PS for "Why broach this now?"

I realized something about life.

I should thank the two cockroaches for this realization. I wrote about my relationship with them a few days back (Why broach this now?) and as I pressed the publish button thoughts started pouring in. 

Don't we all treat everyone and everything as cockroaches? We either get disgusted and throw them away from our lives immediately. 

In other cases, we humor along for some time and one fine morning start wondering "what is it that I liked in that person or place or thing or etc.?" Suddenly, we get the desperate urge to get it away from our lives or get our lives away from it. We kick ourselves for having put up with that person or thing for that long. 

Finally, we stamp it out and start believing that this realization has made us grow - we have moved on. I am sure this happens to everyone

I have been victim and proponent of this crime too. 

Sorrow

Sorrow weighs down like a rock
Heavy enough to drown some
Others prefer carry the load
They swim through life
Shoulders drooped
Struggle for breath
All appears grey
Clouds settle on light
Sun gleefully hurts
Misery wraps around
Known and unknown matter no longer
Seek solace in strange places
Leave familiar shores
Paddle through turbulent waves
Discover lonely island where
Days are dark and nights darker

Friends: The middle of nowhere

I did not tell everything I wanted to, in the manner I wanted to. I also threw in some diversions to make the talk seem relevant to the children. I had to keep in mind that "they have to identify with what you say and think over it". Finally, there was a time limit of twenty minutes into which I had to fit it all and I could just speed-talk it through. I did the practice run, a night before the talk to cover these points. But no such conditions exist as I write these words. I rule this kingdom and decree the rules of monologue here. No one other than I can control or interrupt my writing. So I will not reproduce the talk verbatim. Differences would creep in as a result of my not remembering or my not caring to remember or my remembering something in addition.

When I am not in my kingdom, the beginning is always an issue. The first words, which make up the first sentence, are always an issue. As I said, it's only in this place that I don't care about where I start and for that reason, which brings in a sense of freedom, I love this dull white space surrounded a duller grey rectangle. I start anywhere and I end any time. For example, this piece should have been a part of the earlier Friends piece. But by the time I got here, I got tired and so I took inspiration from the movie Back to the future and threw in a "To be continued..." prior to pressing the publish button. There were people out there who should know that I have talked about them and I was in a hurry to inform them. So I stopped dead on my track, plopped on the road and rested. I did not plan to start writing this today but preparing an annoying presentation pushed me to this corner. I started writing and instead of getting to the point, I am indulging in this I-don't-know-what. I am trying the patience of everyone involved. Why? I am not sure; I simply can't help it. 

It's possibly my love to meander and of course, I adore starting something from the middle. Isn't that the way life is designed? Most, if not all of us, have no idea what happened in our first four or five years. The first memory I have of my life is some kind of waterfalls in a hill station. My parents tell me that I went for a trip to Ooty when I was three and nearly got lost in a tea garden. I have not asked them is waterfalls were involved in that that trip for I don't want to find that my memory is not a memory at all. I have a definite though vague memory of a bawling me being thrown into a school named Isabella, my Kindergarten, by my uncle. Beyond these, the chronological ordering of my life events, as I remember them, get murky till I get to five.

My family has recounted many events from those forgotten years. I recall my parents recounting a fun incident from the year two of my life. One morning, I walked out of the house, shut the door, latched it from outside and started walking away. My mother heard the closing of the door and ran towards it. But it was too late; the latch had fallen and she was trapped inside. She called out my name and asked me to open the door. But all she heard was me laugh as I walk away. She shouted, pleaded and even begged but all she got in response was my fading laughter. To say that she was panic stricken would be an understatement. She had no idea what to do and worse, she had no idea where I was going. She shouted and screamed for help but of no avail. She had no other way to inform the outside world of her perilous condition; there were no mobiles, no internet and only people like Seth Dharam Dayal Teja from the movie Zanjeer could afford a telephone in their residence. So she shouted and screamed and shouted and screamed. Finally, a passerby heard her voice and opened the door. She rushed to her neighbour's house for help and to her surprise, relief and annoyance found her happy son indulging in an early lunch. I have no memory of this incident and am not able to differentiate it from the memory of a Calvin and Hobbes episode.

So from my point of view, my life did not start at the beginning.

The finding in the middle of events, is not only limited to the early parts of our lives.  Every morning you are pushed out the world of dreams to the real world. All of a sudden, ZZTop is no longer playing La Grange from the driver's seat of a runaway train. Instead, the bottom of the middle berth in a slow moving train rocking side to side like a cradle comes into your vision.  All the problems of your life crawl in one by one. You close your eyes and desperately try to get ZZTop's train back into your life but of no avail,  you have landed right into the middle of your life. ZZTop reminds me of two songs that I feel do not start at the beginning.  First, Speed King by Deep Purple and the other Varuvanillarumee from the movie Manichitrathazhu. Both these songs are terrific but I always wonder what comes prior to the start of the song.

Most movies start from the middle of either the protagonists or some other characters  in the movie and yet we end up thinking that is the beginning of the movie.

Everything starts from the middle and so does my talk on friends. I did not talk about my first friend. In fact, I only remember the names of a few classmates from class 2 (I hated my time in class 1 and refuse to believe I knew anyone in that pathetic school). At that age, I am not sure if the word friends meant anything for me and so I believe none of the name I remember are my friends. When I turned 10, I found myself in Bombay. I think it is at Bombay that friends started entering my life. Specifically, one name C.V.Vishwanathan comes to my mind and I am filled with a feeling of warmth. I believe he was and is one of the nicest persons I have met.  I remember him inviting me to his home and feeding me dosa one afternoon. I also remember him asking his mother in Palakkad Tamil "endhukku poren?"  But I did not talk about CV to the children. My talk started a few years later - at a middler point.

I remember the song by Jack Johnson, named The 3 R's and it begins thus.

Three it's a magic number

Yes it is, it's a magic number

Because two times three is six

And three times six is eighteen

And the eighteenth letter in the alphabet is R

Three has other interesting references too.
1. The lord of the rings has 3 parts and is a terrific book.
2. Back to the future has 3 parts and is a terrific movie series.
4. Same is the case with the series Matrix.
5. The Hobbit has 3 parts and is boring enough to doze off.
6. The Shiva trilogy has three parts and is a prime example of a poorly executed good concept super hit.
7. My Bachelor's degree course went on for three years and seemed totally irrelevant till a year ago.
8. I fell in love three time... Eh! No, that's not true. I have either never fallen in love or done so a million times. I think I should end this ridiculous list.
Note: The number three is too sacred to be a part of this list.

The title of this section, the middle of nowhere, is not my own. Its the fifth album of the group The Orbital, who composed the brilliant theme of the movie The Saint. They were fortunate enough to have me as a part of the audience during one of their concerts. I bought their album post that concert. Though I liked this album, I prefer the nervous energy that Underworld possesses.

I am tired of writing and am forced to push the details of the actual talk to the third. So with all due respect to Mr. Spielberg, I say...

To be continued...

Why broach this now?

I did not like their presence in my room. They were intruding into my private space and I wanted them out of there. Previously, I had taken stringent actions in similar cases. But that day, equanimity had set in from god knows where and I decided to let them be. Though I had not met these two earlier, they seemed to be aware of my previous actions and were ready to run. As I walked in their direction, they ran to the other end of the room and looked at me furtively while feeling their surroundings tentatively. I smiled as I found, for the first time, an element of cuteness in them. Earlier, it was always disgust but now I looked at them with rising fondness. I waved them goodbye as I switched off the light and walked off the room.

Since then, I found them every time I walked into the room. Initially, they would run and hide at the farthest end of the room. As days passed, I started identifying similarities between them and cats. It must have been those round eyes, which turned brown compounded with worry and curiosity. But unlike the cat, they were agile and would in a matter of seconds dart across the room. During the next days, I looked at them with a smile on my lips. I was tempted to caress their backs but it was tough to get to them. At some point of time, I started talking to them too; asking them about their lives. I received no response but it did not matter. The relationship was ambling along well. 

One evening, as I walked into the room with the intention of baptizing them as Roly and Poly, a disgusting but familiar stink hit my nose and I shrank away from the room. I understood the reason for the stink. In a moment, I was back in the room with a Hawaii slipper in my hand. I smashed the yet unnamed Roly and Poly and sent their little souls heavenwards. It was all done in a matter of seconds. I looked at them sadly and thought "When a roach encroaches our coach approach them with a hand of reproach promptly"

Breaking through

Everywhere I look I see green

One from another can't be seen

Green, they say, is the sign of life

Will my will create a strife?

Eyes closed I drive the green away

I no longer wish to stay this way

From deep within I see the colour

Ride through my mind with valour

I still stand in a green ocean

But my red can even be seen from heaven

Friends: Thinking up thoughts for a talk

I had heard about the talk for a long time. I looked at it with dread - a twenty minute talk on something that influenced my life. For a few days, most of my daydreaming time was spent thinking about the something that influenced my life. Thoughts came in and went like models on a fashion ramp but none of them seemed appealing to my fine sense. Most thoughts fit into the sappy category, others announced their association with a certain cliché and the remaining few fell into the "Really!" category. A few days into thinking, I still had no idea about the topic. I had to talk in front of a couple of hundred children who considered Stephen Curry their onnukku pona machan. I was almost sure regardless of what I talked about I would end up seeming ridiculous. I should do my best to keep away from the ridiculouser than the ridiculous zone. 

I was sitting in a chaaya kada sipping a glass of "strong" tea, thinking up a topic for the "many months away and unannounced" talk. I felt eureka run through my mind naked. I said a "that's it" to myself and patted myself on my back in my thought. I had got it - I will talk about that fantastic temple trip we undertook many years ago. I sat back savouring the by now cold and hence bitter tea. The outline of my talk took its form in my head. For the next few days, my daydream trips were filled by temple and place names. Words like "beautiful sculptures", "exquisite architecture" and "precision work" walked in and out of my mind like unwelcome relatives. My walk had a spring of confidence in it; many of my colleagues commented about it too. I smiled at them benevolently. I wanted to tap the children on their shoulders and let them know that I was ready.

For many weeks nothing happened. No "hey, be ready next week OK?" came my way. Instead, I got to sit through an appalling talk by someone about his visit to Antarctica. The fellow put up a hundred photographs of those "six to nine weeks" birds from the movie Madagascar and other creatures that to my eyes seemed like a speck of dirt on the camera lens. I mean, what is the big deal about Antarctica. Why make so much noise about it? I looked around to stifle my yawn and was shocked to see the expressions of utter boredom on the children's faces. I turned my focus on the talk and listened carefully. The fellow was not exactly boring. As a matter of fact, the talk was quite amusing, especially the part about being chased by a flock of those Madagascarian birds. The photos were not bad either. The speck was not really a speck it was clearly visible. It was a seal chewing a bird. The flow of the talk was quite similar to what I had in my mind for my own yet-announced-but-yet-will-arrive-very-soon talk. I ran through the checklist.

1. Photographs: check

2. Gushing about the place: check

3. Using superlative words: check

4. Dropping in amusing incidents: check
5. The how-could-have-not-done-it-yet expression on face: check

The talk was proceeding exactly as per my own plan and the children did not seem amused. They seemed terribly bored and had actually started discussing mathematics among themselves. This was turning out to be a disaster. If Antarctica is treated in this manner, what will happen to my poor south Tamilnadu temples? I was swamped in the absolutely ridiculouser than the most ridiculous of ridiculous territory. I got up coughing, went out and did not go back to the talk.

That evening, I sat at the chaya kada with worry written all over my face. My world seemed darker that the strong tea I sipped. Prior to that talk on Antartica, my state of mind was similar to Swami Vivekananda's as he stepped onto the Chicagoan soil. Now my mind could be compared to an article in the piece of oil soaked newspaper lying crumpled on the road after being used first to take the oil of the vazhakai bajji and then used to take the oil out of the eater's hand. The owner of the tea stall turned on the music, probably in an attempt to regale me. A you-are-the-moon-of-my-life-I-have-been-asking-everyone-about-you-I-have-looked-everywhere-for-you type of song came on. Though the lyrics were puke-worthy, the music and singing were pleasant enough to give a listen. The song ended and a rage of a song from the 90's started playing. Rahman passionately belted out the lines

Mustafa mustafa don't worry Mustafaa

Kaalam nam thozhan Mustafaa

Day-by-day, day-by-day vaazhkaip payanam day-dy-day

Muzhugaatha shippae friendship thaan

I have always hated this song. What the hell does Muzhugaatha shippae friendship thaan mean! (Clearly, the word hell is inappropriate to reflect my feelings.) Vaali was a great poet with many great works associated with him but for having written these lines some of the greatness should be stripped off him. Unfortunately, the song's catchy and I hum to it every time it comes on. Worse, it stays inside my head subsequently for many days. As ever, I listened to the song and even hummed to it. The dog eating a piece of biscuit nearby looked at me curiously. My mood had lightened enough to smile back at him. I guess my smile was worse than my hum and it promptly went back to eating the biscuit.

And then the idea struck me - that damned muzhugaatha ship called FRIENDSHIP. That's it!

From the age of sixteen, friends studded my jewel of a life. They came in at regular intervals.  I don't think anyone ever ended up hating me or un-friending me but some turned into memory at some point of time. But others continued to stay in life and put in their mark on certain days of my life. For a long time, I thought friends as a peripherals who made a few minutes of one's life amusing. But a few years back I looked back at my life to answer the question "Who the hell am I?" (Oh well! Oh hell!)  But I brought the exercise to an end when it threw in another question instead of answering the existing one. "Why the hell am I like this?" (Isn't hell such a feeble word? But well, hell is all I can tell for nothing else will sell for all else will ring a bell and that would not jell at all and so I quell my will to yell.) But the exercise brought out one aspect clearly; some of my friends were not peripheral at all. They seemed to have made defining impacts on my life. Will it not be a fitting tribute to all of them to talk about some of them? I decided to talk about two. By talking about their lives I thought I will bring out how they weaved certain patterns through my life.

The "what" of the talk was set and the time had come to move to the details. I walked around the house and other places too waving my hands as I talked to myself. I framed the talk and then framed it again before framing it once more and so on forever and ever. I did it everywhere; while I walked to work, while I walked back home, while I sat on the bogs, while I took bath, while sleep played hide and seek with me. I was obsessed with it. I did not notice the stares and looks of concern on the faces of the people around. I wore a spectacle and that was enough to prove that I was trying to prove the big bang was preceded by an even bigger bang that sounded like someone having an uncontrollable sneeze.

In a matter of days, I was ready. My head contained all the words required to expose my version of these people's life. Their only crime, I decided to consider them my friends. One Thursday evening, I heard a voice tell me from behind "Hey, its your turn next Thursday." At that moment, I realized I was not ready at all. All my hand waving and talking aloud in public came down crashing. I rushed home and put on that Mustafa song. It did not sound inspiring at all. I sat down and went through the lines of my talk in my head. I felt reassured. It did not sound terrible - those two lives and their intersections with my life were interesting enough to keep anyone amused for at least a few minutes. Now I only doubted the profoundness of the topic as it seemed fairly mundane and of this world.

I verified the profound quotient of the topic with a couple of my colleagues. I noticed furrows appearing on their forehead as I narrated the gist of my talk. Both of them had the similar question "but what do you want the young audience to take away from this talk?" One of them was kind enough to suggest "Why don't you tie it all together and see what the young one can take away from your talk?" That evening, I sat on the only chair in my home resting my head on my palms. What do I expect the audience to take away from the talk? I have friends; I have good friends; I have friends whom I have known for years; I have friends who are cooler than cool; I have friends who are as normal as I; I have friends whom I meet once a year and yet we call each other friends. Yeah! Maybe there is a message after all. The process started again. Though 80% of what I wanted say remained the say, the remaining 20 had to be woven in. The process was now limited to the time I spent on bed between wake and sleep. I waved my hands lying on my back like Anjali in the Maniratnam movie of the same name. By Wednesday, I was ready.

Wednesday evening 11 pm, terror struck. My back had not yet hit the bed. I realized that I have not done a trial run of the talk; not even once. I opened the laptop and started recording a video of my speech. It was an embarrassing process; I hated to see myself on the screen and brought on a grotesque expression on my face. I did not like the sound of my voice and brought on an indecipherable accent. The recording took 25 minutes and was not a struggle. I played back the video. Within a few minutes, I turned my face away from the screen; I could not stand the sight of that phony on the screen. The accent was also terribly annoying but I had no choice but to grit my teeth and put up with it. One of the longest twenty five minutes in my life came to an end to twenty five minutes later. My face wore a satisfactory smile. I can't do any better!

I looked at the many young faces and a few older ones looking at me. For some reason, I felt they looked with some sort of expectation. I could feel a shiver pass through legs. I "mmmm hmmmmed" as I have always wanted to "mmmmm hmmmmm" before starting a talk. I opened my mouth and talked.

To be continued...

Pieces of me

Little by little I fade away
Part by part I fall apart
Piece by piece I break
Drop by drop life leaks
How much longer till there is no more?
A day away or a decade more
Unimaginable lasting longer seems
When a little less exists every tomorrow
Now is a better time than other
Should I look up at the sky
To beseech a travel?
Should I just dig a hole
jump in and wait?
Should I let the water
flow over my head?
I can't do any of it
My teeth will not sink in
They are too weak
They take leave and jump away
How much longer should this wait go on?
Maybe I should just visit a dentist.

Little Chatter-ly

The little one refused to stop talking. His shrill voice reverberated through the small car. It took 15 minutes of desperate pleading from everyone else for him to agree to give the talk a break. But we did not realize that not talking meant singing. He belted out numbers at the highest human octave possible. Some of the songs were known but others were spontaneous compositions, which seemed more like an imposition. Ridiculousness would have hung its head in shame had it heard him sing "Patanjali grandfather is eating free food at Amma Unavagam". As I write these lines, I think "How can anyone put something like that into a tune!" He did it; not once but many times. Suddenly, the songs stopped and he moved to the world of fantasy and superheros. He started describing graphically the Batman villain Two-face with Patanjali grandfather on one side and one of his teachers on the other.

At a signal, he saw a lady crossing the road with a baby on her hips. She seemed a careful mother who had waited for the traffic to stop prior to attempting to cross the road. Yet, the little fellow, objected to her actions by exclaiming "Hachoo! How can she do this with the baby on her hips?" We probed on the need for the statement but he had moved on and was screaming about a restaurant that served unlimited chicken biriyani. If the Guinness book of records official was present, he would have awarded the record for the "most number of chicken biriyani's mentioned in a minute within a small car occupied to its maximum capacity" to him.

That was not the end of the conversation. "I want to sell my Honda Brio for 26 lakhs and buy two new cars" he shouted into my ears.
I responded shocked "You can't sell a Honda Brio for 26 lakhs."
"Oh! The car is well maintained. It is in good condition. So I will sell it and buy a BMW."
"BMW! What about the second car?"
"What second car?"
"You said you will buy two cars."
"No I will only buy the BMW."
"So you plan to sell your Honda Brio for 26 lakhs and buy a BMW is it?"
"That's right!"

One evening, I found him between his friends. I shouted in his direction "Did you sell the Honda Brio for 26 lakhs?" He walked over to me and answered angrily "Hey! Don't shout it in front of all. We will talk about it in private" and walked back shaking his head.