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!"

No Title

 

A valiant loser's tale

It started out innocently. A chat over a cup of tea. Talking about this and that. A bit of teasing each other. As ever, the topic moved to bitching about work. The usual topics. Nothing unusual; "Can you believe what she said?" and "That fellow had the nerve to assume it". Nothing unusual. At that point, he mentioned something that seemed to him the core of the issue. The women had objection to the statement. They debated or argued or threw statement back and forth or whatever it is the right thing to be said for argument these days. He fought hard, throwing everything he had at them. But the opposition was too strong. The two pronged attack was not easy to handle. He continued the valiant fight as the scene of battle moved to the car. The fourth person in the group remained silent for long.

He continued arguing with the two ladies who smothered him with statements on passion and dedication. The oft-abused words got on his nerves and he doubled the strength of his attack. That's when the attack from the side came. The fourth fellow, who was silent so far, came up with some more words on passion. He turned and gave the fourth fellow an incredulous look. Julius Caeser would regretted not having that expression when Brutus stuck the knife into him. The ladies were overjoyed and vaah-vaahed the knife that was surreptitiously stuck in from the side. He did not give up but tried to fight on. It was a valiant fight but he like Duryodhana was not on the side of right. He painted a negative picture and the one who paints such pictures can never win or even be allowed to exist. He got out his mobile phone, called someone and talked for a minutes into the phone. By then, the car had reached its destination. He muttered a "Goodbye", opened the door and jumped out of the car in a single fluid motion.

Not worth giving up one's life 

Over words like passion and dedication

Free from words should be our life

Focusing on living should be the only condition

Damn the world where words create strife

Damn the living which considers propagation of words as its mission

Unnecessary words

He had the ability to argue with anyone on anything at anytime. If everyone agrees on something being white, he interjects with a "Its not white enough". If everyone agrees on something being black, he interjects with a "Oh! Its more gray than black". I am sure if someone says vehemently to him that the earth is spherical, he would argue till the other person agrees that the earth is cylindrical. Mind you, I am not telling you that he is argumentative ass (I refer to the good old A for ass type of ass and not the current American version). He is not a flame thrower charging at you from the top of a mountain but is more a person trying to playing with other's tolerance levels. The time I have spent with him made me realize that people do have low tolerance limit. Everything is fine as long as he does not touch upon their sensitive topics. But once that happens, there is no turning back and everything he says seems to annoy the receiver.

It is good to be in his company but one has to be watchful to never let his words enter your ego. Once that happens, you better stay a mile or two away from him.

He expresses his disdain at the many activities that the world has turned into a fad, especially in the realm of physical activities. The words he uses to describe people who monitor their calorie loss, distance covered and many other parameters as they run with their mobile phones stuck in the arm band can make one run out of the room in mirth or shock. He also has an array of stinging words for the fad Yoga is turning into. The other day, he was mock coaxing someone to do Pranayama for betterment of his health. I tapped him on his shoulders and said "Hey, that's easy. All he has to do is to talk to you for 10 minutes and his breathe will quicken to such an extent that it will be even more effective than Pranayama". 

He laughed and was quiet for 15 seconds, which might not get into the Guiness book of records but can certainly be considered for the Limca book of records.

********************

The sound of the gong only came on once a day. But one day, the gong disappeared. People searched high and low, right and left, here and there but of no avail. They plopped on the ground with a frustrated "Where's the gong?" Prompt was the response "It's Gong with the Wind"

********************

The sun stared at us from the sky. It seemed to be singing Heart's song

If looks could kill

you'd be lying on the floor

you'd be begging me please please

baby don't hurt me no more

If looks could kill

It was so hot that people's habits were changing. Usually they looked downwards to find an appropriate location to sit down. But these days they upwards at the ceiling in search of a fan. They had to sit within a radius of 1.5 metres around the fan. These were considered fan-tastic positions that provided one with a little sat-isfaction.

The end of days

We are passing through an emotional phase. When I say 'we', I don't mean the whole world but a few hundred of us going through a period of tremendous change. For many years, we used the word 'will' liberally and now the 'will' has turned into 'are'. In a few days, it will turn into 'have'. We are shocked; we believed the 'will' will remain 'will' and will never change into something urgent and immediate. The 'will' has disappeared and we are forced to strengthen our will to deal with the 'are'. But there is time still; a day or two to 'wallow in sentiments' ("why the quotes?"you ask. Well, borrowed words have to be placed in quotes).

I am not quite sure what I am talking about. I thought I did when I started writing. I was supposed to write a couple of introductory lines and move on to the topic. Instead, I am spending time trampling the English language. I have lost track of my train of thoughts.

The meeting was in its seventh minute when an expected interruption presented itself. I came out of the room and stood indecisively. As has been the case for the past months, I had train-loads of work and some of these required my urgent attention. But I felt tired, not the sleep type of tired, more like the tired that Fates Warning sang about.

Tired of mind

and all I think

Tired of thirst

and all that I drink

Tired of will

and all that I need

Tired of body

and all that I bleed

Tired of breath

and all that I breathe

Tired of heart

and all that I grieve

Tired of sight

and all that I see

Tired of you

and tired of me

I talked, briefly, to a familiar long face with a dazed look whose body was standing aimlessly. I mean, I am not sure if the face was physically long as I am not good at remembering a long face from a round one; the face seemed long with sorrow. The words that came out of the face were sorrowful too. In fact, every aspect of the face and the attached body seemed sorrowful. The sorrow added to the burden I felt already and I became tireder than tired. I looked around and saw the empty Neem circle.

The Neem circle was a cemented circle surrounding a Neem tree.  The circumference of the circle had elevated seats made of concrete. On weekdays, it was a filled with people who had to go somewhere but did not want to go and so hung around the tree. Some talked, others studied, a few wore their shoes, while others took them off. In general, everyone appeared relaxed and happy. I had passed it many times but never took a break, even for a few minutes. I have seen it during the weekends, when it was empty, and yet never felt the urge to park myself there, not even for a few minutes. But today, I felt the desperate urge to stretch myself on the seats. For the first time in the past one year, I felt the Neem circle was available for use.

The previous day was an unusually emotional one. The day was a culmination of the crescendo building up over the past many weeks, months and years. On the day, the 'will' turned into 'are'... I am sorry, I have been through that and will not go back. For the past eight years, we have been saying "we will be moving" and yesterday we changed it to "we are moving". It was a moving experience for many.

For many, who spent most of the their lifetimes here.
For many, who had spent a large chunk of their lifetimes here.
For many, whose 'I' took shape here.
For many, who had fallen in love with the place.
For many, whose home it was for many years.
For many, who could not differentiate the 'us' from the place.

I am sure many of the above mentioned persons are aware of the philosophy "we cannot be attached to anything or anyone or anyplace." We understand that even our body is not our own. We have to give it up at some point of time. Our parents, our spouse, our children, our friends, our properties, our belongings, our social media accounts (oh! that was never ours) and this blog  - none of them belongs to any one of us. We live under the false belief of ownership for a few year. But there comes a time when we realize that we don't even own our own physical self. In fact, if we choose to think we will realize that we are not even clear who we are. As philosophical as these thoughts are, these still fall in realm of the mind and logic - (for better effect, the following should be read in a robotic voice) WE DON'T OWN ANYTHING AND SO WE SHOULD NOT BE ATTACHED TO ANYTHING (for better effect, at the end of the line you can say "BEEP, BEEP, SEVEN FOUR SIX EIGHT ALPHA BETA UGRAN THETA SIGNING OFF TIYAOOoooooo...). So as philosophical as we were; as unattached to everything as we were, we still felt terribly sad and walked around the place like zombies.

Some cried.

Others sniffled.

Some took pictures.

Other sat under a tree.

Some talked to others.

Others avoided others.

Some laughed louder than required.

Others laughed lesser than required.

Some tried to make others understand the parting.

The same some could not help but hang their heads in sorrow at the time of their parting.

Right from the beginning of the day, the emotional charge present in the air was obvious . Someone who is barely emotional as I felt my heart thumping heavily inside me. An hour into the assembly, we were all singing the song "Allah tero naam". I was in one of those maestro moods and was belting out the lyrics with gusto. As the song wandered into emotional "WoOoOoO saAaAaAre jag ke rakkhhhh vaAaAaAaAle...", I looked out of the window and saw a person whose attachment to the campus is so legendary that the trees and leaves offer him salutations by swaying and rustling every time he passed them. The campus has been his workplace and home for the past twenty years. No incident in the campus escaped his notice. For the past few weeks, his anger and sadness at the oncoming parting was obvious to all. I have personally witnessed a few of the outbursts and had felt his pain. He busily walked around the campus but did not join the assembly. When I saw him walk by the hall, all those emotional words I have read in the various novels occurred to me - I choked, a lump got stuck in my throat, tears welled my eye and so on. I stopped singing and sat quietly.

... and this was the start of the day.

Towards the end of the day, everyone assembled for a music concert. The show was jolly affair. For a few hours, everyone forgot the upcoming parting.

Some tapped their feet,
some shook their head,
some swayed their body,
some looked around,
some smiled and watched,
some mouthed lyrics while others sang along.

Their songs originated from different places around the world and evoked all kinds of feelings other than sorrow. For example, it was fun to hear the sharp breaths when the words figarugal yarum illaamal vaguppugal irundhum enna payan were sung. For a few minutes, everyone or almost everyone forgot the sadness and indulged in silliness. But soon after the concert, the mood turned sombre and the many people hung around the place till late evening, cuddling and caressing it. All these emotions permeated into me and made me feel more tired than ever.

So that afternoon, when I got a break from the meeting, I did not go back to my table to start working on the many this and that tapping their impatient feet for my attention. I walked to the Neem circle, pushed the unwanted stuff left behind and lay down on the concrete bench. Soon I reached a place between sleep and wakefulness. I was dreaming of something but heard the constant keech-keeches of those birds that, till recently. I had believed were parrots but in reality were parakeets. Their constant keeches woke me up. I stared up. The tree reminded me of the 'Hunchback of Notre Dame' . As far as I know, the Hunchback in the mentioned story only had a hunchback and was not gnarled. But the tree did not have a humpback but was gnarled. Still, for some reason, my mind connected the two.

The gnarled branches of the tree crossed this way and that. It starts off as a solid trunk which at around seven feet forks left and right. Soon after the fork, the left one splits into three - one goes this way, the second one that but the third one, interestingly, shoots off perpendicularly from the other two. At first, it goes down before turning up and forking and sub-forking into many branches. Now, the right branch from the main trunk consisted of disciplined branches which only forked this way and that at regular intervals. The forking processes continues till the program crashes due to lack of memory... Eh! Sorry! Memories from my previous life crept in.  The forking processes continues till the branches and the leaves kissed the sky. The light reflecting and passing through the leaves varied depending on their position with respect to the sun (or is the sun's position with respect to them). The leaves right at the top reflected light directly into my eyeballs and reminded me of LEDs. The leaves lower down let the light pass through them. The shades of green got darker the closer they were to me. If I had a discerning mind, I could have identified the colours of the leaves as Forest Green, Sage Green, Olive Green, Lime Green, Hunter Green, Jade Green, Artichoke Green, Fern Green, Jungle Green, Laurel Green, Moss Green, Mint Green, Pine Green, Tea Green, Persian Green, Army Green, Emerald Green, Kelly Green, Neon Green, Uniform Green, Sacramento Green, Russian Green, Sea Green and even Paris Green. But I was more a primary colours type of a person who struggles to differentiate Violet from Indigo. So I stopped my pointless analysis and just stared at the colours and the network above me.

Soon, I was back in the semi-doze world. I don't remember my dream but at some point of time someone or something started caw-cawing. I opened my eyes once again and looked up. I saw a crow sitting on a branch above my head, calling out to god knows who. For a minute, I was worried of it blessing me with a dropping. But I was too lazy to move. The probability of the event was a low 0.0529 and in case this turned out be a day that fell in this number side of probability, I could scrub my face with sand paper and wash it away with an antiseptic and soap. I soon realized that the crow was not a native to our city. As a matter of fact, it seemed to have traveled from many miles north. Though at first it started off with the familiar crow call of "caw caw caw", it soon brought in variations that made me realize of its knowledge of Hindi. I wouldn't say it had perfect command of the language, but for a crow it put up quite a show. 

When it brought the variations in its calling, I realized it was not calling out "caw caw caw" like the other crows but was actually saying "Ka Kha Gha". I had to focus with all my mind to catch the minor variation between the three syllables. Understandably. the crow did not posses human-like discipline and so did not continue sequentially beyond "Gha". Instead it jumped to "Kyu" and then came up with a frustrated version of it, which sounded "Kiyuuu". At that point, I realized this was not a Kaka from the surrounding of the ek-gaav-mein-ek-kisan-raghu-thatha thatha but had actually flown in from the NCR region. The crow then proceeded to utter "Kho" and "Khou". I heard a crow give out a couple of annoyingly shrill "caw caw" from a distance. I expectantly waited for a "Abe chup!" from our north Indian black crow but heard nothing. I looked up and saw that the crow had flown away. I couldn't help but remember The Byrds singing 

A time to build up, a time to break down

A time to dance, a time to mourn

A time to cast away stones

A time to gather stones together

As The Byrds had sung, there is a time to breakdown, a time to mourn and then the time comes for us to cast away the stones. The crow had helped me realize this message. The past year had brought in a lot of change - a new place, a new profession, new friends and new struggles. Most remain but some would leave. The 'leavers' would end up as memories and new comers will take a part of their place. Life, in our times, is too quick for us to stay and miss someone or something for long. Like the crow, we have to move from Ka to Kha and to Gha. Then life would quite arbitrarily take us to Kyu and if we are not ready to take this leap to Kyu it will gives us an annoyed Kiyuuu. We can either stroll along or will be forced to stride along. 

Life is like a cat, it comes in when it wants to and leaves when it wants to. It lets us relax when it wants us to. But when the feeding time comes, we better feed it, else it will nag us to hell and back. You better pamper that cat for it is your master. I am reminded of something some religious book says at some point,

Kind is the soul of the one who takes care of the animals that reside his/her surrounding

Wise is the soul of the one who understands that the animals that reside his /her surrounding

Take care of him/her

Hmmmm... Eh... I don't think any religion known to mankind is mature enough to say this. This is probably a part of the revelation that I received under the Neem tree. The statement is saturated with bitter truth and hence is obviously a revelation I received that afternoon under the Neem tree.

Good God! The revelation should have come to my humble soul during the time I slept..., I mean meditated under the neem tree. Its time to propagate this revelation through a new religion.

Mmmm..., what can I name it? GVKism? We can localize it as Jeevikism. Live and let live. 

No, too much positivity in the name. That won't do. Remember the Neem tree. Remember the bitterness of truth. Something that reveals the bitterness. 

Hmmm... Ah! Yes! I got it. I shall call it...

ANIMOSITY

and I shall be the one and only Lord Animo.

Hail Animosity! Hail Lord Animo!

The trees (Sad)

I started noticing trees a few years ago. I have no idea how it started and why but it did. I love they way they snake up and go this way and that. The differences between the trees brought out their character in one manner or other. Thus it seemed to me that the trees could feel anger or sadness depending on the situation. Rush used this concept as a metaphor in their song "The trees".

In the song, the group talk about an unrest and misunderstanding between trees. It is one of their popular songs. The following is a rewrite of the lyrics from the point of view of trees missing the inhabitants who have moved out of the place.

The Tree (Sad)

There is unrest in the place

There is sadness with the trees

For the banyan wants activity

And the neem feels lonely

The trouble with the banyan

As it was always with children

They heard their shouts from dawn till dusk

As they run around gleefully

But the neem can't help its feelings

As they could not hear the talks

And they wonder why it stopped

Can't the children come back?

There is sadness in the place

And the children all have left

As the trees scream 'depressing!'

And they sadly, sway in the wind

So the trees formed a union

And demanded some company

'The place is just too quiet

We are used to company'

Now there's no more loneliness

For they passed a noble law

And replaced trees with buildings

By cutting,

Leveling,

And concrete

Neem it seems

Neem it seems
Is an everyplace tree
Nothing noticeable
It seems

Neem it seems
Turns special for a few
Cemented by their love
It seems

Neem it seems
Made people linger
Far longer than required
It seems

Neem it seems
Sucks in everyday occurences
To turn them into nostalgia
It seems

Neem it seems
Is helpless against walls
Built using thoughtless bricks
It seems

Neem it seems
Loses pleasantness of nostalgia
Only painful ghostly memories remain
It seems

Soufflé and Showlace

The time for desserts had arrived
Yet none could have moved
For their bellies had bulged
With food they had gulped
Snack were followed by peanuts
Ignoring the soup definitely sucks
The hot liquid was followed by food
Pizza and breads with eggs tasted good

We don't need anymore
Dessert had to be ignored once more
I trudged to the dessert counter still
And picked a Soufflé against my will
As I turned around from the counter
My unfastened shoelace pushed me over
Down I went while the Soufflé flew
Its fat tummy jiggling all through

Like a boon from God it landed perfectly
In front of the prettiest of girls, fortunately
She smiled and looked around
But missed me lying on the ground
Her eyes locked with a handsome one
Whose instant smile shamed the sun

I slid my way out of the restaurant
The dirt of the ground browned my pant
The unseen dirt on my ego hurt
More than a truck load of dirt
I bent in a safe corner to tie my lace
And left with shame on my face

Lester needs a few Bodys

I was lying down besides the pond next to the old Banyan tree when I heard footsteps approaching me. Four oddly dressed persons walked up to me. They bowed and one of them said "Sir, can I snatch a piece of your precious time?" I was intrigued by this usage of words and agreed readily. He continued somberly "I am Everybody, this is Nobody, that is Anybody and the person at the end is Somebody. We have been treated unjustly by the poet Shel." "Who is Shel?" I asked trying to stop the world from spinning. Nobody said "Shel is the poet who wrote about Lester. Surely, you have heard of Lester?" I felt embarrassed and gave out a non-committal "Hmmm, aaaahh, ohhhhhh".  Somebody jumped in and said "He wrote about Lester and the Goblin but left us out of the poem. Everybody was there; it could not have happened if not for Somebody; Anybody could have walked out of it but he didn't; Nobody talked about it. So how come we don't figure in the poem?" Nobody asked pleadingly "Please write the actual happenings as we recount it to you." I felt dazed with some many Body's and agreed to do so.

They recited the happening and I wrote what follows.

Lester:	Lester was given a magic wish
Goblin:	By the goblin who lives in the banyan tree,
Lester:	And with his wish he wished for two more wishes— So now instead of just one wish, he cleverly had three.
Goblin:	Uh uh! You got your mathematics wrong. You had one and asked for two but in the process you lost one and you ended up with two.
Lester:	Uh uh uh! I used the one wish to wish for two wishes and since I wished for wishes the wish does not count and so I have two plus one wish, which makes it three wishes. You wish you were as clever as me but your wish is will remain a wish for I am cleverer than clever and I have three wishes
Goblin:	But... eh! Wish... eh! Two... Oh! Too clever or so you think. Its two and not three
Lester:	Three
Goblin:	Two
Lester:	Three
Goblin:	Two
Lester:	Three
Goblin:	Two
Lester:	Two
Goblin:	Three
Lester:	Yooohoooo! And with each one of these THREE wishes He simply wished for three more wishes, Which gave him three old wishes, plus nine new.
Goblin:	There he goes again. Its two old wishes, plus nine new
Lester:	There he goes again. Its three old wishes, plus nine new
Goblin:	Two and nine
Lester:	Three and nine
Somebody:	Will you both stop it
Anybody:	Fighting over a wish
Nobody:	Yes, over a measly wish
Goblin:	Hey! Nobody calls my wish a measly wish. Nobody should call my wish a measly wish. With a wish somebody can get a lot of something. With a wish anybody can get a lot of anything, even nobody will no longer be nobody.
Lester:	And with each of these twelve He slyly wished for three more wishes. Which added up to forty-six—or is it fifty-two?
Somebody:	Fifty-one
Goblin:	Yes! Fifty-one. Somebody, here take a wish
Somebody:	Gee thanks. But why did you give it to me? You can give it to anybody.
Everybody:	Why Anybody? Give it to Everybody
Goblin:	Quiet! I am already struggling with Lester and his wishes. So nobody gets my wish.
Nobody	Thank you Goblin
Goblin:	Not Nobody! I meant nobody. I guess it is easier to agree with Lester. Its nine plus three Lester
Lester:	Well anyway, he used each wish To wish for wishes ‘til he had Five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
Everybody:	Ah! There he goes again. Lester, nobody is worse in maths than you.
Nobody:	Hey Everybody! What do you know about my knowledge in maths?
Everybody:	I did not mean Nobody. I meant nobody. Anybody can understand that.
Anybody:	Actually, I did not understand that.
Everybody:	Ah! I can’t take this anymore. Somebody, please help me.
Somebody:	How can I help you, Everybody?
Everybody:	Oh, forget it! Lester, I counted and it’s only Five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-two.
Lester:	No, no, no, no! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
Everybody:	No, no, no, no! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-two.
Goblin:	No, no, no, no! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
Lester:	Yes, yes, yes, yes! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
Nobody:	No, no, no, no! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-two.
Somebody:	Yes, yes, yes, yes! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-two.
Lester	No, no, no, no! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
Goblin:	Yes, yes, yes, yes! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-four.
Anybody:	No, no, no, no! It’s five billion, seven million, eighteen thousand thirty-two.
Goblin:	Quiet everybody. This is nobody’s business. Lester, go on.
Nobody:	How come it only not my business? What about Somebody, Anybody and Everybody.
Goblin:	Lester, GO ON.
Lester:	And then he spread them on the ground And skipped and sang, and then sat down And wished for more. And more… And more… They multiplied
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	While other people smiled and cried And loved and reached and touched and felt.
Somebody:	Come Lester, let us play.
Anybody:	You have no clue That the sky is blue, The clouds are white The sun is shining bright On the grass that is greener than green Let’s play before we dine
Lester:	No sky for me No clouds for me The sun can’t steal my wishes The grass can’t dream of my wishes My wishes are mine Only mine, mine, mine
Somebody:	Let’s play Lester before we dine
Lester:	My wishes are mine Only mine, mine, mine
Nobody:	Let’s play Lester before we dine
Lester:	My wishes are mine Only mine, mine, mine
Everybody:	Let’s play Lester before we dine
Lester:	My wishes are mine Only mine, mine, mine
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	Oh Lester, why can’t you come and play with us?
Lester:	Lester sat amid his wealth Stacked mountain-high like stacks of gold. Sat and counted—and grew old.
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	And then one Thursday night they found him
Goblin:	It wasn’t a Thursday. It was a Friday.
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	It was a Thursday, Goblin. It was two days before the weekend.
Goblin:	It was definitely a Friday. One day before Saturday and one day after Thursday. I am sure.
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	Wait! Let us see. What did you do on Monday, Goblin?
Goblin:	I slept under the tree.
Everybody:	What did you do on Tuesday, Goblin?
Goblin:	I slept on the tree.
Nobody:	What did you do on Wednesday, Goblin?
Goblin:	I slept by the mushroom.
Anybody:	What did you do on Thursday, Goblin?
Goblin:	I slept in a room.
Somebody:	What did you do on Friday, Goblin?
Goblin:	I woke up and found Lester dead
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	That’s true Goblin. Lester died on Thursday and you found him dead on Friday
Goblin:	Oh! Could that be so?
Somebody, Everybody, Nobody, Anybody:	That is so, Goblin. And then one Thursday night they found him. Dead—with his wishes piled around him. And they counted the lot and found that not A single one was missing.
Somebody:	Seventy six billion trillion, ninety four million, twenty two thousand, one
Anybody:	Seventy six billion trillion, ninety four million, twenty two thousand, one
Nobody:	Seventy six billion trillion, ninety four million, twenty two thousand, one
Anybody:	Seventy six billion trillion, ninety four million, twenty two thousand, one
Somebody:	All shiny and new—here, take a few
Anybody:	And think of Lester as you do.
Nobody:	In a world of apples and kisses and shoes
Anybody:	He wasted his wishes on wishing.

I looked up when they stopped reciting the incident and asked "is that all?" They shook their heads in affirmation. I asked them further "What happened to the wishes?" They responded in unison "Oh! We used it to get here."

Football talk

The five year old did not fit into the crowd of twelve year old children. That did not break down his spirit. He was ready to be a part of anything and everything the elder ones were involved in. The twelves tried to shoo him away but of no avail. He was not one of those who understood the word "No". So they had to let him be a part of their football game. As in everything else, he put his heart and soul into the game. The little one was pushed and shoved around but he was back on his in no time. He was visibly tired by the time the game ended and plopped on the floor. One of the adults walked up to him, patted him on his head and said "You played very well." He looked up disappointed and said "No way, I did not score any goal. At home, I score many goal. Once I scored a hat-trick". "Oh, is that so! Do you play with your brother at home?" "No, no. Not with him. I play alone" came the confident response in a pat.

Friends: The middle of nowhere

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Three it's a magic number

Yes it is, it's a magic number

Because two times three is six

And three times six is eighteen

And the eighteenth letter in the alphabet is R

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

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

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

To be continued...

Friends: Thinking up thoughts for a talk

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

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

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

1. Photographs: check

2. Gushing about the place: check

3. Using superlative words: check

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

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

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

Mustafa mustafa don't worry Mustafaa

Kaalam nam thozhan Mustafaa

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

Muzhugaatha shippae friendship thaan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To be continued...