CHEEKY CHUCK

It has been a while since I posted something. And after some serious stuff I think a cartoon is long due. Let me introduce you to a new character. He works in a MNC and people call him Cheeky Chuck. He is Mr.Smarty Pants and will outsmart almost anyone with his wise cracks. Here is one such hilarious encounter.

ANATOMY OF A REVOLUTIONARY

According to me, this world is filled with extremists. There are those who practice materialism in its ugly form and go to any and every extent to exploit, manipulate and reduce others in their quest to unlimited wealth and most of the times glory as well. And then there are a select few (a bunch on the verge of extinction) who lead their lives as epitomes of selflessness and fight for all the people who are oppressed or denied their right to live. The world calls them “Revolutionaries”. These demigods normally lead a troubled but fulfilling life and die with no wealth and limited glory but find immortality in the hearts of all the people they touched and healed. And then there we are, caught in the middle, in no man’s land, leading a life of a dream interspersed with ambition. We want the wealth but our conscience comes in the way (hopefully) when it comes to exploiting others. We dream to be a messiah and fight for a cause but we lack the temerity, discipline and will to give ourselves up. Some people call it normal life; others ordinary!

We don’t have to look hard for the first type; ironically they are well documented and celebrated and for the third type, we only have to look inward. But what does a revolutionary look like? Well, pretty much like you and me, a little thinner and beaten down may be but not necessarily! He (or she) may be less educated than us but certainly more learned; most certainly well read with an eclectic passion for poetry; a consciousness driven more by moral values than materialistic incentives. He wears restlessness and anger on his sleeve and he fears death as much as we do though for different reasons. But there is just one thing that really defines a revolutionary: Love. It may sound ridiculous but it is the love and compassion for a fellow human being that makes a man fight. And he would most certainly have an insatiable hunger to explore the world which gives him a whole new perspective of life and wakes him up to the injustice around. A revolutionary would have most certainly seen the world before the world sees him!  

Until a week ago, the only thing I knew about Che Guevara was that he was an important figure in the Cuban revolution and the only image I had was a stylized visage from a famous photograph that can be seen everywhere worn as T-shirts by youngsters. I am not sure how many of them know his fascinating story, but I sure didn’t. And a small peek into his life tells you what a revolutionary is. But to me the story of how he became one is even more fascinating because it is not about heroic feats but about 2 lives with similar aspirations and dreams running in parallel for a while and how one metamorphoses into the other. Born in a well off and respectable family in Argentina, Ernesto Guevara was an intellectual right from his early days with great passion for poetry, literature and sport. He studied medicine and his hunger to explore the continent he had only known in books took him on an 8000 kilometer journey through Argentina, Chile, Peru, Ecuador, Columbia, Venezuela and Panama that would fundamentally change how he viewed himself and Latin America.

Filled with restlessness and an impassioned spirit, fueled by love for the open road, accompanied by his best friend Alberto Marrero and an old motorcycle that peed oil, Ernesto embarks on a journey that would take him to the farthest reaches of human spirit. In Chile he has his first tryst with a patient when he abandons his date to examine an old lady and feels completely powerless as he sees a plea of forgiveness and solace in her dying eyes. Then he finds himself enraged by the working conditions of the miners in Anaconda copper mine. His overnight encounter with a persecuted communist couple in the Atacama Desert brings him face to face with flesh-and-blood victims of capitalist exploitation. In that cold night, amidst those tragic and haunting faces he starts to feel closer to the strange human race. The deeper he goes into the Andes Mountains, the more indigenous people he encounters who are homeless in their own land. Here the crushing poverty of the peasant farmers who worked small plots of land owned by wealthy landlords takes a heavy toll on him.

The world has already changed in his eyes when he and Alberto arrive at the San Pablo leper colony in Peru on the banks of the Amazon River. About 600 patients live on the South of the river while doctors and caretakers live in the North side. The segregation pains him. He and Alberto refuse to wear gloves and shake hands with patients who call them “real men”. He coaxes a young patient who has lost hope into operation by saying: “You have to fight for every breath and tell death to go to hell”. He sings and dances with them, plays football and literally lives with them. Their camaraderie and spirit make him wonder how the highest forms of human solidarity and loyalty arise and persist among such lonely and desperate people. On the day before they are supposed to move on with their journey, his birthday is celebrated on the North side. He decides that he has to celebrate it with the patients and not finding a boat, just swims across the Amazon fighting bouts of asthma, and lands in the arms of his loving patients. It was then he knew where he belonged. The journey went on, after hugs and an emotional good bye, but something changed inside him that day. 

That journey brought Ernesto in close contact with poverty, hunger, disease, injustice and inequality. He witnessed the inability of a father to treat a child because of lack of money and was pained by stupefaction provoked by the continual hunger and punishment that led the same father to accept the loss of a son as an unimportant accident. It was this journey that convinced him that in order to help these people, he needed to leave the realm of medicine, and consider the political arena of armed struggle. And this journey eventually kick started the journey of Che who would go on to change the way the world viewed Latin America. From that moment onward, every man or woman who trembled with indignation at injustice became his comrade!

SERIAL KILLER

Bhanumathi felt a strange emptiness. It felt she was done with life. It didn’t make her sad, but she wondered if life was always going to be peaceful and boring hereafter. She thought she better get used to it. There would be no more crazy mornings, rush hour traffic or piles of files on her desk waiting for her autograph. No more doctors, businessmen, contractors and elite from all walks of life waiting to talk to her outside her office and no more funny meetings with MLAs and ministers. And more than all that she will miss her peon Subbiah getting her hot bajjis and tea for her every afternoon. She thought: No more fun! It was her first day of retired life. She was no more the Collector of Coimbatore!

Ramamurthy was perched gingerly on the sofa and was peering laboriously into the sports page with his fat spectacles. The Indian cricket team hadn’t exactly made him proud. He was also grumpy this morning because his filter coffee was late by an hour. He was worried it would affect his biological cycle. Bhanumathi ignored him as she sauntered to the kitchen and started to brew fresh decoction. Ramamurthy ambled in, intoxicated by the mystic aroma. Bhanumathi gave him a stare and he went back and hid himself behind the sports column again. For the first time in years, they sat on the verandah, legs outstretched, sipping fresh coffee and watching passers by with the amusement of a new born. She felt that life was not that bad actually.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Ramiah the post man. “Letter for you amma!”

“Are they calling you back?” chuckled Ramamurthy.

Bhanumathi ripped open the letter with a restless curiosity. It was from Mrs. Anjani Dutta, her best friend and mentor who was the former Collector and now happily retired in Calcutta. Her eyes lit up with a fiendish glare as she read the letter.

“Dear Bhanu,

Hello my dearest Collector amma (oops... did I miss an ex?) I have been waiting for this day for nearly 2 months now. Remember the “retirement mourning party” you hosted for me. It is my turn to rub some salt! As you welcome emptiness into your life, I am going to help you do some soul searching to find creative ways of killing time. As cruel as irony is, you will very soon be introduced and sucked into the world of television soaps! Add Ramamurthy’s 24/7 cricket to that and I can’t help wonder how much torture will you be able to endure!

Oh poor thing! How are you going to survive that bad bad world of the blood sucking saas and the revenge seeking bahu? How are you going to keep track of the innumerous characters and their complex relationships as they engulf the TV screen and your mind without leaving an aorta of space? How will you tell the great great grandmother from the great grandmother? I will throw a tip at you here. Look at their hair. The one with snow white hair is “The Great Great” and the one with a single strand of black hair (you have to look very carefully) is “The Great”. And then it gets easier as you can keep track of the other “Maa”s and “Baa”s by the different stages of their black hair-dyes.

Relationships though are a totally different beast. You see it depends on a lot of factors like the whim of the director, the availability of actors and the creativity (or more so the lack of it) of the writer. So don’t freak out when you see a guy getting married 6 times or if the leading lady’s husband changed from last week. You see even “Baa”s switch husbands as veteran actors too are busy and the show must still go on. And if you suddenly wonder why the story is going completely off track, the star vamp lady would have probably gone on maternity leave.

Oh no... I see another problem. You are such an impatient brat. You cannot even wait for the decoction to brew at leisure and you will keep tapping the filter on its head. How are you going to watch a seriously funny argument take place over a whole week or a silly marriage that spans at least 2 month?  Here is a solution for that too. Pick 4 serials but don’t watch them daily! Watch them on alternate days and trust me you can easily follow the story. And guess what, you should form focus groups with your neighbors and you can predict what will happen next week. It is an amazing “feel good” exercise as you will realize how much more intelligent you are than that celebrity director!

Jokes apart... There is really a serial that is a class apart from the others and that which I have been watching ever since I retired. It is called “Kyunki Saas Abhi Bhi Bahu Hai” and trust me there is no retirement for or from this one! I am sure my letter would have partially killed your appetite for these small screen gems. But I don’t want you to completely miss this once in (and for) a lifetime experience. So once you have had your share of fun and frolic, you should pay me a visit so that I can share more pearls of wisdom with you. Hoping to see you soon! 

With love

Anjani.”

Suddenly her entire future ramp walked in front of Bhanu’s eyes shedding gloomy tears of a slow death. She felt a sudden rush and frantic need for some bustle. She stormed into the living room where Ramamurthy was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his body moving towards the TV at 0.01 miles per year. “What happened to that Europe tour you were talking about?” she asked matter-of-fact-ly!

“What Euro…” Ramamurthy looked bamboozled like he had just swallowed a dead duck!

“Stop watching that stupid match and for once make yourself useful! I don’t want to die in front of a television.”

SEVEN YEARS IN TIBET

There is a scene in the movie where a small boy we all now know as the 14^th Dalai Lama asks his close friend and tutor Hienrich Harrer: “Do you think some day people will look at Tibet on the movie screen and wonder what happened to us!” It was a moment of truth that evoked a deep pain in my heart. The inescapable truth that a civilization is slowly being wiped out of the face of the earth slowly dawned on me. I generally don’t think of writing about something until it disturbs me enough and I felt that this masterpiece which projects humanity through the lives of two very distinct individuals deserves to be celebrated.

Make no mistake. This movie is not about Dalai Lama or the Tibetan race. The movie is about Hienrich Harrer, an arrogant, cocky, self-absorbed Third Reich Poster boy and a star Austrian mountain climber who sets out to conquer the Nanga Parbat, the unclimbed mountain in the Himalayas and leaves behind a very pregnant wife in a selfish quest of singular glory. This movie is about his transformation from being a self centered egoist to a human being with genuine love and compassion and the enlightenment of simplicity.

Hienrich Harrer is a loner by choice, superiority is his only code as he fails to coexist in the expedition which is ended by bad weather and further marred by the World War as the climbers are taken as prisoners in British India. He slowly sheds his outer layer of stoic arrogance as the memory of his now new born son keeps haunting him. We see the first glimpse of his ego’s downfall in jail when he receives divorce papers from his wife. There is a terrifying scene in which Harrer repeatedly throws himself onto the barb-wired fence as a self-inflicted punishment for his self-inflicted agony.  

Harrer eventually manages to escape prison along with the captain of the expedition Peter Aufschnitter and a riveting tale of their friendship ensues. Together they wander endlessly across the towering mountains for years, seeking refuge and finding none, fleeing bandits, eating their own horses, trading their costly accessories for handful of food, inhaling the springs, battling death like cold in winter and finally landing in Lhasa with the help of a first aid instruction paper disguised as some special entry permit. The kingdom that is closed to foreigners welcomes them with outstretched hands and scripts the most wonderful chapter of their lives.

The seven years in Tibet is not just for Hienrich and Peter but we too live and breathe Tibet along with them and immerse ourselves in their wonderful tradition and culture. The roof of the world, Tibet, is most intriguing and at the same time most isolated. Its civilization, though medieval in nature, is one with a golden heart and unlike any other. A civilization that doesn’t stand a chance against any other in terms of prosperity, wealth or sophistication but has more peace, compassion and simplicity than the entire world put together.

The old lady who takes care of Harrer, the workers who refuse to work on a land fearing that they will hurt the worms in the soil, the minister who asks nonchalantly if one needs a reason for a good deed when questioned on his reason for giving refuge to these two foreigners and the young Dalai Lama who shows wisdom and character way beyond his age when he stands up to the Chinese Generals, refuses to leave his people behind and persuades Harrer to go back to his son, are all representatives of this spectacularly unique race. And when the Chinese invade Tibet, we are witness to the heart wrenching spectacle of a peace loving country vainly attempting to create a military of about a 1000 men to battle millions of Chinese troops. It pricks your heart to see a Tibetan soldier firing an arrow at a Chinese who shoots him with a machine gun. It is indeed a culture like no other and its loss is not just a loss for humanity but a loss of humanity.

There are some refreshingly funny scenes too as the two guys come alive at the first sight of a woman after spending years of dry and dead life. The scene where they sheepishly cringe when she measures them up for stitching their suits, their game of one-upmanship to impress her, Harrer’s ingenious idea of ripping his coat pocket to find an excuse to visit her again only to see Peter already there getting his pant mended and the ice skating lessons where Hienrich realizes that Peter is her man will all make you smile with abandon.

But at the same time you will always feel a strange undercurrent that reminds us of the uniqueness of the Tibetan civilization. The scene where Hienrich shows off to the seamstress describing in detail every glory that he has achieved is my second favorite one just for sheer genius and profundity of her response. “This is the difference between our civilizations. You admire the man who pushes his way to the top in any walk of life while we admire the man who abandons his ego!”

The scenes between Hienrich Harrer and little Dalai Lama are simply mesmerizing and define the new Hienrich Harrer. The intimate and playful relationship they share slowly grows into a love that is soulful, spiritual and filial. The scene where Harrer tells him about the absolute simplicity in climbing mountains which fills him with the deep powerful presence of life is as brilliant as the final one when little Dalai Lama tells Harrer that he was much too informal to be his father and asks him to go back to his son. Harrer, who left a son to conquer the Himalayas, conquers himself with the help of a son in Tibet who he finally leaves to go back to the son he left. This brilliant movie showcases the remarkable transformation of Hienrich Harrer and gives us a glimpse of an extraordinary civilization and its greatest spiritual leader through Harrer’s eyes.

TWO TO TANGO

Chamak Bazaar was living up to its reputation, hustling and slithering with a shimmering daze. It was rush hour at Rownak street as shop keepers were in full bustle, yelling at the top of their voices, wooing customers with an intensity that would put modern day Romeo to shame and wandering into la-la-land for a split second as they heard the cash register ring as they closed yet another deal. Mr. Sloppy Pants was seriously not in sync with the festive mood out there. He almost toppled an apple cart, banged into a flower woman narrowly missing her hand print on his face, kicked a poor dog with a broken leg and haggled over a pumpkin with the vegetable vendor who got so irritated that he gave it for free to the lucky bystander.

Dhanraj was watching all this with amusement and curiosity in equal measure. He was particularly interested in Mr. Sloppy Pants who was wreaking havoc in the market place. Dhanraj was a master at the art of shadowing. He knew exactly how much distance to keep, how to be a nobody in a crowd and how to watch his prey from different strategic locations before moving in for the kill. But most importantly he had an eye for detail and he was adept at picking his moment. He was the smoothest operator around and was known as “Makhan Chikna” in elite circles. His eyes never missed a fat catch and the moment he saw Mr. Sloppy Pants, he knew he was in for a feast.

He didn’t have to wait long for the stars and planets to align in euphoric symphony to present the opportune moment. At exactly 6:00 PM, the church gong reverberated, birds and pigeons went helter skelter, Girdharilal pawn broker brought his shutter down with a menacing thud, Bansi whose white shirt had turned designer thanks to Mr. Sloppy Pants’ Banarasi paan was ready to land a knock out punch while Dhanraj effortlessly snitched Sloppy's fancy pocket as the poor dog barked in celebration of a poetic justice of some sort.  Dhanraj was off in a flash and while Mr. Sloppy Pants was still negotiating the furious Bansi, he had gotten off Rownak street, hopped 4 narrow lanes and had casually settled near the small pond beside the village school.

Dhanraj never went home immediately after the act. He was a pro and he knew better. He always stopped at a vantage point, surveyed his loot, pocketed the valuables and then dumped the rest into a well, garbage can or the pond. And then many a time he would walk back to the same place in search of a new target. This time though, he was rather disappointed to find only 15 rupees in the wallet. He was cursing his luck and was about to fling it into the pond when he noticed a sparkle in the wallet’s front pouch. He ripped it open and for a moment his mind was in a transfixed daze. There was a small golden ring shimmering in shy radiance. His heart was beating so fast he had to clasp it from popping out. But then something strange happened and he was struck by an emotion that was hitherto alien to him. It was an engagement ring and at that damn moment he had managed to think of Ratna. Something changed inside him!

It was past 10 o’clock in the night and Ratna was starting to get panicky. Dhanraj was never this late and she could not wait anymore to tell him the good news. But she soon realized she had bad news coming her way through Munna. She ran to the Rownak Nagar police station as fast as she could. After an hour long conversation with the inspector interspersed with constant buttering and persuasion, Ratna was ushered into Dhanraj’s cell.

“What in the name of God happened to you?” she was clasping her hands in utter disbelief. “Is this the Makhan Chikna who had never been caught in the act since he stole butter at the age of 7!”

“It is all your fault! You messed up my upper compartment.” His smile came back as he saw her and he told the entire story. She burst out into a fit of laughter that woke up the hawaldar who was dreaming of his Chammak Challo. “You actually went to put the wallet back into his pocket. You were the one who told me we should isolate every feeling of ours when we are on the job.”

He scratched his head in embarrassment. “I know. But it was an engagement ring and I don’t know what possessed me for a moment and I thought of you and the wedding ring I was never able to give you.”

There was a moment of silence as they looked at each other. Tears rolled down her eyes. “Shut up! Have I ever complained about that? You deserved those punches on your face from Mr. Sloppy Pants!” He laughed and held her hand softly.

She slapped him gently. “You idiot! That fellow is not getting engaged or married. I have never seen such a low and mean person like your Sloppy Pants.”

“What! How the hell do you know him?” Dhanraj looked baffled.

“Because I had seen that duffer in Kinara Ganj where I have been fishing for the last 2 months. He first came to the lady’s house and they had a big spat. Apparently he is a rich Seth who has been loafing around with quite a few women. In the end he slapped her and he took out the ring he had given her, spat on her house door and walked off mouthing obscenities by the dozen. I had been shadowing him for a while but I could never get too close to him and he left in a hurry!”

Dhanraj felt like an idiot. “Oh God.. All this for nothing! Damn my luck!” He banged his head on the wall.

“Okay.. now don’t put up an act here. The story doesn’t end there. I was walking back home today at about 8 when I saw Mr. Sloppy Pants sipping his coconut water at Ramu kaka’s shop. And this time I seized my moment. I went close to the shop and then slipped and went down with my basket. Mr. Sloppy Pants rushed to help in a flash and I managed to whisk his wallet with precision even you would be proud off.” Ratna was standing there with a broad smile on her face and the glimmering ring in her hand. Dhanraj jumped in the air and hoisted her above his head. Hawaldar woke up again even more irritated as it was Chikni Chameli in his dreams this time.

“You are a genius Ratna. You see.. All that training has to come to fruition after all. Wait till I get out. I am sure we will get shit loads of money for this one. If only I can get out soon enough…” Dhanraj paced around with excitement and despair.

Ratna was unperturbed. “That’s been arranged for as well. The inspector’s house falls in Kinara Ganj and he has seen me a few times. You see he has a thing for me and that was all I needed to work your release. And of course a fat commission too which we can quite easily afford. Now you will have to wait until tomorrow evening and I will get you out of here.” He was mighty impressed.

“You see I have a few Aces up my sleeve.” She chuckled.

“That I can see. I hope I am your only King!” He gave a wry and jealous smile!

She gave a sly laugh back. “Are you kidding me? You are a jack(ass)!”

“And one more thing! You are good at picking pockets, not the other way around. So you better stick to it.” She patted him lovingly on his head as she messed up his hair playfully.

                                                                                                                             - A SHORT STORY BY RAJ

WHAT WE ARE

“ZEPHYR” is a name that needs no introduction and “CYBERNAG” is a blog that would fascinate and stimulate you beyond description. She is a brilliant writer who blogs on a variety of pressing yet common place issues that anyone can identify with. And she paints such a vivid picture that everything comes alive in front of your eyes. You will get to live and feel the issue and her thoughts breathe fresh air into our minds. I have not seen anyone write about social issues so comprehensively and insight-fully with a unique and strong perspective. On other occasions, she transcends down the memory lane rekindling nostalgic memories in a way we all relate to and feel related to as they are so relevant in every household. And all along the journey she makes you laugh, cry, smile, reminisce and celebrate along with her.

So I was really thrilled at the opportunity to write a blog post for her. It was indeed a privilege and honor. Thank you very much Zephyr. And what I chose to write about is the simple but magical reason of our existence: two souls who had no idea what they were getting into!

“Life is something that fascinates us in every dimension: physical, spiritual, philosophical and biological. Life may have been created by God or Science and evolved by chance or by design. But our life and the world as we know, is designed by two individuals who meet by chance. They introduce us to the world and they are our world until we develop wings and set out to shape our destinies. We do not see them become the man and woman they are, firsthand, but somewhere between our ears, heart and brain, we know it all. There is an invisible life thread inside us that is interwoven with their fabric that helps us document their lives into us and establishes a psychedelic connect beyond cognition. Their lives are biographies that portray how our lives would have been in a different era. We come to know us as them!”

Read the entire article at: http://cybernag.in/2012/03/what-we-are/

WAVES OF PERIL

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon and I was rolling in the bed vetoing a 1 hour long debate about getting up or not. Suddenly I heard a knock on the door. I ignored it to be a dream as no one ever knocks my door but the knocking was persistent. I sauntered towards the door and opened it with my eyes and brain refusing to embrace the sad truth that I had actually woken up. And then I saw a man who looked faintly familiar but scary enough to give me the impression that he just walked out of a grave. His hair was long and shabby, his beard must at least be 6 months old and his fashion quotient would evoke the envy of a beggar. Lo behold! It was Professor Eisenkleiftovich. I jumped in joy as I was seeing him after I don’t know how long: eternity probably.

Me: What on earth happened to you Professor? You look terrible. Where were you all this while?

Prof: I was in Taiji and I nearly got myself killed.

Me: Taiji. That’s in Japan right. What were you doing there?

Prof: Yes. I was watching dolphins there.

Me: Why would anyone kill you for watching dolphins?

Prof: I was watching them die.

A shock wave went through me as I floundered for words. His eyes were unperturbed.

Prof: Tell me this. When you sit in that Sea World gallery and see a dolphin splitting the waters and soaring into the sky as it throws in a couple of somersaults on its way back, what do you feel? What goes through your mind when it comes near you and looks in your eye, beams at you and rubs its nose against yours?

Me: I feel elated and out of the world. I can see its happiness and love for us and the deep connect it shares with humans. Most of all, I am awed by its intelligence.

 

Prof: Well, I would certainly agree to your last statement. But you know what; a dolphin’s smile is nature’s greatest deception.

Me: Why do you say that? What is the problem with its smile?

Prof: That’s my point. When a dolphin is jumping and smiling, it is hard to see the problem. Dolphins are acoustic creatures and sound is their primary sense. The most advanced sonar ever build by humans is no match to the dolphin. It can scan and tell if one is pregnant in a minute. Such is its sensitivity to sound. Now you capture it and thrust it into a concrete tank and then you add a gallery full of screaming people to the agony. That dolphin that swims to you with a sweet smile and jumps to your whim and fancy is enduring extreme levels of stress at that very moment and eventually the stress kills it.

Me: I never knew that there is so much desperation behind that innocent smile. I hate you Professor. I will never be able to go to Sea World again. But you didn’t tell why you went to Taiji?

Prof: Taiji is a small town with a big secret. It is the largest supplier of dolphins to marine parks across the world. And do you know how they catch them?

Me: I guess I don’t want to know. But you will tell me anyways, right. So go ahead.

Prof: The fishermen wait in their boats along the migratory routes of dolphins, immerse long poles with a flange on the bottom and bang on the poles with hammers essentially creating a wall of sound to terrify the dolphins. They swim for their lives to the shores of Taiji and they reach the lagoons, shocked, stressed and freaked out, where they are sealed off into captivity. The next day dolphin trainers from around the world line up to select their Bottlenose Bobs. Each dolphin sells up to $150,000. Now that’s a lot of money!

Me: That is so atrocious. No wonder it is a multi billion dollar industry now. How heartless have we become?

Prof: Wait a minute. You haven’t even heard what happens to the dolphins that are not selected by the trainers?

I was almost about to shut my ears off as I could sense what was coming.

Prof: They are slaughtered; not killed; slaughtered and sold for their meat. They are taken around to a remote glistening cove where no one has access to and the fishermen kill them with their spears mercilessly. Well, you may ask me, what’s the big deal? We kill all sorts of animals for food. So why this hoopla about the dolphin? I am not saying man should not be carnivorous. Many animals are, and it is their choice. But show me people in this world who want to eat dolphin meat, can you?

Me: They don’t? Then why this heinous killing? I don’t understand.

Prof: Well, there are very few people in the world who eat dolphin meat by choice. The fishermen though, label it is as expensive whale meat or in some other form of disguise. If they label it as dolphin meat, they won’t find any takers. And the reason for that is dolphin meat is heavily laced with mercury which is highly toxic and lethal to our health.

Me: So just for a few extra bucks, these fishermen are not just killing the poor animal but also endangering a human’s life. Why can’t they just leave them alone!

Prof: You see man is the weirdest paradox that has ever walked the earth. We all have this desire to watch them, swim with them, hug them, kiss them, hold them and love them to death. And this endless desire is the ticket to their death and misery. Some people love and kill them while others love to kill them. You told me that you are awed by its intelligence. But don’t we always associate intelligence with humans and some aliens living in some far off wonderland we will never get to. Now, when you understand this non human intelligence of the dolphins, you will realize that they don’t really belong in captivity.

God had created a perfect universe: until he made man. And from that day on, God has never looked into the mirror.

P.S: About 23,000 dolphins are being killed in Japan every year. To learn more visit http://www.takepart.com/cove. And to witness the poor plight of the dolphins and the nefarious crime that goes on unnoticed, watch this documentary: http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/cove/

TRANSCENDING LOVE

Bob first saw Nicole in Gold Coast, Queensland. She was there shooting for the new Foster’s beer commercial. It was her first time in Australia and she was lost in its vastness and splendor. Sea World is a fun place to be even if you are working. Big Bob was quite famous at the waterfront there and he earned his living by entertaining passers-by with his antics, fun tricks and occasionally his songs. Songs were not really his forte and neither he nor his fans understood what he sang but they loved him nevertheless.

But for the first time, his song not only made no sense, it was out of rhythm too. It was because his heart was beating in frantic resonance at every glimpse of Nicole who just wasn’t taking her eyes off of the evening sun that seemed to be busy in a round table conference at horizon with the sky and the ocean. Bob sulked at the sudden appearance of an adversary and ended his performance abruptly much to the chagrin of his devout audience. Some understanding folks wished him luck while others cracked a silly joke at this odd love story that was unfolding.

She was a star who would soon be seen on television all over the world. He was just an amateur artist who probably wouldn’t even make it to the local newspaper. But all that didn’t matter one little bit. To Bob, it was love at first sight. For the next 10 days, he watched her with pining eyes and with every passing day fell more and more in love with her. His performances grew more erratic and less frequent. Even his most ardent visitors were getting frustrated and he would appease them once in a while with an inspired but rapid fire  performance. He then went back to watching her.

She noticed him too. She watched him charm his audience. She watched him watch her. Somewhere in between, even though just for a split second, their eyes did meet. But then day 11 came and it was time for Nicole to leave! Her cruise was ready but she wasn’t. Bob had grown so used to her eyes that he decided that he would follow her to any corner of the world, not to win her heart, not to propose his love for her, not to live happily ever after with her, but to just keep looking at those mesmerizing eyes forever. And God granted his wish: literally!

Life provides many excruciating moments but there cannot be a moment more death-like than to helplessly watch your love die in front of your eyes.  Nicole’s agony was more painful than Bob’s death. That was the moment when their eyes met again! But this time forever! It was the memory Bob died with and Nicole had to live for!

On one mid-summer morning, Tursiops Truncatus also known as Bottlenose dolphin and fondly known as Bottlenose Bob fell in love with Pygoscelis Adeliae also known as brush-tailed penguin and never after known as Nicole, in a glistening water front in Australia in the presence of the sun, sea and sky. And 24 days later and 4357 miles away, in a deserted coast of Antarctica, Bob’s love for Nicole was immortalized as Bob transcended into a new world. Bob swam ferociously all the way to Antarctica following the expedition cruise that took Nicole back home. The journey didn’t kill him but the cold did! And death fulfilled his last wish. He died looking into those mesmerizing eyes of Nicole!  

                                                                                                                     - A SHORT STORY BY RAJ

IN YOUR FACE

Eight years ago, he posted pictures of his fellow students online and asked who was hot and who was not. Today he is the self-proclaimed supreme overlord of one of the hottest companies in the world. The cocky 27 year old may not yet be richer than Bill Gates, but he already has a movie to his credit (or discredit)! And with plans of an IPO this summer, that could value his brainchild (supposedly!) “Facebook” between $75 and $100 billion, Mr.Zuckerberg could very well be playing his favorite game “Monopoly” in Silicon Valley. All this for a company that generates around $4 billion in revenues and makes just $1 Billion in net profits! You must be saying that it is a case of extreme Face-bullishness! May be! May be not!

So why is it touted to be a phenomenon or “The Next Big thing”! Why has it become so essential a part of our lives that we are hooked on for hours? Put in simple words, Facebook has just picked up a prehistoric human instinct: the instinct to socialize and has rendered it extinct by making it virtual. It has simply made “Staying in Touch” easy (read that “lazy”)! You don’t have to visit relatives anymore. You don’t have to make that weekly or bi-monthly call to your friends. You don’t have to listen to them rant, boast, brag, crib, complain, reminisce! All you have to do is click a “Like” button without ever knowing what in the hell is happening in their lives! And if you are in the mood, you can actually make an irrelevant comment which in all probability will not be read. You stay in touch and life is good! Forever!

Photo albums and invitation cards will soon go out of business as you will attend functions online without knowing if it is a wedding or a dinner party. Just RSVP and move on. As time goes on, your face will swell with pride as you see your number of friends grow to astronomical proportions. It’s another matter that you would also find it increasingly difficult to put names to faces. But it still gives you a larger than life appeal. You feel omnipresent and omniscient. Which is why a crappy Saturday evening browsing status updates of friends and performing slothful rituals of random likes,  comments and updates feels more satisfying than a fun outing with your best friend or a night at the opera with your loved one!

From a more psychological perspective, Facebook gives us space to express. It gives you an audience which in reality is a vacuum filled with blue and white smoke made up of zeros and ones. But what the heck: we are so desperate to opine and show off that we don’t differentiate a bunch of hay from a ragdoll. We continue to pour in our inner most thoughts, profound ideas, profane feelings and insane deeds with absolute abandon. For all we know, Facebook might have been the CIA’s idea of digging up truckloads of information about all of us, the easier and fun way. You may be laughing your kidneys out, but at least China thinks so! Which is why, despite Mr.Zuckerberg’s lame attempt to learn Mandarin, China is out of reach of his “Social Network”. Talk about being “anti-social”!

But despite the China handicap, Facebook is nearing 1 billion users which would account for 1 in 7 of the world’s population and it accounts for 1 in 7 minutes spent online. Well, if ever Facebook was awarded a “Country” status, it would be the third most populous, just behind our 2 famous “You-know-who”s. It is so heartening to see people waste so much time. Wait a minute! I have only been Face-bearish all this while. 

I am no sacrosanct nor am I friends with Kapil Sibal. I do admit that Facebook indeed has its share of “goods”! It balances our “crazy as hell” life and helps us transcend time and distance to stay reasonably in touch with our close ones. It entertains us; keeps us informed and lets us have some fun. Most importantly it gives us second chances. It puts us back in touch with long forgotten people we wished we had never forgotten. It keeps our friends “within our sights and reach”! But it is up to us to actually reach out to them. You still have to come out of the illusion to make and keep friends.  It may be okay to use Facebook to know what is going on with your relatives or to wish your friend “Happy Birthday”. But when your wife comes to know about your promotion through your Facebook update, you know it’s not good for your health anymore!

Mr. C'MON MAN

It’s time for another cartoon and guess what: we have a new character! (Literally)

Here’s introducing “Mr. C’mon man”! He is an NRI, smart and ambitious and has just returned home with a huge fortune (which he earned working for a Fortune 500 company) and a rekindled aspiration of “Giving Back” to his country and society!

So, here he is, with an ingenious business idea! From C’mon Man to the “Common Man”!

EXPO’ 89

On a new moon day, the usually lugubrious football ground was dazzling like a newly polished jewel. The odd bunch of indifferent school kids kicking a deflated football with the only motive of killing time was replaced by masses of humanity that would outnumber the whole town. And more were expected to turn up from neighboring villages. It was a bizarre and incredible new world of buzz, noise, glare, flair, dust, fest, litter and glitter. No! It was not the football world cup, not even the cricket world cup! It was the annual summer exhibition, fashionably christened as Expo 89 by an enterprising and way ahead of its time Municipal Committee. 

Exhibition! Fair! It was the olden day metaphor to a party! It was one hotchpotch of festivities: an all out attack of light and sound on our faculties. Loudspeakers stationed every few yards were mercilessly assaulting passer-by eardrums filling them with a curious amalgam of advertising promotions and item numbers from the latest flop movies. It was a scorching May and the already hot air was brought up to a simmer by the festoon of multi-colored Goliath bulbs and tube lights taller than humans. The unceasing din of the crowd and its hustle-bustle created a pandemonium beyond parallel. And then there was food!

Eating stalls scattered across the ground in a strange zigzag created a crystal maze that trapped passers-by with its scores of mouth-watering delicacies. Potato and onion bajjis fried in oil, fresh jilebis struggling to jump out of the frying pan straight into your mouth, wafer like appalams and pappadams in delightful shapes and exotic colors sizzling in oil and blossoming like flowers, peas seasoned with raw mango, sodas and colors of all types, idlis named after actresses, ice-creams and kulfis that were supposed to melt in your mouth but did so in your hands! Yet no fair is complete without the pinkish fluffy gossamer-like candy which is bigger than the face and sweeter than sugar. And it has always been a medical miracle to me as to how people gorge on all these and then manage to get on the Giant Wheel!

Ah.. the giant wheel! One simply remarkable invention! It is so huge that you can see it from your house in the adjacent village. But it is menacingly slow as it groans and whimpers its way up to the sky and limps back down as kids gasp at the stars with excitement and elders hold on to the railings and their dear lives.  And then there are trains circling the ground, the odd monkey performing better than movie stars, parrot having a ball telling people their karma, wannabe businessmen trying to sell you all kinds of stuff, horse rides, the lost dog looking for its master, child clinging on tight to her father’s finger, all just to spice up an already fascinatingly eventful day.

An added attraction (really!) was everyday a politician graced the fair and gave away exciting prices and a boring speech. It was the last day and so the Chief Minister was expected. Several fabulous prizes were for the taking; the grand prize was a newly refurbished Lambretta scooter which stood majestically in the center of the ground at an elevated pedestal decorated by flowers, lights and patrolling men. Several lucky folks hit the jackpot and walked away with bonanza prizes ranging from hair pins to pencil sharpeners, candy bars to Tiger brand underwear. It always remained a mystery as to who took the Lambretta home. Nevertheless, the excitement lasted a full year until Expo’ 90 came along. Expo’ 89 was my first fair and its memory is still fresh in my mind. Today somehow these things have fallen out of our favor and are on the verge of extinction. I, for one, wish I could go to such a fair and lose myself once again!   

GRAVEYARD SHIFT

It is again one of those frequently familiar days that just pass by without touching his life in any way. It is a day which he doesn’t live, he doesn’t remember. He just exists or even worse persists to exist.  Bound by commitments, weighed down by expectations, held captive by fear of failure, accentuated by languor and marooned by his own conviction, he lives an ordinary life of real misery and virtual happiness. He seeks a heroic life, but only in the eyes of others. He yearns for a poetic death but dreads its reality every single moment. Everyone sees him as a successful and happy young man. Does he? Well, he has stopped looking into the mirror for good!

He goes through the torturous grind of the week in great expectation of a dull and uneventful weekend. Come this weekend, he will be busy mourning the dreadful week ahead. It is Friday and he is almost there. He walks out of his apartment in a dreary slumber. He wonders if he had a dream last night. That’s right. He stopped dreaming when he became a practical man. The snow flakes falling on his body can’t kindle any emotion in him. Not any more! He has forgotten the pleasure they had in each other’s company. It was a long time ago!

His laborious stroll is brought to a screeching halt by a small boy who rams into him at breakneck speed. The boy was chasing a butterfly which has disappeared into oblivion now. The boy has a grin on his face and he, a frown.

“Watch it son. You don’t have wings like butterflies do.” There is a hint of sarcasm in his tone which camouflages a pain deep inside. 

“But I want to have wings. I want to fly with butterflies and play hide and seek with birds.” The boy has a big smile on his face which irks him even further. It is not fair.

“You ain’t getting them. Now off you go! And don’t run! Go home and study.” He feels the boy lacks discipline.

“No. I am going to play in the rain!” The boy jumps in excitement. “What rain? Are you mad?” He looks to see if there are any clouds. All he sees is white smoke.

“No, you are. Take off those glasses and open your eyes!” The boy runs away into the woods. The boy’s face troubles him. It looks strangely familiar.

He shrugs off the boy’s image from his mind and continues the journey to his daily misery. All of a sudden, snow flakes seem to have changed form to tiny droplets of rain which are kissing the earth and mud and stirring up a refreshing aroma that has filled up the air with magic. He pinches himself to confirm his sanity. A young man is standing in front him, watching him eagerly with a smirk on his face.

“What are you laughing at, pal? Do I look funny?” He barks at the young man in anger.

“No. You look sad. Like you don’t have a life!” The young man’s remark pricks a wound that has been kept concealed for years.

“You don’t know what life is all about. Wait for a few more years and it will teach you all the lessons you need to learn. By the way, where are you going with that cricket bat in hand?” It was his turn to mock at the young man.

“Well, I prefer to learn the life lessons my way. And they can wait. You want to join us for cricket. Do you know how to play?” The smirk is still there in the young man’s face which infuriates him even more.

“Of course I know to play. I was the best at it. But I don’t play anymore. Anyways it is raining now and you want to play cricket?” Meanwhile, his mind had taken a small trip down memory lane and for one long minute, he relived those memorable cricket days of his youth. And the next moment, he came crashing back to reality.

“What is wrong with you? It is bright and sunny.” The young man gives him a “you must be insane” look. He wipes the water droplets from his glasses in disbelief. “Where is the sun? You must be crazy?”

“No, you are. Take off those glasses and open your eyes!” The young man walks off cursing him for wasting 5 minutes of his life.

He is not able to get the young man’s words out of his mind. There is something uniquely familiar about his voice. He looks at his watch. He is getting late and tired. This walk doesn’t seem to end. There is no sign of rain around and he can no more feel the scent of the earth’s freshness in the air. A black smoke fills his nostrils and chokes him. He gasps for breath and settles down in a bench outside a park. An old man sees his misery and offers him water.

“Thank you very much. You look very familiar Sir. Have I seen you before?” He still feels nauseous.

“No. You couldn’t have. Not yet! I have seen you though, long time ago!” The old man’s words leave him bamboozled.

“I don’t quite understand Sir. Anyways... where are you off to? You don’t look very sprite early in the morning!”

“Well, I am probably the only one you have met today who is more miserable than you. But you will get there. I will pray you don’t. I am off to my grave which is just a few paces down the street. Would you like to join me?”

The old man’s words send a shudder through his spine. “You carry on, Sir. I will rest for some more time!”

“Well, in that case, can you lend me an umbrella? It is raining heavily!” The old man’s eyes have seen something in him which makes him feel very uncomfortable.

“What rain? You are crazy. Take off those glasses and open your eyes!” He yells irately. The old man smiles and walks away. He sits there for a while wondering about the strange conversation with the old man. He then gets up and sets off again.

He saunters along carelessly for another 10 minutes uninterrupted and untroubled by any more familiar faces or voices and finally reaches his destination. His office is no longer there. Instead he sees an abandoned graveyard which has a single grave that is yet to be occupied. He looks around for the old man but there is no sight of him anywhere. He looks at the tombstone erected over the grave. He sees his name engraved on it! 

IMPRINTS OF GOD

A slender, fragile yet fascinating and beautiful creature! Its wing-span is no more than 4 inches and it weighs less than one-fifth of a pound. How it came to be called the Monarch, I shall leave it to your imagination. But the butterfly has dazzled humans for millennia. The monarch butterflies exist in several parts of the world, but God has been cruel enough to put some of them in Northern parts of America and Canada where even humans almost freeze to death in winters. Well, trees don’t come with room heaters and the market is not yet there for butterfly sweaters or jackets. So a certain death awaits these poor souls come winter. What do they do? They set off on a remarkable transcontinental odyssey that spans 2000 miles over 2 months and culminates in the safe warmth of the mountains of Mexico. And the journey back home is even more mind-blowing as it transcends 3 generations. A year long epic journey indeed that would put Columbus and Sindbad in perspective! 

The monarch migration is one of the most profound mysteries in the natural world. No one knows what exactly triggers the exodus of these newly hatched butterflies from Canada. They have never seen a winter before to know one is coming. I am pretty sure that they haven’t looked up the best travel destinations in the internet to zero in on a small town in Mexico. But yet on one late August morning, a tiny butterfly triggered by a calling of its forefathers coded perhaps in its genomes, sets off on a journey to an unknown land. Alone! Soon there are millions of them! A butterfly’s physiology is worst suited for a long migration. Yet, it travels about 50 miles a day across plains, deserts, oceans and mountains; escaping from, succumbing to and surviving rain storms, lurking enemies, scorching desert sun and tricky winds. A feat of endurance and navigation unlike anything else!

The butterflies don’t own a GPS. They can neither call their friends for directions nor can they read a map. So how exactly do they navigate their way across a continent to end up in the exact same place every year is probably the biggest mystery of all. They may be following the sun; the earth’s magnetic field perhaps provides an orientation guide or they may have special brain cells that are genetically coded to regulate their internal clock and keep them on course. Whatever their secret may be, they cross every geographic hurdle that nature dishes out in one treacherous journey with extreme panache. They fly with imagination!

A butterfly starts its journey alone but it starts bonding with its fellows on the way. As they near Mexico, they gather into huge flocks for the final leg of the journey. In a tiny Mexican village at the foothills of towering mountains, the Mazahua people wait endearingly for the Monarchs to come home. They believe that the spirits of their ancestors return in the form of these butterflies. First week of November, the butterflies arrive. I can only imagine what rapture a child would feel when she sees millions of butterflies fly into the town painting it in a reddish brown tinge. I have played the scene in my head over and over and I would give anything to be that child.

These butterflies inhabit the forests near this tiny Mexican town for about 5 months. The city rejoices. Exhausted by their monumental journey, they rest, huddled together in the warmth of the huge trees. When spring arrives, they bloom again opening their wings to the sun. They bid good bye to their hosts and begin their journey back. They travel to Texas where they make a pit stop and mate. The parents die but the next generation keeps flying north, repeating the stop, mate and die routine. A full year after they started their journey, a fourth generation of butterflies is born in homeland Canada. This generation is special because these butterflies are the chosen ones to retrace the paths of their ancestors and a wonderful planetary cycle beings again!

A spectacular natural phenomenon, this migration is an unparalleled marvel. Philosophically too, it has several underpinnings that can be inferred and interpreted in different ways. But every time I think about this incredible quest of the butterfly, I feel the hands of God. I see an artist at work! I see his Monalisa. And it staggers my mind that he has left his fingerprints in several subtle ways we don’t even realize!

Wanna know more:

http://www.monarch-butterfly.com/

http://topdocumentaryfilms.com/incredible-journey-butterflies/

5000 RUPEES

Hariya was lying motionless on the road. Blood was dripping from his forehead and had spread itself into a small pond around him. His air supply was cut off by the herd of people who were witnessing their daily spectacle. His eyes were fading and his mind was slipping into oblivion. There was one last image that swept through his eyes. He saw his ailing mother in the hospital bed waiting for her son to return with money in time for her operation. He wanted to tell her that everything will be fine and life would be as before. He felt someone lift him and carry him somewhere. Then he saw the streets, the crowds, the lights, the shops, all moving against him at a frantic pace. He tried to look up and through the corner of his eye he saw the face of a man looking down at him with compassion.

It was Manilal’s last day. He had been waiting for this day for over a year. He had served this office as a loyal watchman for 10 years. He was very grateful to his master, Kamal Babu who had given him the job almost instantaneously. He had just returned after serving the Army (first British, then Indian) for 25 years, but still served his new master with the same dedication. He guarded the office like it was his own house. Everyone in the office was fond of him. He used to tell them tales of war and his fascinating adventures during lunch time. Often times, even Kamal Babu would listen in. The story everyone liked the most was that epic tale wherein Manilal’s father had made sure that their ancestral gold watch made its way to Manilal. His father was killed in battle but his friend had staged a heroic escape and had come all the way to give Manilal the ancestral watch. Manilal claimed that it was not his watch he got that day: it was his destiny that was handed over to him!  

Manilal started with 25 rupees a month and had put most of it in his office provident fund. With his army savings, he had married off his only daughter to a post-master and she was leading a happy life in the neighboring village. Manilal intended to spend his retirement life peacefully with his wife Parul. He was planning to use part of his savings to get a sewing machine for her as she was very passionate about stitching and knitting. With the rest of his savings, he would go on a long pilgrimage trip with her. He had decided on the list of places they would visit, and even their exact order. With a heavy heart, he went into Kamal Babu’s room and delivered one last salute. Kamal Babu came to him and gave him a tight hug.

“Manilal... you have been a loyal and sincere watchman. And a wonderful friend to all of us. We will all miss you and your stories! Anyways... here is a reward for your hard work. Your provident fund money of 4000 rupees and an extra 1000 as a token of appreciation from our side! We will also give you a pension of 15 rupees per month.” His eyes were wet.

“I will miss you very much Sahib. This has been like my home. Thank you so much Sahib. You are very kind. I will come every month to see you all.” He bid goodbye to all his office friends and after one long final look at his chair, left the place and people, happy and sad, light and heavy.  On his way back home, after every 5 paces, he stopped and felt his 5000 rupees with a sense of pride and excitement. His mind brooded over everything he was going to do with it and he would press the rewind button to relive his dream one last time again. Then his eyes fell on a kulfi vendor and he felt the sudden urge to indulge himself. He ordered 2 kulfis and took his time to savor them slowly. It was bliss!

Manilal had found a slip in Hariya’s shirt pocket which had a prescription for Nirmala and had the name Grand Hospital on it. Manilal had immediately rushed Hariya to a rickshaw wala and had instructed him to get to that hospital as soon as he can. Manilal had seen blood so many times in his life and knew how to handle the situation. He slowly wiped all the blood from Hariya’s face while constantly caressing the back of his head.  He then browsed the contents of Hariya’s big purse to see if he could find more details about the man. Suddenly his eyes lit up as he saw lots of currency notes; 6000 rupees to be precise. Greed and his own misfortune put an ugly thought in his mind and he vehemently tried to fight it off. All the principles and virtues that had shaped his life so far seemed to be at stake! Can he tell his wife that he was so engrossed in the divine taste of a kulfi that he didn’t see or feel some crook cut his hand bag and slip away with the small packet which had his lifetime savings? Or should he cash in on this God given stroke of luck in the form of an injured helpless man? After much deliberation, he took 5000 rupees from Hariya’s purse and slipped it into his pocket.

A train of thoughts and emotions were hustling inside Manilal. Should he leave before the man wakes up and finds out everything? Was he so stone-hearted that he will leave the man without even knowing whether he will live or not? The doctor came out to put an end to his agony. “You brought him in time. He is out of danger now. He has lost lot of blood. He is still unconscious. You can go in and take a look.”

“No doctor. I am happy he is alive. I should take leave now.” Manilal started walking away tentatively when the doctor stopped him. “You should at least see his old mother who would want to thank you for saving her son’s life!” Saying so, the doctor dragged him to another ward where Hariya’s mother was laying half-unconscious. On hearing that Manilal saved her son’s life, her face gave out an emotion of gratitude and she folded her hands in a gesture that half broke Manilal’s heart. He gave her an awkward smile and walked out with the doctor.

“Fate! It is a cruel animal. You see, Hariya went out to get the money for her operation. Now see what has happened. I hope she will last to see him one last time. Sometimes I hate my profession!” The doctor gave out a helpless sigh. Manilal’s conscience punctured his heart and his guilt stifled him.

“How much for her operation?” Manilal asked hesitantly. “7500 rupees!” The doctor looked at Manilal hopefully.

Manilal thought for a while. He handed over 6000 rupees to the doctor. “Take this money and start the operation. I will soon be back with the rest of the money!” The doctor’s face was choked with pride for this selfless man and he fled to make arrangements for the operation. Manilal looked at his ancestral watch. Having lost the earnings of his lifetime and soon to be deprived of his only prized possession, Manilal walked out of the hospital feeling richer and prouder than ever!

Hariya was born into a family that was replete with misery and poverty. His father had died early leaving Hariya and his mother with a lot of debt as heritage. Her mother worked in neighbors’ houses to make ends meet and sold her kidney to pay off the debt and send him to school. Hariya grew up to be an educated, knowledgeable yet unemployed youth. His mother’s hardships forced him to take up a job as a server in a hotel. Just when it looked like his mother could put her miseries behind and rest at home, her other kidney failed. Perched at the local tea shop, he had thought in vain about every single possible option to raise the money for his mother’s operation while puffing out 10 cigarettes in the process. That was when he saw Manilal come out of his office and noticed him stroke his bag every other minute as if he was guarding a fortune!

                                                                                                            ....A SHORT STORY BY RAJ!