Run to the hills – 2. Manali, local sightseeing

Manali is a quaint little town surrounded by snowcapped mountains with a river running noisily through it. The mountain sides are covered with pine trees. A few houses and hotels populate the sides of the mountain. A few vehicles run along the narrow roads that wind between the trees and buildings. Patches of snow can be seen all along the way. These patches are not large as we are in May now and the sun is out in full strength. By full strength, I don’t mean the strength that the sun shows in Chennai, but the mild strength that lets the ice from the winter to live without melting for a few days. All in all, Manali is a picture perfect town that lay hidden in the mountains.

This was my vision of Manali before I got there. Sadly, Manali did not turn out to be anything like this. 

We travelled to Manali on a Volvo bus through terrible roads. Close to Manali, the roads got better. The road from Kulu to Manali was a four lane highway that ran by the river Beas. The two lanes towards Manali were choked with vehicles. Many Volvo buses and cars headed towards Manali. When we reached the Volvo bus stand, we saw that it contained around 50 buses in it. If each bus had transported about 30 people, 1500 people had already reached Manali that morning. Many more would have reached Manali in cars too. This gave us an idea of the number of tourists in Manali on that summer morning. This also gave us an understanding of the number of the hotels in Manali. There was nothing quaint and little about the real Manali.

The hotel we booked in was a kilometre away from the Volvo bus stand. This meant that it was about a kilometre and a half away from the city centre, The Mall Road. The cab from the hotel, travelled away from the town. To our left was the river and the right side was hilly. At one point, the cab took a right towards the hilly side. Two roads ran up the hill at that point. The one to the left went to the villages. The cab driver informed us that the education minister in the current Himachal cabinet came from one of the villages. He also mentioned that the fellow had not done anything good for his constituency and will not be elected in the next election. We took the lane to the right. The lane was narrow and went up steep. As the cab continued its journey, we realized that we were surrounded by many hotels. The driver informed us that the right side of the hill only had hotels. He continued that too many tourists came to Manali and as a result Manali had the largest concentration of hotels for a place in Asia. We did not verify the veracity of the statement but our experience during the next few days has made us believe this statement.

Our room at the hotel had a reasonable view through its large windows. We looked uphill through an apple orchard. A few hotels could be seen towards the top of the hill. The room was large, and we felt comfortable in it. While having lunch that morning, a couple of women came around selling cherries from the hotel’s orchard. We got a small cardboard box full of fresh cherries for a hundred rupees. I had an odd relationship with cherries. For a long time, I believed that the sugar syrup soaked bright red spheres that one got atop cakes and ice creams were cherries. Then sometime during the 90’s the concept of pastry entered my life. It took me a few years to realize that pastry and cake are different. The pastries usually had a light red sphere atop them, and these, I was told, were cherries. The bright red spheres atop the cakes from my younger agree were not cherries but sugary crap. But I did not agree, the spheres were not sweet. Worse, I thought they were tasteless. So, I did not enjoy eating them. The cherries that we bought from the women seemed different. These looked fresh and invitingly red. I tasted the cherries and found that they were tangy and sweet. I loved its taste and immediately gobbled a few of them.

A growing number of tourists have started dreading the phrase ‘local sightseeing’. In English, the phrase translates to ‘bull shit’. Every tourist location usually has inside its limits a set of uninteresting places that various tourism websites and cab drivers glorify. Every tourist who visits the place do not have a choice but visit such locations else someone will ask them condescendingly “what you did not visit the temple dedicated to cousin of moon’s grandmother’s niece? It is such a beautiful temple surrounded by trees and a calm lake. You missed it” when they get back home. This will give rise to a feeling misery to the tourist, every time he or she thinks of the amount of money spent on the trip. To avoid such a situation, we decided to go for the ‘local sightseeing’ trip of Manali. We started off with the Vasisht Temple. Information on this temple, is available in a million websites on the internet and so I will not repeat it here.  The Ram temple had an old stone structure which was partially enveloped within a wooden structure. There were two more structure made of wood too. All the structures looked handsome. We did not spend a lot of time there as it was crowded. One of the things we observed in this trip was that almost no one wears mask in north India. In Chennai at least a few people wear masks. Here across towns and cities, we have seen people going about their lives in the open without masks. Covid is done and dusted for the people here. As the trip proceeded our own usage of mask reduced. Hope we come out this well.

All through the trip, we found good looking dogs in the streets of the different towns in Himachal. They were all big and furry. Usually, they maintained a calm countenance and went about their business without bothering or being bothered by others. At the Vasisht temple, we found one such dog sleeping outside a shop. Behind the dog was a pile of Parle-G biscuits. When the dog woke up, it walked away without even looking at the pile. 

Manali has many hot springs. There was one by Vasisht temple. Later, we saw one by the river Beas. Though this is right by the river, it’s water is hot, and the river water is cold. The driver of our cab mentioned that this hot spring gets submerged by the river during the rains. The hot springs are popular locations for tourists for they are supposed be of medicinal nature and it is believed it cures the bather of many ailments. Looking at the number of people in these hot springs we wondered if we would end up getting for ailments if we shared the spring with them. So, we did not jump into any of the hot springs.

The next stop of the ‘local sightseeing’ trip was the Hidamba temple. The background behind this temple is an interesting one. Hidamba was one of Bhima’s wives. She is the mother of Ghatotkacha who helped the Pandavas in their war against the Kauravas. I find Ghatotkacha interesting due to the movie ‘Maya Bazaar’. S V Ranga Rao played the character of Ghatotkacha in the movie and the unforgettable ‘Kalyana Samayal Saadham is pictured on him. Hidamba is associated with Manali and so she the temple dedicated to her in this place. I had seen the pictures of the temple and found it to be interesting. The path to the temple was packed with cars. This is a narrow street that can fit a maximum of 10 people walking abreast but, on that day, there were cars going in both directions and people using the lane too. It took us an hour to cover the four kilometres from the Vasisht temple to the Hidamba temple. Half a kilometre from the temple, the driver got annoyed and asked us to get down and walk the remaining distance. We managed to walk through the mass of unmasked souls and reach the temple. Besides the people walking towards and away from the temple there were also hawkers selling us everything that we did not need. If we took a moment to rest, people tried to sell us herbal medicines that strengthened our bones. Others tried to sell us genuine saffron. We shook our heads and walked towards the temple. That day was considered the birthday of Hidamba and there was a special festival in the temple. So, there were hundreds of people waiting in line to get into the temple. We did not intend to wait with them and so we went around the outsides of the temple and went back to the car.

Next, he took us someplace called the club house. Once again, we inched through the traffic at snail’s pace. The traffic was ridiculously dense, and we were getting impatient. We had reached Manali after spending a sleepless night and being stuck in the traffic seemed much worse than being stuck in a north Indian wedding reception where the DJ, to prove his lousy taste in music, plays music at one hundred thousand seven hundred and sixty seven decibels. We inquired to the driver about the attractions in the club house. He came up with a vague list of activities, like river view, zip line over the river, shopping and café. None of the options seemed exciting but we had no choice but to go ahead as turning around in the traffic seemed impossible. At some point, the driver got frustrated and requested us to get down and walk the remaining distance. We happily got off the car and started walking towards the gates of clubhouse. A few metres from the gate we saw a board with the name ‘Hotel Tirupati’ on it. We went in and sat on the deck by the river. Behind us several tourists were taking rides on zip lines. They were hooked to the zip line and then pulled (or pushed, I am not sure which) to the centre of the zipline. Then, the zipline-wallah tugged at the zipline and the person in the centre went up and down. The whole idea was to get the person’s feet to touch the river water. If the person was short or a child, he or she was too far above the water and the attempt to wet the feet went unsuccessful. In one case, the husband of a newly married couple, started filming his wife as she went up and down at the centre of the zipline. The wife did not want to wet her feet and so held it high. The husband asked her to let her feet down, but she continued to hold her legs high. After a few minutes, the husband said “kya bekaar hain yaar” and stopped filming.

I can’t remember much of food we had at ‘Hotel Tirupati’ but much to our surprise the idlis, chutney and sambhar tasted good. The sambhar tasted more like pulingari. We got out of the restaurant at around 7 PM.  It was too late to go the clubhouse, which did not sound like a very exciting place anyway and so we decided to get back to the hotel. The next day, we had to wake up early for we were going to the Rohthang pass. It was our only chance to see ice during the trip and we were very excited.

Run to the hills -- 1. Getting there

 Many years ago, I came across the song ‘Brother John’ by Chris de Burgh. Chris de Burgh sings the song with a lot of passion, like he usually does. The lyrics narrates the story of a brother in a seminary who is attracted to a woman. One day she sees him spying on her and asks him “Brother John, it’s hard to be holy; would you like to be a man?” Chris sings this line with a lot of oomph with the word ‘man’ sung in a whisper. Towards the end of the song, Chris announces “the devil laughed, and the angels cried for the soul of Brother John”. Chris de Burgh’s singing makes the song visual. This song was very popular in the hostel and for a few months we used to listen to it regularly. Many years later, for absolutely no reason, I played this song to a Christian colleague. Being a patient and nice person, he listened to the song quietly. At the end, he turned to me and asked, “you are a rebel, isn’t it?” I was shocked and could not respond. I have never considered myself to be a rebel. If anything, I was just the opposite. I tried to fit in and keep a low profile. That night, I lay on my bed with the question “am I a rebel?” running around my head. The thought of being a rebel thrilled me, but the pragmatic part of my brain had no doubts about my not being a rebel. On further exploration I had to accept that my colleague had got it wrong. I was not a rebel. He had misunderstood the display of my contempt for most aspects of life as rebellion. Without doubt, religion stood at the head of my list of aspects in life that need to be mocked and yet, on many occasions, I call out to God for help.

“Oh God! Please let us board the flight without any issues”. I had spent many minutes during the previous three days visiting the Indigo website and checking in the passengers (us) and their luggage, loading information about their health and promising the airlines that the corona virus has not possessed them during the past few days and that they were perfectly sane. I had taken print outs of some fifteen documents. Still, I was not sure, if we will be able to board the flight. So, I called out to whichever God would listen for help.

As I approached the security person at the entrance of the airport, I felt an initial relief run through me as I observed that he only verified each person’s boarding pass and the identification card. Soon we crossed the different checks points and found ourselves inside the flight. Much to our surprise, our body temperature was not measured even once. It is tougher to get into a mall than to fly to another city in the country.

Unexpected rains had brought down the temperature of Chennai by around 10  ͦ C. So, the heat that welcomed us in Chandigarh came as a shock. For a second, we considered cancelling the trip and going back to Chennai. But we laughed at the ridiculous thought and walked bravely into the Chandigarhi heat. We spent the next ten hours with my cousin whom I met after twenty years. When we started the trip, we only expected to have an occasional dose-a and sambrrrrrr during the next three weeks. But my cousin’s mother-in-law had prepared a fantastic Thanjavurian lunch for us. I will never forget the taste of her puliyodare. 

We were supposed to get into a Volvo bus from outside the Sohana Gurudwara in Mohali at 1 AM. When I booked the ticket in the Redbus application, I expected the place to be a bus stand with a beautiful Volvo bus with the words ‘National Travels’ written on its side waiting for us to board. My expectations were far from reality. The bus did not start from Mohali but from Delhi and this was only a stop enroute to the destination. Also, there was no bus stand with chairs. Instead, we were expected to stand besides a signal in front of the gurudwara. We reached the spot at 12:30 AM. The Redbus application had promised to give us a mechanism to track the bus’ location, but it did not fulfill this promise. So, I called the helper on the bus and asked him about the bus’ arrival time. He said that the bus was stuck in traffic, and he had no idea when it will reach the stop. The best estimate that I could get was that it would reach after 1:30 AM. So, the three of us were stuck by a signal in front of a gurudwara at Mohali with two large suitcases in the middle of the night. 

Earlier, my cousin had mentioned that we could wait inside the gurudwara if we had to. The large and open gates of the gurudwara seemed a welcoming sight for us. We had never been to a gurudwara earlier. So, we tentatively walked into the gurudwara dragging our large suitcases behind us. Soon, we saw two elderly men with flowing white beards sitting in a shed. They observed us silently. We approached them and one of us asked “We are waiting for a bus. Can we spend some time inside the Gurudwara?” One of them responded “Sure. Wear a scarf over your head and go in. Do you want some tea?” We did not want ‘some tea’, but it seemed impolite to say so and so we said “Sure”. He responded, “ask someone near the gurudwara”. I picked up a saffron scarf and tied it around my head. The man who had not spoken so far looked at me disapprovingly and said, “not that way”. I took off the scarf and tied it again. The look of disapproval did not go away. He was about to say something when, the other man said, “it’s ok; go ahead”.

Though it was past midnight, we found several men, women and children in the gurudwara and its grounds. We sat on chairs in a shed by the stairs of the main structure. After a few moments, we decided to take turns to go into the gurudwara. As I waited for the other two to come back, I decided to take a selfie. I opened the camera application on my phone, toggled it to the front camera and looked into the screen. Instantly, I realized that there was something wrong with the way I tied the scarf. The scarf was in the shape of a square and one had to fold it along the diagonal before tying it. When folded had two ends: one pointed and the other straight. One was expected to tie it such that the straight side was in the front, on one’s forehead, and the pointed side was at the back of one’s head. I had done the reverse. The pointed side was on my forehead and my headgear looked like Loki’s helmet without the metallic sideburns and horns. I quickly corrected the mistake.

The structure stood at a height and at the bottom of the stairs that led to it was a shallow pool of water. One had to walk through the water prior to climbing the stairs. This ensured that everyone washed their feet prior to entering the holy place. At the top of the stairs was a set of doors through which I walked into a large hall. The ceiling of the hall was decorated with coloured mirrors. I was reminded of the hall in the ‘pyar kiya tho darna kya’ scene of Mughal-e-azaam. To my left was a platform. A few men were folding large sheets of cloth on the platform as they chanted a verse repeatedly. I started circumambulating the platform. On one side of the platform, a set of weapons were placed on a wooden cot. The only place I had seen weapons like these were in the glass cases of museums. I continued walking. At the end of one round, I stood by the weapons and wondered what to do next. I turned around and walked out of the holy place. 

When I reached back to the seating area, I found that the people at the gurudwara were determined to make us consume tea. The tea was neither good nor bad. We waited for another thirty minutes. People continued to walk around the gurudwara. They busied themselves in cleaning the already clean place. Some arranged the already well-arranged shoes and slippers by the stairs. At 1:30 AM, I got a call from the bus. They informed that the bus would reach the stop in another ten minutes. We quickly picked our luggage and left the gurudwara. 

The bus seemed flashy from the outside but quite ordinary inside. The seats that we had reserved were occupied by others but there were three other empty seats towards the front of the bus. As we tried to fit into our seats, we disturbed all the sleeping bodies around. The seats were cramped, and it felt like the person in the seat ahead was sleeping on my lap. I managed to find a reasonably comfortable position and started watching the road through the windshield in the front. We drove along the highway towards the mountains. Within an hour, the roads started twisting and turning around the mountains. I closed my eyes. I did not sleep well as the journey was not smooth.

At 6:30 AM, the bus stopped near a restaurant for a short break. We were a few hours from our destination. Ten Volvo buses were lined outside the restaurant and the passengers from the buses roamed about the large open space besides the restaurant. The open space overlooked a valley through which the river Beas flowed. As plain as my words are, I believe, it still enhances the beauty of the place, which was anything but beautiful. As in many places in north India, this one too was enveloped in fine dust. The river was not much more than a sliver of water flowing between the rocks. Too many vehicles plied on the road. The pile of people in the open space were increasing due to the constant flow of buses.

The remaining part of the journey was miserable. The roads were being expanded from two to four lanes. In many stretches, the road was reduced to rubble. To make matters worse, flow of vehicles from both sides was heavy. The dust due to the rubble on the road and construction was all around and though it did not get into the bus, the sight by itself was disturbing. By this time, the bus driver had lost his patience and was honking at everyone on the road. The road ran along the river and as we climbed higher, the river seemed more like a river. The water ran and jumped over the many rocks and pebbles that occupied the riverbed. The Volvo-ness of the bus blocked the sound of the rushing river though. 

At 9:45 AM, the bus finally reached its destination, Manali.

Second hand poem

A second ago, a sixty was expected

But, the six disappeared; only the zero remained

How did the end become a beginning?

From zero to one to two to three to four

Five, the proud silver medallist 

At the multiplication table Olympics 

Six, seven, eight and nine followed

Ten, seems like a destination for many

But not for the second hand of my watch

Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen

Follow one after the other

Stopping momentarily at each 

Before moving on to the next

Sixteen, considered sweet when it comes once a lifetime

But for the second hand of my watch

The next sixteen is only a minute away

Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty

Twenty one, a major milestone in a person's life

But just another number on the dial of my watch

Twenty two, three, four, five

Followed by twenty six, seven, eight, nine

Thirty, the number that signals the end of youth

Not if you are a member of a political party though

Dirty one, thirty two, dirty three, thirty four, dirty five

Dirty times in a person's life means nothing for the second hand

Thirty six, thirty seven, thirty eight, thirty nine, forty

Is making the proceedings tedious

Forty one is no longer not young

Forty two, forty three, forty four,  ...

Damn! That fellow's question is longer than the Gita

He has camouflaged his ramblings into a question

Forty five and forty six are older than twenty five and twenty six

But younger than fifty five and fifty six

Forty seven, when four christens seven, eleven results

Forty eight, when four crosses eight. thirty two results

Forty nine, when four sleeps under nine

A  quarter more than two results

Fifty, the golden jubilee

Things missed during one's twenties and thirties 

Will remain missed forever

Fifty one, shifty one, shifting quickly towards the sixty

Fifty two, fifty three, fifty four

Tick - tock, tick - tock, tick - tock

Fifty five, five and five throw their paunches at the world

Fifty six, I wonder how I ended up in this mix

Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine

One full circle is a second away

Sixty, sixty, sixty, sixty

Life doesn't end at sixty

One can go on to sixty one

Or start all over again from one

Blackout Poetry

The topic of discussion for the meeting was poems. I have a very odd relationship with poems. I hated them through my school days. For some odd reason, the teachers expected me to memorize them. Even at a very young age I realized the pointlessness of memorizing anything, the least of all poems. But I have a bigger problem with poems - the pronunciation of the word poem. All through my life, I believed that the combination of p, o, e and m was pronounced po-yem. A few years back, a set of English teachers tore into my perfect pronunciation by informing me that it should be pronounced pom (or something like that). I don't believe them; poems are supposed to be beautiful. So, the pronunciation of the word cannot sound like the horn of an autorickshaw - pom pom. I get the feeling that this is some kind of conspiracy planned by the English teacher. Hmmmm, pom it seems.

The topic of discussion brought out a loud silent groan from my insides. Almost immediately, I cut the connection between my ear and my brain. I looked at the dial of my watch. Five minutes had passed from the beginning of the meeting. I followed the seconds hand for a few seconds. It went around the watch dial in circles. I sniggered silently and thought "What a pointless existence! All it does is to go around in circles". I got an idea. I opened my book and started writing about the life of the seconds hand as it raced through a minute. I would have completed the minute worth of poem had the meeting not taken an interesting turn.

Out of the blue, the person chairing the meeting decided to introduce the concept of blackout poetry. She projected a few examples of blackout poetry. It involves taking a page or an article from a newspaper or a book and blacking out most of the text except for a few words and phrases. These words and phrases form a new poem or story. It seemed an interesting process. Taking an existing object and converting it into something unrelated. The introduction was followed by an exercise. We were all given a page of text and some crayons. From this we were expected to create a blackout poem. The page was from the book, Walkabout by Bill Bryson. I have not read the book but I believe it has to do with the author going for a hike. The page I got recounted his hike mate and him eating at a restaurant during the trip. I read through the page and was thrilled to find out that Bill's hike mate's name was Katz. A deliciously wicked thought struck my head. I took out my pen and started circling the words and phrases that interested me. Soon I realized I should be blacking out the parts that I did not want rather than choosing the parts that I wanted to keep. The crayons were placed to make my blackout poetry a piece of art.

Art was never my strength and so everything I do has no element of art in it. I still attempted to put in some colour to the sheet. The process ended up being boring and only made my page look worse. Midway through the process I gave up and continued circling words and phrases. In a few minutes, the process ended and my blackout poem was ready. I read it with pride. The title of poem emerged organically.  

Cat on the plate

Hungry man breakfast platter

Katz pumping testosterone

Man appreciates pancakes, honey, Katz

… and early morning happiness

She went off with pride, a big beam

I sought the other Katz thoughtfully

A sudden fearful look

A heartbeat full of limbs

I made a sympathetic expression

My starting point, the limbs

We ate up and got out of here

Very happy, a cup of coffee later

… and ready to go

It is warm in there and cold out here

We’ll freeze out there at the edge of the woods

Ahead of me spread a vast, stark world of winter dead trees

A fragment of the original Appalachian Trail passed here from Springer

9 March, we were on our way

Into a wooded valley chuckling

A farewell speech

The decision was made. I was informed "you will give the farewell speech to the students". I had been with them for two years and though that was two years back, I seemed a better candidate than others. I did not agree. I did not enjoy my time with this group of students. Every Wednesday, I had to spend 90 minutes with them. In those 90 minutes, I attempted to teach them physics. They spent the first 10 of the 90 minutes in resisting to settling down. Once they settled down, they listened to my utterings for 20 minutes. They spent the next 45 minutes in interrupting the session with requests to go outside and play. By this time, I usually gave up and sat down on my chair with my head resting on my palms. I felt glad when the year ended. I thought I would never have to stand in front of them and lecture. But the world had other plans.

I protested "I don't want to talk to them. As a matter of fact, I want to take off on that day". I got a stare and "no way" in response. I persisted "but I have nothing good to say about them. I don't want to lie. It will be obvious that I am lying". "Why don't you talk to them about your days at the college? It might help them." I liked the idea. I don't mean the helping them part but talking about my college days. I have never talked or written about those day and it was time I thought about it a bit.

In preparation for the talk, I opened the laptop and started writing the following.

Once again, I find myself standing in front of you.

A few decades back, I too was at the same spot as you. The years that followed in many ways defined me as I went through experiences that have added to my understanding of life. 

The aspiration of getting into a premier institute was something my parents had. But I was sure I won’t. During those days, I spent many evenings standing by the gate waiting for a telegram with the news of my admission into another institute. That telegram never came. Over the next few weeks, my self esteem hit an all time low. I still remember the evening when I walked back home from college crying. But then, the three years I spent in a city college changed me. I started working hard at what I had gotten into and working hard has remained with me since.

For a long time, I blamed physics for being the reason for my not getting into that premier institute. I did not like the subject. I knew how to score marks in physics but I did not understand it. Ironically, I ended up doing bachelor’s in physics at the city college I attended. During the three years, my opinion of the subject did not change. I thought I had seen the last of physics in my life when I started my master’s in computer science. However, that journey did not end there.  Twenty-five years later, I found myself standing in front of twenty-eight students teaching that same subject – physics!  Interestingly, the last five years have made me realize that my not understanding the subject could only be attributed to me not trying to understand the subject. As a teacher, I could not afford to do what I could as a student. I had no choice but to learn and understand every concept I taught. I now realize that the problem was not with the subject or the teachers but with my own thinking. This learning has given an insight into me as a person. 

I look back at those three years in college and realize that there are no good or bad occurrences in life. Events happen and we decide whether they are good or bad. My not getting into the premier institute was just an event. It gave way to my life at the city college where I made friends who have stayed with me till now. I have done things that I never thought I will, like controlling traffic at the Saidapet signal and providing siddha medicines at the Anna hospital. At the end of the three years, I realized that I could push myself to the limits, physically and mentally, if I had to. I also realized that one can be unsure about the future and yet feel happy. Most importantly, I realized that one cannot write off anything in life. Everything that one does or learns can come back to us later. So regardless of one’s own interest in a topic or a subject, it is good to be involved in it whole heartedly.

Another significant learning for me was when I got an experience of hostel life after my 20th year. For the first three terms, I revelled in my new-found freedom. During the three months of the second semester, my friends and I went out and watched, on an average, three movies a week. In the third term, I got a D in an important course. That D turned out to be a wake up call for me. From then on, I decided that I would only spend time with my friends when I could. Work always got the priority it demanded. When you live away from home, no one observes your day-to-day activities. So, you have to observe and guide yourself. I needed a shock to realize this but I could have missed the shock among the many diversions that living by yourself offers. 

I feel the coming years will be far more exciting and eventful for all of you than the past years. I hope all of you pause from time to time and look back at the events of preceding days or weeks or months. Take care of yourselves and have fun. I wish you all the very best.

Diary of a madman: February 2022

The rubber band that I held between the index and middle finger of my right hand brought in a thought. Can marriages be made stronger if gold rings are replaced with rubber rings? Gold is hard. To get it into a shape of one's choice, one has to put it through fire and hammer. On the other hand, the application of a light force changes the shape of a rubber band. Isn't flexibility the key for longevity of marriages. Rubber bands possess flexibility in ample quantities. So, people should throw away those gold rings and get some rubber bands. Let the thought of littering not worry you when you throw away the gold rings. I will take care of collecting the gold rings and disposing them efficiently.

I don't like to sit through meetings. I used to start meddling with my mobile when the meeting got tiresome. But now, I have been able to control my urge to … No! That's not true. Now, I have no choice but to keep my mobile away during meetings. But I am allowed to keep a notebook and pen with me. So I indulge in poetry when a meeting gets tiresome. The following lines emerged during one such tiresome moment.

To travel to the moon

One has to start from the earth

Getting out of the planet is a challenge

What with the planet grabbing you

And pulling you down to it

But if you let a rocket

Push out fire and smoke

From its hot butt

You might be able to get off 

So, I let the rocket

That contained me

Push fire and smoke

From its fiery bottom

Sure enough

We started our journey heavenwards

As the rocket and I got to the atmosphere's edge

I started chanting 

"Escape, escape, escape, escape"

My humble attempt at encouraging

The Rocket to achieve its escape velocity

As it fought the gravitational force

It shuddered and struggled

My worried mind turned spiritual and prayed

I was worried by the possibility

Of the rocket breaking into bits

Too small for even bacteria to byte into

But today was not that day

For the force was with me

We were now floating through space

The rocket and I were now

En route to the Moon

The car sped towards the school. Queensryche's Operation Mindcrime gave us good company. Suddenly, I heard my son laugh. I asked "what?" He said "this is a good song to play today." I did not understand his words. Once again, I asked "what" but this time I followed it with a "why". He responded "Today's Valentine's day but listen to the lyrics of song." I did not fail to notice the sarcasm that laced his words. I listened to Geoff Tate sing and wail passionately for a few minutes before he came back to the lines under the scanner.

I don't believe in love

I never have, I never will

I don't believe in love

It's never worth the pain that you feel

He asked if I had planned this occurrence. I assured him that it was only a coincidence.

Later, as I was having my breakfast, I was shocked to find two small blobs of pongal fly past my ears. They fell on the table close to my plate. I looked up and saw the boy who possessed the name of an ancient sage walk by. He was walking towards the wash area of the dining hall. The plate he had used to have the breakfast was swinging in his left hand. I called out his name but he did not respond. The boy was lost in his thoughts and there was no point in trying to drag him out of his train of thought. Later that day, I was walking through the campus when I found the same boy walking with another boy towards me. He was deeply involved in a monologue and the other boy shook his head at intervals. As I approached the duo I was distracted by a noise. It turned out to be the noise made by a geometry box striking the ground. When I turned my attention back to the way ahead, I found the boy with the sage's name directly in front of me. I was only a few feet away from crashing into him. He was oblivious of my existence and continued his monologue with the other boy. To avoid an embarrassing situation, I jumped out of the way. The boy took no notice of me as he walked past me. I patted on my body to ensure that I had not become a blade of grass. I stared at the receding figures of the two boys for a few seconds before shaking my head and moving on.

The busy weekend arrived finally. Unlike the other busy weekends, the busy-ness of weekends was not related to business. So, I looked forward to it. But work had the nasty habit of getting into one's life uninvited. So, a few hours of my Saturday evening was snatched by Excel sheets. Early next morning, I converted the sheets into a pdf file and sent it to the person who controlled the official id of the organization. Usually, I would send her through WhatsApp that I had sent her a mail that she had to send out through the official id. But that day was not for work and so I forgot to ping her on WhatsApp. The day passed pleasantly. I forgot to carry my laptop and as a result I had to limit work to typing out a few lines on Google Keep on my mobile. I got back home at 7 PM and at 7:30 PM I realized that I had not informed my colleague about the mail. I called her. She said she was outside the whole day and had not checked the mail. I requested her to send the mail and ended the call. Two minutes later, she called back and said "Thanks for calling. I was stuck with an who has been talking non-stop for the last 15 minutes. Usually, my mother-in-law comes to my rescue but today even she did not come to help. Your official call turned out to be a good reason for me to leave. I will send out the mail in five minutes".

2/2/22, 22:24: Missed the momentous minute of the century by 2 minutes. My son tells me that the minute was truly momentous as 2/2/22 is a 2sday.

The history teacher was talking about the wonders of Mahabalipuram. He started off by saying that the place should not be referred to as Mahabalipuram but should be called Mamallapuram. He was talking about one of the kings, Narasimhavarman II, who contributed greatly to the construction of the structures in Mamallapuram. The teacher said that Narasimhavarman II was also known by the name Raja Simha. He went on to translate this name to English "Raja stands for king and Simha means Lion". Almost immediately one of the voices from the class quipped "Oh! Lion King".

I rolled a piece of idli in the sambar on my plate and placed it on my tongue. I did not feel entirely satisfied with the taste of the combination. I attempted to distract myself by looking around. At the far end of the room, I saw three girls walking towards a table holding their plates of idle and sambar in their hand. As they passed a window, their silhouette reminded me of a scene from my past. I searched the alleys of my memory to identify it. I found it in a few seconds. It was the scene from Lion King wherein Simba, Timon and Pumbaa walked with the moon behind them singing "Hakuna Matata".

I am obsessed with King Buffalo's The Burden of Restlessness. Every morning, I wake up wishing I had slept for a few more hours. Only a spin of the album helps settle my nerves for the day. I spend the rest of the day humming the tunes. The album is definitely one of the best I have heard in a long time. The song structures are great. The musicianship is trance-worthy. The lyrics stay in my head long after I have stopped listening to the song. The brilliant opener 'Burning' has the lines.

Another year lost in the wasteland

Another day drowns in dust

Another one dead in the wasteland

Those lines could describe almost anyone's life, especially those who have crossed the golden age of thirty. The next song, Hebatation, contains another set of inspiring line.

25 and all I find are clever ways to hide

Every night I dream a million different ways for me to die

Every night I close my eyes

I lie awake and try to pacify a listless mind

Nothing's changed at 35

Still every night I dream a million different ways for me to die

She sat on the other side of the table looking at her mobile. As is the case with smart phone users, her index finger moved up and down the screen. Suddenly she looked up and asked "Does this Feb have 28 days?" I did not understand her question and could only respond "What?" She repeated her question "Does this February have 28 days?" I felt confused and stuttered "Doesn't all the Februaries have 28 days?" It was her turn to be confused. She stared at me for a moment before going back to meddling with her phone. 

As I write these lines, a colleague walks in announcing loudly "Basheer says that time is only in Allah's hands". I had a clever response which could not escape the tip of my tongue as another colleague on a call sush-ed us menacingly. Now I have no choice but to write those words here.

Basheer says that time is only in Allah's hands

Maybe true but I don't agree completely

For I believe that time is only in our hands

Especially when one wears a wrist watch

I heard someone say that someone else wanted to learn the violin. I was never interested in learning to play the violin for I prefer peace and would like to maintain a good distance from violins.

She intended to meddle with the fiddle

The thought struck her the day she bought a kettle

And placed it on the burner to check its mettle

When the water was hot enough, bubble rose in its middle

That's when she announced "I shall buy a fiddle

And fiddle with it a little"

So she ran to the shop with a golden apple

The fiddle seller fingered the apple and let out a whistle

He inquired "Where did you find this fine sample" 

She ignored him. Instead, picked a fiddle and asked "Is this brittle?"

"No, no! Its fit as a fiddle".

"Obviously! Is this not a fiddle?"

"Obviously! It is a fiddle. A fiddle that is fit as a fiddle."

She walked out of the shop with the fiddle.

Leaving the shopkeeper inspecting the golden apple.

She let the sun shine of the fiddle

And wondered "Will playing a fiddle be diffle?"

Sleep continues to elude me. I went to bed by 10:15 PM and slept almost immediately. When I woke up I was surrounded by darkness. I tried to go back to sleep but could not. I got up and checked the time. It was 1 AM. I felt frustration shoot through me. I had only slept for two and a half hours. I went back to bed and tried to go to sleep. At 4 AM, I gave up. I got up, put on my headphone and started listening to 'The Burden of Restlessness'. An hour later, I sat in front of the laptop. I have plenty of shit to work on and these lines to write.

I hate the ringing of my mobile phone. It startles me off my train of thoughts and at most times, I don't even know the caller. I find it difficult to converse with people I know over the phone. So, why would I even bother to accept calls from unknown persons? Truecaller's identification of the caller has helped me decide if I should pick a call or not. It announces the name of the caller and most times, the name is announced in a red box with the helpful words 'spam' or 'junk' written underneath. So, I keep my mobile on silent and let Truecaller inform me who the caller is when I switch on the phone, which happens once every 3.5 minutes.

Last evening, I missed a call from a person whose name was within the Truecaller blue box. So I realized it might not be a spam caller. The name seemed to have been picked from the person's Aadhar card. It had a first name and last name too. The first name was a long one and the second was even longer. The first name gave away the person's ethnicity and the second sealed it. I realized that this could be a call from one of those distant relatives who suddenly realizing my existence would call me. I wondered if I should call him back but decided not to. Calls from distant relatives were problematic. I would have probably met them twice a few decades back and yet they would expect me to remember them. I would have found it difficult to recognize them visually; recognizing their voice heard from a mobile phone was impossible. During such call I end up spending the first few minutes of the call trying to decipher the owner of the voice at the other end. Sometimes they drop in a clue but there have been a few instances when I have gone through a whole five minute call without identifying the person. So I decided to not call back.

An hour later, I realized the person had called me back. Now, I had no choice but to call him back. The person answered the call. The next 30 seconds were spent in both of us saying "hello", "can you hear me?" and "yes, I can hear you".  Finally, when both of us settled on the code 'yes, I can hear you' he continued by introducing himself. His name was the same as the one Truecaller displayed. He continued by saying that he is from my hometown. Immediately, I searched the names database in my head for the name. I found fifteen matches. The name was a favorite for Malayelees. I had no choice but to say "Oh! Is it?" Though I had no idea what my response meant, he was satisfied by it and continued. "I saw you at your workplace and thought you look like _______ etta. I checked and found that your last name is etta's name. So, I got your number." I did not know how to respond and so said "Oh! Is it?" As I have aged, I have started looking like my father. This has become a big discomfort for the following reason. I have an image of my father but my actions at most times does not fit into that image. So I find it odd when I see someone who looks like my father behaving like me, especially when I see my video feed  during Google Meet and Zoom calls. This incident has taken this similarity from the disturbing level to the eerie level. People are able to track me just by looking at me. I think I have to visit a plastic surgeon.

P-u-f-f-y is not pronounced puppy!

It must have rained cats and dogs the previous night. The puppies that fell from the heaven occupied every part of the road. When I say occupied, I don't mean they stood still in a place. Puppies are not cows and so they ran continuously across and besides the road. This made driving difficult. I would see a puppy running across the road and estimate its path of motion based on its current position and direction of motion. To avoid running over the puppy, I would gradually change the car's direction away from the puppy's estimated path. At that moment, a voice inside the puppy's head would announce "Hey, turn around. Go back to the starting point". The puppy being an obedient creature, would promptly turn around and run back. As a result, I would realize that the puppy's path would end under the right front wheel of my car. Out of desperation, I would be forced to swerve the car away. Most times, I was lucky not to cause an accident or run over the puppy in the process. 

Such situations made me realize the positive aspects of the cow's placid nature. Like the puppies, cows too occupied every part of the road but unlike the puppies they did not run around. As a matter of fact, they did not even budge any muscle other than the one around their mouth and tail. When a vehicle approached them, they stood on their designated spots and stared at the headlights of the approaching vehicles. Cows loved the light coming out the headlights of the vehicles. In the mornings, they stared at the front of the vehicles and thought "Show me some light. Show me some light man." in a loop. In the nights, they stared at the lights and thought "I love the lights. I love the lights man." in a loop. They stood in this manner till the vehicle stopped a few centimetres from them. They then eagerly waited for the sound of the horn. As soon as they heard the car singing 'beep, beep, beep, beep', they slowly danced away from the spot. Though the slowness of the cow was maddening, I preferred it to the random motion of the puppies. 

Suddenly, my attention was diverted to a realization. If it had rained cats and dogs on the previous night, where were the kittens. I only saw puppies and dogs; cats and kittens were nowhere in sight. I had heard that cats, like vampires, did not like sunlight. Maybe they were lying hiding from the sun in some shady spot. My thoughts on cats and dogs were rudely interrupted by a yelp that seemed to come from below me. My heart skipped a beat and I slammed the brakes. I got out of the car and looked under it to find a small brown and white puppy looking at me wide eyed. It gave out a shrill yelp when it saw me. The sight did not twang a string inside me. I shouted at the puppy "don't you dare give me that look. You are the one who ran across the road irresponsibly. Hey! Don't yelp at me. Come out of there now". The puppy seemed to have understood every word I said. It limped out from under the car and stopped in front of me. It looked up at me with sadness dripping from its eyes. Guilt and sadness clouded every part of my rational brain.

 

I made the biggest mistake of my life - I picked up the puppy. It wagged its tails and licked my palm. At that moment, I should have realized that dogs and their little ones were one of the most manipulative creatures on the planet. But I did not. I heard someone say "Awww!" in the head. I got into the car with the puppy in my hand. It was then that rationalism fought its way through the aw-ness. I realized I can't take the puppy home. I did not possess the puppy-loving material within me. I can never take care of this fellow. I opened the door and was about to drop the puppy on the road, when it looked at me and said "Eeeeeee hooooo ooooooo eeeeeee eeeeeeee ooooooo". As the sounds travelled to my head, they transmogrified into "will you do it? Please don't". I was shocked. Questions crowded inside my head - did it talk or was that only a series of yelps, am I going nuts or is this a special pup, what do i do now? 

I decided to keep the puppy. I turned the car around and drove back home. As soon as I reached home, I rang my boss. As he picked the call, I faked two or three coughs. He asked in a concerned voice "What happened? Are you okay?" I responded "I have severe body pain and high fever". My boss quipped in helpfully "... and cough too". I humoured him with another couple of coughs before agreeing with him. I continued "I will take off today". My boss quickly jumped in "No no! Please take off the week. Take a test and come back next week only." I protested "It's ok boss. I will be okay tomorrow. I will be in office tomorrow." But my boss was vehement "Stay at home for the next week, ten days if required". I let out a sigh and agreed half heartedly.

I cut the call and looked at the puppy with a smile. "So we get a week off little fellow. Let us see what we can do in this week." The puppy wagged its tail and licked my palm. I took the puppy into the bathroom and gave it a wash. It did not appreciate the process of getting clean and protested through yelp and shrill barks. At the end of the bath, I gave it some biscuits and milk. As I watched the puppy gobbling the food, I felt affection flowing through and around me. Soon, I realized I had to name it. "What shall I name you, puppy?" The puppy ignored my words and continued to eat. "Shall I call you Tommy?" The puppy looked up at me when it heard the name 'Tommy'. I remembered reading in a science magazine that the sound corresponding to 'Tommy' had been etched in the dog's DNA. As a result, one can call any dog ' Tommy' for it to respond. But I did not like the name and decided to look out for another one. I picked up the puppy to determine its gender. The puppy did not like being separated from its food and protested loudly. "Oh! You are a girl. So I can't call you Tommy anyway. How about Lucy or Susy? No. I should probably give you an Indian name. Hmmmmm! How about Savitri? Oh no! Not Savitri. If Savitri Aunty gets to know of this, she will create a scene. Damn! I don't know what to call you".

At that moment, a thought struck me. Many years ago, my uncle brought a dog home. I don't remember much about the dog. I can't even remember if it was a boy or a girl. I only remember its name and the sight of it lying dead. The name that my family assigned to that dog gave me an idea. The dog had a plate for food. When the plate was empty, the dog created a racket by playing with the plate. On hearing the noise, the members of my family shouted "Why are you making this loda-loda sound?" Thus, the dog got its name, Loda-loda. Dog and pet lovers find the name insulting but I can't think of a better name for that dog. It was to the point. I decided to find one such name for the puppy on my palm. I started talking to the puppy with the seriousness the topic deserved "Hey! Look here." The puppy turned her attention towards me. I looked into her eyes and said "Today's the 20th of April. This being the day of our meeting I shall name you after this day. You being a dog I will add the letter 'D' at the beginning of your name. It gives me pleasure to name you D-420. There is a hyphen between the D and 420 but as its cumbersome to call you D hyphen four twenty, you will be called D four twenty." I repeated the name D420 a few times while pointing at her. She licked my finger and wagged her tail. I placed her on my lap and in a few minutes, she started sleeping. 

She slept till the evening and woke up as I was making coffee. She seemed to have followed the smell of the coffee to the kitchen. She gave a soft bark as she reached me. She licked my feet and looked up at me. I looked at her and said "D420! Do you want some coffee?" She looked at me confused. I continued "Maybe not! You are a Chennai-ite and you will only want filter coffee. Unfortunately, I drink filtered coffee and not filter coffee. So no coffee for you!" I don't think D420 liked what I said. She gave me a loud bark and ran away. 

That night I wondered where D420 would sleep. I placed a pillow besides my bed and placed D420 on it. I got a towel and covered her. The setup seemed comfortable to me but she did not like it. She got off the pillow, jumped onto the bed and waited for me to join her. I did not have a choice but to let D420 share my bed.

The week has passed since then. D420 has spent the week following me while I spent the time trying to make her life comfortable. At the end of the week, it seemed to me that we had known each other for a long time. I realized that it will be difficult for us to imagine a life without each other. 

But there is a problem!

I got a call an hour back from my boss. I did not remember to cough when I picked the call. He mentioned "Ah! You sound better." I was forced to agree with his observation. He continued "Good, good! We have that customer call coming up on Wednesday. So let us have a discussion on our plans first thing tomorrow morning, ok?" I responded "Sure!" through gritted teeth  He cut the call after saying "See you at 9".

As the reality of my situation sunk in, I called out to D420. She looked up at me expectantly. I informed her in a gentle tone "D420, I have to go to the office from tomorrow. Hope you will be able to take care of yourself and the house alone. I will leave by 8:30 in the morning and will be back by 6:30 in the evening. Is that okay?" She wagged her tail and responded "Woof".