Aim, focus and direction

As he walked into the toilet, he saw the small twelve year old with a big mouth walk out. He smiled at he boy and said "You spend a lot of time in the toilet". The boy responded with an amused "so do you!" He smiled at the boy and walked to a urinal. He was shocked to find the boy turn back into the toilet and walk towards another urinal. Based on his previous interactions with the boy he decided not to question the boy further. But the boy was in a chatty mood. He said "I have a question". The boy kept one of his hand on his hip and asked "How can you keep both your hands on your hips like this and use the urinal properly?" For a moment he was at loss for words. He thought and gave the boy a few words that could prove useful both inside and outside the urinal.

"You should have aim, focus and direction."

As he walked out of the toilet a colleague waved him down. As she walked up to him, he noticed the agitation in her step. As expected, she delivered an unpleasant news without missing any piece of the gory details. He listened to her rants with his right hand on his chin. At the end of her monologue, he gave  her a noncommittal "I will take care of it" and walked away. Within a few step, a set of girls surrounded him and gave a different version of the unpleasant news. Actually, it was not different version but a small part of the unpleasant event, like the part where Bheema met Hanuman in Mahabaratha. Once again he responded noncommittally. Within a few paces, a group of boys surrounded him. These fellows had an entirely a different version of the news. They were the purported creators of the unpleasantness and their view of the events were different from what he had heard earlier. He was reminded of the stories of parallel universe that the scientific philosophers loved to talk and write about, He responded with a grim "I will talk to you fellows later" and walked on. But one of the boy did not allow him to go far. The boy blocked his way and started providing proofs of innocence for an unpleasant event that had not reached his ears yet. He waved him away and walked on. 

At the lunch table, he met a boy whose teeth were in constant danger of being broken thanks to the annoying smirk on his lips. As is usually the case, the boy was at a table that was not assigned to him. He snarled and barked at the boy. I am unable to hide my appreciation for the quality of his bark and snarl. I am sure he could teach German Shepherds and Rottweilers a thing or two about snarling and barking. The boy jumped up and cried out for justice as Louis XVI had done in front of the guillotine a few centuries earlier. As in the case of Louis XVI, he only received a "GRRRRRR!" and "WOOF! WOOF!" in response. The boy walked away shaking his head. He sat on the table and was about to place a handful of food into his hungry mouth when a colleague walked in with a "I have to tell you something about what happened a few minutes back when I was dealing with that set of boys who did not act in a proper manner and caused a lot of issues for others and in the process delayed our work and caused us a lot of problems, which resulted in our work being unsatisfactory and also in delays, which could have been avoided if the fellows had not caused the trouble which resulted in a lot of avoidable problems..." He put up his hand and at first said "GRRRRR! WOOF! WOOF!" and followed it with another "GRRRRRRR! WOOF! GRRRRRRR! WOOF!" She took heed of the words uttered by hi, and said "OK! You finish your lunch. I will talk to you later."

He looked at the food in his hand and said "I should have aim, focus and direction."

Stormbringer

They convinced him that the view from the thirteenth floor would be spectacular. They coaxed him to pay extra for the sea view. They were not lying for a line of blue was visible close to the horizon and on a clear day the thought the sea existing at a visible distance brought peace to his mind, which loved to be in turmoil at most times. The view, as they had said, was spectacular but not on this day. This day the sea was in turmoil and it exchanged angry words with the air above. They whooshed and swooshed at each other and wooooo of their exchange sounded eerie. The thirteenth floor seemed lonely and naked. At some point, the wind, as is usually the case, got emotional and started weeping. Anger merged with sadness resulting in tears. A blanket of wetness covered the earth. As droplets of water settled on the glass door, his view was obstructed. He opened the door and walked outside. He let the door remain open. The ever curious droplets entered the house and started running everywhere touching everything on its way. 

He stared at the wildly swinging trees below. They seemed to hypnotize him for he too started rocking back and forth to the beat of the swinging trees. His mind started wandering and he felt a slight breeze blowing at the back of his mind. He heard Perfect Circle's "Freedom of choice" in his mind.

Freedom of choice

Is what you got

Freedom of choice!

He preferred Perfect Circle's version of the song than the version by FuManchu or the original by Devo. The pleasantness of Maynard Keenan's voice did not hide the pain, anger and sadness. He wanted to go back and listen to the song but the swinging trees captivated him. He could not move and so he did not move. The breeze inside his head strengthened steadily. The song had not sneaked into his head out of nowhere. The seeds of the song were planted during the annoying two hour long meeting at his work. A circle of people talked about "Freedom". He did not take part in the discussion - neither did he talk nor did he listen. He heard voices and words but he did not have faith in most of them as he believed his colleagues had more regard for words and diction than their inherent meanings and actions. To make matters worse, they were discussing about the abstract and non-existent concept called freedom. He had struggled with the concept of freedom for many years. The many combination of beautiful words and sentences by men and women of greatness did not mean much to him. He could not determine freedom's meaning in the absolute sense and hence had thought it pointless to think about it. But the discussion that day brought it back to the fore.

The slight breeze in his mind had strengthened. He could not ignore it anymore. The winds were threatening to rake up a storm, inside and outside. The winds were now strong enough to push him away. He held onto the railing to maintain his balance. His eye hurt due to the impact of the droplets. He closed his eyes and listened to the strength of the wind and water. It cried and howled. Maybe it was trying to tell him something but his mind was busy minding the storm building inside. In the background, he realized that the song hand changed inside his head. John Garcia was chanting "Freedom Run" in an infinite loop. He let the chant continue and his mind latched on to the word "freedom". Words started flowing in. No! That's not right. Words started rushing in; if his mind was not preoccupied he would have been reminded of the song "Rosetta stoned".

Freedom is nothing but a word that like many other words have different meanings for different people at different times. All organisms on this planet is dependent on each other and on the planet itself and thus it is ridiculous to think of physical freedom. Pressure and gravity are the greatest enemies of physical freedom. Unfortunately, our existence depends on these two entities and so we have no choice but to accept our physical bondage. Freedom of the intellect is more complicated. Humans really do not understand what constitutes intellect and thus it is ridiculous to talk about it and its freedom. Ironically, freedom can only exist within the four walls of the intellect. We can think what we want without worrying about right and wrong, good and bad, beautiful and ugly, black and white and similar opposites. I have the freedom to think what I want. In theory, no one has the power to stop me from thinking about anything. But reality is never so straight. Humans quickly realized the danger posed by the freedom of intellect for they guessed, rightly, that freedom of action would follow and this would result in people doing what they want. To counter this possibility humans created organizations - kingdoms, castes, professions, religions and educational institutions. These organizations are all based on control of thought. We are made to believe that there are good thoughts and actions and bad thoughts and actions. The organizations help us to move away from bad thoughts and actions and in the process make us good. We end up believing that it is a sin to even let certain thoughts enter our heads. We end up controlling our own thoughts and force us to restrict our own freedom.

The winds had pushed him away from the railing. He carefully walked back to the door. He entered the apartment and closed the door. Everything in the room was wet. He looked out and through the wet glass noticed the fallen trees. The winds carried leaves and other debris everywhere. The peace and calmness of the land was lost. The storm continued to rage and it seemed it would never end. The glass on the doors shook vehemently. They seemed to screaming "We can't take this anymore. We will give in for sure. We cannot take care of you any longer". He did not hear the scream. Unlike the storm outside, the storm in his brain had subsided. It had scattered debris across his mind. Old and hidden wounds lay exposed. The storms made his head hurt. He sat on the wet sofa and let the cold and wet seep in through his cold and wet clothes.  He held his aching head in this palms and thought.

When a storm passes through a town it is left in shambles. A brainstorm has a similar effect on our mind.

Missed the bus

His father was surprised to see him stomping back home. He called out to his son "Why have you back?" The boy stared at his father angrily for a moment. He said "Stupid bus! Did not wait for me!" "Were you late?" inquired the father."Yes and the stupid bus did not wait for me." came the annoyed response. The father tried to settle his anger by saying "Hey! Take it easy. You mother will drop." The son's anger did not reduce. He said "Stupid Mom!" The father was perplexed "What! Why do you call her stupid?"

"I will be late to school thanks to her now!"

Toilet haven

The boy's toilet has became a place to get away from classes. The physics teacher felt that the boys requests for toilet breaks are periodic and precise than the emissions of radio waves by distant Pulsars. Maybe some day someone would publish a paper on this possibility. It could result in the most accurate measurement of time. Of course, the boys do not really use these breaks to eject liquid waste from their body. Instead, they spend it on taking the most circuitous route to and from the toilet and to chat with whoever is present in its environs. I think Nature magazine had published in 1992 the results of a study conducted by some prestigious university in the US. According to the study, if water leaves a human body every time the boys request for a toilet break, they would end up looking like a dried raisin within two days. 

The boy's toilet was conveniently located away from the classrooms and provided a safe haven for the children to sit and chat. They sat on the wall outside the toilet and chatted for a few minutes. They had poor impression about their teacher's ability to determine the passage of time. They usually spent more than double the time required to walk from the class to the toilet, process their output and walk back. On getting back their faces donned expression of utmost sincerity as they attempted to convince the teacher that the time they had taken was not a second more than the time required. The teachers usually did not bother to argue and prove that the fellows took more time they required. Calculating time taken for visit to a toilet was never a part of their life's ambitions and their energy to argue on such topics had trained within a year or two of teaching.

That day, the teacher found two ten year old children playing with mud around the toilet area. As he started talking to them a small twelve year old with a big mouth walked by. He threw a "What's up!" to the teacher who looked at him with amusement. He watched the teacher helping the two younger children in cleaning the entrance to the toilet and said with an evil glint in his eyes "I want to show something to you" He finished his job within the toilet, walked out and pointed at a mud ball pasted on the wall above the doorway and said "I don't know who did it!" The teacher looked at him suspiciously. The two young boys said in unison "we know who did it". "Who?" asked the teacher. "We will not say" responded the boys. "Come on!" said the teacher. One of boys decided to give a clue "its someone from class seven." The teacher looked at the older boy suspiciously while persisting with a "Who?" "He" said the two young boys pointing at the older boy who watched the teacher with an evil grin. The teacher "hmmmm"-ed and asked the three of them to get back to the class. 

The elder boy laughed and ran back into the toilet saying "Wait, wait! I have to use the toilet." The teacher felt perplexed and asked "but you just used the toilet". Pat came the reply "I have loose motion." The teacher said with annoyance "Your loose motion is the wrong direction". The boy agreed "Yes! I have loose motion in the front side". The teacher walked away shaking his head.

An incomplete apology

The cyclist was not exactly riding at the left edge of the road. He had left some space for the pedestrians who did not like to use the pavement. He cycled along at a relaxed pace. Right behind him an impatient young fellow, who seemed like a new generation punk was trying to satisfy his "need for speed". As is usually the case he tried to twist and turn their Honda Activas through the traffic. The guy had reached the left edge of the road and was feeling trapped behind the cyclist. He considered applying the brake but it went against his code of conduct on roads. So he twisted some part of his body and the bike changed its direction to the left. He started to overtake the cyclist from the left. As he crossed the cyclist, the cyclist felt an irresistible urge to spit. He, being a sensible person, did not want to spit to the right on to the oncoming vehicles. So he spit to the left. To his utter shock a Honda Activa appeared as soon as the spit left his mouth. He tried to suck his spit back into his mouth but could not do so. So the spit flew and landed on the headlights of the bike. The young punk was shocked and half twisted his body to stare at the cyclist. But he remembered his code of conduct on the road and let the incident pass. He did not stop his vehicle but sped away. The cyclist lifted his hand in apology but he had no one to receive his apology.

Let's talk about the journey

This is what happens when you have 37 km separating you from the railway station. You get into the cab two hours ahead of the train’s departure time and spend the next one hour and forty five minutes wondering if you will make it to the station on time. Google map advised "take the lengthier 45 km route as it will get you to the station in one hour and thirty minutes. But the cab driver pooh-poohed the map's recommendation. He claimed he had inside information about Google's nexus with the cab companies. He said that Google misinforms its users to help the cab companies can make money. I did not believe him. My experience told me that the journey usually takes more time than Google's estimate. But I did not argue with the driver as I would probably end up listening the driver's complaints about the traffic and how Google maps should never be trusted for rest of the journey. Besides the driver assured me he was aware of the shortest route to the station. An hour later, we had covered a great distance but many kilometres of city roads separated the cab from its destination. The driver, in between his constant chatter, inserted the statement "the roads are too crowded at this time of the day" surreptitiously. I did not miss the statement and inquired in a tension dripping voice "will we make it?" He responded in an accusing tone "you should have started two and a half hours earlier but let's see."

The cab driver loved to talked. He talked through the journey about the various hardships faced by the Indian middle class. I listened to him with a small part of my brain. I let the remaining parts of my brain remain in anxiety. Google map promised that the cab would reach the station with fifteen minutes to spare. My eyes spent most of the time on the estimated time of arrival. Sometimes it went higher and I felt my heart pound inside my throat and at other times I let a smile play across my nearly non-existent lips. With twenty seven minutes to spare, the cab arrived the last signal prior to the destination. If I were to use Malayalam I would have said "athoru onnonnara signal ayyirunnu" which means "that was a one - one and a half signal". The cab driver took his hands off the wheel as it halted the cab behind the 167th vehicle from the signal. He complained "this is a terrible signal. It would take some time to get through this signal. You see, people cross the road when the vehicles are taking the left and the traffic gets blocked. These fellows don't use the pedestrian subway that runs underneath their feet instead they run across the roads. Most of these people are below 35 years. Their laziness in using the subway has resulted in us being stuck at this signal for so many minutes. You see an average Indian spends 40% of his life travelling. It does not matter whether he is rich or poor or whether he is traveling by Maruti or BMW. He spends 40% of his life travelling. What a waste!" By the time he reached this point of his monologue the signal had turned green twice and we were manoeuvring through the crowd of people trying to cross the road. We reached the station with twenty minutes to spare. I walked at a comfortable pace to the train and boarded it ten minutes ahead of its departure time. The train left at the designated time.

We were on the look out for a White Scorpio in the parking lot at the Pune station. The search turned out to be easier than I expected. There was only one Scorpio in the parking lot and as expected it was white in colour. As the Scorpio started its journey, I noticed the words “Syrup Xerox” on a LED display at the front of a shop. I was perplexed and tried to understand what “Syrup Xerox” meant. I realized that the words were displayed outside a grocery shop that also let people photocopy. So the syrup came from the grocery section of the shop and the Xerox came from the photocopying part of the shop. The absence of a comma between syrup and Xerox added the intrigue to the display. 

I did not notice enough of Pune to form an impression. But as the car left the city, I noticed garbage strewn by the sides of the road. This was not everyday garbage thrown by the people in that area but large amounts of garbage dumped systematically. I came to the conclusion that the Pune remained clean by dumping its garbage out of the city. As the Scorpio proceeded further, the sides of the road got cleaner. Many villagers walked by the side of road purposefully. All of them wore simple white pyjama–kurta with a traditional white cap over their heads. One of the villager wore a large multicoloured turban over his head. The colours on the turban were neon bright and did not fit his remaining attire. His brisk walk reminded me of Gandhi’s walk to Dandi.

An hour into the journey, the driver asked if we would like to have a cup of tea. We were not really interested but out of politeness said “hmmmm aaaaaaa”. The driver persisted by saying that we should try the tea as it is the speciality of Pune. We gave in with a hesitant “OK”. As we got off the Scorpio, the driver said “it is good to have a tea during these long drives”. The tea shop was called “Yevala Amruttulya”, which as per the driver had around 90 branches across Pune and its suburb. They did not serve anything other than a single type of tea in their shops. The shop by itself was an average sized place with a big white board containing the shop’s name written in red announcing its presence. 

As I walked into the shop I noticed the brown coloured liquid boiling in a large vessel. A person was attempting to take out the last drop of tea trapped within the boiled tea leaves by relentlessly tightening the cloth that held it. Each cup of tea costed ten Rupees. It tasted as I expected it to taste. Milky and sweet with a strong flavour of cardamom. Though it did not have any flavour of tea, I loved it. It reminded me of payasam. The journey lasted two and a half hours. I spent the next three days with a mobile phone that could only be used as a paper weight. 

The Pune station was crowded beyond description. Fortunately, we had decided to spend the two hour we had in a café and not the station. We watched the India – England world cup cricket match as we bit into our respective sandwiches and sipped our coffee. We stayed at the café for longer than the time required to eat a sandwich and drink a cup of coffee. The large café was practically empty in the afternoon and for that reason, probably, we were not asked to leave. Sports does not interest me but being an Indian cricket stays at the periphery of interest. That said, I usually don’t watch cricket and so I did not really enjoy Roy and Bairstow smashing Indian bowlers. I only enjoyed the two wickets that fell a few minutes prior to us leaving the café. 

We continued to track the score as we got into the train. As we sat and discussed about the match, a middle aged woman sitting beside me asked in a mix of broken Hindi and English “Is Bairstow out?” I said “No”. She let out an annoyed “Paradesinge!” A fellow passenger started streaming the match live to satiate his fellows passenger’s interest in cricket. The lady was thrilled. She was completely immersed in the match. Every time the English batsmen pounded the Indian bowlers she hurled abuses at the Indians. When Bairstow got out she knew who should come in next. But to her utter contempt someone else walked in. She half screamed “this fellow is a waste. They should have sent the other fellow”. Sure enough, the new batsmen walked back to the pavilion in a matter of minutes and the other fellow, whose name I don’t remember, walked in. Much to her annoyance the match went as per her prediction and she hurled curses and abuses at the Indian bowlers. She went to sleep at around the time the Indian innings started. Next morning she asked to me in Tamil “what happened to the match?” On informing her the result she said “Waste fellows! They should not have let them score 300 runs.”

Little excitements

She gets into the school bus at 6:40 am. The bag on her shoulders, though not big, reaches half her height. She walks slowly down the aisle and chooses the second seat on the left. Sometimes, she chooses the third seat on her left. She does not bother to remove the bag off her shoulders and rests her back against it. She looks out of the window as the bus passes through various places that look familiar. Sleep hovers right behind her eyelids but she holds it back by keeping her eyelids open. The bus stops at a few other stops and she looks at the children getting into the bus with disinterest. Neither she nor the new entrants bother to greet each other. They had only known each other for a few days. Besides it was too early in the morning to greet. As the bus approaches the final stop, she moves towards the aisle side of her seat, cranes her neck and looks through the windshield. She sees a white Honda City with a father and daughter standing beside it. Her face brightens up. Suddenly, the sleep that was hovering behind her eyelids vanishes. She, unable to contain her excitement, jumps in her seat and as the little girl gets into the bus starts chanting “Subbu, Subbu, Subbu,…”. The little girl walks up to the her smiling shyly. She is welcomed with a hug and a series of tickles. They laugh and chat for the remaining part of the journey.

In the evening, the two girls wait for the bus to commence its journey. They talk about the day’s activities as they wipe away the sweat from their forehead with their arms. As the bus starts moving, they become quiet and start observing the sights that pass them. Occasionally, they start a conversation but it does not prolong for long. When the bus approaches the second stop, the little girl who had got into the bus at 6:40 am cranes her head to look through the windshield. She sees her mother waiting for her at the stop with her baby sibling sleeping in the pram. She, unable to contain her excitements, jumps in her seat and starts chanting “Mama, mama, mama, …” As soon as the bus stops and the doors open, she runs through the aisle, down the steps and out of the door into her mama’s arms. Subbu looks at the scene with a smile on her lips. As the bus starts moving, she rests her head against the back of her seat and goes to sleep; a sleep so deep that her father has to carry her to the car when the bus reaches her stop.