I suffer from drunken SMS syndrome. A seriously debilitating disease that affects me almost every night. In the past my cellphone didn't support saving outgoing sms and so the next morning i was content with just reading the reaction to the chaos I had caused. My new cellphone is rather unforgiving that way. Like a graphite shaft 1 wood for a 200 yard shot instead of a metal shaft. You can now realize your mistake the instant you make it. And consequently live with it for the duration of the week.
Ususally, with my old phone, I would send out some nonsensical love essemmesses to women I just recently met and therefore screw up any chances of conjugal bliss. For that matter conjugation at all.
Now I can take corrective measures in the morning, when after a close scrutiny of the sent messages i can conjure up an alibi for the madness of the night before. Gettng dumped, losing a close uncle, (And believe me I have a lot of uncles to lose), being witness to the sight of my friend's dog become a roadkill, (I also have many friends), and my trump card, domestic violence and sexual abuse. I've actually gotten over the last two but it's a good card to flash when it's convenient.
The one good thing that comes of this affliction is that I have realized that I'm deep down a very deep person. I'm not superficial at all. Once drunk, I care for neither race nor religion, age or state of physical well being, economic disparity or beauty. I sms regardless of the fact that the woman I'm smsing is as old as my grandmother's nanny or the fact that she has a Saigon eye, a Normandy leg and a retractable clit. My emotions are not swayed by any of these factors.
It's only when the roosters come home to crow in the morning that I realize my folly and the magnitude of the blunder I've made.
Thursday, November 24, 2005
Monday, November 07, 2005
Last call for Alcohol
So you’ve gone and done it again
The Tequila told me so
I’d just dropped by for a stupor
When I came to know
When the Tequila was done talking
The Beers picked up the strain
The Whiskey chipped in with his deep baritone
And the Vodkas hummed the refrain
The Bourbon alone kept his peace
Perhaps he knew my plight
It’s been the friend of many a broken heart
Till the wee hours of the night
And soon the bar resounded with
The dashed deed you’d done
And I had no choice but to comply with
“Free Drinks for everyone”
The Tequila told me so
I’d just dropped by for a stupor
When I came to know
When the Tequila was done talking
The Beers picked up the strain
The Whiskey chipped in with his deep baritone
And the Vodkas hummed the refrain
The Bourbon alone kept his peace
Perhaps he knew my plight
It’s been the friend of many a broken heart
Till the wee hours of the night
And soon the bar resounded with
The dashed deed you’d done
And I had no choice but to comply with
“Free Drinks for everyone”
Monday, September 26, 2005
Thank God it's Friday
Aaah! the joys of travel. This weekend ended up being one of the most fullfiling ever. Funny I only noticed it when I sat down to write this blog. Maybe that's cos I'm still a part of it, though I'm back in office on a Monday morning. Hope it lasts.
I don't believe in Monday morning blues. Mondays can whizz past reminiscing about all the fun you had the previous day. A similar feeling can get you through tuesdays too. But come Wednesday, and you're bang in the middle of the week. Two days since your last fun binge and two days away from a fresh one. Life seems at it lowest on a wednesday morning.
But coming back to the weekend, I was off to Chennai. A last minute decision on friday evening found me running from pillar to post, looking for any means of getting me from Bangalore to Chennai, a distance of 360 Kilometers, as the crow flies.
YessBee travels came to my aid in the last minute. "Ess Saar" said the voice over the phone in a pronounced Malayalee accent. "Ve hawe jest one ticket left in the bus. Please come to Madivala by 10:30"
Madivala? That's beyond the back of beyond. It's one of those places you hear of, but never venture to. Like those vague horrible diseases you read about in the papers, but have never met anyone suffering from. Angiofollicular Lymphoid Hyperplasia, Lymphohistiocytosis, Hemophagocytic, Ramsay Hunt Auricular Syndrome. There are thousands more where that came from. A list of unending disorders and condition ranging from the unpronounceable to the unmentionable. Madivala's like that. Everyone can tell you where it is. But few have ventured there.
Anyway, since there was no time to dilly dally, I pack my backpack and look for an autorickshaw that will take me to Madivala.
You haven't felt rejection until you’ve been rejected by a Bangalore rickshaw driver. Nothing prepares you for the absolute rejection that he’s about to mete out to you.
Women might give you a reason for rejecting you, people at interviews may hem and haw but come up with an excuse, friends may try and put it to you gently. And thought you’ve been through “But we can be friends”, “Sorry but we think you’re overqualified for the job”, “Sorry dude, I’ve got to take my girlfriend to the movie” and “No! you may not borrow my car.”, nothing prepares you for the Bangalore rickshaw wallah.
You stand on the road and motion for a rickshaw to stop. One veers out of the traffic at the last moment, nearly missing the cyclist who now swears at him. He pulls over, next to you and cocks his head in your direction, all the while never once looking you in the eye.
You step up and say “Madiwala?” Suddenly the gear is engaged and the throttle pulled and the rickshaw peels off and joins the traffic, while you are left standing there wondering if you said something wrong. You’ve just been rejected. And that’s just the beginning. You invariably have to go through half a dozen of them before you finally find one who’s willing to take you. By that time, you are humbled. You meekly climb into the rickshaw, licking your emotional wounds and scheme at how to get back at him. Should you not tip him at all. Naw! Too cheap. How about overtipping him. That may make him a little less harder on the next unsuspecting traveler. So for the sake of mankind, you dig deep into your pocket and generously tip him. As you walk away, you turn back to see the look of surprise on his face. You expect him to look at you the way the children of Israel looked to Moses as he parted the Red Sea.
But you’re rejected again. He just pockets the change and drives off. The rejection is now complete.
Now that I have reached Madivala, I think I can rest easy. 'Have no fear YessBee is here!' I settle down with my ticket and wait for my iron steed to arrive. 2 hours later, I’m still waiting.
When finally the bus arrives, I’m told that my ticket was a temporary ticket, and I was supposed to get it confirmed at the booking office. But now it’s 12 a.m. and the office is shut. 200 bucks later, I have in my hands a confirmed ticket.
Completely exhausted, I climb into my bus seat and settle down. I shall be in Chennai at 7 in the morning. I think I life’s shown me all his cards. There are no more surprises left. The game has ended.
Just then life plays his last card. It come in the form of an extremely plump man whose ticket entitles him to sit on the same seat that my ticket entitles me to sit on.
What follows is a melee of sorts. An extremely agitated fat man with a high pitched voice trying to drown out the voice of a thin squat conductor with a voice like he has a couple of frogs mating in his throat.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m on the bus. This time in the cramped seat right in the back. I lean my head on my bag and turn the AC vent towards myself.
It’s going to be a very, very, very long night.
I don't believe in Monday morning blues. Mondays can whizz past reminiscing about all the fun you had the previous day. A similar feeling can get you through tuesdays too. But come Wednesday, and you're bang in the middle of the week. Two days since your last fun binge and two days away from a fresh one. Life seems at it lowest on a wednesday morning.
But coming back to the weekend, I was off to Chennai. A last minute decision on friday evening found me running from pillar to post, looking for any means of getting me from Bangalore to Chennai, a distance of 360 Kilometers, as the crow flies.
YessBee travels came to my aid in the last minute. "Ess Saar" said the voice over the phone in a pronounced Malayalee accent. "Ve hawe jest one ticket left in the bus. Please come to Madivala by 10:30"
Madivala? That's beyond the back of beyond. It's one of those places you hear of, but never venture to. Like those vague horrible diseases you read about in the papers, but have never met anyone suffering from. Angiofollicular Lymphoid Hyperplasia, Lymphohistiocytosis, Hemophagocytic, Ramsay Hunt Auricular Syndrome. There are thousands more where that came from. A list of unending disorders and condition ranging from the unpronounceable to the unmentionable. Madivala's like that. Everyone can tell you where it is. But few have ventured there.
Anyway, since there was no time to dilly dally, I pack my backpack and look for an autorickshaw that will take me to Madivala.
You haven't felt rejection until you’ve been rejected by a Bangalore rickshaw driver. Nothing prepares you for the absolute rejection that he’s about to mete out to you.
Women might give you a reason for rejecting you, people at interviews may hem and haw but come up with an excuse, friends may try and put it to you gently. And thought you’ve been through “But we can be friends”, “Sorry but we think you’re overqualified for the job”, “Sorry dude, I’ve got to take my girlfriend to the movie” and “No! you may not borrow my car.”, nothing prepares you for the Bangalore rickshaw wallah.
You stand on the road and motion for a rickshaw to stop. One veers out of the traffic at the last moment, nearly missing the cyclist who now swears at him. He pulls over, next to you and cocks his head in your direction, all the while never once looking you in the eye.
You step up and say “Madiwala?” Suddenly the gear is engaged and the throttle pulled and the rickshaw peels off and joins the traffic, while you are left standing there wondering if you said something wrong. You’ve just been rejected. And that’s just the beginning. You invariably have to go through half a dozen of them before you finally find one who’s willing to take you. By that time, you are humbled. You meekly climb into the rickshaw, licking your emotional wounds and scheme at how to get back at him. Should you not tip him at all. Naw! Too cheap. How about overtipping him. That may make him a little less harder on the next unsuspecting traveler. So for the sake of mankind, you dig deep into your pocket and generously tip him. As you walk away, you turn back to see the look of surprise on his face. You expect him to look at you the way the children of Israel looked to Moses as he parted the Red Sea.
But you’re rejected again. He just pockets the change and drives off. The rejection is now complete.
Now that I have reached Madivala, I think I can rest easy. 'Have no fear YessBee is here!' I settle down with my ticket and wait for my iron steed to arrive. 2 hours later, I’m still waiting.
When finally the bus arrives, I’m told that my ticket was a temporary ticket, and I was supposed to get it confirmed at the booking office. But now it’s 12 a.m. and the office is shut. 200 bucks later, I have in my hands a confirmed ticket.
Completely exhausted, I climb into my bus seat and settle down. I shall be in Chennai at 7 in the morning. I think I life’s shown me all his cards. There are no more surprises left. The game has ended.
Just then life plays his last card. It come in the form of an extremely plump man whose ticket entitles him to sit on the same seat that my ticket entitles me to sit on.
What follows is a melee of sorts. An extremely agitated fat man with a high pitched voice trying to drown out the voice of a thin squat conductor with a voice like he has a couple of frogs mating in his throat.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m on the bus. This time in the cramped seat right in the back. I lean my head on my bag and turn the AC vent towards myself.
It’s going to be a very, very, very long night.
Friday, September 23, 2005
The remains of the day
I just cleaned out my backpack and was amused at what I found there. Here's a list of what all was there:
- Swiss Army knife
- Spare duracell batteries
- Durex Ultras thin condom
- Boarding pass of an Indian Airlines ticket to Chennai
- Receipt of 4 chocolates and a book bought at the airport
- Silica Gel pouch from my camera bag
- A AddGel pen cap
- Some spare change
- A packet of 'Chutki' mouth freshener
- Airline sweets
- A toothpick from the 'Golden Dragon'
- a piece of bark I picked up at 'Naukuchiatal'
- Pebbles from Manali
Wonder what that says about me and my travels?
- Swiss Army knife
- Spare duracell batteries
- Durex Ultras thin condom
- Boarding pass of an Indian Airlines ticket to Chennai
- Receipt of 4 chocolates and a book bought at the airport
- Silica Gel pouch from my camera bag
- A AddGel pen cap
- Some spare change
- A packet of 'Chutki' mouth freshener
- Airline sweets
- A toothpick from the 'Golden Dragon'
- a piece of bark I picked up at 'Naukuchiatal'
- Pebbles from Manali
Wonder what that says about me and my travels?
Monday, September 19, 2005
Gone to Oktober....
I'm going to Ammmmmmsssssssttttttteeeeeerrrrrrr DAMN. Damn that feels good. First it's Frankfurt, then the Hague and then AAAAmmmmsssttteeerrrr DAMMMMMMNN. Pity I couldn't leave earlier. I would have loved to be in Germany during the Oktoberfest. But guess you should count your blessing and not ask for too much.
Nordic and slavic blond chicks, lots of good beer, hash bars, great nightlife. Could a man ask for more. I'm in seventh heaven already. I hope my visa works out thought. The fact that I'm Indian and single doesn't help much. But there's no harm in trying anyway.
Please wish me all the luck. God knows I need every bit.
Nordic and slavic blond chicks, lots of good beer, hash bars, great nightlife. Could a man ask for more. I'm in seventh heaven already. I hope my visa works out thought. The fact that I'm Indian and single doesn't help much. But there's no harm in trying anyway.
Please wish me all the luck. God knows I need every bit.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
A tale of three tales
I just noticed that reading three short stories at one stretch tires me more than reading half a novel. I think it has something to do with the range of emotions you traverse across in three short stories. How else would you explain the feeling of fatigue after reading 3 stories consisting of 12-15 pages each, while I have sometimes read as many as a 100 pages of a novel without feeling a thing.
I was reading a book of short stories by Jack London.Three stories down, I was emotionally exhausted. I had gone from happiness to excitement, to dejection, to elation all within the 12 pages of one story. Three stories later, I lay spent. It was almost as if I lived the life of the characters I had read about.
What else could it be. I consider myself pretty emotionally strong. I have weathered storms that would make a lesser man shrivel up and die. Physical abuse, mental torment, battery and assault. Peer pressure, I've sailed through all of them and emerged unscathed. But three short stories have humbled me.
Is another's burden heavier than one's own. Or is the time factor to be blamed.
While reading a short story, in 15 minutes, you relive all the emotions that the character did in a month. So the effect on you is more profound.
Is that it? Are short stories a more powerful medium than 600 page epic novels?
I was reading a book of short stories by Jack London.Three stories down, I was emotionally exhausted. I had gone from happiness to excitement, to dejection, to elation all within the 12 pages of one story. Three stories later, I lay spent. It was almost as if I lived the life of the characters I had read about.
What else could it be. I consider myself pretty emotionally strong. I have weathered storms that would make a lesser man shrivel up and die. Physical abuse, mental torment, battery and assault. Peer pressure, I've sailed through all of them and emerged unscathed. But three short stories have humbled me.
Is another's burden heavier than one's own. Or is the time factor to be blamed.
While reading a short story, in 15 minutes, you relive all the emotions that the character did in a month. So the effect on you is more profound.
Is that it? Are short stories a more powerful medium than 600 page epic novels?
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
The Agency song
The deadline cometh, and I'm not yet done.
It's going to be curtains, for everyone.
I can feel butterflies, in my pit.
The shit'll hit the fan, and I'll be rolling in it.
The Art guy casts, a longing glance,
Hoping that there might, still be a chance.
That I shall, the campaign crack.
And get servicing, off his back.
But his prayers, have been in vain.
And I'm beginning, to feel the strain.
My nerves are shot, my brain's turned to jelly
And there's a funny feeling, in my belly.
My sphincter seems, to have lost control.
And my stomach's doing, a triple jump roll.
My doom it seems, is imminent.
My star is definitely in descent.
But just when you think, disaster is nigh.
There appears a light, in the sky.
Coeus, it seems, has heard my prayer.
And delivered me, from my despair.
The deadline now, has come to pass.
And I have just barely saved my arse.
But a new deadline shall come again,
And I shall write yet another refrain.
About the nature of the job I’ve come to love,
And the divine intervention from up above.
And the hundred deaths I die each day,
Just to sell come ‘Frito Lays.’
It's going to be curtains, for everyone.
I can feel butterflies, in my pit.
The shit'll hit the fan, and I'll be rolling in it.
The Art guy casts, a longing glance,
Hoping that there might, still be a chance.
That I shall, the campaign crack.
And get servicing, off his back.
But his prayers, have been in vain.
And I'm beginning, to feel the strain.
My nerves are shot, my brain's turned to jelly
And there's a funny feeling, in my belly.
My sphincter seems, to have lost control.
And my stomach's doing, a triple jump roll.
My doom it seems, is imminent.
My star is definitely in descent.
But just when you think, disaster is nigh.
There appears a light, in the sky.
Coeus, it seems, has heard my prayer.
And delivered me, from my despair.
The deadline now, has come to pass.
And I have just barely saved my arse.
But a new deadline shall come again,
And I shall write yet another refrain.
About the nature of the job I’ve come to love,
And the divine intervention from up above.
And the hundred deaths I die each day,
Just to sell come ‘Frito Lays.’
Monday, September 05, 2005
Gin soaked boy
I'm the darkness in the light
I'm the leftness in the right
I'm the rightness in the wrong
I'm the shortness in the long
I'm the goodness in the bad
I'm the saneness in the mad
I'm the sadness in the joy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the ghost in the machine
I'm the genius in the gene
I'm the beauty in the beast
I'm the sunset in the east
I'm the ruby in the dust
I'm the trust in the mistrust
I'm the trojan horse in troy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the tiger's empty cage
I'm the mystery's final page
I'm the stranger's lonely glance
I'm the hero's only chance
I'm the undiscovered land
I'm the single grain of sand
I'm the christmas morning toy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the world you'll never see
I'm the slave you'll never free
I'm the truth you'll never know
I'm the place you'll never go
I'm the sound you'll never hear
I'm the course you'll never steer
I'm the will you'll not destroy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the half-truth in the lie
I'm the why not in the why
I'm the last roll of the die
I'm the old school in the tie
I'm the spirit in the sky
I'm the catcher in the rye
I'm the twinkle in her eye
I'm the jeff goldblum in "the fly"
Who am i?
I'm the leftness in the right
I'm the rightness in the wrong
I'm the shortness in the long
I'm the goodness in the bad
I'm the saneness in the mad
I'm the sadness in the joy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the ghost in the machine
I'm the genius in the gene
I'm the beauty in the beast
I'm the sunset in the east
I'm the ruby in the dust
I'm the trust in the mistrust
I'm the trojan horse in troy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the tiger's empty cage
I'm the mystery's final page
I'm the stranger's lonely glance
I'm the hero's only chance
I'm the undiscovered land
I'm the single grain of sand
I'm the christmas morning toy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the world you'll never see
I'm the slave you'll never free
I'm the truth you'll never know
I'm the place you'll never go
I'm the sound you'll never hear
I'm the course you'll never steer
I'm the will you'll not destroy
I'm the gin in the gin-soaked boy
I'm the half-truth in the lie
I'm the why not in the why
I'm the last roll of the die
I'm the old school in the tie
I'm the spirit in the sky
I'm the catcher in the rye
I'm the twinkle in her eye
I'm the jeff goldblum in "the fly"
Who am i?
Sunday, September 04, 2005
The Lowe song
Found an old poem I wrote, back when I was a trainee copywriter with Lowe Lintas, Delhi. Back when I was paid peanuts and worked like a donkey. I captured my helplessness in this poem one night while chasing a deadline at 5 in the morning after 4 days of constant work. I then went and made numerous copies and pasted it on everybody's tables as an act of retribution. It worked, and I finally got 2 days off. Finding it after 5 years, this feeling of nostalgia washes over me. I wanted to share it with whoever's interested.
The Lowe Lintas Song (The company name has now changed to Lowe)
Abide with me Lowe, comes the big deadline.
Client Servicing threatens, Lowe with me abide.
Media planning fucks up, and all the CDs flee.
Help of the helpless Oh! Abide with me
I need thy presence, every passing hour.
what but thy grace can foil the clients power.
Who like thyself my guide and stay can be,
through brief and deadline, Oh abide with me.
I fear no foe with thee at hands to bless,
BILT has no weight, eGurucool no bittterness,
Where Parker's sting where Nestle's Fruit-tips three.
Help of the hopeless, Oh! Abide with me.
The Lowe Lintas Song (The company name has now changed to Lowe)
Abide with me Lowe, comes the big deadline.
Client Servicing threatens, Lowe with me abide.
Media planning fucks up, and all the CDs flee.
Help of the helpless Oh! Abide with me
I need thy presence, every passing hour.
what but thy grace can foil the clients power.
Who like thyself my guide and stay can be,
through brief and deadline, Oh abide with me.
I fear no foe with thee at hands to bless,
BILT has no weight, eGurucool no bittterness,
Where Parker's sting where Nestle's Fruit-tips three.
Help of the hopeless, Oh! Abide with me.
'Men at work' rocks.
Who can it be knocking at my door?
Go 'way, don't come 'round here no more.
Can't you see that it's late at night?
I'm very tired, and I'm not feeling right.
All I wish is to be alone;
Stay away, don't you invade my home.
Best off if you hang outside,
Don't come in - I'll only run and hide.
Who can it be knocking at my door?
Make no sound, tip-toe across the floor.
If he hears, he'll knock all day,
I'll be trapped, and here I'll have to stay.
I've done no harm, I keep to myself;
There's nothing wrong with my state of mental health.
I like it here with my childhood friend;
Here they come, those feelings again!
Go 'way, don't come 'round here no more.
Can't you see that it's late at night?
I'm very tired, and I'm not feeling right.
All I wish is to be alone;
Stay away, don't you invade my home.
Best off if you hang outside,
Don't come in - I'll only run and hide.
Who can it be knocking at my door?
Make no sound, tip-toe across the floor.
If he hears, he'll knock all day,
I'll be trapped, and here I'll have to stay.
I've done no harm, I keep to myself;
There's nothing wrong with my state of mental health.
I like it here with my childhood friend;
Here they come, those feelings again!
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
In love with love
That's my problem. For that matter, that's the problem with my kind. You stay in love with love long after it's left the building. Long after the war is over, the battles lost and the colours burnt. You remain in love with the feeling of being in love.
And then you look for it in all the wrong places. Places where people like you don't usually hang out. And then you meet someone entirely alien. But you want to believe that you're like each other. And so you launch yourself into another love story, making believe that you love her. But it's not her. It's love.
You realize your folly too late. Many ugly scenes, jealousies and insecurities later. And once again you find yourself on the footpath on the road to hell.
Sad but true.
And then you look for it in all the wrong places. Places where people like you don't usually hang out. And then you meet someone entirely alien. But you want to believe that you're like each other. And so you launch yourself into another love story, making believe that you love her. But it's not her. It's love.
You realize your folly too late. Many ugly scenes, jealousies and insecurities later. And once again you find yourself on the footpath on the road to hell.
Sad but true.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Jack Daniel song
The bottle it’s empty
The whiskey it's gone
But my head is full
And my heart is torn
You see love and whiskey
they’re both the same
Too much of either
and you’ll feel the pain
A bellyful’s too much
A thimble too little
But the thirst’s still building
And the resolve is brittle
It’s time to call it quits
t’s time to throw in the towel
So roll over my darlin’
and pour me a double
Cos life is just
too hard to please
Leaves you beggin
on your knees
And love’s just
an unkempt whore
Do what you want
and settle the score
For at the end my friend
there’s aught you’ll get
Not a clap on the back,
not a pat on the head
Just Six feet of wood
a bunch of rusty nails
And a handful of dust
to cover your trail.
The whiskey it's gone
But my head is full
And my heart is torn
You see love and whiskey
they’re both the same
Too much of either
and you’ll feel the pain
A bellyful’s too much
A thimble too little
But the thirst’s still building
And the resolve is brittle
It’s time to call it quits
t’s time to throw in the towel
So roll over my darlin’
and pour me a double
Cos life is just
too hard to please
Leaves you beggin
on your knees
And love’s just
an unkempt whore
Do what you want
and settle the score
For at the end my friend
there’s aught you’ll get
Not a clap on the back,
not a pat on the head
Just Six feet of wood
a bunch of rusty nails
And a handful of dust
to cover your trail.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
The art of Giving
I have realized that it is infinitely easier to be kind to a stranger, than to one you already know. Charity in the case of the latter, has to start where you left off the last time. Whereas the former is unencumbered by your past history of kindnesses.
Random acts of charity earn you more blessings, happiness and satisfaction than a regular charitable habit.
Take for instance a beggar on the street. If you were to walk up to one and give him a 50 Re note, he would first look at the note in incredulity and then at you in reverence. You would be vaulted straight to the top of his charts, possibly next to the maker himself. A 100 Re note would hopefully swing the balance in your favour and ensure that you emerge 'Numero Uno'.
In scenario 2, let us assume that you've been in the habit of endowing a certain beggar with a certain amount of money everyday. An increase in his daily kindness will have to be of geometric proportions, to register as a blip on his Richter scale. He is, after all used to a certain degree of complacency as far as your generosity is concerned.
The same can be said about smaller, non fiscal acts like offering seats, opening doors, giving way on the road, sharing an umbrella etc. etc.
And so I shall begin today, to mete out heaps of kindnesses to unknown persons on the streets. I shall be the savour of the unknown man. The champion of the cause yet undiscovered.
And if the prayers of the last beggar is to be believed, I shall have a Buckingham Palace ready for me in the after life.
Random acts of charity earn you more blessings, happiness and satisfaction than a regular charitable habit.
Take for instance a beggar on the street. If you were to walk up to one and give him a 50 Re note, he would first look at the note in incredulity and then at you in reverence. You would be vaulted straight to the top of his charts, possibly next to the maker himself. A 100 Re note would hopefully swing the balance in your favour and ensure that you emerge 'Numero Uno'.
In scenario 2, let us assume that you've been in the habit of endowing a certain beggar with a certain amount of money everyday. An increase in his daily kindness will have to be of geometric proportions, to register as a blip on his Richter scale. He is, after all used to a certain degree of complacency as far as your generosity is concerned.
The same can be said about smaller, non fiscal acts like offering seats, opening doors, giving way on the road, sharing an umbrella etc. etc.
And so I shall begin today, to mete out heaps of kindnesses to unknown persons on the streets. I shall be the savour of the unknown man. The champion of the cause yet undiscovered.
And if the prayers of the last beggar is to be believed, I shall have a Buckingham Palace ready for me in the after life.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Though this be madness, there is method in it.
It's amazing how absolutely opposite emotions are closer to each other than you think. Pain isn't that far away from ecstasy. And often light and dark dwell within the same plane.
I chanced upon this revelation under the least likely circumstances. A board room full of jargon spewing, frothing at the mouth MBAs, dissecting the cadaver that was my TV script. A common problem that occurs when the sharp surgical knife of reason is handed over to a bunch of trigger happy MBAs, each trying to prove a point.
The experienced surgeon cuts lightly, and only where required, and often not at all. These dingbats on the other hand, wield the knife with the finesse of a butcher. Slashing away at every exposed inch of skin in sight.
And it was in the midst of this bloodbath that I realized that I was absolutely alone. In a room with 20 men, I was more lonesome than I would have been in a room with 20 empty chairs. Physically, I was in the company of 20 warm blooded beings. But mentally, I might as well have been on the Moon.
It was then that it dawned on me. Opposites only seem opposites. They are in fact more closely related than we think.
For example when you're hungry, you feel the pangs in your stomach. And with the passing of time, it gets worse and worse untill suddenly you aren't hungry at all. At the pinnacle of hunger, rests satiety. And similarly with pain. People often go into a state of ecstasy as soon as the pain becomes unbearable.
And so it is with anger. I remember I would get scolded for doing something wrong, and with the severity of the deed, the extent of punishment would increase. Only to cease, if I did the unthinkable.
Maybe I'm wrong. But you can't fault me for observation. There is method in my madness.
I chanced upon this revelation under the least likely circumstances. A board room full of jargon spewing, frothing at the mouth MBAs, dissecting the cadaver that was my TV script. A common problem that occurs when the sharp surgical knife of reason is handed over to a bunch of trigger happy MBAs, each trying to prove a point.
The experienced surgeon cuts lightly, and only where required, and often not at all. These dingbats on the other hand, wield the knife with the finesse of a butcher. Slashing away at every exposed inch of skin in sight.
And it was in the midst of this bloodbath that I realized that I was absolutely alone. In a room with 20 men, I was more lonesome than I would have been in a room with 20 empty chairs. Physically, I was in the company of 20 warm blooded beings. But mentally, I might as well have been on the Moon.
It was then that it dawned on me. Opposites only seem opposites. They are in fact more closely related than we think.
For example when you're hungry, you feel the pangs in your stomach. And with the passing of time, it gets worse and worse untill suddenly you aren't hungry at all. At the pinnacle of hunger, rests satiety. And similarly with pain. People often go into a state of ecstasy as soon as the pain becomes unbearable.
And so it is with anger. I remember I would get scolded for doing something wrong, and with the severity of the deed, the extent of punishment would increase. Only to cease, if I did the unthinkable.
Maybe I'm wrong. But you can't fault me for observation. There is method in my madness.
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Wild Things
Parambikulam is a 285 sq kilometer wildlife reserve to the north of Kerala. And I had the privilege of spending my weekend there.
Tourists avoid this wildlife haven like a plague during the monsoons. What with leeches, mosquitoes, slush, unstable terrain, snakes, leaky roofs and perpetual rains. All the more reasons for me to go. I like taking vacations which you need vacations to recover from. And I got exactly what I bargained for.
Parambikulam is a village of exactly 6 thached houses. To explain how remote it really is, let me tell you about my conversation with a local. I asked him if there was a telephone booth nearby. He pointed to a little thached hut which doubles up as a house and a restaurant, and assured me that indeed an instrument of that nature was to be found there. However upon further questioning, it was revealed to me that it doesn't have STD facilities. Which means you can only dial locally, i.e. the only other phone in the next village, some 10 kilometers away.
Anyway, after rowing for an hour (No motorboats allowed as they disturb the wildlife) across a crocodile infested lake, we reached our place of residence. The 'Bungalow' as it turned out, was nothing but a single, large room with a row of indigenously made bamboo beds with a thatch base. The procurement of two local chickens for the price of Rs. 300 each (broiler is 100 a kg) was to be our dinner for the night. Since I had prior experience with hunting, the job of killing and skinning the chickens fell to me. A dangerous endeavour since wild sloth bears lurk around the premises, and the smell of blood is sure to attract one.
Dinner cooked, leeches pulled off and wounds tended to, we pulled out our sleeping bags and lay awake, taking in the sounds of the jungle. Each time we heard a snort or a call in the distance, we'd jump up and shine our toorches, to no avail, into the inky blackness of the jungle. Oh! did I mention that there was no electricity there? Well there wasn't.
The next morning, saw us setting off to spot animals and birds. Immediately, we spied on the far bank, a herd of Bisons. Rowing as quietly as we could, (Which is about as quietly as a bull in a china shop), we crept up to the other bank. Thankfully, we were downwind to the herd and were able to skirt over a small hill untill we were almost over them. Just as we stood there, cameras ready, focusing on the heard, someone stepped on a stick. The resulting crack sent the herd into the jungle at a trot. Thankfully, Bisons are demure creatures and don't often attack or we'd been toast.
That day we saw heards of Cheetals (Spotted deer), Sambars (Especially one male with an impressive set of antelers.), and some more Bisons. We also managed to spot a number of birds like the River Tern, The crested snake eagle, The great hornbill, Little owlet, the Greater Raquet-tailed Drongo. The most cherished spotting was that of the Malabar Whistling Thrush, also called the 'Whistling schoolboy' for it's lazy, whistling call.
But the most memorable encounter was with a herd of wild elephants. It was around 12 in the night and we'd set off to spot animals from our SUV. Along with us was a guide who it is necessary to take along as they know the animals and where they are to be found. Just as we aproached a bend in the road, we heard a trumpet call of a tusker. Screeching to a halt at the bend, we were in awe of what we saw. A parade of elephants, not more than 10 meters away. Silently the guide, grabbed the driver by the arm and motioned for us to slowly back off. As we did, we saw a tusker step forward as if to warn us about our proximity. Even the guide was a little rattled by the unexpected encounter. So, nervously from a distance, we watched with our searchlight, the herd move on. We watced in awe as one elephant wrapped its trunk around a bunch of tall thick bamboo plants and effortlessly pull them out of the ground. These bamboos must have been at least 10 - 13 meters tall and about a foot across and would take more than a bulldozer to raze.
And so we left Parambikulam the next day a little humbled, and a little wiser. Three days of solitude and hardships had enobled us like no three decades in a city could. We promised to come back next season. And we intend to.
Tourists avoid this wildlife haven like a plague during the monsoons. What with leeches, mosquitoes, slush, unstable terrain, snakes, leaky roofs and perpetual rains. All the more reasons for me to go. I like taking vacations which you need vacations to recover from. And I got exactly what I bargained for.
Parambikulam is a village of exactly 6 thached houses. To explain how remote it really is, let me tell you about my conversation with a local. I asked him if there was a telephone booth nearby. He pointed to a little thached hut which doubles up as a house and a restaurant, and assured me that indeed an instrument of that nature was to be found there. However upon further questioning, it was revealed to me that it doesn't have STD facilities. Which means you can only dial locally, i.e. the only other phone in the next village, some 10 kilometers away.
Anyway, after rowing for an hour (No motorboats allowed as they disturb the wildlife) across a crocodile infested lake, we reached our place of residence. The 'Bungalow' as it turned out, was nothing but a single, large room with a row of indigenously made bamboo beds with a thatch base. The procurement of two local chickens for the price of Rs. 300 each (broiler is 100 a kg) was to be our dinner for the night. Since I had prior experience with hunting, the job of killing and skinning the chickens fell to me. A dangerous endeavour since wild sloth bears lurk around the premises, and the smell of blood is sure to attract one.
Dinner cooked, leeches pulled off and wounds tended to, we pulled out our sleeping bags and lay awake, taking in the sounds of the jungle. Each time we heard a snort or a call in the distance, we'd jump up and shine our toorches, to no avail, into the inky blackness of the jungle. Oh! did I mention that there was no electricity there? Well there wasn't.
The next morning, saw us setting off to spot animals and birds. Immediately, we spied on the far bank, a herd of Bisons. Rowing as quietly as we could, (Which is about as quietly as a bull in a china shop), we crept up to the other bank. Thankfully, we were downwind to the herd and were able to skirt over a small hill untill we were almost over them. Just as we stood there, cameras ready, focusing on the heard, someone stepped on a stick. The resulting crack sent the herd into the jungle at a trot. Thankfully, Bisons are demure creatures and don't often attack or we'd been toast.
That day we saw heards of Cheetals (Spotted deer), Sambars (Especially one male with an impressive set of antelers.), and some more Bisons. We also managed to spot a number of birds like the River Tern, The crested snake eagle, The great hornbill, Little owlet, the Greater Raquet-tailed Drongo. The most cherished spotting was that of the Malabar Whistling Thrush, also called the 'Whistling schoolboy' for it's lazy, whistling call.
But the most memorable encounter was with a herd of wild elephants. It was around 12 in the night and we'd set off to spot animals from our SUV. Along with us was a guide who it is necessary to take along as they know the animals and where they are to be found. Just as we aproached a bend in the road, we heard a trumpet call of a tusker. Screeching to a halt at the bend, we were in awe of what we saw. A parade of elephants, not more than 10 meters away. Silently the guide, grabbed the driver by the arm and motioned for us to slowly back off. As we did, we saw a tusker step forward as if to warn us about our proximity. Even the guide was a little rattled by the unexpected encounter. So, nervously from a distance, we watched with our searchlight, the herd move on. We watced in awe as one elephant wrapped its trunk around a bunch of tall thick bamboo plants and effortlessly pull them out of the ground. These bamboos must have been at least 10 - 13 meters tall and about a foot across and would take more than a bulldozer to raze.
And so we left Parambikulam the next day a little humbled, and a little wiser. Three days of solitude and hardships had enobled us like no three decades in a city could. We promised to come back next season. And we intend to.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
An alcoholic in alcohol
Ever walked into a biology lab and seen those specimens in their bottles of formaldehyde? They just sit there and vegetate. They don't decay, they don't regenarate. They're frozen in time.
Pretty much the situaton I find myself in. I don't move on. Neither do I go back to her. I''ve tried both, but all roads lead to those formaldehyde bottles. A state of suspension where you sit there and watch the world pass you by.
I'm an alcoholic in alcohol.
Pretty much the situaton I find myself in. I don't move on. Neither do I go back to her. I''ve tried both, but all roads lead to those formaldehyde bottles. A state of suspension where you sit there and watch the world pass you by.
I'm an alcoholic in alcohol.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Road to nowhere
'The thing I love about Bangalore is the names of streets and the towns. I mean I'd rather pick 'St. Marks' road and 'Wheeler road' over Delhi's 'Bheesham Pitamah marg' or 'Baba Khadag Singh marg'. I'd rather pick Frasier Town and Cox Town over 'Sreenivaspuri' or 'Mongolpuri'.
A conversation in Delhi would go something like:
"So Where do you live?"
"Sreenivaspuri"
"Where's that?"
"You know the Okhla Mandi? It's a little down that road."
"You mean Shaheed Captain Gaur Marg?"
"Yup."
"Cool"
And now we come to a conversation in Bnagalore.
"So where do you live?"
"Grace Town"
"Where's that?"
"You know Wheeler road? Take a right off it onto the Frasier town main road.
Ok cool.
Now you decide which one is cooler. Yes I admit that Bangalore too has its anomalies like 'Lingarajapuram' and 'Banaswadi' but what's important is that they have some cool names too.
I like the idea of living in Grace Town, rather than some 'Rabindra Nagar' somewhere.
A conversation in Delhi would go something like:
"So Where do you live?"
"Sreenivaspuri"
"Where's that?"
"You know the Okhla Mandi? It's a little down that road."
"You mean Shaheed Captain Gaur Marg?"
"Yup."
"Cool"
And now we come to a conversation in Bnagalore.
"So where do you live?"
"Grace Town"
"Where's that?"
"You know Wheeler road? Take a right off it onto the Frasier town main road.
Ok cool.
Now you decide which one is cooler. Yes I admit that Bangalore too has its anomalies like 'Lingarajapuram' and 'Banaswadi' but what's important is that they have some cool names too.
I like the idea of living in Grace Town, rather than some 'Rabindra Nagar' somewhere.
Monday, June 13, 2005
The fat of the land
Have you noticed that people don't call really fat people 'fat'. I guess it's a little like pointing out the obvious. They only call slightly overweight people fat. I mean would someone ever walk up to Adnan Sami or Yokozuna and tell him that he's overweight? They'll probably go over to him and tell him he has an excellent voice or a charming appeal. But someone like me, who's fit but has a little flab around the middle, is suddenly open to criticism.
So, mediocrity is to be despised while the blatantly extreme are to be spared. It's funny isn't it. And this seems to be a trend across cultures. And thought this phenomenon is not contained by geography, it is by age. Children don't give a fuck. They call fat people fat and thin people thin. They are not bound by the laws of decency that we grown ups are.
I've seen people walk up to an exceedingly obese man and compliment him on his figure. And later walk up to me and tell me that I seem to have put on a few pounds.
Don't we, the obviously boderline, have feelings too?
So, mediocrity is to be despised while the blatantly extreme are to be spared. It's funny isn't it. And this seems to be a trend across cultures. And thought this phenomenon is not contained by geography, it is by age. Children don't give a fuck. They call fat people fat and thin people thin. They are not bound by the laws of decency that we grown ups are.
I've seen people walk up to an exceedingly obese man and compliment him on his figure. And later walk up to me and tell me that I seem to have put on a few pounds.
Don't we, the obviously boderline, have feelings too?
Saturday, June 11, 2005
The flight
I've left Delhi like a man leaving a whorehouse. Silently packing my bags and sneaking off unseen into the night. Not that I have anyone to run away from. Just my life in that sinful city. I have packed all my belongings into 2 large bags. It's funny how 8 years of your life can fit into someting as small as a Samsonite case. I'd have thought that it'll amount to something more substantial.
But the bagage I carry is in my heart and my head. Visions of an relationship gone bad. Of drunken night spent sprawled on the living room floor. Snatches of heated conversations at 4 in the morning.
So I have come to Bangalore. To a new city.
But I have a new life now. Or do I?
But the bagage I carry is in my heart and my head. Visions of an relationship gone bad. Of drunken night spent sprawled on the living room floor. Snatches of heated conversations at 4 in the morning.
So I have come to Bangalore. To a new city.
But I have a new life now. Or do I?
Friday, June 10, 2005
Genesis
Long have I resisted the call of the Blog. For reasons unknown to myself, I just couldn't come to terms with doing a "Full Monty" with my views annd beliefs when I can't even see the spectators.
But then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
So here goes.
But then again, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
So here goes.
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