This too shall pass.

The salt-pans are not visible anymore; they have given way to high rises. The yellow whistling flowers are not to be seen anymore; a BP petrol station came up few years ago where they once had flowered.

Vasai has changed; is changing. Better and wider roads came hand-in-hand with rising real estate costs. Basic infrastructure woes had reduced with every passing year: water supply and electricity improved. I did not get to see any hand pumps where they once stood in limelight as people, especially women and children rushed to fill their daily quota of potable water.

St. Augustine’s High was getting higher and the Ayyappa temple grander.

The horizon and skyline, as seen from Vasant Nagri, changed. The Giriz hill was not the only structure that stood between the railway line and the setting sun; there were newer buildings that were being built on lands that once were salt pans. The picture postcard sunset and its changing hues on the hill can’t be viewed anymore. Nor can the Sun be seen playing hide-and-seek behind the hill during its annual Uttarayan and Dakshinayan journeys.

Vasai is in the process of becoming the next Bandra; the next 'queen of the suburbs'. Because just like Bandra, Vasai too has still retained its idyllic charm and rustic life that will rapture you when you travel towards Vasai Gaon, or its beaches, or the fort.

This weekend may have been one of those nostalgic, sepia-toned trips to Vasai… and I would be dishonest if I say that during my two-day stay there, my eyes hadn’t welled up. 

It was only while driving back to Pune that this dawned – our Vasai house has been sold. Ani, our house, which was like a crevice where our bittersweet memories found a common hiding place all these years, is sold. Ani, avarka okha avarde kaash, avarde kanakh… nammalku nammalde nostalgia!

Sob, sniff, sob.

Though I no more have a house to call my own there, Vasai will always be a home. For home is where the heart is, right? :-)

Brahman and i?

Sarvam khalvidam idham Brahman.

Brahman:

• Is it the primordial intelligence that exists within all of us?
• Is it the communication that occurs between subatomic and atomic particles across physical distances?
• Is it the spaces between matter? Is it the dark energy or anti-matter that exists between ‘things’ that make up matter?
• Is it the cosmic play between matter and space and time?
• Is it Mathematics: “If you subtract the infinite from the infinite, what remains is the infinite?”
• Is it what makes us seek?
• Is it the ‘ocean of milk’ in which Narayana was sleeping on Anantha Sesha/ Adi Sesha? Is it the awakening of Narayana and the simultaneous occurrence of Brahma’s birth? Is it Brahma asking: “Who am I?” and the consequent manifestation of the Goddess?
• Is it adwaitham (One-Without-A-Second)?
• Is it the similarity between: I am the way, and the truth, and the life (John 14:6); Ana al Haq; and Tat Tvam Asi?

La Ilaha Illallah.

Let it be

Let it churn, let it churn, let it churn…
For then we shall get treasures and poisons; answers and questions.

Till then, let it churn, let it churn...

Till I am tired of fighting, till it is time to sleep.
Till then, let it churn, let it churn.

7 Khoon Maaf

This is one movie that holds promise. It says that there is still hope and redemption for us sinners (rather, the sinners inside us).

The movie is a very dark and sometimes funny portrayal of a woman seeking for God in ordinary men (in this case, for the Son of God in ordinary men). Maybe, it’s trying to make a valid point here by revealing the biggest fallacy of lovers: searching for God in our beloved…

In our search for the eternal, the everlasting, and the unattainable, we commit our biggest sins; our biggest mistakes (knowingly?). Our motive is so high, so sacred, and so lofty that we don’t stop at committing any sin no matter how beautiful or brutal.

The six men (in the movie) could hardly hold a candle to the Son of God. But did they deserve to be killed? Did she have a choice (to kill or not to kill)? Maybe, she did not have a choice. As one of her accomplices narrates a short, chilling fable, which explains why she would kill than change her path or search…

Many shots in the movie are dark and brooding, which leave haunting images. Suzanne Anna is one of the best performances in Indian cinema. She was so true to her nature… so honest… so gullible…

When the end credits rolled, the elusive answer dawned… there is a damn good reason for the movie to be titled 7 Khoon Maaf (roughly translates to 7 Murders Forgiven).

The woman was stronger than the six men she thought she loved, except the seventh. For He too had committed 'her' sin for her sake before she was born…

My love is like a red, red moon...

Today, was one of those twilights when the moon was looming over us near the horizon: big and brick red...

For a moment, I stopped my bike at the roadside and stared at the most beautiful object in the sky. And then, I remembered all the previous full moons I had seen in different cities across different landscapes and skylines (The city surely lends or projects its own color and character onto the moon.).

You and I see the same moon no matter where we are and how much you may have forgotten me or the full moon that we saw.

I know, this sounds just like an old, romantic cliche. But is it just that?

Koans from the Self

Can 'I' think?

Where does mu come from?

What is maya?

Energy appearing as a particle is maya; it behaving as a wave is also maya.

Dhobi Ghat (Mumbai Diaries)

This is a movie that says a lot without talking much. The movie captures Mumbai, its people, their lives, and its collective spirit just like two of its lead characters do.

The artist, Arun, and the documentary filmmaker, Shai, are the observers. Both are shameless voyeurs, which help them produce great works of art. They observe/peep into others’ lives and secret or routine patterns to produce great art. In the process, they undergo catharsis in their own mundane lives… Somehow, Mumbai brings both of them together when they were in their own individual voids.

Munna and Noor are the observed. They do not realize that and therefore, they end being temporary muses for Shai and Arun, respectively. Obviously, your heart goes out for both of them. You root for them throughout the movie even though your intuition tells you about impending tragedies for both.

This is a movie that reveals the interlinks and the interactions between the observer, the observed, and the observation(s). At some points, all three merge. And this provides us with a feast of sounds, sights, and events for what else is there to life in the maximum city.

This is a movie that contains shorter movies and films in it. Sometimes, the shorter films take over and we forget the bigger picture. The movie reveals that shared spaces just like shared times never belong to the people who shared it. Nobody owns those moments in time or space; neither the observer nor the observed. In the movie, there are only two silent constants when and where everything changes: Mumbai and Noor’s/Arun’s elderly neighbour.

This is a movie that shows us slices of life. It enters a whole new genre where very few movies belong: such is life…

Behind the scene...

On a breezy, cool December afternoon, an Express train chugs out of Pune…

In the S5 compartment, among the many occupied seats, there is an unoccupied one. Curious passengers eye this seat wondering whether the passenger may board the train at the next station. Or better still, whether this seat is available!

After an hour or two, the TC hands the empty seat (and berth) over to a waitlisted passenger and makes some quick money out of it. This was a train ticket not cancelled…

The waitlisted passenger puts his feet up; he is happy. Perhaps, he was in a last minute rush and could not plan his journey. Maybe some untoward incident happened and he is trying to make it in time. And this time, he got lucky.

The TC and the seat-buyer thanked the passenger who did not cancel the ticket. There sure must be some story behind this, right?

You bet there is.

What is life?

God. Enlightenment. Truth. Shunyata. Mounam.

All these concepts… They’re like defined spaces among undefined spaces. And all that has been defined exists in our mind(s). Outside, these concepts have no validity or utility.

Not able to write more… It is so tough to write what you ‘know’. So much easier to write what you don’t know, or what you understand, or at least, pretend to understand.

Alandi beckoned

Sant Dynaneshwar. I had heard of him and his contemporary saints way back in school first. I think, in 4th Std. My memory fails me. Sant Tukaram, Sant Ramdas, Sant Eknath, et al.

Visiting Alandi was on my mind ever since I came back to Pune last year. Somehow, the calling came on October 30 (Saturday) and I found myself biking towards Alandi.

The town reminded me of Thiruvannamalai though Alandi is still not as commercialized as Thiruvannamalai. And thank God for that!

Headed straight to Mauli’s Sanjeevan Samadhi (samadhi while still alive) spot. Sant Nivrittinath, Sant Muktabai, and Sant Sopandev (Mauli’s siblings) were all present when he took his Samadhi along with many other devotees and followers. Mauli (mother) was what Sant Dynaneshwar’s contemporary saints called him.

After pradakshina, bought the Haripatha and the Pasayana and began reading them in the blessed company of Varkaris. Thereafter, had bhojan prasad.

From what I could gather, the Varkaris were/are like “singing saints”… similar to the 63 Nayanars, I guess. Mauli had resurrected the Varkari sect/movement in the 13th century in only a brief span of 21/22 years that he lived…

Sitting under the Peepal tree near Mauli’s Samadhi is pretty much the same as sitting inside Virupaksha cave.
Nothing more to say.

Borrowed sorrows

Kuch baatein aisi hoti hain,
Kuch rishte aise hote hain jinke naam nahin hote;
Hote hain, toh sirf paigaam...
Warna sirf jaam.

Aap ne aisa jaadu kiya, ke hum hosh kho baithe.
Phir, aap ne aisa jaadu kiya, ki hum humko kho baithe.

Just another day in paradise

It’s one of those days… When you hum a classic song sung in your mother tongue. No matter how much you think and write in English, it sometimes can never relate to your ‘native’ anguish.

Have been humming (trying really hard) Engane njaan urakkendu and Kaliveedurangiyallo..kalivaakkurangiyallo from Deshadanam since morning. Though there is some cathartic effect, the anguish does not break away. It keeps gnawing like a hungry rat trapped.

Just now, another song walked into the remote crevices of my godforsaken mind… Vaalkkanezhuthiya makaranilaavil maamboo manamozhuki from Paithrukum.

Change

Evolution changes choice.
Choice changes evolution.
What changes the change?

Is there more to this than what meets the eye? Is this cyclical or linear? Do we know or as usual merely pretend?

As long as you have not grasped that you have to die to grow, you are a troubled guest on the dark earth. – Mircea Eliade, Romanian writer.

Fleeting lines from a song long forgotten

Main tujhse janmu…
Toh shayad mujhe panaah mile...

If

My life contains my life's most important word.

Gone?!

Gone are the good morning mornings and the good night nights. Each moment, a part of me dies and a part replaces it: trying to live.

Grrr...

Karta: I want to be inside Virupaksha cave right this moment. It is the only cocoon that protects me from the world. Protects the world from me.

Sakshi: What a deep level of attachment! Still have a long way to go...

Who am I: Who is observing the observer observing the observed?

Sound: Grrr...

Once more...

Sudden lovebursts and longings in every heartbeat I hide…
Yet, your deep, loving eyes won't say:
I'll stay.

Your deep, loving voice somehow careless of my heartbreak.
Yet, the broken heart whimpers, whispers, sighs and sings:
Our hindi love song.

Just love me...
At least, lie to me:
once more.

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Mein aur meri tanhayee;
Mein jaanu aur meri khuda jaane.

Koi khalish hain hawaon mein…

Flowers have been nipped in the bud. Just before they could bloom together.
However, these flowers shall bloom again. When the cold-hearted winter gives way to sunny spring and summer…

Interestingly, there is no pain this time.
Maybe it’s the realization that promises can be broken even before trying to keep them.
Maybe it’s Thiruvannamalai healing me from afar.
Maybe it’s my belief that God is in his heaven and all is well on earth.
Maybe the love went deeper than my sore and numb nerves.

The sun shall rise tomorrow and I shall not dwell in the dark tonight. Every dawn, I meditate facing the east awaiting my sunrise.

I pray to God everyday that I may never get Alzheimer’s. For I believe that I live in my memories. They, along with hope, keep me alive. They provide the courage to love once again.

Once again, a part of me has died. It shall resurrect though. For I shall be reborn; and so shall you.

In a song

We are two teardrops in a song. We'll flow with the music. But eventually, we will dry up somewhere near smiling lips.

Just like that

Woh joh kisi ne naa samjha
Woh mein; woh tum...

Woh humne humse hii jaana.

An umbrella story/ Two mornings/ Mornings

Yesterday morning, she came late; drenched to the bone. Aakash was waiting for the maid. He was getting late for work. It was already 8:30am.

“What happened? Why are you late? And wet?” asked Aakash. “I don’t have an umbrella; my daughter uses mine to go to college,” Sunita replied sheepishly. She started her daily routine of sweeping and mopping the floor.

Just before she was done with her work for the day, Aakash walked to his bedroom, took his umbrella from the table, folded it neatly, and gave it to her.

Sunita replied, “Thanks. I’ll return this tomorrow morning.” Aakash retorted nervously, “No; it’s for you to keep. It rains heavily nowadays. You’ll get sick if you get wet like this daily.”

Today morning, Sunita arrived at 7:30am sharp. Aakash noticed that she had an old and abused umbrella in her hand. She was soaking wet from the heavy rain outside. Obviously, this umbrella was of little help.

Aakash asked, “What happened to the umbrella I gave you yesterday?” Sunita (proceeding towards the broom) replied matter-of-factly, “I gave it to my son; he took it to school.”

Such is her love. Such is her life.

A tagged post

A friend recently blogged on Ameen Sayani. When I read this post, my trail of thoughts travelled to Binaca Geetmala, the most popular radio show in Indian history.

Then I remembered listening to radio stations at night because my mom was a big fan of music and songs. She primarily listened to old Malayalam songs but once in a while listened to Hindi songs as well.

I remember Ravi Mama coming home one evening, during those chawlwallah days, with new toothpastes that were out in the market then: Binaca and Cibaca. Light blue toothpastes. For the first time, I brushed my teeth with toothpastes that came in a color other than white!

A little boy back then, I had no idea about market wars. Binaca and Cibaca had threatened Colgate’s leadership and monopoly in the market back then. Now, we see Binaca and Cibaca written on cheap plastic toothbrushes that come free with Dabur Red toothpaste.

Such is life.

End of a dialogue

A child (looking out of a window): Wow! Look! The breeze is so cool; the raindrops spraying on my face is so refreshing.

An elder (peering into the morning newspaper): Close the window; the furniture will be spoilt.

The catalyst

Muse.

The very word is amusing. It lives in its own existence. A muse is to an artist what a catalyst is to a chemical reaction. Basically, what God is to creation or life. As Osho says: The catalyst does not cause any reaction or creation though without its presence nothing can be created; nothing happens.

The relationship between a muse and her artist is the most indefinable relationship.

My desktop wallpaper

An ash-clad face with simmering piercing eyes. Sun-dried and wind-beaten long tresses. Agni surrounds him. He stares at me from my desktop.

Who is he? What is his journey?

All I know is that he was at the last Kumbh Mela (where some photographer captured his fiery gaze). Maybe that is all we need to know about him.

kahin toh

Kahaan kho gayi mere ghar kii chaabi;
Kahaan khoye maine meri raah.

Kahaan jaaon ab taala dhoondne;
Chaabi se pehle taala jo kho gaya tha... Kabhi.

khoyi khoyi sii zindagi

Kuch kahin dur khoyi khoyi sii zindagi;
Kuch khayalaton mein basi sii zindagi.

Ab bahaaron mein baahar aayi sii zindagi;
Hasraton aur shararaton mein zindagi
Ab jeene lagi hain
Kuch kahin aur khoyi khoyi sii zindagi.

Random musings of workless days

I love reading what I had written earlier... just to not lose touch with my past. It is only through what I write that I can be in touch with my past. Be an observer and a witness.

I keep staring at my cell phone every once in a while: maybe I am expecting a call. From the birthdaydigitswallah number. Maybe I expect to make a call. To the birthdaydigitswallah number. But I am avoiding the calling… don’t know how. Don’t know why.

The decision is already made, I guess. – Dated: February 15, 2010

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Why do people take offence for subtle acts of kindness?

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Ab aisa lagta hain kii kuch karna nahin;
Dur kidhar jhaake rehna nahin.
Zindagi ne khud bulaya hain;
Ab jeene se pehle maut kii tamanna nahin.

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Existentialism is the only permanent philosophy in life; it never deserts you no matter what path you take.

My woman

My woman...

My goddess knows no fear:
She is Shakti standing on Shiva
Balancing her grace; balancing the world.

For if she falls, he shall be no more.
No more life; no more death.
No more what we know no more.

Unkept promises

The earth is scorched.
It is awaiting clouds that bring rain. Dark clouds are passing by. They are teasing the earth; they descend, hang low, and show promise of rain.
Maybe, they have no more vapours. Maybe, they are meant to rain elsewhere.

Sighs

A thousand sighs replace a thousand and eight names.
Untold, unspoken, unseen sighs. What should ‘I’ do?

Nothing more. No more.

A thulasi leaf

Sometimes the most important journeys in life are not begun by foot, by flight, or by sail. They start in the Heart.

Such journeys bring home new discoveries and visions. But more importantly they bring home truths; truths you seldom realized before.

Where is this journey taking me?

Yedh yedho kathayil Yamunayil oruganna
Uru thulasi dhalam aanu nyaan.

Friday the 18th

Love entered Shiva's being from a far, far away land somewhere in the east near the sea... Where the Sun rises. Where it should rise. Where it shall never set.

He outstretched his arms and welcomed this addiction called life... :-)) Now, he has to journey a thousand miles before he can sleep in peace.

Who am...

The only spiritual texts that exist: Yoga Vasistha Sara, Ashtavakra Gita, Tripura Rahasya, and the Upanishads.

Mahavaakyas such as Tat vam asi, Aham Brahmasmi, and the way of Neti, Neti. The way of “Not this, not this”. And the way of “Even this, even this” blend in these dialogues and statements.

Note: The great maxims contained in four Upanishads of the four Vedas describe Brahman as:

• Praajnam Brahman—Aitreya Upanishad of Rigveda, meaning “Intelligence or Consciousness is Brahman”.
• Aham Brahmaasmi—Brihadaaranyaka Upanishad of Yajurveda, meaning “I am Brahman”.
• Tat vam asi—Chandogya Upanishad of Saamaveda, meaning “That thou art”.
• Ayam aatma Brahman—Mandookya Upanishad of Atharvaveda, meaning “This Self or aatma is Brahman”.

Who am 'I'?

Karta se sakshi tak...
Such a long journey.

Om Namah Shivaya

Early in the morning, lighting the lamp before the brass lingam starts my day. Om Namah Shivaya… the beeja mantra floods my body and mind.

A train of thoughts fade in and fade out:

• What metaphors the lingam conveys, I can only guess or imagine: Being Ardhanareeshwara… male and female… Lightness and heaviness… Yin and Yang… Being and non-being… Is-ness, here and now… Living in the three states and moving towards Turiya.
• Brahma, Vishnu, Maheswaraa… all imbibed in one. Even Devi is present in the lingam: engulfing the lingam in her yoni. This makes the lingam, for me, complete; not just a phallic symbol.
• When you worship the lingam, you are worshipping the very concepts of existence: the life force. Harmony. All is one. Equilibrium. Sex to Super-Consciousness. Fountainhead. Left Hand of God.
• How many worlds it encompasses? How many emotions it kills?
  

The train fades away somewhere, sometime. Looking at the lingam bathing in the warm glow soothes my eyes. Closing my eyes and meditating to the beeja mantra soothes our soul.

Mind games

It’s that time of the year again when Moon and Venus are seen close to each other in the sky. Just like an enchanting, crescent-shaped smile and a beauty spot near the upper lip on a pretty woman’s face.

God knows what mischief these guys will be up to. What mind games will they play with us mortals?

Un-catchable

Seeking. Stopping.

Living. Dying. Every moment.

Do I know where one begins and the other ends? Should I? Could I?

Joys of working in Pune

I can sit at my PC, eat two hot vada pavs with spicy chilies, and drink a chilled cola at the same time.
Anybody feeling a bit jealous? Anybody from Bangalore, especially? :-)

Seene mein jalan

Seene mein jalan aankhon mein tufaan saa kyon hain?
Is shahar mein har shaks pareshaan saa kyon hain?

Dil hain to, dhadakane kaa bahaanaa koi dhoondhe
Patthar kee tarah beheesa-o-bejaan saa kyon hain?

Seene mein jalan…

Tanahaee kee ye kaun si, manzil hain rafeekon
Taa-hadd-ye-nazar yek bayaabaan saa kyon hain?

Kya koi nayee baat nazar aatee hain hum me
Aaina hume dekh ke hairaan saa kyon hain?

This song from Gaman (1979) has been playing in my head today since morning.

I am reminded of my hardworking years in Mumbai:...
Of travelling to and fro in jam-packed trains. Of those soiled notes I received at the end of the month. Of the impulsive expenses I made. Of working late into the day-after-tomorrow.

Those uncertainties and dreams. Those opportunities I missed. Those statements I made. Those promises made to self unkept. Those walks in the rain.

That intense love fading into oblivion or some void. That longing becoming indifference.

At least, I hope so...

Oh cloud, why don’t you just rain down?
Roar in thunder and rub in lightning?
At least for a moment, our existence will be noticed.

Ye wildflower on the country road, why don’t you bloom to your brightest in day?
Spread your petals and let us see the world inside you?
At least for a moment, our lives will be enriched.

My mundane life needs spectacular moments for me to feel alive… Clipping my grandmother’s nails made up for all those lost time that I could have spent with her… At least I hope so. After all she is the only living legacy my grandfather left behind when he passed away 12 years ago.

Footnote: On the morning of April 22, I wrote this piece; she passed away peacefully that afternoon.

Aarti

It was 4:30 pm.

A group of men had gathered in devotion. They were wearing uniforms: matching ties, shirts, and blazers. The huge wall-mounted speakers were blazing out “Sukh harta… dukh harta…” in full volume. The fragrance emanating from incense and dhoop sticks created a hazy and smoky hue in the dimly lit, air-conditioned environment.

All the uniforms were busy clapping their hands and playing the cymbals in tune with the aartis blaring out of the speakers. Some were singing along and singing aloud.

Jaydev jaydev…

Aarti Sai Baba…

Devotion amongst the waiters, the captain, and the hotel owner reached their crescendo with the DJ playing the last aarti fast and louder. The aarti ended around 5pm with distribution of prasad to all.

Now, it was time for Aartis, in their 20s and 30s, to come through the backdoor to please their Gods.

Words seemingly from nowhere

Godliness.

Staying in the midst of society really does not help. Every relationship comes with expectations and obligations. Blessed are those who form relationships where only dharma (righteousness) is way of life:
• Swami Ramakrishna Paramahamsa and consort, Sarada Devi
• Sant Keshavdas and consort, Mother

Did I choose: Where was I to be born this life? The school I went to? My parents? My teachers?

Why did Brother Keane travel from Ireland to India and stay here so long? He had some ties and chains here. Maybe, some karma unfulfilled.

From where did I travel through all these lifetimes? To where am I travelling?

Am feeling an ache in my Heart for a long time now. Nothing makes me sad; nothing makes me happy either. Am in such a neutral state that if somebody bombed the earth, I may care two hoots before dying myself.

These words, they just flow. Seemingly coming from nowhere. Because I am not thinking these words or making up this stuff.

I am losing my memory, one remembrance at a time. Discarding all the rubbish in my mind makes my mind and Heart lighter. Maybe, this is what the Masters called as losing oneself. Because losing memory is losing what you are, what you mean to people.

What do you own? What can you possess?
How can I transcend sex, meditation, and all methods?
Oh Ramana, wherever you are, help me out. Push me a bit. Toss me around.

Some words you have to live to know what they really mean. Like, I am yearning now.
Somewhere at the horizon, words stop and silence begins.

In the great abyss of life, sorrows
have deeper burrows.
In this dark forest, a fine
next step may land on a landmine.

Why do you always feel like talking to somebody who’s left you with no one to talk to?
Okay, that is greeting card language.

Falsehood

Tamas and rajas dominate and direct my manas
When, not how, shall I attain sattva?

Is there a ‘when’ while I oscillate between the two?
Is the midpoint of my oscillation sattva?

Rajas and tamas obstruct sadhana.
How do I obstruct the obstructions?

How can I attain That?
When I say ‘I’ and ‘That’ together, my statement becomes falsehood.

Office conversation (pretty close but not verbatim)

C comes to C’s friends’ bay at 9:30 in the morning. They usually have breakfast together at Anna’s Cafeteria. C is really hungry. She has already expressed her hunger. Meanwhile, C’s friend gets interested in her jazzy pink specs.

C’s Friend (holding C’s spectacles in hand and examining them): “Hey, what’s the power in these? Must be between -1 and -2.”

C: “Yeah, -1.25 hain.”

C’s Friend: “Ok. Why don’t you go in for laser vision correction. I had -8 power; I underwent the treatment back in ’97. It’s safe and it’s worth it. The treatment gives you freedom. No more lenses and specs…”

C: “I am OK with specs. Some people have issues maintaining specs and looking good and all. I have no issues.”

C’s Friend: “I underwent the treatment because that time I had been caught by the navy bug. I wanted to become a sailor. I had taken the written exams and physical test at INS Hamla; cleared both rounds and was awaiting medical test dates. So I had to get the correction done prior to the medical test.

My vision correction was a gift from my grandfather. He was a navyman, naa. It was his last everlasting gift for me.

He passed away in ’98.”

By the time I underwent the laser correction, I had to choose between literature and travelling. I had to choose: become a sailor or become a poet… And I chose the latter.”

C (nonchalantly turning to A, who’s been busy at her work all through this conversation): “Hey, chalna breakfast ke liye. Mujhe bahut bhook lagi hain!”

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.