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!"