Democrazy works

The first of the days that the country has been waiting since 2014 has arrived. In the red corner, the supporters of the current Government have been thumping their chest while shouting out a song, which I believe contains the line "we shall overcome in 2019 again". And in the blue corner, the haters have been screaming for the Government's and its leader's blood from the minute they formed the Government. They too have a song, which only has the line "We will, we will rock you in 2019". In the middle, a few sit with their heads in their hands singing a song that contains the line "between the devil and the deep blue sea" while wailing intermittently. Except the third category, which in any case is a minority, the other two have been waiting from 2014 for the 2019 general elections with bated breath. Thus the days preceding voting have been filled with speculation and conjecturing. Political analysts were taking birth in every corner of the land. 

The prevalent mood in the country suggests a change in the Government. The current Government expended a lot of energy in making noise and being jingoistic. Many of their actions were not free of controversy, which should not come as a shock as the people involved are politicians. But the issue, in this case, is that the leaders of the Government acted like Mahatmas and Saints and hence became dubious figure when their own activities seem doubtful. During the past few years, I have realized that the human mind has little tolerance for hypocrisy. So politicians and people, in general, should not talk about doing good and being principled if they can't live up to it. It is much better to be seen as a weak person than a hypocrite. Thus the hypocrisies of the Government seems to have caught up to them. But they could still shrug it off and come back to form the Government as the opposition is in a pathetic state. I don't think there are too many people in the country who believe that the opposition better than the current Government. They have proved their worth earlier and I am sure they will put us through a lot of nonsense if and when they come back.

The only saving grace is that Donald Trump was elected and continues to be the President of United States of America. Shit happens anywhere anytime somehow.

I would be lying if I said I do not support the ruling party. I always have. Not because I support their ideology or am interested in seeing a temple built at the various sacred spots across the country but simply because the leaders in the party come from different walks of life. I think we have no choice but to make this Government work. The media and many intellectuals have used every weapons available inside their head to attack the Government. I believe they did not give any chance for the Government to survive and this will ultimately prove harmful for the country. But they don't seem to care. I feel that their love for the country is no different from that of the right winger and the hard core patriots. They are the two sides of a coin. 

So I am a peripheral supporter of the ruling party. Though I would like them to continue ruling the country, this is not a feeling of hope. I don't think they will do much for the country. But I don't think they will ruin the country like the other parties. As the date of voting approached, I became aware of the the ruling party's terrible coalition partners in Tamilnadu. Of course, the word terrible can be associated with most political parties in Tamilnadu but some of the parties in this coalition were terribler than terrible. I was shocked when I realized that the coalition had fielded a candidate from a hegemonic and nepotist party in my constituency. I would not have voted for this party in 2014; in 2019 I could not even think about it. Thus it became clear that I did not have a preferred candidate to vote. Actually, I preferred not to vote for any candidate. The NOTA button loomed large in my mind. But I did not like that button. It seemed pointless to go all the way to the polling booth to press a NOTA. So I had to pick a candidate.

A few days prior to the voting day, the younger one's homework dealt with elections and getting information about our constituency and booth. He informed us that our polling booth continues to be same as the one ten years ago. This meant we had to travel 35 km one way to get to vote. I was certainly not going to travel 70 km to press the NOTA button. He, very helpfully, came forward to inform us the list of candidates. Voting for the ruling and opposition party candidates was out of the question. So I was left with the peripherals. The break away faction of the ruling party in the state was headed by a shady figure and I think it is better to kill oneself than to vote for anyone in that party. I had to choose from a few etcetera and independent candidates.

During my growing years, the concept of patriotism was driven into my head. It is done through different mechanisms - lessons in schools, movies, music, documentaries, sports, functions and national days, biographies and autobiographies and history. The idea that we are great is rammed into our heads and we grow up being proud about everything that our country does and not. This is not only true for our country but also for any country on the planet. Actually, it is not just the country but also state, district, village or town or city. Patriotism, which is synonymous with pride, is driven into our heads to such an extent that we believe and circulate the messages on our national anthem being selected or elected or awarded as the best national anthem on the planet. It is not enough for us to have a national anthem; we are not even satisfied at having good national anthem, it has to be the best and nothing less than that. The concept of democracy and the purported power that the common man is a major weapon of patriotism in our country. We are made to believe that we choose our leaders and if and when we decide, we can change our leaders. While at a high level this seems true, I think there are many issues hidden between the lines. First, it does not matter whom we choose, they are all the same. No one seems to be better than the other but ironically everyone seems worse than the other. So as was done by Bharatha in Ramayana, it would be better for us to have a pair of chappals as our leader. At least, it will not do us harm. Second, we choose the leader and not I. The "we" in the previous statement is a large "we"; probably as large as 272 multiplied by at least half the average population of a constituency in India. I don't have the ability to convince the people in my family that "Yuve yuve yu" is the greatest song on the planet, how am I expected to convince so many people.

These thoughts did not come to me out of the blue one Thursday morning in the shower as I was struggling to soap the middle portion of my back. It has been building over the years. Every time I walked to the polling booth, a voice whispered "What's the point!" in my head. But I was scared that someone would check the index finger on my left hand and scream at me "traitor". I was worried that my boss would notice my ink-less finger and reduce my rating by 0.762. What would happen to my increment! What would happen to my promotion! What would happen to my family! And last but not the least, what would happen to me! So I trudged under the hot sun to the polling booth stood in line and happily let the officials at the booth to place the ink on the index finger of my left hand.

By 10 am on the day of polling, my social media pages and message boxes were complaining about the number of pictures of fingers they were receiving. The pictures could be broadly classified into two categories. Number one: I voted so should you. Such pictures were to the point, they showed the close up of an inked finger, potentially the sender's own finger. The index finger seems to be pointing accusingly at the receiver and ordering him/her to get to the polling booth. Number two: I am/We are happy citizen(s). These pictures typically has people with large smiles plastered on their faces holding aloft the index finger of their left hand. These are kinder people than the former and are only trying to express their joy about being good citizens. As an aside, I wonder if Facebook is running some AI algorithm to understand people's purchasing pattern based on their nails or the way they hold their hand.

By 10:04 am I realized the ridiculousness of the situation. I was taking the elections too seriously. I was trying to apply logic to a ridiculous situation and regardless of the brilliance of my logic, the result would be ridiculous for the country and I. So why not choose the person and party to vote based on a totally ridiculous logic. I loved Kamalhassan in my growing years. During younger days I thought he was greatest human being and actor alive after watching him in Uyarndha Ullam and Mangamma Sapatham. I decided to take the thought of the younger and innocent version of me seriously and vote for Kamalhassan's party, Makkal Needhi Maiam. At the point of time, I was not sure about the party's name or its emblem. I knew that it was referred to as MNM and thought I will get the required information while I waited in the queue at the polling booth.

Besides the voting card, we used carry a small piece of paper that was given to us by one of the political parties. I thought the piece of paper had some vital piece of information that I could not decipher. Soon after I reached the vicinity of the polling booth, I approached a table full of party members and asked them for the slip. They did not have the slip. They had sheets containing lists of people and their photographs. They asked me for my ward number. I shrugged. Someone snatched my voter card and typed a number on it into their mobile phone. Soon they copied some details from their mobile phones on to a small slips of paper and handed them to me. It contained information about the ward number and serial number. I felt silly. I had checked the site in the morning and had all the information stored in my mobile phone, which was getting baked inside the car standing under the hot sun. We walked to the room that contained our ward and was surprised to find it nearly empty. I stood behind two people waiting to be inked. Tension grew within me. I wondered what the shape of the marking that the official placed on my index finger on the left hand would be. I have to live with the marking for the next month or two and did not want it to be messy. Sometimes, the official would place excess ink that runs along the edge of the nail and leave crescent that in the coming days starts moving up. It would look ghastly. I did not want a fat drop of ink. I prayed for a thin and elegant marking.

After giving my information and placing my signature on a form, I extended my trembling left finger to the official. He took out the stick from the bottle containing the ink and placed it on my finger. I closed my eyes and prayed. I only stopped when I heard the official asked me to go ahead and vote. I walked into the booth, which consisted of a table with the EVM on top. The EVM was surrounded with pieces of cardboard to ensure that the process remained secret. I looked at the list of candidates and the party symbols.  To my utter shock I realized that I did not know the name of MNM's candidate or its symbol. I had forgotten to look at the large poster with the list of candidates placed outside the polling station. I thought the first two entries on the EVM would be the ruling and opposition party and so looked at the third entry. It was a candidate with an air conditioner as his/her symbol. I did not remember MNM's symbol but was quite sure that it was not an air conditioner. My eyes ran through the list of symbols in desperation but I could not remember any of the symbols. I felt that time was running out and that all the eyes in the room were on me. My hands moved towards the NOTA but stopped two entries ahead of it. I pressed and held a button. As I held the button down, I looked at the symbol used by the candidate I had voted for.

I walked out of the booth and looked for the symbol in the list of candidates pasted outside. Against the symbol, I noticed the photograph an independent candidate. He was a pleasant looking fellow who smiled pleasantly at the camera. I felt happy for I liked the him. He looked familiar and that is always a good sign. I made an effort to remember his name and symbol as I was curious to know how many people voted for him. Since then I have forgotten both the information but hope to remember his name when I see it in the newspaper or website.

At the end of the day, I feel I ridiculed the system, which in turn ridiculed me. Of course, I do realize that regardless of who gets ridiculed in the process I am the one who will be ridiculed the most.

Biriyani Talk

In the movie Thattathin Mariyathil, a not so important character mentions "biriyani should be declared as our national food". It will be an understatement to say "I love biriyani". That does not mean I eat it for every meal or for that matter every day. But if I don't eat it for a week, I start having withdrawal symptoms. Over the years I have realized there are many sub-species of biriyani. On the streets of Chennai, there are many stalls that provide the Dang-dang biriyani. This dish gets its name from the fact that the person who serves the food, beats the side of the big vessel every time he brings out a ladle of biriyani. This is not done to enhance the taste of the dish but more to announce that they serve Dang-dang biriyani. The biriyani itself is usually soaked in spices and oil. I consume this version only under desperate conditions. Once consumed my stomach spends the remaining part of the day informing me that a spurious combination of spices and oil have been non-nonchalantly thrown into it. This is especially a problem if I consume the said dish for dinner. 

Though I have consumed biriyani for many years, my first remembrance of a biriyani based incident is from 2002. We were at Hyderabad and for many of us it is a crime to separate the two words Hyderabad and biriyani. We requested the driver to take us to the best biriyani place at 12:30 pm. The man drove maniacally through the city streets and stopped the car by an old building a few hundred metres from Charminar. He said something like yaeech (which roughly translates to "this it it"). We looked up at the building with trepidation. I decided to check the restaurant prior to all of us getting into it. As I walked up the stairs and into the restaurant, I realized that the building seemed good enough to take our burden but I was not sure if our stomachs were strong enough to accept the burden of the food served in this restaurant. So I shook my head and informed the driver that the place was unacceptable. He let out a hanging "but" out of his mouth (you know the one that goes "but...") and went back to driving.

He took us two more unappealing restaurants that we promptly turned down. At 1:45pm, he stopped in front of a restaurant and informed us that he can no longer drive. "Don't worry about how it looks. It serves one of the best biriyani in town" he said. We got down and looked at a restaurant that was called Cafe Bahar. The name did not sound very welcoming. We walked tentatively into the non-A/C hall and looked around for a moment. A waiter came along and ushered us into the dark A/C room, which was like a typical A/C room in a restaurant from the past. Apparently, the owners of the restaurants in the 80s and 90s had strong foundation in Physics and hence they understood that light energy and heat energy went hand-in-hand. They probably hummed the famous song by the then-famous 80s group Density Mode all the time. I especially love the line which goes

"Energy is energy so why shouldn't it be 

Heat and Light should get along so awesomely"

Their strong physics principles ensured that they filled the A/C part of their restaurants with zero watt bulb. Normal human beings of 21st century could not have maneuvered through those dark aisles. But the human beings of 20th century were special. We have built-in night vision features thanks to the people who populated the electricity board. These kind souls ensured that all houses in the city had at least an hour and a half of power shutdown three days a week. People back then knew exactly where the chairs are placed even when they are misplaced. So we maneuvered through the dark A/C hall towards the empty seats. It is interesting to note that we determined that the seats were empty due to it being darker than the dark hall. Life was so interesting then! We did not require Game of Thrones back then; we had our own Game of Thorns.

We parked ourselves in the seats and asked the waiter for the items available. The advantage of a dark room in a restaurant is that one does not have to go through the pain of reading menu cards. You ask "What is there?" and prompt came the response "Egg biriyani, Special Egg biriyani, Bahar Egg biriyani, Cafe Bahar Egg biriyani, Special Bahar Egg biriyani, Mughlai Egg biriyani, Special Mughlai Egg biriyani, Special Cafe Bahar Mughlai Egg biriyani, Chicken biriyani, Special Chicken biriyani, Bahar Chicken biriyani, Cafe Bahar Chicken biriyani, Special Bahar Chicken biriyani , Mughlai Chicken biriyani, Special Mughlai Chicken biriyani, Special Cafe Bahar Mughlai Chicken biriyani, Mutton biriyani, Special Mutton biriyani, Bahar Mutton biriyani, Cafe Bahar Mutton biriyani, Special Bahar Mutton biriyani, Mughlai Mutton biriyani, Special Mughlai Mutton biriyani, Special Cafe Bahar Mughlai Mutton biriyani". The advantage of placing the dish with the maximum number of prefixes at the end of the list is that the customers usually only remembers the last dish which started with special and had other adjective (or whatever grammar construct Mughlai is). We should also remember that the customer is a person with a large ego and so he/she will not say "I don't remember a word of what you said. So please repeat". Instead he will act intelligent and say "Give me that last special dish". The waiter then moves in for the kill and ask "You want the Special Cafe Bahar Hyderabadi biriyani is it?" The egoist would promptly agree by saying "Yes, yes! That one!"

Something similar happened to us too. The waiter asked the follow-up question - "How many?" Though we were hungry we decided not to take too many biriyani. So we said decided to take three plates for the four of us. He looked at each of us for a moment and said "take two". We protested by saying "we are famished". He compromised by saying "take two and if you want more, order later". That seemed like a sensible option and we agreed instantly. When the plates of biriyani arrived we wondered why he had not forced us to take one plate. Each plate could have fed each one of us for a week. Twenty minutes later, we were shoving the plates at each other's face. The biriyani was delicious. It was the best biriyani we had had in our lives. It taught us the meaning of the word flavour. It only had the flavour of spice and was not really spicy. Since then Cafe Bahar was high on our recommendation list for biriyani in Hyderabad, not that I am aware of anyone who heeded to our advice. Whenever I travel to Hyderabad, I ensure I had additional time to go till Cafe Bahar and parcel a family pack of biriyani. I would shove the pack into my laptop bag. At the airport, when I opened the bag at the security check point to take out my laptop, the fragrance of biriyani would spread through the airport. People would look at me with a mixture of anger, contempt and envy. Once a security guard asked with an inquiring look "biriyani?". I responded "biriyani!" Needless to say, my laptop smelt of biriyani for more than a week and HR at the office would walk around the office trying to find the person eating biriyani inside the office during office hours. The fools never realized that my laptop loved biriyani .

One time, I did not have the time to go till Cafe Bahar.  I compromised and bought the biriyani from another restaurant that is believed to have existed since the time discovery of biriyani was being discussed. As famous as the restaurant was, we did not like the biriyani. It was greasy and the flavour of the spices were lost in its excess. We shared the biriyani with the person working at our house. She and her family were down with food poisoning for the next three days. I avoided going anywhere near that restaurant since. I am not interested in visiting paradise yet.

In old Delhi, there is a famous restaurant that serves authentic Mughlai Biriyani. It is said that the chefs in the restaurant's traced their lineage to the cooks in the last Mughal emperor's kitchen. We were curious to find the biriyani consumed by Bahadur Shah Zafar and so went in search of the restaurant. After a number of lefts and rights, we reached the small restaurant and seated ourselves in its crowded interiors. The biriyani did not look like the biriyani we were used to. I had a small voice in my head say "ithena manja sora?" It tasted like manja soru too. I can't say I liked the taste of the biriyani. What would Bahadur Shah Zafar's reaction have been had tasted the dang-dang biriyani. I have a feeling he would have order either of the chefs to be executed. A couple of hours after lunch, we reached the famed parattewale galli. The lunch still slumbered in our stomachs and we really did not have the space inside to fit anything else. But the paratte  in this galli were popular and we had to try these. So we got into the small and heated interior of a restaurant. The paratte, which were fried in desi ghee arrived dripping in ghee. At the sight of the dish our insides started churning. Our brains sent a polite and yet firm message to our stomachs, which read "I understand your situation but this is once in a lifetime opportunity. I would appreciate your cooperation". The message was effective and we were able to taste the paratte without throwing up. I did not enjoy the parattes; maybe due to my full stomach. I have never thought of visiting that place again and even as I write these words on an empty stomach I can feel something churn inside me.

For seven years, Hotel Crescent acted as an extended kitchen and at times dining hall for us. At most times we satiated our irresistible urge for non-Sattvic food at Crescent. I believe that the concept of Sattvic is overrated. Two Sattvics have been a part of my life for the past two years and I don't find anything Sattvic about them. While consuming Sattvic food might help, the consumption of this kind of food alone cannot make one calm. I guess the fame that its consumption brings removes any benefit that this food can bring in. I digress. I don't care about consuming Sattvic food and so love the food served Crescent. The Malabar Porotta, Kerala Mutton Curry, Aiyla fry and Kerala Fish Curry can only be referred to in the proper noun case. They are that good. But our favourite dish at Crescent is the MALABAR MUTTON BIRIYANI. Yeah! It deserves all caps. The dish is flavourful and visually appealing. As one consumes the biriyani one is only aware of its presence but not overpowered by it. You will not remember for the next four hours that you consumed biriyani. That is an important quality for a food item. One should be aware of the food's presence from a few minutes before till a few minutes after eating it. After three hours, if your fingers still smell like the dish then you shouldn't be consuming that food.

One day, out of blue, Lucknow entered my life. The Government showed us a carrot and we started chasing it. Ultimately, we did not even get the rope holding the carrot. But I got the opportunity to travel to Lucknow and experience its sights, sounds and more importantly fragrance and taste. Lucknowi Biriyanis are the best. They are even better than Hyderabadi biriyani. The first time I had not done my research well. I picked a pack of biriyani from one of the branches of a famous chain called Dasterkhwan. The biriyani tasted like a good North Indian biriyani, which was simply not good enough for us. Subsequently I learned about Tunday Kababi and its Galuti Kebab. One time, I stayed in a hotel opposite to a mall. The mall had an outlet of Tunday Kababi. One evening, I picked some of the kababs and biriyani for dinner. It seemed to me that my biriyani experience had reached its peak. Since then I packed biriyani and Galuti Kabab from the original Tunday Kababi, which is situated in a place that can only be reached through twisting and turning roads filled to the brim with traffic. But it was worth the effort for in our opinion Tunday Kababi's biriyanis are the best.

One time, I packed the biriyani at Tundays and reached the airport. I was in a convenient flight from Lucknow for it reached Chennai by 8:30 pm. So all of us could have the biriyani for dinner at 9:30 pm. The flight took off well and it proceeded well too. In fact everything went well till it reached the Chennai airspace. It could not land in Chennai. The captain came over the PA system and said that the runway was relaid that morning but it was not done properly. Gravel from the freshly laid runway was flying around during landing and it was considered too dangerous to attempt landing in Chennai. As the plane was running out of fuel, it had to be rerouted to Bangalore for refueling. The plane reached Bangalore at 9:30 pm (our planned dinner time) where a further complication was revealed to us. Apparently, the pilot had already completed the stipulated flying time for the day. He would lose his license if he attempted to fly us to Chennai. So the airlines was trying to get a pilot to fly us back to Chennai at 10 pm. I lost hope of getting back home that night. The biriyani sat in my laptop bag and was busy sharing its fragrance with the other contents of my bag, which, obviously, included my laptop. I called up home and informed them the situation. It seemed this would turn out to be a thayir saadam night for them.

At around 11 pm, a pilot arrived and the plane took off from Bangalore. Miraculously, the runways at Chennai had cleared by this time and the plane landed at Chennai without causing any commotion. I was home at 1 pm. We eagerly opened the laptop bag; the whiff of biriyani hit us. We took out the pack, opened it and tasted it. To our relief, it was not spoiled. We could not contain ourselves with one mouthful of dish. So we helped ourselves to another mouthful, which led to another mouthful, which in turn led to another mouthful. This process went on till the pack of biriyani became just a pack. That night, we became aware of a question and its inevitable response. What is the right time to eat biriyani? Anytime.

I can't keep count of the number of times I have traveled between Chennai and Bangalore by road. At some point, we heard that Ambur was famous for its leather footwear and Biriyanis. Till date I have not tried either at Ambur. Our learning got fine tuned when we were informed that Five Star Biriyani is the best Biriyani available at Ambur. On my next journey, I kept an eye out for Five Star Biriyani but I only found hundreds of Star Biriyanis and not one Five Star Biriyani. I called up the informer and shouted
"Hey, there's no Five Star Biriyani at Ambur."
"Five Star Biriyani! I did not say anything about Five Star Biriyani"."
"Nonsense! You were gushing about the biriyanis at Five Star Biriyani in Ambur."
"That was Star Biriyani and not Five Star Biriyani."
"No! You said Five Star."
"Stop talking rot! I know what I said. I said Star and not Five Star."
"Hmm Ok! Maybe I misunderstood. But that does not solve the problem I have. There are hundreds of Star Biriyanis here."
"It's the one which says 'original' and that it was founded in eighteen hundred and something."
"Thanks! That narrows it down to 10 shops. Now tell me which of the ten."
"You mean there are ten such restaurants."
"Yes!"
"We went to the one which is next to the leather chappal shop."
"Five such shops."
"The one with the green board."
"Stays at five."
"It has a pan-wallah in front."
"Four"
"Ehhhh! Ummmmm!"
"Oh! Forget it."

A few years ago I got to know that Ambur's famous Five Star Biriyani had opened a branch at Annanagar. I searched for the restaurant in Google map and was stumped when we did not find any information about it . I was sure my Ambur biriyani expert friend would have some information.
"Hey! Have you heard that Ambur's Five Star Biriyani has opened a branch in Chennai?"
"No. I haven't."
"Is that so? I heard its somewhere in Annanagar. Since you are a great lover of biriyani I though you would know its location."
"I have never heard of a Five Star Biriyani in Annanagar."
He slammed the phone on me. Actually, it was a mobile phone and he did not slam it literally. I meant he cut the call on me rudely. But the rudeness made me think. I wondered what had upset him thus and that is when I remembered our conversation from the past. I searched for Star Biriyani and found its location.

The biriyani had a ginger flavour in it and this made its taste unique. Many years ago, a chain of fast food joints called Kabab Magic in Bangalore served similar biriyani. Kabab Magic was a special place for us; it introduced us to Chicken Grill and Chicken Shawarma. We loved the biriyanis too. I wonder how I missed talking about this place at the beginning. We have only been to Star at Annanagar once. Since then Star has opened many branches around the city but the taste of the biriyani is not the same. The dish is too oily and the smell of biriyani stays with you for a long time.

Recently, I picked a pack of Biriyani at the Star outlet in Rajakilpakkam. As I waited for the parcel to arrive, two college kids walked in. One of them ordered two Chicken Biriyanis while the other looked at the menu. He smacked at an item in the menu card and ordered two Prawns Lollipop. The person at the counter asked them to pay Rs. 856. The two of them nearly fell back in shock. They said in unison "How much?" The man responded "Rs. 856". "How much is a plate of Prawn Lollipop?" "Rs 228." "What! Cancel it" said one. "No wait! How much will the amount be if I take one Prawn Lollipop?" said the other. "Rs. 626." "Cancel it!" said the one but the other one hesitated. "We only have Rs. 500 to spend for lunch today. Remember!" reminded the one. "Okay! Two Chicken Biriyanis only." said the other with a sigh.

To lunch or not to lunch, this is the question...

The original plan was to make a short 15 minute presentation. But he never liked the straight and easy path. He liked to explore and when he explored the group of people with him had no choice but to explore. So what started as a journey from here to there ended up being a tour of here, there and many other theres. The group did not complain for they were awed by his ideas and were more than happy to be a part of something so dramatic. They gave their everything to ensure that there were no blips in his vision. 

Not everyone were happy though. The academicians lost their time with the group as it was snatched for the presentation. They gathered, stared at the group practicing and grumbled. Some times the grumble became noisy enough to be heard by him and he decided to give the group a break from the practice. The group with a heavy heart went back to the academicians who mercilessly fed them with complexities that they were not interested in and even if they were interested would have found it difficult to understand. The group had no choice but to sit through the academic sessions.

The icing on the cake was the test that took place in the afternoon of the day before the presentation. No one in the group could think of anything other than the presentation and hence did not prepare. On the morning of the test, the practice continued. It was only at lunch time that they realized that the test was a few minutes away. Most in the group shrugged their shoulders and went to the dining hall. Two of them decided to stay back, skip the lunch and prepare for the test. The academician who was supposed to conduct the test was finishing his lunch when one in the group walked up to him and said "Those two have skipped their lunch and are preparing for the test". The academician immediately found himself in a dilemma. On the one hand, he wanted to get the two of them to the dining room immediately. On the other, he wanted advice the informer to stop snitching on others. The academician being a person of high principles was evil. Such innocent snitching resulted in him having access to information and hence decided to not admonish the one who had informed him. Instead he went in search of the two who had skipped the lunch.

He found them in the classroom. They were deeply involved in teaching each other. For a moment he hesitated. Being an academician he loved to see people study. From a very young age, he had realized futility of spending time in sleeping and taking a bath. Over time, he mastered the ability to study while doing something else, that is, study while eating, study while exercising, study while sitting on toilet and so on. So he appreciated the two of them sacrificing their lunch to study. Yet, he could not let them continue in this manner for the institution took its rules seriously. This meant everyone eat lunch at around the lunch time. No one has the right to skip lunch. The one who had snitched the information by now would have told ten others and he would be in trouble if these others found that he let the two non-lunchers not lunch. 

"You two! Come here!"

"Yes sir"

"Did you have your lunch?"

"No sir, I did not!"

"I did. I had curd rice."

"Leave now to the dining hall and have your lunch. And you! What were the other dishes for lunch today?"

"I beg your pardon."

"You said you had curd rice for lunch. There were other items too in the menu. What were they?"

"Eh! Well! I think it was... Sorry sir! I did not have lunch. I will go and have it now."

"Please understand that I am an intelligent person and I have enough intelligence to find the truth. Go now!"

PS: The presentation was awe inspiring. It included a sound presentation, photograph presentation and art presentation. It also included three short enactments that awed many in the audience.

Miss-understanding

The teacher had been in front of her laptop for hours. The tiresomeness of preparing the year end reports for 25 children affected her concentration. The various aspects of her students started merging and she found it difficult to differentiate one child from the other. Twenty five is a not a big number but writing page long reports in a short interval was not easy. It is said that human beings only have the ability to recall five qualities of a person at a time. Five qualities were not enough to fill a page. It has also been found by researchers at Tasmania Psychos Institute that the number of qualities recalled goes down by one for every three persons unless the recaller gives a break of 12.32 minutes between each person. This meant that if the teacher does not give the said time as break between the writing of reports, she would only recall one quality of the thirteenth student (no wonder thirteen is considered unlucky) and she would not recall anything of the sixteenth student (since you don't remember anything about sixteen, it is neither lucky or unlucky). The teacher was writing her twelfth report and she had filled the report with near generic notes that would have fit any child on this planet. 

Of course the teacher under discussion was meticulous and had her notes on each student next to her. But as she was running through them she realized, to her utter shock, that the notes for many students looked the same. She did not know findings of a research done by another premier institute that conducted researches on human qualities, The Road Runner Institute of Human Qualities (the institute is quite appropriately situated in a Coyote Street). The findings revealed that all human beings on the planet shared the same set of qualities; only the degree of each quality varied. For example, let us consider the quality honesty. Every child born has this quality available in some corner of his/her brain but as he/she grows it value changes. So while on person could end up with a value of 533 on 864 another could have 345.3 on 864. I can't help but mention that in the case the honesty greater the number the less honest the person is. Some historical goof up has ensured that the honesty attribute was not exactly honest.

The teacher's notes had detailed about the qualities but unfortunately it did not have a number and so by the time she reached the fifth report she realized that most of her points were just descriptions of different qualities. As had been said in the previous paragraph every student has all the qualities. Thus it seemed to her that though the words were different for each child, they meant the same for all the students. As she and her colleagues did not believe in assigning numbers to each child, there was no way to differentiate one from the other.  She had never been a fan of the formal review process and year after year her disregard for the process increased. She wished she could just sit across and talk to each student instead of sitting in front of her laptop screen night after night writing convoluted sentences that said a lot less than intended. 

At the end of the report twelve, she moved the laptop away and rested her head on the table. She was annoyed that the headache she felt was not actually aching her head. She was also annoyed that her eyes did not spew out tears of pity. On the whole, she was annoyed that she did not feel enough for her own plight. She brought her head up and pounded the table lightly. She looked at the next person's name and her face brightened. She remembered something important about the girl. During one of the school assembly, she had talked about the effects of the recent cyclone that had affected the state. She starting typing out her thoughts on the child furiously. The tip of her tongue was visible at the left edge of her mouth. Though she did not realize it, this meant that she was deeply involved in the activity she was involved in. If someone had recorded the sound emanating from the keyboard, they would have realized that it sounded like Beethoven's ninth.

Two weeks later, she sat in her class distributing the reports. She shook her head in approval and smiled at each student as she handed the report to the child. The smile and shaking reached a pinnacle when the she handed the report to the student who had talked at the assembly. The class was quiet as the students went through their reports. From time to time, one student or other looked up and said "Thank you miss. It is not as bad as thought it will be". She forced a smile on to her face to hide the rising annoyance. Soon a set of students crowded her with their doubts and queries. She saw the girl standing in the crowd. She called out and asked her if she had a query. The girl responded "Miss, you have written that I spoke about the Vardah cyclone during one of the assembly." The teacher interrupted by saying "You did! Don't you remember?" The girl responded "I remember Miss. But I spoke about the Gaja cyclone and not the Vardah cyclone!"

Some days are worse than others...

I did not expect the day to be a good day but I did not expect it to be a bad day either. I did not remember that in the temple of hypocrisy the priests decide the fate of the day. They walk into your day and throw a burst of hypocrisy into it. On some days, one is agile enough to duck it but that day was not such a day. The burst took me off my feet and I found myself on the floor seething with anger. My growing up years had put in the idea that a person cannot express his/her anger in a temple, certainly not in the words that were sprouting at all places in his head. So I let the anger stay within my head. I am not sure if many know but during his younger days, anger was diagnosed of ADHD (please don't ask me expand it; search Google). Anger's parents being irresponsible threw the diagnosis reports and prescription into a closet and forgot about it. So anger grew without control. The anger within my head traveled from here to there and from there to elsewhere. The temperature rose within my head and the temper of every part of my brain grew to uncontrollable proportions. At around 11:30 AM, I felt my Cerebrum kick my Cerebellum's belly. My Cerebellum rolled at the floor of my head in pain screaming words that I cannot mention here. I was sitting through a meeting where people talked about things that, at most times, I did not care to know and understand. My attention was worse than usual due to all the fuss Cerebellum was creating. I think by this time my Cerebrum felt a pang of guilt and tried to calm Cerebellum. But Cerebellum's emotions were distraught and though the screaming and shouting stopped, calm could not return. Cerebrum took control of the situation and tried its best to put a smile on my face but it ended up looking like a grimace. I lived through the day in a passable mental state except for the few moments when my eyes could not help but record the presence of a self-righteous priest who was responsible for this mess.

I did not like the hot brew served at the beginning and end of the day at the temple. One of its ingredients was used in excess and only a whiff of its crucial ingredient was used. Thus it did not taste or smell anything like the name it was given. For lack of choice I was forced to have it every morning and evening. Conversations with a group of people, some of whom actually had the ability to be interesting, helped in ingesting the liquid. That evening, as I was leaving, I was asked if everything was okay. This question should always be answered in the negative but we usually use the concept of relativeness (not relativity) and answer in the affirmative. That day was not one such day. I answered "No". Further questions were asked and I started my response with the lines.

Some days you feel like a bit of a baby

Lookin' for Jesus and His mother

Some days are better than others

If anyone thinks I am the creator of these lines then they should understand that they are extremely gullible. As good as I am with words (please hear a modest cough at this point), such finesse is beyond my imagination. These words are from the song "Some days are better than others" by U2. On most bad days, these lines run through my head and brings some calm. 

Joshua Tree by U2 was a rage when it was released. Those days I would have given anything to listen to the song "With or without you". I had to wait for a few years before I could lay my hand on that album. Soon I bought a set of U2 album. Post Joshua Tree, U2 changed directions and started experimenting with electronica. I did not listen to their first experimental and acclaimed album Achtung Baby for a long time. I bought the two follow up album Zooropa and Pop. I love the songs in both the album. They have a lot of style and it is still a pleasure to listen to the songs from these two albums. But the fans hated it. Most people who love rock don't let electronic music enter their lives. So U2 dropped electronica and went back to plain rock. I have not listened an album of theirs since. The song "some days are better" is from Zooropa and is probably one of the best songs to listen when you feel down. Actually, its good to listen to the song even when one is not feeling down.

Parenting Pleasures

I am going to generalize here, which means what I write below need not be true for every parent on the planet but I believe it is true for most parents. Of course, not many might accept it but trust me they are lying for what I am about to generalize, quite arbitrarily, is true.

Most parents don't realize how cute their children are till many years later. The cuteness of the children only becomes obvious when you see them in pictures many years later. There is a scientific reason for this (assuming you believe I am a scientist). The child in the picture is different from the child in flesh. As the years pass, the problems of the past seem like child's play. When your son or daughter is three, the issues you are dealing with are "how do I make him or her sleep by midnight?" or "I better watch that kid else he or she will swallow that balloon." or "Why the hell is she or he not eating the tasty bowl of keerai!"

Now compare these with the issues at thirteen. Your child has just entered the phase called teenage and he or she is questioning the sanity of the adults around him or her for making him or her wait another three years to get a driving license. He or She demands holding the steering wheel of the car while you handle the gear stick and the ABC pedals. The above mentioned issues at thirteen seem quite innocent as soon as you run into his or her life in the social media or that damned game with all those annoying dance moves, Fortnight. Suddenly, your worry about keeping your son or daughter safe and away from strangers transform into keeping him or her safe and away from himself or herself. He or She talks about the prevalent usage of the "four letter word" in his society but has no qualms about using it with his or her friends on chats. Their chat room conversation transcript read like a Quentin Tarantino script.

Thus parents take many years to realize the cuteness potential of their child as they are stuck with their annoyance capabilities. A couple were wistfully looking at their son's pictures from many years ago when the son walked into the room. The father looked up and commented "Look at you then! All sweet and cute". The boy turned around and responded confidently "I might not be cute now but I am handsome".

The HU

With Rammstein, I thought I had found the perfect language for metal. But I stand corrected, Mongolian is perfecter than perfect. Facebook has been throwing some good music at me. As much as I am worried about AI and the Matrix like scenario, Facebook's recommendation engine has been working overtime to satisfy my musical needs. This is especially helpful as I continue to reside in a barren musical island with no company. I have to only open my mouth about music and even Panagal park like place would end up like Sahara. So I only have recommendation engines for friends. 

I saw a post with the puke-worthy line "This will make your day" or "This just made my day". Actually I read the title in large font on the video which said "Mongolian Metal" first. I used to love Mongolian food (actually I probably love it still but I stay in a place where people can barely spell Mongolia) and so decided to give the song a try. Fifteen minutes later I was listening the song for the third time and I was swinging my head from one side of the room to the other. I am not sure if this has ever happened to me earlier. This is one of the best songs I have heard. I heard another song by the The HU and I have ended up saying HOW!

Telling tales

For some unfathomable reason, she did not talk to me much. When I ask her "how are you doing today?" she would look up at her mother and say "Exkckuse me, Exkcukuse me, Exkckuse me! Let's go home Amma". But that day was different. She had an appalam in her hand and she had no choice but to sit and listen to everything I said. The appalam in her hand reminded me of a tale I had heard many years ago. I think it was called 

The curse of the Appalam maker

No one's sure when these events happened but many swear it happened in a place forgotten by all. No one has a clue on the whereabouts of this place. It could have been closer to Madurai. Some believe it was in Tirunelveli. Others think it happened in a village a few miles from Theni. Whereas a few others believe that it took place by the banks of the river Cauvery. But the location of the incident or story is not as important as the occurrences it describes.

The village was not famous for its appalam maker but the people in the village loved appalam. They ate their appalams in multiple of eighteens. Any person who asked for one appalam got eighteen and no one in the village asked for one appalam. One third of the appalams were eaten right at the beginning of meal with nothing accompany. Another one third went in with the food and the final one third went in after the meal; just ahead of washing the hands. The people of the village loved their appalams.

One would think that this would make the appalam maker an important person in the village but he wasn't. He was a poor old man who made appalams 16 hours a day. Yet he did not eat any as the demand for appalams were such that nothing was left for him. People in the village demanded all the appalams and did not give him time to make some for his own consumption. He lived alone in a small hut with a large space surrounding it at the centre of the village. He stayed alone for he did not get the time to marry.

One night, 12 minutes after midnight he died . As he lay dying, he thought about his life. He first felt sad and then angry. All through his life he had worked for the people of his village. Yet no one in the village valued him. His anger increased when he remembered how the villagers had consumed all the appalams he made and had never allowed him to have one. As he let out his last angry breathe, he screamed in his head "I curse all the appalams..." He could not complete the sentence for he died soon after he uttered the word appalams.

It took the villagers three days to discover the appalam maker's death. As the days passed, the stocks of appalam went dry and soon there were no appalams left in the village. The villagers talked to each other and realized that they had no idea how to make appalams. So they started guessing the ingredients. After a day of guessing, they arrived at three recipes for appalam. The first recipe turned too soggy, the second too dry and the third one too bland. On the whole, the villagers could only produce flopalams and not appalams. It had been a few days since anyone had tasted appalam in the village and people felt depressed. One bright person in the village got an idea. He said "let us to go to the next village and get some appalams".

To the utter shock of the villagers, appalams were not available in any of the surrounding village. Each village had its own reason for the non-availability of the appalam makers - off for a wedding, visiting a holy city, down with fever, searching for his brother, his sister's getting married, his father has gone missing, he himself is missing and many other reasons. The villagers were now frustrated and were feeling desperate for appalams. They were unable to eat their food without them. They lost so much weight that they spent their time counting each other's ribs.

Out of desperation, the people went back to their recipes and tried modifying them. They were successful enough to fry something that looked like an appalam but its taste was appalling. By this time, news reached them that appalam makers of the nearby villages had started making appalams. They rushed to the villages and brought appalams back to the village. The appalams were welcomed with fanfare. They drowned the streets with dance, music and songs. The village poet came out with an appalam song that roughly translates to 

Our appalams had turned into apparitions

To make our lives filled with apprehension

For only now did appalams received appreciation

But the appreciation was no longer applicable

For our appalams had turned into apparitions

The happiness was short lived for the villagers discovered that as a result of the appalam making experimentation, the villagers had used their complete stock of oil. In their desperation, they did not realize that they did not even have a drop of oil in the village. In those days, oil was considered valuable and people did not share it readily. The villagers searched high and low before they found a small stock of oil from a benevolent person in a village many miles from their own village.

As the oil was brought back into the village, the villagers celebrated once again. They danced and sang and the village poet had another song in his stock for the occasion, which very roughly translates to

Oil tried to foil our attempt

To fructify our temptation

But we were adamant

To have what we love

Appalam

Almost immediately disaster struck. It started to rain. Not just any ordinary rain but the cats and dogs type of rain. As a matter of fact, it would have been appropriate to call it the tigers and lions type of rain but unfortunately that phrase does not exist and we have to be satisfied with cats and dogs. The villagers ran into their homes and found that the wind had blown the rain into their homes and almost every corner of their kitchen was wet. Thus they could not light the fire to fry the appalam. The rain did not stop that day, nor the next day or the day after that. It rained a full week. Even when the rain stopped, the sun refused to wake up. It covered itself in the dark grey blanket and slept for two more days. When it finally woke up, it did not take off the blanket immediately. It lay twisting and turning under the cloud. The people looked up and prayed. It stretched this way first and then that. It slowly removed the blanket and smiled. The people shouted in elation.

It took another two days for the kitchens to dry up. When the villagers were sure that they could light their stoves, they did so. They placed their frying pans on the fire and poured a pool of oil into it. Everyone in the village were inside their respective kitchens. They stood around the stove and watched the oil boil. When the oil was hot enough, an appalam stepped into it tentatively. As soon as the appalam came in contact with the hot oil, it stretched itself. As in the case of the sun, it seemed that the appalam had woken up from a long slumber. The family members looked at the blooming appalam with pleasure.

In each home in the village, the families stood around the fried appalam and looked at it with admiration and happiness. It had been many months since they had seen an appalam. Many had lost hope that they would ever see an appalam. Their mouths were watering and stomachs growling, yet no one had the heart to take a piece off the appalam. The oil continued to boil on the frying pan but no one cared. Finally, the appalam was picked, split into a number of small pieces and given to each member of the family. They marveled at their respective pieces of appalam for sometime. Slowly they bit into their precious piece. Almost immediately their expressions changed. Some spit out of the piece of appalam while others swallowed it. Shouts of protest reverberated through the village.
"What is this thing?"
"This is not appalam!"
"I have not tasted anything this disgusting in my life."
"Guck"
"Oh God! This is terrible."
"Who calls this appalam?"
"Ewwww!"
"Cheeee!"
"Aiyooooo"
"Hey! This is not appalam."

The appalam tasted very different from their own. The villagers could not eat the new stocks of appalam. They continued their search for the perfect appalam for many months time but they did not succeed to find it. They stopped eating appalam from that day. From that day appalam was relegated to the role a side dish and no one ate more than three or four appalams during a meal. With time, the village broke up and the villagers spread out across the land. But even now one can identify a person whose ancestors came from the village. If a person responds with a "no" when offered an appalam, you know where his/her ancestors came from.

...................................................................

The appalam took a long time to disappear into her insides for listening to plight of the appalam eaters forced the appalam to be suspended a few inches from her mouth for a long time. By the time the story ended, her mother placed a bowl of thayir saadam in front of her. This turned out to be a fortunate (or unfortunate) turn of event as it reminded him of the story about

The Goddess of Thayir Saadam

He was a Chalukya spy who entered the Pallava empire in the guise of a cloth seller. In his village, it was believed that a Chameleon had bit him during his younger days as he has the ability to change himself to fit in any place. Over the years he had traveled to many places and at every place he had merged well with the locals. Only the Chalukyan emperor knew of his real identity. He readily traveled to the places that the emperor asked him to go to. At most times, he enjoyed traveling to these places and lived happily among the locals. He liked to learn and imbibe their customs. The only place he did not like to visit was the Pallava empire. There was only one reason for this dislike - thayir saadam. The citizens of the Pallava land loved this dish and he hated it. He liked curd and he liked rice but he did not like to mix the two. He had visited many places where people mixed these two dishes. But the Pallava citizens loved the dish so greatly that they looked at anyone who did not like the dish with suspicion and as you all realize, the last thing a spy wants to attract is suspicion. So he ended up eating the hated dish and spent many hours feeling nauseous. 

In the years leading to the attack by the Chalukyan emporer on the Pallava empire, many spies infiltrated the Pallava empire. It is believed that in those days nearly 72% of all the visitors to the Pallava empire were Chalukyan spies. This meant that he, being a super spy, spent many days eating thayir saadam. On one such trip, he landed in a small Pallava town by the sea. As he walked through the streets of the town, he was disturbed by the number of stalls selling thayir saadam. Within minutes of entering the town, he felt nauseous and the contents in his stomach decided to have a whiff of fresh air. They promptly jumped out. A few people came for help. Some helped him sit down on a stool. Others provided water to him. One person fanned him with a piece of cloth. Another person shoved a cup of thayir saadam at his face and said "Have some thayir saadam; it will make you feel better." He felt the remaining contents in his stomach come up through his food pipe. They, ultimately, broke free from him.

The man who offered the thayir saadam said "Good God! This is serious. We have to take him to the thayir saadam amman and give him some prasadam". They lifted him and carried him through the streets of the town. They reached a medium sized temple. They walked into the temple and lay him down in front of the goddess. The priest chanted a bit of this and that as he showed the flame to the Goddess who smiled at him. The fragrance of the camphor and incense reached him. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at the Goddess. She looked right back at him. He, using his eyes, informed the Goddess of his plight. The Goddess gave him a benign smile. He closed his eyes and let a smile linger on his lips. The priest ended his chanting with the phrase "kalakalakalakala kalki" in honour of the goddess'consort Kalki (this ancient but long forgotten god should not to be confused with the last of Vishnu's avataraa) The priest walked to him officiously. He pushes some of the fumes from the flame on to his face and placed a line of kumkumam on his forehead. He then handed a plate of prasadam to one of the persons who had brought him to the temple. The person took a bit of the prasadam and placed it inside the spy's mouth.

The spy chewed on the prasadam with pleasure. He was reminded of his favourite food from home. It had been years since he had eaten this food. He took another mouthful of the food. It reminded him of home, a place that he had kept hidden in what he thought was an inaccessible corner of his heart. He got up and took the plate of prasadam from the person's hand and looked at it with shock. It was thayir saadam. He took some on his fingers and tentatively placed it on his tongue. It tasted the same as earlier, his favourite dish. He finished the plate of prasadam, got up and bowed to the Goddess and left.

Since that day, thayir saadam turned out to be his favourite food. His work inside the Pallava empire led to the Chalukyan emperor's victory over his Pallava counterpart. Ironically, in the course the battles, the temple dedicated to thayir saadam amman was destroyed and the goddess has since been forgotten.

...................................................................

The story telling had made him thirsty and he ordered a hot concoction that reminded me of a famous story with a name that can only be revealed later.

His name probably had a prefix or suffix but no one had any idea about it. He was simply called Pal. When someone asked him "What's your first name?", he responded "Pal". When the mentioned someone persisted with "what's your last name?", he responded "Pal". This someone was by this time annoyed and in frustration uttered "But Pal cannot be your name, there should something else ahead or behind." Pal responded "No pal! Pal is my name; the only one I have and the only one you should use when you call me." The people were perplexed for they had the question "what does Pal mean?" Pal obviously did not care to answer but people speculated.

"He is from Bengal and Pal is his surname".

"He is from South where Pal means milk."

"Look at how white his teeth is! Pal means teeth in the South."

"Pal means moment. He is a person who lives in the moment."

"Pal mean fruit. He is the fruit of his parent's prayers."

Pal did not have anything to say. He smiled and sometime he laughed. Pal was not born in the village. He landed in the village on his eighteenth birthday. He was found quite dramatically lying face down in the centre of the main lane of the village. The earliest riser of the village was on her way to the village well to draw water, when she saw him. She dropped the vessel she was carrying, placed the backside of his palm on her mouth and screamed a healthy scream. The vessel fell with a clank and kept clanking as it rolled happily to the edge of the road. The noise was loud enough to wake up the entire village. The village rooster was startled out of his sleep too. He looked out of his coop and was shocked to find the entire village up and running around the place. He uttered "What!" in rooster language, kicked a straw in frustration and went back to sleep.

People gathered around the sprawled figure and looked at him. They were not sure if he was alive or dead. Slowly one of the person touched his hand. "He's alive" he declared. The people let out a collective sigh of relief, which was loud enough to wake the rooster again. He covered his ears with his wings and went back to sleep. Another villager got down and shook the sprawled figure awake. He got up with a start and looked around in bewilderment. Questions poured on him from all sides.

"Who are you?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Where did you come from?"

"Are you hurt?"

"Do you understand us?"

"Why have you come here?"

"How did you come here?"

He looked at each face as the questions landed on him. After looking around for sometime, he got up and held his hands up to silence people. He said "I will tell you in a moment. Can I wash my face?" Soon he was sitting at the village tea shop with a glass of tea in his right hand. The villagers crowded around him as he recounted his story.

"I come from a land far away from here. I live with my uncle and aunt or maybe they are my father and mother. I am not sure. I call them uncle and aunt. So they might be my uncle and aunt. Last night I went to sleep at the usual time, which is a minute after the fireflies extinguished their lights and a minute before the owls started their hooting. But last night was different. The owls did not hoot. I had got used to the owl's hooting and last night when they did not hoot I woke up. I sat up on my bed and thought for a moment. Then I looked out of the window. I fell back on the floor as I saw the owl sitting on the windowsill and pointing at something with its wings. All at once, it started hooting  You would think the hooting should have helped me to sleep but you should understand I sleep a minute before the hooting starts. Once the hooting starts it becomes too noisy for me to sleep and so I was unable to sleep. I looked at the owl and I saw it point its wings with greater desperation in the same direction as earlier. Before I could get up, the owl flew away and the pointed ears of some creature appeared.

Soon the face of a wolf appeared. It stared at me through the window. It looked at me with an evil glint in its eyes or so it seemed. I realized that it was not a wolf but a hyena when it started laughing. I was annoyed. How dare the Hyena come out of nowhere and laugh at me. I got up and protested with a 'Hey!' The Hyena stopped laughing and to my utter shock it said 'take it easy Pal' You ask 'who is Pal?' I am Pal for Pal is my name. I rubbed my eyes. The hyena laughed and said 'shouldn't you rub you ears? You can only hear me talk and not see me do so. So what is the point rubbing your eyes." I was positively bewildered by that time and the bewilderment helped me utter my first words 'Gak wok a uk?' The hyena laughed and said 'Sorry! I don't Russian'. Somehow that seemed funny. The Hyena could speak and that too in my mother tongue but it does not speak Russian. What! You don't find it funny? Well! I found it funny and I laughed. The Hyena had not stopped laughing and so it continued laughing. We must have laughed for quite loudly for I thought I heard the owl say "For heavens sake please be quiet'. I stopped and called out a 'sorry' to the owl who promptly responded with a "its alright'. I would have laughed again but there were questions to be asked.

'Are you a hyena and what are you doing here?'

'Oh! Is that how you see me? A Hyena is it? Nice! I always wanted to be a Hyena. No wonder! Now I get it! I was wondering why I felt so happy. As I am a hyena, I am laughing and so I am happy. That makes sense doesn't it.'

'Sense! Nothing makes sense.'

'That's true. I have always wondered where that bright ball goes when the light is turned off. It did not make any sense. You know what's weird? Another ball comes up sometimes when the lights are turned off. But this one's not as bright as the other one and ... Listen to this; this is spooky. The ball in the darkness becomes smaller till it disappears and then comes back again. Do you know what those balls are?'

'Of course I know what they are! The sun and the moon'

'The sun and moon is it? If you say so. But which one is the sun and which one is the moon?'

'The mornings are brightened by the bright ball called the sun and in the nights as the Earth turns away from the sun the moon reflects the light from the sun.'

'Oh, is that so? But why does the moon become smaller and then bigger?'

'The moon runs around the earth too and in the process we are unable to see all the light reflected by the moon.'

'From what you say I presume we are on earth.'

'You presume correctly. But tell me, who you are?'

'Did you not say that I am a Hyena?''

'You look like a Hyena but you are no Hyena'

The Hyena laughed and said 'That seems to be true. While it is easy to decipher the truth of who I am not, it is almost impossible to find who I am.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I have been around and I see things. Some days I am here and on other days I am somewhere else.'

'How long have you been here?'

'Only now.'

'And yesterday?'

'I don't know where. I don't remember. I have no memory'

'Are you a ghost?'

'What is a ghost?'

'The spirit of the dead or so it is believed.'

'I am not dead. Do I seem dead to you?'

'No, you don't seem dead. Are you God?'

'What is God?'

'God! Hmmmm! I don't know how to say this. Hmmmmmmmm! Maybe we can say that God is the one who has created all this and who runs all this.'

'No! I am not God. I don't even know who I am. Besides I don't even know about the sun and the moon till you mentioned it and I will forget it soon. So I cannot be God. But tell me, does it matter who I am?'

'Yes.'

'Why?'

'I mean, I have to know who I am talking to.'

'Why?'

'Else it will be quite silly.'

'Why?'

'I could be talking to no one or nothing and that would be silly'

'I see that you are scared of the word silly'

'Sure. It will be silly if you are not scared of being silly and then everyone will think you are silly.'

'How silly!'

'Please stop! Tell me who you are!'

'I am not sure who I am and why I am here. I am probably something silly but I exist and I go from place to place searching for people to talk to and sometime when I like them I help them.'

'How do you help them?'

'By helping them do something that they should be doing but are not doing for some reason.'

'Do you like me?'

'More than anyone else.'

'... and you will do something for me that I should be doing but am not doing.'

'How perceptive! I like you more than any other. So here we go!'

The next thing I remember is one of you waking me up."

When he completed the narration, they looked at him with disbelief. Some said "Wow!" and others "Nonsense!". While some said "How fantastic!" others remained sceptical. Finally one of them said something that was to everyone's agreement. 

"You are a story teller Pal. Your stories have a lot of masala in it. You no ordinary Pal pal, you are Masala Pal."

The fantasies of Masala Pal
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