A series of thoughts and events

I don't like sitting through meetings. Meetings have too many people talking for too long on matters that don't deserve that much time. I once asked a professor why he chose to be a professor. He responded "I guess I like to hear me speaking". That is true for people who speak regularly during meetings. I once wrote about a person who starts speaking 5 minutes before the planned end time of the meeting and went on for 20 minutes. I guess he was obsessed at having the last word. Unfortunately his last word contained too many words and most of us did not listen to a word of what he said. It gives me great happiness to say that I no longer work with him. 

This write-up took birth in a meeting. As is usually the case, 10 minutes into the meeting, boredom set in. It was an event where emotions were flowing around profusely and it would have been rude for me to look at social media on my mobile. So I opened the small notepad that lay in front of me and scribbled some words. This usually is good tactic as people end up thinking I am noting down points from the meeting itself. I have used this technique successfully for many years. At the end of the meeting a friend looked at the writing pad and said "What is this? This does not make sense. I thought you were noting down point for your own talk". She did not realize i did not need pen and paper to talk in front of a disinterested audience who had no choice but act interested in the nonsense I spoke. But that is not the only mistake she made. The words on the paper did make sense. I tried and the words in such a manner that they made sense. Well, you can check it for yourself a little later. 

I wrote those words down in the form poems. Here, I think it is good to make clear my definition of a poem. It's a piece of writing which does not involve sentences or grammer and has a fair bit of jumbling of words. After writing it, I review it and modify it by chanting or singing it in some rythm. When the rythm satisfies me, I declare that piece of written work as a poem. I have written many such poems to no acclaim!

The first two poems were written on the writing pad during the meeting. Of course, they have changed a bit since as a result of the review process mentioned above.  The thought behind this first one is the frustrating repetetiveness of life. 

When the sky learns

That it can't fall

It starts looking up

But what does it look at?

It can't be the sky

For how can the sky

Look up at the sky?

But think about it

Maybe it is the sky

That the sky looks up to

For what exists above?

Isn't it the sky?

So what can be concluded?

Even if it is the sky

Only sky exists above

Sky above sky above sky

That is how it is.

I wanted to play around with words that sound the same but have different meaning. I think this poem is inspired by Crazy Mohan's line about meen/mean in Michael Madana Kama Rajan. I wrote 7 lines of this poem in the meeting, the last 3 of which was absolute nonsense. So I removed them and filled it up with other lines later. I referred to the internet to find the set of words that sound the same. Such words are called homophones.

Maybe it is not right to write

Words that mean mean

For it can be seen as a scene

Best avoided to not lose a piece of peace

Best avoided to not find yourself fined

For you might end up feeling the fare is not fair

Similar to the the pain of walking through a pane

Where the rain of glass bring a reign of terror 

Making one to pray to not be a prey

And bear it all with bare guts

Till I wear a "where am I" look

For I can only see a sea of glass pieces

As I peek down from the confusing peak

Turning my face red as I read

All that I write that's not right

I better stop this course in coarse

Everyday, I drive by an open graveyard as I go to and come back from my office. I love graveyards. One of my fondest memories from my school days was walking through a graveyard on my way home. This one is not that memorable but driving through that road in the night always gives me ghostbumps. I once wrote a story about meeting a ghost during a ride back home. I am hoping that would be the climax for my first novel. This small poem is dedicated to the freshy laid road by the graveyard.

The road through the ghost land

Is laid fresh and black

Reflecting darkness of the ghosts around

White lines adorn the road's sides

Reflecting light go keep the ghosts at bay

For reasons beyond my comprehension, I am considered to be a person of immense intelligence by many around me. For reasons beyond my comprehension, I am annoyed by this. Out of this annoyance was born this poem.

I realized suddenly

That I am bright,

Profusely intelligent

As a result I thought

A thought about the moon

I am considered to be so bright

That if I were to say

That the moon

Is made out of butter

And not cheese

Everyone would agree.

They would say

Cheese! Please it's not cheese!

If it were cheese

Moon would be 

The house of mouse

But it's known to all

That no life exists

On the buttery moon.

But I would never say so 

For if I do, people would believe it

Causing confusing

A big problem

For on a sunny day

When it's really hot

They would wait

With buckets in their hands

For the butter to melt

And pour down as ghee

So, I play it down

Stay below the radar

Linger near earth's surface

Avoiding notice of people

To avoid being identified

For my brightness

And my intelligence

Yet not being identified

As unintelligent

Just existing by being invisible.

There is an element of suspense in the next poem and so I have decided to introduct the poem after the poem. In this case, I guess I have turned the introduction into a post-production!

Should I say yes

or just say no?

Too late to ask

I said yes, many years back.

Was it a mistake?

Should I have said no?

Maybe yes but maybe no

Floor 12 could have been worse

Maybe I would have jumped

Instead of wondering if I should 

Stop that cat

Let it not cross my path

But no one did anything

No one was listening

No one could hear me anyway

For I did not say it aloud

It was running in my mind.

That cat is not black

But its white with black

Or maybe black with white

Either way, it's got black

Is any black unlucky 

Or should it be all black?

Should I turn around?

I can't afford bad luck any more

But it just got worse

It's not a cat or a dog

Nor a mouse or a bandicoot

I wish it was a bird

Or a simple earthworm

But it was none of that

It was that wriggly creature

Moving across my path

As a sequence of S's

No wonder they are named ssssssnake

This small one wriggled

Right in front

Escaping from the folds of here

To the greens of there

In search of what I know not

But a question rises

Is a snake crossing my path

Considered lucky?

If not, how unlucky is it?

Will I survive the day?

Will I survive the humans?

Will I be able to write this?

Will I be able to publish?

All question and unsurety

On this day, this morning

When a small snake 

Crossed my path

Most unexpectedly

I go for a walk around my complex everyday. At two places, the path lies between the entry/exit of the basement car park on one side and plants on the other side. I always walk through that path nervously, wondering what I should do if a snake appears in my path. One morning, that snake appeared a couple of feet ahead of me. But before I could jump out of my skin the snake slid away into the bushes to my right. I can't help but mention here that it is the snake that usually jumps out of its skin and yet in this case I jumped out of my skin or didn't. Anyway, the snake crossing my path made me wonder if this too is considered to be unlucky like a black cat crossing my path. I mean, I don't care but I wonder still.

ULLULLULLULLULLULLULLU…

She walked into the new apartment happily. Unlike the earlier ground floor apartment, this one provided a bird’s eye view of the world from the balconies. The apartment had three bedrooms. The third bedroom, a spacious and well-lit room, became a guest room kam TV room jyada. It seemed like a perfectly secluded space for her to chill. To make matter perfecter her own room was opposite to it. 

This was not her first visit to the apartment. She had visited it many times with her mother. Many of the ideas and colours within the apartment came from her head. So it was not all a new experience and yet this day was different. On this day, the apartment became her home. 

She walked into her room and looked around it. It was almost perfect. She only had one complaint. She wished the bed was wider. But a wider bed would have made the room seem smaller. Besides she did not need a wider bed and yet it would have been good to roll around in her sleep on a wider bed, though she was not much of rolling around in her sleep kind of person… She stopped the thoughts in its track. She tightened her fist and told herself “You have to stop this habit of finding problems where none exists. Though a wider bed would have been nice, I don’t need a wider bed and now the room has enough room around the bed. So why are you cribbing? I am not cribbing. Yes, you were. I was just thinking. Don’t think. You think this room is perfect? Yes, it is. You don’t find issues with it? No, I don’t. Ok, ok! I won’t too. Just stop. Ok, stopped. Thanks!” 

She stopped talking to herself and turned around to see her mother staring at her from the doorway. Her mother asked, “Are you talking to yourself?” She smiled sheepishly “The devil in me is finding faults in the room.” Her mother asked “… and what fault did the devil find?” She responded, “Should I have got a wider bed?” Her mother asked, “You planning to get married anytime soon?” She retorted “OK amma, I get it. I will stop.” Her mother did not let go of the idea though. “Hmmm! Maybe you will get married when you are in this house. But at that time, we can get a wider bed for the two of you.” She retorted again “Amma. Stop it. I am not getting married. Not now, not ever.” Her mother walked away saying “We will see. We will see.” She gave herself a slap for having let the conversation lead on to the topic of marriage.

That night at the dining table, after dinner, her mother asked “So, you ok with sleeping in your narrow bed? Do you want to exchange rooms with us?” She looked at her mother angrily and said “Amma, stop it! I was only thinking. Actually, it was not even me. It was Phaedrus.” Her mother did not understand “Fedroos, who is Fedroos?” She waved her hand and said “Does not matter Amma. I am talking nonsense.” But by then both her parents became concerned about the existence of Phaedrus. Her father persisted “Who is Fedrus? Should we be concerned about this fellow?” She cursed herself for having uttered the name Phaedrus “Acha, Amma, it is a character from a book. I don’t know any Phaedrus.” They continued to look at her suspiciously. She got up from the table and said “I am going to sleep. Good night”. Her father called out “Why are you running away?” She turned around, looked at him and said “Acha! I will get that book tomorrow, but you have to read it fully. To ensure that you are reading it, I will have a viva session with you every morning.” Her father waved his hands and said “Ok, ok. Never mind. I trust you. I am not in a mood to read any crazy books.” She felt offended but did not bother to continue the discussion. 

When she walked into her bedroom, she realized that her parents’ bedroom was at some distance from hers. In the earlier apartment, the two rooms were right next to each other. She turned around and looked through the door at the TV room. It was dark and empty. She shook away the dark thoughts in her head by closing the door of her room. She looked around at the room and felt safe once again.

She sat at the edge of the bed and looked around. She decided again that she liked the room. It seemed large and cozy. She looked back at her bed and thought it was just the right size; not too small, not too big. She switched off the lights and lay down on the bed. She looked at the glow-in-dark stickers of the moon and stars stuck on the ceiling. She had hoped to grow out of fascination for these stickers as she grew but it did not happen. She spent a good two hours planning and sticking these stickers on the ceiling two weeks back. At that time, she had wondered if she was wasting her time sticking these stickers but now looking up at the ceiling, she understood that it was well spent. 

At some point, she must have fallen asleep because something shook her out of her sleep. She sat up and looked around at the unfamiliar room. It took her a moment to realize that this was her room in the new apartment. Other than the hum of the AC, the night was quiet. She wondered what had woken her up. She wondered if she had a nightmare. She did not remember. She lay down on the bed and tried to go back to sleep.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

She remembered what had woken her up earlier. She shivered in fear. When quietness landed back into the night, it did not last for long. The faint sound of a bell ringing broke the silence of the night.  Her fear increased. She gave out a small scream and covered her head with the blanket and closed her eyes. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

This time, she jumped out of the bed and ran out of her room screaming “Ammmmmmaaaaaaaa”. As she reached her parents’ bedroom, her mother opened the door and called out her name. She asked “Amma, what was that?” In a voice drenched with fear her mother responded, “I don’t know.” Her father called out from the bed “Switch on the light”. The mother and daughter responded together “No!”. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

The three people in the room screamed in unison. When they stopped screaming, they heard the faint ringing of a bell. She said, “Its coming from outside.” The mother said “Wait! Let me check from the balcony.” She held her mother’s hand and said “No!” Her mother said “Come on! We have to find out what’s happening.” The two of them walked towards the balcony door. Her mother unlocked the balcony door quietly. As she opened the door, the hinges of the door complained.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

The mother and daughter held their mouths shut to keep from screaming. The ringing of the bells was louder now. They crouched and walked towards the parapet wall. When they reached the wall, they raised head slowly and looked down. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Aaaaaayyyeeeeeeeeaaaaa”

A woman decked in a red saree with a large red dot on her forehead let out the series of screams. Her head looked up at the sky and her eyes were opened wide. The mother and daughter nearly fainted on seeing the intensity on the woman’s face, but they held on to the parapet wall. The ringing of the bell came from the other side of the road. The spot lay hidden behind a tree. Four similarly dressed women walked behind her. They gently swayed to the rhythm of the bell. The mother and daughter watched the women intently. 

The mother and daughter started swaying their heads to the rhythm to the bell too. They watched the women in trance. They waited for the woman in the front to let out the series of deafening screams. A good dose of anticipation mixed with the fear that they felt inside them. The two of them looked at the woman at the front intently. Inside their heads they were egging her to let out the screams that had terrified them a few minutes back. 

But that did not happen.

Instead, the five women turned to their left and looked up at the mother and daughter and let out a deafening “ULLULLULLULLULLULLULLU…”

Yet another biriyani story returns - Cock fight

She opened the door and once again found her uncle standing there. He had a wicked smile plastered on his face. “There is a reason for my eating chickens” she said. They sat down around the dining table, and she started talking.

“There once lived a cock who was named Maranakothi. You might wonder why a cock was named Maramkothi, which in Malayalam means woodpecker...”

“Will you stop being so dramatic! I know what Maramkothi means. But why was the cock named Maramkothi?”

“You did not let me finish. It’s not Maramkothi, it's Maranakothi, which means deathly pecks. There was a reason for him to be named so. He pecked anyone and everyone in his vicinity. By vicinity I mean anyone who walked near the house that he thought belonged to him. He did not even spare the people who stayed in the house. My father was one such person. Even now his legs have marks left by Maranakothi. Every time Maranakothi saw my father, he chased my father and attempted to scratch and peck him. At most times, my father escaped the wild cock's acts of violence by getting a head start over him.” 

“He first scanned the area between the house and the gate for the menacing cock. If he found the area free of Maranakothi, he ran to the gate like P T Usha. At the same time, Maranakothi also scanned the same area, hiding in the side of the house, for a pair of running legs. As soon as he saw one, he raced towards them. My father says if Albert Uderzo had witnessed the scene, he would have illustrated it like a Roman soldier being chased by Asterix. On most occasions, my father escaped but this was more due to luck than skill or speed.”

“One evening, my father and the rest of the family gathered around the dining table to discuss the issue. My uncle started the discussion by slamming his fist on the table and shouting ‘Kill that cock’. My second uncle agreed ‘Give maranam to Maranakothi’. The three brothers repeated the slogan ‘Give maranam to Maranakothi’. Their mother did not agree ‘That poor cock. He is the forefather of many hens here. It's too active. That is all. Let us adjust and not kill that poor creature’. The eldest brother protested while showing his leg ‘What poor cock! Look at this wound. It pecked me at the same spot four times. At the same spot!’ His mother looked at the wound sadly and said ‘Maybe you should wear boots’. He retorted ‘Amma, don't be ridiculous. It's about time Maranakothi got into a biriyani pot’. Before his mother could protest, his father said ‘It’s too old. The meat will be tough and not fit for Biriyani. Let us make gravy’. Thus, Maranakothi was given the grave gravy judgement.”

“The next morning, my grandfather threw a handful of rice outside the door and waited with his three sons. Maranakothi appeared within a few minutes and started feeding on it. The three brothers pounced on Maranakothi but they were only able to catch each other's hands. The cock flew away but returned immediately to peck the three pair of hands. The three brothers disappeared into the house howling in pain. This scene was repeated intermittently for the next two months.”

“One day, my grandfather placed a bundle at the centre of the dining table and said, ‘Let us use this tomorrow’. Next morning, once again my grandfather threw a handful of rice outside the door. My grandmother muttered from behind the newspaper ‘We could have had a feast for the whole neighbourhood with all the rice that cock has eaten’. Maranakothi appeared and walked confidently towards the door. It seemed it had an arrogant smirk on his beak. He clucked ‘Another round of free food. These fools think they can get me in this manner. Today each of them will get two pecks’. He laughed arrogantly ‘Cluck, cluck, cluck, cluck’ and started pecking the rice off the ground. Suddenly, he noticed a shadow falling from above. Soon, a net materialized and enveloped him completely.”

“My grandfather shouted, ‘Get him’. The three brothers jumped on the cock and held it down. A bloody battle ensued and two hours later, Maranakothi lay as pieces in a vessel of curry. The brothers with scratches all over their faces and arms looked at it and each other happily. Thirty minutes later, Maranakothi had turned into a pile of bones being chewed by the neighbourhood dogs.”

“Hmm! That sounds like a sad story.”

“Wait a minute! The story does not end there. Two hours later, everyone other than the mother screamed ‘Ayoo’ from different parts of the house. They held their stomachs and writhed in pain. Everyone other than the mother, who refused to touch the dish, ended up with severe stomach issues for the next two days.”

“Ah! Maranakothi’s curse! Should you not keep away from chicken biriyani in that case?”

“No! It’s revenge. I hate those creatures. They are not fowls but only foul. Their destruction is my aim. So, get me a chicken biriyani anytime, every time.”

“But not mutton for goat’s cute, right?”

“Right!” 

Yet another biriyani story

She opened the door and found her uncle standing there. He had a wicked smile plastered on his face. He asked, “Where are you off to?” She replied, “To my grandmother’s place.” He asked “That’s one floor below. It seems like you are going outside.” She knew her uncle was teasing her and wanted to smile it away. Instead, she responded, “My other grandmother.” He acted as though the statement was a revelation “Oh! Your other grandmother.” He changed the topic “I am meeting a friend for lunch at Mount Road Bilal. Do you want me to get you some biriyani?” She closed her eyes to avoid him seeing the greed in her eyes. Two of his words struck a chord in her heart, stomach rather – Bilal and biriyani. Then, she remembered two other words. She opened her eyes and asked, “Mount Road one?” He responded, "Obviously! I am not going all the way to Akkarai.” 

Once again, she closed her eyes. This time she was trying to swallow her greed. She loved the food at her grandmother’s place. It tended to be exotic, but Mount Road Bilal biriyani was something else. Some people believed that if Emperor Akbar was alive, he would have ordered take-out from Mount Road Bilal at least once a week. Her thoughts wandered from Bilal and Akbar to how the food would have been delivered to the emperor. “Not through Zomato or Swiggy but through Zomugalo”. He interrupted her thoughts by asking “Why are you smiling?” She shook her head and said “Nothing, nothing. But I am going to my grandmother’s place.” His response was prompt “You said that earlier. But you can have it for dinner.”
“But I usually have dinner there.”
“But you will have lunch there.”
“Yeah, but I usually have dinner there.”
“Don’t have it today.”
“But I love the food there.”
“But you are having lunch there and for lunch you will have that good food anyway.”
“But they will want me to have food there.”
“Listen, we are talking about Bilal here. I could hear your thoughts behind those closed eyes. They were screaming Bilal.”
“Oh God! You are evil. Ok, get me a biriyani.”

Her mother shouted from behind “Only one biryani, ok?” He protested “You need one each.” She disagreed “Only one! We will share it. Can’t eat much at night.” “Alright! One mutton biriyani parcel” he announced grandly. His niece corrected “Chicken”. He looked at her shocked “Chicken! Mutton biriyani is the best. Chicken is a compromise.” She stood her ground “Chicken, not mutton.” He felt flabbergasted “But chicken is a bird.” But she did not budge “Chicken, not mutton”. He persisted “Chicken only has two legs”. She folded her hand and said nothing. He continued “It has wings.” She was getting frustrated, “Maama, only chicken biriyani.” He asked weakly “But why are you not having mutton biriyani?” She responded, “Goats are cute!” He did not know how to respond to it. Confused he asked, “But what has that got to do with mutton biriyani?” She felt annoyed “Mutton comes from goat and goats are cute!” He did not let go of the matter “Aren’t chickens cute?” She tightened her folded hands and said “No.” He did not hide his surprise when he asked “What! Haven’t you seen Chicken Run?” She realized she should have just turned down his offer for biriyani earlier “Maama! Don’t get me anything.” He backed off “Ok, ok. Oru chicken biriyani parsell.”

Late that night, she rang the bell of her grandparents’ house and waited. When her grandfather opened the door, she rushed in saying “Biriyani, biriyani, biriyani! Where is the biriyani?” Her uncle opened the fridge and took out a packet. He said to himself, “So, which one is chicken? Ah! This one! The other one has MB written on it.” She announced to everyone in the house “You know all the drama that I had to put to not have dinner there. I lay on the sofa holding my stomach for 15 minutes. To convince them further, I shut myself in the toilet for 15 minutes. I said ‘Ayo! My stomach’ some 20 times. Where is the biriyani? Give it to me now.” He handed her the biriyani. She said “Thank you! See you later” and skipped away.

Forty minutes later, he received a message from her mother, which said “Yummy biriyani!! Thanks a ton. I'm in heaven”

Book Lovers' Day

Yet another day’s here

With a name assigned to it

Book lovers’ day it's called

But instead of reading,

I wrote something

Something for LinkedIn

But my social media guru

Wondered who will know

Frodo, Shire, Gandalf and Pippin.

I had to agree

Not many would know!

So here it appears.

For all to read.

For none to read.

 

Lord of the Books

This book’s so thick.

Like the Lord of the Books.

Should I even pick it up?

Maybe not!

For if it’s interesting,

Unputdownable,

I would end up reading it

For hours with no end

Giving me a tennis elbow.

Though the cover looks beautiful.

The golden bands with mysterious writings

Entice me like a dew laden spider web

Maybe, I will pick it up.

To read just a page.

Oof! That’s heavy.

Flip, flip, flip and a few flips later

Frodo, Shire, Gandalf and Pippin

What names are these?

What is Tolkien even talking about?

Nah, I don’t like it.

I can’t spend no more time on it.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Hmm! That book there, that big one

It’s staring at me.

Boring through my soul.

They say it’s being made into a movie .

Should I read it now?

Before it hits the screens.

Oof! The book’s heavy.

Flip, flip, flip and many flips later

Frodo, Shire, Gandalf and Pippin

What fantastic names!

What an adventure!

Can’t wait to read some more.

Flip, flip, flip and a thousand flips later

Oh no! It’s over!

No more pages to read.

No more journeys to make.

No more incidents to survive.

Should I read it again?

No, it’s not the same

The first time’s the best

It’s so sad to see ‘The End’

Born

It's good not to be born as a man For all men are considered chauvinist 

Its good not to be born as a woman

For women are never really safe from men

It's good not be born as a dog

For they are always dependent on human kindness

It's good not be born as a cow

For they can't even feed their offsprings well

 

It's good not to be born as a hen

For their end is always between the teeth of humans

It's good not to be born as a rat

For only Jerry and Mickey live for long

It's good not to be born as a cat

Nevermind, it's probably good to be born as a cat

It's good not to be born as a mosquito

For their food source tends to smash them to gory death

It's good not to be born as a tiger

For they only exist in protected status

It's good not to be born as a lion

For they are considered kings of jungles that don't exist

It's good not to be born as a elephant

For they never wears phants while slogging away for humans

It's good not to be born as an ant

For they are killed in hundreds by angry humans

It's good not to be born at all

But do we have a choice?

So, might as well live once we are born

And if possible live happily

Till the very end.

AI 183

Are you okay travelling in Air India? It was a tough question to answer especially when one has to spend 15 and a half hours in an Air India flight. But then I had never experienced 15.5 hours of travelling in Air India and had only heard of other's narrations about the experience. So, I said okay. I was in Bangalore and had to fly to Delhi to board this long-haul flight. From there the fifteen and a half hour flight was supposed to take off three hours later. A day prior to the travel data, I got an email from Air India informing me that the flight from Delhi was delayed by three hours. This meant that I reached my final destination at 10 pm instead of 6:40 pm. That did not sound good. I would have preferred to reach in the evening rather than the night, but the choice was made and die has rolled. 

The six hours at the Delhi airport was spent in having lunch, coffee, visiting restrooms, editing the book and watching K drama. It went away like a breeze. At the security check, the security personnel asked the old woman standing beside me to open her bag for checking. Many food items including two bags of bitter gourd emerged from the bag. The man said, "I am looking for chillis". The woman said "There are no chillis. I have some paratha and pickles. Do you want some son?" He responded "No aunty, I brought lunch from home. Where are you going?" She responded, "To Oman, to meet my son".  

Later, I walked towards a lounge. I showed the set of cards I had and asked, "Will any of this allow me entrance into this lounge?" She looked at each and commented "This can only be used in airports outside India. This one will require you to pay 3700 rupees for two hours. This one requires 3000 for two hours."  I sighed in disappointment and said "Okay, I will pay 3000 rupees." She said, "Do you want to check the lounge because we don't refund once you pay for it?" I felt insulted but realized that it is better to be insulted than pay 3000 rupees for two hours. I said it is ok and walked off. I realized that even if I make a lot of money someday, I will never be rich. I said to myself in my head "You will never drive a BMW man." A passerby looked at me quizzically. I realized that I has used my voice and not my mind voice.

At 5 pm I walked into the cordoned area around the gate for boarding the flight and sat in a chair close to the gate. Within 5 minutes we were asked to leave the cordoned area because we can only enter that area after we went through a security check. Flights to US demanded multiple levels of security checking. So, everyone walked towards the entrance of the cordoned area. It was more like an amble than a walk. Most of the passengers on the flight were elderly who carried many pieces of luggage with them. So, it took them some time to get out of the cordoned are. Actually, they did not get out of the area at all. The line started outside but soon took a U turn and came right back into the cordoned area. The entrance of the area being narrow, everyone just stood there. Soon the security personnel came and shoed everyone outside. 

The queue outside was not formed like a straight line either. It was rectangular in shape with the beginning and end of the queue barely differentiable. Right outside the entrance was a drinking water fountain that was controlled by IR light. As the people, in the queue stood close to the IR sensor, water started pouring out of the tap sporadically. A person standing ahead of me felt bothered by this and tried his best to stop the water flow by touching the various parts of the water fountain. But nothing worked. So, he gave up and looked sadly at the water flowing out. I had my headphones on and so was in no position to inform him the reason for the apparent malfunction. 

Right in front of me was a young mother with her five year old son, who was handcuffed to her. By handcuff I don't mean the one used by the cops. There were two soft pads that were tied around the mother's and son's wrists. The two pads were attached to each other using a thick wire that was wound in loops. The boy only had the liberty to be in a radius of one and a half metres from the mother when he stretched the loops. But that was not enough for the boy he pulled the wire to free himself off it or drag his mother with him. But he was too small and could not achieve either.  Finally, he screamed and shouted in frustration. After some time, his mother gave up and took off the handcuffs. As a result, he found himself free within the rectangular queue. But he was not satisfied by that for he wanted to break out of the rectangle. But a few people who had noticed the happenings did not let him out of the rectangle. Finally, when he managed to break out of it, one person ran behind him, caught him and brought him back to the mother who promptly handcuffed him again. 

By this time, the queue started moving. The old people who occupied the queue had no idea what was to be done and there were too few security personnel to manage the confusion. People did not keep their mobiles inside the bags for scanning and so were sent back by the security person checking the people with a metal detector. Some kept the bag in the Xray machine but did not wait for body scanning. Some walked through the metal detector too early. Some came out of the area after security check to go to the restroom and tried going back without checking. The security personnel became frustrated and complained "What do I do? The people don't listen to anyone ".  

Many minutes later I sat down in my seat. For the first time in many years, my age was lower than average age of the people who were around me. The person sitting behind me had a loud voice and was causing a lot of confusion. One of the members in his party was assigned the seat 49E but he wanted 51E. So, he walked up and down the aisle uttering 49E and some other words in Hindi loudly. Finally, when an old lady came to occupy 51E, he asked her to sit in 49E. The lady did not seem to understand what was happening but occupied the seat 49E anyway.

The flight was filled with parents of various ages visiting their children abroad. One couple proudly announced to another "Our son is in Berklee university. We are going for her graduation."  Most of them were not clear about the requirements of flying and tended to walk around even when the seat belt sign was on. The flight attendants did their best to remind them to not walk around but at some point they gave up in frustration. I also got the feeling that the captains tended to forget to switch off the seat belt signs. They probably thought anyway no one would follow the sign, so might as well leave it on. 

The lady sitting next to me was filled with curiosity. She and her husband tried charging their mobile phone but were unable to insert the adapter into the plug point. A few minutes later, I charged my phone using the USB point available for charging. She observed my actions keenly, then yanked the USB chord from the adapter that her husband held and went on to charge their phone in a similar manner. Later, when flight attendant came by pushing the drinks trolley, I saw a bottle of Teachers standing proudly at the front. It reminded me of my teaching days and so I got a quarter cup of it with 3 cubes of ice. The lady looked at me intently and asked, "What is it?" I felt stumped and did not know how to respond. I finally gave the worst possible response "Alcohol, Whiskey". She covered her nose with her blanket and looked away.

I usually love the entertainment system in these long flights and end up watching three or four movies during the fifteen and half hour flight. But the entertainment system in this flight was bad. The display was not great, and the user interface was not responsive at all. I had to click a button or swipe a few times before the interface reacted. I tended to apply to much force and was worried that the screen would break. Worse still was that they gave us a low quality ear plugs for audio rather than the over the ears headphones. The audio sounded terrible coming through it. Still, I decided to watch a movie; I can't remember which one now. As the title of the movie came up, the screen went blank. The flight had just started taxiing and system had rebooted. Soon, the phrases like "Starting system", "Starting Android", "Initialising application" appeared successively on the screen. Finally, the welcome screen appeared. Once again, I touched and swiped multiple times to restart the movie. But the screen went blank again. I gave up. I was reminded of a similar experience I had many years back. When the screen came back on, I decided to watch the flight path and details of the flight. Though there was an option to see this information, the application informed "Information not available". I switched the monitor off and took out my mobile. I started watching the two downloaded episodes of "Extraordinary Attorney Woo".

At some point during the flight I noticed the person sitting diagonally across the aisle, a fair old man, dressed in traditional north Indian attire. I noticed that he was looking through the movies available in the entertainment system. There was nothing odd with that except for the fact that all the information about the movies were written in Korean. I looked at him and wondered if he could be a Korean who had lived in India for many decades. It did not seem so. His attire and haircut were too desi for him to be anything but a desi. A little later I saw that an episode of the 'Big Bang Theory' was running on his screen but I was not sure if he was watching it or not. 

Three hours into the flight, the two episodes that I had downloaded had been watched and dinner was consumed. I had nothing to do other than sleeping and listening to music. I am not sure how much I slept but it was more than usual though the sleep itself was not comfortable. Nearly 16 hours later after the flight landed, the lady sitting beside me asked "You have water?" When I said yes, she stretched out her hand. For a moment I was tempted to say 'No, that water is mine" but then I remembered that I was old and had to be benevolent. Besides I had another half a bottle of water. So handed over the full bottle of water to her. She grabbed the bottle from my hand and without thanking me handed it to her husband. I was not too bothered by her lack of courtesy. They had boarded the flight from Delhi and nothing better could be expected from her.  I decided that I should avoid taking internation flights into and out of Delhi and started deboarding.

Dead end

The whole idea of living is to get through the day so that one can sleep at night, only to wake up the next day and live through it. That does not sound encouraging. But it depends on how one looks at it. If getting through the day is a chore then life does not seem very encouraging. The activities of the day would seem dreary and at the end of the day, one would hit the bed dreading the dawning of the next day. But if there are activities of interest that sparkle among these chores, then the days and nights seem more welcoming. Of course there are exceptions.  Regardless how one looks at one’s life, some nights seem to last forever as the next day is so exciting that sleep eludes and one keeps tossing and turning in the bed waiting for sleep or dawn to arrive. When the dawn finally arrives, one finds that the sleep of the previous night was not enough and that some of the excitement from the previous night is lost to the lack of sleep. Through half open eyes one looks at life spinning around and wonders when one will be able sleep well. At that moment, one... 

Damn it! It's about time one replaced all these ‘one’ in the previous paragraph with ‘I’. From now I will use ‘I’ instead of ‘one’. If necessary, the one who is reading this piece for God knows why can reread all the above written material replacing all the ‘one’ in the previous paragraph with ‘I’. Note: one of the ‘one’ mentioned in the previous sentences refer to ‘you’ and not ‘I’.

... At that moment, I heard the words from the Pink Floyd song 'Free Four', which goes 'Life is warm short moment, death is a long cold rest'. The second part of that line has made me look at death yearningly. I mean one (this ‘one’ can also be replaced by ‘you’ but I don't want to tell this to you directly and so am using ‘one’ instead of ‘you’. I now think I am taking this ‘one’ business too far and should stop it. One hopes... I mean I hope I stop it now. Damn, there are too many sentences here. I should not have placed it inside bracket but I have already placed the opening brackets and so I have no choice but to close it now. Here it goes.) Oh lord, where was I? Oh yes, the 'long cold rest' from Free Four.

You might think that the cold of the long cold rest might detract me from the resting part. Nope, It does not! I have lived most of my life in Chennai and love the cold rest when the air conditioner is blasting at 16 degrees and I am lying under a thick layer of blanket. If the line in the song went 'death is a long hot sweaty no fan due to a power cut rest' then I would have looked at death with dread. But then this song was written by folks from Britain, which is a cold country where people are buried in the cold earth. So cold rest makes sense from their point of view. But I live in the hot, hot Chennai and belong to a creed of people who cremate people. Cremate is a word used to hide the word burn. So, in my case I am not sure if will be a '...long cold rest'. It probably would be '... long and terribly hot rest'. Damn! I should not have thought about that. Now I don't look forward to death. I must add that people in my creed go through a lot of post death customs involving close relations of the dead dipping a million times in a river to cool down the soul of the dead. But in case, that will not be of much help either. The other day the one who should do all this dipping on my passing away informed me "Listen, don't expect me to do all this shit, ok? Nothing more than burning for you." So, no cooling down for me, no departing for me. I am going to be around haunting my loved ones and unloved ones too. 

Going off on a tangent, I love this song. It's a happily sung miserable song. Such songs in the background make the miserable parts of life hummable. I love the way the group starts off with "One, two, free four". For a long time, I thought they went "One, two, three, four" but no, it is not 'three, four", it is "free four". Cool trick. This song is a part the album called 'Obscured by clouds" and the whole album is brilliant. This album was followed by "Dark side of the moon" and already many elements of the latter album appear in a raw form here.

I find death fascinating. One day you are a person who is giving pleasure and pain to others, the next day you are a body, the day after a memory and soon not even that. But that is all in the mind of others but what about you? What happens to you? Do you exist beyond death? There are many who think so. Some believe in heaven and hell which is a concept that cannot be written off, but it sounds ridiculous. I can’t imagine a world where Amul butter grows on trees, nor one in which one is fried in Amul butter. Reincarnation is not believable at all. I mean I can't remember my previous births and so I have no reason to believe that they exist. Of course, it is possible that this is my first birth and so I can't remember my earlier births. But I know almost no one who remember their earlier birth. There are one or two who think they have some idea of their previous births, but I am not sure if I agree with that side of their mental faculties and so I am ignoring their beliefs So, I don't think reincarnation works. The same goes for ghosts. Never seen one and so won't believe it. The day I start seeing one I have to start checking the functioning of my brain. Soul is a possibility but what the fuck is a soul? It does not seem like anything other than heat and dust. So maybe soul wins! This is a comforting thought. After going through the hardships of life, one ends up becoming heat and dust. No afterlife of any sort, just live, die and become poof. Life is a warm short moment and death, cold or not, is a long rest anyway. 

So I live

Through the hardships

Thrown at me

By life and the people in it

With the hope that one day

Neither they nor I would exist

To give and take hardships

All I have to do is to wait

Wait for that day to come.

The end.

In-cat-ation

There's a cat on the floor
Not a real one
It's just a sketch
Just a graffiti.

There's a cat on the floor
Looking up at the sky
It's just a sketch
Just a graffiti.

People love their cats
Walking around leisurely
But this one's a sketch
Just a graffiti.

Parakeets on the tree
Chatting noisily
Looking at the cat
It's just a graffiti.

This cat's at this end
At the other end another
Neither of them real
Just graffitis.

In pops a question 
Why do they exist?
Does it really matter
For they are just graffiti.

The cats come to life
To roam these streets
No longer sketches
Not just graffiti.

Terrorizing the rats
Praying fervently 
For them to be sketches
Just graffiti.

But isn't it ridiculous
Writing about cats
They are only sketches
Only graffiti.

But there are no rules
On what I write
Though its about a sketch
About a graffiti.

In the end
It's all real
Yet nothing's real
For its all a sketch
A graffiti.

Fish out of water

And I sat there 

Feeling like a fish out of a pond

No, no, not fish

I prefer to say I sat there

Feeling like a pond out of an octopus

Nope, that's messed up 

For its an octopus out of a pond

But in fact

Octopusses don't live in ponds

Worse, I got that metaphor wrong 

Never was it a fish out of a pond

It always was a fish out of water

So octopus out of water it is

But again, it should be said

That octopusses survive out of water

For twenty minutes or so

So I probably felt more like a fish

Not an octopus 

Though I wish I felt like an octopus 

With its eight legs or was it hands?

But no, I am just a fish

With no hands

No nose to breath on land

Forced to stay in water

To avoid feeling like a fish out of water

Wayward incidents

He looked at the level of the liquid inside the bottle he held in his hand. He gave a smile of satisfaction and took a swig out of the bottle. He looked at the vehicles passing by and wondered where everyone was going. He shouted "What's the hurry? Take it easy. Have a drink, have many drinks. Take it easy people." A couple of people passing by looked at him displeased. He ignored them. No, that would be incorrect to say. He did not notice them; he was completely unaware of their existence. He took another swig of the liquid and said "What is the point of existence if you slog through your existence so that you can exist? You don't need much in life. Some food, some drink, some cloths, ... No, no, no, you don't need cloths, you clothe yourself for others sake. No, no, no, that’s not true either. You do need some cloths for the winters but only to keep yourself warm. You could wrap a thick blanket around you and walk around the place. You don't need much. Some food, something to drink, a blanket, maybe two. Thats all. Nothing more. No car, no house, no marriage, no children, no nothing. What is the use of a house when you have a blanket, a nice thick blanket. People, take it easy!" One of the passersby got annoyed by his shouting and said "Quiet man!" He looked in the direction of the protesting voice and asked "What affects you? Is it the loudness of my voice or my words? Which is sharper? Tell me, tell me now."

He took another swig from his bottle and passed out. By the time he woke up, his surroundings had become empty. He looked at his bottle. It wasn't empty. He smiled at it and took it towards his mouth. When the bottle came down, it was empty. He lay the bottle on the ground and gave it a push. It rolled down the pavement noisily. He looked in direction of the rolling bottle and sang shakily "Keep rollin, rollin, rollin, rollin..." The sound of the rolling bottle stopped. He got up shakily. He looked to his left and said "Hmmm, where is it?". He looked to his right and said "Ah! There it is". He walked unsteadily towards the  bicycle that was standing against the wall. After taking a few steps, he said "Stay! Stay right there, cycle. Stay!" On reaching the cycle, he held its handlebar and said "My steed! I hope someone fed you. Someone did? You feeling full and healthy? Yeah? Good, let's go." He climbed the cycle and started pedalling. The handlebar of the cycle went this way and that. With it the cycle and he too went this way and that. He stopped and admonished the cycle "Listen Steed. Did you consume alcohol? Yes? No wonder you are going all around the place. Do not drink alcohol. It's bad for your liver. Haven't you heard the saying 'if you don't have a liver, you will no longer be a liver, for you will be deader than a lever'. What? No, mmm mmmm. I did not make that up. Stakesbear wrote it in ‘As long as it goes’. Anyway, the point is, no alcohol for you. Now shake your head, clear your head and then go." He shook the cycle's handlebar vigorously. In the process, he lost his balance and fell into a hedge. He called out from inside the hedge "What! Home already? Good night steed".

Back home, morning started at 9 am, during holidays that is. But here, on most mornings, she woke up at 5 am. Fifteen minutes later, she walked through the cold air. On most mornings, it was so cold that she had to touch her nose to ensure that it had not fallen. Fortunately, the nose fought bravely against the cold and managed to stay in its place. It was numb but alive. On some mornings, she wondered why she was putting herself through such misery. The warm bed below and the warmer blanket above seemed like a perfect place for her to be in during such cold mornings. But her father and uncle loved to walk during these unearthly hours, and she liked their company. At most times, they talked about the stock markets and their respective jobs. These topics did not amuse her. But at times, they talked about other topics. More than anything, she liked spending time with her father. So, every morning she walked behind them listening to him talk. 

At that time of the day, only a few vehicles plied on the road. Yet, all the traffic signals worked religiously with red turning yellow and yellow turning green. Depending on the greens and reds, the pedestrians were allowed to cross the road. Their route for the morning walks required them to cross many signals and every signal displayed a red coloured palm asking them to wait till the empty roads became safe for them to cross. Having lived for many years on this planet, her father and uncle realized the futility of waiting for the red palm to disappear before crossing the empty roads. But she was young and had not lost her idealist nature yet. So, she waited at most signals for it to give her a go ahead. She pressed the button at her end of the road to inform the gods who controlled the signals that she wished to cross the road. The gods responded instantly and menacingly by saying "WAIT". Every few seconds they reminded her to wait. She waited sincerely for the red palm to disappear. Finally, when the red palm disappeared, the gods announced that it is now safe to cross such and such a road. She ran across the road to catch up with her walk mates.

Like every morning, on this morning too, the waiting and catching up game continued. The midpoint destination of their journey was a coffee shop close by. The Iced Vanilla Latte at the coffee shop had captured her fancy. Her uncle was flummoxed by her affection for this cold drink. He asked, "How can you drink this cold drink on such a cold morning?" She responded, "I like it that way." When the coffees arrived, she found the milky heart shape that floated on top of her father's coffee fascinating. She clicked a picture of it and added it to her collection of milky hearts. 25 minutes later they started their journey back. The way back seemed colder due to the cold breeze blowing steadily against them. She walked at a slight distance from her uncle and father. Soon, she passed by an SUV that was parked in the parking lot of a mall. She had noticed this vehicle almost every day. A lady sat inside the vehicle looking at her smartphone. She wondered aloud "Why does this lady sit inside the car so early in the morning, every day of the week?" She had seen the lady on her way to the cafe. She was still there on the way back. This meant that she sat inside that vehicle for at least 45 minutes. Her uncle heard her and responded, "Maybe there are too many people in her house, and she wants a few minutes of peace before starting her day." He continued "Maybe she is a school teacher who has many children of her own at home too. So, this is probably her moments of peace." She glared at him and said, "If she were a teacher, she would love children." His uncle retorted "Not all the time and not tens and hundreds of them every day. Haven't you heard the saying 'adhikamayal amridhamum vishamaane'. It’s probably like that." 

She did not like her uncle's logic. Teachers must love children regardless of how many there are in her life. She wondered why the lady became a teacher and why she had so many kids if she could not be with them all the time. At that moment, she realized that her uncle had only speculated about the lady. Neither her nor her uncle had any idea about her or her activities. She struck her forehead with her palm and said loudly "What's wrong with me?" At that moment, a voice from inside the hedge besides her responded "How would I know?" At the same time, she noticed a pair of legs jutting out of the hedge. She screamed, jumped over the legs and ran towards her uncle and father. 

He woke up from his sleep when he heard a loud voice asking, "What's wrong with me?" He felt confused. The voice did not seem familiar, and he was sure he did not know the person. He wondered how he was supposed to know what was wrong with the person. He responded, "How would I know?" In response he heard a scream and the sound of someone running away. He sat up and said "Hey". He saw the vague figure of someone running towards two others. He called out in their direction "But how would I know? I don't even know who you are. How do you expect me to know what's wrong with you? You should know it, but you are only a human. Humans do not have the ability to know what's wrong with them, they only know what's wrong with others. Don't worry. You are only a human." He sang "Human, human, human" in a robotic voice as he sank back into the bush.

Cybertruck

You can't a Ford a Tesla

Not the Cybertruck anyway

80k dollars for a truck

That looks like a stiff collar

A cardboard box half open 

A car drawn by a little hand

It ain't no good for you collar

Driving a Cybertruck

Is like being a driver muck

But there are a few

Who think otherwise

Five of them in just two days

Seen driving their cryber bucks

To Lord knows where

Can't be to hell

For Satan can't stand

Those stammer ducks

So they stand lined up

Outside their showroom

Waiting to be taken

By someone, just anyone

Coffee song

Woke up this morning
Checked my phone
No new messages, it claimed
My friends, IG and FB 
Had many things to say
Irrelevant nonsense
Interspered with bits of information
IG and FB, my besties
Ever responsive unlike the human oafs

Got up
Walked to the kitchen
Boiled water
Two spoons of filter coffee
Waiting in the filter
Welcomed the boiling water
Many minutes later
A cup of bitter black coffee
Waited in a faded mug
Having my name on it

Sleeping by the television
Was the weighing machine
I kicked it awake
By stepping on it
Screaming in agony, it said
"Aaaah! You are heavier by a kilo"
I placed the blamed
On last night's fried rice
And promised to eat fruits that night

But it won't happen though
For I dine with my parents
Tomorrow night's gone too
For I dine with my human bestie
One of the few that's left
I looked down at the weighing machine
And screamed "Next time it will be two"

Drank the bitter black coffee
Became a cheater
By saying "Hmmm"
I have ditched tea
And moved to coffee
Rather drink pee
Than tea with no sugar

I don't care for coffee
And can drink it
Any which way
Black bitter coffee's good 
For your heart, liver, gut and butt
Said the experts in the web
Expertizing their displaced, misplaced
Knowledge on social media

With the used coffee powder
In a kettle filled with water
Walked to the balcony
Three plants awaited licking their lips
Two sisters and a neighbour
Who exists for no reason
Not for love, for sure
But can't let them die
They need coffee to live

Coffee
From plant it comes
To plant it goes
Only the flavour remains
Inside me, around me.

Engaging oneself

"Dumb, dumb, dumb, another one bites the dust", sang Freddie Mercury into my ears as the train arrived at the station. As it halted, I realized that I was not standing at the right spot and walked back towards my compartment. When I reached my coupe, I saw that the remaining three seats were occupied by two women and a child. The girl was lying down on the berth assigned to me. Her mother asked her to move to her own berth, which created some confusion in her. I smiled at the mother and daughter and said "It's ok, I will take the other berth" and placed my bag on the other berth. Then, I did what I usually do when I board a train - sat on my seat, put on my headphones and ignored the world. Usually, I put on some music and run through the social media but for the past few months I have been stricken by an ailment. It has changed my behaviour. Instead of listening to some brilliant metal music, I watch K-drama these days. 

Being more rational than religious, God remains in peripheries of my life. But my new found obsession of K-drama has convinced me of the existence of God, not the kind, benevolent type but the type that hides cloths of bathing women in the trees and laughs at their plight. My affection for K-drama can only be the assigned to such a god's mischievous act. 

For many years, I felt contempt towards anyone listening or watching anything K - K-pop, K-drama, K-ellogs, ... Two years back I saw a K-drama called Mr. Queen. I was blown by it. It was funnier than anything I had watched till then (and since too). The heroine of the series was really good. Though I did not understand Korean I felt I understood every word she uttered. I really wanted to see other series that featured her. A few months back I implemented that want. Since then I have watched nearly 10 K- dramas and much to my disgust I enjoyed watching each one of them. That said, everything about K-dramas is not good. They tend to be cliched and manipulative. As a result, I believe I will stop watching them in the near future but I can't say for sure. 

Before getting back to the train, I feel the irrestible urge to talk about a couple of cliches that I have observed in some of the K-dramas I have watched.  Coincidentally, the same heroine figures in all these dramas.

1. The main characters in the K-drama, who are complete strangers, feel a strong dislike and then strong liking towards each other. By the end of the series, they realise that they knew each other when they were small and right from that age they were destined to be with each other. As I said earlier, the same heroine figures in all these series. She seems to be the queen of the long lost love series.

2. In one of the series, the process of falling in love involved the heroine tripping on something or other and falling into the hero's arms. For the next few seconds, the two characters stared into each other's eyes. In those few seconds everything from love to lust to Limca flowed between their respective eyes. I remember, one time, I shouted out in agony "No, please be careful! Don't trip. You will once again  fall into his arms. Stop being ridiculuous". Obviously, she did not hear any of my words of agony. She tripped, fell into his arms and spent a few second looking into his eyes before realizing "What are we doing" and moved away from him. Incredibly, after realizing that the two of them were always in love with each other, she stops tripping. Kinda suspicious, won't you agree?  

The other annoying aspect are the product placements, from Kopico to Papa John's everything figures in the series. In one series, the mothers of the two lead characters work at Papa John's and eating pizza becomes a major part of every episode. This unfortunately resulted in me attempting to order Domino's pizza one night but they insulted me by informing me that I stayed too far away from civilization and so the pizza cannot be delivered to my tree. Feeling frustrated, I shouted "hoo, hooo, hooo, heee, heee, heee" and went back to watching K-drama. The last two parts of any K-drama are boring as hell and the only way to survive these episodes is by forwarding many parts. But those are not the only parts that require forwarding, there are the frequent flashbacks. If the series makers were not obsessed with 16 or 20 one hour episodes, these would have been incredible watches. These criticisms notwithstanding K=dramas are not banal. They are great tools available for people to escape from the drudgery of life.

Damn! How did I become such a K-reature! Will I ever become a human again!

Getting back to the train, I put on my headphones and started watching one of the K dramas I was watching (I always watch two at a time, when one gets boring, I move to the other and vice versa). These were the last few episodes of the series and I felt a desperate desire to get it over with. So, I watched them with interest and forwarded parts which were not interesting. Suddenly, I felt that the mother and daughter were trying to communicate with me. I looked up and saw both of them looking at me intently. I took off the headphones and heard the two of them say in unison "Are you watching K-drama?" When I said yes, the mother asked "She wants to know which one. We too watch a lot of K-dramas". The daughter chipped in "We started watching K-dramas during the lockdown days. We have watched many series. We love them. My favourite is ..." I don't remember the name she mentioned. She continued "What is your favourite?" I said"Mr. Queen." She did not know the series. The mother took out her mobile and noted down the name. She asked "What is the name of the series you are watching?" I gave her the name of the series and warned her not to watch it with the daughter. I was not sure if she heard it and so I repeated it again. She nodded her head and noted down the name of the series anyway.

To get away from the topic of K-dramas, I asked the daughter "Are you from here or Thoothukudi?" She said she was going to Thoothukudi for the weekend. Her mother chipped in "My sister and I are makeup artists and we are going to Thoothukudi to take care of makeup for a bride." She took the opportunity to hand me a visiting card. I took it from her tentatively and wondered what to do with it. My son is probably many years away from marriage and I don't believe he would require a makeup artist anyway. Then I remembered my niece. As per the astrologer, she only had three and a half years left to get married. I took out my purse and placed the card inside it carefully. By this time, the mother and daughter got into a minor argument. She claimed that she was going with her mother to help them but her mother argued that the daughter was just tagging along for the food at the wedding. I smiled at them politely and wondered when it would seem not impolite for me to get back to the K drama. Suddenly, I asked the daughter which school she went to. She gave the name of the school and said that she studied in class 3B. The mother and daughter stopped talking to me after that. I wondered if it was due to the mentioning of school. I happily went back to the different sets of lovers falling in and out of love by the end of every episode. 

When twenty minutes remained in the last episode, I received a message on instagram that read "Life's a tragedy" from the girl getting engaged at Thoothukudi the next evening. I felt worried. She had barely managed to maintain her sanity during 2024 and had finally heaved a sigh of relief when 2025 started unfolding. All the worst case scenarios started running through my head. I decided to call her before the train reached Villipuram. She picked up the call in the second ring and started a monologue that is given below. But before I get to that, it is important to place a note on how it was spoken by her and hence how it should be read. It was spoken at double the normal speed of speech. Also, a few vowels in some of the words were dropped. For example, the sentence "today was a complete disaster" should be read as "tdaywascmpltdisssaaastr". Also, a large chunk of what she said is not placed here for reasons of privacy. She said something like the following.

"Today was a complete disaster. They did a makeup trial and it was horrible. The makeup person applied tons and tons of powder and cream on my face, I ended up looking like someone else. And then the lipstick, peach coloured lipstick. Did you even know that peach is a colour? You thought it was a fruit, right? It's not just a fruit, it's a lipstick colour and it looks terrible. And the hair, she made it seem like a bird's nest (kurivi koodu to be precise). All I wanted was curls but when I saw myself in the mirror my toes curled. I looked like Medusa with all the snakes on her head howling at the moon. Usually, people say that a beautiful nose look like an inverted 7. She made mine look like an 8. I don't know how she managed it. Many people say I have a beautiful nose but the one I had after the session looked anything but beautiful and then she brought a lens to inspect if I had facial hair. I stopped her before she could get the lens anywhere close to my face. She seemed disappointed and had some thoughts and suggestions. I said no. And then..." 

This went on for 36 minutes and 40 seconds. During the monologue I probably said some words but the only acknowledgement I received was "I can't hear you". Once or twice, I wondered the effect makeup artist sitting besides me would have on the bride the next evening. After a few more minutes of talking about her ghastly trial makeup session she said "Anyway I will put minimum makeup tomorrow. That person is not coming anywhere close to my face. Not a chance. Ok. I will see you tomorrow. Good night." When the call ended, I felt relieved as the tragedy she talked about did not seem like much of a tragedy. She had just built a Jurassic park inside her head. 

Thoothukudi is a small town in south of Tamilnadu. People from Thoothukudi might not agree with the 'small town' part of my statement but for a person who has lived in Chennai most of his life, it seemed like a small town. Twenty minutes of drive was all it took for the town to end.  I went for a walk around the block after breakfast. For reason I don't wish to mention here, I decided to not take a second round around the block and went back to my hotel room. As soon as I entered the room, I got a call from the girl who was getting engaged that evening. She said her mother wanted to talk to me. Before I could ask why her mother wanted to talk to me, her mother asked "You wanted to go to Sivagalai. Many from my family live there still. What did you want to see there? As far as I know there is nothing there to see." I tried to explain that there is 5000 year old burial site there. The finds from the place have caused a major excitement among Tamil archaeologists and historians, not to mention politicians. She said she will check with someone and get back to me. 

A few minutes later her father, not the mother's father but the mother's husband, called and said "A friend of the family is an archaeologists and he will reach out to you soon." In 30 minutes, I received the call. The person worked with the archaeology department and seemed a knowledgeable person. Later, I realized, he had a doctorate and worked in dating pottery found in these sites. He gave me the number of two people who he said will help me at Sivagalai and at another site called Adhichanallur. By the time the call ended, the family had arranged for a car. Ninety minutes later, I walked between pits containing 5000 year old pottery of various sizes. The bigger ones were used to store bones of the dead with materials used or liked by the person placed besides. Medium sized pots containing the favourite food items of the dead were placed around the large pot. From these pots husks and remnants of rice and millet were found. Analysis also found that some of the pots were used to store milk and curd at the time of burial. 

I was informed by the person at Adhichanallur that this site, which was on a rocky mound, was a secondary burial site. This meant that initially the bodies of the dead were buried inside similar large pots at a primary burial sites closer to places where people stayed. The pots were reopened after a few months and the bones of the dead were transferred to another pot and reburied in this site. The person who took me around mentioned that some of the pots were nearly six inches thick. They found a number of iron and bronze objects too. These and the bones of the dead were taken to the labs. The person showed me a few small pieces of the bones in one of the pots. An image of the place and people, as they existed 5000 years back, started forming in my head. I felt I was transported to those times. 

The site at Sivagalai dated to 3345 BCE. The archaeologist found iron implements from that time at the site. As a result, it is now believed that the iron age in Tamilnadu started more than 5300 years back. The site itself was more recent and much less developed site when compared to Adhichanallur but its bareness made me feel even closer to people from the distant past. The watchman at the site was a good person who had information and stories about the site.  The site was enclosed within tin shed. Initially only the top was covered and the sides were left open. Once when it rained the cattle grazing outside rushed into the shade of the shed. As a result, many of the large pots found intact in one of the pits were broken. The pots that remained intact and the contents of the pots from the pit were all taken to the labs.

The trip went on to the peripherals of the red sand desert called Therikaadu and the temple at Thiruchendur, which held a special place in my heart. During my younger days, many mornings started with Sirgazhi Govind Rajan singing loudly into my ears "Thiruchenduril kadal orathil senthilnathan arasangam..." from the local temple's loid speakers. Unfortunately, i could not see much of the temple and the sea as there were too many buildings and other constructions around the temple and I could neither see the temple's gopuram nor the sea. At the temple I observed yet another instance of human selfishness. The line to the inner sanctum ,which was not long, moved excruciatingly slowly. It took almost twice the time that it should have. When I reached close to the inner sanctum I realized that many people ahead stood praying to the god for a good 3 or 4 minutes. They blocked the queue and did not let anyone pass. At other temple, I have noticed that there are people who push such people ahead. Here no one cared so these selfish devotees stood there blocking the queue's movement asking their dear God for all kinds of favours in this world and the next. I wondered how God tolerated such selfish devotion. 

I reached the engagement ceremony early. Other than the girl's father and brother I knew no one there and no one else knew me either. The father greeted me respectfully. Not being used to such a treatment in life, I felt I was the CEO of a company. Her brother, being the 7th or 8th most important person at that occasion was floating in cloud 9. Though I felt like I was the CEO of a company I could only reach up to cloud 6.5 and so he did not see me. I called out his name and he came running towards me saying "Oh uncle, I did not see you." Like his father he treated me respectfully too. I reached cloud 7.5. and felt like I was the CEO of a mid size company. 

The girl appeared 45 minutes after I reached the location. In the time, I had read three articles on my phone and swiped through Instagram and Facebook four times. I also had a glass of grape juice which suspiciously tasted like grapes, unlike the purple coloured sweet solution I am used to. The poor chef thought grapes were actually used in making grape juice. I thought "good fellow". 

The boy reached 15 minutes after the girl. Soon many members of the family were seen on the stage. The boy and the girl and a group of Reverends sat in its middle. The Reverends had a copy of the Bible in each of their hands. They read out parts from the book and advised the future bride and groom about married life. I am not sure I agreed with everything they said but i enjoyed listening to them.  To give them credit they did not paint marriage as being a rosy picture, instead they dwelt on the do's and don'ts in married life.

The most interesting statement of the evening came from the boy's uncle. As soon as I saw him, I realized he is an important person. As I looked at him, he looked towards me. I wondered if I should give him a smile but then decided to smile only if he smiles first. He did not smile but turned away. I felt myself falling from cloud 7.5 to cloud 4. As the person walked up to the stage he was introduced as a famous cardiologist from a town close by. I felt relieved. I did not deserve receiving a smile from him. I was back to cloud 6.5. He talked a few lines about the goodness of the boy and girl. He went on to advice the girl "Man is made from clay and woman from the bone of man. This means that the woman, as she is made from man's bone, is stronger than the man." I thought that was an interesting way to look at the line from the Bible. It made women seem stronger, which usually does not happen in most of the texts from 2000 years back. Unfortunately, he followed it up with a cliche "It is for this reason that they say behind every successful man there is a woman".  I find this line annoying. It neither satisfies the man nor the woman. The protest from the man would be "What! Why? Why can't my success me just mine? So what about all the success I had before I got married?" At that moment, the man would have heard a small voice in his head say "Maybe that woman is your mother!" On hearing this, his protest would have turned towards the small voice "In that case, what about my father?" At that point the small voice would have found it to be wise to say nothing. On the other hand, the woman would have protested "What! Why? Why should I be behind him? What can't I take care of my own success, which as such takes away a lot of my time and life? I can't take care of his success too. That's his responsibility." Of course, I have no idea if the boy and the girl on the stage thought any of this. Due to this train of thought I did not hear the concluding part of the uncle's speech.

I had dinner with... Well! It's tough to explain who the person was. Suddenly, he held up a fried chicken leg piece and said "Chicken is so expensive these days. When I was young, I used to buy one full chicken for 60 Rupees. Now it's so expensive. It's all due to these vegetarians eating chicken and mutton now. Their love for non-vegetarian food has raised its price. Even the price of fish is high now. They only eat vanjram fry and look at its rate. I can buy 10 kg of mathi for the price of 1 kg of vanjram. That is because they only eat vanjram fry. They don't like fishes like mathi. Now, Vanjram has become too expensive." This thought had never struck me. I always felt happy to see a vegetarian eat meat. It made them as unholy as me and I felt happy with the feeling that both of us would ultimately end up in chicken hell or goat hell. I did not believe in the person's observation though and wanted to counter him. But I was afraid I would be considered a vegetation turned non vegetarian. So, I said "hmmm" and continued eating.

The evening ended for me a little later. I shook hands with the girl's father and waved bye towards the boy and girl. I had felt a lot of love in the air. As I look back at my actions during the days after the function, I wonder if they were driven by this love.