Small Talk.....

The Rat Race

2010-02-24T00:35:00.003+05:30

When you start running, you think you see the finish line. And you don't run, you sprint; because its a 100m race. If you stop, scores of people would outrun you. Tens are already ahead. Your foremost aim is to get past them. Forget everything else, there are people ahead. If you get past them, you're ahead, on the road to victory. After all, its a 100m race.

... except that it isn't. That finish line you saw was just a checkpoint. The sprinters would eventually tire, and slow. Some would stop. But the race is long, and at the end, it is only with yourself.

We know it all so well. But still we sprint. It is easy trying to get past the one ahead. But it is difficult to make up your mind to run that long, maybe even the extra mile. It is amazing how it all boils down to such a simple fact... that we so easily turn a blind eye to.

You have wasted a lot of precious time in reading this post now. Run, my friend, run!

Perspectives

2010-02-03T13:55:00.000+05:30

It was a cool night in an industrial fair and I was dawdling around watching people. I like to be alone in public and watch people. I fantasize myself as a philosopher who sees more in a crowd than a callous mass of people scuttling around blabbering strange languages. But for that, I need a subject. And that particular night, mediocre faces and tired people are all I saw. I was getting bored of the exercise and just considering giving it up in favor of a good movie when I saw her.

She wasn’t one of those beautiful, cute or innocent faces that make you stand and stare, nor was she sensuous enough to make a guy drool. But she was strong; maybe sometimes headstrong, very sure of herself and very happy. If something overshadowed her strength of character, it was her wide smile and light step. As I scuttled forward to catch glimpses of her between the thickets of people, I couldn’t help smiling myself. As I watched her delve deeper into the crowd, I followed her a few steps behind and started weaving her story.

“24, maybe 27” I said to myself; “brought up in a city, maybe Delhi”, her dressing sense told me. I have been to enough Indian cities to tell one’s people from the other. And you can always tell a Delhi girl from a Mumbai girl. When you see one dressed to kill, flaunt what she has and tease you on working day mornings, you know you’re in Mumbai. Delhi is more of casuals and comfort wear. Of course there are intricacies and there are exceptions. But my experience told me this was Delhi material.

She stopped by a small woman selling baskets. I went and stood at an adjoining stall and lent an ear. She was bargaining sweetly for a couple of rupees. I would have loved to deduce “lower middle class”; but her sweetness baffled me. Then, she settled for a price and paid, thanked the woman with a smile and went off clutching two small baskets.

It was then I noticed a college identity card poking out of the back pocket of her jeans. That confirmed her age for sure, but didn’t explain the baskets. I followed her around as she bought a couple more trinkets from small stalls while conspicuously ignoring the larger ones. Her ways intrigued as much as angered me. Nothing fell in place. Even after half an hour of watching, I did not have any conclusion on her story.

Suddenly I bumped into someone. I recovered a little angry for my broken chain of thoughts when I found I was staring right at her. She looked at me from inches away and breathed right onto my face. It was then I realized that lost in thoughts, I had bumped right into my subject. I mumbled an apology and moved on. Just as I turned around to see her again, I saw her waving to a toddler on his father’s shoulders. I watched her face for a minute. Her expressions were telling her story, but I did not understand.

Then it hit me. The whole picture came before me, and the strands fell into place. It felt as if just her expressions could spell it out. I could see a little girl from a poor family, who struggled at every step to study; taken advantage of and eyed by the wolves of the society. But she did not yield. Instead, this hardened her heart and made her determination even stronger. And today, she has what she had struggled for all along. And she has come to celebrate it in her solitude within the milling crowd. Her heart is filled not only with happiness of success, but a tinge of mirth for those who pulled her down. She knows she’s on a road to success. But deep in her heart, she’ll always remember where she came from.

* * *

Dear Diary,

It has been a hectic semester and kept me busy. But finally, I decided enough was enough and I needed a break! I went to a fair today; even though my friends wouldn’t come along saying it was too silly. Sometimes, it is good to be silly, isn’t it? Well, it was fun even alone. I bought a couple of baskets; simply because, I couldn’t find anything better and didn’t want to come empty handed. The best part is that I think I finally learned how to bargain.

The stalls all sold stupid stuff that won’t even last a couple of days. However, I had some things to buy and so I stopped at the mall while coming back.

Strangely, there was a creepy man following me all along. At first, I thought that a lone girl in a fair was giving him ideas. But then, he bumped into me and didn’t even try to grope. Even his apology sounded sincere and flustered. But this was far from comforting as he turned even creepier after that. Anyway, I left right after with no harm done. But who knows? If I see him one more time, I’m going to call the police for sure.

Enough of him now and for my tomorrow’s schedule. I have got a couple of classes and an assignment to do. But that is pretty much it. I think I can afford to sleep late tomorrow.

Good Night

Perspective View of a City

2010-01-16T12:26:00.005+05:30

You never really know a city. Especially one that has been around for centuries ; it can spring surprises even for its long time dwellers. And it is simple logic. You say a person has his story and a building has its own story. Multiply that by scores of thousands and lo... you get a city. You cannot even dream to decipher all its secrets, see all its facets and explore all its corners. But there is a depth at which a traveler settles for.

I recently spent a couple of months in Vadodara, Gujarat. Basically a business trip; and hence I had very little time to see around. All I saw was the office space, hotel lobbies and rooms; and all I met was prim consultants, formally dressed clients or the hotel service at their most courteous persona. Apart from that, the place looked ordinary enough. I could have been in any other part of India to wake up to the same sight and smells. But this did not make sense for a city like Vadodara. I must be wrong somewhere.

So one fine Sunday, I set out armed with a camera in hand and a heart of Columbus to explore the city on foot. It was a warm and sunny winter morning with the harsh light exposing every hidden color. And then it dawned onto me. The depth at which a traveler settles for- the soul of the city. Two hundred year old palatial buildings staring multi storied apartment buildings in the eye; kingly statues and oriental gardens adorning traffic circles busy with the latest Honda's and Mercedes and BMW's. It was a wonderful mixture of old and new.

Fortunately for me, it was the kite flying season; and the kite festival was just round the corner. The old city was a riot of colors- kites of all shapes sizes and colors with a dash of pink manja spinning on a drum. And all this right in front of the fast food outlets, mobile phone sales/service/repair and "More" supermarkets. That felt like nowhere else I have visited.

But it also revealed something about the people of the city. Vadodara is still that traditional city with typical Gujarati lifestyle, an affinity for honest business and an all embracing culture. However, the bout of industrialization has ushered in a metropolitan culture as well. And this, rather than dissolving in the local culture, has been lying layered on the top- like oil on water. In effect, you see two faces of the city- the outer glitter of an emerging metropolis and an underlying traditional lifestyle.

I do not know if this change is for the better or worse. But what I do know is that the city of Vadodara has its own identity and a distinctive culture which gives the place its beauty and charm. I sure hope that this is not lost in the endeavor to grow and develop.

The Dilbert Principle

2010-01-10T00:54:00.004+05:30

A cubicle eye view of the corporate company is not a solitary perspective. Cubicles are inhabited by beings differing in objectives, insights and sometimes even species. This is the reason why Dilbert style analysis is not an everyday affair.

Most of the cubicle community consists of wannabe leaders who figure out that the fastest way to leadership is falling in line. And more often than not, a dash of hard work combined with myopic vision helps. If all your thoughts are focused on the next step, on the next rung of the ladder, there is little chance that you’d miss it. The idea is: If you stay in the line long enough, people would join behind you. And lo! You are a leader. But then, even the line ahead of you is long. So you are just stuck there... ranting about those leading you and making life difficult for those who follow you.

On the other hand, people who make it to the top of the ladder have figured out a way to bypass the line. Hence, by corollary, there are few leaders who actually have had an objective look at the company from their cubicle window. They shot up too fast. Hence, there is a clear dissociation between the "management" and “associates” of a company.

This is never a good thing. The value chain of any company flows right through these ground level cubicle dwellers and this value chain is guided and strengthened by the management. The ultimate result is that the guys on the top apply a complex set of management principles and concepts formulated by pinheads like Peter Drucker, dwelling on assumptions based on their limited visibility and understanding of their cubicle days.

Now there are some facts we know to be facts out of the sheer extent of their acceptance. For example: The biggest advantage big companies have over smaller and lesser experienced companies in terms of quality of work is that the former have well defined and robust accumulating their years of experience. These processes are designed and perfected by the upper and top management. Sometimes, the middle management may be asked to give “inputs”. But that is the lowest it can reach.

Since we understand from the previous discussion that managers have a limited visibility of the actual processes at the ground level, we can draw that these processes have a huge scope of improvement. And this can be brought about only by a right mix of skill, expertise and experience. Too much of any of them would be like too much of salt, sugar or spice. It might be interesting, and it might come out good by accident. But it'll never replace the recipe.

The Ugly Life

2009-10-08T02:03:00.007+05:30

The Deep Dense forest was surrounded my villages. People walked from village to village for petty affairs and made paths around it. And when the sun unleashed its fury, the people walked under cool shade of the trees of the forest, relieved and happy. The cool breeze blowing through the forest caressed many a tired traveler and the bright ripe fruits hanging from the trees soothed many a parched throat. The forest was a part of their life... like the meandering river and the monsoon.

But nobody had ever gone deep into the Deep Dense forest. The young showed off by going a furlong too deep into it and the old told fables about it. They said it was dark as night and the trees made a maze no living soul had come out of. The children stared rapt in attention while the fathers and uncles laughed them off as folklore.

****

But long long ago, the forest had borne a child. And for all the goodness of the forest, the child was a demon. It hungered for blood and showed no mercy. But it loved its mother. So she decided to hide it from the world for the good of everybody.

Nobody had ever seen the Demon that lived in the forest. It grew to be as hideous as the forest was beautiful. The caring forest kept it in its womb and fed it with fruit. She kept it hidden for she loved the people of the villages. And though she never told anybody, she loved the demon too.

The demon loved the forest who nursed it like a mother. And so did it abide by all that she said... and ate all the fruit she gave even though it hated the taste. But the demon cannot survive without its kill, and so it grew sick. It lay down in the forest's womb and cried. The forest did not know what to do, and she loved the people of the villages too much to set it free. So she saw her child suffer in pain and bore it silently. As the demon grew sicker, the forest wilted. Soon, the demon died and the forest grew thinner and drier.

The woodcutters could go deeper into the forest and maim her in her weakness. At last, they reached her womb where the demon had died. But it had turned to dust in the rain and the sun. So they cut the dry wood till nothing remained of the forest but barren land and tree stumps.

Today, the old tell of fables of the forest that was... and how it dried away. But nobody knows why.

This story is inspired from a Hebrew Short story titled "The Beautiful Life of Clara Shiato" by Yoram Kaniuk. While Clara was an extraordinary woman who learned to live and enjoy the demon inside her, not everybody does. And in this world, everybody has the right to a beautiful life like clara... even the forest, and the demon.

The Power of Media

2009-08-16T21:58:00.005+05:30

I recently read a news article regarding army rule in Manipur and the suffering of people. It was a forwarded mail sourced from tehelka.com. Now there is no doubt what the people of the north east are going through. But the piece was a simple line of photographs, a stirring story, and a direct logical conclusion. By the end of the article, I became so convinced that I almost ignored the basic assumption of the whole article: Are the photos what they claim to be? This stirred me to think what is to be believed in a piece of news.

Today, with the rampant use of technology in every facet of our life has made the world accessible to us like never before. But conversely, it has also made us accessible to the world. The biggest leverage from this development has gone to the media- both the news and advertising media. Today, advertisements of everything ranging from corvettes to condoms reach right out to us, driving consumerism and creating niches and new markets. But that is another discussion altogether. What I want to concentrate on in this article is, the power that rests in hands of the news media, bringing to the common man, events from round the world; and more often than not, perspectives too.

The methods of persuasion through communication are as old as history itself. The power of communication is best highlighted in Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar where Marc Antony, with a single speech, turned around public opinion to such an extent that the Roman masses became very angry with Caesar's murderers, burnt down their houses and made them flee from the city.

But there was always a limit to the reach of communication. There were gaps and misunderstandings. Today, technology and mass media ensure that the word reaches every individual of every village with the utmost clarity. This is a very powerful carrier to the spearhead that was there for centuries.

On one side, this has ushered the information age and empowered the masses. But on the other side, it has also handed a lot of power in few hands. And the most worrisome fact is the blatant use of that power. Today, we not only get news; we also get opinions, and perspectives- all sugarcoated and gift wrapped in a clever play of words. And there is no reason for the viewer to think that there can be other standpoints, from where things look different.

And the viewer couldn’t care less. He takes in a lot of it at its face value, unaware of the fact that each individual’s opinion makes up the public opinion; which in turn, makes or breaks governments, dictates share market and controls the democratic world.

Power corrupts. And absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Today, with the play of money and power involved in the news media and press, it is no surprise that powerful hands control them. Behind the screens and under the tables, there is a lot going on beyond the scope of public sight. And the common man is fed with what suits them.

This again boils down to the classical clash of the democratic-communist ideologies. One believes in the freedom and liberty while the other maintains that man is essentially greedy and deserves to be kept under tabs. So all said and done, I do not really see a way out of this deadlock. While we cannot do without giving power to media, we cannot check its misuse also. So here it stays in the society as another of the “necessary evils”. But how many can we handle?

Errata: The news article I talk about in the first paragraph was from a freelancer published and followed up by tehelka.com. Thanks Swati.

Apples and Other Fruits

2009-05-22T18:51:00.003+05:30

The Story: The apple tree grew all alone in the corner of the yard. It was near enough to the fence so that passersby could notice and look wishfully at the ripe red fruit; but far enough to be out of reach. This situation made the tree proud of its luscious red apples and he thanked heavens for making it so popular.

Once the farmer got sick in the farming season and suffered heavy losses. He had to sell a part of his yard to sustain himself. The new fence went right by the apple tree. Passersby reached out to pluck its fruit and more often than not, carelessly maimed it. Now, he cried every day and cursed God for this bright red fruit.

I remembered this story while two of my friends are discussing the pros and cons of committment. For the past one hour they have been arguing with each other going round and round in circles. And for how I know them, neither is going to give up.

What they do not realize this is, they are all like the apple tree. They see two extremes of the same position, but different situations. And there are infinite ones in between. There are also other fruits. Just like there are millions of human beings in the world and each is unique. They might be in similar position, but not the same. No single philosophy fits two of them. There might be approximations, but no equation gives exact results.

And then, they do not realize the absurdity of approximations. These people we are talking about are humans, not near humans or humans rounded up to the second decimal. And for each, life has to be perfect... and beautiful. And beautiful lives are not made of mathematics.

Matrimony

2008-10-06T02:10:00.007+05:30

Lakshmi

Lakshmi was a simple middle aged married woman with a simple life. She had no big aims, no hopes and no aspirations. She lived every day as if it was simply her duty.

Sometimes, her husband, Govind came home with grand plans of the future- their own house, a car and a better locality. She never liked the neighborhood. In the sixteen years she had lived there, she never liked any of the neighbors. The thought of moving into a street with grand houses with sophisticated neighbors discussing Star Plus soaps and political problems always made her smile. But she could not be too happy, lest she cast the evil eye on his plans.

She knew Govind worked hard to save. But his dream appeared so far away, and the road so uphill that she did not think they could make it with Govind’s hard work alone. She believed she had her own share of sacrifices to make. She cooked simple meals, never got new saris for festivities, never went to social gatherings and neither had any at her home. She haggled with the vendors and screamed at the neighbouring kids thieving her pickle.

She had overheard her neighbors talking about her a couple of times between criticisms of their mother in laws. And she heard nothing pleasant. The thought made her sad. But she consoled herself that when they move to the new house, none of them would be there to blabber.

Then she looked at Govind himself. He worked so hard, always had something to do, somewhere to go. Sometimes, he didn’t even come home at night. And he was always traveling. She could imagine him buried in papers in his office, haggling with suppliers and getting rebuked by buyers and his boss. And in face of this, her hardships seemed nothing. If not for herself, for that man, she was ready to endure anything.

Govind had always loved her, though it was a different kind of love. Of course she could never forget the first night when he had forced himself on her and then left her bleeding and crying . But how else would a first night be? And he always took care of her and asked what to get when he went out. And he sometimes made her sit and listen to his plans. What if his rebukes were harsh? He worked hard and earned bread for his family. Where would a man show his anger and authority if not in front of his wife?

Tomorrow, Govind was going to see a flat. He had seen a number of flats before, but he never liked any of them. It was a Sunday, but there was no reprise for the man. She pitied him as she ran her hand softly on his back. ‘Let him sleep in peace. Tomorrow might just be the day.’ she thought to herself and smiled as she closed her eyes.

Payal

Six years ago, the only thing Payal saw was the glass cabin and the revolving chair in front of her cubicle. She still cannot see anything else, though she has a closer view now, from her desk in the corner. And yes, she is married as well, but that is another matter.

Payal has been happily married to Govind for six years now. And people still get surprised. Yes, there was a time she did not even believe in marriage. But it took a man like Govind to change her views, to sweep her off her feet and bind her in his matrimony. And she has never regretted this decision.

Govind, for her, was the most considerate husband anybody could ever have. They met in a personality development conference for support staff. After a heated discussion over coffee, they became friends. Six months later, they got married and moved into a bigger flat.

He existed in her life only from five in the evening to eight in the next morning. The rest of the time, he did not mind being forgotten as he forgot her. No mushy calls or romance during office hours- that was an unspoken principle. His long travel schedules meant he did not come home on a lot of nights. But she did not mind that either.

What was important was the time they spent together. She wanted to make every moment special for both of them. They usually went out for dinner, talked about their office experiences, shared jokes and laughed together. Back home, they watched some romantic movie cuddled up in each other’s arms and eventually got pretty wild over each other. Their lovemaking was perfect; and made her smile when she thought of it later.

Tomorrow, he would come to spend the entire Sunday with her. It has been more than two weeks of traveling and they haven’t had time together. ‘Tomorrow, he will be here’ she thought wishfully looking at the empty bed. ‘Tomorrow I’ll make his day the most special he has ever had’ she thought to herself as she smiled and closed her eyes.

Govind

Govind was born and did his schooling in his village. Only after he went to the city to do his higher secondary education did he realize what a frog in well he had been. By the time he got his degree, he did not want to go back to the village anymore. As soon as he got a job, he insisted his parents come and live with him. But they were adamant and he was too grateful to them to carry a grudge. So he let them be and himself went to see them once a month.

The fourth time he went there, he came to know that his marriage had been fixed. He was too young and immature to see the implications. So he agreed just to pacify his parents and the marriage took place in a huge ceremony in the village.

Lakshmi was a beautiful woman, but very shy. On their wedding night her shyness appeared very cute; but even later, no move of his provoked her, no touch aroused her. Frustrated, he forced himself onto the girl in anger. He still felt guilty at the thought, but what could he do? He was after all human, and had all the desires they come with.

Since then, they lived together, but at a distance. She never asked about, nor understood his work. And he never asked her what went on at home when he was away. He sometimes tried to converse by telling her that he wanted to buy a big house for both of them and the children; and a car as well. But the blank he saw in her face frustrated him.

Six years ago, he got a big promotion and was sent to a personality development program before he could join in the new position. There, he met Payal. In her, he found all that he had been looking for in Lakshmi all along. As they got to know each other and met more often, he got all the more frustrated over Lakshmi. Thrice, he contemplated divorce from her, but could never bring up the topic. She was too subdued to pull into a discussion, let alone an argument.

Soon, he could hold back no longer. That night, in Payal’s apartment, something snapped. As he walked out of the flat the next day, he felt freer. The marriage took place the following week in a quiet court ceremony. Soon, they took a flat in the end of the city farthest from his house.

Govind has gotten very busy in his work recently. In fact, his boss asks him to take a break sometimes. But he cannot go home. He cannot bear to look at Lakshmi’s face; neither can he smile back at Payal anymore. Tomorrow is a Sunday. He has promised this Sunday to Payal; and lied to Lakshmi that he was out to see the real estate agent. She would wait for him to return, however late it might be; waiting for him to get her a beautiful house. ‘How can I tell her that there is a house at the other end of the city? And it is beautiful with tiled floors, large windows and nice people next door.’ he thought to himself as he stared on at the darkness.

The Feminist Idea

2008-10-02T13:46:00.006+05:30

Today, feminism is more of a trend than an idea. Being a feminist marks one as a member of a modern, progressive society quite in contrast with the old world male chauvinism. People don the feminist cloak to be rendered educated and compassionate among peers. However, somewhere in this whole glitterati associated with all the trends, the basic idea is lost.

Feminism is defined as the theory of the political, economic, and social equality of the sexes. However the concept was articulated in the 19th century in a male dominated society. At that point of time, the primary objective pf feminism was emancipation of the female. Hence, the use of extreme measures, legislation and concession to women was justified. Two hundred years later, we have forgotten the concept of equality and still hold on to legislation and concession.

Nothing has changed between then and now. Today, the woman is still believed to be the weaker one. Only the same male chauvinistic society has raised its morality. It now does not oppress the weak but protects it. Not for once does this self proclaimed protector take into account that the essence of feminism is not to protect the weak woman eternally with his masculine pride and ego, but to instill strength in her and let her find her own way. How can a society of all powerful protectors and the weak protected at his mercy talk of equality?

Mumbai Meri Jaan

2008-09-09T06:14:00.005+05:30

Not all ends are happy. Some are never destined to be. But misfortune has struck you, does not mean that you have the right to keep crying about it. Nobody is singular here. All our lives are intertwined in a giant machinery that has to keep working no matter what.

This is one of the few messages conveyed by the movie that shares its title with my article; and by far the most emphatic. The four stories are all that were left of Mumbai right after the blasts- in one form or the other. These were the four people who picked the city up hours after the blast and trudged along. Sad, shocked, fearful, desperate, angry... people did not know what to feel. How do you feel when something terrible happens to your kin; or just realize that it could have been you!

Indeed, the way the city was back to normal, keeping all the happenings behind, might appear emotionless, ruthless and to a certain degree, inhuman. But let us ask ourselves something, would any of the humane reactions been of help to the survivors? Definitely not. On the other hand, Mumbaikars defeated the terrorist attack, and defeated its very purpose. Mumbai bounced back fearlessly, and carried on, like nothing has happened.

There were some more points as well, that were brought to light; though very subtle in comparasion. And I was not surprised when they were completely missed by the audience. But even if one purpose has been served, I would call it a huge success.

I am not going to give a critical analysis of the movie, perhaps simply out of respect to the theme. But that does not mean I consider the movie a complete addressal of the theme. Of course there are lacunae. But such things can be overlooked in view of a realistic portrayal of the mature way the most trying period of the city was handled by its citizens. Hats off Mumbai!

Science, Technology and Humanity- Part I

2008-09-02T01:51:00.008+05:30

Science and technology are the two words that have revolutionized the world today. Their importance in the modern world has no greater indicator than the priority level of the nations coveting the "developed" tag attach to it; or perhaps, the charisma, with which those with the tag flaunt it and bully with it. That, however, is quite another story.

Though we hear these two terms from the layman and the scholar alike, it is seldom done carefully, and more often, interchangeably. So aren't they so? Before we even attempt to answer this question, let us look at these words with a purely literal perspective:

Science: (from the Latin scientia, 'knowledge') This in the broadest sense, refers to any systematic knowledge or practice

Technology:Human innovation in action that involves the generation of knowledge and processes to develop systems that solve problems and extend human capabilities

So here they stand crystal clear in their meanings.

However, this discussion is not intended to differentiate between science and technology. This discussion is about the perception of these terms by the common man and the confusion arising from the ignorance of the thin and exceedingly blurring line between the two. A point that should be made clear right now that even though this line may have blurred to give way to a gradual transition and now only a common region exists; still,their specific domains would still be, in all simplicity, theirs.

The trouble with perception of this is not a singular problem. We should realize that our the world is not homogeneous. But in an attempt to make it so, it has been unwittingly divided into two layers.

The first layer is of the abstracts who see the two domains from afar and think they are separate just like the way they always were. They do not know, nor care to find out what is going on in that situation on a microscopic level. Or rather, it can be assumed quite generally that they are afraid of approaching the domain they have considered sacred.

The second layer is of most of our myopic scholars who are right in the midst of the situation. They judge by what they see, and all they see is a blur.

So this is a problem we are facing. There are too few moderates who can stand at a few feet from the problem and see the big picture. What we have in the society seems like two bunch of Idiots who can't see a thing themselves, and yet despise each other.

The Tinted Glass

2007-04-09T17:50:00.001+05:30

I killed my father today. And my guilt is that of sheer misunderstanding; a misunderstanding no daughter can afford to have of her father.

I was twelve when I saw my mother die a painful death. I don’t know exactly how. Dad never talked about it. What I did understand was that we could not afford the medicines. After her death we were well off with dad’s meager salary. But dad had seen what money meant in life. Thus after mother’s death, began dad’s maddening pursue of wealth.

I was sent to a boarding school and never came to know how he bought a bungalow in just seven years; or rather I didn’t want to. I feared that truth might shatter the dream world I was in. And thus I lived with a belief that dad’s wealth was ill gotten; a belief so terrifying that I could never confess it to myself.

I realize today that I never really knew him. Dad always appeared to be behind a tinted glass; from where he could see me, but not the vice versa.

He told me a week before our placement that he wanted me to come home. I don’t know that it was the fact that he had never asked for anything before there was something in his voice, but I couldn’t refuse. I came home three days later.

* * *

I rammed into his office without knocking. He was standing facing the window with a faraway look in his eyes; deep in thought. “Dad, the client…” I had just started when he gestured me to stop. It was then that I realized that there was someone else in the room. On the sofa sat a lady- cheeks swollen and red from hours of crying. Tears still hung in her eyes looking for the slightest fault in her defenses to burst out.

He gestured me to leave; but my curiosity would not let me. As I moved out, I wedged my sandal at the door so as to leave it slightly ajar. Standing outside I opened my file and pretended to read.

It was he who spoke first.

“I hope you understand that we simply cannot have a facially deformed person in the P.R. department. It affects the image of the company.”

“But sir!” she started sobbing “he will die.”

“He has lost only his job. But he has you and his kids to live for. What makes you think that he will die?” Dad was still looking out of the window. His voice sounded far away. The lady had calmed down a bit.

“Sir! He has worked like a maniac all these years. And all he has now are his achievements in your company. And he cannot see all that crumble to dust right before his eyes.” She broke down once more “He has attempted suicide once. All he is alive for is the lie that I had got a call from you for a meeting. He will not survive again.”

There was a pause.

“Sorry Mrs.Sen! But the company’s interests are way prior to any individual.”

“But sir…”

“This meeting is over.”

I guess she had started sobbing again. But I heard no more. I staggered back and sunk into a chair. It was all happening. My darkest nightmares were coming true right before my eyes. I felt nauseous.

When I regained my composure, I made the biggest decision in my life.

He was calm when I spoke to him. “Business is along chain of people and resources. But it snaps at a single weak link. And then nobody blames the link.”

“But have you ever realized that the links you are referring to are human beings. Have you no heart?”

“As the heiress of my empire, I would appreciate it if you decided your priorities”

“To hell with your priorities and your empire! I want none of this wealth drenched in tears and blood.”

Now I wonder how those words ever escaped my mouth. But I was blind with rage. Can’t this man see anything? There is a life at stake and he is deciding priorities? I stormed out of the office.

* * *

That was a week ago. This morning I received an email.

Dear daughter,

I accept that I have committed crimes. Maybe not so many against the law as against humanity. But that only makes it all the more unforgivable. But that was long ago. Soon I had realized that there were things more valuable than money. But what I still retain from my early days are my principles.

Remember the lady you saw at the office that day? No! I am not sorry for what I said or did. But yes! I did talk to her husband. He is happy with an alternate career now. And his kids have a scholarship from my company. Thought you would be happy to know that.

The day you left, I realized the truth in your words. I have skeletons in my closet and I cannot pass them onto you. You have lived as you have liked and would continue to do so; away from the dark shadows from my past.

The past week has been hectic for me. I have finished my will and transferred all my assets to you the details of which I have attached.

By the time you would receive this I would have left. Only I didn’t want to die with a heart heavy with guilt.

Love,

Dad

The tinted glass had shattered cruelly.

A Loveletter

2007-04-07T18:07:00.000+05:30

This is a very old piece I found stacked somewhere deep inside my records. And I still love its fresh and innocent feeling.

Dear Moon,

There has been something I have wanted to tell you for a very long time. But could not. Har baar main himmat jutata hoon aur phir kho deta hoon. How... how do I tell you this? And what will be your reaction? I have done and undone this letter so many times... only I believe I get enough courage to give it to you this time.

Moon you have been a friend for a long time. We have shared happiness, pain, fun and lots more together. But every time I was with you there was a strange feeling deep inside me. I never could place the feeling anywhere, under any relationship. I never could make out why you and only you evoked this feeling. For a long time I burnt in a fire of this pain and guilt... guilt that this was not right. But I never could drive this feeling away.

Now I think I realize that strange sensation. I have fallen in love with you my M, ever since I saw you, ever since I felt your softness I have lost my heart to you. And however hard I may try to drive off the feeling, I cant seem to. I love you... from deep inside my heart, from all my soul.

I do not know how you would take it. You may be surprised, angry, sad... I don't know. I know your first instinct would be to refuse, for this does not feel right. But against all hope, I hope you would say yes. And this hope is what has kept me alive waiting for an answer. For if you refuse, some part of me will surely die.

I would be waiting for your answer. Any subtle hint... if you dont want to answer. Anything at all. But whether a yes or no please do answer. For a heart here is at stake... a life here is at your mercy.

With love

Yours ever
Sandeep

The Lady on the Train

2007-03-05T14:39:00.000+05:30

She was beautiful. The way she moved uneasily with each cruel shock; the way she fidgeted with her bangles; the way she turned once in a while showing her bare nape.

My wife had warned this was going to be a long train journey. And she had prepared for it with a sleepless night. And I did not even realize when she fell asleep right beside me. But she was very much there… her presence showing up like a barbed wire between me and my adulterous thoughts.

“What am I doing?” I reprimanded myself, “I’m married for a year now and very happy with my wife. The thought of another woman would only mean cheating on her.” But this one looked so divine, so close.

I envied the book she held- that took up so much of her concentration; that gave out a soft moan with each caressing touch of her soft fingers as she turned the pages…

I was pulled off my train of thoughts with a cruel yawn of my wife. It was as if she knew each and every of my fantasies. I felt guilty again. But a brief move as she sided a strand of hair off her face ignited my volatile guilt into the fire of fantasy as I kept staring on an on…

Delhi came as a rude jerk. The people of the whole compartment started filing out. But she kept staring out of the window looking for someone- maybe her husband. I felt an inexplicable pang of jealousy. Her bare nape was still showing. As I and my wife were moving out she suddenly sat upright, her body barely an in inch from my arm. “Should I or shouldn’t I?” It was a moment of moral dilemma and then it all dissolved into a milky mix as I jerked my hand and brushed against her neck.

“What brings on that broad smile?” My dreary eyed wife asked on the platform.

“I just cheated on you!” Despite of her raised eyebrows I knew she would never believe that. “Now look after the luggage else it gets stolen”

I still could not stop smiling.

The twist in the tale

2007-02-18T13:20:00.000+05:30

I was almost six months into the relationship; and I must say, we were going smooth. hours of talk, missing each other, sharing problems emotions. A lot of people would easily call this going smooth. But I was unhappy

I was good looking, had poise; and this made me expect something more out of my love life. maybe dancing around trees and tackling goons single handedly was too far fetched. But at least I could expect a chance to show some heroism that would send my heroine spiraling into my arms. Call it “bollywood effect” or just fantasy, I could never get out of the notion that a love story is incomplete until a hero wins his heroine!

And fate would not be generous enough to provide me with a fitting anti hero, I realized my responsibility of adorning my love story with one. So my endeavor began.

Now in needed someone I could trust and who would agree to tarnish his impression in front of a girl for my sake; and whom I could outsmart as a hero. In short I needed a dumbo.

After much persuasion my best friend (especially for this purpose)agreed to play the dark character.

The next problem came with the storyline. I had to be realistic enough and at the same time I could not be harsh to my love.finally we agreed upon a “kahani me twist” story-centered around a 2% drop in her result!!

So we fabricated a letter with emotion and dialogue of our relationship affecting her career and me not wanting to come in the way of her success and all those bits and pieces borrowed from bollywood Hollywood and some even my own!!

I was quite satisfied with the outcome.then came dumbo’s acting.

“see! I made him believe that all this is for your own good” he said handing over the letter “otherwise he would never have agreed. But the truth is that I am more concerned about him. he is wasting a lot of time and I have seen his academics suffer. So I think I don’t have to tell who is responsible?”

He must have acted well; for she stood aghast, rooted. Then followed an eerie silence from her for a couple of days. then suddenly I spotted her in the café with another guy!

I stalked him to find out all I could. He needed some timepass and female company is never refused. Nothing more. I had sleepless nights. What went wrong with a perfectly crafted twist? I never expected this!

After a week of distress I finally steeled myself to call her up.

‘Nalini?’

‘Yes!’

‘This is Sumit’

‘O hi buddy! How’s life’ was it a wrong number?

‘I wanted to talk to you about the guy you are going out with.’

‘Well sumit! I suppose you yourself straightened out things for me. You didn’t want to be with me and I needed company. So I looked elsewhere. Isn’t it straight enough?’

‘Well I…’

‘Isnt that straight enough sumit?’

‘I’m sorry Nalini!’I quietened down.there was a long pause as if she was regaining her composure.

‘Good! So when do we meet then?’

‘Nalini you…’

‘Never mind! I got the story from your friend’s girlfriend. Women are good at getting secrets out of men you see! So at the cafeteria at five thirty?’

I had never felt sillier in my life

I Want To Breathe

2007-02-18T13:15:00.000+05:30

It is surprising how,

I get lost in my loneliness

In the milling crowd

I’m shoved, I’m dashed,

Carried to the corner; and stashed

Searching myself in the dark

I am kicked back

In the middle, right in the middle of the sea of people.

And this sea

Flows and churns, tosses and turns,

Until I’m choking, grasping for breath

But I can’t.

‘Cause somebody has been strangling me all the while.

I don’t even know who.

He has no face, no soul, no name,

Only a pair of hands holding my throat.

And I am powerless and down on my knees,

The faces around me blurring; fading away.

I want to fight, but my limbs won’t move.

My body defeated, long before I give up…

It is surprising to know how,

Standing on the shore

I get lost in my loneliness

And trying to find myself

Die a new death

Every day.

My World

2007-01-22T15:08:00.000+05:30

Disclaimer: The following post is of purely personal naturegiving some insight deep into me for people who have been that deep. For those who havent, you have nothing to understand and are advised to skip the post.

The world around me appears so strange these days! As I walk through the street each day I see strange people making strange faces at me; telling me strange things. All trying to make me understand things I dont want to know... trying to make me do things I do not want to do.

This is the real world they say.... I say! But if reality is this, I better stay in dreams.

"What is the matter?" I ask, "This place is fast, interesting, exciting. The way you have always wanted it to be. What more do you want? What are you looking for?"

And I reply "Beauty!"
And do I see this beautiful world of mine only in dreams? No my friend. I have a world tucked away safely in a corner of my heart away from hte prying eyes of the world. A world where everything was so beautiful, so pure. A world they say i have outgrown. And they wont let me go back there.
They speak prickly words of wisdom; bind me with chains. But one day I will go back to my beautiful world... where I belong!

Mein Ausdruck

2006-11-07T01:47:00.000+05:30

I’m a bad talker. I accept that. And hence I try to keep my trap shut. Well… but that is not always possible you see. And talking is fun. It is spontaneous…unadulterated. You hardly get time to really much before you speak. And you feel good after you have spoken…even if it lands you in trouble. And that is how real expression should be.

I have tried writing too. But it’s never the same. When you write something you have a purpose; an audience. And so you make yourself a barbed wire fence. Then it does not remain fun anymore.

Something else I absolutely desist is typing out my work. I always write with an ink pen or a pencil on a piece of white paper. It’s good to see the instrument form the beautiful letters as they dance on the pearl white dance floor shaping your creation right in front of your eyes; not some surrogate machine doing the magic for you.

I sometimes try to get myself to write all that I want to…convincing myself that it is not meant for public viewing. I do the editing when I have to make a soft copy (Yes! Even I have to. It’s an evil world my friend!). Editing a piece of writing is more like trimming your favorite plant. It might come out better …but you never stop loving the original one. And perhaps that is the reason I still preserve the first drafts of all my pieces.

The Girl Next Door

2006-09-29T11:45:00.000+05:30

I moved ever so slightly, casting a seemingly oblivious glance at my surroundings. For a fraction of second, our eyes met; and I immediately retracted them to admire the beauty of my fading shoe polish. But resisting all my attempts my eyeballs again moved towards the corner of my eyes and I caught a glimpse of her. “Oh my God! She’s coming towards me?” All kinds of scary thoughts crept into my mind. I could feel her coming towards me with an angry look asking “Hey mister! Who do you think you are staring at?” and then…

“Excuse me!” said a soft voice from behind, “Do you know which bus to take for Chandni Chowk?” I did not know! But I was desperately searching for words. All those witty remarks so carefully scrutinized and crafted into my vocabulary during my formative years suddenly seemed to evaporate.
“N...no! I do not know.” I stammered back.

I immediately regretted the statement; for, she turned with an “Oh!” and started; perhaps in search of a wittier person. But even as a halfwit I couldn’t let her go. I had fantasized myself in such a situation. I could not let this dream turn into a nightmare. I just had to do…

“You do sing really well!” The words came out of my mouth but the voice was definitely not mine. As if my throat had grown a mind of its own. “Do you take music classes?” I could not believe I was asking her that. “Shut up! Just shut up” I was telling myself. She turned with an amused look on her face.

“I don’t think you ever heard me singing? Did you?”

Ok. No more speech. I’m dumb.

“Didn’t you sing at Sheila auntie’s party?”

I really am dumb.

I imagined my face turning redder than a tomato. I wanted to run, to hide behind one of those buses; get lost in the labyrinths of shops. Why was I talking? I could just shut up let her go. And perhaps I would confront her some other day with better dialogues; and better nerves.

“You didn’t attend Sheila auntie’s kitty party?” She had an amused look. But she had turned fully towards me again. I felt stupid.

“You know…I kind of…. I was just passing by and heard it by chance.”

“And how much of it?” I was unsure of the look.

“Well! Sort of… You know…Full.” I replied meekly.

Both of us started laughing aloud. She had a deep sounding laughter somehow sedimented all my fears. We laughed for a long time I guess. At least it appeared so. When we stopped, she asked smiling “So did you really like it?”

“Yes! It was lovely.”

“What was lovely?” she asked mischievously.

“Well! The song of course!” I felt stupid again.

“Thanks!” She said softly.

A deep rumble indicated the arrival of another bus. “Oh! My bus is here. Can we talk sometime later?”

“Sure!” I said.

“Call me! Byeee!” she said rushing to her bus. I kept staring till the bus disappeared round the corner. It was then it struck me.

She knew which bus to take after all.

I Want To Breathe

2006-09-28T13:29:00.000+05:30

It is surprising how,
I get lost in my loneliness
In the milling crowd

I’m shoved, I’m dashed,
Carried to the corner; and stashed
Searching myself in the dark
I am kicked back
In the middle, right in the middle of the sea of people.
And this sea
Flows and churns, tosses and turns,
Until I’m choking, grasping for breath
But I can’t.
‘Cause somebody has been strangling me all the while.
I don’t even know who.
He has no face, no soul, no name,
Only a pair of hands holding my throat.
And I am powerless and down on my knees,
The faces around me blurring; fading away.
I want to fight, but my limbs won’t move.
My body defeated, long before I give up…

It is surprising to know how,
Standing on the shore
I get lost in my loneliness
And trying to find myself
Die a new death
Every day.

2006-08-05T14:30:00.000+05:30

What are the different emotions you have finished a book with.Amazement! Thrill? Sadness?
Difficult to catalog. Eh! Yes it is a whole spectrum merging into one another through indistinct boundaries.

Last night, I finished reading "The Financial Expert" by RK Narayan. The book is typical of his style. No twists and turns, no suspense, and nothing you can call a climax. It is a flat narration of the story of a man from rags to riches to rags. A story of brilliance of a man coupled with his rustic mentality. The thoughts, life and wrongdoings of a man.

Sounds boring doesn't it??

But the way Narayan puts it on paper is sheer brilliance. His honest and straightforward style of writing makes the story flow so smoothly that you do not dare disrupt it. The writing is so natural and close to your heart that you could actually smell the earth of malgudi in it.
In all! A beautiful book!

Small Talk.....

The Rat Race

Perspectives

Perspective View of a City

The Dilbert Principle

The Ugly Life

The Power of Media

Apples and Other Fruits

Matrimony

The Feminist Idea

Mumbai Meri Jaan

Science, Technology and Humanity- Part I

The Tinted Glass

A Loveletter

Sponsored Article

The Lady on the Train

The twist in the tale

I stalked him to find out all I could. He needed some timepass and female company is never refused. Nothing more. I had sleepless nights. What went wrong with a perfectly crafted twist? I never expected this!

I Want To Breathe

My World

Mein Ausdruck

The Girl Next Door

I Want To Breathe