certain songs on Clara

Why am i posting this? its too premature!!. Yes or No. Yes Or No. May be because i was off from alcohol for couple of weeks!!. May be i should drink again. I hate tossing the coin, But often end up doing it. And here we go. And may be one night when the coin turns other way, i may even delete it. May be you are  a short lived Butterfly like My ONCE favorite Florence 

Certain Songs on Clara


A funeral - less - emotions

40 year old Clara had so many other sensitive issues to handle when her husband died. By then, it had started raining. It was continuously raining for three days. Even at the cemetery she had to carry an umbrella. She ordered forty umbrellas for all of them who attended the cremation. She was so sure that her husband would have done the same. But she was not worried about that. She was not worried about her makeup being washed away in rain. She didn’t worry about the requiem being interrupted by thunder which could even land her husband's soul in hell. She was more worried about how to pack.

Packing for a road trip needs to be carefully done, so said Solomon. It needs to be done with lot of planning and perseverance, by paying attention to the minute needs of a person including the persons dress, the location, climate, weather; he made it sounds like an art. One needs to follow the weather report for a week or so and pack accordingly. She had no time in the last 3 days of mourning to take care of all these things. She requested Solomon to do it for her. He obliged.

Will she need an umbrella? Will she need a hair gown? From inner wares to casual clothes; yes, Jeans! Those might come handy. Solomon was saying. When she bent down to give her husband a final good bye kiss before the prayers, his shoes accidently caught her attention. She forgot to buy trekking shoes! She cursed herself. She forgot to tell that to Solomon. She wanted to interrupt the chauffer giving respects to her dead husband and though of asking him to buy one for her. But no, for buying shoes, it's always better to go yourselves. She impatiently waited for the ceremonies to be over. On the way back, she asked the chauffer to pull aside to buy a pair of them.

While making the payment for the shoes, the man at the counter reminded her so much of her late father. He was bald, similar eyes and wore white transparent shirt as he used to be. But he smelled cheap perfume but her dad the fish smell. It was not the first time that she has seen someone like him. Her dad's pot belly used to stand out. She used to sit on it and try to bounce off it often resulting in failure. She quickly paid the money and returned to her car. Her memories of her dad were quite disturbing that she didn’t want to stay on. While getting in the car, she hurriedly searched her hand bag to take her mobile phone out. She flipped it open to see at least 10 missed calls. One from her manager and nine from Solomon!!

While she asked her chauffer to head straight to the house, her fingers found his number. It was almost like a trained process and once she said 'yello' melodically, she realised her chauffer's eyes widening from the rear mirror. She could see him trying to look straight but his ears straining to hear her conversation. Out of sheer reflex, she cut the call and waited for the car to reach her house.

She saw her house from the distance, it never looked prettier. By that time the rain had stopped crying and it was trees turn. She reluctantly opened her umbrella and walked out, like she used to before, drawing straight lines with her heels. When she and Alex used to walk she used to draw straight lines and diagonal lines with her heels and argue that diagonals were straight lines from another angle. As usual Alex used to give in. It's his giving in, that made her so restless and uncomfortable. Sometimes she used to think that Alex never had an opinion, or even if he had he was ready to forgo it easily for her.

She entered that huge house and rushed towards her bedroom. She often felt like a rat in that house, playing hide and seek from a cat. She never could identify the cat. Was that her husband, who fell for her some ten years back? He was one of the sweetest; she ever met, a man of strict beliefs rather pious.

She saw her son riding a three wheeler bicycle. As soon as he saw her, he cried out "mommy". She gave him a peck and like an instinct, her one hand was searching for her mobile phone. It automatically searched for Solomon's number and called him. She fell on to her bed and placed a pillow between her legs.

It's at 9 30. That used to be an auspicious time for her husband. When they decided to have a baby, he insisted that they make love at 9 30. She had a question, by the time they have it, it will be past 9 30. But he insisted, let's start at 9 30. She tried thinking, what if the time in our clock is incorrect, one min slow or fast, what if railway time was set wrong some 50 years back and still we follow it. She once asked her husband, he replied. In my life 9 30 as I see is the best time to start anything new. God knows it. She wanted to ask what if god forgot to wind his watch one day and as a result of which his time sense completely got lost. What happens then? She knew that she will never find answer. When in school, she found that the apple never fell on Isaac Newton's head, unlike what his physics teacher once told in class. He just observed it falling. But she still liked to believe that apple fell on his head while sitting beneath a tree. Like Buddha, Isaac acquired some knowledge, like someone zapped it into his head. She knew it was wrong, but she wanted to believe in the falling on head theory. It made life more interesting.

She was already to go. Most of her stuff has already been sent by Solomon. Her maid had neatly packed it into the bags. She just needs to put her wares into the bag. She then started her exercise and didn’t stop till the bags gave the indication of exploding. She had to take a call. And yes, she did, she removed all the inner wares from it. Who needs them when going for a trek? By the time packing was done, she could see her nails distorted. She had no time for manicure.

The maids had already put her son to sleep. And she had 3 more hours to kill by sleeping. She took out a cigarette which was neatly hidden inside her drawer and rested on to her bed.


Chapter II

Solomon' Songs

To put it in Solomon's words, getting lost acquired new meaning when he looked in to her eyes, it was as rejuvenating as dipping in to the morning sea  and coming  back to settle with a bottle of beer. She was as sensuous the first puff of the day.  Addiction blended with a sort of desperation. The first time Solomon saw her was when he was around 17. Or even seventeen. He dropped in at her place along with his dad. She never noticed him as a kid until one day. She was on the balcony, and how Solomon wished he had a binocular. The need for a binocular grew day by day. For the first time in his life, he began paying attention to his physics class at school. It was not built in a day, but within 5 months, he had his first binocular, made from the cheap lenses available on the market, with a cardboard body, which was not shake resistant and hence wasted in couple of weeks. But it had its own advantage, that Clara for the first time noticed him.

Still he had to wait for couple of years to wait for the door to open. When it opened, his joy knew no bounds. It has been more so for the last two years.

"I want to go somewhere?"

"Where?"

"Somewhere, isolated, deep inside a forest, where I can be just be."

Solomon didn’t want to ask "why?" He knew that she hated the word "why?"

"Why do people always ask why?"

"But why do you hate the term why?"

"Because, so many whys have been asked at me?"

"Like what?"

"Like why I am here? Why did you not marry Alex when he proposed you? Why did you leave him and go away? Why did I marry my husband, when I could have married Alex long time back?"

Why? Why? Why? Was ringing on Alex's mind when he heard this. He tried not to ask these questions.

Why does this woman hate so many whys?

"My dad has told me that whys define the relationship between a man and a woman?"

"Like?"

"Why did u go out at this hour? Why did u smile back at that waiter in the restaurant? Why did you make a particular dish for the breakfast?"

"You mean to say that, whys are always aimed at a woman right. You will only know why whys are frustrating, only if you  are a woman."

"But "what" is ok? "

"Yes"

"Where?"

"Yes"

"What were you doing when you were away from home? "

She smiled. He knew that she was never going to tell the truth. Whys may upset her and irritate her, but she can choose not to tell the truth, because she is a woman.

"You are not going to tell me the truth."

"All I can say is that I am not going to lie?"

"Wh.."

"There you are?"

"No, it can be a what."

"Ok, so I was travelling, the unfinished quench in me to travel, took me to places I never been to, the convent schooling was put to use for the first time in my life, I travelled beyond this place, saw many faces, walls, sculptures, streets, felt many smells, flowers, sweat and much more."

"And..."

"And I decided to come back and settle, and don’t ask why?"

Solomon was not going to. If a why can risk a relationship, why not keep quiet.

Both knew that it was just a matter of couple of weeks for the inevitable to happen. Solomon was looking for places to go. To a virgin land untouched by humanity, which will open its doors for them to relax, where the moonlight will form a blanket for them to sleep. And at last, he found.

He was still waiting, for her to come and alight his bike. It was half past eight, and he saw her. He kick-started his bike, she alighted on to his bike and whispered.

"Lets go!"

She was taking deep breathes, as if she was relieved, as if it was the declaration of her independence. Solomon took the bike forward. He had to ask it and he asked.

"Can I ask a question with a word you hate the most, with an expectation to receive an honest answer?"

"Yes"

"Why are we going there?"

She spread her hands on to his thighs and whispered:

"To part!! "

Genelia Monologues

Genelia Monologues

I was shattered, completely destroyed; I always enjoyed the sight of a glass of water falling from an eleven storied building. I was going to repeat my favourite act. With me being the replacement for the glass of water.

I was dazed and gone when it happened. I never expected it to happen, but it so happened. And I had no idea what to do. It was like a game with no moderator, getting out of hand, you are sure that you played by the rules, still you being called out for no fault of yours. I had no clue that this is going to happen, particularly so because I hated mallu men.

Why do I hate mallu men? Is it because they always mispronounced my name?

My name is "Genelia"

They used to come up with strange variations, I used to correct them initially, and one even called me genitalia. After some resistance, I gave up, surrendered. I would respond to any name being called. After all what's there in a name. But the ego in me never gave up completely, if I had the slightest possible idea that a guy was a mallu, I used to say:

My name is" G-e-n-e-l-i-a " "Genelia"

It was odd, the more I hated them, more I was surrounded by them. Random face book friends request to chat invites, to marriage proposals from shaadi.com. I was a mallu magnet, they surrounded me everywhere I worked, wherever I went,

And then I met him. I was staring at the dance floor since I had none to take me to it. And he volunteered, not to dance, but to drop me home.

He was around 5 8 tall, lean, clean shaven face, and for all practical purposes a good looking escort for any women. I wasn’t drunk, not a bit, but he volunteered to drop me, I didn’t act like I was drunk more than I was, so I obliged.

The conversation on the way was more on what he was and what he does?

What do you do?

I watch movies

What?
Well, he watched movies. From morning 9 to 5, he watched movies, and he had to type out the subtitles in English. I thought he had an interesting job, but he didn’t accept it. A job can never be interesting, you need a job to feed yourself, anything which can feed you including, cooking, job, grocery shopping, can never be interesting.

What do you do? He asked me.

I am a fashion designer.

I don't know why I lied, I don’t even look remotely like a fashion designer.

You look like a fashion designer. He told me.

He was grinning, I don't know why he was grinning. That was a special grin. I caught you kind of grin.

He dropped me off, I didn’t invite him home. I didn’t want to. There was no need to. And he didn't seem as he was expecting it.

But, I had dropped my phone in his car, I realised and rushed to the door and the bell rang, it was him.

You left the phone in my car.

Yeah thanks and by the way you are:
He told me his name. And god !!!!!

He was a mallu !!!

He didn’t seem like those lungi characters with a mush, in fact I don’t think he is even capable of wearing a lungi, he had no pot belly, no round face, no mush, no Karl Marx, No Existentialism, and plus he didn't stare at me.

Do you wear lungies at home?

He laughed out and said no.

Weeks went past, and one day I woke up next to him. He was crazy enough to make me laugh. And was smart enough to get away with anything, and his fingers were pretty fast.

Have you seen this?

He was holding out an article from the Times of India.

"Men who stare at boobs live at least 3years longer"

Come on. I gave him that look. You don’t believe in this shit?
Well he actually did.

"Is it done?"

He was staring at it. I was to sit naked in front of him. Till he finished his classic milds cig.


Well, he had a logical explanations, 3 years more means 365*3 times, sex with him.

Yeah, even I thought it was worth it.


He was sometimes crazy enough to make me believe that I should hold on to the ceiling up. I did that. He made me dress like a police woman one day. One day cross bar, cherry cake, even dumbbell. On the Piano, ironing table and...

I really didn’t know what kicks he used to get out of it. One day it was Rani of Jhansi , it was Cleopatra. He always remained dressed the same, half naked.

Do you do it out of your love for history?

Honey. I am seeing worst movies ever possible. I am subtitling it, if I ask you to transform to one of those character, please understand, I need to go back tomorrow and screw them literally.
Only on Sundays, he was normal, he used to dress up in a white dhoti, and he won't even speak to me till time he was back from the temple.

And one morning I got a call.

I think you should dress up as mother Theresa.
I couldn’t quite believe what he was saying.

Are you serious?

Yes.
That's it, I decided, and it was a fight, I wanted to call it off. I am being made to dress up like a circus woman to parade around and.....of all the kicks....

He gave in, the demand for Mother Theresa was dropped. And we continued, we were just Genelia Miranda and Anil making love.

I was in 4th grade and I used to sit in the first bench. But I didn’t have it in me to sit on the first bench for long.

Why ?
I asked

She used to teach me.

Who?

The name is irrelevant. She used to teach us English. She had a black mole just next to her navel and when Sunlight used to pass through her Saree, it use to glow, almost like a diamond. I was naturally curious, about that one strand of hair that used to stand out from it.
As to why it was standing alone?

May be yes, why didn’t the other hairs leave it alone to stand and shine in the sunlight?

Why?

Dunno. That's what I wanted to find out. And I reached out once to it, to touch it slightly.
God. And?

She smiled and that day she called me to the staff room, and held me close to the spot, for such a long time that I came to know about the mole and the hair, I spoke to them so well, after that I never felt the need to know more about it.
Ha ha. Why are you telling all this right now?

Because you also have a mole, somewhere near the navel

Is that why you are seeing me?
I never saw the navel the first time I met you.

You assumed?

No, but I had a feeling that it will be somewhere hidden for me behind your clothes.

Weirdo. My mother also had a mole like this. And she was also an English teacher but she used to teach in Darjeeling.

Hmmm.

What happened to your teacher?

She might have died!

What?

Ya, she might have.

How do you know?

People die when they grow old. People should die when they grow old; they are here to die only

You know what I am not so comfy with your webcam staring at us.

Why? You think I will capture this and upload on youtube.

Youtube will cut it off. But it's the sms I am more worried about, I don’t want Prakash to see this ?

What if he sees it?

I don't know, he kinda knows it I guess.

How do you know?

You know when people start to think.

Prakash was nobody. He once had sex with me when I was drunk, not that he used me, but it's more like I used him. But he usually talks about him like Prakash is gonna marry me.

Prakash will be happy.

And yes Prakash was happy. It was Prakash who woke me up that day. He had a twisted smile on his face when I met him.

Ha ha, man, you are so funny. So he stares at your boobs and smokes for 3 minutes , fantastic idea dude.....
I didn’t quite get what he was saying.

So you don’t know.

All right, then I knew, I logged on to this website. And this year's award goes to:

Anil Nair and Genitillia Miranda.

It was feature like a series, the 60 days I spend with him, new story, new characters, from Jhansi Rani to Police Woman to Wrestler to Chief Minister to .......But he was the cool dude, who always won against history.

I am on the top of the 11the floor, first I thought of killing him., but I don’t think it was necessary, he is too much for me, I gave in. Again.


Honey, say that you are gonna jump.

I am gonna jump.
Yeah, like that, and start stripping now. Slowly.

He was standing there with the handicam, gone are the days of the webcam, enter the days of handicam. I stripped and stripped, till there was nothing left to strip. Just like the Sky above.


* This was writtten for the LSD (love sex aur dhokha) film contest of Dibakar Banerjee. Since we did not get a female lead, we were not able to shoot this. Now thinking of making this an independent production and as an Open Culture Project. Inviting your suggestions and comments.

who kept the alarm?

Who kept the alarm? Did I set the alarm? Did I keep the alarm? Who the hell kept the alarm? Why is it still ringing, it ought to shut up by itself, I reached out and turned it off, bloody nokia…. It was 10 O clock. Oh sheesh, it was me who kept the alarm, I ran down to the hall. Everybody were there, glued to the TV. My sister said, “sit down u are blocking my view”………

I sat in obedience, it is gonna happen…

My dad started his lecture: “you know how important this is ? This is not all important, true independence will follow? We, communists will come to power? That's when the real power will flow to the people.”

My granddad was merciless: “what are u saying; we fought so hard 4 fifty years, for this moment, be a proud Indian. If it was not important y the hell are u sitting here loosing your sleep.?”

He didn't respond to the last question, he might have felt it was unnecessary, or that his answer might not serve any purpose or that his answer would not enlighten the ignorant mass to which grandpa beonged. Anyways for one of those reasons, or may be all of them or for even any of those (excuse the lawyers language, I don’t want him to be liable, in case, if any, including, but not limited to defamation, misrepresentation or what ever) in he didn't answer the question, but instead went on…

" India is a fable, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, first told by the British, emphasized by Ghandhi, promoted by Nehru, and we are all beggars in it."

I looked at him, ya he actually, ya kinda looked Shakespeare, I thanked god for making me the son of Comrade Shakespeare, at least some one who looked like Shakespeare. I thought, when I go to college, professors will say, there sits the son of Shakespeare, there he is. Then suddenly it struck me, I used to call him filth for the Victorian bullshit he had written some years back when I was about to attend my boards, cause I had to byheart them, rather I had to. The thought changed me, I decided to myself I am no son of Shakespeare and told my dad

"you are not Shakespeare"

"Of course not, if I was I would be sitting in a Victorian palace, playing some drama, assuming to be a bourgeois”

He knows it, I was so happy, I felt so proud, to be the son of the dad who …I asked him

“What will happen to law firms? Will u abolish them?”

“No, no, don’t worry, main hoo na?”

Good, good, good dad,,,,,

.. . The TV was on and the celebrations were going on. My grandpa pointed out to a young lady and said,

"She is Indira"

We all tuned our eyes towards Indira. Reading our mind, even the camera man did. What an idea sirji!!!

There she was smiling, all pretty…

"She will nationalize all the banks,, may be you will loose your job?"

Dad told my granddad with an element of sarcasm.

(However I tried, the bloody word processor won’t change, lets kill Microsoft, cause this quote refused to move to the other side)

”I will be happy if my Nehru’s daughter does it" he retorted.. and turned back to grand ma

"Are u sure he is ours?"

She gave a blank look and walked away. One left the room. Still remaining and counting….

Seems Nehru didn't like it, how can he afford the crowd leaving, He started immediately, climbed up and started making the speech

" Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we shall redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially………………………."

In between I think I lost him, he was some where around building some mansion or castle or some huge structure like that. I hate building structures, no wonder, I slept. I hate the thought of building structures, which will need permits, licenses, for which you will need to pa taxes every year.

I was on top of mount Everest. I peed, I saw it becoming ice, in seconds time. I jumped

I was at some part of the this country, there were people standing, they asked "who are you?"

“I am…” I told my name..

“Who are you?”

I looked at my PAN card, license, passport, all had just my name on it.. Who are you?... I am an Indian..

They laughed out,, I jumped to another place, I was met with the same laughter,, which had absolutely no meaning ,

"Areh baba.. Nehru just started the tryst with destiny, it will take some time..."

Aha..i realized my mistake, my sole mistake, mea culpa…..i bowed……….in the background I heard my dad and granddad arguing… I thought may be dad will go to Bolivia, or some other forest in India, which will make him feel like in Bolivia and fight,, I don't know… but then he suddenly became a lawyer…May be the courts will make him feel like , he is in a jungle!!!

I woke up and Nehru was giving me this sad look, don't worry I will see it on youtube tomorrow, I said. Nehru seemed obliged.

And again it was ringing, the alarm blasted my sister for being irresponsible, "turn off the alarm” I said,, she just smiled at me,,

Everybody in the room was staring at me....

I woke up,,, it was 5, the match between India and Aussies will begin now , I ran down to my room, there were lot of others...I didn’t know them,, but they were the same who questioned me in my dream,, "sit down" they said

“the match is about to begin"

Tendulkar was opening, the second ball was send to the boundary line by a straight drive, we all cheered,,, jeetega bhai jeetaga,, India jeetega...

All happy.. So much for the unity in diversity……at least if I could find it in my university!!!!!!

Russel's Tea Pot

"If I were to suggest that between the Earth and Mars there is a china teapot revolving about the sun in an elliptical orbit, nobody would be able to disprove my assertion provided I were careful to add that the teapot is too small to be revealed even by our most powerful telescopes. But if I were to go on to say that, since my assertion cannot be disproved, it is an intolerable presumption on the part of human reason to doubt it, I should rightly be thought to be talking nonsense. If, however, the existence of such a teapot were affirmed in ancient books, taught as the sacred truth every Sunday, and instilled into the minds of children at school, hesitation to believe in its existence would become a mark of eccentricity and entitle the doubter to the attentions of the psychiatrist in an enlightened age or of the Inquisitor in an earlier time.”

Bertrand Russel, Is There a God?

Well there was man with impeccable morals and strong personality. His name was Suresh. He started his life in a royal family. With all the riches, he lived, but he was kind and benevolent, whenever a needy knelt before he gave away from his pocket money. He graduated from a top university in the country and did masters in International Business from Harvard. There he had an affair with an African American girl. His masters pushed him away from her and he finally managed to kill her before he left USA. He came back and was to take over his father business. He married to a beautiful lady from another business family. His father's company being a public listed company and one of the shareholder of the Company, made a hue and cry over it. He was asked to go to Somalia to manage a small plan there. Though his father was against it, he went to Somalia with his wife and faithful brother. His father promised him that he will get the Company unlisted and he can come back and take over.

Near Somalia there was a local gangster, his only weakness was liquor and woman. His name was Biadoa Osman. Biadoa kidnapped Suresh's wife. Suresh was touched he went and formed alliance with few tribals. Fought Biadoa and beat him and killed him. Meanwhile his father managed to get his company unlisted. He went back and lived happily. Somalia was full of AIDS, so Suresh doubted his wife, his wife told him, that ofcourse Biadoa used condoms. He didn’t believe, he divorced her on the count of adultery. The compensation case is still pending. Meanwhile he climbing up the stairs of his new petroleum company and died. Suresh before dying gave Rs.10,0,00,000 advanced to one leading publisher in India, to publish his biography. It was released on the day of his death and was a big hit.

And temples and mosques are still built and demolished on his name. I can even hear suresh chalisa and Suresh geethika still playing in AIR. Approximately around 1,00,00,00,00 people have died in his name one way or the other. an average of 15 strikes are called in the country on his name. still the case by his wife for compensation is pending before the court.Jai Suresh!!!!!!!!

Half baked avial

Half baked avial

I am writing with 100% percent, certainty and surety, that there wont be many, reading the shit I am writing. Literally you cant write shit. It’s a law of nature. You can only write words, or what ever. I have a problem in accumulating my wandering thoughts and putting it together in a logical order of things.
I am back from a Hyderabad trip. I was on business, so busy that, Ramoji Rao Film city and charminar, smiled at me, I could only smile back, even after a weeks stay there. I was stuck in the office and then at the Hotel Room. Looking at the alcohol rates in that Hotel, wondered, how can drunkards survive in this country. If it was in Indira Gandhis time, she would have nationalized the whole chains of Five Star Hotels.
Wherever I used to go, I used to wander, I streets lonely, listening to peoples conversation. The Dude, in me, will listen to them, respond, and reply in my mind. Eavesdropping on streets. i cold nt do in Hyderabad. I came to hotel room, switched on the TV and watched Mahesh Babus Pokkiri and Chiranjeevi’s Munna Bhai telegu version. In telegu people uses a lot of “Andi”s. Like "Emandi Chappandi” for what is your name, and “endi” for what, which will amount to a filth in my language Malayalam. I walked in between, with muffled laughter and puzzled mind. I retired to read, Sukethu Mehta’s “ Maximum City”. I don’t usually read books, I consume them, you can make out form my collection, whether a particular book has been consumed by me, if it is, it will twisted, little torn, in a bad shape. Its cause, it travels with me to so many places, including, bathroom, bedroom, dining table and even the toilet. I consume it with enthusiasm, and vigour that much wont be left in the book. I turned the pages, and it was awesome, the book, was written with true sense of .er.. what ever. But it was good. I felt sad, after turning each page, as I had only less to read. This was the single most interesting one I read after Pahmuk’s “ Snow”. I am always complained off that I read, write absurd books and watch absurd movies. That would be the most absurd thing I have ever heard, I will reply back.
Oh I strayed off!!i don’t know, I always strays off, its like a disease in me, after self imposed restrictions and strict instructions, I still stray off. I still stray, stray , stray and stray, till the point I realize I am straying off. After I realize I am straying off, some times I might again stray, like what I am doing now.
Well coming to the point, I am still ice skating, not that its too much fun, with the ice melting due to the heat under you. But some how, for some reason I still continue………………….
By the way for the first time in my life, I became the victim of yellow journalism. Whenever people used to say something and withdraw the statement, or give corrections, I always thought that these people are liers, the white lambs among the wolves, journalists capture the truth and print it. One newspaper fitted some words in to my mouth and posted in their stupid news paper. I am sure its not to increase circulation, if they did for that, they obviously made a drastically wrong choice. May be to fill up space, or to the add on to the typical kerala mentality of opposing whatever new.1000 years ago they opposed the theory of Aryabhtta that earth was round and sun was a star and earth revolved round it (even before Galileo and Bruno said it), later they opposed tractors saying it will make the farmers jobless now there is no field with out one ( well if you are lucky to find one), they opposed auto rickshaw saying it will make the cycle rickshaw wallah jobless, now throw a stone up it will land on an auto driver (about auto drivers, they are class of themselves, only drivers I have seen looking back after turning their vehicle to a side), they opposed computers saying people will loose jobs now IT is the single most hiring industry in kerala, well apart from politics, (thanks to numerous Kerala Congress Parties and Muslim League). After all, they are opposing the university they studied. Well uncles it will definitely show, as one Mallu uncle is sitting at the top of CPM and making statements against nuclear deal, threatening elections,(with of course, our’s tax payers money). I guess its all in the blood
Anyways I miss that land, for I am not living here, but just surviving here.

On existence, Circumstance and ladders

On existence, Circumstance and ladders

I rushed, pushed my way out of my mothers womb, forcing my self to existence. The question is haunting when I started, even before I pushed myself out, or was it even before, one strange question I needed an answer. When was the circumstance that first defined as the person I am, did that circumstance occur in a manner, so not under control, what if that sperm which made me had not entered that egg, what if another sperm did, I would have changed. So there was one million sperms from which I was gambled, they fought to become me, and finally one become me. So there was one million a chance that I would have become me, and one million other chance, that I would have become some one else. So what precedes what. Existence precedes essence or does essence precedes existence.

The man among a million, you me, everybody, I am here right now, looking back at that turn, I couldn’t find the answer.

Still ice skatig in tropics, with no aim.

I remember the say about them, the so called under unprivileged in the eyes of those,

Circumstances define a man. From the time of the sperm contesting and winning the race, to the point you learn, deciding whether to learn or not to learn, whether to do it or not to do it, the school teacher, peers, everybody, they defined you, how you chose to react to them decide what you are.

The fact that I quit engineering, opposed to the standard Kerala educational norms, made me what, I am, a lawyer, a profession serving me best with most satisfaction the other could provide, in every sense, including monetarily. That I a may leave this profession for my dream, will make what I am. All these depends on what my parents gave me, I was in Malayalam medium, in LP school, it made a common man out of me, and made me a philanthropist, made me stronger than many a people in my language, that I refused to give out my colleagues name when caught with a mischief, filled me with integrity, I refused to say no to friends offer to smoke, that made me a chain smoker, I refused to stick on with m old principle not to drink, it made me a drunkard. I have tried pot, but knew where to stop, so I didn’t become a drug addict.

I am jotting all down because I happened to read Aynd rands, fountain head, and atlas shrugged, one of the most self centred books I have ever read, spreading individualist objectivism and one of my friends,( sorry to call her one, but as per the exsisting societal norms, the same is best terminology) regards and treats those she calls and regards, way down below social ladder, . If you have a circumstance to help you build a ladder to lift u up from where you have, whats wrong in providing the same to some one. This wont go in to the head of the most, who wont, realise, understand, for too many things were served in that platinum platter, for everything else, there wont be master card.

Ladders never did ay one any harm, especially if you are not climbing one.

I step out after making a hundred million dollar foreign investment smooth, only to see, little street children in DADAR station blowing up used condoms, as they have no balloons to play with.

Ice Skating in Tropics

Ice Skating in Tropics

These all began on the eve of a Monday, to put it in less hostile term, it started on a Sunday evening. I was bored, though that’s much less of a word, than what I am was going through. To note it down wasn’t a simple thing, as I had take my laptop assemble it and then start typing, something which I do through all my working days.

To blog or no to blog was not a question, I could see my word processor, showing an error, when I type the word blog (now again), grow up I said, to the world of internet. To put this up in this blog, this was initially supposed to contain only my ratings and reviews of films. I consoled myself as I never did anything, when or where I was supposed to do. Like for instance, to note a few, I wasn’t supposed to use my mobile phones in my class, never supposed to drink, smoke or dope, never supposed to send personal emails on my official email, most importantly I was never supposed to make out with my ex-girlfriend in the stairways. As I always breached these rules, I thought I would take a chance again.

I was fresh out of law school, delivered on a platter, with a price tag, there were only few takers, considering the fact that it was a new lawschool, I chose them with precision, and career planning, or what ever bullshit explanation every one will give.

I was used to sleeping so much, my day started by around, 12 O clock in the afternoon, with me sneaking to attend the afternoon lecture and finally end up sleeping there also to reserve my energy for the night to come, where I may booze, smoke, and watch endless number of movies( to b humble I must have watched more than 3000 movies in lawschool days, spreading across more than 20 languages), it might up till 1,to 2 to even next day morning nine O clock. I will wake up with seeing more than 50 missed calls on my mobile, as my girl friend will be desperately trying to wake me up, to get me attend the lectures. Seems she never learned as she used to do that till the end of my lawschool days.

I had excuses, moot courts, theatre, conference, articles, placement cell, IT task force, curricular, extra curricular, name it I was there, except in classes. To think that nearly three lecturers who taught me ( at least supposed to be), never knew my name, or saw my face, as I haven’t sat for more than two of their classes. Well I got caught, well twice, one was that my planning went wrong, I got a condonation. Second time, a nice individual who was the registrar, saved me.

i don’t remember attending, 9O clock classes. Well I did it in my first two years, after that my memory fails me. And one exam I slept over. My grades bombed. But I managed a 64% towards the end, special thanks to SUjatha series, jabwala guides.

Suddenly, well almost suddenly I found, myself in the middle of a law firm, where will loose my half days pay, if I am late than 9:30 for three days. Initially, I used to sleep peacefully, when my flat mate friends, used to get up and leave for college, now even when I get dressed up, and leave they will be just rubbing their eyes, trying to shake off their sleep. Seems a reversal of fate. Then for the train journey in Mumbai, about half an hour in the train, first class compartment, jam-packed, sandwiched, and crushed between busy bodies. First class is first class, for the fact that the rates are higher, nothing else. The rush is the same as in second class. From second class you will emerge with clothes crushed and smell of sweat, well if you are lucky enough to emerge, while from first class you will emerge, of course there are more chances of emerging from first class, covered with deodorant smells of other office goers.

I found myself on this Sunday afternoon, boring, staring up the smoke I send, with a fire on one end and me at the other end, with those smoke rings calling me a fool. I ventured out, with a mission, a strong kingfisher beer has never done anybody a harm, at least since I last remembered.

As I was banking with HSBC, the worlds local bank, which was worse than the local banks in Mumbai, my salary wasn’t deposited yet( well the international banking giant has taken more than one and half month for my account to be opened) I was short on cash.

So crashed in what seemed like an ordinary bar, with live orchestra written near the heading, it had cheap looks inside. An old sardaji, a toothless lion,wearing something like the old air India Maharaja uniform greeted me. He was so fat, but exhausted, with a beard to provide the extra topping.

Girls wearing saris were walking inside. It didn’t take more than 1 minute to get registered in my brain, dude this is dance bar, since dance bars are closed down, the owners resort to a new system, singing bar. For one second, I saluted the impeccable intelligence of bar owners, and came back to normal state. The girls will sing( shiva shiva-my good lord) there voice is so pathetic, that for a moment, my mind strayed and for one split of second I adored Himesh Reshamiya, what am thinking, after few seconds, I came back to my senses, and despised the thoughts of adoring the cap singer. I sat on a corner. One middle aged lady about 35 years old, with a belly was singing, pyar karne wale( from shaan), there was a 50 year old uncle( the age portrayed here may not be true, but only an assumption made by the author, and the author shall not be liable for any mistakes he make in the depiction of age, and if any one has any problem, they can add or subtract 10 years or more , as per their wishes). The uncle seems to be so immersed and engrossed in the singing, that I thought he might get up any moment and declare her to be the winner of Meri Awas Suno.

Senses came to me and I realized, the sardarji is the Desi Bouncer, out here.

Sir, the waiter approached, I killed him instantly with my glare, he died down, got up again and asked me.”kya chahiye”. I gave an order for beer. It costs me 200 rupees, usual cost is 70, but looking at the condition of the bar, maximum they can charge 100 rupees. It was evident; people don’t come here definitely not to drink, at least not alcohol and beer.

I was served with chicken, few salads, and papads. I was gulping the beer as fast as I could, the orchestra was too loud, the singing even horrible, and the place was gray and shady. Sleazy, greedy girls began staring up to me, looking for a nights earning.they were so poor, I could make out from their looks, may be because, those who come here also may not be in a better state of mind. I was all the way rushing to finish the beer. Suddenly the Bar Manager, a guy wearing a suit, realized that none of the girls were interesting to me. So he called inside, perhaps to bring a trump card, and indeed, one hell of a beauty walked out wearing a black jeans, and a pink top, smiling at me. I was taken by surprise by this unexpected act, and my drinking beer, became rather slow. She was breath taking, and I was confused as to where to look. I knew this is not for good, she stood in the corner and started eying at me. I finished gulping the last drop.

The bearer rushed, sir, aur kuch nahim chaiye, aapko…no I replied, and paid the bill. He was eying at the girl. She came forward. She sat next to me. Maintaining an arms length and smiled at me. I couldn’t smile back, I tried, I just couldn’t. She again smiled, I don’t know whether she made a move to sit little close, but I made a move. And the next thing I know is that I was outside. Bouncer sardarji, was so unhappy. He asked me, kya hua sir, kuch nahim mila.

I rushed to a wine shop. How lucky Mumbai people, for they don’t know what they got, chilled beer from liquor shops, which is rarer and luckier than winning a lottery in home land kerala (all the wine shops are state owned in gods own country) . I bought three, and I marched to home, with me in the lead and three stray dogs following. Reached my flat and sank my desperation bottoms-up.

I sat on my arm chair, wondering “ I catch fish, when put out of water, they just die, why?”