Common dialogues in Malayalam Movies

• Nഅമ്മള്‍ക്ക് ഒന്ന്‍ കുടണ്ടേ!?
  Meaning: “Don’t we need to get-together?”
  The context: Any situation can be an excuse for drinking: Marriage, tragic events, death of somebody close to the protagonist, the female lead leaving the hero for somebody else, etc. Reel life copies real life for sure in Malayalam. Thereafter, begins the great drinking sessions of നാട് ചാരായം or English rum, seeing which may make many of the uninitiated viewers puke!

• Hmm… നിന്നോടെആനു അഗറ്റ് പൂവാന്‍ പരെന്യെദ്ധ.
  Meaning: “It is you whom I told to go inside.”
  Context: Chauvinist husband telling wife to go inside when he is discussing ‘important’ matters with any of the following: Relative(s), Friend(s), Villain(s), നാടുകാര്‍, ഓര്‍ Drinking companions/ ശിങ്ങടിമാര്സ്
  
  90 per cent of the time, the wifey will weep/sob, and obey the husband quietly. If only real copied reel?! Hehehehe!
  Note: But in movies centered on women’s lib or where the wife is portrayed as ‘modern’, she will back answer him! How dare she? In this case, this scene may be followed by arguments and debates. She may even walk out of the house with two lightweight, well packed, clean suitcases!

• സഹായിചിലെങ്ങിലും ഒബുദ്രോഹികെരട്ദ്…
  Meaning: If you cannot/will not help, please do not harass.
  Context: Poor innocent man pleading with മോടലാളി /policeman. Famous example, Mohanlal to Shammi Thilakan in ഛെന്കൊഇല് (sequel to കിരീടം).

• ഏഎ കാല്‍ വേനങ്ങില്‍ ഞാന്‍ പിടിക്യാമ?!
  Meaning: I will fall at your feet, if needed.
  Context: Bride’s father pleading with the groom’s father for failing to fulfill marriage terms and conditions. Or a person pleading with his debtors.

• നിങ്ങള്‍ എല്ലാവരും സുഖം ആയിത് ഇര്രികണം. അധ മദി ഇന്നികെ. ട്രുപ്ടി ആയി.
  Meaning: You all should be happy. That is all I desire. Am contented.
  Context: Elder brother/father/mother telling the insensitive, ‘modern’ outlook city returned/ educated brother/son when the son does not value family values, traditions, togetherness, and other such boring & mundane stuff.

Strangeness in Pune

The other day, in the evening, I saw a PMC bus leaving the Balewadi Stadium bus stand. Between the bus driver and the windshield in front of him, there was a stray dog happily standing… and walking slowly from one end to the other! The driver was happily driving the bus! He looked like he was friendly with the dog!

Go ahead and adopt a stray, seemed to be his message to the world and the nonchalant passengers seated in the bus.

Yesterday morning, it drizzled and then rained in Pune. The cool morning outside, with the smell of wet earth, infiltrated and blended with the warm glow of the lighted brass lamp inside. I felt something unexplainable and out of this world.

I finished reading A Luminous Rebel… a short biography on Osho. Am halfway through Paul Brunton’s A Search in Secret India.

Aur inn sab ke beech main... bomb blast in German Bakery.

100

Just a personal note to all my blog readers: 100 posts up. This post being the 100th (Just noticed the milestone when I published the 99th post).

It took me five years (February 15, 2005: first post) to come up with 100 tidbits and slices from my life. Each post acted as a catalyst; each post put forth new questions and answers; each post killed some part of me; each post gave birth to a new me.

At this moment of my death and birth, I thank all my readers, who followed my posts through all these years: K, G, R, M, L, A, Eroteme, H, A, S, and all the Anonymous ones out there.

This blog would not have grown without you: my readers.

Thanks for all your valuable comments and feedback.
Thanks for your gentle persuasion... egging me to go on even when nothing came through.
Thanks for your patience and support.

Om Namah Shivaya! May He bless me to write more posts.

Dil toh baccha hain ji

Listening to this song for the last two days at my workplace, I have come to realize that not many songs have held this sort of magic for me.

The song from the movie, Ishqiya, is one of the best picturized songs that I have ever seen in Indian cinema. You just need to watch Naseeruddin Shah (just in this song) to know how subtle acting can be... Nostalgia, introspection, honesty: the song interweaves all these elements and more effortlessly.

Gulzar has pulled out yet another rabbit from his hat...
Rahat Fateh Ali Khan's voice brings out Khalujaan's hidden pathos and hope alive...
Vishal Bharadwaj's score is perfect.

Vidya Balan, as Krishna, can take the baton, with conviction, from Rekha as the new seductive temptress. The opening scene itself will take your breath away.

If you haven't watched Ishqiya already, then you should. Abhishek Chaubey is a director to watch out for; that is, if Vishal did not ghost direct the movie!. And watch out for this song...

Go, fall in love stupidly. Once more. All over again.

A quantum leap of faith

“You never make any decision in life. Before you decide, the decision is already made. You feel/think you have choices in life when you really don’t.”

Words from the book I just finished: The Human Touch by Michael Frayn.

Free will has really been the most misunderstood concept among laymen, according to maharishis since time immemorial. Quantum physics is talking the same language as theirs:

• Each of us is actually “alone” in time.
• We live in the past. There is no future. You really never know what will happen tomorrow.
• All is one. The seemingly real boundaries of “I” are created by the body/mind complex. You can never point out and say where “I” ends and “Other” begins.
• None of the natural laws exist beyond our mind and thoughts. Things just behave the way they do.
• Time and space do not exist beyond our mind and thoughts. These concepts being purely brought into existence for our convenience and for us to relate to the world. Just like all measurement units.
• Language cannot express many truths. Language and our imagination are limited.
• There are no constants: π, speed of light, etc. All these are subject to change. In other words: relative.
• Physics has reached the realm of “inexpressible” and “unthinkable”. Equations will need to involve variable constants!

I am taking it all in. Standing and wondering at the meeting points between these two seemingly distinct schools of thought: mysticism (for lack of a better word) and Quantum Physics.

And right now, it is fun: Reading, relating, and laughing out loud at fallacies of my mind.

Kya kehna... Aisa bhi hota hain

Am I happy or am I miserable?
Well... What's for lunch?

25 random things about me

Tagged by ammani (jikku.blogspot.com), here are 25 random things about me:

1. I love yellow (van Gogh’s sunflower’s yellow), blue, and wildflowers.
2. I met Paulo Coelho in Dubai (of all places) and I gifted his autographed copy of The Manual of the Warrior of Light to Lincy Aquin.
3. I am bad at keeping in touch with people once I leave their city.
4. There is nothing I love more than meditating in Virupaksha cave.
5. I have never taken a vacation after I finished school.
6. Normally, I do not miss people. Only a few. But I miss them bad.
7. I read lesser now than I used to.
8. I hate browsing the Net and surfing channels on TV.
9. I cannot listen to music and work at the same time; not at all a multi-tasker.
10. I have a bad memory; especially of things I may have said.
11. My two best friends, incidentally, are also Warriers!
12. I hate sweets and do not crave for ice creams or chocolates.
13. I have no burning desire. No fire in my belly.
14. I love being than doing.
15. I have fallen in love with a girl/ woman in every city I have lived in, except for Dubai!
16. If given a choice, I will be a school teacher in a remote village somewhere.
17. Macchu Picchu is one place I want to visit before I die.
18. I love motorcycling and I love RE Bullet (Machismo).
19. In school, my favorite subject used to be History. Even now, it is.
20. Ramana is my only guru. Rest all are his messengers.
21. I love to keep my house neat and tidy all the time.
22. I love looking at paintings.
23. My better half is actually much better than I am. J
24. The only place I want to live and the only place I want to die: Thiruvannamalai. Hope at least one of the two come true!
25. I miss only one person in my life.

Somebody up there…

Somebody up there is certainly looking after me. For whatever I had ever wished for, I have got. Second chances at everything I had lost in life. Love, education, Pune. Baner. Memories.

Pune has some connection with me, I guess. This city keeps inviting me. This is my third time in Pune… Life here, as always, has been very eventful.

The only place I certainly miss is Thiruvannamalai. The holy hill, the Virupaksha cave, Skandashramam, and Ramanashramam at the foot of the hill.

I miss Prasad, Raji, Devraj, Tripathiji, and all the other seekers who you end up meeting in a sacred place like that. I forgot to visit the Kannapa Nayanar temple and also to go for giripradakshina on the inner path. Next time for sure… whenever the calling comes. Sandeep, you are certainly more blessed than I am. Make the most of it, like Tripathiji says.

Right now, life is back to dealing with the basics of a worldly life. Bills, loans, rents, provisions, et al.

He had grace

Somewhere, lost in time, is truth. Sometime, lost in time, is a soul.

Between six-o-clock in the evening of January 19 and the morning of January 20, 2009, Ananthakrishnan passed away. Brutally murdered.

As far as I knew him, he was just like us. Human; flawed, bright, cunning, mean, spiritual, drunkard, liar, and more. He was like a guru to me… Then, there were things about him that I never knew about. I, now, will never know about: his past, his nakshatra, his gotram, his relatives, etc. He said, his native place was Srirangam at Thiruchirapalli.

What amazes me more than his own prediction of his death (sometime in 2005, I think, he had first predicted his own death in the year 2009) is the fact that he had the grace to die in Thiruvannamalai, near the foothill of Lord Arunachala. I am sure, if all that the Tripura Rahasya says is true, then, he would have attained awareness.

If we had not gone to Thiruvannalamalai to see his dead body, we would not have been graced by Lord Arunachala… Shiva works in mysterious ways: we met and made awesome friends in Gerry & Gabs and Prasad & Devaraj. Each of them with a story of their own… each of them very colorful and spiritual in their own way. We also met Dwaraknath Reddy, a celebrated spiritual author, and had coffee with him in the morning.

I love Prasad singing and playing the flute… and Devaraj telling us his stories. What a storyteller he is! Gabs’ silence and Gerry conspiracy theories made us think and ponder and laugh… Prasad, staying over at your humble home was a very humbling experience. This was the first time, when we both just did not want to leave Thiruvannamalai.

Then, listening to Gerry and Swamiji, Prasad’s neighbour, debate and discuss for more than three hours was awesome.

Shiva took away one soul and made us meet four instead. That too, in Thiruvannamalai… AK had once said, if you meet and bond with strangers in Thiruvannamalai, you are related to them somewhere, sometime in a previous birth.

I believe in it: Prasad, Devaraj, Gerry, and Gabs. All you wandering souls, we are all related… The way we met and bonded… Man, like Gerry says: “There are no coincidences. We are all same, same but different!”

I know, I shall miss talking to AK about various things under the sun and over the moon in my sad, broken Tamil… My questions, his answers… but I sit back and wonder how Shiva almost always had an interpreter for us!

Available...

"__________ Available" That is what the Google Talk window says against her name. Not just people, technology can lie too!

Such is life...

Moving from one exhaust pipe to the next
From Before Sunrise to Before Sunset
A plain old job to a plain new one
From a look to a look-alike
A muse to a new one
From a weed to a withered flower
A spectacular moment to a mundane one
From an uncomfortable silence to unspeakable truths
A mockery to bewilderment
From a classical song to a popular number
A grave to a cradle
From a cliché to a newer one
A ‘before’ to ‘after’…
From being a dad to becoming a father

From seeking to knowing
Such is life… Just like Ani says.

Childhood memories - 3

Sometimes, you always miss somebody so much that missing him becomes a forgotten conclusion…

Ani and I are waiting to be taken to school. I must be in 2nd grade and he in Sr. KG. Ravi mama holds our hands and off we go. Through fields, barren lands lined with huge rocks beside the salt pan… this was a shortcut to St Augustine’ High we took everyday.

On the way, he tells us stories; and shows us ‘mugran’ on the way. ‘Mugran’ is the term he created for shit left behind on the fields by people early in the morning…

In the evening, after he returns from work, he plays with us. Sometimes, whenever mom suffered from her ulcers, he cooks, cleans the overhead tank, and looks after mom!

He was like a brother to her and an awesome uncle to us. Though, he is no more a part of our lives anymore, Ani and I cannot forget him.

Childhood memories - 2

Citizen Kane – one of the best movies ever made…

Ranjit and his brother have just got a new tricycle… one with bells and good cushion seats. My brother in the back seat of our sad, old tricycle looks at me with “why don’t we have such a cycle” look?

We ask our mother, and she tells us never to sit on their cycle and never to ask for a new one. Miserable, we watch them pedal happily across the common verandah and ringing the cycle bell only when they reach near our door!

We race every evening on the verandah and most of the times, the new tricycle wins because of its smooth rubber wheels. My brother and I resign to our khatara metal junk.

Then, that very summer vacation, just when we had gotten over the tricycle trauma, their uncle came from the ‘gelf’ with a wonderful, yellow toy helicopter, walking penguins, racing cars, and lots of other goodies…

Among them, my eyes fell on a metallic model toy train. Complete with tracks, signals, tunnels, and railway stations. My first lust...

I don’t know about my brother; I still wait for my rosebud.

Childhood memories - 1

I am not feeling well... and besides, many of you wanted me to write again. So here goes...

This blog may be taking an inward turn here onwards. A journey, which you may want to read at your own risk because in my childhood you may come across yours.

Parts of me died: a child died; parts that may never be reborn. Why did the child inside me die?

Let me go in to some memories that I still have of that glorious period:

It's 5pm on a random evening at Master building, our chawl. The primary roots of the tree of life.

On the wall-less terrace, all my neighbours’ kids and my brother are waiting for Soni chechi to return from school. She has afternoon school; you know, she is in 5th grade!

We did this everyday. Most of the days, she came on time. Some days, she came later than usual.

She is the pack leader and the alpha female! We never play anything till she arrives. It was she who decides which game we play, who tells stories first when there is a power breakdown, who is in which team… and who gets what punishment for cheating… she even decides ‘time please’ for all of us!

We play till the sun set. Some days, while waiting for her, I watch the sun set from my knees to my feet.

When she is late, I cry… few others cry too.

We shifted from Master building when I was in third grade, which means this memory is old. And, I have never met Soni chechi again. I do not think I will recognize her if I ever see her again…

But why do I still remember those evenings:

Some random memories, like random dreams, arrive randomly. But few, like recurring dreams, recur randomly.

Just two words...

"Have you reviewed these queries? I don’t think the first one is worth Tom’s time. I just requested you to send a consolidated list of screenshots that you require. And now you are asking for additional screenshots in query 2. "

This is an e-mail from an ass-ociate VP... Tom, the person mentioned in the mail, is the client. the mail is addressed to me in response to a query doc that i mailed.

Man, this ass has the balls to decide which query is worth the client's time. who is he to decide this?

and the second query in the doc does not ask for screen shots from the client; it asks whether we need to include some content... i guess, people who manage work should only 'manage' work. not try to work and decide things for people who really get the work done.

and the ass' e-mail does not even basic e-mail etiquette; i am sure he must have been through tonnes of training on e-mail etiquette and communication skills...

but, what's the point? he does not understand that the only way to keep external customers happy is to value your internal customers. This is the BIG point that most of the corner office white ass-lickers conveniently forget.

by the time, they learn the lesson, it may be too late.

For the tens reading this, for the thousands who go through this, and for the millions who relate to this, i have just two words for this ass: "Suck it!"

An Obituary to Osho

Osho, my first dog, passed away at around 8.30pm last Saturday (February 3, 2007). He died of Gastro just after his third dose of antibiotics and saline.

I saw his eyes still and fixed, his mouth open… and it took me few minutes to drown the realization in. He had departed to where he came from. We wept uncontrollably.

Swati, Baby, and I came home from the vet’s clinic after he had clinically declared him dead. We came home and buried him under a Hibiscus plant in the corner of a garden in our compound.

Every morning, I watch his grave covered with Hibiscus flowers fallen over it.

Osho had first come into my arms on February 20 this year. Just 13 days before he passed away. As the clock struck midnight, at the steps of Chaturshringi Temple, the breeder had handed over to me my first pet, Osho.

Then, he was 35—odd days old. He was so happy and excited to see me. And baby was so scared; she was afraid to even hold the crate!

I still remember his tilted face, his anticipation when I warmed his feed in hot water. I still remember how he learned everything so fast… how soon he knew that Baby was afraid of him and therefore, how alert he always used to be with her around.

How he used to run with a slanting angle… and how he barked when he heard me at the door when I came in the afternoons from work to feed him!

I still remember him standing with one of his front legs up in the air while all the other three rested on the floor.

How he always slept the way I did: with his head either on my forearm or the pillow. How he used to sneeze…

In just 13 days, I had become a father: cleaning shit, wiping face after every meal, putting him to sleep, bathing him, changing newspapers, cleaning the floor after he does his duties…

And now he is no more. His pictures and his memories will keep him alive. I don’t know whether he has reborn as a dog or in any other form. I hope he has.

I hope that the Hibiscus plant above his grave never stops flowering. Let it blossom for Osho and let the flowers fall from the sky for as long as it can.

My Osho, wherever you are: R.I.P.

Truth's more than you think

Written in response to a corporate e-mail sent by a big MNC:

That was such a brag of a mail full of corporate shit… can they send a mail saying what innovations have they given to the world? Pre-industrial revolution, great men, inventors, and thinkers gave the world directly whatever they had to offer. There were no fucking patents, no bonds, no “employees”.

As I see it, the corporate-world has killed individualistic thinking in the name of teamwork. All for the few bigger assess who earn all the profits… a few whiz kids get up on top and the remaining average workers are made to grind their assess off…

I mean, I want to know how much actual expenses are going to R&D by all corporations and how much time does it take for these innovations and inventions to come out.
Why don’t we still see an electric car? A solar powered world? Desalination plants? More windmills? I’ll tell you why. Vested interests.

Every corporate when its down or just started out desires free trade… but when it becomes a behemoth, it wants only a monopoly! Why?

Man, it all boils to profits. And GS in the mail has changed the perspective very well: all the NY employees together earn more than the CEO and the Vice CEO put together! Ha! Man, I was looking at it the other way: how much do those two asses make?

I hate unequal distribution of work. I am not a communist. I am neither a capitalist because humans were not made for working in companies. We were made to do/ make/ dream things together… the way like-minded individuals do and did.

Why don’t we see a single Leonardo da Vinci or a van Gogh or an Einstein working for any of the biggies? I bet you won’t too. Unless corporates start producing genius genes and start using them like they showed in the matrix! I am sure this will happen! “Corporate-adoption,” they will call it. In the name of this is very good for everybody, the society. They will have separate schools and specialized training et al! ready-to-use products for the CEOs who will play golf and have dinners and shit!

Hahah!

How I hate the world that corporates have made it into?

Schrodinger and other cats

Jeba, a great friend, lent me a book: In Search of Schrodinger’s Cat by John Gribbin. Usually, the Batman never lends books and movies but in my case, he made an exception. I am honored.

It was a wonderful reading after The Short History of Nearly Everything. I mean, there is so much out there and we are only beginning to even see it.

This book has quite enough of theoretical physics which would have been great for my mind had I read it in school. I know that these two books would have changed my outlook to physics and science in general.

I need to read more such stuff. At least I will know for sure that I don’t know much. That nothing is real, and that all scientific appliances work not because we know why but because we think we know why.

Like we don’t know whether there are electrons, protons, and neutrons. We assume because then our theory works. Light acts both as a particle and as a wave because in certain situations, it acts like a particle and in others, like a wave!

We have made great industrial advances and applications based on constants in equations. We have had lifelong debates between Bohr and Einstein over theories which were just peeping down the rabbit hole.

Physics is like getting cats out of a hat. Each a mystery, each a magic.

Ranga, I think you should definitely read these two books. By the way, I am reading Surely, You Must be Joking, Mr Feynman for quite some time now. And Ranga, you may feel bad about this: it is one of the most boring books I have ever come across. But I will finish it. I owe that much to Feynman and to you too, I guess ;-).

A Short History of Nearly Everything

After a long time, I am reading regularly once again. This time, the book that has impressed me very much is A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson.

This is a book that covers all of life, literally and figuratively. In its own right, reading it is like revisiting my schoolong days! When I studied about cells, prehistory, anton von leewenhoek, john Dalton, lyell, Lavoisier, etc… about what they discovered and what they invented… but never knew them as a mix of eccentric, shy, furious, amusingly strange, funny, and absent-minded personalities…

I seldom was amazed about the world we live in, our planet, our solar system, its majesty, the thin red line between classifications of life forms… The book has such beautiful facts, descriptions, similes, and metaphors that I now look at everything around me with more curiosity and amazement.

The book kind of reveals how less we know. It kind of tells you what many masters attempted. The book tells about the duality principle of light and that all life is one but each life form is unique.

It reveals in amazing ways how things were, how they are, and sometimes, tries to predict what can and may happen. Some of these predictions are scary. It led me to question our very existence, our purpose. It’s like we are just a body for our DNAs and cells to pass on data and reproduce. There is no other purpose for life.

We learn that 99 per cent of DNA in all life forms matches one another. It’s only the remaining 1 per cent that makes us all unique living beings! Imagine!

It leaves me amazed at worlds within worlds, parallel universes, sizes of atoms, functions of mitochondria, forms of energy, how things work, the world of the very small and the world of the very big… how we need different sets of “theories” for each…

This book puts me in my rightful place. Just another slice of life…

After reading this book, I think about god and related concepts in a new light. I have a lot of “what ifs” in my atoms and cells.

All our gods, morality, ethics, and concepts are just created by us so that we think we can live or co-exist better on earth… all our theories just help us feel better. There is neither heaven nor hell. There are no sins and no penances. There is no meaning to our lives. No big purpose. There are no coincidences or miracles. Things just happen because they happen. Nobody controls anything. We just happen to be.
Now, that really gels well with Zen and Sanatana Dharma (Hinduism in its essence) sayings and teachings.

We really don’t know anything about anything. The best part is I really don’t care. I mean, there is actually no need to find answers because we actually don’t need any.

The only truth that we know (while the moon slips away from the earth’s gravity at the rate of 5 cm. per year) is that we all live.

We will live till:
The Yellowstone erupts
A meteor strikes us
The ground beneath our feet gives way
The next ice age

We can become extinct at the drop of a hat. Nothing is constant. The world of the really small and the world of the really big are both in constant flux. Nothing is permanent.

As of now, it’s a great feeling… to be alive (whatever that really means), to know nothing about anything.

This book actually emptied me while I filling me with all kinds of interesting data. Go on; read it before it’s too late!

I read an eBook on books

I had tried reading The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams as a .chm file… but could not go beyond two chapters…

And I have read the MSTP and CSTD in parts, fragments, and search results… but won’t call it reading.

So the first eBook I read completely… at a stretch, ironically, is: Books I have Loved
An eBook about books.

Osho’s Books I have Loved takes you on a journey towards men of letters, language, fragments, madness, spirit, confessions, theologies, and principles.

He talks of those who know that the very existence of us is a joke; some so serious that they won’t close their eyes even when they die.

To top it all, Osho’s own comments and feelings for the authors and their books. Also, in some cases, his dislikes, his likes, his loves, and his own experiences. His opinions are very absurd and very open.

Alan Watts, Irving Stone, Buddha, Solomon, and so many more… some names he can’t even pronounce. Remember that Books I have Loved is not a book in the “written by” sense; it is notes on the discourses given by the rascal Rajneesh ;-)

Oh God… the world is full of ideas, letters, languages, and men who know what to do with each… as Osho says, each one great, each one unique… that even at the heights of your talent and mysticism, there is a rival, a competitor… a first among equals…

Ha ha ha ha ha! And here, I see corporate white collars trying to one-up others. Begging for a higher appraisal, a better designation… Ha ha ha ha!

I now have a lot more of reading to catch up on. But, I guess, I never can catch up with this one man who really must have read more than any other human in history.

I love Osho; in him I see a mirror which does not reflect me.

On to my second eBook: When the Shoe Fits.

Back to square one...

Back to square one… one and half rains ago, I had left this arty city for humid and unknown Madras, like a hot and humid summer. The summer topsy-turvied my life. Sometimes, like Aquin says, don’t wish for something really bad, you just might get it!

I got it; I lost it. After a roller coaster ride, am back to this city where most of it began…

As I now remember, back then, E-Square was the best multiplex I had ever been to… it still can compete with the best in the country. Though I guess in forms of pure cinema, cinema festivals, and the blind date movie concept that they offer, Sathyam Cinemas wins hands down… I miss you, Sathyam. I discovered budget cinema at Sathyam (watch any movie in a/c confines, in the best of seats, for just Rupees 10 a ticket; believe it or not!) too late! But I did pass on the secret to a few friends who are as passionate about movies as I am.

Now, the marg that takes you to E-Square is so bumpy you would think you’ve riding the first manned device on lunar surface.

But once you are inside E-Square, away from all the dust, grime, and noise of Pune, you automatically march towards just beans, the coffee shop with mirrors everywhere and have that splendid cold Irish coffee once again.

You stroll in the food court which assimilates just about all kinds of food that you can think of for a normal dinner, look at the sweets, check out the sketch express photo counter, and the gift shops selling curio stuff!

Not to forget the Crossword book store. Though it is a mini crossword store and does not have half the collections it should, it still is delightful walking amongst piles of books…

I am still searching for When the Shoe Fits by Osho, arguably the most outrageous rebel spiritual leader of all times, in Pune.

Pune always instills the fire of art, passion, and pursuit inside me. I feel uneasy here. I see lots of paths, I eat less, sleep even lesser…

You don’t choose art; art chooses you.

Abhilash Warrier
September 19, 2006

PS: Here, I am back to an ID Skill Head who has the skill and the head to deliver… and an office where I can dial local phone numbers once again.

:-p to godfather, big b, and who cares!

Somebody: (washing face vigorously in the restroom) Hari, what say?
Hari: (midway between releasing more ammonia on to earth; rolling in laughter…) Ha Ha Ha Ha

Legacy, not yet...

I am back in Pune:
Where I met Soma and Sunil.
Where the literary club was born.
Where I had my first Barista coffee.
Where I saw my first multiplex movie.
Where it had rained incessantly the last time I was here.
Where people walked between us and doors opened and closed leaving us in a spectrum of light and darkness when we talked while you were leaving.
Where we made cold calls to probable candidates one fine Sunday.
Where we saw the moon like never before.
Where Leena came down to meet me and we went to Mumbai.
Where Jeba, Anish, Sashi, and I had a blast watching Malena and S & L on a projected screen in our flat.
Where we walked and talked and dreamed of things beyond us.

I was downloading few more e-books (Ones that I had always wanted to read. Never got paid enough; never saved enough.) from the Project Gutenberg collection on the Net.

It dawned that anything you own is kind of a legacy that you leave behind… Few love stories; short love stories; unrequited love stories; epic love stories; a manuscript with Busybee’s autograph in it; Soma’s strand of hair; coffees at Barista (not just any Barista, the one at Bandstand); Bigfish; stamps, books, movies, memorabilia, souvenirs, football jerseys, crockery, events, stories, fairytales, fables, those days in the rain…

I saw sights that brought back memories: sketch express photograph counter, phir milenge, E-Square, Shades, f-cube, Interiors, rupees 4,500 worth sunglasses, the bamboo plant, the vegetable vendor, Pashan-Sus Road, the HDFC ATM…

Pune has not changed much: It is raining heavily outside even now as I write this. Baner has more buildings; the rents have moved up the money graph; the road is in tatters. Signboards still scream: “Go Slow. Work in Progress.”

He is still the man I loved

He is a true yogi. He wakes up early every morning and does all the asanas. He reads the Bhagavad Gita and the Upanishads every other day.

During sunset, he loves reading and re-reading Ramayana…

He loves our two daughters, Trishna and Harini. He teaches them language and arithmetic in his own inimitable style.

They were days when we used to go trekking up unbeaten paths, when we used to sing aloud on solitary beaches, sleep under the sweet moon, blow flying kisses to each other… when he used to write me a love letter every birthday.

We used to get wet in the first showers when the sun was still up.

Now, there are utensils to clean, school uniforms to wash, TV serials to watch, and the occasional relatives to visit.

We talk through glances and nods. Through monosyllables when required. We don’t have too much time. There is too much of work. Those bills to pay: the house loan, maintenance, the car loan, the school fees, their shoes and books, the bloody workbooks, and extra tuitions in Marathi.

Sometimes, I sit during my afternoon breaks while the kids take a nap and think to myself, “What if?”

But, anyways, life goes on. I manage.

He is still the man I loved. I loved.

Just a short story

“So you can join work from tomorrow. You will be a trainee here till three months and you will be paid a stipend of five thousand per month. Welcome to Techpark Software!” said Leena, HR Executive.

“Thank you! This job means a lot to me. I’ll come in at 9.30 tomorrow,” replied Meera.

Selvam overheard this final part from outside the interview cabin of his office. He was as happy as a hummingbird; he could fly backwards if he wanted to.

He could stand still in mid-air. He loved Meera the minute his eyes saw her sitting impatiently in the lobby. Restlessly putting the dupatta to it place and playing with the ends of her salwar where loose threads hung!

Her hair nicely oiled back and her deep black eyes with kajal mesmerized him. Selvam had always waited for this moment in life when he can tell his friends about a beautiful woman in office. Maybe, even in his life.

Selvam was the star employee for Techpark ever since he joined them. He had created and developed lots of crucial programs and security software, which were a hit among their clients. To top it, he was great in creating sales pitches and entertaining clients and colleagues.

But he was not great when dealing with women; he had a weakness. During conversations with women, he always got a bulge in his trousers. He was always anxious that they would eye that and never talk to him after that. He always hid behind his desk or a cubicle if he was talking to a female colleague or client.

It saved his professional life. But he dreaded love. He dreaded marriage for what if the in-laws made him talk in private with the bride-to-be. So he told his parents, “no marriage, amma… till I am settled, no marriage.”

All this changed when he saw Meera waiting at the lobby. Something struck a chord in his heart. For the only time, he never felt any physical attraction towards her. She was charming. Only charming. And he was as happy as a lonely sunset with no observer.

He now bought new shirts and trousers to make sure that she noticed him. But, aaaahh, Leena from HR informed him that Meera would be in induction for a couple of days before she hits the workfloor.

He waited as two days passed by. The third day arrived. Selvam was in office at 9 am.

He had finished all his assignments yesterday. Today, he was free. He wanted to talk to Meera during breaks or at lunch.

Meera entered the lobby and smiled at people. She had this mystery behind her where Selvam could never understand why she smiled the way she did.

Selvam marched up to her and introduced himself. “Hi! Good morning, nice to see you here. So finally you joined us, eh. Remember, we had met when you had come down for the interview? I had given you coffee from the machine?”

Meera apparently recognized him. She responded, “Oh yes. I do. During my induction, the VP said that Selvam is my mentor and trainer for the first two weeks while I learn my coding.”

Selvam exclaimed, “Why not? Yours truly is here. With pleasure. I am Selvam and you are?” “Oh you are Selvam. I did not expect you to be so young. Am impressed. Well, I am Meera.”

Selvam went on with work; coaching her whenever required. She was a smart student and a fast learner. He was upset that soon she may not need his assistance anymore.

And, magically, he never got the bulge again. He was cured of this mysterious ailment.

He kept an eye on Meera. Leena was his close friend so he got Meera’s details. She was Meera Iyer. She hailed from Madurai, this was her fourth job, she was a B.E. graduate, and was 30.

She loved making friends, traveling, reading, listening to Illayaraja, and sometimes also writing poetry.

Meera was very punctual at work. She came in at 9 and left dot at 6. No extended breaks. No nonsense.

Three months had passed. Meera and Selvam had become best friends. Together, they successfully executed a project too. The gossip-mongers in office had started talking about them because Meera never talked much to others.

Selvam was on cloud nine.

On a rainy August day, Meera was absent at work. She had not even called anybody or informed anybody the reason for her absence. Maybe, it is the rains, or maybe she is unwell, thought Selvam. However, he kept visiting the lobby every 15 minutes under some pretext or another.

As he was smoking outside the lobby, he noticed three old men walk in.

The receptionist led them to the CEO’s cabin. Selvam was passing by the reception and overheard one of the guy’s mention: “Meera… it’s about her.”

He was perplexed. What did these guys have to do with her? Were they her brothers? Had she run away from home? Was she married and were these guys her husband’s friends?

After half-an-hour, three guys walked out of the CEO’s cabin. They looked relieved.

Selvam knocked on the CEO’s door. “Please come in.”

“Arun, what happened? Who were these guys? I heard them mention something about Meera. I am her best friend here and I am concerned. Is there something I can do? I hope there is no problem.”

“Selvam, nothing to worry about. They were railway officials. Actually, Meera is married.”

Selvam’s heart stopped beating. His world went blank. Silence was all he heard.

“Are you ok, Selvam?” “I am fine, Arun. Go ahead.”

“Her husband is a taxi-driver in Madurai. He apparently troubles her a lot. So she finally left the town and came to Chennai seeking a better job and better life. She had only five thousand rupees with her, which she needed for food, clothes, and transport. The rest of the money she sends back home to her aged parents and a daughter who is in school.”

“Yeah, but why did railway officials come to meet you regarding her?”

“Because she has been living in the ladies waiting room at Chennai Central railway station for the past three months. They had tried to evict her but she refused to move out. Today, finally, they took her to the railway police station and got her ID, and dropped in here to inform us about her. So that is how all this came to light.”

“Will you help me in looking out for an alternative accommodation for her? A ladies hostel or something? We’ll pay the security deposit, and maybe, a part of her rent.”

“I will help you, Arun.” He remembered Meera’s first lines to Leena. And he thought he had a big problem.

- A fictitious story based on true events.

Interplay and intercourse

Thiruvannamalai… a place that haunts me. What brought me to this magnetic place?
My fate?
My destiny?
My curiosity?
My longing?
My seeking?

Or are these ours, not just mine?

Am I open enough to accept people who are closed?
Am I wise enough not to share what I think I know with people who don’t want to know?
Am I a teacher?
If I am, am I good enough?

What is life, if not an experience?
What good is it if I walk treaded paths? If I do, how do I leave a legacy behind? What about people related to me?

Do I have the right to follow my dreams at the cost of hurting or avoiding or neglecting their needs or wants or dreams?

Can we all co-exist? This question surely must have plagued all creative geniuses at some point in life. But, we know them because they followed their dreams.
What about all those people they hurt in the process of following their own dreams?
Could they not take them along?
Or, did they not want to go along their path?
Who is being selfish? The dreamers or their relatives?

I know I don’t owe anybody anything on earth but why the feeling to please them? To care for others?

What makes me a human? My heart? My thoughts? My actions? My soul? My religion? My god?

Are concepts more important than people? If they are, then these hardcore, fundamentalist terrorists are not at all bad people? Are they?

Who rules my life? Me or seven planets and the sun and the moon? Is this the interplay and the intercourse that I do not see?

If I rule, why bother about them? If they rule, why should I live?

Can I ask what is it that I want?
What is important to me?
Will I be truly happy without an impossible dream?
What is it that makes me a man?

Why do I love and guard that child inside?
Why do I sometimes crave to be a child again?
Why do I lust for women and girls?
Why do I fantasize? Why don’t I feel the need to stop?
Why do I love making love and love loving it when most masters have renounced it? When did they feel the need? Why don’t I feel the need?

What is it that I am still looking for?
Why do I feel lost in a crowd?
Why do I feel alone in a city?
Why do I love villages?

Why is that dream of a small, self-sufficient farmhouse with a well and a windmill nearby such an elusive dream? I know I am not doing anything towards it. What is holding me back?

Why are words so important to me?
Why this urge to write?

Why is life an interplay between two extremes for me?
What is the importance of intercourse?
What is churning inside me?
What is evolution? Knowing and writing, or knowing and not writing?

Why do we search for symbols where there are none?

Am I a pendulum? Can I be a compass?

Why don’t I feel the need to proclaim: “My God is better than yours.”?

Just like that...

There is a lot you want to do; but most of all do nothing. Just sit idle by the windmill, slowly turning.

Sit by a river, and paint the world go by in the air.

Look into the black sky and think about which star came from where.

Look at the woman who's reading this and wonder where she was when I was in my school.

But, I think there are lots of "us-es" who never live the lives we want. Where really the head is held high and the heart sings without fear.

Where people never lie.
Where we don't know what is the truth. Because that is all there is.

Where love is lived.
Where a kiss is not considered to be "what are you doing in front of children?"

Where all the flowers from here have gone. Can we, one fine day, march hand-in-hand into such a place?

When I call, will you join me? Or, will you stay back?
This one life!

What do you do to want to be the person whom you want to be?

Meeting Sandeep

Meeting Sandeep PR has been a revelation. Just like a breath of fresh air. My saga of meeting and making at least one great friend (apart from my loves) everyplace I work continues.

I met Sajay at Bhavan’s College; Krishnadas at Vartak Polytechnic; Sunill at Maximize; Sachin at compassbox.com (he was there even at TIS); Gary at Lionbridge; Jeba at Brainvisa; Laxmi at Sify; and Gopu at Expertus. Gopu left Expertus for good.

Then, I met Sandeep: a wandering Business Development Manager. He is one of a kind. He is a seeker. He loves Thiruvannamalai. I love his love for theatre, ashrams, Zen, Buddhism, reading, writing, traveling, yoga, morning walks (no morning walks and yoga for me yet), poetry, and movies.

At 24, he is way ahead of his times. He is idealistic, and wants to change the world. He is a classical dreamer like me. But unlike me, he is a doer too.

Sandeep and I talk a lot in the cafeteria: books, women, my past, his past. All through, one thing stands out about him: he is a man of conscience.

Today, he is somebody to watch out for. Tomorrow, he will be somebody.

As time goes by...

As you drive down to this obscure but well-known village, you see a board that announces: “Welcome to East Village Peruvemba”.

Peruvemba… Kerala in its pristine state. Untouched; like a virgin. Kukgramam, as we Malayalees call it.

You lie down on the square under the Banyan tree which has entwined itself with a Neem tree. As the cool breeze fans your cheek, you watch a huge pond with lilies and lotuses blooming to your left. Across the pond, there is a temple dedicated to Lord Shiva. In front of you, across the lush green paddy fields, is the Lord Ganapathy temple.

Behind you, is the Ootukulungkara Bhagavathy temple. And this temple shares its compound wall with my dad’s wariam. Our ancestral home. To this day, all the temple chores except for the puja is done by the warriers of this wariam. Making paayasam for prasad, making garlands for the goddess, and lighting the oil lamps, etc.

The goddess is Sita. Yes, Lord Rama’s wife! This swayambhu idol is unique in nature. It sprung from under the Ashoka tree that shelters it till date. The goddess is still sitting with her legs spread straight in front of her… waiting for her beloved husband as she was waiting in Lanka.

As folklore and legends go, she loves chandattam, a black, acidic liquid made after boiling timber or teakwood. Truth is nobody knows what the recipe for this liquid is till date. It is supplied by a family which has passed on the secret of this liquid from one generation to the next.

The diluted form of chandattam is applied as paste to one’s forehead and remains there for three or four days. And you get a slight burning sensation there. I was amazed that it does nothing to the ashoka tree and the idol as litres of this liquid is poured onto the idol daily.

The Bhagavathy becomes stronger with each extra litre of chandattam poured on her. The idol still does not have a roof over her head. Only the tree shelters her.

Before I got married, I bowed to the goddess and asked for her forgiveness, peace, and understanding. I asked her to bless my wife and my family for a lifetime of togetherness.

As time goes by, I want to settle down in Peruvemba. Take care of the temple and do all the work there… milking the cow included.

As you leave the remote village, the same signboard says: “Thank you. Visit again.” We will.

Flowers and weeds

You see a bud…
You watch them bloom
Into what we call flowers.

You see a seed…
You watch it grow
Into what we call weeds.

Yet, you are sad
To see flowers fall
And weeds grow.


[Still trying to sing (or hum) in the same tune as "It's a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong!]

Aise hii...

Bas yuhi soch raha tha:

• What happens to the words after I erase them off a poem for better effect? Do they vibrate in a void? Do they still exist in an other world?
• How does it feel to make a movie for the first time? Is the experience the same as writing a poem for the first time?
• Why does the river flow? Why does it have to let go? Why does it never look back, except in nostalgia? Why is the river never guilty?
• What is spirituality? Is it an addiction just like drugs? Does it free you? Does it bond you? Doesn’t it make you feel what others tell you that you should feel? Do we have a chance to feel original and genuine?
• Is yoga a heightened sense of awareness? Are these things over-hyped?
• If you were given a life sentence but you always watched the ocean outside your prison window, were you free?
• What happens to the boy who is left orphaned, like a tear on his cheek, because of tidal waves or an earthquake? Does he see an ocean in his teardrop?
• What happens to the millions of sperms who never unite with the egg? Are they reborn? Do they face judgment day?
• What would it be like to hold discussions with Zoroaster, Confucius, Socrates, Khalil Gibran, Rumi, Guru Nanak, Pablo Neruda, Ayn Rand, Sheldon B Kopp, Paulo Coelho, Mahatma Gandhi, and Van Gogh all in a room?
• What if you could communicate to any of the departed greats through any medium?
• Why is water stronger than stone?
• What would it be like to listen to the Christ, the Buddha, and Krishna having a conversation?
• Whom/ on what does Lord Shiva meditate on?

Children... let them be

“We have brought you up; we know what is best for you!” Sounds familiar?

This is our parents’ mantra who have been where none of us have been before!

They know everything: whom we should marry, who is our actual best friend, when should we do something, when should we eat, what we should eat…

They want their children to follow the herd because they themselves had followed the herd! But they want their children to be the best!

They want their children to forever study something or the other because they never did it.

They never asked questions but always expect answers.

They failed many times but expect us to pass all the time.

They pass on all their expectations and dreams on to their children; they think that these are relay batons.

But life does not work so easy.

Children are gifted to parents, not born from them.

They are gods; parents make them humans.

They love making mistakes. They love to love.

They don’t know war from peace.

They are not behind life chasing some dreams which may not be fulfilled.

They live for the moment.

They know no fear.

They are Buddhas. They are in a constant state of flux.

They are flowers, not roots…

Like flowers, let them seek the sun, let them burn, let them pollinate, let them spread their own fragrance, let them wither, fall, and be born elsewhere.

Let them travel, let them be buried, let them float on rivers… let them be the source of another tree.

I will be a parent soon (in three years, I guess :-))… Let me be a child again.

To TVMalai

Early morning on Saturday, I headed out to Thiruvannamalai (TVMalai). In a PP bus for just Rs.55 one way!

This was my first trip alone to TVMalai.

It rained and drizzled all the way. I reached at 11.30am and took a rickshaw straight from the bus-stand to Guru’s temple. I was there just in time for the last aarti before he closed the nada.

It felt really good meeting him after such a long time. He had not changed a bit. He had slimmed down a bit… and I missed his long hair!

The innocent, charming smile, the happy-to-see-you look was there as usual.

I told him about all the recent developments (how she left me… how she told me that she can be my teacher and me her student; the idea of redefining the relationship… etc. etc.)

He laughed at that! He was shocked. He said, “I knew you both were in love, but I never disclosed that I knew it!” We smiled. We communicated in broken Tamil, English, Malayalam, a bit of body and sign language too! It was awesome communicating like that… and we understood each other so clearly…

Then, we had lunch together.

We talked and lot of truths came to light. He said that at 32 (NOT 45) I’ll attain something… that will bring me fame and wealth and stuff like that. He said I’ll attain new levels of spirituality and meditation… but said that I’ll never become a sanyasi, as I did not have that yogam.

I specifically asked him whether it is 45 or 32… and he said 32! I asked will I have a so called affinity towards women till the age of 45, and he said, “no nothing like that!”

I realized that I had been misinformed earlier.

I asked him about the rituals I have to perform at Tiruchendur to remove the sarpa dosham. I noted the tasks in the order to be performed.

Then, I asked him to check my horoscope with respect to Leena’s horoscope, the woman who loves me (in spite of me being me). He did all the calculations… it turned out fine. “All 12 planets match,” he said!

He said, “I have just three years more; 2009 death. Then, I will take rebirth!” I was stunned. Something hit me. He continued, “I received signal from my guru… before that I have to conduct satsangs…”

We agreed, “Tatasthu! May the will of God prevail.”

Then, he asked me about Leena. Our story.

I told him:
“Leena waited for me because she knew that I’ll come back to her. Love, like God, works in strange ways… I don’t know whether I deserve her.

I went back to her not because I was afraid to start my life afresh but because I feel that everything happens for a reason. I crushed my ego and asked her whether she still loves me… and she said, “Come back to me.”

That was the most magnanimous gesture I have ever experienced in life and I could not say no. I knew I had to answer a lot of people and many would never understand… (because they have never been where you have been).”

He understood in his own silent way.

He talked to Leena over the phone and cleared all her hypothetical doubts and queries. They bonded over the phone, and he invited her to come and meet him personally. Such a nice man… he treats all equally.

He shares all his knowledge to all who seek. He was about to make Sri Chakra yantra for a person who had come to meet him. That guy belonged to his native place, Srirangam! He was staying in TVMalai for the past eight months and met him only on Saturday! Strange are the ways that God weaves his magic!

While my guru was busy with the horoscope calculations… he introduced me to Thyagu… Thyagu had worked as an officer with HSBC in Malaysia. He left everything and came to India seeking spirituality, peace, and oneness with nature.

Thyagu and I talked on world economics (I did not know I could talk about economics till then!), and nature, and philosophy. He asked me a queer question, “Do I look like a sadhu to you?” I did not answer.

Thyagu showed me a poem he had translated from my guru’s works:

Shiva is the divine father,
Devi is the divine mother,
Adi Shankara is the divine teacher,
And you and I are the divine child.

Wow!

I left feeling happy, relieved, and peaceful. My guru once cleared my doubts for me. He showed me the path and the truth. Oh, I was such a fool!

Anyways, like a zen master once said: “To be what you are, you sometimes have to be what you are not.”

I am sorry because in that process I hurt you, baby. And I feel so foolish… that I will never be able to forgive myself.

Before parting, I said, “Life is our only teacher!” “Avaladaan” he exclaimed!

Opposites

Every religious truth I have seen and experienced talks to me about union of:
• the male and the female.
• the light and the non-light.
• the positive and the negative.

The oneness of being is all that the yin and the yang depicts. The shiva linga engulfed in the yoni pitha shows the same. When two opposing forces meet and become one, the entire universe dances.

All of physics and chemistry shows how elements react with one another to become stable. To become a new identity altogether each losing its own properties in the process. To take on an entirely new set of properties.

What happens then: equilibrium or disequilibrium?

I don’t know.

But, I guess, it’s something like twilight. The skies express themselves in the most beautiful colors during twilight. I think it is rasa laya. Beautiful, incredible, unintelligible: full of friction, full of sweet poison, the love that consumes, the intercourse that never ends, two souls entwining to become one. Interplay of passion and desire.

One dies, loses oneself, and is born in the other’s self. Extension of self is what is depicted by shiva-parvati in the form of ardhanarishwara. Perfect process of ‘you’ in ‘me’; ‘me’ in ‘you’. Results in ‘us’.

Not just sexually, but in every aspect of life.

My first enlightenment was when I realized that sex, along with sexual intercourse, is the most intimate form of love, spirituality, and oneness that we can experience. Which is why it has since then been a very pure, holy, and sacred ritual for me.

A ritual to worship the Shakti in you. For you to worship the Shiva in me. Because without us, they don’t exist. They live inside us. Dying to become one with each other through us.

Through us, they experience themselves.

My linga and your yoni are the real windows to our souls. Our souls are our only connection to Godliness and consciousness.

- Abhilash Warrier.
Dated: 9.6.2005.

Moments...

Chingari koi bhadke toh saawan use bhujaye...
Saawan joh agan lagaye, use kaun bhujaye?

Koi yeh kaise bataaye ki woh tanha kyon hain
Woh joh apna tha wohi aur kisika kyon hain
Yehi duniya hain toh aakhir aisi yeh duniya kyon hain
Yehi hota hain toh aakhir yehi hota kyun hain?

Just heard these awesome, sublime lines from two awesome, sublime love stories... Amar Prem and Arth.

Sung by Kishore Kumar and Jagjit Singh, respectively... these songs now evoke a deeper understanding in me. I feel better when I listen to these songs... I did not sing along. I purely listened.

Life sometimes presents such beautiful moments. Moments, which you would choose to live or observe as a bystander?

In my life, I had never been a bystander. I had always lived each and every moment.

Now, I choose to be a bystander and:
look how life weaves its own pattern.
watch where my feet plant its footprints.
listen to my favorite songs, and not sing along.
ponder about poetry rather than read it.
seek inside rather than outside.

For the first time, I know what I want from life. I know what I want.

I was taken on a ride. My roller coaster ride is over.

I know I am free. Because I hold no grudges, no guilt, and no pity.

I realize that I should love what deserves love. I realize that I should believe in my own truth. For there is no other truth than my life, which is my only teacher.

Scary

Four days. Three deaths.
Who’s next? You ask.

Dad’s in the hospital.
Breathing heavy just like you.

Mom’s crying.
No one to call. To talk to.

You feel like the day you were born. All alone.
All your nightmares seem a heartbeat away.
Life goes on without a reason.

You pull. It pushes.
You cry and it laughs back.

Who’s out there?
Just a void.
Just a reflection.

Another apparition.
Another vision.
More voices.

Another black, dull evening passes by.
After a warm, humid afternoon.
Just like the day before.

You wait.

Nothing happens.
Nothing to say. Nothing no more.

You need money. Never wanted it before.
It doesn’t get scarier than this.

- Abhilash Warrier.
Dated: 23.2.2004.

A bridge fell down

Once upon a time,
I used to cross a bridge across
the railway tracks.

People from all walks of life
Crossed it to get somewhere, I think.

Lovers hatched conspiracies,
Friends met and laughed,
Some times, I think, the
Whole world crossed this bridge.

Across space and time,
It weathered,
Cracked and swung.

On the bridge.
A drunkard
Shouts at his wife.

A mother beats her child
On his way from his maddening school.

Another woman
Slaps a lecher.

I see this everyday.
Like a live motion picture.

This bridge was my home.

Today, the bridge fell down.

Taking down all:
The drunkard, the mother,
And the kid on his way back from school.

All, except me.

Why did the bridge fall down?
Why in the middle of the day?
Why not in the dead of the night?

Anyways, where is the nearest bridge?
My next home?


Dated: 13.05.2004.
- Abhilash Warrier.

Reborn

But...

(blankness)

(emptiness)

(shock)

Why...

What happened?...

But you said...

You thought...

You had all this so clear in your mind... I was your man. You had decided that I was not just a temptation, but your man for life...

Then, what happened?

Ananthakrishnan, our guru, had said that both of us would receive enlightenment when we are 37 and 32, respectively... I remember everything clearly.

You left me... it took me a long while to refocus. To realign my life. To rethink and digest the fact that you will never be a part of my life anymore.

It was a lovely time. It was a lovely dream in your words... shattered. But the river flows on... it moves ahead. Gathering strength from the slope of life... through the plains...

ranga, I will meet you when you come back to Chennai... but she won't be with me. Vandana, it's great meeting you again. Please do comment on my blog like you always wanted to.

Life, here I come back to reality from a shattered, awakening, soul-wrenching dream. But I am glad to be alive. But, I know a part of me has died... and

Now, I am reborn: stronger and wiser. I remember, life is my only teacher.

Goodbye, 2005

Another year went past. But a very defining and colorful year it was.

I found my painter girl, whom I had always searched for. More importantly, she loved me back.

It was a difficult year in terms of choices that I had to make. I quit Brainvisa, the best organisation I ever worked in. I had a calling to quit it is the best explanation possible.

It was a difficult year because I worked six months for the worst organisation ever, Sify.

It was a difficult year in terms of people I had to leave. I never looked back...

It was a year of guilt for many a night I felt guilty... and sad. Why do some have to suffer for others?

The year redefined my vision about my religion. Vedic chants and mantras made a deep impact. I made somebody my guru for the first time in life. I met Ananta Krishnan at Thiruvannamalai, and he has given me great insights and moments of truth ever since.

I think, secretly, he knows everything I know about my self and my life. And even my secrets!

More important than my guru and my gods is my goddess. My goddess has been misunderstood and abused ever since she took birth on earth. None realised that she was a god-child.

She shall be guarded well, henceforth. I will be her warrior of light.

I came to Dubai mid-2005 (though I think 2006 will see me gone soon). I regret coming here, but I now look at this as a great lesson in life. It made me value people who I missed.

All said and done, I had a hand in helping somebody's life becoming meaningful. More sublime and more purposeful. That somebody is me. That somebody is her.

I see my dreams and visions possible now. My goddess gives me the strength and courage to make things possible.

2005 will be remembered as the Year of the Koochie. And so will all years henceforth be remembered as.

The love you dream of

Aakash loved Zena. They had nothing in common. They met only twice. She was a mother of a two-year-old son. She was married and divorced in Moscow.

Aakash was a writer brimming with stories to tell, which none wanted to hear. So he wrote his stories in a little black book.

He had met her first at a nightclub. He was with a friend of his. She was with a friend of hers. Soon, they started talking. Then, they started seeing each other.

He used to open pages of his black book and she would take out her translator. And it may take hours for her to understand a story he read out to her.

It was a matter of languages: English and Russian. They picked up sign language in the process.

Aakash never asked Zena to sleep with him. She never wanted him to sleep with her. They bonded in a way I cannot explain. She listened to his stories. She loved art. She appreciated beauty and poetry. She cried on his shoulders sometimes too for unspeakable sorrows, he guessed.

Zena a 32-year-old prostitute... She slept with a different client every night.

Aakash never understood her need for living her way of life, but he respected Zena. Because she set a price for her body, for her time, and for her effort.

And she could not be seduced by anybody.

She did not use her body or sex as an attention-grabber. No man could charm her into bed with his wily ways. He has to pay. You want sex, you pay for it...

(Many were willing to pay for it. None realised that their money was milk for the two-year-old back home.)

No man could force her into having sex when she did not want it. Moreover, she chose whom she slept with. Unlike most women whom he hated. Men who hated Zena and her kinds flocked to the easy women because they needed more excitement. More risk. More talk. They needed to boost their egos.

And because it was free. All they had to do was pay attention...

A short story of a movie concept in mind... wrote it so that I won't forget it like many forgotten others!

Amma died

Said some damn relative over the phone. He banged the phone down. He shouted, “She is no more, Trishna. Amma is no more…” Trishna was in the kitchen that day (for a change).

“Don’t worry, I am there for you. It’s only us now. I’ll take care of you,” said Trishna. “No… how could I be so blind?” said Aakash charging into the kitchen.

Next day morning…
Aakash was still asleep. He was tired. Exhausted. Death of a loved one is not easy to face. The alarm rang. It announced the beginning of another day.

He dragged himself from his bed to the bathroom. On the way, he stared at the ceiling. “Cobwebs in the corners, I need to clean this place tomorrow. I have to.”

Under the strong light of the single bulb in his bathroom, he shaved. “Hmmm… razor sharp stubble, I have got!”

A spider was spinning a new web at the corner where he had kept his soap. Whack!

“Got you, damn spider! Don’t you ever build your fucking web there…”

He turned on the shower tap. Hot water ran down his cold spine from the shower… he was feeling cold. But its only March, he thought. He closed his eyes.

He never had the guts to face flowing water. He came out drying himself; slipped into his favorite white shirt and blue jeans.

Combing his hair, he thought… “just short of being labeled a stud! But, amma said that I am the most handsome man she ever knew! And don’t worry, amma, I won’t tell dad.”

He checked keys, wallet, change, food coupons for dinner…. Well, all taken. “Let’s go. They can’t do it without me. I have to be on time.”

Went down the flight of stairs, and took a rickshaw straight to his amma’s house. He thought, “It’s been five years after I left home. I’ll be seeing her after such a long time. Wonder how she’ll look today?”

He reached his house. Lots of people were attending the function. All his uncles had flown down from abroad. His maternal uncle had specially come down from Kerala.

He walked in. Smiled at a few acquaintances. In the living room, sat his father and younger brother weeping. They were huddled together. In front of them was an earthen lamp lit. And beside it, his amma was lying as if in deep sleep.

“Amma,” he shouted. “See, I have come. I have come to meet you. Look at me. At least shout at me. Hit me. But talk…” Aakash just sat down next to his father. Nobody said a word.

The pandit came to him and whispered, “Son, we have to start the cremation. You are the elder son. Come with me. The time has come to say goodbye to her.”

Aakash stood. And did everything as told by his elders. This was the only time he never rebelled, never questioned a thing.

He had kept his promise. “Amma, rest in peace.” And he lit the pyre. He saw his amma burn.

He stood still. Till the fire had died down on the pyre. Till his heart caught fire.

He rushed back to his rented room. Undressed himself. Now, he stood naked in front of the mirror. He looked at his reflection. There were no tears. Was life so fast? He did not feel a thing. Was five years of separation so much that it broke the umbilical bond?

“I am free. For the first time, I feel free. No more worries. No more amma to take care of. Now, I can start my own life.”

He turned the shower tap. He remembered, “Amma always used to say you must always take a bath after you come from a funeral or cremation… you should put your clothes to wash…”

She was so loud. He always used to ask her to shut up. “Amma, just shut up, I want to watch a movie here.”

“Yeah, amma, I love her more than I love you. And so I am leaving home.” Those were the last words he had spoken to her. Then, he left home forever, and married Trishna… the love of his life.

The only condition Trishna had laid down was that after marriage she won’t stay with her in-laws. “Well, now at least that is taken care of forever… amma died a slow death because I left home without even a second thought,” thought Aakash.

There was no water in the tap. He burst. His tears welled up, and flowed. There was no amma anymore.

“Amma, just once, I want to tell you… I loved you more than anybody else. She is no more. She won’t come between us anymore. It’s all over finally. No more fights and hidden sighs anymore, amma… I did it. I did what I should have done a long time ago.”

He looked at the ceiling; his mother’s portrait was still smiling at him. The corner of his bathroom mirror where that spider was building a web still held an old photo of him in his mother’s arms.

He looked at the bed. On the bed, Trishna was lying in a pool of blood…

A mood piece dedicated to Sunill R Nair.

A kind of life

Well, it’s a kind of life that you lead in lonesome cities… LA, New York, Mumbai, Dubai…

You walk alone… and suddenly the street lights play behind you… you turn around only to realize that it is only your shadow.

You roam in malls and supermarkets looking at or picking up what others left behind.

You act penny wise and pound foolish.

You work and not an hour goes by without you reminiscing your good moments with her.

You sit hours in your small room wondering what to do, and before you know it, night has fallen. Another day has gone by.

You wake up and before you realize, you are coming back from work.

You wake up, go to work, work, eat lunch, get back from work, eat dinner, walk a little… sleep… days pass. Each day as if a mirror of the previous one.

You write:
“The corporate world’s a wheel, and all men (and women) mere cogs in the wheel.”

You start hallucinating. You start getting ideas. They disappear where they came from. Some days you eat so well, on other days, you hardly eat anything.

You fall sick to realize that nobody around will even ask whether you need water.

You are rich and then, suddenly you find yourself poor. With no money even to buy bread.

You walk to work. You walk back from work. You wonder when the work that you had set out for will be ready for you?

The truths about love

Love is crazy because you leave people who would die for you for people who can live without you. Because you cannot live without them.

Love is unfair. Because one always expects more than the other.

Love is unbalanced. Because one always loves more than the other.

Love can be measured. Because you can count your heart beat.

Love is not blind. Because love always chooses the path of fire; the toughest road; the wildest journey.

Love is risky. Because you are not sure whether you will get what you love, and in the process you may lose all that you have.

Love is difficult. Because you have to forgive the other’s past deeds.

Love is jazz. Because you have to constantly improvise.

Love is blues. Because one is always sadder than the other.

Love is medicine. Because it gives hope. And hope is the only cure for our wretched lives.

Love can move mountains. Because nothing else can give you faith.

Love is the only answer. Because then you don’t need to say my god is better than yours.

Love is the only way. Because you don’t need to see your path. You make it.

Love is omnipresent. Because not all love the same way.

Love is a bridge. Because it joins your life with your self.

Love is like art. Because it imitates life.

Love is longing. Because there is always one wish which may never be fulfilled: you may not be the one she loves the most.

Love is being optimistic. Because I wrote ‘may’. She may one fine day.

I met God

Yesternight, at about 9pm, a dream came true.

I met a hero. A real-life hero. Someone who writes like me. Most people say I write like him. I have no regrets about that.

I met Paulo Coelho. Yes, you read it right!

The man, the moment. Very down to earth. Very simple. Very out of the world.

I don’t have words to express myself. The feeling was something very close to what I felt when I realized Koochie was my painter girl.

Koochie says she never worshipped humans. She thinks that God is very, very distinct from anything remotely connected to humans.

I think otherwise. God manifests himself (or herself; doesn’t matter. It’s God anyways.) in human forms too.

How else can we have so many warriors of light on earth, right Paulo?

I bought The Zahir, and The Manual of the Warrior of Light.

I talked to him. He talked to me. I gifted him Under A Quicksilver Moon. He looked at it and accepted it.

“Abhilash Warrier, hmmm… Warrior of Light, eh!” he exclaimed. I nodded. “Keep writing,” with a twinkle in his eyes. A spark I observed. I nodded once again.

“It’s been my honour,” and I left.

I met a form of God that I worship. I feel blessed now.

Hmmm...

Now, that was new for title, eh? Trust me to it. I will always come up with new ways.

I am all sick in the head, did not sleep last night. Headache, heartache… and now, the doc says two more days of pills in my diet. God, bad health… whoever a thing called health… and only humans seem to have problem with it. All our medicines and vaccines don’t seem to make much of a difference…

I have not seen many dogs or cats born with deformities the way we are? Or am I wrong?

Anyways, was seriously thinking about my purpose in life. I always take myself a bit seriously. A “very good friend” says so! She wants me to call her that… a very good friend! Indeed!

Am sleepy or what here… forgive my writing… "a sleepy head can do not much thinking." Old jungle saying!

She also tells me that my poetry is a path… may not be the end for me. Food for thought. Real good food I have had in years.

So I list things I will end up doing in the next 10 years:
Café… will not write anything more. Don’t want a rich entrepreneur reading and starting it before I do!
Movies… hmmm… farhan akhtar, need to talk to you for a few minutes!
Spirituality… psychiatry… behavior science…

Where do I belong? What am I destined for? I don’t want to end up like countless others who never gave these questions a thought. Who never stood and stared.

I take this time off to think… I need to stand before her eyes. I need to prove that her belief in me, in what I have inside me… is really there.

I know she loved me then because she saw something even she did not realize then or even now. But I know it. Gut feeling. Instinct. Whatever.

I know she saw an inner light inside me the way I saw hers. Maybe she can’t or won’t express it… but we meeting and getting together on this expedition called life itself is a miracle.

She called me today morn… and made a good morning of a sick yesternight… we talked. Once again, just like the old times… hours… over the phone…

I miss you. Oh goddess!! U make me breathe again… every time love pours from those caring lips… sweet nectar…

Oh my mother goddess, are you waiting for me now? Here, I come unto you. Into your womb once again.

Taxi talk

Taxi drivers are the same everywhere. They all have something in common; it does not matter whether they drive in Dubai or Mumbai.

They are very concerned about the world at large. World issues and current affairs rule their lives and thoughts most of the time.

They are worried about the hurricanes in the U.S. to the cricket team’s performances. They talk about oil prices and wars in the same breath.

They talk politics and local scandals. They may gossip, but mostly tell personal truths and opinions.

I love talking to them. Sometimes, we end up talking about God and religion. Or about the Law of Karma. General trends in religion.

They are one set of people who are not afraid to shoot from the lips. They are a breed apart. Anyways, as a taxi driver I met, said, “Katrina and Rita came, swayed, and went.”

And for the first time in my life, the names don’t evoke a sense of beauty in me.

Poetry, it is...

What is poetry?
.
.
.
I don’t know. But, I know, I write poetry. What is poetry for me may not be poetry for you (and vice versa too) because it is the freest art on earth.

Ever-changing. Touching. Classic. Forever yours. Eternal. Inspirational. Wild. Ahead of times. Advanced. Go on. Don’t stop. Awesome. Wow! Window to the soul. Psychic.

It has no form. Certainly, no rhyme, no meter, no style can contain poetry.

I cannot point and say this is poetry. My fingertips crave to touch poetry that flows along with the ink from my pen on to a piece of paper. But I can’t. I can’t even erase it.

It is the untouchable. Sometimes, the unthinkable too.

Poetry is. Always will be. It never was.

If you spin a tale, make every word sound the way it should, it is poetry.
If that word belongs nowhere else but in that verse, it is poetry.
If you cause chaos, it is poetry.

If you produce stillness, it is poetry.
Anything moves… it is poetry.

Every word, if it bleeds, if it cries, it is poetry.
If you hear someone crying far away upon reading it, it is poetry.

If it rouses antique, buried emotions, it is poetry.
If you feel good, relieved, or sad after you write, it is poetry.

If it buries a life story, it is poetry.
If it talks aloud in solitude and silence, it is poetry.

If you turn a page, it is poetry.
If, in the autumn years of your life, you write, it is poetry.

If there is more truth in it than creativity, it is poetry.
If your words have lived their life while you wrote them, it is poetry.

If you wake up in the middle of the night and write, it is poetry.
If what u write inspires, it is poetry.

If what you have written is enough to cover a grave, it is poetry.
If strangers smile at you, while people close to you walk away, it is poetry.

If a ship appears like a lighthouse, it is poetry.
If your words arouse the firefly in a woman, it is poetry.

If your brother follows your footsteps, it is poetry.
If many misunderstand your poetry, it is poetry.

If you listen to Bob Dylan even once, it is poetry.

Blinding lights? Or, are my words so bright?
Am I here? Where are you?

Do we see each other?
Are we staring into each other’s tall shadows?

Don’t close my eyes. Look into mine.

A page of life at a café…

I love this café. It even has a small Internet café attached to it. It is situated at the corner of Corniche Road, Ajman, overlooking the beach.

There is something about coffee, and a beach put together… my mind wandered to a similar crevice somewhere in a now, hardened, rock called memory.

A handsome guy manned the counter while two waitresses, an Oriental and a Russian, waited at the tables.

I was unwell for over the last three days. I missed work.

Ill and exhausted with a small tearing headache, I found myself at the café.

This is the only healthy food that you can find in this part of the world. Remote and isolated, Ajman often reminds me of a POW camp… a deserted, war-torn village trying to come to terms with the New World.

Seated near the door with my back facing the sea, I ordered a veg burger. The waitress smiled at me gladly. She had few friends, I can see.

I observed the cute, small, short girl who made the burger. She first fried the French Fries. Then, she waited till they got the perfect brown that we all always try for, but seldom achieve.

My first thought was she should be in school. Not cooking in a goddamn, around-the-corner café to make a living.

She readied the burger, dressed it up well, and gave it to the waitress. The oriental waitress served it to me on a clean plate while the guy and the Russian waitress chatted with each other.

There was this uncomfortable silence in the café. The only sound was Arabic lounge (?) music that played in the background.

I was relishing the burger and suddenly my eyes caught the cute girl smiling at me. This was my second visit to the café, and maybe in this part of the world, a second visit in two days was enough to set familiarity in.

I did not dare ask her name. So I’ll call her Cutie.

Cutie must be in her very early teens. But, she looks old and mature. Life has taught her, her share of lessons.

Cutie did not look like she belonged to any particular nationality. Not that I could make out. She had that innocence about her that we adults can only search for.

There was something about Cutie. Cutie looked lonely. Too young to be working.

She looked at me and then looked out at the sea. Perhaps, she was waiting for her prince charming to come and save her. Or, she was looking at the stranger of a ship docked out at sea.

Perhaps, Cutie was a small leaf floating in a river in a fairytale of some faraway land. Or, she is a goddess testing how kind men are in this world.

Her eyes spoke a lot. A lot of dreams had fallen from them yet those eyes held back all the tears.

As I had my last bite, I exclaimed to her, “You make nice burger!” She smiled at me.

I don’t know whether she knew English. It does not matter.

We glanced at each other. And in that glance, passed a thousand unsaid words of prayer, understanding, and faith. Cutie had found a friend.

I don’t know whether she knew it. Anyways, it does not matter.

So, I finally own a laptop!

First of all, apologies to all regular readers. I have been very busy at work lately.

A few days ago, I think Saturday, September 10, 2005, was a first in many ways!

It was the day I bought my first laptop!

The same day I bought and wore my first suit.

I really don’t know how to thank you, Aquin. You seem to coincidentally play a very important part while I keep ticking off my materialistic wishlist… why just last year Parvati had given me a ride in her Volkswagen Beetle, remember? And now, this laptop too came through a reference of yours!

Ahem… sometimes God just fulfills your dreams so fast and so unexpectedly that you take time to realize that the dream has come true. So I finally bought my own laptop. I still can’t believe it sometimes.

Another big dream of mine is fulfilled in Dubai. Saturday was also the day I did my first formal presentation!

It feels good. I feel like I am moving up the ladder. I am learning not to beg, but to hold attention of the audience. I need to work on my presentation and public speaking skills!

Dr Maen has taken the perfect role of a father figure/ teacher/ leader that I never had. I look up to him. He is also filling Br Keane’s shoes pretty well… polishing the dust off me. Making me suave and sophisticated.

Hmmm… if only you were here, Koochie. I miss you so much.