, this drive would have been a happy memory. Today it is a nightmare. We drive into an endless abyss, totally clueless.

The night closes in on us as we drive on the one and only road available. It feels like some crazy zombie movie - an insignificant soul walks with a torch light in pitch dark; with horrifying suddenness, a figure passes into and out of the light and drags the guy along; the camera falls to the ground and a suggestive blood curdling scream follows. We meander indefinitely, through narrow roads that look like they haven't been used in a long time. By now, the co-passenger is beginning to lose patience.

Briefly the road begins to descend and I step on the brakes. At a small clearing a sign board reads - 'Single lane bridge. Cross with caution'. We are down from two lanes to one. The world is getting smaller; from express-way to one lane at an alarming rate. Another car approaches the bridge from the other end; the first car we see after dinner. I flash the high beam and signal him to pass. We clear the bridge hoping for some sign of life ahead. The only life is a racoon crossing the road in panic.

We continue to wind along the dark recesses of this unknown world. We pass a dimly lit mansion that looks like a haunted house from 1960. Slowly more mansions come into view. All look alike; all look haunted. This place is probably called 'Gateways To Hell'. Ours is called 'Gateways Apartments'. A couple of minutes later a second single-lane bridge appears. As I cross the bridge,the road rises steeply, bending sharply at the same time. I realize I needed a 4x4 to navigate this terrain. And I would probably be able to run down any passing zombies too. As I make my nth sharp turn, I see a bright fluorescent yellow board with black letters that reads: 'ROAD ENDS. NO OUTLET'.

This is the end of the road for us. Literally. We have officially reached the last point of earth and there is no going further. We are in Davy Jones' Locker with no rock crabs to put our car back on the highway. I can already imagine myself running around my car looking for a peanut. An alternate ending: we make a U-turn and try to drive back. The GPS is insistent that we turn back but we know there is no way out. We wander around aimlessly but no highway shows itself. We are lost in a labyrinth of one lane roads that all lead to dead ends. We ramble on in 'middle earth' for centuries; and then we find 'The Ring'.

As my fantasies shuttle between the end of the world and limitless power, I notice a road going left; no lanes, steeply falling. I carefully make the turn and step on the brakes as my car rolls gleefully down the slope. We reach the base of the slope; to a welcome sight. Lights!

This is the biggest event in our lives after The Big Bang. We exchange congratulations and celebrate the moment. The two lane road looks really big and wide, and bright. We make the right and push on with new found enthusiasm. For we are returning to civilization. More lights come into focus. A second car comes into view. Then more. A revelation hits us as my co-passenger announces with finality: "That's our library to the right!" With supreme self confidence, I shut down the GPS which is now suggesting I make another left into the jungle. The drive thereon is the best drive ever; everything is familiar, everything is predictable.

Home sweet home.

Attack of the Ultra Low Frequency Sound Waves

2009-03-04T18:12:00.000-08:00

The following is an excerpt of the first couple of minutes of that fateful first meet.

I enter the room rather unwillingly. I sit in the chair opposite to Him and brace myself for the aural assault that is to follow. Its like satellite feed. You need state-of-the-art filtering systems to sift through the million or so terabytes of data to get what you need. Soon, the filtering system starts to overload and you realize that you are not fast enough and that it doesn't matter anymore.

Enter Venkaaat.

Him: Hi Venkaaat! Its probably not the best of questions to ask. In fact, you know, its probably more of a statement than a question. Although, you know, some would consider this as a question still. And I am sure you already know the answer to this and I am, you know, just being rather stupid or naive about the whole thing. But I am just going to go ahead and ask anyway. So, how are you?

Me: Good. Yourself?

Him: I am sure its debatable, but, you know, I would probably say that I am doing alright. There is a lot of snow around, and its quite scary thinking about driving in this weather. After that accident 13 winters ago, its quite petrifying venturing out. I would say its more of caution than fear, you know, but its probably fear as well. So basically, if you ask me, you know, I would have to say I am doing about average.

Me: Ok.

Him: (Dialling the conference number - beep beep .. beep beep beep) Oops! I made a mistake. ( beep beep .. beep beep beep) Oops! I made a mistake. (beep beep .. beep beep beep beep) Oops! I made a mistake. (beep beep .. beep beep beep beep) Three more beeps. We are into conference with the others.

Them: Hi there! How are you?

Him: We are doing good, in spite of the fact that I had a few problems dialling into the conference number. I dialled thrice and wrongly. But thats ok. I was finally able to get it right. And so here we are, talking to each other over the phone. So Venkaaat, do you want to take over the call?

Me: Sure. So, we have...

Him: Ven...

Me: ... 4 items to discuss today.

Him: Venk...

Me: Let me start with ...

Him: Venkaaat. Venkaaat. Before you begin, I'd just like to ask a quick question. I am pretty certain you'd think I am crazy, you know, but I still need to make sure I understand this. While it seems rather unlikely that we will be able to solve this right away, the aim here is, you know, ... (brief silence) you know, to, you know, to, to just try and lay it out on the table for everyone to think about and come to some conclusion, so we know, you know, what's the general direction we are going to take and, and, and how its going to help us with what we are trying to accomplish. And, I think, it's going to be more than just a question. Its .... its ... (brief silence) ... its (heavy sigh) ... its going to serve, you know, as our guiding light, or, or, or guiding principle, if you may, for all future meetings. So, how do you want to take this meeting forward, Venkaaat?

By this time, the filtering system is jammed by the barrage of longitudinal waves. Auditory lobes are overheated and hearing comes hard, each syllable hitting the ear lobe with increasing force. The sheer verbosity poses serious risks of brain damage. I look at him blankly for a couple of seconds, trying to comprehend that verbal essay. The effort put in, in sifting through the millions of "you know"s, causes fatigue. Since the only sensible thing to do is to run through the status, I continue.

Me: So, the first item on the list is for ...

Him: Venkaaat ... Venkaaaat ....

This is going to be a long day.

Four wheels

2008-12-18T22:10:00.001-08:00

No. I am not cheap. But seven grand is a lot of money. Or so I thought.

Rewind to November 3rd, 2008. I pass the driving test as if it was child’s play and victoriously claim my New Jersey driver’s license. The day passes gleefully, with the lingering elation that comes from winning a battle. I bask in the glory as I continue to receive congratulations for the feat. The celebration however is short lived. By any stretch of imagination, identification at cigarette stores is about the only use I can put the license to. Unless I have a car.

Now, I am the kind of guy who has a very powerful imagination; the kind of guy who lives out an entire alternate life in one little corner of the brain. It could be anything from a fantastic body to exceptional genius rivaled only by Einstein. When the little corner comes to life, you could be sitting in a public trash can, eating Tiramisu in one of New York’s finest Italian restaurants, and you wouldn’t know the difference. It fills up with amazing speed and starts to spill over. The unreal makes another vain attempt to enter the realm of the real. Colloquial usage terms this as ‘building castles in the air’, as aptly put by one fervent critic of mine. Also aptly criticized is the distorted idea that ‘two in the bush’ is somehow inexplicably, and contrary to reason, superior to ‘one in the hand’.

My obsession with BMWs is quite widely known. Also widely known is the fact that I am the lowly software developer who has taken the place of better, more deserving programmers in the abysmal universe of IT laborers. I am cooking up fantasies of a cheap BMW in good condition with decent interior upholstery. The mind however is a peculiar entity, with almost a life of its own. Great men have struggled through life trying to control the mind. Very few succeeded. I, as always, fail miserably. I look into various car sale websites looking for that perfect car for the perfect price.

Every car is either too big or too small. No car gives enough fuel economy and no car gives enough performance. The concept of trade-off escapes the mind as it continues to dwell in the alternate universe where everything comes, and comes at no cost. As more and more hours pass, I begin to realize that this is not as easy as it looks. There are just too many variables. I am introduced to the idea of looking for car sale advertisements in laundry rooms. I scan a few of them, but find nothing. The perfect car (read BMW) continues to elude me.

One rainy evening a few days later, I receive the email that had the potential to change all of this. A friend is leaving to India and is on a selling spree. The 2005-made car, listed at seven and a half grand, is a prize by any standard. As I will realize later, the mind has already slipped into the corner. I see the 7.5 grand as going ‘all in’. My limit is 5.5 grand. It raises the alarm in my head.. Around me, good fellows suggest that it is just two grand more and it is worth every penny. But the mind blocks out all reasoning. I continue to look at the cost price with hate in my eyes. More good fellows extend persuasive encouragement to accept this benediction. The mind blocks out all reasoning. I recede to the delusive fulfillment of the little corner.

That Tuesday comes as a surprise and some solace. The office is giving out chocolate cookies from 2 to 3 PM. I wait expectantly for 2 o'clock. The usual afternoon is torpid. Tuesday afternoon turns electric. I open the door and step into the hallway. The luscious smell of fresh chocolate sweeps me off my feet. I suck in deep breaths of the delicious flavor until I can feel it in every cell. And my eyes fall upon The Fountain. It is a small staged recirculation unit, a flat rounded plate at the top and a larger cup right below it. The thick liquid makes its way up to the top of the plate and ambles quietly over the edge, descending into the cup below with a unique unparalleled radiance. The cup fills up and the liquid lazily spills over to the base, only to make its way up again. My eyes feast on this spectacular event. Pure, unadulterated golden brown Chocolate. Time stops. The mind is, for once, free. I feel bliss. The distinction between the real and the unreal becomes irrelevant. I am happy.

The idea of seven grand continues to run amok in my head. The mind, as I said, is a peculiar entity. When persisted with, enough, an untouchable idea loses resistance and ultimately finds acceptance. My mind is no exception. Two days and several hours later, seven grand is not preposterous anymore. I make peace. Peace leads to a frantic attempt to try and acquire the car. I am too late. I have been beaten by a buyer with an evident higher power of reasoning. The spectacle of the afternoon starts to fade away.

Mr. Opportunity knocked politely at the open front door. When all I had to do was nod, I reached out and slammed the door on his face, probably after stomping on his foot.

I am cheap.

I ramble on ...

2008-12-06T23:17:00.000-08:00

The following takes place between 7:16 AM and 7:33 AM.

Wrapped in my Turkish towel, I step out of the shower after a warm lazy bath. Instantly, I realize I am in for trouble. Its 7:16 on the clock and the morning New Jersey Transit bus is just 15 odd minutes away.

I begin to dress with a growing sense of panic. I look at the watch every 30 seconds, trying to time every move and back calculate the time I have left. I seem to be quite fast. So I skip a few 30-second-time-checks in an attempt to eliminate the precious seconds wasted in looking at the watch. It turns out that I am not as fast as I think. Now as I finish buttoning my shirt, a full 7 minutes have passed. I panic. I lift the top of the Samsonite hand bag and reach for the first trouser I can find. I yank it out and put one leg through.

The phone rings. I have to take this call. The meeting is one hour away and I have no clue what we have done in the past 24 hours. I have to take this call. I struggle with the other leg, thrusting it through the trouser. The wet foot finds the end of the trouser and sticks on. I push harder but the foot is stubborn. I reach down and wrench the end from my foot and continue. I realize another minute is up in my struggle to look decent. I lunge for the phone and push the talk button. No answer. Apparently, they hang up as I pick up. "Hello." "Hello!" "Hellooooo!!!" Hello turns into "O-Hell!!!"

I return the call as I reach for the belt. Belts serve no purpose other than to satisfy popular perception of complete attire. The phone is wedged between my ear and my shoulder, as I force the belt through each flap. I pause with the belt to dial the extension, then wedge the handset back in its place, between my ear and my shoulder. It starts to slip. I press harder with my shoulder. My ear lobe starts to ache. But I cannot stop lest I risk missing my ride. So I continue to push the belt and the phone. The female moronic voice breaks at the other end of the line yet again. "The person you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep." Beep! The cell phone begins to ring. Here I am, pushing leather through trouser flaps with the wrong phone to my ear and my caller waiting on the other line. I finish buckling the belt and the cell replaces the handset between my ear and shoulder.

I shut the laptop down and wrap the power cord as I continue on the phone. I take another look at the watch. 11 minutes and 30 seconds have passed. I am not sure how much time I have. I put the laptop and the cord in the bag and race back inside to get my jacket and cap. The phone continues to distract me, slowing me down, wasting invaluable seconds. I lose track of time for a moment, sitting down at the steps wearing my shoes and conversing at the same time. Eventually I snap out of it and start down the stairs and out toward the bus stop.

I realize that I have no idea when exactly the bus arrives. I continue walking realizing that I might not make it in time. I curse my tardiness. My mind replays the last 10 minutes and I regret wasting minutes I could have saved. I half expect the bus to go by me any minute. Every step forward adds a little more hope. It also adds a growing sense of apprehension that it might all be in vain if I missed my ride by a whisker. And of course, there is this whole other question of low self confidence and low self esteem combined with paralyzing fear. For now comes the act of paying the bus fare.

I need $2.15/-. As I near the bus stand, I pull the wallet out, only to find that I have run out of 1 dollar bills. I frantically reach for the bag and dig out whatever change I have. Murphy's law applies. All I can find are nickels and dimes. I continue excavation, examining every find for signs of a quarter. The first one comes up with the fourth dig. Two more come shortly, and then two more until I find all the money I need. And more. My hands are cold by now. I have no gloves on. I can barely hold the coins together. I am wary of attempting to return the nickels and retain the quarters in my hand, for I have no control over my fingers. I risk losing all the coins in the attempt. So I continue to hold on to them as I work out the logistics of returning the nickels to the bag. I can see the bus approaching.

A wave of elation sweeps over me. After all, I have not missed the bus. But there is the other problem. The fare. I grapple with the coins as they switch from one hand to the other. Eventually, I have all I need safely in one hand, while I return the remaining coins to the bag. The bus pulls up and two others board the bus with me. I am the last. By this time, my hands are totally numb. Motor signals from the brain do not translate to equivalent motion of fingers. I cling on to the coins for dear life. What if they spilled out of my hand? I will have to scout for every coin and there is no way I will be able to dig up more of them. I reach the ticketing machine and start inserting the coins one by one. The driver pulls out with a jerk and I drop three of the quarters. They are strewn all over the steps. As I bend down to collect them, I hear the driver's Spanish complaints. I can hear more voices from the back of the bus, and they are quite delighted with the incident.

The idea of public humiliation is remarkably similar across cultures that are otherwise widely differing. The power of collective persona is overwhelming. It corners you into believing that the concept of grace and ineptitude is uniform across the pack of preying humans. Every move thereon is closely watched, like vultures closing in on death. As new ones board, you feel a little better, now that there is someone who is not bothered by your presence, yet. Eventually, it all wears out. The stares stop and you are left to yourself, not because they reached in and found that little spark of compassion, but because they have lost all interest in what does not have life anymore.

I fight off the rising panic as more individuals chime in. I reach for the machine again and insert the three quarters. Slowly, I make my way to the back of the bus, bracing for sudden brakes and turns. I take my seat at the very end of the bus. As I walk by, I hear more glee behind my back. The language makes it impossible to know what fuels their imagination. The unknown makes it even more painful: like taking a slap with your eyes closed. You never know when it's coming, or if it's coming at all.

I can feel the dozen eyes looking on at me curiously. They have nothing much to do on that bus. Everything inside demands attention. It a mixture of distant, impersonal interest, mild amusement and pity. The inconsequential being that is the object of derisive exaggeration is a wondrous sight. The human psyche by its nature enjoys the debasement of another. It satisfies, like no other, the urge to get back at all the mortification. It enjoys watching because it symbolizes a victory of sorts: the soul's payback for what is thrust upon it.

I take what is thrust upon me.

7:33.

2008-09-01T20:42:00.000-07:00

Attention reader. Garbage follows. Exit when unbearable.

I boarded the train to New York at 5:35 PM. It was a Wednesday and Wednesdays are those long, drawn out days when 8 hours feel like 16. As I made my way through the cars looking for a good place to sit, I noticed the train ticket master pass me by, swearing at some poor bloke who had apparently boarded the wrong train. For no reason, I felt glad I was not in his place ( I guess its natural to the chicken-hearted).

I found a car with two and three seats on either side of the aisle. I took one on the side with two and waited impatiently for the ticket master to check my tickets so I could get some sleep, quite exhausted as I was. It was a good hour and fifteen minutes to New York and I was determined to put every minute to good use. I looked back and forth the aisle a dozen or so times before resigning to the fact that this man was not coming by any time soon. I sat there looking at the moving objects on the other side of the window. Its amazing how something as dull as a tree can hold your attention as it passes you by. At long last, he came and checked my ticket. I surrendered the credit-card-sized-paper and settled in for some sleep. Outside, the moving objects started to blur and I drifted into darkness.

I heard a knock nearby and awoke with a start. I looked around to find the ticket master looking on with curiosity that bordered on irritation. "New York Penn Station", he said rather tersely. I got up in a hurry and followed him to the exit. He unlocked the door for me. I stepped out of the car groggily, apologizing to him for the trouble. He didn't seem to care; just happy that I was finally out of the train. It makes me wonder about how long he must have been trying.

I hurried out to toward the subway trains in hope of getting to Wall Street as quickly as possible. I couldn't however, figure out which train I was supposed to be on. To save time, I made my way back to the station exit and out onto the road. I found a cab which took me to Wall Street in about fifteen minutes. It was another ten minutes to walk before I met up with my friends. I showed them around downtown Brooklyn a little bit. Then it was time to go back to Manhatten for them to see Times Square and the Empire State Building from the outside. After dinner, it was time to say good bye and I came back to New York Penn Station for my train back home. As I checked the train timings, I noticed that the next train was at 9:45. I had five minutes to buy a ticket and hurry down to the train. I got into line pushing past a couple, and apologizing. They didn't seem to care either; just too preoccupied with themselves. I suppose I could give up apologizing and live to talk about it. I bought the ticket and ran down the steps to my Dover train.

This Dover train is a finely furnished double decker with good interiors and upholstery. Shortly I found a seat beside a China man, and sat down. I kept looking around for people getting out of the train so that I could have a place with both the seats for myself. The guy on the other side of the aisle got up. I bolted across the aisle and took my place by the window, stretching my legs so that they went across the seat beside me. My feet fell just short of jutting out of the aisle. I prepared for another good spell of sleep.

I woke up to an announcement on the intercomm announcing that it was the last stop and requesting everybody to get out. The train had come to a halt. I climbed the small flight of stairs from the lower deck and went for the exit. Locked. So was the door on the other side. Suddenly the train started moving to my right. It was customary for the ticket masters to lock doors on the compartments at the rear and front so that all passengers could exit from a single car. With this 'insight' into the working of the Dover Railway Dept., I started toward what I thought was the back of the train, which was to the left, opposite to the direction the train was moving in. I had no idea whether it was left or right when we started. As I crossed the second car, I found two Spaniards and a couple, waiting at one of the doors. I decided this was it and I waited too.

The train came to a halt. Outside, on either side were continuous structures that didn't seem like platforms. Still quite in sleep, it didn't make any sense. I wrestled with the identity of this new entity until the truth suddenly came to me. We were in the yard and these structures were trains!

Apparently the other four people had known all along that were had been to the station and back. It didn't seem to bother them that we were supposed to have gotten off when it had stopped. Maybe they were waiting for Spiderman to come and rescue them from the 'villainous Ticket Master' who had pulled out of the station without letting them off. I decided they had had brain surgery and the surgeon had forgotten to put the brain back in. All doors around us were locked and the only way out was to press the Emergency button which would get the ticket master to come and open the doors. I suggested that we press the button so that he knew we were still in the train. They hesitated. I was sure the Emergency button was made for passengers in distress. Either my co-passengers didn't think so, or they didn't think they were in distress, or they didn't think at all.

At length, I pressed and spoke into the intercomm. The annoyance in the voice on the other end was quite apparent. He hung up and we took it that he was headed our way. I sat on the stairs and waited. After another ten minutes, we finally spotted the ticket master making his way through the car toward us. At the foot of the stairs on the lower deck, he looked up.

I stared at his face in disbelief. He stared back at mine. It was the same ticket master who had woken me up at New York Penn Station just a few hours back. He snapped out of it before I did and started up with stairs shaking his head. I gave way to him as he reached our level. He turned to me with a look of utter disdain and anger. Clearly I had pushed him over the edge. His eyes said it all. "What is it with you, man?! Do you ever get off the train?!!" I didn't say anything. He turned toward all of us and spat out a short string of expletives. The Spaniards retorted in vain, about some other ticket master telling them to wait there. He was not going to have any of it. More expletives followed. Finally he opened the door and led us out of the tracks onto the road.

I figured this was his bad day, what with having the same passenger sleeping on, on his train, at every last stop. It could as well have been mine, for having the same ticket master letting me off the train, after having overslept. As I started walking up the hill toward home, I felt a little droplet of water land on my arm. Slowly more followed. It was raining.

I decided that the bad day was not the ticket master's, after all. It was mine.

2008-07-02T17:44:00.001-07:00

Before you begin reading, there are a few facts that you might want to get privy with:

- We cook two times in a month, at the most.
- Any spill in the kitchen is taken care of, 48-72 hours after the incident, at the least.
- The door on the ground floor never locks, unless we drag it along on the way out.
- The probability of a random cordless handset dying out, on a random hour of a random day of a random year, is quite honestly, very very very low.

Saturday evening. A time of endless bliss and joy, for Sunday is next. For the near sighted, like me, the fact that the Monday comes right after, is invariably lost in the bliss of the approaching Sunday. We loiter around the house, on the seventh heaven, planning for the next dinner. Eating out is no more a fancy. It is a drawn out procedure that goes thus:

- deciding on an eatery (choosing between a hotel that provides crap and a hotel that provides crap - tough choice)
- driving to the eatery (the SUV takes more gas than a camel could take water; might exchange the Suzuki for a camel)
- ordering (meekly browsing the menu for non-existent vegetables)
- waiting in hunger (quite like standing in line, in a public toilet, in India; you realize you are headed toward piles of smelly crap, but you gotta go anyway.)
- eating (a euphemism for forcing junk down the esophagus due to growing-out-of-proportion hunger)
- paying the bill (that is quite like a blood donation camp for the Vampire needy)
- driving back (camel starts sounding like a good option. And maybe it could live on coke. Its cheaper than water.)

We decide to cook. Menu turns out to be vaangi bhaat masala and potato curry. Roommate is on one side of the stove cooking brinjal. I stand beside him cooking potato. The prospect of a wonderful vaangi bhaat with alu curry is mouth watering. We relish the growing smell of the masala, which lingers on, in all of our first floor apartment. Ah! Ecstasy. I pick up the box of chilli powder and place it to my left. I pick up the spoon and shower glorious chilli powder gently over the potato, stirring all the while. Ah! The smell! As I pull my hand back to stir again, I knock the box over the edge.

The floor mat is showered with glorious chilli powder too; about 200 gms. We realize that we are standing on the floor mat. Our feet could get smeared with chilli powder. Extrapolating this possibility, we see ourselves walking around the house with chilli powder on our feet, spreading it around the house and onto our comforter on the floor. Further extrapolation reveals us waking up the next morning with chilli powder in our eyes, disabling eyesight temporarily. Having 'seen the dark future' using extrapolation, we resort to the unthinkable.

We clean. I leave the gas on sim. He leaves the gas on. I pick one end of the floor mat and force all the powder to the center. He picks up the other end. We walk out of the kitchen toward the main door. He is wearing a t-shirt and shorts. I am wearing just shorts, no shirt, no undershirt. We make our way down the steps and open the door on the ground floor. He walks out first, I follow. He leaves the mat for me to dust. I go down the couple or so steps and dust the thing. The mat has probably never been dusted since its inception. So I make sure its a pretty good dusting job. I turn around and find my roommate standing facing me, looking on rather strangely. I walk up to him and wait for him to open the door. He does not react. I insist. He moves away.

The door on the ground floor locks itself today. I have nothing on me. No key, no cell phone, no shirt. He has the shirt, no key, no cell phone. He suggests we sit outside and wait for roommate no. 2 to return. I realize the stoves are on. We panic. We look around for any kind of help, any kind of help. A neighbour provides her cordless phone. In panic, there are just a few numbers we can recall. We call. By good fortune, we reach whoever we are trying to call. By bad fortune, the cordless handset is screaming for power. Call gets dropped. Roommate runs down one block to an acquaintance for making the call to Roommate No. 2.

7 PM on one of the fifty odd Saturday evenings of the year 2008, one of the hundred odd cordless handsets in existence around us, is dying out in our hands. I stare in disbelief. We receive the call back from the one we called. We explain the problem in a hurry. He calls up Roommate No. 2. I call Roommate and tell him that Roommate No. 2 has been informed and is on the way. Roommate hurries back. We wait on the steps longingly for Roommate No. 2. Unnoticeable at first, stronger later, we smell the burning vaangi. With each breath, we see the vaangi 'passing away'. We sit outside hopelessly, he with the t-shirt, I with none. I wonder about the nausea I cause, to all that see me. I thank the lord for my shorts.

Roommate No. 2 arrives at length. We rush into the house in the hope of salvaging whatever is left of the vaangi and the alu. I open the alu. Delightfully, it is not burnt. Gas on sim did the trick. We try scraping off top layers of the vaangi, going down as far as we think we can without hitting carbon. We hit carbon. We stop scraping and decide that was it. We finally sit down, quite spent. The house is foggy.

We think: it cannot have been us; it has got to be fate.

The fire alarm goes off.

2007-08-07T18:41:00.000-07:00

Another day. I stand at the corner of Elm Street. It’s a bright sunny Sunday morning; not many around. I look at my shadow stretching across the street. "Strange! Longer than usual..." I thought. The sun is climbing swiftly. Soon it’s going to be right overhead. It’s going to be a lovely day.

The Chevy comes out of nowhere. The bright red truck is swinging wildly and out of control. I see wide eyed as the driver is trying to make the turn, but in vain. A split second later, I realize that the truck is on a collision course; with me! I have no time to think. I stand in shock, rooted in my place, unable to move. My life flashes before me, in all its abundance, in all its impotence. I have nowhere to go. The car is too fast and too close. The driver swerves but its too late. It hits me with alarming impact. I feel my legs go weak.

I look at the vehicle. It’s a total wreck. The front is smashed beyond recognition. I see two bodies pressed against safety bags. I see another on the back seat, hunched rather awkwardly. I am unable to think clearly. I am too stunned. A little while later, a cop passes by and raises the alarm. More cops arrive. So does the ambulance, and the tow truck. They try to pry the doors open. After a couple of minutes, they break in through the window and pull the injured out. They hook the truck to the car to pull it off my legs. I scream for them to slow down. Nobody's listening. They wrench it out. I scream again, longer. They start inspecting the damage. Deciding that it was totalled, beyond salvage, they signal the tow truck to drag dump to the scrapyard. The truck tows the metal away. The medic sits the three down beside me and inspects their injuries. The two in the front seats just seem stunned. The one in the back however, seems to bear greater injuries. He lies at my foot, in pain. They swiftly lay him on the stretcher and drive him away while the other two pile up into the cop's car to be taken to the police station for inquiry.

I look at all of them, dumbfounded. None of them can hear me. A medic reaches for my leg, but backs off. Maybe he realizes it’s too late. It feels like the afterlife, just like in the movies. The guy doesn't realise he's dead. He tries to make conversation. Nobody hears him. Nobody hears me. I am left to my fate at the corner of Elm Street. The heat from the crash is searing through my feet. I can smell the stench of burning skin. The pain is making its way higher up my legs to my waist. I can hardly feel my legs anymore. It’s mind-numbing and rising with a sense of finality. I start choking and breathe harder. Not much use though. I can hardly take in any air. The sun is at its best, just like I wanted. I wouldn't be around long enough to enjoy it though. I can feel the sunlight seeping in through my skin. It makes me feel good. The pain eases a little bit. I continue to choke, on my own fluids. It’s getting harder and harder to stay awake. I lose focus of night and day. I breathe harder and faster. I realize that with every passing moment, I am one step closer to the edge.

The pain continues to fade away. So do I. I have lost track of time. I look up briefly. It’s getting dark. Night is approaching. I haven't had enough air to breathe. Without the oxygen, it’s all a blur. But fate hands me a momento. A sparrow perches on my shoulder and looks down at me. I can only make out its silhouette in the darkness. It is looking down at me, I figure, rather curiously. An ant has made its way up my shoulder. In one swift motion, the sparrow makes for the ant and grabs the poor thing in its beak. It gives me a peck, as if to thank me for the food.

It’s dark. The stars are up in the clear black sky. I am happier than ever before. There is no pain anymore; only the stillness of the night. I am satisfied that I shall be let go. Freedom. Without warning, my legs give way. I bend over toward the fence. I try to stop my descent but I have lost all control. I continue to fall. I crash, taking the fence down with me, facing the brightly lit sky. Time stands still. I have taken the plunge; over the edge.

I am Neem.

2007-07-08T08:36:00.000-07:00

THE END

Vladimir Rhostovsky switched out the light of his 12th floor office on Lexington Street and made his way toward the elevator. It was well past midnight. As the leader of AMD, one of the largest computer hardware manufacturers, he had had a lot on his mind lately. But now nothing else mattered anymore. Claire, darling, not much longer now. We will be united once again. The elevator door opened on the first floor and Rhostovsky made his way through the reception. No one. Strange! He did remember seeing Ralph that morning. Well, it didn't matter. Rhostovsky made his way to the entrance. He stepped out and stood on the pavement, stretching himself, feeling the cold midnight air. At a distance a long range rifle fired a single shot. Rhostovsky lay on the pavement, dead.

Abigail Knight stood still on the roof of her apartment. She had lost the man she had so dearly loved. The pain filled her body and mind. It was unbearable. The last 10 hours of her life had been more than happening. The markets were taking a fall as expected. There was nothing left to do but leave. She was the owner of the largest mutual fund organization in the country, the Knights Group. The death of the AMD supremo had caused quite a furore. AMD was a major market mover. And now it seemed as if the market had lost confidence in one of its pet companies. The last few hours were characterized by large scale off loading of AMD as well as Knights holdings in the market. The portfolio of one of her lesser known Growth Fund was under the hammer. The fund had invested an unprecedented 35% on AMD. Most analysts were skeptical of such an 'all-eggs-in-one-basket' move. But Knight had been at it all along. With all the aces up her sleeve, she had perfectly timed the gigantic offload of her AMD shares.

She strutted back inside and down the steps, still lost in thought. At the foot of the staircase, she reached for the light switch. The whole neighbourhood lit up in a huge fireball. The skies looked like they were in celebration; embracing the dancing flames. In the distance, an unregistered car made its way out of the city, with a satisfied driver.

THE BEGINNING

Vladimir Rhostovsky climbed out of his Buick with his trademark hat wave and the crowd erupted. Rhostovsky made for the dais. 'Today, we make history." was all he said. Every soul that attended the gathering would believe him. For Rhostovsky had brought about the turn around of the largest disaster of post Civil War America. 10 long years it had taken to build it again, to right every wrong, to pull the fallen giant back to its feet. And this was the zenith of it all. Here in this gathering were the people who had made it possible. The heart. And Rhostovsky knew the heart needed to be taken good care of. And so he did. And annual reports showed it all. Attrition down to 8%. YoY profits up 64%. Loans down by 76%. It was the story every CEO would wish for, but would never get. And Rhostovsky was happier than ever. To his success. Or so it seemed.

Nicholas Ferdinand, CFO and second in command, walked into his private study, smiling. As he sat himself down, the phone rang. "Hello". "Congratulations Nick. You did it!". "No. We did it." He laughed hysterically and put the receiver down gently. He was more than pleased with himself, for he had come a long way, walking alongside his boss in times of hope and despair. Now this had all gone far enough. It was time to make his move. After ten minutes, he finished the email and attached the file. The moment of truth! He picked up the receiver and made the first of a series of calls he would be making over the coming week.

The following week seemed rather uneventful for Rhostovsky; a board meeting after lunch, a team gathering after tea; that was it more or less. Then it came. The following Saturday, the Washington Post took out a quarter page article on the allegation against AMD. The claim was that AMD had been fabricating its progress reports for over five years in a row, and getting away with it. Alongside were the purported actual figures for all of them. Rhostovsky took light of the allegation. No one is going to believe that! To think any organization would be so outrageous as to publish fake progress reports for five years! Outrageous! But as the week passed, Rhostovsky had more and more on his hands. The news caught on like wildfire. Every major news channel was now talking about it. He was suddenly attending 3 press conferences in a day, trying to convince the nation that it was all a hoax.

Abigail Knight was ecstatic. Their plan had worked out perfectly for them. The Knights Group was on the track to fast growth with more than 30% of the investors holding at least a thousand units of her Knight Growth Fund. It had been a tedious five years of manipulation that had resulted in high investments in her group. She had been prepared to go to any extent to build this and was prepared to go to any extent to keep it that way. On the D-Day, she had called her accomplice to congratulate him. "Congratulations Nick. You did it!". "No. We did it." he had said. She was on seventh heaven. She imagined herself and Nick on the patio of the large bungalow they had hand picked for themselves. It was just perfect.

THE BETRAYAL

Unable to stand any more accusations, Rhostovsky dug into the reports the had published in the last eight years from the database. He pored over the results for four hours. All in order. Not knowing where to look next, he walked down to Nick's office and let himself in. Nick was nowhere to be seen. But Rhostovsky had nowhere else to go. He sat himself behind Nick's desk and looked around. His mind was numb from the strain and he wasn't particularly interested in anything. His eyes fell on the computer screen in front. An email alert popped up on the right bottom of the screen. The subject read "Thank You". He casually clicked the email, not really expecting anything. The email read:

Mr Ferdinand,

It was a pleasure doing business with you. Be sure that your favour will be returned in kind, my love.

Regards,

Abigail Knight
Executive Director
Knights Group of Companies

Abigail! He scrolled down the mail chain. It continued with that one subject, Thank You. Curious about what Nick was doing new for AMD, he moved over to the Sent folder. He opened the first attachment. It was financial report of a company for that year. Wait a minute! Not 'a' company! That was the financial report of AMD! Rhostovsky's brain could not quite comprehend what was in front of him. Slowly and painfully then, it dawned on him, with brute force. His body went numb. He felt sick in his stomach and a lump formed in his throat. He had no need to see any more attachments, for he had understood the magnitude of it all. Nick! You traitor!

In front of him was the original annual report of AMD Incorporated showing losses to the order of a 130 million for the year 2006-2007. All major holdings were in mortgage and the company was in heavy debt. The fake reports had been marketed by the Knights to further their own interest. Rhostovsky knew they had invested in his company rather lavishly, causing the AMD share value to rise higher and higher. Now all that he had built was going to fall. And there was no stopping it. Anger rose in his chest until he found it hard to breathe. Amidst labored gulps of air he heaved himself up and out of the room toward his own.

Rhostovsky lay on the couch spread-eagled. The scale of betrayal had hit him with full force. He was at the very top, very alone. His second in command had betrayed him ruthlessly and there was no telling how many more were with him. Nick had managed to keep from him, the actual records and performance of his company for more than five years. Anybody in his right mind would have spotted it years ago. He felt foolish and naive; having fallen for some old trick like a stupid country bum. He had put all trust in Nick to practically run things for him, for his own life hadn't been a bed of roses. His dear wife, Claire, had had three abortions in the last two years, and remained terminally sick. Doctors seemed to think her body had taken the toll of the alcohol and smoke she had had. He had done what he had to do. And then finally, she gave way to inevitability. Rhostovsky had put himself together again for the sake of the empire he had built. Then he met Abigail, and fell for love once more. But little did he know. He hated his self with shame. He wanted, more than anything, to destroy Nick and everything that was dear to him. He was going to make them pay. He wanted nothing more than to be with his wife, to be re-united, to kill, to die.

Rhostovsky rose, now, with strange determination and went to his computer. He looked up his contacts and shortly found what he was looking for. He made a call he never thought he could make. "Hello"."I have a contract to propose. I can pay well. You have two targets to kill ..."

THE KILLING

Rhostovsky made his way to Nicholas Ferdinand's room with the .45 Colt he always carried with himself. The name Nicholas suddenly seemed distant and unfamiliar. At the door to the room, he could hear the man speaking lovingly to Gail. He stepped in. Nicholas Ferdinand not bothering to look up, kept to his conversation. Rhostovsky went around the desk and stood beside Nick. Rhostovsky pulled out his gun from the trouser just as Nicholas hung up. Nick looked up and a look of utter shock spread across his face. Rhostovsky jammed the revolver to Nick's forehead and pulled the trigger. Once, twice, thrice ... . Rhostovsky strained against the desk, shivering with rage. He looked for a long moment at the lifeless body now sitting on the chair, then turned and walked out of the room to his own. It was time to leave.

Sylvio's was puzzled but the instructions were clear. This rather strange request had come from the man himself and he promised to pay, and pay well. Nevertheless a mark was a mark and he had his job to do. Sylvio, the hitman, got into his car and made for the address he had written down from the call. The house was empty. He broke in and felt his way around. Standing in the middle of the hall he looked for a suitable place to fix the bomb. He walked down the hallway and his eyes fell on the switch at the base of the staircase. This is it. She has to use this one time or another. After another ten minutes he left the house with the bomb securely in place. It was only a matter of time now.

Sylvio made for his next destination. He still couldn't digest it, what with all his kills. To the task at hand now he said to himself. He reached his destination and looked around for a good location. Not long after, he was seated on the roof of a low building on the opposite side. Sylvio picked up his rifle, aimed it at the entrance and waited. At the appointed hour the man came out and reached out to the sides as if to stretch himself.

Sylvio fired.

2007-06-16T11:31:00.000-07:00

9:00 PM. I alighted from the train at Dover, having slept for a better part of the hour long journey from New York Pennsylvania Station. It had been a long day, and I had been walking since morning. I got out of the train and stretched my legs. Oh! How they ached! Willing me to bed, they were. Willing them to walk, I was.

I walked across the length of the platform and down onto the road. I crossed the tracks to make my way home. Randolph is just a mile away. But the real problem is that my Gateways Apartments is halfway up a hill. I knew that, but I had no idea what was awaiting me. I started up the first ascent slowly half expecting my legs to give way any moment. I had no inkling how far up this was going. I looked up again and again failing to find the gas station where I was to take right. My thighs screamed in pain. I walked on. The road took a bend and levelled out. I reached the gas station and took the right.

My heart leapt with joy. A descent! What good fortune! I started walking down with fresh enthusiasm and pretty much worn out legs. The descent was pretty short lived. As I neared the base of the road, it started rising again. I felt my spirits sink. I reached the base and looked up. The sky and the road merged into one dark scenery. I wondered how high this one would be. Just then, a car passed by and started its ascent. I pitied the car, for it was dragging four people other than itself. I looked up again. Its tail lights went farther into the darkness. After another 30 seconds, I looked up again. I stopped walking and started in disbelief. The tail lights were visible, only far higher up than before and they still seemed to keep climbing and climbing. Finally after another 20 seconds, the lights vanished, going over the hill.

I had no choice. I started up again, more painfully this time. I kept to the side walk suddenly aware of the darkness surrounding me. The shrubbery sticking out from the compounds were making it difficunt to keep to the sidewalk. Each step was more painful than the one before. I stopped, yet again, to catch my breath. It was more than 15 minutes since I had started from Dover station.

In the distance, a dog barked, aware of my presence. Another shot out of the darkness toward me with startling speed. I froze. It was within a few feet. It took another leap. I was certain this night would be my last. As I awaited my destiny, it stopped in mid air and landed on the ground five feet from me. Then I noticed the chain, with relief. I started walking, still breathing heavily and not yet fully out of what had just happened.

I kept climbing and climbing now able to faintly distinguish the road from the sky. It was another 100 metres above.

I finally reached the top. It was another fifteen minutes before I reached my house.

And to think the Dover Taxi Company is 50 metres from Dover Station.

2007-05-06T18:59:00.000-07:00

We entered the canteen in the basement of 5, Sylvan Way. Its a little walk from 3,Sylvan Way through the basement car park. Today wasn't really my day to begin with. I had just screwed up on my status call and my business analyst wasn't working. But why not let's leave that aside for the moment. So, the canteen.

I stood in line for my turn. There is this fat Italian guy, who is by far the snobbiest guy I have ever seen in whatever I have seen of my inconsequential life. My turn came and I gave my order: 'One veggie sandwich, please'. He pointed at a packaged item nearby. It read 'Vegetable Panini sandwich'. Grilled vegetable, some thing dipped in some other thing. I am sure it was nothing non-vegetarian. But I really couldn't say. Alarm bells had gone off inside my head. I hadn't heard of it before, and there was no way I was going to try it out. So I said, 'No panini!'. There was stunned silence all around. The two guys looked at each other and started laughing.

The fat guy pulled out a wheat bread and started filling it up with vegetables, spinach and pickle. Can you imagine that? Cucumber is called pickle in this country!!! So he filled it up and pushed it toward me. I pushed it back and said that I wanted it grilled.

He gave me an incredulous look and said, 'you said you didn't want it grilled!'. Wha..what?!!! Now when did I say I didn't want it grilled?! I told him again, that I wanted it grilled. He repeated, 'But you said that you didn't want it grilled!'. There was no way I could get through to him and get him to understand. So I said, 'Fine...' I took the uncooked bread and vegetables and went to the paying counter. '3$ and 27 cents', she said. I reluctantly pulled out a 5$ bill and gave it to her. She gave me the change and I proceeded to eat.

It tasted like soiled clothes. The jalapanoes was too much and the rest of it was too little or none. Grill, none. Taste, none. Heat, none. I cursed the fat Italian, for he had successfully screwed up my lunch. To think I'd call this lunch would have been hilarious. But I was not feeling remotely humorous. I tried pushing the sandwich in, but my throat revolted until I could push no further. I laid back and pecked on the onion rings while my colleague 'feasted' on the salad. There was nothing else to do, but wait and look at the remnants of my lunch. Another Gujarati colleague and friend of mine brought food from home. Aah! Home made Gujarati food! That's a delicacy not available to lesser mortals as us. We eat whatever crap we cook.

As the referee would say, 'Time! Quite please. Thank you.'

2007-04-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

I started my first walk into the streets of New Jersey; on my own. There was a cold wind blowing outside. Flurries were falling. It took me a while to realize that it was almost snowing. I put on my woollen cap. As I crossed the next street, Subway came into view. Well, well. Now we're talking!

I made my way in. I went to the counter and looked for the 'Veggie Delite'. I found it shortly. The choice of vegetables, bread and cheese. He was asking me so many questions that I chose 'American Bread' and 'Honey Oat cheese' instead of 'American cheese' and 'honey oat bread'. Apparently he understood and agreed to process my request. Then came the vegetables. There was red onion (what! I thought onions were always red!), tomatoes, jalapanoes, cabbage and something else I coundn't quite figure out. I chose the familiar ones. He started filling my sub up. I looked around the place. Just a couple of guys around. I happened to look into the eyes of one guy standing beside me waiting for his order. Then suddenly, out of the blue, he said, 'Hi! How-ya doin?'.

I was pretty sure I had never seen him before. But he had said it. He kept looking at me waiting for a reply. I was stymied with fear and indecision. Who is this guy?!! And why the hell is he so interested in how I am doing? After a long moment, I smiled. He looked at me strangely; it was a mix of incredulity and amusement. He continued staring at me. By the way, I am reasonably good at returning a stare. So I stared back, without knowing what I had said, or didn't say. The man behind the counter came to my rescue. He handed this lunatic his order and sent him on his way. I kept staring at his back, ready to return the stare the moment he were to turn back and do it again. He never did.

I looked back at the guy who had taken my order. He had just finished filling up my sub. Whoa! Where is the filling, dude?!! All I could see was one piece of tomato, exactly four strands of 'red onion', one cucumber ring, a grand helping of jalapanoes and some cheese. It looked quite dead. A Chennai Subway would have put in a little more than two times what he had put in. Come on! Well, I didn't argue. It would have been to no end. I was sure this guy would just look down upon me with contempt if I did.

I needed something to drink. Water? What's that? There were about ten little silos ready to spew out crap like Coke, Pepsi, 7 up, etc. I chose a Coke. Bill please. 4$ and 38 cents. I pulled out my wallet, pulled out a 20$ bill (that word from the movies too). The conversion process began involuntarily. I paid close to Rs. 180/- for a dead Sub. I reluctantly surrendered the bill to this guy. What he did next, I truly hadn't expected. He retuned 15$ in bills and pulled out a little white container (like those we get from homoeopathy doctors.) and counted 62 cents. Now I had 10 coins more with me; four 10 cent, four 5 cent and two 1 cent coins. I pocketed them. I felt remarkably heavier with these new entrants. My pyjama pocket was tugging at the pyjama relentlessly. I pulled it up for the fifth time and moved on to the shopping complex another couple of hundred yards away.

There ends my day out.

2007-03-04T07:36:00.000-08:00

I decided I needed a new pair of spectacles. I was wearing a three year old one that I had stopped using long ago. I was with this old one because I 'executed' by ex-new one under my leg; I mean I actually squashed it so badly that I couldn't even give it a proper burial.

So here I am, congratulating myself on finally turning 'pro-active' and 'reaching out' to some spects shops (I am from Information Technology). It has been about two months since the above incident occured, by the way. I took the left after Adyar Bus Depot and proceeded into Indira Nagar. I vaguely remember having seen a shop somewhere there.

As I said, I was quite happy to have finally come round to deciding that I am going to buy new spects. And happiness brings extravagance. So I took a right turn.

Enter Lawrence And Mayo:

Well, well, just what the doctor ordered. I parked in the space provided and started up the stairs aware that I was going into one of those 'Elite' shops. I entered the shop; the air was pleasant. Just as I started to grow comfortable, I found myself feeling, rather strangely, like an object of inspection. I dont know, but every time I enter a place like this, I get the feeling that everyone is staring at me for some alien reason; looking down upon me for some un-figure-out-able reason. I am yet to figure out if the look in their eyes is one of curiosity or pity, or both; like they have just seen an organism so low in the socio-economic hierarchy that it merits their utter and undivided disgust.

I walked to the counter and told the guy I wanted a new pair of spects. He asked me to sit down; rather emphatically I thought. Another gesture at the 'Gollum'? Regardless; I sat down and picked up a SportStar on the table below. There was a 'Health' there too. But I figured those kind of magazines were only to be read by the 'Elite'; if seen in the hands of the down-trodden would be taken to be a sign of pervertism. Anyways, I was so pre-occupied with the stares that I didn't feel like picking it up anyway.

I read for about five minutes, trying to generate some interest in the Cricket gibberish written all over the magazine. Not one piece of futbol anywhere! Will this country never satiate of cricket?!! I reached the fag end of the magazine in another five minutes; still no sign of the man. Does he think lower middle class have all time in the world to spare? Or is it that the 'Elite' really have all the time in the world to spare in a god-forsaken spects store!

Another smart white guy came in; waved a 'Hi' to someone in the shop he already knew and went over to collect his spects. More minutes passed; ten, maybe fifteen. No sign of anyone. I decided that they do not deserve my presence anymore. Time to leave.

Wait! There's a problem here. I can't just leave! Ever noticed those beggars who pester you on the main road; they wait, hoping that you'll shell out something, and when you don't, they start moving away slowly. I would have waited for their mercy, and when they showed none, I would be moving out of the store. No way! I racked my brains, thinking how to outsmart my would be 'benefactors'. I pulled out my cell-phone. That's the only escape route in such places. Whip the cell phone out and pretend to receive the most important call of life at that exact moment, so that you have no choice but to rush outside, sacrificing your personal needs in the store for some greater cause. And so I did!

I mounted the bike and raced away without a second glance; just in case some of those 'eagles' were still looking-down on me.

2007-02-15T09:57:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking of blogging on issues of relatively greater significance and importance than the drivel I write here. I am trying to start now (if this doesn't come off well, this post is going to go off my blog. Maybe I will start another blog for those things alone.)

Shilpa Shetty
She seems like a good place to start. I guess I have entered this space at the opportune moment. It all started with her nomination for a British reality TV show called 'The Big Brother Show'. This show is notorious for the dirt it throws on some of the biggest names on the big screen. It is known for its B-grade, participating, actor population.

Shilpa Shetty is no A-grade actor herself, what to talk of her now famous UP-Bihar 'thumak's . So it seems quite natural that such an actor should vie for such a show. After all, participation entails money, Big money.

All seemed to go on well, until one Jade Goody made things rough for herself and Ms. Shetty. Ms. Shetty had accused her of racist behavior. At once, the cameras zoomed in, cashing in on every second of coverage. Ms. Shetty, meanwhile, shed enough tears to make a crocodile go pale with shame. UK dailies started their front pages with Shilpa-Goody goodies, relegating more pressing matters to later pages.

What seemed more curious was the fact that the Government of India brought this incident into its Parliamentary agenda! One of the highest institutions in the country, seemingly didn't have anything worthwhile to talk about and took up Ms. Shetty for a change. A formal communication was sent to the British Government expressing the displeasure of India at the mal-treatment of Ms. Shetty. Given the status quo on racism in Britain, I guess the Govt. couldn't afford such an accusation at this point of time. It rendered a formal regret statement to the Govt of India and warned Channel4. The channel saw its ratings go down drastically.

Racism has suddenly taken centre stage and governments are doing all that is in their power to keep it low. I bet, such treatment has been endured by many Indians for quite a while now, and I am certain there would have been atleast a dozen formal complaints against the perpetrators. Why was our Government blind to this for so long. Why does Shilpa Shetty command greater importance than all those others whose fate has eternally been tied to Britain? And why should the Government interfere at all? After all she was being paid to endure what she went through. The show in itself is quite infamous for its ill-treatment of celebrities!

It seems quite naive to assume that Ms. Shetty has somehow been wronged beyond repair, and that we must do all that is in our power to make sure that the wrong is corrected. What about the three and a half crore she has earned? What comes next is anyone's guess. She is going to beg the Indian government for a tax waiver.

I would have been happier if somehow, this incident could have made way for stricter anti-racism laws against the common 'alien' in Britain. This could have been the right opportunity to bring to the forefront this issue. But Ms. Shetty took a U-turn where there was none, and escaped withougt being fined for it. She simply took back all her allegations at the end of the show; when she had won, of course. Shilpa, the 'hero', took the dias on the 30th day of the show to be declared as the winner, unanimously. She then went on to declare her 'love' for the audience and the people of Britain. I read arguments from people, saying authors like me have no right to criticize Shilpa because we have no idea what they go through everyday. I fully agree with them; there is only one flaw though. Neither does Ms. Shetty! By taking back her allegations, she has blatantly discarded the plight of thousands of Indians, for whom, her so-called 'Reality TV show' is a way of life! I would suggest to my critics to try and reason out for themselves the fact that Ms. Shetty has been well paid; and for all she cares, all's well, that ends well!

I cannot say whether expelling practising doctors and interns from British medical facilities makes any more sense than this; but it sure brings certain pressing issues to the fore. Indians are being increasingly side lined; forced to return to their own country or flee to some other, in hope of living. The Government has not taken any decisive steps in this direction though; none that have taken to such proportions as the Shilpa-Goody scandal.

The Government would do well to take this up instead.

2006-07-17T06:05:00.000-07:00

I climbed onto the plinth that is my drawing room and groped for the light switch. As usual, my tube light, true to its name, takes about five minutes and some 5000 flashes before it picks up. I start swearing by the fifth flash or so, and continue for as long as the darned thing goes on. I turn on the fan and make my way into the kitchen to open the window. That is the only source of natural air for my house. I have long lost the habit of trusting my ceiling fan. It mostly just stays there, loading mother earth a few kilograms more. But today, it runs.

As I turned away from the window, I heard a rustle in the bottom shelf. I made my way back to the entrance of the kitchen without making another sound. I peeked in; confident of the safety of the wall (my kitchen doesn’t have a door). I couldn’t see anything. Maybe I was imagining things. Since I have combated nature’s predators before, I was now surer of my instincts to pick them out from the recesses of my house. So I went a little closer to have a better look. Lo and behold! Mr. Frog! He is perched royally on the side of the cardboard box.

Mr. Frog is quite a familiar creature actually. I know each and every bone in his body. I studied him in biology, after all; what with all those carpals and meta-carpals, those tibia and fibula. I know him to be a very slow creature; remarkably lazy he is, they taught me. But nothing had prepared me for what was coming. I put one step forward.

All I could see was a green streak pass before my eyes. Mr. Frog jumped across like a flash of lightning and before I knew he was at the far end of the kitchen, smartly perched on the gas stove. Curse my teachers for lying to me. I stood still, my brain still processing the ‘supernatural’ event that had just occurred before my eyes. The normally relaxed I had turned into a bundle of rattled nerves. Somehow the frog looked more alien to me than before. Unsure of what is going on in his brain, of what his next move is going to be, of how he is going to outwit me, I went back a little and grabbed my only chance of survival; the broom.

The broom is a very strategic tool, if you come to think of it. It enhances your attack (you can attack from afar, like in those old English movies where they hurl boulders from afar); it improves your cover and it even cleans up after the ‘battle’. For instance, if you were to swing at Mr. Frog and if he were to jump, at the same time, then you could break his trajectory using he broom. Cut your swing short and bring the broom to rest, in mid air, abruptly. The lower strands of the broom will come to a stop before the mass of upper-layer strands do; the upper mass keeps moving with inertia and falls in line with the lower mass, thus creating a ‘shield’; an impenetrable fortress. I swung at Mr. Frog. He leapt again, this time landing on the cooker. He turned around to face me.

I was feeling like Agent Smith, facing ‘Neo’ (Mr. Frog), who was to run, but chose to turn back and face me instead. I would say, “Do you see the broom of inevitability, Mr. Frog?!!” and he would say, “My name… is Neo” and jump! I would hit the roof of the kitchen and the broom would miss ‘Neo’ by a whisker. (Ok. Frogs do not have whiskers. C’mon! I don’t have a better example.) And then Neo would climb up the cooker and onto the window sill; and return to the Nebuchadnezzar. The resistance will not lose ‘The One’.

He jumped, head on this time. I brought the broom to the fore and swung down. It caught Mr. Frog squarely on the head and he fell to the floor. Now was my only chance of driving him out of the house. I stepped aside and prodded him to move on toward the living room and then out the door. Either he was incredibly smart or incredibly stupid. He turned back and started toward the wall at the other end of the kitchen, finding refuge temporarily under the lower shelves, with Mr. Roach to give him company. He would be banished too, I decided, once Mr. Frog is dealt with. I charged again, and swung at Mr. Frog yet again. He moved toward the left wall and positioned himself at the absolute corner. Poor guy, he thought I wouldn’t try to reach him in that far recess of nature. I dug him out from that corner by another prod of the broom. This time, though, Mr. Frog showed a little more sense in handling the situation. He headed for the living room. I followed him down the hallway and into the living room.

Frogs show an amazing aversion to the main door, the easiest way out. Instead they grope around all the walls and try to sneak out through holes meant for ants. So would Mr. Frog. I expected as much. Before Mr. Frog could so much as imagine of going for the wall, I swept him across the floor to position him exactly in front of the open front door. I was just one sweep away from victory. But as I just said, frogs show an amazing aversion for the main door. Mr. Frog made for my shoe, again with startling speed. Before I could react, he had firmly lodged himself in the recesses of my shoe.

I had no idea how far inside he had gone. What if I pick up the shoe and he jumps out straight at me. Well, I do know that frogs do not bite, because they hardly have any teeth that are good enough to bite. And it would be stupid to be imagining a frog-bite. But fear, as it is widely known, has its roots in irrationality. And so after much contemplation, I picked up the shoe with a swift motion of the hand, carried it out of the house and placed it on the compound wall. I had just succeeded in that when another thought came to me. What if ‘Neo’, given his immense physical potential, would start flying around in the shoe push the shoe over the ledge. Then I would have to grope around for my prized possession in pitch darkness. Not a very comforting thought. I picked it up and placed it on the ground. That way, even if Neo managed start flying with my shoe, I had a better chance of breaking his flight.

I turned the shoe on its head and hit the sole with the butt of the broom a couple of times. Mr. Frog was lying on the ground under the mouth of the shoe. I carefully lifted the shoe and looked at the vanquished. He still just stood there, ‘royally’, glaring at me with jet black eyes. I turned around and went back in, my work done, leaving him to Mother Nature.

Now, shall we, Mr. Roach?

2006-04-27T04:33:00.000-07:00

I am walking along the side of the road, unsure of which way to go for my next meal. Well, it’s not that I have no idea where my next meal is coming from. I just haven’t figured which way to go. I reach the main road, still quite unsure. The default dining place is a small eatery just opposite to where I stand. It’s called ‘Karpagam Hot Spot’, and it is quite hot inside. I look around a little bit, trying to decide what to do. I see another hotel beside my Hot Spot. That’s the one I used to go to, before what has now become of me. And then there is ‘Hot Chips’ (oh yes!!! Everything is HOT around here…) which is about two kilometers from where I stand. Hmmm. Nah! It’s too stressful! Come to think of it, there’s ‘Woodlands’ just round the next corner and it’s pretty decent, but I really hate the ambience, and the service. The guy takes one year to bring two naans and a plate of dal. Of course there’s ‘Delhi Chat’ which is another half kilometer from where I stand. That’s quite good too. I used to go there as well. As a matter of fact, I used to order food regularly from the guy, until he started screwing up the deliveries. He forgot that there is a poor soul lying here, in the recesses of nature, waiting for his kindness. He just wouldn’t deliver. And suddenly I found myself calling him up everyday screaming my head off in hunger. At the end of the month, I paid him his due, cursed him till I was satisfied, and then vowed to myself that I would never set foot on the land of that ungrateful wretch. And I am not going to break that vow. Rejected. ‘Food Fiesta’ comes up a little further away from ‘Delhi Chat’. But that’s too further up. Nah!

All options exhausted, I start towards my ‘Hot Spot’. There’s quite a lot of traffic and I stand at the edge of the road, waiting for the signal to go Red. It’s quite frustrating, you know, when you want that thing to turn red, and it just wouldn’t change, and the traffic keeps coming and coming and coming! Slowly the traffic starts widening, and I get pushed backwards more and more. I keep looking at the signal every other second. Finally! It’s Red! I walk like a king on the road that’s empty of all traffic for the moment.

I walk up the steps of my Hot Spot. I shall have to first pay the money, get the token, and give the token to the cook at the far end, who immediately cooks up whatever is printed on my token. I stand in the queue for the token. I look up at the menu list on the top of the wall, trying to decide what to eat today. I must confess; there is no item on that list I haven’t tried. Today it’s the turn of ‘Oru Plate Idli, oru kal dosai’. And so I walk up to the cook with my future idli and kal dosai in hand. I give him the token and he acknowledges. I sit at a table and wait.

He gives me the idli within a moment. I sit down to eat. I am not supposed to eat any pulippu because of my current stomach condition; the doctor’s advice. I am suffering from amoebic dysentery, yet again. By now I have gotten used to that feeling of utter weakness, heavy-headedness and unshakeable sleep. Coming back to the point, I finish my idli and wait in line for the kal dosai.

It’s really difficult to say who is at fault, but what happens next is why I am writing this whole story. I stand waiting for my kal dosai, while another gentleman is eating away at a plain dosai, and, as I am to learn later, waiting for an oothappam. The guy at the counter brings out two plates. One has two small dosais with chutney and sambar, while the other has one larger dosai. No one seems to be interested in either of them. I am pretty sure that one of them is mine. I just didn’t know which one. I move forward to ask the guy for my order. But before I can say anything, he looks at me and nods, as if to ask me what is it that I had ordered. There’s quite a din there, the kitchen being right beside us. And so, not wanting to scream, I mouth the words ‘Kal Dosai’. He points a finger in the direction of the two plates. I go back. Now is where everything went awry.

I look at the two plates, not able to identify the kal dosai from the other ‘thing’. I keep looking for a long moment, trying to reason out which one it should logically be. There is one plate with two dosais and another with just one. I am aware that I have ordered only one dosai, so the one with the two dosais surely doesn’t seem to be my order. I have ordered for only one! So with sound logical reasoning, I reach out and take the place with one dosai. I sit at another table and start feasting. After a few moments, I see the waiter walking around, looking for a customer who has ordered ‘kal dosai’. That’s me!!! I look down at my plate to see what it is that I am eating. The guy to whom I had asked for my order, directs the waiter to my table.

I am sitting at my table, like a jack ass, looking back and forth between the plate and the waiter. ‘Athu kal dosai aana ithu enna?!!!’ ‘Athu oothappam, sir!’. The guy I mentioned before, the one who was eating away at his plain dosai; this guy has ordered a plain oothappam and is waiting rather impatiently. I look at him and say rather dumbly, ‘Sorry sir, plate maathi iduthuten…’. ‘Oh, neenga thaana antha plate iduthathu!’ I don’t know how to react to that comment, so I force a smile. I guess my face says it all, for he looks away from me and goes back to the counter asking for his order. The guy at the counter, is equally angry. ‘Avar plate maathi iduthutaar, saar! Avarukku pota kal dosai inga irukku! Avaru onga oothappam iduthutaar !!!’. The people around start following this conversation rather closely, like vultures who move in on their prey; alone and spent. I do not dare to look around, for they might see through me; see the emotions churning the inside of me like a concrete mixture; see my face which surely would have turned pink by now. I say again, more dumbly than before, ‘sorry sir! Maathi iduthuten…’. Nobody says anything. Maybe they are too shocked to see someone of such intellectual ability, as to mistake an oothappam for a kal dosai.

I look back at the plate. There is a half dosai, half oothappam to be more precise, still there. I curse the oothappam for coming into existence at the same exact moment that my kal dosai did. I do not hear from them anymore. They continue packing more food for more waiting customers, and stare at me with rage in their eyes. I look away from them for the third time, and eat faster. I pick up the last piece of oothappam and simultaneously get up from the chair. The wash basin, that blasted thing, is right next to the same counter! I shall have to walk all the way back.

I start walking towards the wash basin, slowly at first, as if by doing that, I shall be somehow to restore the lost dignity. Halfway down, I make a break for it, no longer able to stand the dozen-or-so eyes staring at me continuously. I half wash my hands and almost run back out of the hotel.

Reaching home, I breathe a sigh of relief. I might have as well gone for the dozen other options I listed before. But I guess this just had to happen! I calculate that I have cost him an oothappam and a kal dosai, and one angry customer.

Well, that’s me.

Ambushed!!!

2006-04-09T22:15:00.001-07:00

I could hear them hovering at a distance. The faint buzz was unmistakable. I managed to pull myself out of the recesses of my sleep and it was then that I noticed. The sounds were not the sound of some far off enemy drones; it was the sound of bees!!! About fifteen bees had made their way into the bathroom and were buzzing around in the darkness. I groped for the light switch. My first sight, as the light spread through the room, was a battalion of bees coming straight at me. I felt like that guy out of the Michael Crichton novel ‘Prey’; his micro-robots come attacking in a swarm of black dust; an invincible quarry. As I was reveling in the heroic character, I realized that they were going for the light. I stepped away from the bulb and they converged on it trying to get inside; ramming it with all they’d had. I observed that they were growing in number, even as I was watching them go about their act.

I stepped out of the bathroom; I had no choice. I realized that I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer, though. Well, I thought, so be it. I stepped in again and made my way to the ‘hot seat’. I tried to make haste, but you know how these things are! The more I pushed forward, the more it pulled back. And so I came back out again, quite desperate and certainly more annoyed. It’s going to be a great day.

I sat at the front door, wondering what to do next. I glanced at the beehive that is still mounted on my front door grill. I had tried to demolish that one the previous night, in vain of course. It still stays on stubbornly; the bees go round and round the hive, happily, gleefully. Maybe this was some kind of punishment nature was subjecting me to, for having tried something so heinous. I realized that they will never leave the bathroom unless I force them to! And considering the logistics of this operation, I would be risking having to take them head on. I switched off the light and closed the bathroom door. I began the long wait; for dawn.

As I sat there in the darkness, I could feel the dawn growing and with it, a growing sense of hope. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad when its day. But I had no idea how bad it was going to get. At 6 a.m. after about an hour’s wait, I slowly opened the door of the bathroom. I looked around and found them shortly, on the window net, right opposite to where I was standing. It was then that I saw a larger, bulkier creation through the window. It was a kind of slow, steady, zigzag movement which I couldn’t quite comprehend. Then it dawned on me, painfully. Another beehive! Right next to the window!

I stood for a long moment, staring at god’s creation; then turned and went back into my living room. This was bad! This was worse than bad! Fifteen bees were formidable; a hundred and fifty was abominable! I stood in the middle of the room, totally numb and considerably shaken. I saw the time; ten minutes past six. I don’t know how long I stood there, but after what seemed like eternity, I went back towards the bathroom, my steps more certain. They had to be lured out, toward the door of the bathroom and then out, or be driven out, which didn’t seem quite possible.

I looked around, not sure what I was looking for. My eyes fell on the water below and a thought struck me. I picked up the mug and filled it with water. I stood at the bathroom door, preparing to run as soon as I am done. With a giant heave, I threw the water towards the window, and ran for dear life. Standing at the far end of the living room, I waited. Nothing happened. Another long moment passed. Nothing. The silence was louder than ever before. I put one step toward the bathroom door, then another, and another. I reached the door of the bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest.

The bees would be reeling under such an aquatic assault, and they would try to get away from the wet net as fast as possible. When they would find that there was no way they were getting through that net, they would use ‘logic’, and come toward the door and then out. And then I would somehow find each one of them and drive them out of my den. That was how the plan was! I peeked in.

There they were all right! Right where I had left them; on the net, the stupid creatures, prancing around happily. They hadn’t moved an inch! The only thing that had moved was the water; thrown right out of the window, for no apparent reason! I leaned against the wall, looking for my next weapon of assault. Thirty minutes past six. It was getting brighter by the minute; the bathroom as dark as ever, pushing the bees to the light; willing the bees to go to the net, away from me. So then, nature was against me as well!

I could only see their silhouette on the net against the clear blue sky. I switched on the light again to get a better look. They were more in number than when I had first seen them. There were more on the window frame which I noticed only in the light. There they were, all at the net, playing, dancing, making merry. And here I was: quivering, intimidated, outnumbered, trying, planning, scheming to somehow get out of this alive; a sorry sight. As I looked on, not knowing what to do next, one of them approached the light. He sat on the wall, just below the light bulb, savouring his little bright yellow sun. I darted into the living room and grabbed a thick newspaper. I came back to the door as fast as possible, not wanting to lose him, folding the paper as I did. He was still there, lost in his own world.

I took position, and dealt my first blow. It caught him squarely on the head. Phew! One down. And I didn’t know how many more to go. I waited for more of them to make the same mistake. Another approached the light bulb, more cautiously than the first one. Must they be warning each other? I didn’t know that either; I didn’t care, as long as they came to the light bulb. I swung again. Another man down. And then they stopped coming all together, as if they’d sensed my presence. For another five to ten minutes, they stayed clear of the light bulb. Then another came, and another. I swung twice. Four down.

Four, no more. They stayed on the net, as if sure of their safety, and of course very close to their brethren on the ‘other side’. There were about six to eight still sitting on the net, stubbornly. I ran out of options yet again. I weighed the chances of hitting them as they were on the net. But they were scattered on the net and moving all the time. Even if I swung, I would get one of them, maybe two. But the rest of them would be alerted, and then maybe, god knows, come attacking. So to swing at the net, I had to be sure that I get as many of them as possible. That meant just one shot.

I moved in closer to the net and waited. They were quite cleverly staying clear of one another, so as to exceed the range of destruction of my ‘missile’. I waited a little more, for the right moment. They would converge at a point, a couple of times, but before I could bring myself to swing, they would go apart. I couldn’t take it any more. They came back around again, and this time, four of them converged at the centre of the net. It was now or never! I swung, and moved back in panic in case any one of them was to come stinging. Nothing came, so I moved back to survey the extent of damage my ‘missile’ had caused. I had gotten all four of them. Now I felt braver, having demolished most of their army. A couple still walked the net, oblivious to the blows. I swung again and found my mark both times.

I won! I had successfully vanquished the enemy, without any casualties. I went out of the bathroom, covered with sweat, congratulating myself on my victory. I had saved the pride of the human race, by single handedly defeating the enemy.

I set about cleaning the bathroom. I removed the ‘dead’, and set them outside the house, to be given a proper burial, a soldier’s burial; by mother-nature of course.

The battle has been won, but the war is far from over.

Till then I shall remain…

2005-10-31T10:21:00.000-08:00

10 00 Hours:-

I opened the door, to be greeted by a blast of high velocity air, and water. I closed the door in a hurry, dragging the newspaper inside as I did. That was the first time I was reading a newspaper dipped in water. Not much of a read. I wondered how there could be so much rain in Chennai, for this place hasn’t seen rain in about four years. Good for all of us, I guess. I called up my colleague to find out what he was up to. Apparently, he was as dumbstruck as I was. I guess the poor guy must have lost his senses; he left for office in the maddening rain, in a state transport bus. They declared a holiday before he could make it.

13 00 Hours:-

I looked out of the window. There seemed to be no sign of the rain letting up. That meant I would have to leave the safety of my enclave and venture out into that inclement weather for my morsel. So be it. I donned my under-sized raincoat and left the house, struggling with the rain cap (the blasted wind wouldn’t let me keep my cap on) before I realized it was to be tied the other way round. The road next to the house seemed pretty dry for all that rain. So, it wasn’t going to be so bad after all, I thought. I walked out of my street and entered the main road. Whoa! Wait a minute! I didn’t tell you about that god-forsaken dog that started barking again, as it so often does. The stupid dog thinks I am after its bone. The moron doesn’t seem to be able to tell a man from a dog.

Anyways, back to where I was. I entered the main road and behold; all I could see was knee deep water up to whatever distance my limited eyesight could afford. This was going to be a really grimy lunch. My first foot in the water; quite cold. I was walking in the middle of a road, in knee deep water; not something I get to do everyday. It was pretty exciting though. I must have been walking, no wading, for about five minutes, by which time, I usually would have reached the food joint. Today, I had modestly managed about 10 feet into the water. I had been advised, and wisely, to be on the lookout for fallen electrical wires. There were none. Neither were there any fallen trees, for the time being.

The ordeal ended, briefly, as I entered the food joint, dripping. As I started with my lunch, I came across an acquaintance from my CAT class. The guy had come with an umbrella, and was pretty dry. I fail to understand how he pulled that one off. Well, he asked me about my tests, and as usual I cribbed about the whole thing. So did he.

The wind had grown stronger by the time I finished. It was raining harder as well. It had grown to an extent where I could hardly see where I was walking. The walk back was much more taxing. As the wind increased in intensity, I fought my way through the water, watching the all too familiar strangers, waging their own private wars against nature's fury.

16 00 Hours:-

I managed to reach home in one piece. I was about to open the lock, when I realized that I hadn’t bought anything for the evening. I had been told that the weather was going to get worse as the day went by. So I set off again, thanking my stars that I didn’t have to go back to that same road this time. I came back with my purchases, which comprised of a couple of biscuit packets, a loaf of wheat bread and some cheese. I sat down on the bed, determined to put some hours of solid study. I fell asleep.

19 30 Hours:-

I woke up with a start; the weather had gone from bad to worse. I could hear the howling of the wind. The windows occasionally opened by themselves, only to be thrashed against the window pane; ghostly. I was reminded of movies like ‘The Haunted House’. Suddenly, as if by cue, the light went out. I was thrown into the infinite reaches of this black rainy Thursday. Feeling my way through nothing, I managed to reach the main door and wrenched it open. The wood had expanded and the door was starting to jam. It wasn’t any better outside. I was reminded of the snakes and bandicoots I had seen as I ‘served time’ in this house. So I went back into the darkness closing the door behind. Not much choice, I reckoned. I sat down on the bed and leaned against the wall, pulling the bed-sheet over me. Time had stopped, for it seemed as if the heavens would fall any moment. The weather was intimidating.

21 30 Hours:-

I woke up to the inviting brightness of my tube light. I was hungry again. I thought of the bread and the cheese, and thanked my folks for having brought the toaster along. But I realized that they alone wouldn’t suffice, what with those biscuits and groundnut balls. I looked out of the window for the n-th time that day. There was but a slight drizzle which seemed to be waning away. So I set out again, in search of some vegetables to stuff into my sandwiches. There is a vegetable shop nearby; my only hope of getting something as time slipped by slowly into those familiar small hours. I got into this shop where I noticed some onions at the far end. I got around to inspecting them. I must admit, that I hadn’t seen more rotten entities in my life, my ignorance of vegetables notwithstanding. But so did this other woman who looked equally lost in the ‘sea of the rotten’. So, I wasn’t the only one! After mining some more, I hit upon gold, or so I thought. I took home my ‘prized possessions’; cut them one by one. Rotten they were; every one of them. What a pleasant day!

00 00 Hours:-

I made another weak attempt at study; struggling with no-brainers. CAT isn’t for bird-brains, you know. I am yet to figure out when I dozed off.

So, would you like a sandwich?

2005-08-25T14:39:00.000-07:00

Its three a.m.; and my week doesn't seem to end. Who would have thought, when coming through those glass doors, that he would be really fortunate, who would be able to make it back home before its morning. I sometimes wonder; how an eight hour day might look like, for, its us, who create the culture of nights out in office. It has become quite pronounced of late. Those going to eat are looked upon as those 'living to eat' rather than the other way round. Those who skip lunch or dinner, as I just have, today, are seen as the true workaholics; appraised for their sheer commitment. Anybody leaving at the end of eight hours; oh! this guy seems to be out of work, 'on the bench', says corporate jargon. Substitutes, they are treated as. I hear of work culture in the US. They leave at five sharp, it seems, not one soul in sight after five minutes past five. Except, of course, our dearest onsite co-ordinators, who keep slogging their behinds off, in hope of, i don't know what. There was a time when I used to look down upon such guys; well!whaddaya know! I am one of them.

2005-06-08T06:36:00.000-07:00

I am at a loss of words. So don’t expect anything profound. The fact is, I have gone to almost everybody on this floor, in search of the perfect person who could teach me to get a decent web service up; not much luck. People have ended up in this place with as half-baked knowledge as mine. Ok. Not as half-baked as mine; maybe a little less.

In about a week's time the condition is:
"Sriram, can I ask you something?"
Oh, no!!! It's the web service guy again!!!
"Sure."
"What is a namespace?"
Dumb fellow; wonder how he got here. What is a namespace?!!!
"A namespace is a ......" The sermon lasts a couple of minutes.
"Thanks for the information."
"You're welcome."As long as you don’t come back.

I am back at my seat, trying fiercely to put down the profoundly enlightening piece of information I got from this guy. My memory has failed me yet again; I don’t remember a thing, because I didn’t understand a thing. My musings continue.

Oh! There comes my project lead.
"Hi Venkat."
"Hi!", with an emphatic smile.
"So, whats up with our web service?" says he.
"Uh....I am trying to construct a SOAP container for the XML data we are going to pass into the web service. The point is to make the web service interoperable so that it is accessible across platforms. The web service is going to pull the XML data out of the SOAP container, parse it and ping the database for corresponding database requests."
"Makes sense."
It does?!!! Doesn’t make any sense to me!!!
"And what about the business logic?"
Ah!!! Now you're coming to the point. I reel off all the garbage gathered collected by months of being in the same account(consider an account synonymous with a client).
"Cool!" Walks off.

Back to square one. Don’t know what that godforsaken namespace means.

2005-05-27T02:18:00.000-07:00

Warning: You are headed towards a pile of garbage. Please refrain from using your brain cells.

I started from home in the morning, hoping not to see his darned face again. But alas, there he was, waiting for me, right in the middle of the road. I slowed down a little; maybe he would comprehend that I have to pass by, and give me some space, and not embark on his daily ritual. But he seems to be pretty brainless, because he just stood there; he had not moved an inch. He was confronting me right there and then. As I accelerated, he moved to the left with lightning speed. And the next thing I knew, he was running right alongside me, howling and screaming like never before, his teeth pretty close to me. I lifted my legs, in a sort of high jump posture athletes take when they get off the board, and gave a generous acceleration to the vehicle. Going by the standards, I expected him to stop after a while, lose interest in his quarry. But he was professional; he was perseverant, diligent and most of all shrewd. Shrewd; here is why I say that.

It was about 9 pm. He saw me coming down the lane towards the house. Believe it or not, he pretended to be going into the neighboring house, one foot through the gate, as if trying to deceive his quarry into believing that he is going to be let off today, that he can sleep peacefully tonight. I neared the gate, with rising trepidation, almost believing that I had gone unnoticed. Suddenly he turned around, and started towards me again, with everything he’d got. I rushed toward my house, barely managing to make it into the gate. He just stood there, glowering.

Every journey into and out of my house is equally adventurous; thanks to such a loving dog,
supposedly an ex-pet of one of the neighbors.

2005-05-23T23:52:00.000-07:00

I woke up to the scream of the velakaari.
"Perukkanamaa?!!".
I got out of bed, mercury rising inside; fuming before I could get to the door. "Yevalavu kekareenga maasathukku, shanikazhamaiyum nyayathikazhamaiyum varanum?", I asked, smiling politely.
"400."
"Oru manshanukku, vaarathukku 2 naal varathukku, 400 aa?". She had shaken the daylights out of me.
"Pinna!!!" Yeah. Why not! I could ask my company to start paying you instead. I was still recovering from the assault, when she added, "Kodam roppi kudukka 100 kudu."

"Vendaam ma, 500 ellam kudukka mudiyathu." I said, smiling yet again.
"yeaa!!!", she persisted.
"Illai ma, kudukka mudiyathu. Romba jaasti." I said, holding my ground.
"Athu thaan ivvalavu sampathikkariye, koncha kaasu kudukkarathu thaane!!!" she retorted. Why you...!!!

She was getting on my nerves. I shook my head, trying to act like a disappointed customer. I wanted to chase her out to the end of the street, actually. For a moment, both of us fell silent. I reiterated, "Romba jaasti ma. Vendaam."
"Ennaya, vendaam...vendaamnundu!!! seri yevalavu tarai?!!"
"200." I said, mustering up all my courage, quoting less than half as I was.
"Poyaa!!!" She walked off.
And so ended my ordeal, me emerging the supreme winner in the "Battle of the Velakaari".

2005-05-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

I plan to shift to another house in about a fortnight. And I plan to stay alone. I believe that by staying alone, I will keep up the drive to work towards my goal single mindedly. I have sometimes.....no; most of the times felt that the attitude around me has kept me from pushing forward with an open heart. I would say that I am more afraid of failure itself, rather than what it would mean if I failed. I intend to purge this one fear from my system. And the first step to this, as I see, is to be away from any negative elements. Elements that keep that fear in me; elements that don't allow me to think rationally, but force me to look out for ways to slip out of such decisive situations. Failure would mean ridicule; not at my inability to succeed, but at the futile effort put into the process of trying. It would amount to bad decision making on my part; something which is given utmost importance in a world that is glutting with managers at breakneck speed.

Fear. Fear is the key to everything. Get the key, open the doors. There is no one to stop you from anything. I sometimes wonder how I would be without fear, and it gives me immense confidence. Alas, only for a moment. There's usually something or the other that I am not happy about; some trivial thing which makes me ponder and ponder; mostly thinking of what the fellow facing me must be thinking of me. How, in the name of God, does it matter?!! It does not. He doesn't know me, nor is interested. And even if he thinks I am a fool, so what? How does it matter to me? These words come easy, what doesn't come as easy is the attitude. As I write, I am more certain that I shall get over this silly thing once and for all. There will always be locusts and pests ready to pick on you. The key is in not bothering about them; not just showing from the outside that you don't bother, that is, with the idea of discouraging them; but from within. Fear is the key to freedom. Get the key. Open the doors and let the sun brighten up life.

2005-04-06T00:39:00.000-07:00

I don’t know why I had these dreams. I have never felt like this before. I felt no pain, no fear, no doubt about what I had to do next. I was smiling in the face of inevitability.

Over-whelming.... - I was driving my bike on the road well into the night. There were vehicles coming from the other side, and I was getting blinded by their headlights. There was an urgency in me that kept me back from slowing down. I don’t know what it was, but in my dream it was so obvious that there was no need to think of the problem. I could hardly see any one who seemed to be crossing the road in front of me. I had a helmet on, and the visor kept coming down. Suddenly, as I lifted the visor one more time, I found that my visibility was getting hampered by the helmet, whose open front part seemed to be closing in. With every passing second, I found that I was seeing less and less of the road, and still I had to keep going, as if knowing that there was no meaning of my existence if I slowed down or stopped now; as if it didn’t matter anymore what risk I took to get where I intended to. I just had to keep going. It must have been a few seconds of driving, when this huge thing came right in front of me, all of a sudden……….

This one was too much!!! - I could not see anyone on the beach, though I knew they were there. The waves were getting wilder by the moment. There was someone else with me. Someone whom I knew better than myself, and who would never leave me for anything, and whom I would never leave for anything (like the mother, who would never leave her child, or like the son who stays by his mother, come what may). It was so obvious that I didn’t even care to realize who it was. I was only happy that we were together again, at last.

The first big wave came right up front. There was a brick wall, behind which we were sitting. It hit the wall, and water splashed all around us, but we didn’t seem to be getting wet.

Then suddenly I realized that she was actually chained to something; albeit for some safety reason, which was equally implicit, but chained all the same. And then I was climbing down an underground structure, which seemed to be made of some kind of white metal to release her(I don't know who dug the hole for me to climb down). I found the member which had been put in place by one of the respected elders before(?!!!). It had mattered then, as it had been life saving. But now it needed to be removed. I released the ring on the end of the chain (the chain looked like the one we use to lock our luggage in the train, with rings on both ends). As she pulled, the ring got caught between two members of the structure. She pulled it out with a calm that I have never seen or felt before. I got out and as we moved away from the brick wall, the next wave broke right through, to exactly where we were sitting moments before. We silently congratulated each other for anticipating this. It was then that the final blow was dealt. Another wave came from the east, this one, bigger than anything anyone has ever seen; taller than a hundred buildings put together, bigger than any tsunami; an enormous wall, just like in the movies. A round structure broke off from its foundation and started rolling along with the wave, directly towards our group. I wasn’t feeling anything; fear, panic, nothing. Apparently, neither was she. We started walking towards the oncoming wave……..

Raincoat

2004-12-30T05:05:00.000-08:00

Finally, a lovely out-of-the-way movie by Rituparno Ghosh. Let me warn you, do not wait for anything to happen. Nothing will.

Its these little ups and downs of day-to-day life, that he has portrayed so well in the movie. The hero's hesitation in borrowing money, he being the idealistic Indian with that all too familiar ego and self-respect, portrays the director's deep analysis of the Indian psyche. The usually morose activities of everyday life are shown in greater detail, making them look deceptively simple to depict. The dialogues between Manoj(Devgan) and Neerja(Rai) are a delight. The focus has been rightly laid on individual performances by the cast(rather than the performance of the make-up artists and the dress designers...). It is extremely down to earth, no fantasizing about hero and heroine meeting again, no 'lived happily ever after' thing. None of the actors are glamourised in any way. Each has been shown with their faults and follies, but still accepting others as they are.

Devgan has been his usual best self. The subtlety of his acting is amazing. There is a scene where he takes out his mobile to answer a call. He has supposedly never used a mobile in his life, till his friend's wife teaches him how to use it. The way he fumbles with the instrument is in itself a master act. Rai has showed marked improvement in her expressions and dialogue delivery. Anu Kapoor is a viewer's treat, as usual.

There is literally no set prepared for the movie, just one run down house in kolkata. There are in all six characters in the movie. All six have a compelling presence in the movie. The abrupt ending leaves no room for second thought. One is forced to believe it could not have ended any other way (going by the 'down-to-earth' concept). This one is a stand-still, wholly enjoyable movie that has given the bollywood the much needed break from contemporary storylines. A must see.

2004-12-23T01:37:00.000-08:00

I have nothing to write about.......