"We are who we are, even though we sometimes forget" - Agent K, MIB 2

The new year is like a tollbooth. Makes you pause during the mad rush that is life and think about what has gone by, to think about where you are. Somewhere in the chaos that was the last two years, I seem to have forgotten how to step back from life, step back from the everyday drive and look at what's going on from outside of the perspective of *me*. I seem to have become preoccupied in the grind, sunk in the mundane, and that just blows. When you are not observing what's going on around you, your creativity is pretty much dead.

You know what though, at least one cliche is right - time *is* the best healer. Every passing day, we forget a little bit more of the things that have hurt us, the things that cause pain - and we create new memories; memories of better times, memories of how we've pulled thro', how we've crushed the demons that haunt us. 

Just looking around us, we see big things grabbing the headlines and our mindspace - a huge recession that looks like its not even done it's worst yet; a disgusting shadow war that has trespassed into our territory - our everyday domain - our workplaces, our  living spaces and mercilessly killed hundreds on innocent bystanders in the name of religion, in the name of freedom; sectarian and language politics looming their ugly heads. All of these go towards making you realize that there's more to life, more happening around you than just your life - and you want to take a step back from your life and look around, to see what you ccan do outside of the artificial boundary that's your life. And that helps - helps find yourself, discover who you really are...

And so, gentle reader, I leave you with warm wishes for a happy, for a fantastic new year, hopefully we'll all figure out how to get over the next hill, over the next break in trail and make it to where we need to get to.. Just remember, dreams live on - you may forget who you are, other memories, other problems may overwhelm your dreams and overwhelm you for a while, but K is right - you are who you are. Dreams  dont die, its up to you to make them reality, to live your dream...

I had just kept my bag down and was stretching luxuriantly after the long flight when she walked up to me. "Are you going to DC?" she asked. She was the typical south Indian matron and was looking very tired and out of place. "No, I'm going to Boston," I said, "do you need something?" "Yes, I am supposed to go to DC and these people don't understand me. Can you help me get to my flight? I am traveling alone you see.."
"Sure, can I see your ticket?"  I got her ticket, looked up the gate number and hitched my bag higher on my shoulder. "Can I take your bag, its a bit of a walk." "No, thambi, I can take it, just show the way." She seemed pretty relieved to find a tamil-speaker. "Do you need to get something to eat, some coffee maybe," I didn't really mind the walk to get her to her gate - I still had a bit of a wait before my connecting flight. "No, I'm okay, lets go," she said.

"Are you studying, or do you work in a computer company?" she didn't seem awed by the grandeur of the Frankfurt airport's numerous duty-free shops and all the festive light displays. "I work in Boston," I said - people usually thought I was a student and I had gotten over getting angry about it. She nodded at my response, "I am going to my daughter's. She works in DC and I am going to look after my granddaughter," she said. "She is very ill, the doctors don't seem to know much about what is wrong with her, and my daughter has to work. If not, I wouldn't be going there. We are from Thanjavur, I don't want to leave my home and my husband for such a long time, but there is nobody to look after  the poor child. I was here for 3 months last year because they had to hospitalize the child, but I had to go back because of my visa."

"I've been telling my daughter to bring the child and come back to India, but she doesn't listen. Who listens these days anyways. Imagine the plight of the child, very sick in some foreign country, nobody to look after her." I briefly considered telling her that it was probably not a "foreign" country for the child, but didn't want to upset her any more than she already was and managed to keep my mouth shut. We had reached the escalator that was going to get us to the gate when she stopped suddenly. "You go on, I'm going to use the stairs," she said, "I don't know how to get onto these things." Waving away my gesture that I'd hold her hand, she quickly walked up the stairs. "It's all fate, at this age I have to travel so much for this reason. I don't know how the poor child is now, its been 3 months since I last saw her."
 
"Don't worry, half of your journey is over, besides, I'm sure she'll get better," was my feeble attempt at trying to reassure her, "We're here, this is your gate. Just show your ticket to that attendant over there, and they'll let you into the waiting area." "Thanks thambi, I don't know how I'd have managed without you. Thanks," she said with a weary smile and walked on.

The resounding silence when I walked back to my gate was filled with a maelstrom of emotions. Thus are mothers taken for granted everywhere, thus they are giving up so much without even a second thought, and thus is life...

ammani was running 24-hour "short" contests on some very interesting themes, I'd taken a shot for a couple of them...

Cough Syrup

His eyes were bloodshot, clearly, he had been crying sitting crouched over in the corner of the bed facing the wall. He jumped when the kid touched his back, and only then realized what he was holding in his hand. Sure enough, she wanted to know what it was. "Cough syrup," he said. "Are you ill?". "Yes, I am going to take this and lie down and go to sleep. Can you do something for me? Can you take care of your mother," he was breathing heavily, heaving, trying hard not to cry in front of the child. "Sure! You go sleep.". He couldn't bring himself to reply, he couldn't bring himself to say anything. There was nothing he could say that would explain what he was going to do, or why he was doing it. He only hoped that someday, she would understand, and would find it in her heart to forgive him for abandoning her…

Jet Lag

"What's all this about people complaining? Why are they complaining?"
"Well, sir, they are complaining because their baggage is getting… uh… misplaced, and some of them are missing their flights."
"Why on earth is that happening, should I fire somebody?"
"Uh.. no sir, I don't think we should fire anybody just yet. We're having these problems because some of those new jet planes that we've got are so much faster than the older planes, and the ground crew has not been able to change accordingly."
"Hmm.. So how are you going to fix this? I can't have people complaining about my airline you know!""Uh.. sir, its going to take some time for us to retrain our people, and.."
"I don't care what you got to do, we should do something NOW!"
"Uh.. ""What!""I can't think of anything we can do right now that.."
"We should be able to do something! Why did you say we were having these problems?"
"Its these new-fangled jet planes you see, they.."
"Ahh. Okay, lets just give it a name. Call it jet lag. From now on, whenever we get any complaints, inform customer service to blame it on Jet Lag. That should fix the problem. Make sure we also send out some press releases on how jet lag is causing these problems. Care for a drink? I believe the sun is down.."

The car hadn't been moved in months, and that bothered him! It was almost 3 months since he'd moved in, and he was almost certain that the car hadn't been moved in all that time. It was one of those old cars, a behemoths of years gone by that amazed you with it's grandeur. It irked him that such a beautiful machine just lay there, unused and rusting away. "People with too much money on their hands," he muttered to himself as he got back home after another long and boring day at the office.

  It was a lazy Saturday morning, and he was cleaning his 'bike when the gleaming chrome of the car caught his eye again. "Hey watchman," he called out, "whose car is that?". "I think it belongs to the old man in 7B, sir, but I don't know, I am new here," this was the young watchman who usually worked the night shift. "Haven't you noticed who drives it?", he asked again. "No sir, I don't think I've seen anybody in that car."

  "Got to change the goddamn doorbell," he muttered to himself as the incongruous tones of the national anthem filled the house. "Yes," the elderly lady from next-door stood with a small cup in her hand. "I need some sugar, and all the shops are closed," she said, "could you lend me some, I'll give it back on Monday". "Sure, no problem, come on in," he said. "You are new here, aren't you? I don't see you around much, you work late everyday?" she handed him the cup and looked around appraisingly. "Yes, I work in a call center, keeps me pretty busy. I moved here a few months back," he said as he went to get the sugar. "This is a nice apartment, you'll have no problems here. I've been living here for the last 5 years, ever since my husband retired. I see you've set up your house very well," she said as he gave her the sugar. She seemed like a typical neighbourhood gossip, interested in everything and everybody, he decided. "Do you need anything else?" he tried to gently shepherded her towards the door. "No, thanks, I will return this on Monday. By the way, don't forget to wear your helmet when you go on your bike, I have seen you many times without it," she said as she walked out. He could only roll his eyes at that!

  He was half-asleep as he was entering his house on Tuesday morning after a long night at work fielding calls, when the cheery "Good morning!" startled him so bad that he dropped his keys. "Did I scare you? I am sorry.. I just wanted to return the sugar that I borrowed." It was the next-door lady again. "No, its quite all right, I don't need it back," he managed. "Are you sure? Thanks. Are you just getting back from work?" "Yes, I had the night shift," he weakly waved at her, hoping she'd get the hint and let him get to sleep. "Do you eat properly? You look very weak," she obviously wasn't getting the message. "No, I am fine, just had a long day at work," he was still trying to be nice, when it suddenly struck him that this was the perfect source of information about the apartment and the residents! "I was wondering," he said, "do you know why that car is always parked in the same place? It seems to be abandoned here". "Would you like a cup of coffee? I just made it – its fresh," she said as she walked back to her house, it almost seemed as if she hadn't noticed his question, but something told him she wanted to think about what to tell him.

  "He used to be the professor of mathematics, very well known and respected. He had bought the car almost 50 years back, and was very proud of it. He always took it to the same mechanic, the only guy in the city who knew what to do with the car he claimed. His son had settled in the US, and had come for a visit along with his wife and daughter – she was 3 years old then, very friendly and a bundle of energy, always running around and playing with everybody. He used to dote on her, and she was the only person that could order her grandfather around with impunity. He had gone out that evening to buy some gifts for the child as it was almost time for his son to return to the US, and got back quite late that night. He couldn't find his granddaughter when he got back, so he just thought that she was out playing and let it be. It was a couple of hours later, when his daughter-in-law came searching for the child as it was bedtime when he started to get worried. He also joined her in calling out for the child to come back home. Something made him wander out in search of the child, and it was he who found her. She had been playing, hiding behind the car not realizing that he was reversing it in. She had been crushed under the rear wheels, and he had probably not been able to hear her call out if she had even been able to do it, and nobody even knew when that little life had slipped away," she was almost sobbing towards the end of her narrative, and he realized how tightly he was holding on to the armrest only when she finished. She wiped her eyes, took his coffee cup and said, "He never touched that car after that, it has never been moved since then." He could only nod dumbly. "I should probably get going, thanks for the coffee," he said as he edged out towards the door. She only nodded. As he left her house, he noticed the photos, the photo of the young girl playing with toy, the family photo, and the photo of the serious looking man in front of the car…

 

You could see that the kid was scared. His misgiving was quite plain to see. "Come on, you'll like it," the mother said, "Go ride on that horse like a king!". The boy just nodded and managed a weak grin. "Well, do you want to go?", the father was getting impatient. The mother nudged him to be silent, and turned to the boy with an enquiring look. The man with the horse waited patiently, the horse itself, saddled up and ready to go stood still, apart from the occasional twitch of the tail. "I'll hold you," the man said, "We'll go very slowly". The boy didn't notice the unkempt look of the man, the slight animal stench coming from the horse, or even the way the poor animal looked. It was a bony, mangy, tired-looking animal that was probably on its last legs. The boy couldn't see any of these things. Images of a prince atop a galloping steed, of horsemen from all of those period TV shows and movies he'd seen filled his head. He just nodded, and stepped up to the horse, his face reflecting the nervousness that he was feeling. He managed a wave to his mother before the man lifted him up on to the saddle. He showed the boy a handhold on the saddle, took the reins and started walking.

The weak grin on the boy's face gave way to sheer terror once the horse started moving, and the saddle started rocking alarmingly! His fingers were white where he gripped onto the saddle, and the old leather of the saddle felt like wood to his hands. He almost cried out in fright to his mother, but the cry died out in his throat when he turned back and saw the look of pride on his mother's face. She waved to him and gestured to hold on. The boy just screwed his eyes closed and started breathing heavily. "See, that wasn't so bad after all, was it?", the man asked. Suddenly realizing that the man could see that his eyes were shut, the boy opened his eyes and murmured indistinctly. As the horse walked along the tree-lined drive, you could almost see it's rhythmic gait slowly working its magic on the kid. He started to sit up straighter, and the tightness in his face was gradually reducing. The man turned the horse around back towards the stand just as the boy was starting to look around and enjoy the view from his new vantage position. The mother smiled at the look of excitement on the kid's face and nudged the father; even he grinned idly as he watched the kid on the horse come closer. "Want to go again?", he asked. "No, this is enough. You looked like a king on that horse," the mother said, "Please pay the man."

As the man lifted the kid straight off the saddle and set him down gently, the kid was grinning widely. "I rode that horse like a king…"

"Double up on a hard 14!", the plump dealer literally sneered at my stupidity. The dealer’s open card was a Jack – what that meant was that with my 14, I already had a very slim chance of winning; by doubling on the hard 14 (a total of 14 where there was no ace), I was literally giving away more money to the casino. The dealer was literally laughing at my stupidity, and I couldn’t even fault him – the odds were about 3-1 that I was going to lose (and lose double of the initial amount of money that I had bet). Unfortunately for the house, he dealt me a 7, dealt himself a 7 and I got paid out for my stupidity. Oh well, just another place where brash action pays off defying all odds I guess. That was the cue for me to cash in, and exit stage left while I was still ahead of the game!

That blackjack table was a cliché. There was me – the half-drunk wannabe betting money on moves that I should stay far away from (did I mention that booze was free in casinos?), there was the totally-drunk couple betting 25$ & 50$ on each hand, trying to outplay each other in a drunken daze and being extremely loud and well-intentioned while they were at it, there was the serious-looking middle-aged man of east-asian origin – he played by the book, played the so-called “optimal strategy”, stayed away from all the free liquor on offer, and kept building his stack of those green 25$ chips, there was the middle-aged American, very chatty and enjoying his getaway, asking all and sundry for advise on how to play his cards, and then there was the dealer. Boy, what a show it was for him. How many ever times he had seen this all before, I guess it would never get boring for him.

So, after “coloring up” my chips, I just meandered around the casino – the party was on and in full swing at 2 A.M. that Friday night, and I was almost overwhelmed by the feverishness and the raw emotion that is usually on display. Starting with the slot machines where so many retirees seem to be switched off to everything except the next spin of the wheel, the craps tables that were surrounded by screaming people urging the dice to fall true, the table games having the usual crowds of players and wannabe hangers-on - everybody is tense, screaming, poker-faced, laughing, or in some cases, even crying. The lure of “easy” money is just too powerful I guess… That, and the need to find an excuse to blame all of life’s problems on – the cards failed me, those damn slots were too tight, whatever, all we need is something to blame. ”Come on man, I need this money for the rent, give me a blackjack!!, the pudgy guy sitting next to me was literally pleading with the dealer – as if the dealer could just serve up a blackjack on a whim. Obviously, ole pudgy knew the deal as well, but that doesn’t stop any of us from blaming the dealer or the cards, right?

Casinos are also full of cute little tricks – they actually display the last few numbers that came up on the roulette wheels, the history of the last few games at each baccarat table – all to make it seem as if you have a better chance of winning using this knowledge! Obviously they aren’t so eager to educate you to tell you that the roulette ball doesn’t have any memory, each roll is independent, and so on. When I see so many people saying – ”Its been running black last 3 times, a red is due, lets bet on the red”, it makes me mad, and also a bit sad. Caveat emptor though, right? Time for me to head back home – strangely, I find the crowd and all the activity at casinos therapeutic, I somehow feel as if all my pent-up frustration and anger has drained out leaving me tired, but somehow less unhappy than when I walked in…

Discovered a post I'd written a few months back but had never gotten around to submitting..
The Chennai skyline seems to be made up mostly of coconut trees, with the occasional red-and-white cell phone tower reaching up to break the skyline. High rises have not yet made their presence felt much in the vicinity of Guindy, or at least as seen from the 6th floor canteen of my office. The cityscape helped me collect my thoughts as I sat in the canteen sipping a hot filter kaapi trying to get my stuff in order at the end of a long day. Suddenly, the horizon seemed to blur out and acquire a hazy gray outline. Just as I started cursing the smog and pollution, even buildings that were closer started to appear less distinct. It took vertical streaks of water across the glass wall of my office before I figured out that it was actually raining! I stood there for the next fifteen minutes while the downpour strengthened, and from my high vantage point watched the waves of rain pushed by the wind advance across the skyline. As suddenly as it started, the rain stopped... and it was the signal for me to get back to work, refreshed and with a smile on my face.

Current song : Anbe Sivam - Anbe Sivam

Ever wondered how hungry you really are? Funnily enough, most people that I've met claim that they are really ambitious or at least try to project an image that they are big go-getters - especially if they have been thro' a B-School. If only there were really so many go-getters around, it would probably be a much different world. Somewhere along the way though, many of these guys seem to lose steam, and forget the path along which they'd originally set out...

And then there are those that don't forget, those that keep fighting the good fight. I've often wondered what it was that kept these guys going - how they kept themselves motivated and energized thro' good times and bad. It's the sheer hunger that drives them. Not just hunger for the money, for the recognition, or the fame... Tis something different, something more. These people seem to have a very strong belief, a firm conviction in their cause - and in their ability to achieve it. They are able to shake off failures and setbacks with a shrug and the knowledge that it is but temporary.

Search within yourself, you just might be able to find the cause that ignites that hunger in you. Seen the movie Lakhya? Despite the shoddy screenplay, the pathetic attention to detail and the usual cliched storyline, the movie does have one redeeming quality - the picturization of the title song. You can literally feel the raw energy, the raw hunger in the young jawan. See it again if you get the chance, worth your time...
 

We all have some kind of a handle on life, right? I mean.. its something that you'd pretty much take for granted. It could be your job, it could be your folks at home, or that something you are passionate about. We all need this anchor to build our lives around, we use them as the bulwark that hold us in times of crises.. What do you think happens when these little handles crumble away?

First, of course, we pretend that nothing has happened, that everything is just the same. We go about with life trying harder and harder to keep things "normal". As time goes by though, it becomes just that big tougher to pretend - to yourself, that things are the same. Thats when we realize - something is missing. All of a sudden, we become unsure of ourselves, uncomfortable about what we are doing, and feel as if we are exposed. Much like a ship without an anchor in troubled waters, there you are - looking for a handle... Not a very pretty place to be in - that sinking feeling in your belly just wont go away.

Know what I figured though? Much as I hate mouthing cliches, it really isn't the end of the world. Being hurt, it does feel weird to probe around for something else, for another handle. The thing is, there are plenty of them out there, and you just got to keep chipping away, you just got to keep fighting the good fight, and slowly, surely, those pillars go up again. It sure aint fun, but hey, its life...