I heard the distant sounds of the muezzin calling out the adhan. Somewhere in my mind I knew it was the second one that evening. The Isha'a. That felt odd, because I heard the Maghrib few minutes back. Or was that one hour back? I was not sure.
The past hour was a blur to me. So was the past couple of days and the people whom I had met during those days. All of it had become one confusion. I had smiled solemnly and asked the appropriate questions. Served the food and drinks, depending on the time of the day and the preference of the guest. But now I couldn't recollect faces nor their choices.
I had walked the length of the huge house at least a hundred times. Carrying messages, plates, glasses. Dragging along aching feet and a heavy heart.
Given a chance I would have run to some corner and drowned myself in tears.
But I couldn't do that. There were guests to attend to. People who had come to pay their respects to an old lady, who had lived a full life and passed on to another world.
They were here to show that they had cared about her and they too felt the loss.
She was no saint. She had the virtues and vices of being a woman.
During her 84 years on earth my grandmother had touched many lives. Given shelter to many in her home. Been a guide to children and grandchildren.
My sister and I had grown up under her watch in our ancestral home. She was an integral part of our childhood. There were few memories that would not include her.
She had sat with me during midnight studies and late night movies. She had enjoyed watching cricket and she adored Sachin. She had cried when Rajiv Gandhi passed away. She told us stories from the epics, while feeding us dinner. She encouraged us to play with kids in the neighborhood. She insisted that we should be back home before dark(being children, we used to hate it). She scolded us when we didn't study well. She prepared 'paayasam' on special occasions and would let us help her. She taught us about being children, being girls and then about being women.
Walking around the house, devoid of her presence, felt like walking over broken glass pieces. Each piece a memory, that pierced you and hurt you.
I watched her leave the house for the last time, carried by her sons, nephews and grandsons. My sister and I hugged each other and cried our hearts out. After that we had been busy with the guests.
I was listening to the adhan two nights later sitting at the table in our kitchen. My family was also there around the table. All busy with their tasks. We were cleaning and chopping, preparing for the next day.
Amongst all the hustle and bustle of the days, we forgot to cry. The people around us gave us a reason to remain sane. Their presence pushed us hard to go through daily chores. The pain was there but it was not tearing us down. They were around us like a shield, keeping us away from the pain.
I knew they wouldn't be there forever. It was just for a couple of days and after that they would be gone. But this would help us to get over the worst.
I know I will remember her always and all the values that she instilled would remain in me.
I know I can only treasure whatever she gave me and that I cannot create any more memories about her.
These days of sorrow, struggling and support would be the last chapter in the book of memories of my grandmother.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Tear
A tear is born.
It emerges from its birth place into a new world. It slips from my eyes and rolls down my cheek.
Beginning a long journey. Not knowing that at end of the journey it will be shattered into droplets.
While slipping it hopes that somebody will catch it. Someone will stop it from falling, by a loving gesture or a warm smile.
It wishes to be saved before it loses itself in the earth's womb.
Little does it know that the world doesnt have any tear-stoppers. Its only tear-makers that walk the earth.
When it reaches its destination it joins millions of it cousins, who suffered the same fate of hope and dejection.
And together they wait for the next one.
It emerges from its birth place into a new world. It slips from my eyes and rolls down my cheek.
Beginning a long journey. Not knowing that at end of the journey it will be shattered into droplets.
While slipping it hopes that somebody will catch it. Someone will stop it from falling, by a loving gesture or a warm smile.
It wishes to be saved before it loses itself in the earth's womb.
Little does it know that the world doesnt have any tear-stoppers. Its only tear-makers that walk the earth.
When it reaches its destination it joins millions of it cousins, who suffered the same fate of hope and dejection.
And together they wait for the next one.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Hop on and enjoy!!
The noise level around me was rising above the threshold of tolerance. It was confusion. It was chaos. It was the beginning of a journey. A journey like none other; a journey by Indian Railway locomotive.
Many have gone through this experience. Some of them who were talented writers have penned down their experiences. Some travellers who are not so good at writing, have poured ink into scores of pages in an attempt to describe them. Personally, I think both types have failed to recreate the experience. They cannot be faulted. Like bungee jumping or scuba diving, its something that is best experienced firsthand. You can read hundreds of books, but the experience will never be the same. No offense to all the famous authors out there, but nobody can capture the exact feel.
Smoke that curls up from the engine of a train, thick, black and sooty, touches the clean air and changes it irrevocably. It may not be evident, but the change is sure to have happened. The same way a journey in Indian Railways is sure to touch you.
If you want the real deal, the ideal choice would be an interstate train from a major station. Thanks to the varied culture across the states, you will get to see a lot of different stuff. From the language that swirls around you, the food that is sold in the train, the scenery, the people, dwellings, clothing. Its like a journey through a live-museum.
The stations where you embark on a journey is as entertaining as the journey. The noise level at the major stations are unbelievable.
Porters and vendors shouting. Luggage being bustled around. Long queues at the ticket counters and take-away counters. Announcements blaring at frequent intervals, in different languages. Mothers screaming at children, to keep them in control. Babies wailing at a high-pitch. And the cavernous station would seem like its trapping in all the noise.
You bump into people, individuals and groups of them. You will spill your coffee, drop your bags, stumble over people sleeping on the floor(yes, it does happen - you might even come across a make-shift kitchen), get sworn at by the porter for blocking his way and be jostled around by the crowd. The crowd is worse than at a carnival. You will be surprised to know only a quarter of the people who are at a station actually go on a journey. The rest are there to see off a loved one. Some people think that such a fuss is not necessary. But for some its a loving farewell, from their near and dear ones. The smells are as vivid as the sights.
Trains have a special smell. Its unique and indescribable. Its a mixture of the engine's smoke, metal frames and wooden berths. Smell of refuse is something common to all stations and trains. Smell of people getting ready for a journey and people arriving after long journeys. Trust me, you don't want to be around the second category.
Then there is the universal smell - the smell of coffee. Vendors shouting "Coffee, coffee" with big steel cans, hot coffee in paper cups and the smell wafting down the aisles. These are a part of everyone's memories of Indian Railways.
The shouts of vendors inside the compartments are sporadic. The noise levels of the passengers take a different curve. They peak at stations. At other times its a flat line. Not of silence, but of conversation amongst passengers and the ringtones of mobiles too. For a train that carries people coming from varying backgrounds, you will find it amusing that the passengers are friendly with each other. Though some are wary of socializing in trains, there are others who would give you their whole history with the least encouragement. There are some who are reluctant to ask the time of the day and some who don't mind asking really personal questions.
Come nightfall and the whole scene changes. Dinner packets torn open and shared(mostly home-packed meals). Confusion on berths sorted out. Sheets spread and pillows laid. Arguments on the window shutters (which one to be closed and to what height). Babies put to sleep after hours of cuddling and coaxing(cradles made out of sarees are a common sight). Meanwhile the children devise a game of climbing up and down the berths, intrigued by the novelty (in turn they stamp on your head and kick your back). All grandpas and grandmas turn in early and drift of to sleep easily. By the time the late-sleepers climb on they have trouble finding sleep amongst their snores. The lamps are switched on and off depending on whether a child is travelling(they need to go pee, then they need water and again they want to go pee..its an endless cycle).
Then there is the ruler on the travelling empire. The Travelling Ticket Examiner. Familiar to the passengers as TT. Adorned in black & white, he comes poking around to check tickets. Nine out of ten times, he will come after you have settled down to sleep. Cant blame him, because he has the difficult job of finding the illegally travelling ones. Fine them or shove them out, depending on his mood. Sort out odd complaints amongst passengers. Allot unoccupied seats to others in need. Deal with miscreants. Walk up and down whenever the train crosses a major station. Tough job.
During your journey, you will encounter children singing in different languages in the hope of earning money (if you actually know the language, you can make out that the lyrics are rubbish). Then the regular bunch of beggars - blind ones, ones with the yellow/pink/blue cards summarizing the tragedy that occurred in their life, invalid ones who sweep the train, young mothers with tiny, malnourished babies and many other heart-wrenching ones. Vendors are many and wares being sold on the train are innumerable - pirated CDs/DVDs, handbooks on everything under the sun(Internet made easy, Indian recipes, Exercise tips, Your stars and future, Lyrics of songs, Gardening, etc), homemade snacks, musical instruments, curios to attract children.
Passengers who travel on daily basis have a fraternity of their own. A friendship that was developed somewhere between their home-office shuttles. They look out for each other. Have woes and joys to share. They talk about matters regarding their office and their struggles at home. Some of them catch up on sleep during these journeys, while others cut vegetables or mend clothes. Students read up for tests in the morning and in the evening you can see their papers being evaluated by professors. On occasions that call for a celebration coffee and snacks are sponsored by the host. Such simple things bring joy to them. Break the monotony of their lives.
All these people, places, sights and noises makes the train journey on Indian Railways. And I love it. I admit, that there have been times when I wanted to tear out my hair. When couples decide to celebrate honeymoon in the midst of a packed train; when a passenger decide to become over-friendly and ask unnecessary questions; when men misbehave with lady travellers; when people brag about how things are different in US (aaaaahhhhhhh!!!!); when a loud-mouthed fellow decides to give a lecture to fellow passengers; when people ignore the rule of one person per ticket. And so many other instances too.
But more than these annoying incidents I like to recollect the nice memories of train journeys. The train journeys that excited me as a child, became a routine during my college life. Now I am a regular traveller to a neighboring state. Over the years I have had my share of experiences. I have travelled in compartments with AC and curtains that give you privacy. I have also travelled in general compartments where you cant get enough air to breathe.
Every journey was different. A concerned granny who asked if I had something to eat. A small boy who wanted to know if I had met his cousin on the way. A gang of friends enjoying the feeling of togetherness, singing into the wee hours of night. A baby pampered by his parents. A lady who fought for me against a huge crowd who was choking me. A sweet girl who was amused at meeting a new aunty (I have to confess, that I dint like the aunty part). A fellow-traveller(who was apparently from a foreign country) flustered at the sight of a group of young girls who were on a mehendi-applying spree.
Its not just me. I am sure everybody who has travelled in Indian Railways have their memories. Some bad, some good. I have read in newspapers about women giving birth on trains, passengers who were murdered, people who found their life partners during a journey, derailed trains resulting in loss of numerous lives. All those events are now memories in the minds of people who witnessed them.
In an abstract sense Indian Railways could be considered a representation of our country. A slow and steady development. Years ago it was born as a disconnected railway system, but now it is one amongst the world's largest rail networks. It provides employment to a large number of people, directly and indirectly. It provides a mode of transportation to all classes of people.
It is a mixture of the old and the new. The Indian Railways boasts of an on-line ticketing system(might not be the best, but a blessing for many of us) to book tickets on a network of rusted trains and dilapidated stations.
People come together everyday, contribute in small ways and with each passing day we are growing.
Welcome to Indian Railways. Hope you had a nice trip!!
Many have gone through this experience. Some of them who were talented writers have penned down their experiences. Some travellers who are not so good at writing, have poured ink into scores of pages in an attempt to describe them. Personally, I think both types have failed to recreate the experience. They cannot be faulted. Like bungee jumping or scuba diving, its something that is best experienced firsthand. You can read hundreds of books, but the experience will never be the same. No offense to all the famous authors out there, but nobody can capture the exact feel.
Smoke that curls up from the engine of a train, thick, black and sooty, touches the clean air and changes it irrevocably. It may not be evident, but the change is sure to have happened. The same way a journey in Indian Railways is sure to touch you.
If you want the real deal, the ideal choice would be an interstate train from a major station. Thanks to the varied culture across the states, you will get to see a lot of different stuff. From the language that swirls around you, the food that is sold in the train, the scenery, the people, dwellings, clothing. Its like a journey through a live-museum.
The stations where you embark on a journey is as entertaining as the journey. The noise level at the major stations are unbelievable.
Porters and vendors shouting. Luggage being bustled around. Long queues at the ticket counters and take-away counters. Announcements blaring at frequent intervals, in different languages. Mothers screaming at children, to keep them in control. Babies wailing at a high-pitch. And the cavernous station would seem like its trapping in all the noise.
You bump into people, individuals and groups of them. You will spill your coffee, drop your bags, stumble over people sleeping on the floor(yes, it does happen - you might even come across a make-shift kitchen), get sworn at by the porter for blocking his way and be jostled around by the crowd. The crowd is worse than at a carnival. You will be surprised to know only a quarter of the people who are at a station actually go on a journey. The rest are there to see off a loved one. Some people think that such a fuss is not necessary. But for some its a loving farewell, from their near and dear ones. The smells are as vivid as the sights.
Trains have a special smell. Its unique and indescribable. Its a mixture of the engine's smoke, metal frames and wooden berths. Smell of refuse is something common to all stations and trains. Smell of people getting ready for a journey and people arriving after long journeys. Trust me, you don't want to be around the second category.
Then there is the universal smell - the smell of coffee. Vendors shouting "Coffee, coffee" with big steel cans, hot coffee in paper cups and the smell wafting down the aisles. These are a part of everyone's memories of Indian Railways.
The shouts of vendors inside the compartments are sporadic. The noise levels of the passengers take a different curve. They peak at stations. At other times its a flat line. Not of silence, but of conversation amongst passengers and the ringtones of mobiles too. For a train that carries people coming from varying backgrounds, you will find it amusing that the passengers are friendly with each other. Though some are wary of socializing in trains, there are others who would give you their whole history with the least encouragement. There are some who are reluctant to ask the time of the day and some who don't mind asking really personal questions.
Come nightfall and the whole scene changes. Dinner packets torn open and shared(mostly home-packed meals). Confusion on berths sorted out. Sheets spread and pillows laid. Arguments on the window shutters (which one to be closed and to what height). Babies put to sleep after hours of cuddling and coaxing(cradles made out of sarees are a common sight). Meanwhile the children devise a game of climbing up and down the berths, intrigued by the novelty (in turn they stamp on your head and kick your back). All grandpas and grandmas turn in early and drift of to sleep easily. By the time the late-sleepers climb on they have trouble finding sleep amongst their snores. The lamps are switched on and off depending on whether a child is travelling(they need to go pee, then they need water and again they want to go pee..its an endless cycle).
Then there is the ruler on the travelling empire. The Travelling Ticket Examiner. Familiar to the passengers as TT. Adorned in black & white, he comes poking around to check tickets. Nine out of ten times, he will come after you have settled down to sleep. Cant blame him, because he has the difficult job of finding the illegally travelling ones. Fine them or shove them out, depending on his mood. Sort out odd complaints amongst passengers. Allot unoccupied seats to others in need. Deal with miscreants. Walk up and down whenever the train crosses a major station. Tough job.
During your journey, you will encounter children singing in different languages in the hope of earning money (if you actually know the language, you can make out that the lyrics are rubbish). Then the regular bunch of beggars - blind ones, ones with the yellow/pink/blue cards summarizing the tragedy that occurred in their life, invalid ones who sweep the train, young mothers with tiny, malnourished babies and many other heart-wrenching ones. Vendors are many and wares being sold on the train are innumerable - pirated CDs/DVDs, handbooks on everything under the sun(Internet made easy, Indian recipes, Exercise tips, Your stars and future, Lyrics of songs, Gardening, etc), homemade snacks, musical instruments, curios to attract children.
Passengers who travel on daily basis have a fraternity of their own. A friendship that was developed somewhere between their home-office shuttles. They look out for each other. Have woes and joys to share. They talk about matters regarding their office and their struggles at home. Some of them catch up on sleep during these journeys, while others cut vegetables or mend clothes. Students read up for tests in the morning and in the evening you can see their papers being evaluated by professors. On occasions that call for a celebration coffee and snacks are sponsored by the host. Such simple things bring joy to them. Break the monotony of their lives.
All these people, places, sights and noises makes the train journey on Indian Railways. And I love it. I admit, that there have been times when I wanted to tear out my hair. When couples decide to celebrate honeymoon in the midst of a packed train; when a passenger decide to become over-friendly and ask unnecessary questions; when men misbehave with lady travellers; when people brag about how things are different in US (aaaaahhhhhhh!!!!); when a loud-mouthed fellow decides to give a lecture to fellow passengers; when people ignore the rule of one person per ticket. And so many other instances too.
But more than these annoying incidents I like to recollect the nice memories of train journeys. The train journeys that excited me as a child, became a routine during my college life. Now I am a regular traveller to a neighboring state. Over the years I have had my share of experiences. I have travelled in compartments with AC and curtains that give you privacy. I have also travelled in general compartments where you cant get enough air to breathe.
Every journey was different. A concerned granny who asked if I had something to eat. A small boy who wanted to know if I had met his cousin on the way. A gang of friends enjoying the feeling of togetherness, singing into the wee hours of night. A baby pampered by his parents. A lady who fought for me against a huge crowd who was choking me. A sweet girl who was amused at meeting a new aunty (I have to confess, that I dint like the aunty part). A fellow-traveller(who was apparently from a foreign country) flustered at the sight of a group of young girls who were on a mehendi-applying spree.
Its not just me. I am sure everybody who has travelled in Indian Railways have their memories. Some bad, some good. I have read in newspapers about women giving birth on trains, passengers who were murdered, people who found their life partners during a journey, derailed trains resulting in loss of numerous lives. All those events are now memories in the minds of people who witnessed them.
In an abstract sense Indian Railways could be considered a representation of our country. A slow and steady development. Years ago it was born as a disconnected railway system, but now it is one amongst the world's largest rail networks. It provides employment to a large number of people, directly and indirectly. It provides a mode of transportation to all classes of people.
It is a mixture of the old and the new. The Indian Railways boasts of an on-line ticketing system(might not be the best, but a blessing for many of us) to book tickets on a network of rusted trains and dilapidated stations.
People come together everyday, contribute in small ways and with each passing day we are growing.
Welcome to Indian Railways. Hope you had a nice trip!!
Musings #2
A familiar question at every wake of life - 'What are your achievements?'.
Today I heard my colleague referring to a couple who dedicated their lives to the vocation of teaching. They had helped kids to learn and develop. To make something out of themselves. But my colleague thinks that they have not achieved anything in life.
That left me pondering over the question. What about me? Have I achieved anything?
What are the standards for assessing your achievements? What are the kind of achievements that matter? Is it the physical assets and monetary value of them that should be considered as achievements? Or is it the less tangible ones like friendship and family bonding that matters? Or maybe its the spiritual achievements that are important.
The question is simple. But who can answer it.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Musings #1
In this modern world of ours, we are so pressed for time, we cant express words in the way they were meant to be. 'Where are you' is now 'w r u'. 'What you see is what you get' becomes 'WYSIWYG' (thats actually funny, because what you see is not what it means). 'KISS' is not a way of expressing your affection. It just means 'KEEP IT STRAIGHT and SIMPLE' (wish we could apply KISS on a kiss).
It doesnt stop there. Twisting words is in. Cool is not cool anymore, its kewl. Thank you has not been twisted into danq. Love is just luv. And so many others too.
Sometimes, very rarely, I wish people would take the time to say things as they were meant to be said.
But then I couldnt insist on that, because who am I to say that this is the way it should be said. All these were words formed by people like us.
Someone, somewhere at some point of time decided that a particular word means something and there will be these many alphabets in that word and they will be pronounced in this manner (have you ever wondered who found words and who defined what a word is...strange).
Over the centuries, people have been inventing new words. They put together alphabets to give birth to new words.
In this world of change and improvisation, every thing in this world is getting smaller and lighter. Words are going through a similar transition. And its bound to go a long way too.
Maybe centuries down the lane, people will take a reverse route. Maybe they will form new words not knowing that long back these words were part of a vocabulary and the same were buried along with their ancestors. Maybe the words which were forgotten due to non-usage will be born again.
Maybe they will get a notion that 'danq' is not kewl and 'thank you' sounds cool.
And maybe someone will re-discover 'love'.
It doesnt stop there. Twisting words is in. Cool is not cool anymore, its kewl. Thank you has not been twisted into danq. Love is just luv. And so many others too.
Sometimes, very rarely, I wish people would take the time to say things as they were meant to be said.
But then I couldnt insist on that, because who am I to say that this is the way it should be said. All these were words formed by people like us.
Someone, somewhere at some point of time decided that a particular word means something and there will be these many alphabets in that word and they will be pronounced in this manner (have you ever wondered who found words and who defined what a word is...strange).
Over the centuries, people have been inventing new words. They put together alphabets to give birth to new words.
In this world of change and improvisation, every thing in this world is getting smaller and lighter. Words are going through a similar transition. And its bound to go a long way too.
Maybe centuries down the lane, people will take a reverse route. Maybe they will form new words not knowing that long back these words were part of a vocabulary and the same were buried along with their ancestors. Maybe the words which were forgotten due to non-usage will be born again.
Maybe they will get a notion that 'danq' is not kewl and 'thank you' sounds cool.
And maybe someone will re-discover 'love'.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Die another day
Note : This story is based on real characters and incidents.
I paced the perimeter of the enclosure. I couldn't believe it. Tonight I had lost my reputation of being untouchable. This time I had crossed the limits I had set for myself. I had known I was playing with danger. But then what is life without a little danger and the excitement that comes with it. Many a time I had come across touch and go situations. But I had never been caught. This was my first time. I tried not to panic. I took deep breaths and settled into a corner of the enclosure.
I thought about Houdini and his skills. I wish I had read up on him. I wish I had allowed myself the luxury of browsing through few pages on the tricks of guys like him, who could get out of any kind of traps or enclosures. Being the sole bread winner of a big family I couldn't risk wasting time on such trivialities.
I thought about my family. In few more hours they will be expecting my return. They will worry about me and then they will worry about food. Cant blame them. That is basic nature. More than personal loss they would worry about survival. My wife would have to take up my role. She will have to take care of my blind parents and kids. How many were there?? Last time I counted there were 12. But no knowing, how many strays my wife had picked up. She was a softie when it came to kids.
The panic rose again. It was like an invisible force around my neck trying to strangle me. I stood up and extended myself to my full height, which was not much. I was short as compared to the standards. But then I never cared. I had taken up my deficiency in height as a challenge. I had worked hard to build a reputation for myself. I wouldn't be bragging if I said that I am somewhat a legend amongst people who know me. I chuckled to myself. Seems like my enemies know that too. Why else would they go to such lengths for an execution? The operation was well planned. It was obvious that they had been watching my movements for a while now. I was sure there were at least two people involved. This was not the kind of thing you can organize single-handedly. And I was glad too. It would have dented my pride if I was captured by a single one. It was something to be proud of. Except that I knew I wouldn't be getting out of here to brag about this adventure.
I looked around. Three of the walls were solid wood. There were small gaps in between; but they were too small. Above and below was the same wood but without gaps. The entrance was a slanting meshed gate, which could be operated only from outside. Artificial light was streaming in through the entrance and the gaps on either side. Too much light. Too much brightness. When I thought about the end of this adventure, the light seemed a depressing factor. I might not live to see another day in sunlight. I might not see my wife and kids. I stopped that train of thought. There was no point in going there. It would only make me more desperate.
I snuggled up in a corner and tried to sleep. Better to be bright and fresh during the last hours of life. As I drifted of scenes from my childhood flashed past. Growing up in a small house with lots of siblings around. It was always a survival of the fittest. Though small in demeanor I managed to stay ahead of my brothers and sisters.
I didn't always play by rules. But then I was a loyal guy. Had fallen in love with a female, managed few flings in between and then married another one. She was the right kind of wife any guy could find. Patient, good at taking care and the best part was that she never asked questions. No nagging from her. I don't know whether I love her, but then I couldn't live without her. So maybe there was some kind of affection that had bloomed between us. At my wedding, many had made fun of us. They said that we make a cute and tiny pair. I wouldn't say I took the 'tiny' part to heart, but then I sired 12 little ones and proved that we were no tiny pair. Oh no. We had 12 little ones to prove that. With the pride swelling my heart, I slept peacefully forgetting the impending danger.
Voices woke me from slumber. There were three of them. Yippee!!! My guess was right. Three of them had to pitch in to capture me. Not bad. I gave myself a pat on the back. But then I froze. My fate was being decided. Their conversation was no light-hearted banter. They were discussing cold blooded murder.
One suggested drowning. The other said poisoning. The third one kept quiet and watched me. The first one was getting impatient and wanted to know the action plan. The second one was contemplating the possibility of burying me alive. I tried to tune out the conversation. Brave as I was, I couldn't listen to the possible causes of my death impassively. How could they be so heartless, I wondered. Ironically they were all women. Women are known for their forgiving nature and sympathy for ones in trouble. There was no trace of sympathy in their voices. Some breed of women!!
The third one spoke up slowly and reluctantly. Why don't we take him some where far and let him free? Hope sprang up somewhere inside me.I listened intently to the other two. They were talking in raised voices. Are you crazy? We planned this capture for so long and now you want to set him free? Do you have any idea about the losses we have suffered because of this pest? Do you want to go through all of it again? Throughout the torrent the third one kept quiet. At the end of it she advocated for me, strongly and passionately. The other two gave in. They were not happy about it. But then the third one had picked on the moral side of their actions. Committing murder was not a good thing. So they decided to let me go.
They transported the enclosure to another location, far away from their base and opened the door. I scrambled out, turned around to look at them and thanked them with all my heart. My Charlie's angels. They watched me scamper into the gutter, wondering what the squeaking was all about.
My heart was soaring. I was lost. That was OK. I was alive. And that is what mattered. I could find my way to our mouse-hole, even if I had to travel all the way from Alaska.
I was to live today. And die another day.
I paced the perimeter of the enclosure. I couldn't believe it. Tonight I had lost my reputation of being untouchable. This time I had crossed the limits I had set for myself. I had known I was playing with danger. But then what is life without a little danger and the excitement that comes with it. Many a time I had come across touch and go situations. But I had never been caught. This was my first time. I tried not to panic. I took deep breaths and settled into a corner of the enclosure.
I thought about Houdini and his skills. I wish I had read up on him. I wish I had allowed myself the luxury of browsing through few pages on the tricks of guys like him, who could get out of any kind of traps or enclosures. Being the sole bread winner of a big family I couldn't risk wasting time on such trivialities.
I thought about my family. In few more hours they will be expecting my return. They will worry about me and then they will worry about food. Cant blame them. That is basic nature. More than personal loss they would worry about survival. My wife would have to take up my role. She will have to take care of my blind parents and kids. How many were there?? Last time I counted there were 12. But no knowing, how many strays my wife had picked up. She was a softie when it came to kids.
The panic rose again. It was like an invisible force around my neck trying to strangle me. I stood up and extended myself to my full height, which was not much. I was short as compared to the standards. But then I never cared. I had taken up my deficiency in height as a challenge. I had worked hard to build a reputation for myself. I wouldn't be bragging if I said that I am somewhat a legend amongst people who know me. I chuckled to myself. Seems like my enemies know that too. Why else would they go to such lengths for an execution? The operation was well planned. It was obvious that they had been watching my movements for a while now. I was sure there were at least two people involved. This was not the kind of thing you can organize single-handedly. And I was glad too. It would have dented my pride if I was captured by a single one. It was something to be proud of. Except that I knew I wouldn't be getting out of here to brag about this adventure.
I looked around. Three of the walls were solid wood. There were small gaps in between; but they were too small. Above and below was the same wood but without gaps. The entrance was a slanting meshed gate, which could be operated only from outside. Artificial light was streaming in through the entrance and the gaps on either side. Too much light. Too much brightness. When I thought about the end of this adventure, the light seemed a depressing factor. I might not live to see another day in sunlight. I might not see my wife and kids. I stopped that train of thought. There was no point in going there. It would only make me more desperate.
I snuggled up in a corner and tried to sleep. Better to be bright and fresh during the last hours of life. As I drifted of scenes from my childhood flashed past. Growing up in a small house with lots of siblings around. It was always a survival of the fittest. Though small in demeanor I managed to stay ahead of my brothers and sisters.
I didn't always play by rules. But then I was a loyal guy. Had fallen in love with a female, managed few flings in between and then married another one. She was the right kind of wife any guy could find. Patient, good at taking care and the best part was that she never asked questions. No nagging from her. I don't know whether I love her, but then I couldn't live without her. So maybe there was some kind of affection that had bloomed between us. At my wedding, many had made fun of us. They said that we make a cute and tiny pair. I wouldn't say I took the 'tiny' part to heart, but then I sired 12 little ones and proved that we were no tiny pair. Oh no. We had 12 little ones to prove that. With the pride swelling my heart, I slept peacefully forgetting the impending danger.
Voices woke me from slumber. There were three of them. Yippee!!! My guess was right. Three of them had to pitch in to capture me. Not bad. I gave myself a pat on the back. But then I froze. My fate was being decided. Their conversation was no light-hearted banter. They were discussing cold blooded murder.
One suggested drowning. The other said poisoning. The third one kept quiet and watched me. The first one was getting impatient and wanted to know the action plan. The second one was contemplating the possibility of burying me alive. I tried to tune out the conversation. Brave as I was, I couldn't listen to the possible causes of my death impassively. How could they be so heartless, I wondered. Ironically they were all women. Women are known for their forgiving nature and sympathy for ones in trouble. There was no trace of sympathy in their voices. Some breed of women!!
The third one spoke up slowly and reluctantly. Why don't we take him some where far and let him free? Hope sprang up somewhere inside me.I listened intently to the other two. They were talking in raised voices. Are you crazy? We planned this capture for so long and now you want to set him free? Do you have any idea about the losses we have suffered because of this pest? Do you want to go through all of it again? Throughout the torrent the third one kept quiet. At the end of it she advocated for me, strongly and passionately. The other two gave in. They were not happy about it. But then the third one had picked on the moral side of their actions. Committing murder was not a good thing. So they decided to let me go.
They transported the enclosure to another location, far away from their base and opened the door. I scrambled out, turned around to look at them and thanked them with all my heart. My Charlie's angels. They watched me scamper into the gutter, wondering what the squeaking was all about.
My heart was soaring. I was lost. That was OK. I was alive. And that is what mattered. I could find my way to our mouse-hole, even if I had to travel all the way from Alaska.
I was to live today. And die another day.
Friday, February 12, 2010
LOC (Lines of Control)
I placed my hand in front of my face and stared at those funny lines that crisscrossed my palm. Are they really the ones which decide how your future will be? If so, which one of them got me into this current mess?
I stared and stared till all of it seemed to blur into confusion. Oh great!! Now even those lines are giving up. I mean, someone is responsible for all this mess. Its definitely not me.
So its either the lines on my palm or the letters in my name or my date of birth or the way the furniture is arranged in my room. Come to think of it, I don't have any furniture in my room. Its just me and the mattress on the floor where I sleep. So that could not be the cause. I love my date of birth. Really. I love the numbers in it and I am hundred percent positive that none of those numbers would do anything to hurt me. I am skeptical about my name. Its not one of my favorites. But it was the name given by my parents and I have faith that it wouldn't hurt me.
So the only plausible reason would be these lines. They don't have palmistry experts for no reason. I should get one of those guide books, with those catchy titles like 'Your future lies in your hands'. Then maybe these teeny weeny, criss-crossy, randomy lines would make sense.
A raised voice from the other end of the phone, ended my perusal of the lines. I tried to catch up with the conversation. My mother was trying to convince me that something was wrong with my sister.
I agree she is a little headstrong and something of a rebel. But she never does anything that can be termed as criminal offense.
For the past hour, I had been switching between calls to my sister and mother. Mom accuses and my sister denies. My sister would say something and Mom would find it unacceptable.
I thought of putting them in conference. But then that could lead to a disaster, so I refrained from that thought.
I knew my Mom was a little dramatic. And this time she was definitely going overboard.
Is it wrong to blow air? Literally just blowing air, is not sinful. Yeah I agree, my sister had rounded her lips and curled her tongue while blowing air. Due to some unknown law of physics, the end result was a whistle. My, my, isn't mother touchy about those shrill sounds.
In spite of repeated warnings my sister dared to whistle in front of my mother, hence the frantic calls. For my mother it was now or never. If she didn't take corrective action immediately, my sister may fall into the depths of doom. I tried to be level headed. But it was tough not to lose patience. My sister doesn't listen, nor does my mother. Why do they drag me into these arguments?
I drifted back to those lines. Please, please, please, cant one of you save me from this; I begged to my lined palms.
The drone of my mother's voice was being interrupted by the familiar beep-beep. I didn't check who the caller was. I knew it would be my sister. So why bother.
After few hours of slow and painful progress, I convinced Mom that my sister can still be saved. Not entirely satisfied, but tired of all the badgering she decided to take a break. I used those few moments to call my sister and give her the verdict. She was in trouble, but yes she could be saved. Call up Mom and apologize. She agreed reluctantly.
Few minutes later the phone rang again. The melodious ring-tone, specially meant for my family, sounded like a warning of imminent torture. I summoned patience; a lot of it and answered the call. "Darling", said my Mom. I couldn't believe it. Her voice sounded different. The reconciliation had happened. They were back to being Mom and favorite daughter.
Phew!!! I couldn't believe it. I looked at my palms and kissed those lines. I was saved. They had actually saved me.
My cubicle-mate gave me a strange look. I suppose kissing your own palms in a wild frenzy are not symptoms of sanity.
I smiled at him with sympathy. Poor fellow. What would he know about mothers, daughters and whistles? What would he know about palms, the innocent lines marking it and the story of how they saved me?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Feel it..
Imagine the sun gently warming your feet. Imagine the chirp of birds outside the window. Imagine the smell of coffee drifting to your nostrils. Imagine opening your eyes and stretching lazily on your bed. Imagine the start of a day. Feel the beauty of morning.
Imagine a wide road, littered with falling leaves of autumn. Imagine tall, wide-trunked trees on both sides of the road. Imagine the sky-high branches of these trees forming a canopy over the road. Imagine rays of the setting sun, drifting through the leaves of the trees, drawing patterns of golden yellow on the walk-way. Feel the beauty of evening.
Imagine standing on the top of a tall building. Imagine darkness enveloping you. Imagine the silence. Imagine the light breeze touching you. Imagine the sky studded with stars. Imagine the moon rising. Imagine the lights shining far away on the horizon. Imagine the blurred outline of trees around you. Feel the beauty of night.
Imagine a dark, cloudy day. Imagine the cool air. Imagine light drops of rain, falling on you. Imagine the smell of the earth on the touch of the droplets. Imagine the rain pelting down a glass surface. Imagine the winds accompanying the rain. Imagine rain drops dripping from leaves and flowers. Imagine watching a puddle fill up, water splashing around. Imagine getting wet in the rain. Feel the beauty of rain.
Imagine a baby's smile. Imagine a child's innocence. Imagine a beautiful bride. Imagine a proud father. Imagine an old couple, still in love with each other. Imagine a colorful butterfly. Imagine the sweet smell of a wild flower. Imagine a bird soaring. Imagine a trotting deer. Imagine a gurgling stream. Imagine the dolphin slicing the calm of the wide ocean. Feel the beauty of life.
Imagine feeling happy for no reason. Imagine few minutes with your partner, love shimmering around you. Imagine a stranger smiling at you. Imagine receiving a bunch of flowers for no reason. Imagine the satisfaction on doing something right. Imagine curling up on the couch after an exhausting day. Feel the beauty of small things in our lives.
Imagine a family function, with noisy cousins and nosy aunts. Imagine standing at a busy road, feeling the buzz and thrill of life. Imagine watching the sunset at a crowded, noisy, colorful beach. Imagine the excitement of doing something new. Imagine the bliss of being with friends. Imagine a long journey, meeting people on the way and making new acquaintances. Imagine the pleasure of birth and the pain of death. Feel the beauty of being alive.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
The idiot's way
What I like most about the movie '3 idiots' is the portrayal of unconditional acceptance of friendship. Halfway through the movie Ranjho's (played by Aamir) friends realise that he was not the person who he had claimed to be. They come to know that all of the years that they had spent together in college was part of a scam and even the name by which they knew him was false. But their friendship does not falter. They still consider that guy, without a name, as their friend. His name, family or wealth does not affect their friendship. They still consider him their buddy because of the person that he had been; for his values, ideas & passions.
Absolute, total and complete acceptance. No conditions, no ifs, no buts. The kind of acceptance that each and everyone of us crave for.
I know many who are into relationships that involves promises of undying and everlasting love. They are serious about these promises and that is pretty obvious when they are together. You can literally see the sparks flying.
But in most cases they insist on changing things about their loved ones - habits, personal traits, dressing, hairstyle, footwear and sometimes their lingo too. Why do they do that?
Isn't love about accepting someone as they are? Or is it about finding a person, customising them to your tastes(in turn changing the essence of them) and then claiming that you love them. Is that what love is?
Idealistic as it may sound, I believe that love is not just another act, like shopping. You choose a dress, pick it in another color, alter the size, shorten the sleeves, bargain over the price and purchase it - and you feel proud about your purchase.
I dont want love to be like that. I want love to be accepting. It may not be possible to accept everything, but we can be accomodating. We can try to love them for what they are, not for what they can be. Of course, if any of their traits are leading them into trouble we should correct them.
If what they do is harmless, then isnt it better to have a partner who is a little towards the fat side, wears a sackcloth, has unruly hair but loves you with all that they have. For the simple reason that you accept and love them as they are.
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