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?"

People

Unable to differentiate
Reality from mirage.
Feeling like a person
Marooned in an ocean
Lamenting mournfully
"Water, water everywhere
But not a drop to drink."

Surrounded by an ocean of humanity
And yet lamenting
"People, people everywhere but..."
Stopping midsentence
Looking around with trepidation
Wondering...
What if someone gets to know?
Would it be considered ungrateful?
Possibly!
They don't realize
It's not them; it's me.

So much to say
But drowning in silence
For words transform
In the head of a hearer.
The speech, not the same as the thought.
The interpretation, differing from the speech.
So, what is the point of saying?
It's not for them, it's only for me.
 
So, I sit behind the wheel,
Not listening to Cavelera
Screaming attitude into my ears.
Pondering about the feelings residing within.
Looking for a resolution for the unresolvable.
Searching for order in the chaos.
Worried that I will live forever in this manner.
It's not theirs, only mine.

But who has the time for such thoughts?
Not even the self!
There's work to be done.
Let the world
Live its glorious lives.
Thinking about themselves
Their concerns only displayed
When convenient!
Your convenience not coinciding with mine
So, don't talk to me.
For I realize,
"People, people everywhere but
None to converse with."

Put on your red shoes and dance the blues

Through my life I have remained cocooned from hardships. Even when I went through tough situations, I realised that ninety percent of the world lived through tougher situations, a lot tougher. Yet I did not feel guilty about this. I felt sad when I heard about the misfortune of the above mentioned ninety percent though. To ward off the sadness, I tried to stay away from any recounting of miserable events. But when one is surrounded by misery, the incidents find a way to reach you. This always brings into me the urge to help people in misery. But I do nothing. I am barely able to take care of my own life. So how can I take care of others? I console myself with the thought that I will help others when I can. At times, I try to make a difference by being liberal with money. But even in this case, I do not go out of the way to help others. I am not interested in being a hero or a martyr. So, I keep myself busy and avoid watching the news channels, which are, at most times, obsessed in screaming out details of miserable events.

During the pandemic driven lockdowns, the lives of the daily wage earners became tougher than usual. They were stuck in different cities where there was no work or money. They did not have a reason to live in the cities and wanted to go back their homes. But the Government had disallowed most vehicles to ply on the road. Only essential services and a few vehicles with passes were allowed to be on the road. So, in desperation, they used any form of transportation available to them and when nothing was available, they walked. For me listening to these incidents was painful. I was at the other end of the spectrum. I was already safe within my home. I had plenty of food available within the four walls that surrounded me. To make matters better, for the first time in many years, I did not have to step out of the house every day. I felt happy and I liked the lockdown.

That phase, like every other phase in life, ended in some months. Life got back to near normalcy in two years. Except for an occasional masked faces and a few gaps among the living, it seemed that the pandemic and the ensuing lockdown never happened. The first time we traveled to the north of the country, we took COVID tests and had our reports ready for whoever demanded to see it. But during the three weeklong trips, not even a temperature check was done. So, for our next trips we did not bother to go through COVID tests.

I walked through the Mumbai airport for nearly 30 minutes before I got to the baggage carousel. I waited for another 20 minutes before my suitcase appeared from the underground. I walked up to the Meru prepaid counter and asked for a taxi to Chembur. I spent the next few minutes listening to the cost of the ride and the complex mechanism of its payment. At the end of the minute, I had to summarize the steps involved. The person at the counter nodded his head in agreement. I had got the instructions right. I paid the airport charges at the counter and walked away with two receipts. As instructed, I went down one level to what I believed was the level below the ground floor of the airport. I find the modern airports disorienting. When I get out of the flight, I believe that I am a floor above the ground. Then I go down one level to get my baggage, which I believe is the ground floor of the airport. Much to my bewilderment, I find later that another level exists underneath this level and when I reach it, I tend to believe that I have reached the underground. But I ride out of the airport, the taxi goes straight onto the road; it does not go up a ramp. So, all my estimations of the levels inside the airport get messed up. 

When I walked out of the airport, I saw many taxis parked on the other side.  I did not see any Meru cab though. I asked one of the drivers, where I can find the Meru cabs. He asked me to stand under a board that read 'Meru'. I stood under it for a minute, but no cabs appeared. I fished out the receipt and found the name and the mobile number of the driver on it. I called the driver and informed him that I was waiting for him in the underground. He informed that he was at the level above and would come down to my level soon. A few minutes later, I drove out of the airport in a Maruti Swift Dzire. The driver liked to keep me informed of every step that he had and was going through as we attempted to get out of the airport. 

"I was at the level above and thought you will come there but then you informed me that you are here. So, I had to turn around and come down. That took time. Can you give me the receipt that you got from the counter? Ah! There it is. You see this small receipt. This is the airport parking charges. I have to show it to the security guard. He will check my car number against the number on the receipt. Sometimes the cab drivers pick up customers not meant for them and that causes a lot of confusion. See! He is checking the car number. Ah! There you go. Now you can keep the receipt carefully in your pocket. Oh! You are keeping it in your shirt pocket now. You took it out of your pant's back pocket. Oh Ok! Acha! It is not reachable due to the seat belt, is it? Koi baath nahin!"

He stopped talking when we got onto the main road, but not for long. He pointed at the seventeen-year-old sitting in the back seat and asked "Has he taken the vaccine?" I responded hesitantly "Yes." 
"Both the vaccines?"
"Yes."
"He must have taken it sometime back, right?"
"Yes."
"My son did not take the vaccine. He wants to take it now, but it is not available anywhere."
I felt surprised for I had seen in the news that many Covaxin vaccines were on verge of expiry. So, I thought the pharmaceutical company, the Government and the hospitals should be desperate to use them. I asked, "Are they not available anywhere?"
"No."
"What about the private hospitals?"
"Will they be available in the private hospitals?"
"I think so."
"Hmmm! I should ask him to check but they will charge for it."
"True!"
"In the government hospitals it is free, but they are not available there. Anyway, I will ask him to check. You know I did not take the vaccine, not a single dose, but I have had no problems. Right through the lockdown till now."

He paused for a moment before continuing "The lockdown was tough. I had to stay at home and could not come out. These policemen used to beat us when we stepped out of the house. We could get by the younger ones, but the older ones are more experienced and used to beat anyone they came across on the road. But how long can a person stay indoors? I nearly went mad. One day, I drove to my hometown in this taxi."
"Where is your hometown?"
"Benares."
"You went alone?"
"No with my family; my wife and two sons. We forged a pass and used it during the journey."
"Forged?"
"Yes. The government said that they will take three weeks to issue a pass. I did not have the patience to wait and so approached someone who made duplicate passes. You know, the ones who modify the original passes using a computer and give you a printout. It looks just like the original. No one will be able to find out, not even the government employee who signed the original pass. So, I got a pass for three of us, stuck it on the windshield of this taxi and started our journey home."
"Three? Did you not say that you have two sons?"
"That is correct, but they only used to give passes for three people. If I changed it to four, then the police would have found that the pass was forged. So, I made the pass for three and claimed that my son was less than twelve years old though at that time he was fifteen. We drove for four days before we got home. At the borders, the police made us wait for many hours. At one place we were had to sit on the grounds of a police station for eight hours. We had no problems. This was no different from sitting at home doing nothing. We had done that for nearly six months and were experts at sitting in a place for hours doing nothing. Besides, how long could they keep us there? The police had to let us go when the number of people on the ground grew to more than one thousand. I stayed at Benares for a year. I drove all around UP during the year with the forged pass stuck on the windshield. If anyone stopped me, I would show the pass stuck on the windshield and they would let me pass. No one caught me."

He had reached the end of his narration. He remained quiet for a few minutes before going on to the next topic. We were crossing a large-barricaded complex with many policemen guarding it. Somewhere in its midst of the complex resided the Thackerays. He talked about it with such mystery that it seemed that Thackerys were mystical creatures living in an enchanted forest. As we listened to his narration, we looked at the complex nervously and soon completely stopped looking in that direction. Later, when got into the Bandra Kurla complex, we saw a swanky red coloured sports car take the right at a signal and speed away. He pointed at the car and said "There are many such cars in Mumbai these days. Sons of rich men. They are born into wealth and have no qualms about showing it off." His narration moved from the rich men's sons to his own sons. The eldest was studying in a college. The youngest had just finished his 12th and was attempting to get into a college. The words came out of him seemed drenched in anxiety and hope.

By the time, we parted, I felt a sadness pass through me. Only 40 minutes had passed since I got into his cab and yet, it seemed I had known him for longer.  

Weddings, these days, are influenced heavily by the customs and culture of North India. I was in Mumbai to attend a Malayalee wedding, which, I thought, can only stretch up to an hour. But this one stretched across a day and a half and contained many elements. It started off with a Mehendi before going through a Sangeeth and ending in a Reception after travelling through a wedding ceremony. I had witnessed a similarly detailed ceremony for the initiation of a matrimonial relationship, a few months earlier. The trauma of the events stayed with me for nearly two months. During that period my mental and physical faculties became physical and mental faulties. The prime culprit for this situation was the sound and light extravaganza that is essential in any North Indian marriage function. The most affected part of my body was my ear drums. The culprit - dance music. The issue with dance music played at weddings was not the music by itself, which without doubt is useless, but the decibel level at which it is played. I am sure the god Indra will be tapping his feet to the beat of 'Arabi Kuthu' while watching Urvashi and Ramba prance to it. The song 'Arabi Kuthu' is a good representative of the songs played during such occasions. What the hell is that song all about. It seems like a lament sung at a funeral (oppari) - "Avanum poittan poittane, ivanum poittann poittane...". The singer's voice fits the oppari mood too. Every time I hear it, I wipe away a tear from the corner of my eye. What a sad song! Ayyyoo Poitane! After I got back from the earlier wedding, I had to put my ears through an hour of heavy metal treatment to recover. My ears had recovered completely, by the time I had walked into hall to witness the Sangeeth ceremony (which by the way is a poor excuse for people (young and old) to jump around to remixed version of some upbeat song where the singer screams "Baby/Kudi/Whatever, come and dance with me..."). I simply don't understand the obsession that humans have about dancing or the acts that they categorize under the word dancing. Damn! I am digressing. 

Wedding/Marriage halls are also perfect locations to meet people whom you have not met for years. Sometimes, such meetings invoke happiness in us and at other times, something like the following happens. 

During the reception, I found myself walking with one of my uncles. Suddenly, I found a lady waving in our direction wildly. For me, most people attending the reception were strangers and so I looked towards my uncle, who was waving back at her with as much excitement. The two of them uttered as explosive "HIIIIIIIIIIII" as they got closer. For a few minutes, they asked talked about their respective lives. I stood there wondering when the moment would come when I can walk away without it seeming rude. Just a few moments before the moment arrived, my uncle looked towards me and asked, "You know Rekha, right?" I would have responded "yes" if I had not seen him pointing at the lady. I was sure I had never seen her in my life. But my uncle seemed to be sure that I knew her and so my surety wavered. Rekha was looking at me intently. Inside my head I thought I heard her say "Please say no." I let my brain smile back at her and was about to say "No", when my uncle prodded helpfully "Sita's daughter, you know Sita right!" He ended the statement with an exclamation and not a question mark. He was sure I knew Sita even if I did not know Rekha. I was in a fix. I saw that Rekha's nervousness had disappeared and an amused smile lingered on her face. I searched through my head for the Sitas. 

1. Sita from Ramayana - Can't be.
2. Seeta from Seeta Aur Geeta - Impossible.
3. Sita, the Tamil movie actress from the 80's and 90's - Maybe or maybe not. How the hell am I supposed to know?
4. Sitaram Yechury - What! Stop!

I decided to give in and said "Ah yes! Of course! Hi". They continued to talk, and I slunk away.

As I drove back from the Chennai aiport to my house, I started the counting the bachelors and bachelorettes of marriageable age in my family. I realized there were enough of them present to ensure two wedding a year. I sank back in my seat worried. I did not have the stamina to witness people dancing to "A Sami, B Sami, ... O Sami, ... Z Sami" for another year. The future looked loud and bright! Fortunately. my thoughts were broken by the cab driver's narration of events in his life.

"I was a cab driver in Saudi for 18 years. I had my own cabs and a few shops but in 2018 the Saudi Government brought a rule that only Saudi citizens can own companies in Saudi. So, I came back to India with my family..."

Up, up and away

He walked up the stairs slowly. He did not want to reach the top quickly. He took his time going from one step to the next. He needed time to think. He had made the decision already but wanted to re-evaluate it. He went through the events of his life that had led him to take this journey up the stairs. He could remember many, but all of them were painful. With passing of time, the painfulness of the incidents did not bother him. It was just another prick of a needle. As Pink Floyd had sung, he had become comfortably numb. Now, he had nothing to look forward to. He did not look at the past fondly or with nostalgia. The happy memories did not seem real. They seemed tacky when compared to the ever-present feeling of pain and shame. Many years back, he had realized that pain, both physical and mental, formed a person's personality. On the other hand, laughter and happiness only create amicability and amiability. But who the fuck cares for amiability and amicability! What is point in being a Pee Wee. Pee Wee himself has not place on this planet today. I don't want to be another Pee Wee. He reached the top of the stairs. He heard the words from a song play in his head.

 Am I leading or being led?

Is this where I want to be?

Am I doing what I want to do?

Can I do what I want to do?

Am I living for myself?

Is the intent of this life only to serve other?

How much longer should this continue like this?

How much longer should I live a life that is only for others benefit?

It's not you, only I.

Forbidden thoughts

It's a thought; just a thought

Loaded with dangers

Some visible 

While others working quietly 

In the insides

A part of me eggs me on

"Come on! You deserve it.

Having lived a life devoid of it,

Grab the opportunity now.

Don't think about the world.

Opportunity does not knock twice,

So be wise and let those dreams come true."

A different voice, a mellow voice counters,

"Don't expose yourself.

You never have done so.

Everything you have achieved

Is a result of your being rational.

Keep your mind, the other one, under control.

Do what I say 

For I know what's right

Don't stroll into dangers.

Don't tread that path."

"Bah! Banish those goody two shoes.

He has led you to everything

And yet...

And yet, isn't there is a hole within you?

Leaking it all out of you

Making nothing out of everything.

Rational cannot be the rationale

Have some sense

Don't let nonsense pervade through you.

Just go for it."

Closing my ears, I screamed "Stop".

Closing my eyes, I said 

"I shall take life as it comes.

Neither shall I go towards nor away from it.

Neither shall I force nor be averse of it.

Neither shall I desire nor avoid it.

Neither shall I make a fool nor a saint of me.

I will always be like I have always been.

When the moment comes...

If the moment comes...

I shall do what I feel is right.

So, say no more."

Closing my mouth, I said no more.

And yet, I heard a voice whisper "Bravo!"

Among flora and fauna

By the time, the bus left the bus terminus, all the seats in it were occupied with the students and the teachers from the city occupying most of them. The people boarding the bus at the first few stops from the terminus were shocked to see the packed bus. The buses that start from the town at around noon were usually empty. But the situation in the bus on that day was different. They were disappointed to see that there were no seats available for them to sit. They stared at the children in frustration. They did not understand the need for these children from the city to visit their area. They did not believe that their area had anything to offer to them. As they walked through the aisle of the bus, they looked to the left and right, attempting to identify some space to fit themselves in. One or two of them tried to bargain space from the children. But the children did not give in as they were tired from the train journey and the subsequent walk from the train station to the bus terminus. Besides, many of them had placed their bags on their laps, and this further reduced the space they had. So, the people stood grimly in the aisle.

A few minutes into the journey, I noticed a man getting into the bus at one of the stops. He seemed to be a regular traveler along the route. He waved to the driver and conductor and started talking to them. I could not hear the conversation but was fascinated by his animated expressions and hand movements. I was sitting at the other end of the bus and could not hear his words. As I only understood Telugu sparingly, I would not have understood the conversation anyway. So, the only logical thing to do was to guess parts of their conversation. I started the guessing game when I saw him pointing his index finger in the upward direction while waving his right hand towards the back of the bus. "My niece got married last month. She stays with her in-laws close to here." Alternatively, he could have been saying "that new biriyani shop is good. I had mutton biriyani there and it was like one of those biriyanis from Hyderabad." A few moments later he waved his left hand towards his left and probably said "all this land was available for 50 rupees a cent just 10 years back. Look at the place now. You won't get a cent even if you are ready to pay 10 lakhs for a cent." Soon, I lost interest in the conversation and started focusing on the landscape rolling by.

We stayed in a dormitory at the edge of a forest. A small stream flowed in front of the dormitory. The sound of the flowing water was heard at all times. Sometimes one confused it for the rain. Every morning, a troop of monkeys swung in from the forest. The older and bigger monkeys, like their human counterparts, were precise about the route they took. When they got close to the dormitory, they stopped to stare inside attempting to discern food items from the rest of the objects inside. However, the little monkeys did not bother about the efficiency of their path. They jumped from one branch to another and almost immediately, jumped back to the earlier branch. They went about their journey in this manner and on the whole, jumped many more times than their adult counterparts. To delay their journey further, they spent many minutes swinging at each branch and playing/bullying the other little monkeys. 

One day, I was sitting on the verandah, the top part of which was enclosed in a wire mesh. I was talking to my colleagues while eating a banana. I placed the banana peel on the ledge by the mesh and continued my conversation. Soon, I felt a presence besides me. I turned to my right and saw a small monkey trying to extract the banana peel through the gaps in the mesh. The monkey was looking at me nervously as he/she tried to the pry out the banana peel. Within seconds, the banana peel was between his/her fingers. The monkeys quickly stuffed it in his/her mouth and jumped away. The monkeys only looked at the humans as source of food and did not seem to enjoy their company. I saw one trying to ape a crocodile; only the top part of his/her head were seen above the ledge. When I turned around and looked, he/she ducked under the ledge. I thought the monkey was playing a game with me and humoured him/her by playing along. Soon, the monkey realised that there was no food in sight and exited the game abruptly.

It rained incessantly for two days. Everything was wet and messy on those days. I realised I only loved the rains when its wetness did not reach me. The monkeys did not like the rain either. They sat in the shaded parts of the building, looking at the rain, sadly. A big monkey sat safely below the extension of the roof. Though the space was large enough to accommodate four or five more monkeys, he did not allow any other monkey to occupy it. He growled and pounced at any other monkey approaching the shaded area. Two small monkeys decided to not try their luck with the big monkey. They huddled together in a small square gap on the wall. The gap had a grill that kept the monkeys away from the attic on the other side. They sat there looking at the rain. When the thunder rumbled menacingly above them, they hugged each other tightly and looked away. At times, they hid their faces against each other and at other times, they looked into the room. I was not sure if this was one of the sweetest or saddest sights that I had witnessed in recent times. 

Meanwhile the bigger male monkey sat like a king in his safe place. He looked about him arrogantly and continued to shoo away all other monkeys except for one average sized monkey. This monkey sat at some distance from the bigger monkey. From time to time, the bigger monkey looked towards the other monkey. Soon, he got up and walked towards him/her. As soon as he reached the other monkey, he jumped on top of her and started copulating. The female monkey did not seem alarmed by this action. She straightened herself and, in the process, threw away the male monkey and ran away. The male monkey looked at the receding figure for a few seconds before walking back to its position of dominance.

Besides the monkeys, many insects and reptiles became a part of our lives. Within a few hours of arriving at the dormitory, I heard some of the children came out of their room discussing excitedly. When I inquired about the reason for their agitation, one of them informed "there is a big lizard in the room. It's almost as big as a crocodile." I went into the room and saw a large lizard on the wall at the other end of the room. The children had exaggerated when they said that it was as big as a crocodile. It was only twice as long and thrice as wide as a common lizard. Later, I saw a similar sized lizard near the bathroom. The lizards in the area, probably had a good supply of nutritious food and as a result had grown healthy. 

One morning, as I waited for the sun to rise above the hill, I saw a small black ant dragging a lifeless large black ant away. The dead ant was at least 20 times larger than the small ant, but the ant pulled it along effortlessly. I wondered how the bigger ant had died. If the smaller had killed it, then Marvel comics should drop all its superheroes and consider making a movie with the ant in the lead role. 

Another morning, as I walked towards the dining hall for breakfast, a child pointed towards the sky and said "look". I looked up but did not see anything worth a "look". He urgently pointed towards something and said "spider". The word turned out to be magical one. As soon as I heard it, I noticed a large spider at the centre of the web that it had constructed.  The spider body was black in colour and it had four yellow stripes running across its body. 

Later, as I walked near the dining hall, I noticed a spider on the ground. Its colour matched the ground and if I was not observing the ground intently, I would have missed it. I sat down and looked at the spider. I realised that there was something odd about it; the spider only had six legs! As per my understanding, it should have had eight. I started counting the legs "one, two, three, four, five and six". It only had six legs: four legs on one side and the two on the other. The spot where the third and the fourth legs should have been lay vacant. The spider had lost two of its legs in some mishap. I got up gave the brave spider a salute and walked away. Staying on the topic of spiders, I had the good fortune of observing three large spider webs glistening as light passed through the dew drops that had settled on it. I wanted to take a picture, but the webs lay across the stream, and I could do nothing but observe them.

The morning of the second day was spent in talking to farmers. Most of what I heard that morning was not new but the effect of hearing it from the people on ground affected me. My interactions with farmer were limited to a few organic farmers in Tamilnadu but organic farming was not even a fad for these farmers. Farming itself was becoming a fad for many of the farmers. They only farmed for their family's needs. Instead, many were moving towards dairy. Even in dairy, they focused on quantity than quality. So, most of their cows were hybrids and not country cows; no one cared for A2 milk here. One of the farmers, who was the ex-sarpanch of the village, offered us tea, orange and groundnut balls. The orange surprised us. Another farmer too offered oranges to another set of students. I could not associate oranges to that part of the country. Maybe, the fruit was considered special and hence was offered to the children from the city. We visited six farmers before deciding to end our study. At noon, the boy who was guiding us started walking away from the village. We followed him through mud roads and fields for twenty minutes. Finally, he stopped in front of a temple. The temple was constructed recently. Besides it stood an older temple, which was in ruins. This temple though broken-down was fascinating. It seemed like a perfect place for forgotten gods and spirits to reside. We walked through it looking at the sculptures carved on its pillars. One of the girls pointed out the figures at the bottom of the pillars. She said they represented different poses in Bharatanatyam. She went from pillar to pillar, displaying each pose herself and naming them. 

Soon, the children sat down in small groups and started talking. One girl leaned against a pillar and slept; another slept on the floor with her on head placed on the former's lap. As children from the other groups started coming in, they found places in the mandapam of the old temple, to lie down and sleep. They used each other's laps as pillows. I stood at a corner of the mandapam and looked at the scene of bonhomie. As I looked at the scene, I noticed something bright on a tree beyond the other side of the mandapam. I walked towards it and as I got closer to the tree, I realized that it was a brightly coloured lizard. The colours on the lizard reminded me of brightly coloured sports cars. The lower part of the lizard's body was coloured black and the top part, orange. Its face was also orange in colour and it had a black streak running from its neck to its mouth. They lizard's eyes lay within this streak. It seemed fantastic and outlandish, I stood by the tree and stared at it for long. I took out my phone and got a picture of the lizard. The lizard was oblivious of my presence and did not move. I used Google Lens to discover that the lizard was called Peninsular Rock Agama. Wikipedia informed me that it was commonly found in the rocky regions of the Eastern Ghats. I showed the lizard to a few of the children. As they crowded around the tree, the lizards became aware of our presence, and ran up the tree. The agama stayed at the higher parts of the tree after that. It sat on a branch and looked towards the horizon. From time to time, it moved its head from side to side. The girl who had talked about Bharatanatyam earlier, said that the lizard's movement reminded her of the neck movements in the dance form.

One evening we started our journey back to our place of stay at 630 pm. The sun had disappeared beneath the horizon, but darkness had not taken over the sky. We travelled back in autos. The children spoke excitedly on topics that interested them. From the back, a boy started singing the song 'why this kolaveri di'. I had heard this song a million times and did not pay much heed to the boy's singing. Soon, a few others joined in, and they started singing 'Hand La Glass, Glass La Scotch, Eyes-U Full-Aa Tear-U, Empty Life-U, Girl-U Come-U, Life Reverse Gear-U'. As soon as the others joined in, I realised that the singing had to be stopped. I bellowed spontaneously "people, these lyrics are PG-13. So, stop!" They laughed and one of them started singing 'Johnny, Johnny, yes papa'. At the end of the song, he asked "is this PG-13 too?" I did not respond. So, they continued singing nursery rhymes. Though I did not want them to sing, I did not stop them. We were traveling on an empty highway and their singing did not disturb anyone. They were also polite enough to stop singing when the auto driver received a call. A few songs later, the children stopped singing and moved on to conversing in small groups. I turned my attention towards the eastern horizon. I saw a light red coloured object peeping from behind the clouds just above the horizon. It was the moon beginning starting it journey through the sky. As I watched, it escaped the clutches of the clouds and beamed at me brightly. It was full moon night, and the moon brightened the dark surroundings. The auto stopped at the beginning of the path that took us to our place of stay. We walked quietly down the path. From time to time, I observed the moon, through the branches of trees. I was reminded of many paintings and pictures that showed a similar scene. Every time I had seen such a picture, I had yearned to witness the scene in person. But now that I was witnessing it, I felt disappointed that my mind was not enjoying the scene as much as I thought it would.

On the third day of the trip, we were taken to a field to pluck groundnuts. Most of the children jumped into the activity with vigour. Some lay at the edge of the field feeling sick or tired. From time to time, we were supplied with ground nut balls and water. Besides groundnuts, the balls also contained jaggery. The children and I gobbled many of them. In 3 hours, we had covered 80 cents of the land and there were no more groundnuts to be plucked. As we started walking away from the field, big drops of rain started falling on and around us. Many of us took out our rain gear and started walking. Some did not have it and took a share of other's umbrellas. Soon the intensity of the rain increased, and our rain gears were unable to save us from getting wet. Our destination was a kilometre away and our guides decided to not proceed further in the rain. They redirected us towards a small shed. The children got into the shed, sat on the floor and started talking. I did not get a place in the shed and so stood under a large tamarind tree with the guides.  The setting should have seemed idyllic, but the rain bothered me. I constantly looked towards the sky and wondered when the rain will stop. When the rain subsided, we started walking towards our destination through green paddy fields. Once again, I was pre-occupied with the thought of reaching our destination before the rain started again. Thinking back, I see that this was another scene that I should have enjoyed more than I did.

One night, as I stood alone and stared at the full moon through the trees, I thought that this was a perfect moment. This is how I had imagined a life of peace would be. But a feeling of satisfaction did not rise through me. I was only enjoying the beauty of the sight. I realized that my idea of the perfect life did not bring me satisfaction. I probably am living a perfect life in the city and not realizing it. I was born in a city, I had lived my life in different cities, and maybe I should continue living in a city. When I feel the need to see the moon through the branches of trees with no ambient light around, I should travel away from the city. Change is a necessity, but it needn't be dramatic because drama is unnecessary.

No Title

 

Tired

Water flows over the rocks, along a stream

Spreading happiness to all through their giggles and gurgles.

But my tired bones and flesh don't feel the cheer.

They groan with frustration, crying out in agony

"We want to go home.

We no longer can sleep on the hard floor.

We long to lay ourselves on the softer bed.

We want to let the water flow over us from the shower.

We want the choice of hot and cold water.

We only want to walk a few steps to reach the dining hall."

These words of pain do not affect my resolute mind.

Displaying no sympathy

It ordered the rest of my body to behave responsibly.

"This is no time to dillydally.

There's work to be done 

We can't afford to relax.

Let not the tiredness take control of you.

Fight it. Fight it with all your will.

Walk around.

Kid around.

Talk nonstop with anyone and everyone.

Do anything, but don't give in.

The pain will disappear, once you get home.

So, hold on till then.

Take care of the affectionate ones.

Let the flow of the stream rejuvenate you.

Listen to the chirpings of the unseen birds.

Amuse yourself by watching the fooling around of the little monkeys.

Observe the early morning moon fight the sun and the clouds.

Look at the green blanket of trees, shrouding the hill beyond the stream.

Smile at the Frangipani tree, standing alone at a height besides the stream,

Showering flowers on everything and everyone in its neighborhood.

Remember the full moon you saw last night, large and red as it lay on the horizon.

Take pride remembering the groundnut plants the children and you pulled from the large farm.

Surely the taste of the groundnut laddus have not been forgotten

Then there was that sambar, served on the temple grounds!

How can you forget all this and give into pain?

The trip is not done, a few more miles to go before you sleep.

So, buck up and carry on with a whistle in your lips.

I think James Brown's 'I feel good' is a good tune for this situation."

Minnal Raja

She always gives me a big smile when she sees me and sometimes, an informal salute too. In return, I smile back and wave my hand. Her name reminded me of one of the names of an important character from The Lord of the Rings. Actually, it's exactly one half of that name. Though, in her case, I don't believe that The Lord of the Rings had anything to do with her name. One day, I saw a little girl sitting with a boy I knew. He introduced her as his sister. Almost instantly, I asked the first question that one asks little children "what is your name?". She said the same name. I thought I had misheard the name and asked her again. She repeated the name. I knew, in the case of the girl I talked about earlier, the name ended with two 'a's. So, I asked the little girl "Do you have two 'a's at the end of your name?" She shook her name in disagreement and spelt out her name. I smiled at the girl and her brother as I walked away from them.

Next day, when I met the elder owner of the name, I told her "Hey. You have lost a part of your uniqueness. I met a little girl who owns the same name as you." Her curiosity was piqued. She asked, "Where is she?" I looked around and saw the girl standing by a tree. I pointed at the little girl. She looked at the girl and said, "She looks sweet." I smiled and said, "Unlike your name, she does not have two 'a's at the end of her name." She responded "That's because my father wanted to name me thus, but my mother believed that my name should contains seven letters in it. So, they added an additional 'a' at the end of the name to make it seven lettered". 

The breakfast consisted of an uninspiring upma and a valiant chutney. I dipped the upma in the chutney before shoving it into my mouth. I shared the table with two of my colleagues, who were sitting to my right. In ten minutes, all the upma and chutney has disappeared from the plate. I checked my watch, and found that nine am was ten minutes away. I got up and walked to the tea jar and brought back a cup of tea. As I came back to the table, I saw that I had been sharing the table with two ten year olds too. They sat to my left and I had not noticed them. I looked at their plates and found them filled with food. The breakfast time was coming to an end, but neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to finish their breakfast. One of them was pushing the upma around the plate. He was doing what one of my friends used to call as heapifying the food. I looked at the boys and said "You are running out of time. Your plates are full of food. Why are you not eating?" Almost instantly, they responded with the standard response that anyone below the age of 18 gave when they were faced with a similar question. "No! I am eating." I looked at their plates in disbelief and said "What! Look at your plates." They looked at it and protested "But I was served too much upma." I refused to accept their words and said "It doesn't look like you have eaten anything. Come on! Eat up. We are out of time." The two boys took my advice seriously and got into the business of eating earnestly. One of the boys went about it well but the other kid continued to be obsessed with heaps.  He split his single large heap of upma into many small heaps. I said "My god! You are obsessed with heaps. Your plate looks like a Native American village with many Tee Pees in it." The comment did not amuse him. "I am tired" he complained. "I woke up at six this morning". I did not understand his complaint but before I could clarify he said, "usually I get up at six thirty".  Once again, I could not respond as the other boy swerved the conversation towards himself by saying "I wake up at five every morning. I do Yoga and exercise in the morning". I could barely get out an "oh" from my mouth as the boy's head was churning out words at 120 Hertz. He continued "in the evenings I go for horse riding. Sometimes I ride the horses in the beach and at the other times in the racecourse." 

The two of them became quiet for a moment. It had been many years since I was in a position wherein, I had to listen for long without speaking. So, I uttered the first thought that came into my mind "did you ride a brown horse with a white mark on its forehead?" The boy responded without giving any thought to the question "No. There is no such horse." The next thought that came to my head was "were the horses owned by you?" He gave me a don't be ridiculous look and said, "No". Next question: "do you ride the same horse every evening?" 

"No, different horses." 

"How many horses are there?"

"Eh! There's Malik, Bilal, Khalid and a she horse called Lalila. There is also a small horse called Minnal Raja. So, five horses."

"Minnal Raja is an interesting name. What are the colour of the horse?"

"Different colours. Brown, black, white."

By this time, the heaps on the other boy's plate had disappeared. He was feeling left out and decided to contribute "I too go for horse riding but only during vacations and holidays. I ride a horse called Blackie." By this time, my interest in horses had waned and I asked redundantly "Oh! You ride during the weekends, is it?" He said "Yes. And during holidays." I smiled at the two boys and said, "Alright, it's time to go."

A boy walked up to me as I walked out of the dining hall and said "I did not study everything you asked me to study yesterday. But I started studying and I will study it all ultimately." Almost immediately, my mind traveled back to my college days. One of my classmates was a member of the college badminton team. He played matches frequently and could not attend classes on many days. He was allowed to skip writing many tests. But he had to attend all the semester exams. This was an unpleasant experience for him. He did not understand most of the topics and he was not interested in the subjects either. As a result, his preparations for the exams started late. On the evening before the exam, I usually got a call from him. He started the conversation with "Machan, I want some advice da. Tell me da. What are important chapters that I have to study for tomorrow's exam?" Every time I heard this question, a chill ran up my spine for two reasons. First, how can anyone ask this question fourteen hours prior to the start of the exam? Two, what does he mean when he uses the word 'important'? Everything is important. But I did not let panic get the better of me. I responded patiently by reeling off the names of all the chapters in the subject. As soon as I stopped talking, he said "See Machan. I have been studying since lunch and I have completed two chapters. In the remaining time, I can only study three more chapters. So, I plan to study this, that and the other chapters. Is that okay? Is that enough?" A voice in my head screamed "No! It is not okay. What the hell do you mean 'is it okay?' That's only 25% of the portions. How can that be okay? And stop calling me Machan!" But I ignored the voice and said, "It should be okay da." Almost immediately, he responded "Thanks da Machan. You are my saviour da Machan. How is your studies going on?"  I responded "It's going okay. I am starting my final revision." He ended the call by saying "That's good da Machan. Study hard da. Don't waste time. All the best da Machan". (The last Machan was auto filled by Google's AI algorithm. The bloody thing is learning fast.) This conversation happened almost three or four times each semester. When I look back, I realize that all my studying did not make much difference. Though he studied for a much lesser time than me, he did not have any issue in getting through the course. Exams and studying are overrated.

That afternoon, they served Chinese food, I think. The rice seemed like fried rice. So, the Cauliflower pakoda like dish should have been Gobi Manchurian. I walked up to the counter and tried to pick a small bowl filled with the dish but person at the counter said "Ah Ah Ah! Go get the plate please. You can't take it without a fresh plate." I donned my begging expression and asked "can't I take one?" She said "No. Go get the plate." I got a plate from my table and picked a bowl full of Gobi Manchurian/Pakoda from the counter. As I was biting into the delicious cauliflowers, I heard the girl sitting on the opposite side of the table say, "I am taking one more". She got up and went to the counter. Soon, she came back with disappointment written all over her face.  She said "Sad! Only one cup per person."  Two young kids sitting in the next table got a brilliant idea. They decided to use fresh plates every time they went to the counter. This way they could cheat the person at the counter into giving them many bowls of the dish. Others on the table threatened them with dire consequences if they tried implementing their idea. They too sat back disappointed. I bit into another piece of the Gobi Manchurian/Pakoda. I said "The cauliflower is delicious". The girl studied the piece that she held between her fingers and said "Hmmmm! Yes! The flour is delicious. Very crisp". I corrected her "The flower, cauliflower is delicious. Though the flour is delicious too."

U

The Vowel Series - 'U'

Undergraduate in an underground college
Underdog uncle is an umpire
Unable to play or even understand the game of cricket
Undertakes to undo the rules of the game
Urges the underutilised fast bowler to
Underarm the ultimate ball
Underneath the Union's batsman
Unlike the uncle, the fast bowler was
Upset by the ugly suggestion given
Unleashes an unusual full toss at the batsman
Up, up and away goes the ball
Upstairs it hits; right under the commentary box
Unlikely the ball's retrieval seemed until
Utilising a long pole, the undertaker gets it
Unusual scenes of utter happiness
Upon the faces of the Union players
Unless the fast bowler came up with something unique
Useless it seemed for the University's team to try and win
Unfortunately for the umpire uncle 
Unemployed once again in this universe
Unique is his absolute unluck
Under the blue umbrella he sits crying
Uncontrollably 

A

The Vowel Series - 'A'

The four boys had only joined the prestigious school that year. They came from different schools none of which were considered prestigious by anyone. By some quirk of fate, they found themselves seated near each other in the class. As a result, friendship formed between them quickly. They did not like the other students in the class and thus spent most of their time in the school together. In the evening, when the final bell rang, they were the first ones to get out of the school gate. They speed walked to the bus stop, which was about a kilometre away. One of them was really good at speed walking and the others had to run to keep pace with him. Each stayed in different parts of the city and so they went their separate ways at the bus stop.

That day, one of them did not come to the school. When the three of them reached near the bus stop, one of them mentioned "Did you see the poster of the movie running at Saffire?" The others said "no" in unison. "You guys should see it. Come!" said the boy. At the main road, they turned left instead of right and walked a few steps. The boy stopped and pointed at the large poster kept outside the theatre and said "Look". The three of them stood and stared at the poster. They remained transfixed at that position for some time. Soon, the boy tapped the other two and said "Guys, stop gaping like that. Everyone's looking at us. Come on! Let us go." They turned around quickly and walked towards the bus stop. The first boy asked, "So what do you think?" Words of praise flowed from the other two. At the end of the shower of praise one of them mentioned vehemently "We should watch the movie!" The first boy said "For sure! Tomorrow?" The second one agreed "Yes! Tomorrow!" The third boy warned them "But it is an 'A' movie". The other two laughed "'A' movie! Are you a 10 year old?" "Come on man! We are 15. We are grown ups now." The third boy continued with his protest "We are only 15. You should be 18 to watch 'A' movies". The other two laughed again and said "You are baby! Now don't go and ask for permission from your parents." "We are going to the movie tomorrow. Are you coming or not?" The boy thought for a few seconds. He listened intently to the debate between the devil and the angel taking place within him. Unfortunately, the devil won, and he said "No! I will not come. You guys go ahead. My bus is here. I am going. Bye". The other two laughed as they watched their friend climb into the bus and leave. The first one said, "He is still a baby." The second one agreed. They parted after promising to meet in front of the theatre at 5 pm the next day.

Next day at 5 pm, the two boys stood in front of the theatre, looking at the poster. One of them asked "Will they let us in?" "Of course, they will. Look at all the kids around us. They are all of our age." said the other confidently. The two of them looked around and smiled at each other. They walked towards the ticket counter. The taller of the two walked up to counter and said, "Two balcony tickets". The person at the ticket counter did not look at him. He tore two tickets and handed it over to him after taking the money from him. The boy took the two tickets and showed it to his friend, who looked at them happily. "We have one hour to kill. What do we do?" "Let us go outside." The two of them walked through the gates of the theatre and stood on the pavement besides the gate. They watched the flow of traffic on the road. Suddenly, the taller kid gripped his friend's hand and said "Principal". The friend looked around frantically and said "Where?" The taller boy pointed to his left and said "There!" "Oh God!" said the other boy. They stood transfixed in their positions staring at the principal. For the two of them the principal seemed like a mutant progeny of Godzilla and King Kong. Stories of him beating up students across the years had become like folklore for all the students in the school. Every child in the school had either been beaten up by the principal or had seen someone getting beaten up. If he found that the two of them were students at his school and were there to watch the movie, he would probably skin the two of them alive right there. They prayed desperately for the principal to pass by without identifying them. 

The principal saw them and said "Hey! I know the two of you. You are the new students who joined the school this year right?" The two of them nodded their heads vertically and horizontally to say yes and no simultaneously. The principal continued "What are you doing here?" The shorter boy responded promptly "Waiting for the bus sir". The taller boy agreed instantly "Yes sir. Thus bus". The principal looked around and said "Bus? Here? But this is not the bus stop". As he looked around, his eyes fell on the poster and the expression on his face changed. He asked menacingly "Are you two here to watch this movie?" The shorter one responded immediately "Movie? What movie sir?" The taller one repeated "Move! What move sir?" The principal did not believe them. The anger in his voice grew as he pointed at the large poster in front of the theater and said "Don't lie. Are you not here to watch that movie?" The boys turned around slowly and looked at the poster. The shorter one turned around quickly and said "Oh no sir! That is an 'A' movie sir. We are waiting here for the bus. We want to go to Higginbothams sir". The taller one repeated "Yes sir! Hissinbossoms sir." The principal did not believe them still. He said "I don't believe you. I want to see what you have in your pockets. Empty your pockets now." The two boys did not move. The taller boy considered fainting but the terror he felt made it difficult for him to faint. The shorter boy started emptying his pockets with trembling hands. He took out fifteen rupees and twenty five paise from his shirt pocket and a handkerchief from his pant pocket. The principal demanded "Pull out all your pant pockets". The boy pulled them all out. They were all empty. The principal looked at the taller boy and said, "Your turn now". The boy took out twelve rupees and sixty paise and a bus ticket from his shirt pocket. His pant pockets did not contain anything. The principal looked down at the boys' hands and inspected their contents. The two boys looked at each other incredulously. The same question ran through their heads "Where are the tickets?" 

The principal looked at them and smiled. He said "It is not safe for children to stand in such a place. Come on. I will take you to the bus stop." The two protested "It is okay sir. We will manage sir." The principal commanded them to follow him and started walking. The two boys ran behind him as the principal's speed walking was even better than their friend's. On reaching the stop, he said "You should get into 27A." The two boys said in unison "Ok sir. Thank you, sir." They expected the principal to leave but he continued to wait. After a few minutes, 27 A arrived. The principal pushed the two children into the bus and told the conductor "Two Higginbothams for the boys". The conductor handed them the tickets to the boys, and they paid to the conductor. They looked at the principal, who waved to them with a smile on his face. The two of them forced a smile and waved back. 

As the bus moved away from the stop, they asked to each other simultaneously "what happened to the tickets?" The taller one responded, "you had the tickets". The shorter one protested "No! You bought the tickets". 

"Yes! But then you took it from me."

"Nonsense! You never... Oh yes! I remember now. You did give me the ticket."

"Yes. So, what happened to the tickets?"

The shorter boy searched through his pockets again but did not find the tickets. "I must have dropped it when I tried to put them in my pocket".

"Hmmm! That must be the case. Let us go back to the theatre. We might find the tickets if we search for them."

"Yeah right! Stop talking nonsense man. We will not find the tickets but only princi waiting for us there with a whip in his hand. I don't think he believed us fully."

"That's true! I did not consider that."

They remained quiet for a few minutes. When the bus neared the next stop, the shorter one went towards the door. The taller one asked "Are we getting down?"

"Of course, we are."

"Are we not going to Higginbothams?"

"What's wrong with you? Why would we go to Higginbothams?"

The taller boy struck his head with his palm and said "Oh right! Why would we go to Higginbothams! Let's go home."