ALTAR EGO

His head was splitting. It seemed like every nerve was revolting, ready to explode any minute. His heart had lost its mirth long ago, but today it seems to have given up its spirit. His purpose in doubt; his existence questioned. He felt pain no more. He had had enough of it. Numbness had engulfed his veins. He felt like a slaughter sacrifice waiting his turn at the altar. Only a little too desperately. He looked at his friend who was sitting right in front of him. What has life done to us, he thought?

We were so happy, vivacious, lived life by the minute and enjoyed every second of it. We felt invincible. We fought in the mud, got drenched in the rain, sang out of tune, danced like nobody was watching, screamed at the top of our lungs. We sat for hours staring at nothing, talked for hours about nothing. We went on a long drive to nowhere, ate and drank everything we could get our hands on, fished in the pond for hours only to get a shoe for a prized catch, fished for a few more hours in search of its pair without luck, roamed the streets in the night with carefree abandon, spent the very last ounce of energy in our bodies and came back to crash into our beds as if never to wake up again. And then we woke up the next day fresh and ready for another adventure.

And so life rolled on amidst chaos, excitement, fervor and charm. Day after day went by chasing nothing and enjoying everything. I wish I had never woken up after one of those days. But I did. And here I am. A changed man. A deflated man. A lost man. A man no more.

His thoughts brought him back to reality. He looked at his friend again who smiled casually. There was the same innocence and zeal that he had seen years ago. How could that be possible? When did we part ways? How does he not have any of life’s scars? Why has God been so kind to him? Or maybe was he too cruel to me? Is he even there? His blood started boiling even more. His friend still had his smile as he looked at him with even eyes. That made him even more livid.

“What is it that makes you so happy? Seeing me like this. Helpless, hapless and hopeless. Seems like life has been very kind to you my friend. If you had been me, then probably you wouldn’t even be here. Do you know how much I have endured? Do you know how it feels when your wing is ripped apart? Feather by feather. Do you know what it does to your self-esteem? Have you felt scrutiny? Have you experienced love? Do you know how it feels to yearn for affection and not receive any? Have you experienced failure? Do you know how it is to fail in the eyes of your friends? Your family? Your foes? And the coup de grace! Do you how excruciating it is to finally fail in your own eyes? The final fall!  

Have you ever thought how would after life be? Would it be more peaceful? It certainly sounds more mysterious. Do heaven and hell exist? Wonder where I would go. Will I be transported through space to get there? It would be cool to see some planets on the way. And be it hell or heaven that I reach, I probably will be better off than I am now. I wouldn’t have to work consistently to satisfy others. I won’t be judged. I would already have been judged. I can be myself. I won’t be a disappointment to the people I know as they won’t be there. Well at least I hope so.

Yes, I have considered death. I have no shame in admitting it. You may think I am a coward. Well heck, maybe I am. Isn’t it easier to just press the shutdown button? We can restart in a new life if there is something like that or be lost into obscurity. Isn’t that an interesting prospect? To myself and to the people who are tired of me? May be. But I can’t muster courage for that either. Will someone miss me? Am I disappointing them again? For one last time. Do I owe them to live? Do I owe myself a death? I can’t seem to decide. Like every other decision, I put this one off too.

Why don’t you say something? Are you deaf? That would be so cool actually. But I know you can hear me. The smirk on your lips tells me you are enjoying this. You think you are safe inside that mirror. You think it is cool to see me make a fool of myself in front of you. In front you, of all people? While you stand there majestically reminding me again and again of my glorified past!  

He looked at the man in front of him who was so calm and composed, so carefree and happy, so blissful and naïve, so simple and kind, so full of life and love. This was a man he once knew. This was a man he once loved. This was a man he once was. He wondered how long it had been since he left him inside the mirror. He couldn’t remember. That was the man he still wanted to be. Everyday! Or even just for one day! A wry smile came to his lips. He laughed it up. Life indeed does strange things to you.

PAINTING THE SKIES

Dear Friends.. I am sorry for yet another long break. I know.. I have been doing this quite a bit recently. Anyways.. am back with something interesting again! Okay... so tell me friends… What would be your idea for a lazy Sunday afternoon? I see a lot of hands. And I guess there are a lot of refreshing recipes for a relaxing weekend afternoon act. A good heavy meal, is it? It certainly helps if a Saravana Bhavan or a Punjabi dhaba is round the corner. But it will be even more special when a loved one cooks that heavenly meal for you or you make his/her afternoon special by becoming the master chef. Okay… I hear you are on diet. A movie perhaps! Check out the latest blockbuster that is showing in the multiplex nearby. Ahh.. Mixed reviews you say!

Hmmm… How about sitting back on that recliner and checking out anything the idiot box has to offer? Coziness and entertainment all at one place; with a refreshing dash of ginger tea and bliss is yours. Chaos in the living room, huh!! What to watch: Debate on economics or a movie or an Ekta Kapoor soap opera!  Gosh, can’t decide!! Okay okay.. stop that fight for the remote. Let me think of something else. Wait wait… don’t go to sleep! How about a long drive into the woods? What woods you ask? I hear someone yelling “Traffic”! Hmm.. This is getting tougher than I thought. How about a silent and pleasant walk then?  Did someone say cricket? Oh oh…There goes the afternoon for most of you now! I will leave you alone. You guys can fight in peace now!

Well these are all very viable options for lighting up a dull Sunday afternoon which were in my mind too. But the skies had other plans (literally). How is that you ask? Glad you did! It did start out as a dull, peaceful and serene Sunday morning as it went by in slow motion. A little bit of TV, some chit chat and coffee of course made it soothing and relaxing for me, mom and dad. And then it was lunch time as I debated the different options for lunch with mom. We settled on Pav Bhaji as the weather was in perfect synchrony for that and also because mom had never tried her hand at that before. So the chef hat and the apron were on as we went about the task at hand with enthusiasm and panache. And voila… Pav Bhaji was ready. Or so we thought!

But we had one small technical problem: there was no Pav. A quick trip to the grocery store solved that minor obstacle and lunch was upon us. Each one of us gulped down enough Pavs (not to mention the generous stuffing of Bhaji) that our eyes were fading out as we were ready to go into la-la-land. And that is when I just stepped out to the balcony to take a peek at what nature had in store that day. It was a fine day with the right mix of warmth and breeze, color and shade, blue sky embellished by cream clouds, birds chirping, squirrels fooling around (oh btw.. I do have to tell you something about squirrels but that would have to wait), cars (and men) giving Mother Nature a break, trees sveltely grooving to the winds and autumn leaves adorning the sidewalks. This abounding spectacle sent the idea of a nap cart-wheeling out of my mind.

Mom has always been an ardent admirer of nature herself and she joined me in the balcony as we listened to nature’s sweet chimes. And that was when we saw the sky’s white magic. It happened all of a sudden that we were left dumbstruck and pinched each other to ensure it was not a dream. Before you decide (for the umpteenth time) to kill me for holding you hostage with my impending suspense, let me let the cat out of the sky. The reason for our blissful commotion was that letters all of a sudden started appearing in the sky. Yes, you read it right. A magical invisible pen with the help of a precision stencil was etching out letters that were literally appearing out of thin air. We could recognize the letters but the words made no clear sense. And then in a minute or two everything disappeared. Now we were really curious about this mysterious turn of events. The afternoon nap was certainly out and we waited in anticipation of more wizardry from this mysterious wand. In other news, the curiosity bug had infected my dad as he too joined us in the balcony.

About 15 minutes had gone by and we were beginning to lose hope when a déjà vu happened. In another direction, in a different part of the sky, different letters made their appearance one by one to create new words but the one thing that remained the same was the fact that we couldn’t make out what the heck it meant. And then a minute later, it was all gone. Now I started speculating about these seemingly mysterious happenings and quickly made up a few preposterous theories. Was it some evil spirit’s handiwork? Were those writings somehow connected to some holy scripture? Was it warning us of some impending doom? I even thought about trying to research those words and try to find some patterns when my mom said that I was trying too much to be Sherlock Holmes (or Ramanugem rather).

In the meantime, another message had appeared in the sky teasing us with another riddle before fading away surreptitiously. Now we were proposing the theory of an alien attack (come on, we wanted to have some fun) and that over-abused prophecy of the world coming to an end in 2012. Seriously, an alien visit rather an alien attack would surely have been fun. But then, all good things have to come to an end. With some googling and research, I finally traced this to a Ryder cup gimmick. Now what is Ryder cup, you ask. It is a golf tournament between USA and Europe that happens every 2 years.

I know.. Golf is boring. Tell me about that! But this time it provided more fun even if it was unintentional. Apparently Europe made a historic comeback to retain the Ryder Cup. And I guess they had a little help from above. Well, not from that high up as you are thinking, but from at least above 50,000 feet. A European bookie hired a team of sky writers to create pro European tweets high above the country club where the tournament was going on, which by the way is in Chicago close to where I live. But to make them visible so far on the ground though, the planes have to make the writing really big. Each tweet was 400 meters high and 5 miles long and went on to break all skywriting records. That meant even people as far as 20 miles away could clearly see the writings on the sky and we were among the lucky ones.

Well… so ends the story of an intriguing Sunday afternoon. It was no Apocalypse but still a memorable and enthralling experience. For the first time I came to know about this concept called Sky Writing. It is the art of using an aircraft that is capable of expelling smoke, to fly in certain patterns to create writing readable by someone on the ground. Fascinating, isn’t it? Now this message could be anything, meaningful or less, advertisement, celebration or even a birthday wish or a marriage proposal. Now how many of you would want the heavens to broadcast your proposal to that special love of yours! I sure see a lot of hands again. 

A LIFE NO MORE

I have always believed that we get a sense of our real self when we are on the road. It may sound a little far fetched but I may not be too off to think that traffic is a strong signal to the values of our society. The roads have a cold blooded indifference and candor. They lay us bare. Our humanity, gentleness, rectitude, courtesy or the utter lack of all these is on public display and we feed off of one another. And over my lifetime, I have seen more souls than bodies bleed to death on these roads.

I don’t drive anymore. I prefer to get killed rather than committing suicide. Or is it the fear that someone else would get killed or worse might get to see a glimpse of the darkest corners of my heart? Whatever it may be, I take the auto everyday. Some bonds are strange to describe and trying to understand them defeats the whole purpose. Thankfully the auto driver doesn’t question why I give him the luxury of taking me anywhere he pleases to and I don’t wonder why he entertains me every time. We are both comfortable in our uncomfortable silence.

I try to detach myself from everything. Listlessness strangely keeps me sane. The roads are full of bustle and chaos but I merely watch it with a callous apathy.  A man on a bike, in an attempt to impress his pillion interest, zips past us miraculously bisecting the auto and a scooter, almost rams into an old man in a bicycle before his short tryst with the gutter. Alas, a sad predicament to a romantic endeavor. Another who is not acrobatic enough stays behind us and shows his grumpiness with a generous dose of his boisterous horn. The auto-driver is calm and unruffled by the hullabaloo around as he listens to something he calls “a song” that has a pitch to rip apart the jarring loudspeaker which has the potential to replace any hearing aid.

I see a huge car in the distance. Its shimmer tells me that it would have preferred to happily stay off the road in the pleasant confines of the showroom. Reminds me of a newly wed bride who would have rather stayed with her parents. A raw wound is touched. The road’s narrowness is no match for the car’s grandeur. There is a hefty man at the helm. He looks rich from the outside. But the narrowness of his mind is too much even for this road. He is coming right at us and bludgeons our ears with a thunderous honk. It is a one way street and he is on the wrong side. My blood threatens to evaporate.

A dude in a motor cycle comes whizzing from the right hand side and threatens to rewrite all laws of physics and human belief by trying to sneak through the microscopic gap between the car and auto. Physics prevails and he gets caught in the muddle like an arachnid trapped in a Venus flytrap. Everything stalls. Nothing but chaos ensues. In the world of fistfights and word barbs, I stand speechless and thoughtless as an insignificant alien. Meanwhile a miniscule kid in a cycle achieves what the biker dude couldn’t. He gingerly balances his right leg on the auto, provides thrust by pushing his left leg against the car, squeezes his frame through miraculously and accelerates by using his hands as oars against the two vehicles and launches himself through and out of this commotion. A child who was looking at this feat all the while breaks into rapture.

The auto driver gives in finally and backs off slowly in an attempt to create an incredible angle for the mammoth car to slither past him and the horde of vehicles that have accumulated like bees on honey. Seeing his opening, the biker dude vrooms into action as he starts his engine directly in fourth gear and in the process deposits soot on a few fuming faces around, dents the car, teeters off precariously and ultimately spears into a little school girl. A moment of stunned silence is followed by his cowardly flight into oblivion. The auto driver helps her up and nurses her wounds. Why am I so surprised that good men still exist? Perhaps I have been living with myself for too long. 

I am superstitious. I get out of the auto and walk away from the scene. I feel like I am leaving the world on a happy note. I walk aimlessly looking around, searching for something I will never get back. A tall gargantuan tree stands towering above all things living and otherwise. Its branches are spread out like tentacles engulfing infinity ready to suck the blood out of all humanity. I have always wondered how a tree can still look gorgeous without a single leaf on it. Barren beauty if I may. I think I know why it doesn’t have a single spot of green on it. Humans are not made with blood anymore. Why have I always felt that it is the lushness of our hearts that is on display as greenery on trees? Or is it anymore? I wonder if mankind has only aridity to offer.

I haven’t touched my brush. What will I paint when I can’t see the colors anymore? My eyes recognize them but the heart doesn’t feel their radiance. I wouldn’t mind if it was the other way around. I have poured my heart into my paintings so much that I don’t even have any red left to dip in. That my heart will be immortalized piece by piece but seen or understood by no one is another irony! I wish someone would burn all those paintings and mix it with my ash. Perhaps my heart would beat again! But do I want it to?

My legs have been leading my mind for several years now. I amble along. Aurobindo and Mother usher me into their shrine. The Ashram calms my senses for the moment. Everyone around seems to be in peace. The Tulasi leaves bring me to equilibrium. But why are they not sweet anymore? An old lady smiles at me. She knows I am beyond help. Yet she tries! I cry. Something I should have done long back! It doesn’t placate me. The burden is mine to shoulder!

I reach the end of the road. I look the sea in its eye. Its vastness once fueled my imagination. Today it reminds me of my inner vacuum. I stand in emptiness right in between a resolute Gandhi who is in his fervent stride and a tranquil Nehru who is welcoming him with open arms. I will never know if the architects envisioned this when sculpting but it has been my source of enlightenment and resolve for years. Why don’t they talk to me anymore?

I painted the sky blue. I painted the tree green. But I could not paint my life happy.   

                                                                                     - From the diary of a man who was happy once!

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! 

MYSTIC MEANDER

It is a misty morning. The chillness of the breeze penetrates the wooden walls of my bedroom and seeps through the conducting rims of my bed and tickles my spine in a tenderly incessant way. I wake up in incoherent murmur. I mouth a few bickerings to the room heater and lock myself in the bathroom. It clicks and buzzes in anger. I rest my head on the wall and let the shower rip. The hot and cold amalgam of water brings me to my senses. Somewhat! My head hurts. 

I make fresh coffee. Its aroma sends me into a trance. I inhale my coffee twice before I sip it. I hold the mug against my temple. My forehead burns and then attains an equilibrium state. My sinus eases a bit. I skip breakfast to help the coffee linger a little longer in my interiors. My phone buzzes. Should be something important from work. I dial my office number to call in sick. Half way through, I switch off my phone and shove it under the couch. My impulse intrigues me!

The coffee has filled my brain with voodoo. I smell of the wet bark of a chestnut tree and lilacs in full bloom. A reddish brown carpet of early autumn leaves ushers me out of my house. I am filled with delight for no obvious reason. I wander around towards every earthly scent and feel heavenly mirth. It is like a waking dream as I absorb every cell of nature without effort or explanation. Something seems wrong. I pray in companionable silence!

I stare at the acacia tree, richly branched in foliage, its white blossom swaying to the gentle breeze. The veins of its translucent leaves shine against the still shy sun. A dew drop tries hard to cling on to a leaf with all its might. Gravity has the last laugh but its victory too is short-lived. The drop settles on a robin’s forehead, trying to balance gingerly. To no avail: it slides down its orangey neck towards its right wing only to be see-sawed back by its flapping and then flung into space as the bird takes flight. A moth gets a second shower. A squirrel fluffs itself in a burrow of dust-free sand. A sparrow watches on from a distance with muted exhilaration. Their routine life comes to a grinding halt for a millisecond as I enter and exit their little world in as much time. I decide to leave them alone!

A cat crosses my path. I want to be superstitious but fear hurting her sentiments. I walk on. I walk towards the pond. A very artistic water fountain stands at its center and sprays water on the geese and birds. It doesn’t fit the ambience. A fish seems surprised at an unlikely visitor. I wonder if it is feeling cold. The cygnets don’t care. A gull disperses flecks of light and languidly flies down into the murky water. Geese honk. I wonder why everyone wants me to leave!

The road seems to be winding infinitely. Is it taking me out into space? I wouldn’t mind. I don’t see people. I wonder where everyone has gone. Wait a minute: who am I looking for anyways? I cross a church with wisteria wrapped around its iron gate. Its tall blue dome reminds me of something. There is a mild rain on the skylight. The earth smells divine again and a lovely light reflects from the walls of houses. At a distance, clouds seem to get jumbled up neatly into primrose and magnolia. My soul enters the garden first. I follow!

Lilac, acacia, linden, orchids, irises, pink roses and geraniums! Am I in wonderland? The golden laburnums nod in affirmative. A heavenly music fills the air. A statue of a middle-aged man adorns the garden. It seems like an unfinished masterpiece though, as he is shivering. An old man with a grayish beard sits on a rusted bench. He is wearing a long black coat and a grayish English hat. There is something weird about his beard. I notice the fiddle and the symphony emanating out of it. I don’t know if it is Bach or Schubert. Beethoven perhaps! His fingers seem possessed in perfect intonation. Trees listen in attentively. The leaves have stopped rustling. Nightingales stay perched still on their seats atop trees and hum along. He turns in a masterly performance and the ovation is rapture. It’s over and it was perfect. They won’t hear it again. He thanks his audience. I don’t seem to exist. I don’t want to leave!

I stand transfixed. A lark looks into my eyes. My heart melts. It sings for me. I am caught in a quicksand of delight. The old man applauds its performance. It shies away into the infinite sky. I curse him silently. He doesn’t seem to notice. I close my eyes. Rain drops kiss them open. An hour passes; two. I feel the fulfillment of an unrealized dream, an unsensed expectation, an unheard longing. I turn back. I see a man behind the bushes staring at me. He has a cynical laugh intending to mock, dismiss, trivialize everything that I am, that I feel right now. I run towards him. He disappears into the woods!

It is a misty morning. The chillness of the breeze penetrates the wooden walls of my bedroom and seeps  through  the conducting rims of my bed and tickles my spine in a tenderly incessant way. I wake up in incoherent murmur. Rubbing my eyes, I look at the mirror. I see the skeptic from the woods; his eyes more cynical, mine less blind. I remember something about lilacs in bloom very vaguely. My phone buzzes. Should be something important from work. It is snowing outside and I can’t see my car. I look for my shovel!  

WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE IN LIFE?

Perennial question that continues to haunt most of our lives, right? For some of us, it is an internal question while for others it is an external dilemma. Some people are born to do something and realize that very early in their lives while few others get a revelation down the road and focus their energies towards this new found purpose! And kudos to all of them! It is really a gift and hopefully a purpose worth living for!

But a majority of us do not know what we are here to do, don’t realize if we are here to do something specific and most probably will die without knowing we did something spectacular. Now note here, I say we die without knowing we did something special! What I mean by that is we all still achieve a lot in our lives but fail to realize the significance or we have the wrong parameters set that makes us see our lives ordinary! And that is truly sad!

This question has made its way into my life in several ways several times and, believe me I haven’t found an answer to this one yet. Nor do I intend to really! As a small boy (I think I was 10 years old), I remember being asked by my dad’s friend: “Raju kanna, what do you want to be in life?” My answer was spontaneous and very innocent: “I want to be happy.” That is the answer I like the best till date. But he wasn’t very amused. “That is okay. But what do you want to become?” I looked at him clueless! He tried to help: “Okay... who do you want to become? Who is your role model?” That was my first encounter with realistic hypocrisy!

I had always liked Albert Einstein. He is my favorite. Well at that age I was not intelligent enough to understand the theory of relativity. Not that I understand it now! But I was really fascinated by his hair. I thought he was really cool. So I said: “I want to be a scientist!” He liked the answer but he felt it was impractical. I did not know what practical was!

The second time I underwent this crisis was when I was in school and getting ready for college. It was my teacher this time. He was pretty sure that I should become a doctor. Pondicherry has JIPMER, the renowned medical college and I was good at Biology. So it was an open and shut case for him. Not for me unfortunately. I remember telling him this: “Sir, I am really afraid of blood! I don’t want to be a doctor!” He was furious. He felt that it was the most ridiculous explanation he had ever heard. I wouldn’t blame him for that. Trust me, if there was a way I could have become a doctor without using a knife on any creature, I would have certainly become one!

So as it goes, I was good at Math and Science as well and so I got into BITS Pilani. And if you are wondering, I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be an Engineer either! But I stuck to it faithfully for a while. And the reason was I really enjoyed what I learned and my work after too! But then after 5 years of work, it was time for another self introspection. What do I want to be in life? “Happy”, was the answer again instantly. I have always liked that answer but I wanted something more tangible. That is how the idea of an MBA came along. I remember this one conversation with a friend of mine when I was justifying my idea of doing an MBA. He asked me the same question again: “Who is your role model?” I had a new one this time around: “APJ Abdul Kalam”. He was perplexed. “So let me get this straight. You want to be a scientist or the President of India?”. “Scientist would be good for now!” I replied. Sadly, he didn’t find it funny. “It is not practical dude”, he remarked. I have to agree he was right!

Nevertheless, after a lot of brainstorming, I decided that Finance was good for me and rest is not history but my present. MBA over and a Finance job right now keeps me busy. And again, I loved my MBA experience and my job is challenging enough to keep my brain occupied. But the point is the fact that I cannot become a scientist does not prevent me from wanting to become one.  And I don’t feel as if I have not accomplished the purpose of my life by not becoming one. I still enjoy the small things in my life; celebrate the small victories at work and in my personal life and still love Einstein and Abdul Kalam.  And still my best answer to the question of what I want to be is: “I want to be happy and possibly make others feel happy as well”.

So don’t always look for role models or landmarks in your life! Aspire to be but don’t feel as if the world has ended if you can’t be! Don’t underestimate your caliber or talent or that of your loved ones. Don’t try to be someone else for the sake of it! Try to be proud of what you are and happy in what you do! Helping a child have a day’s meal could be more meaningful than earning a business contract for your employer! It is okay to be clueless. Sometimes it is fun not to know what life has in store for us!

MAXIMUM (ABUSED) CITY

On Wednesday, July 13th, terror struck Mumbai once again when 3 powerful bombs rocked some of the most crowded places killing 19 people and injuring several others. I was shell shocked and it instantly brought back memories of pain, anger and despair when I watched Ajmal Kasab and his friends hold Mumbai hostage for 2 days in 2008.  Nothing has changed! Once again, the events that transpired after the blasts were a complete déjà vu. PM and other politicos urged Mumbaikars to stay calm and united. Home Minister claimed they had no Intel on attacks. Rahul Gandhi had the guts to even say that not all terrorist attacks could be prevented. And all that the opposition did was to use this incident to gain political leverage. The morning after Wednesday's terror attacks, Mumbai was back on its feet as people went to office and children attended schools. A week from now, media will move on to the next hot topic and it will be business as usual for politicians. Only Mumbai will be left with another eternal scar!  

This is the umpteenth time I have heard about the famous Mumbai Spirit and it scares me. “Blasts cannot kill the Mumbai spirit” read a famous tabloid. Agreed! With all due respect, do they have a choice? On July 11, 2006, 7 powerful bombs ripped through local trains in Mumbai killing 181 people. So did the Government create an alternate mode of transport after that? No. People still had to take the same train to go to work the next day. I shudder when I imagine what would have gone through people’s minds when they took the train days after the blast had occurred. I am sure they held on tightly to the chain in one hand and to their heart in the other. So many lives completely uprooted in a flash. And then life becomes normal once again the very next day. But no one realizes that life is never the same again. The fear and agony have been tattooed into their hearts forever with metal shrapnel.

Why is Mumbai such a soft target? Agreed, it is the financial and economic capital of India. It represents the fault line between practitioners of different faiths and languages, who are often at loggerheads and are so ignitable. The city offers an anonymity which, many a times has proved to be its Achilles heel. It literally is the Gateway to India offering easy access to one and all. But beyond all this, there is a much more compelling reason. Mumbai is not just a gateway to India, but its alter-ego. It symbolizes everything that is good about India. And everything that is bad about Mumbai is equally true about India. They share several common adjectives: Multi-religious, cosmopolitan, warm and welcoming, poly-cultural, enterprising and industrious.

Truly Mumbai is India’s heart. It is here, among the city's grime and dust, that the great dream of India enunciated at the midnight hour of August 14, 1947, is being lived every minute. Mumbai is India in miniature; destroy it, and the larger picture falls apart. Mumbai has been chosen for the exact reasons that New York City was chosen on September 11, 2001. Both cities embody their respective nations; gut them, and the dream of a fabulous nation could be destroyed.

So how are we handling this open threat to the very identity of India? Well, honestly I haven’t seen too much done so far. No doubt we see a few rallies, candle marches, panel discussions human chains and a lot of angry tweets. Well, that’s all a common man can really do. No one will have the guts or means to do a Naseeruddin Shah in “A Wednesday”. It is up to the people who run this country to create a system that can save Mumbai from the clutches of terror. I have always been bamboozled by our politicians’ reactions to terror attacks. All they do is go in circles in their blame game. Why can’t the Prime Minister just appear on National TV and make a strong statement to the people. A small gesture like that can go a long way in reassuring the people. All that the politicians have done for Mumbai is the famous (or rather infamous) name change from Bombay to Mumbai. Well, the only legitimate reason that could have been given was that the name itself was jinxed: “Bomb”ay and changing names might bring better luck. Yes. Luck! That seems to the only hope for the city which still refuses to believe that luck deserted Mumbai long time ago. And certainly Mumbai deserves much better than that!

Then there is Bollywood! In 1993, Dawood Ibrahim coordinated a series of 13 bomb explosions which remains to be the most destructive in Indian history resulting in 250 fatalities. And what does Bollywood do about that? It came out with movies celebrating him as a fallen hero. Ram Gopal Varma even visited the attacked site at Hotel Taj to search the story for his next movie. There have been thought provoking movies made out of the subject too but they are too few in comparison. It is a shame to look at these tragedies as an opportunity to make a few bucks. So much for lack of creativity! Media and film industry should do more than just using these incidents to increase their TRPs or to come up with real life dramas!

The Government needs to do much more if they have to erase the fear and doubt from the minds of Mumbaikars.  An effective intelligence infrastructure has to be incorporated. In order for intelligence to be most useful in preventing attacks, it must be actionable, combining precise, tactical level warning with decision makers who are receptive to it. This is most likely to come from on-the-ground local and domestic intelligence gathering. This should be incorporated in all states and tremendous importance should be given to effective communication and coordination between the intelligences of different states. Only if we unite our intelligence infrastructure, can we thwart the terrorists who always have the element of surprise to their advantage. I think in a country of intelligent people, this should not be difficult to implement. Only if we have the willingness and focus to make it happen!

Here is a message to one and all. Laud the Mumbai spirit, but don’t use that as a shield to mask our incompetence against terror. A lot has been said about the Mumbai spirit. It is high time that something was done to keep it alive. Otherwise, it will not just be Mumbai’s spirit that will be lost, but an entire nation would lose its soul. Enough is enough!

THE CITY I COULD NOT LEAVE

This is not the first city that has made me nostalgic. But it certainly is the most recent and one that will remain extremely close to my heart. It is the city that made me appreciate life once again. It is the city that woke up my colorful alter ego from a deep slumber. It is the city that brought out the child in me once again. Bloomington (popularly known as B-town) gave me the 2 most amazing and eventful years of my life!

I came into this city with so much going on in my mind. When I arrived, it was pitch dark outside and I couldn’t see anything. May be I didn’t even want to. Such was the burden of starting life all over again. But Bloomington magically changed everything for me in a jiffy. We do not realize the importance of the place we live in our daily life. It becomes an invisible family member whose presence we only realize when the time to say good bye comes. Bloomington freed my mind of all its worries and gave it a generous dose of fresh air! It helped me “rediscover” myself.

There is a simple elegance to this city that appeals to me the most. This was the city where I grew young again. Well I wish literally, but you cannot change the laws of nature, right! But certainly my mind went through a transformation from a cautious adult to a carefree youth whose desire to admire and enjoy the small pleasures of life was rekindled. How many times have I forgotten everything about the exam next day and taken a walk through the woods breathing in nature and losing myself among the trees! Sipping a coffee in the balcony and watching the blue skies suddenly became a routine! Getting drenched in the rain became a fantasy once again! When I looked into the mirror, I could catch glimpses of the 10 year old I once was. And in these 2 years, I watched myself grow up once again!

I had heard about 4 seasons only in books. Bloomington introduced me to spring and autumn. If watching Fall Colors was magical, then seeing leaves wither was heart breaking. But then.. white magic arrived. Snow! My first ever Snow! I was thrilled to be outside star gazing when the first snow-flakes descended. Sitting near my window and seeing every single damn thing covered in snow would make my evenings exciting. Not to forget: White Christmas! You cannot ask for more. It was small pleasures like these that made me appreciate life so much and I think made my supposedly hectic MBA life a breeze!

Bloomington is home to the Indiana University. Oh yeah.. that is where I was supposed to spend my 2 years of MBA: studying. I did spend most of my 2 years there alright: not necessarily studying though! Boy: the campus is a work of art. It is named one of the 5 most beautiful in America and deservedly so. Take a stroll along the campus, pass through the various school buildings enriched with a unique limestone architecture and you will be transported to 19^th century English countryside. And if you are a fan of music and arts, then you will be thrilled to know that Bloomington is home to the world famous Jacob’s school of Music. A musical concert or an opera is a “must-do” and a visit to the Arts Museum would certainly be time very well spent.

Bloomington is not called the “Tree City” without a reason. The region has a generous décor of beautiful trees which add to its glamor quotient. Stop at the “Sample Gates” and make sure you have an extended photo shoot there. Then it will be time to spend your evening in a very colorful downtown. Enter Kirkwood Avenue and you will not feel like coming back. Restaurants from every part of the world can be found here and you can whet your appetite with some mouth-watering entrees cooked to perfection. A true connoisseur’s delight!  And of course.. Bloomington is called the “Crazy Party town” and you don’t need me to explain more than that I guess. Bloomington has something for everybody. But it had everything for someone like me!

But again.. no city is complete without its people. Bloomington has the typical Mid-West culture and people here are caring, friendly and extremely helpful. I have hardly heard a honk on the road in these 2 years. Says a lot! But more than that.. the people who I spent my 2 years with: my friends.. they are the ones who made the Bloomington experience truly fascinating. Night outs, cook outs, eat outs, hang outs, black outs (oops.. that one just rhymed).. you name it. It was just fun unlimited! I cannot forget those lovely potlucks, late night tea sessions, treks and trips, poker nights or sequence fights! They will be etched in my memory as “Bloomington memoirs”. And for this one single reason, Bloomington will always be missed!

It will be an irony if I say that the child in you is more mature than the adult “you”. But I think it is true. At least I discovered so. Being carefree and jolly made me more mature and successful. I have never felt so “complete” ever before. And I have to thank “Bloomington” for that and much more. As I finally drove out of Bloomington with a heavy heart and a desire to come back, 2 fabulous years of my life flashed through my memory. Suddenly I felt my drive was more beautiful than ever. I guess there are no “Good-byes” here!

BORN TO BE FREE

What comes to your mind when you think of the lion? Yeah, King of the Jungle strikes us as a majestic, powerful and awe inspiring behemoth. And what about the tiger? Swift, charismatic, lethal, solitary. Both of them evoke contrasting emotions in all of us: Fear and jealousy. We are terrified by the fact that they can crush our neck by just a friendly pat. Yet at the same time we admire their beauty and their superiority to stake their place at the top of the food chain.

That was why it was so difficult for me to even think that they could be abused. The Exotic Feline rescue center in Indiana is a place where big cats are given a second chance to live! Seriously! I couldn’t believe that they could have such a predicament until I saw it for myself. I saw lions and tigers that were abused, abandoned and had nowhere to live out their lives. They had been left to die in filthy cages, rusted and abandoned circus carts without any sanitation, hygiene, food or water. They were kept as pets and walked on leashes by soul less men with king size egos. They had been traded in parking garages for just $300. They had been starved, tortured, physically deformed and had endured great suffering throughout their lives.

Man is a funny animal. One hurts and the other heals. Those at the Exotic Feline Rescue Center take extreme pains in discovering such abused and abandoned cats, rescue them, treat them for their illnesses and provide them a permanent habitat for living a peaceful life. It is not the jungle but it is an asylum where they can rest and lick their wounds of the past and recuperate and discover life. A second chance it is!

When I look at these majestic cats, I can still catch a glimpse of pride in a corner of their eyes. Declawed or not, they can still send a shiver down your spine with one glance. But there is also a longing in their eyes. The longing to rule the jungle again, to run wild and free, to hunt and to live life the way it was meant to be. They know that they will never be able to experience freedom as a wild cat would have. Have you ever thought how a painter would feel if he lost his eyes one day? The agony that he would not be able to see and reproduce the beauties of this world cannot be explained or expressed. And so is that longing in the eyes of these cats! They would continue to haunt me for a long time.

The people at the Rescue Center feel proud that they are able to bring some light into the lives of these abused cats. They deserve a lot of credit for putting their lives on the line and in spite of suffering losses they are still dedicated to giving these cats a place and a life to live.  But there are still those who relish caging these animals, overpowering them, incapacitating them and rendering them unfit for their natural habitat just to feed their egos. Is that a matter of pride or is it something to be ashamed of? Well, it is certainly something to think about!

RAINY DAYS!

What does rain mean to us? Well, different things to different people and nothing to a select few. I think rain reminds us of our very existence. No, I am not trying to be dramatic or poetic here. It detaches us from our frenzy lives and makes us enjoy the smaller joys in life to which we have become ignorant of. It makes some of us bunk school or work to sit next to the window and gaze for hours. It makes a few of us (the crazier bunch) go out in the rain, come back absolutely drenched, change and then head out again.

I knew I was missing something. Filter coffee! (Okay… the not so lucky ones can go to Coffee Day or Starbucks). Sipping filter coffee on a rainy day is pure bliss. And it is damn simple. All you need is a coffee filter and some finely ground fresh coffee roast (45% chicory!). Put 3 spoons of coffee powder into the filter and add 1 glass of hot boiling water to it. Once it filters, add the decoction to a cup of milk and throw in a generous dose of sugar. (Diet watchers use sugar free and diabetics make sure that your spouse is not around!) And voila! Elixir for a rainy morning is ready. For people in love: make one cup, head to your balcony, hold hands, sip some coffee, experience rain and celebrate life!

When rain comes, the earth wears cologne, sun takes a nap, clouds clap to celebrate and trees dance in joy to a composition of the wind. A rabbit makes a run to its hole. Then it changes its mind and slowly pops its head out to enjoy the rain in installations. A peacock shows its moves. The deer looks impressed. Flowers turn greedy and try to collect as many rain drops as possible. Leaves beneath them take the left overs. Everybody seems to want a piece of rain. So, why exactly do you hide in your living room or run for an umbrella? Come out and watch the leaves share a kiss with the rain drops.

I cannot tell you enough about rain. Nobody can. But I just have a few parting words:

Rain lovers, have you tried having ice cream in rain? It is divine. Try it the next time Mr.Rain comes to visit.

And skeptics, try the 1 minute rule! Shed your fears or inhibitions or whatever it is, go out in the rain, close your eyes, spread your arms and let the water droplets shower you with kisses for a minute. I am sure you will thank me after that. You may think it is insanity. I agree. But trust me; it is the most beautiful form of insanity you could ever imagine!