A treat for lunch

"A treat like no other awaits all

On the last day, for lunch.

Be ready to lick your lips in anticipation

And later, to lick your fingers down to the bone.

Exclamations of joy fill the air,

When the treat makes it way to the centre of the hall,

Squeals of pleasure rise from every corner

For as brown as the Brownie is

You might as well call it a Goldie

For it shines like gold in people's heart."

On the day, as the minute hand moved to 28

With the hour hand stuck in 12

A set of ten, eleven and twelve year olds

Ran towards the dining hall.

Like people scampering away 

From a T-Rex in Jurassic Park.

Only here, the terror in their faces supplanted

By expressions of anticipation and joy.

Stunned bystanders jumped out of the way

To avoid being brownied under the rushing feet.

A little later, from within the dining hall

Loud groans grew, pain laden voices uttered,

"Where is the cake?"

"I don't see no brownies!"

"But there should be a surprise!"

"What happened to the surprise?"

"I want my brownie!"

An older voice bellowed above the protests,

"Not now! Not now!

You have to wait for a bit."

Dull faces sat around their tables

Staring at their empty steel plates indifferently.

The food on the table offered no interest.

Vegetable biriyani and curd rice could not satisfy

Their desire for the brownie.

They looked towards the serving area yearningly.

The adults looked back at them sternly,

Demanding patience, which they believed is a virtue.

The walls of the dining hall shook,

As the disappointed hearts sighed in unison

And then the bell rang!

Announcing the approach of the half way mark

Between the beginning and end of the lunch hour.

As per the unwritten understanding

Among the users of the dining hall

Three minutes of silence would be maintained.

The ones with filled stomachs

Usually leave the hall at the end of the silence time.

But on that day, none left!

On that day there was no silence either!

Like disciples gathering around the holy one,

Boys and girls quietly walked towards the serving area.

As plates laden with brownies appeared,

Silence gave way to excited whispers.

All thoughts of order and discipline disappeared.

Eager faces crowded around the loaded plates.

Pleading eyes turned desperately towards the adults.

Two minutes before the end of silence time,

Adult hearts melted like chocolate in a hot water bath.

The Brownies landed directly into the children's heart.

No one waited for the silence period to end.

The dark brown cream on the brownies

Were the first to disappear.

Pink tongues flicking out of their abode,

Went back, decked in brown.

Gleeful giggles appreciated the sweetness of the treat.

The brownie was declared the best till date!

“The kitchen had never made better brownies than this!”

Its qualities were discussed in detail,

By the eager members of the dining hall.

Soon the demand for a second

And then, a third appeared.

Once again, the adults demanded patience.

"Let everyone have one, at least" they pleaded.

But the demanders for another brownie

Did not care for the people,

Who had not picked their first brownie yet.

In their minds, they were sure,

No human could resist the brownie for that long.

“Everyone has taken one already,” they cried.

The brownies disappeared quickly.

Some chose not to pick a brownie,

For they did not like their food sweet.

As for the rest, many brownies

Found its way into their insides.

No person could get more than three brownies was the claim.

And yet on that day, a few got as much as six.

"I hid my face and got one" said one.

"I asked him to go and get me another,” said another.

"I smiled sweetly at the one who was serving" claimed a third.

As I walked towards the bucket

To clean the waste off my plate.

I saw a brownie lying wasted in the bucket.

I could not help but shout "Who threw that brownie away?"

Someone uttered the name of the offender immediately.

Like a dragon spewing fire,

I went in search of the offender.

I found her cowering under a desk.

I towered over her and thundered,

"Why did you waste that brownie?"'

In a feeble voice she responded "Because I did not like it"

My anger grew by leaps and bounds,

"Then why did you take it?"

Her voice got feebler.

"I didn't know when I picked it."

I could not digest her statement,

"Don't you know if the Brownie was not brown,

It would have been called Goldie.

It’s precious and you wasted it? Shame!"

She offered feebly "Next time I will give it to you."

I smiled and said "Ah! Your words sound like a poem to me.

That’s a deal!"

Thank you!

I had only met her recently and I have not had many conversations with her. I am many years older than her and I am considered more experienced than her in the orgranization. As a result, I think, she had no choice but to listen to my rants and thoughts politely. Invariably our conversations or to be precise, my soliloquy, ended abruptly and we parted ways promising to continue at a later point of time. But that time never came. 

At some point of time, I informed her about my blog. This one. Over the next few days, I realized that she read my posts regularly. I believe she is only the second person who tracks my blogs without my prompting. At times, she talked to me about my writings. Though I try to not think about the small size of my audience, when I write, it always feels good when people utter a few kind words about my writings. Over the past few days, I have not made many entries to this blog as the horses in control of driving my life have been pulling me in different directions. To save myself, I have built a fort around me. These days, I sit within my fort firmly and maintain minimum contact with the world outside. So, writing blogs were not on top of my agenda.

A day before the Christmas break, she walked up to me with a book in her hand. She handed it to me and said "this is for you". I looked at it confused. It was a grey journal book with an elastic band around it. I did not understand what it was and why she was giving it to me. She identified the confusion and said "This is for you. I hope you write a lot more." I realized that she was gifting me the book. I felt a range of feelings run through me. I did not know what to say. For the past many years, I have only received a few gifts. So, I was not sure how to react. I held the book firmly in my hand and thanked her like an American "Hey. Thanks a bunch. I appreciate your thought. Thanks". I walked back to my place and looked at the book again. I felt traces of tears form in my eyes. I held them back. I opened the book and saw a small Post-it note stuck on the first page. It said.
"Happy New Year to you. Write it GVK! Write a lot ... :) Best Wishes ..."

I closed the book shut and stared out of the window. I firmly held back the tears that were ready to flow out of my tear glands. I pushed the book into my bag and walked away. That evening, when I got home, I took the book out of my bag and placed it in a cupboard. I had plans to use it but not at the present moment. I needed more time.

This evening, when I opened the cupboard to take out a physics textbook, I saw the grey journal book lying above it. I felt a heaviness in my heart. Gifts have always confused me. At times, I yearn to recieve one and yet when I receive it, I wonder if I deserved it. As I looked at the grey journal, I realized that this was the first award that I received for my writing. I felt honoured!

I have received many other gifts in my life and I cherish all of them but this one means a lot to me because it is associated with my writing, which I see as my only companion during the last days of my life.

Dullness

I wanna go. I wanna go. I wanna go now!
Lemme go. Lemme go. Lemme go now!
I can't take this anymore.
I don't wanna go through all this anymore.
Just let me do nothing,
Instead of doing something
That does not amount to anything, anyway,
And thus, I end up doing nothing, anyway.
So, why can't I do nothing, anyway?
Just leave me alone
Or let me move on, right now
To a place that will eventually
Be filled with as many nothings.
I don't understand why life throws such mundanes at me!
So much dullness wrapped in colourful gift wraps.
Disappointments that require years to realize.
There is no escape in sight.
Just years and years of toiling 
In the sun and in the shade.
Where's that goddamned stop button!

It

Everyone talks about it

Everyone should possess it

Do you have it?

No?

Why don't you have it?

Don't you know,

Everyone should have it?

How can you not have it?

Maybe you have it,

But you are not using it,

Which is as good as not having it.

Be assured!

You have it!

It is just that you are not using it.

So use it!

It will make all our lives better.

It is not a complicated situation.

You should be able to deal with it.

Don't let it complicate the situation.

Instead use it to simplify it.

At most time, you don't use it at all

And this in turn causes issues for all

For you, me, us

So do yourself, me and ourselves a favour,

Use it!

Not just use it plainly,

But use it to simplify and not complicate.

Trust me when I say you have it.

It's just that you are not using it right

So, use it, use it right.

Don't you have it!

Don't respond!

It's not a question!

For a start

Use it to understand my tone.

How can you understand?

You should have it to understand.

Like animals, you only know to eat and sleep.

And thus cheat the world from knowing

That you don't have it.

You disappoint me!

How can I be associated with someone,

Who does not possess it?

It is sad that you have to live without it.

It is worse that I have to put up with you.

You, who does not possess it.

It is not difficult to tell others

What you want to say.

Just use it and let them know,

What they have to know.

Don't be harsh and yet ensure the message is clear.

Don't be wishy-washy, just be direct.

Use it to decide what to say.

Use it to say it the way you should say it.

If you use it, I am sure you know what to do.

So, use it!

Inspired by the statement "I think we are all intelligent people, and we will be able to talk to people appropriately".

Saving little Mr. Centipede

Hey all! We are so busy.

We are saving the world.

And saving the world,

Starts with a centipede.

Come on! Let's busy ourselves

In saving the world.

And saving the world

Starts by crowding around a centipede.

Watch out! If you are planning

To save this world,

You should be careful

When you tread on paths filled with centipedes.

Oh no! Don't you realise

That you should save the world?

So please start it by aiding us

We need help in saving this centipede.

Hey there, Mr. Centipede! 

You should help us in saving the world.

You can do so by moving those legs.

You lazy little Mr. Centipede!

Stop it! Don't mock the effort

We are putting in to save the world!

We are not sentimental, just practical

As we have to save this centipede.

Calm down! Let not your desperation

Hamper our effort in saving the world.

Please don't go from stillness

To random movements, O Mr. Centipede!

It's time! We need a leaf

To kick off the effort to save the world.

We will use it to carry away

This anxious little centipede.

Hurray! We have started

The process of saving this world

By carrying away to safety

That stranded and lost centipede.

Congratulations, Mr. World! 

Those little ones have started saving you.

They are not naive in believing

That saving you starts with a centipede.

Ennakkul Oruvan.

Many considered him to be a saint. His calm demeanor and the understanding nod of his head as he listened to people's laments brought peace to the lamenter's heart. They talked to him incessantly about their outlook of life primarily due to the unpleasant events that life threw at them. He sat next to them and listened to them patiently. From time to time, he assuaged their frayed nerves with his wise words. It seemed their lives depended on his words. Surprisingly, even a saint like him occasionally felt the need to take a break, and, on such days, worried eyes insisted on searching for him everywhere. When the search did not yield the desired result, the eyes and their owners drooped down to earth in dejection. It seemed that their already complicated lives had become worse by his absence. He was the panacea for all their issues and without him life did not seem worth living.  On the other hand, I was nothing like him. Though he was a few years younger than me, I was many years junior to him in the organization. When I joined the organization, I decided that the place and its people would experience a new me - a serious, no nonsense, knowledgeable person. For many weeks, I pasted a serious expression on my face and left it there for days. It was not difficult to be serious. The work was not easy and so I did not have many reasons to smile. So, I went about my business in a resolute manner. At the end of three months, I patted my back, for I believed I had brought about a miraculous change in my character. But I had congratulated myself prematurely. 

The fort that I had built around me was shattered to pieces due to an official trip to Bangalore. At the end of the trip, I turned back to being the disgusting boisterous animal that could not keep its mouth shut. I talked incessantly. I cracked terrible jokes at a pace of 17.23 jokes per second. People wanted to crown me as the king of dad jokes. But I turned down their offer steadfastly. "I don't do no dad jokes. I do poor jokes, PJs". I realize that 'Dad Joke' is the appropriate term to be used in these modern times, but I did not like the phrase - Dad sounds too close to dead and dead jokes sound worse than poor jokes. Also, from history I realized that such jokes were originally called 'PJs' and being a purist, I prefer the original coining. I have tried to explain this point to many, but they pooh-poohed me away. They did not realize that there is more to a joke than laughter. They are a part of recorded history and to prove this point, I will now refer to the initial pages of the book 'Why do dad's joke?' (The UK edition was named 'Why do dad jokes?").

Since time immemorial men joked. Women joked too. But, in general, men joked more than some other men and some women. So, it is considered that men joke more than women. Sometime during the middle of the medieval period, men got together in the evenings and talked till the morning. It is believed that the frequent occurrence of the plague, had forced men to remain indoors after sunset. So, they stayed indoors and talked. As time passed, the men became so involved in these conversations that on most nights they did not realize that the morning had arrived. The topics of discussions and the reasons for the many laughs that these discussions generated have been lost in the sands of time. But it is believed that the first recorded joke was uttered by a man who was not very tall but had a grey mustache on his face (his name has not been recorded but he shall henceforth be referred to as Greybeard). It happened on an October morning soon after the cock crowed. Though the joke is attributed Greybeard, the situation was setup by another man who was tall and did not possess a grey mustache on his face (this man shall not be referred to henceforth). He said "What! Is it morning already? Why did the cock crow?" Almost immediately, Greybeard responded "The cock had a nightmare. You were startled by his startled crowing and your startled uttering has in turn startled the crow, which has flown away now." On hearing these words, his companions burst into laughter. The men and women in the neighbourhood too heard these words but they did not feel amused. On the contrary, they felt a sense of disdain rise through them. They shook their heads and muttered in unison "What a poor joke! Such a poor joke!" From that time, jokes made by men were referred to as poor jokes, PJ for short. Of course, over time every action done by men was associated with the word poor and with the advent of technology PJ simply became the acronym for 'Poor Job'. As a result, men were forced to remove the reference to poor from their jokes. 

In 1962, a group of men met secretly at an undisclosed location in a restaurant named 'The men's place' at the crossing of the 15th Avenue and 68th street in Brooklyn to discuss this grave issue and resolve it. They talked for three hours about a baseball game and decided in 10 minutes that the 'Poor jokes' would henceforth be referred to as 'Dad Jokes'. The clinching argument for this decision was put forward by a certain Mr. Greybeard and it went thus.

"Everyone enjoyed the jokes I cracked before I got married and even during the first few years of marriage. But for the past few years whenever I crack a joke, my kids protest by simply saying 'Daaaaaad' and my wife who used to laugh at my jokes, looks at my children and says 'Your daaaad'. It seems my jokes have become bad jokes... Oh my god! That's it. Bad Jokes, Dad Jokes! We will refer to our jokes are 'Dad Jokes'."

The book goes on to detail how the phrase 'Dad Jokes' spread throughout the world and even details of the situations that resulted in the conception of some of the best Dad Jokes. I will not go into the details here as this write up is not about Dad Jokes. So, I will continue with my original narration. But not before I mention two points.

1. Some of you might find the above narration chauvinistic. Please understand it does not reflect my opinion, which only turns chauvinistic twice a day. The article is about Dad Jokes and as of now, dads are mostly male and so the author of that book (not me) was forced to talk about men. But please notice, there are references to mothers and neighbours and children some of whom don't fall under the category called male.
2. Being a purist, I refuse to accept the term 'Dad Jokes'. I don't do 'Dad Jokes', only 'Poor Jokes'.

Getting back to the topic of the saint and I, it will not be an exaggeration to say that he and I resided at the two ends of the human spectrum. While he ruled over the kingdom of peace and calm, I thrived on chaos and confusion. Yet, there was a similarity between the two of us. Many people believed we were one. Meaning, they could not differentiate one from the other. I did not think so nor did he. But many have mistaken me to be him and talked to him as if they were talking to me. Since I don't like talking to people only a few people talk to me, and they have never confused me to be him. Once he narrated an incident where a person talked to him long about the work that I do in the organization and when he tried to tell the person that he was he and not me, the person looked at him suspiciously. The person thought that I was trying to shirk my responsibility by claiming that I was not I but someone else. He concluded the narration by saying that he shook away the person with great difficulty. I looked at him as he narrated the incident. I could not see any bit of me in him. He was a handsome fellow with a charming smile. On the other hand, I can only use the phrase 'hand some' to refer to the two hands that I possess. As for my smile, no one has ever commented about it. So, one had to stretch the word similar beyond its elastic limits if it was to be applied on us. And yet the question remained - why did many people believe we looked similar? We never found the answer to this question.  

A few years back he left the organization. With time, only a few people talked about him. Recently, I had to work on an activity that was his responsibility when he was a part of the organization. It was a nightmare and I considered it my good fortune to have gotten through it alive. When I was working on it, I required information from him and talked to him. Our conversation was brief, and we barely touched upon personal matters. I never felt comfortable talking to him and I believe he did not feel different either.

Once again, I started forgetting about him till the other day a young girl stopped me as I was getting out of a room by saying "My mother is a big fan of your wife." I was surprised by the statement and the surprise probably showed on my face. She clarified immediately "she visits your wife's clinic frequently. My mother says she is a good doctor." Instantly, I realized whom she was referring to. I told her that she was confusing me with him. She looked at me confused and asked, "Are you not him?" It was my turn to be confused. 

"I am not him. Don't you know who I am. We have been working together for the past six months. I am ..."

"Of course, I know who you are. But isn't that doctor your wife?"

I said no and mentioned that she was his wife. She did not remember him and asked, "Who is he?"

"You don't know him?"

"No! I have never heard of him."

"He has a daughter and two sons, twins."

"Aren't they your children?" 

"No! They are his children. I have a son" 

"You mean the three of them are not your children?"

"No!"

"Oh! I thought they were."

I started thinking about this conversation as I walked back to my office. I started wondering if he and I were the same person. Was he my alter ego, the good version of me? But what about the children? He had three and I have one. How can my alter ego have a wife and three children of his own? Or am I his alter ego? Do I even exist? I get the feeling that there is more to my life than what meets the eye ... Or should I say "... what meets the I?"