Remembering 26/11

Whatever I write here, however well justified, cannot capture the horror or compensate the loss of 26/11 victims. But I decided to write this post as a reminder to myself. It was a day which woke me up from my comfortable shell. Well, it was a day which woke up most Indians up from their apathy. I remember my initial reactions of shock, anger, frustration and hatred. In the blood-rush I even wished Pakistan be nuked and wiped out from the face of this planet. Thank God, our country is not run by bozos like me :)

Charakan has done a good round up of the year following 26/11.

A lot of positive strides have been made. But we still have miles to go before we sleep (peacefully).

Thanks to the guardians of our country for protecting us from such horrors in the last year. Thanks to those unsung officials who work silently to keep our country safe from these maniacs. Thanks to those martyrs who gave up their lives trying to protect the lives of others.

And a silent prayer for all those innocent victims and their families.

Some personal thoughts

My generation has a problem. We think we know everything. We have an opinion about everything, mostly inflexible and we usually don't get along well with people who express a different opinion. The art of listening seems to be a mystery. To be honest, it is not so much a problem of our generation as it is of our times. We are taught to be competitive and assertive. We are well read, thanks to the infinite number of media providing us with useful and useless information. We read five to ten different newspapers, not necessarily from one country, and express five to ten different opinions on the same topic. We are disgusted over 26/11 but not necessarily over other natural/man-made catastrophes which are comparatively less trendy. We fret and fume over some useless twitter remarks (cattle class and holy cows) but don't really care about what we say, whether in public or private. We assume and believe that the right to expression means criticizing anyone who doesn't stick to our world view. And of course, we believe our world view is right.

We are forever updating our facebook/gmail/twitter statuses to something intelligent and unique. Oh yes, the pressure to be unique, the pressure to stand out from the crowd drives our every action, thought and moment. We are busy taking quizes in facebook that tell us (and everybody in our friends' list) how intelligent we are, how well endowed we are, how good we are in bed etc.

But here comes the paradox. We have an opinion about everything and yet we are disillusioned about most of the things happening around us. Oh! This disillusionment is a trendy topic too and comes polished under various titles (quarter life crisis, blogger's block etc). But we do sometimes experience this deep loneliness and frustration. And then everything becomes meaningless for us.

If I offended anyone by using the word "we" instead of "I" and "ours" instead of "mine", my apologies. I was going through the above said emotions for a good part of the day and was sulking just fifteen minutes back. And then my dad called. Probably parents do have sixth sense. Dad and I talked. Not necessarily heavy stuff like "Obama's Indian policy" or "Intel's Jerusalem plans" but simple, general stuff that you cannot classify under any category. It was a heart warming conversation. Whenever I think of my parent's generation I can't help but admire them. Their way of life, their hardships, their thrill of achievement, their times. Oh! Did they kick ass during their times!! :) Maybe it's a foolish nostalgia for an era which I can never witness. But let it be.

In these days of vulgar self-exhibitionism and unashamed self-indulgence, a reminder of what our previous generation had to go through to put us where we are, is a necessity and relief.

All's fair in love and war

Rony Charlie was a wonderful guy. He was one of those guys who could make your day with a casual exchange of pleasantries or even, a simple handshake. For those of us who knew him well, Rony Charlie was the most passionate man on earth. "Without passion, life is like food without meat", he used to say. And when Rony Charlie decided to propose Rexy Baeb, we knew it would be a story for the ages.

Rexy herself was a character of sorts. To begin with, her name (and that includes her first name and second name) was a source of much amusement for us loafers. Her father Mr. Baeb Varghese, was a wealthy man, who in the course of his life, came to be called as Baeb instead of Baby. Or maybe he decided that the name Baby Varghese was an insult to his father himself, and changed it deliberately. But whatever the case, it is known for a fact that Mr. Baeb was indeed known as Mr. Baeb at the time of Rexy's birth. And it is precisely because of this fact that we fail to understand, why a father in his proper senses would name his daughter Rexy Baeb, which sounds pretty much like sexy babe! Nevertheless, whatever his reasons, Rexy was sure a babe. She was pretty, well mannered, polite, non-feminist (there are too many of them these days) and even intelligent. Now I use the word "even" here deliberately for the simple reason that it is hard, especially in today's world, to find all these qualities in one single person. But Rexy was just that; an embodiment of all qualities good and womanly.

We knew that Rexy received a lot of proposals, mostly from gullible young fellows, passionate, but surely not as passionate as our dear own Rony Charlie. But most of these fellows stopped pursuing the love of their life, rather mysteriously, the very day on which they proposed to Rexy Baeb. We ascribed this phenomenon to Rexy's intelligence. If the best of men could be intimidated by intelligent and confidant women, then what chance did we low lives stand? But having said that, we sincerely hoped and believed that Rony Charlie would win over Rexy Baeb.

And then the much awaited day arrived. The meeting happened in a library, a place quite unfamiliar to Rony (and most of us), but a place best suited for a private discussion regarding matters of the heart. The rest of us sat around a table right behind Rexy's.

"Rexy Baeb", Rony said, "I know you consider me as one of your colleagues, just another name in the long list of your acquaintances, but to me you are the light of my loneliness, love of my heart, hue of my desert, tune of my song, queen of my kingdom and I love you Rexy baeb". It was one of those lines from an old movie (and quite effective ones too) which we had collectively decided as the best suited for the occasion.

Rexy smiled at Rony, one of those curious, amused and innocent smiles, and remained smiling for a long time. And then she spoke.

"But how can I be assured that you love me with all your heart and all your soul?"

"Oh! I would do anything, anything in this world to prove my love for you Rexy"

"Anything?"

"Oh! yes.. I would even give my life if you so ask me"

"But.. that is so easy and superficial. The love you are talking about is the love in dreams which thirsts for immediate action. The love which needs reciprocation; an audience and their praise. That's the easy kind of love. Real love is full of labor and perseverance and that's what I am looking for"

"I am not as intelligent as you are Rexy, but tell me what I need to do to prove my undying love for you"

Rexy thought for a moment and then answered with a tone of finality.

"Well, prove to me that your love for me is not merely physical; that your love for me is beyond the carnal pleasures of the flesh and that you can go on loving me from your soul even without the faculties of your body"

"I don't quite understand"

"I'm asking you Rony Charlie, to castrate yourself, and promise me by doing so, that you would never have sex with me"

For a moment, we thought our dear Rony would collapse from shock. Not only was this statement least expected, but also unimaginably horrific. We were just as horrified as Rony and remained motionless. Rexy went back to reading her book. Rony was never the same again.

For a while, some of us tried to convince him to forget her. "What kind of a woman would ask a man to castrate himself?", we asked him but Rony would not listen to any of it. "Isn't what she said true? Is love limited to the carnal pleasures of the flesh?", he asked us back. It seemed as if he was under some sort of mysterious spell. Rony became aloof and disinterested in life. Of course, the rest of us soon recovered from the horror of that fateful day. We had to. There were so many more babes other than Rexy Baeb. But Rony kept a distance from us and our youthful activities. He seemed to be preparing for a great tragedy, or so we thought, and we sincerely wished for Rony to get over Rexy Baeb.

But our worst fears soon came true. One day, as we sat drinking coffee in one of those high end coffee shops, Rony stood up and declared that he was going to castrate himself. We were shocked (although it wasn't unexpected) and responded with a barrage of abuses. One amongst us even banged his fist on the table, causing some expensive glassware to tumble over and shatter itself into pieces. But Rony had made up his mind.

For a change, Rexy was as shocked as the rest of us, when Rony broke the news to her.

"You must be insane", she cried.

"Yes. I'm in love", said Rony.

"But you cannot be serious", she mumbled.

"Of course I am. If this is what I have to do for you to marry me, then that's what I would do. And when I do this, you cannot say no to me", Rony proclaimed.

"Are you blackmailing me?", Rexy asked.

"No. I am proving my love to you", replied Rony.

In the end, it was decided that Rexy would have to stick to her word if Rony stuck to his.


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One day, while we were in the library (the whole episode had inculcated some good habits in us too), one of Rony's friends ran in screaming "He is going to do it! He is going to do it!"

"When? How?", we asked in unison.

"I saw him going to the hospital", replied the friend.

Rexy was there in the library too, as if by destiny, and she listened to the news with as much horror on her face as on ours. Without further delay, we rushed to the hospital. But by the time we reached, the operation was complete and Rony had been moved to a private room. We stood outside the room for the doctor to finish his final analysis. A few nurses went in and out, some of them indicating the operation was successful even without our asking. Rexy broke down. And as the doctor came out, Rexy ran in, even before we could stop her and cried at the top of her voice.

"Why did you do it Rony? Why did you do it? Didn't you know that I was joking? Oh.. how can I live with this in my head. I can never forgive myself Rony. I can never forgive myself. Oh God, what a sin I have committed"

And then Rony looked up painfully at Rexy and asked her:

"Will you marry me now Rexy?"

Rexy broke down into tears. She moved closer to Rony and hugged him tightly.

Rony looked at all of us and smiled.

"But I had to do it Rexy", Rony said winking, "I was suffering from a mild urinary infection all these days"


PS: Lines in italics inspired by a favourite author

Lost innocence

Sofia was a young lady in her late twenties. She was a pretty girl, not in a way they ascribe prettiness to today's movie heroines, but in an innocent and loving way. She was fair and of decent height - not too tall for the short men and not too short for the tall men. She smiled at everyone and generally spoke softly and innocently, and it must be said, that never once did she sound phony. She was one of those young carefree girls who was in love with everything around her. And it was for these very same reasons that we were astounded, when we learnt that it was Sofia who sent away Maathan to the juvenile home.

Maathan had come as a help for the maid in the house, and was, according to the maid's detailed description, a distant relative, orphan, mute, innocent and pure at heart among many other things. Later, we came to know from this very same maid that Sofia did not like the boy from the beginning. His nose was always running, his shirts always dirty and his eyes always guilty. The boy did not fit into Sofia's clean and beautiful world, the maid said, and she was unhappy to see the boy so dirty. She bought the boy new clothes and tried to teach him manners. It wasn't that the boy was mannerless or indecent, but the look in his eyes unsettled Sofia to a great extent. There is something suspicious of the boy, Sofia would often complain to the maid. But the maid, like all maids in wealthy houses, listened with a smiling face, and judged with a jealous heart.

The maid was extremely fond of the young boy and considered him like her only son. Her own son had died in the war of the seventies, and she always regretted sending her only child to the army. She showered her bottled love on the boy and never let him do any work, much to Sofia's annoyance. But Sofia never expressed it, either to the maid or to the boy. She ignored him as much as she could and spend her time reading poetry by Weats or the tragic romances by Shakespeare. She believed she belonged to a different world, a world created by the authors and poets she read, and could always be seen day dreaming for hours at length.

Soon the boy became a part of the large house doing little errands which the maid was too old to do. We often saw the boy running out of the house, all the way to the grocer, and then all the way back to the house with a bag full of vegetables and fruits. He watered the plants and washed the car. Sometimes when the maid was sick, he performed all her duties with a childish zeal. The maid would lovingly rebuke the boy for working so hard, but would bless his loving soul, as she told us later.

Maathan was fascinated with everything in the house. He would admire the huge portraits of unknown people on the wall, observe with fascination the images that moved on the television and browse through Sofia's books with a fierce expression in his eyes . Maathan could not read or write (or speak for that matter), but he was fascinated by the pictures on the cover pages of Sofia's books. He was particularly drawn towards the picture of women; Mona Lisa was his favourite. His eyes would well up on looking at the pictures of our Holy Mother and would, on such occasions, lose track of his time and surroundings. He developed a strange fascination for pictures of the Virgin Mary and collected quite a number of them, most of them gifted, by loving nuns and caring priests.

One day, as Sofia entered her room, she saw Maathan coming out in a hurry, with that guilty look in his eyes, as I described in the beginning. Sofia was concerned with the boy's guilty exit from the room but did not pursue it further, finding it easier to convince herself that the boy had always been like that. However, the event repeated itself a few days later, and Sofia decided that the boy was up to something. It is strange that when confronted with specific situations, even the most innocent amongst us, develop feelings of suspicion and doubt, feelings which under the normal course of things would never bother to hurt us. And as time went, the suspicion grew inside Sofia and she was determined to find out what the boy was up to.

One day Sofia declared to her maid, that she was going to visit her distant cousin and would be late for dinner. She did not take the car; she said she would walk as their house was a stone's throw away. It was one of those days when the maid was not feeling well (the age had finally started catching up to her) and it fell upon our little Maathan, like a cruel joke by destiny, to perform the household chores.

Maathan entered Sofia's room, with a broom stick in one hand, and a bucket half filled with water in the other. However on entering the room, Maathan kept the broomstick and the bucket on the floor and walked towards Sofia's wardrobe. He paused for a moment and opened the doors of the wardrobe. Inside the wardrobe, dresses and frocks and skirts were folded and arranged on one shelf. Panties, camisoles and stockings were neatly arranged on another. Maathan's hands were about to move towards the delicate innerwear when Sofia screamed from the door.

"You perverted bastard!", she screamed and Maathan turned back in horror.

What took place later was quite horrible. Sofia could not bear the intrusion of such vulgarity into her clean and beautiful world. She slapped the boy many times and cried like a little girl. The maid was shocked to hear the story from Sofia and she slapped the boy too. The boy had the guilty look in his eyes, but he shook his face vigorously. Soon the maid broke down into tears and hugged him close to her bosom. Maybe it was this act which compelled Sofia to do what she finally did. Tears gave way to anger and Sofia called the police. The story had changed significantly, by the time the police had arrived on the scene. Maybe it was her frantic modesty, or maybe it was the thought that harmless perversion wasn't a case enough, but Sofia accused Maathan of trying to steal her money. The maid was shocked, as she told us later, at this sudden change of allegations, but remained silent, as she was accustomed to do.

The police took the boy away. We remember seeing the boy being dragged into the police jeep, his face wet with tears and his eyes pleading for mercy. And that was the last we saw of the boy.

Maathan was sentenced to serve two years in the juvenile home. Nobody knew the truth behind this sad incident as the boy could not speak or write. And then slowly, we forgot about Maathan, the boy with the guilty eyes.

Many months later, when the maid went to Sofia's room, she saw that the doors to Sofia's wardrobe were ajar and the image brought back memories of her beloved Maathan. And as if by the guidance of some supernatural force, she walked to the wardrobe and opened the doors fully. She looked at the expensive clothes and delicate innerwear with utmost contempt and was about to turn her face away when something shined from inside. And as she moved aside the undergarments, she saw a portrait of the Virgin Mary with Infant Jesus resting against the wall of the shelf.

The Virgin Mary was smiling and the baby was smiling too.

A case study on violence

Disclaimer: Contains graphic descriptions of violence.

It was dark inside the police station.
The head constable had left just one bulb on as was customary in the station at nights. The inspector took his shirt off and sat in the chair. He lifted his legs and rested it on the table in front of him. He was chewing paan and occasionally spat into the kolaambi next to his chair. Thick, red, slimy sputum adorned the adjoining wall.

The inspector looked at the boy standing in the corner. The boy was around twenty four. He looked nervously defiant. He wore only an underwear and a poonool across his chest. The inspector smirked to himself.

"Kelappaaa...", the inspector shouted.

The head constable came running inside. He gave a cursory glance to the boy standing in the corner and then proceeded to open the lock on the door of an interrogation cell. There was no sound except for the noise of creaking metals.

Kelappan opened the door and went inside. The inspector rose from his chair and went into the interrogation room. After a few moments, Kelappan came outside and walked towards the boy.

"Listen.. don't try to be smart. Just accept it and tell him you will testify in court... If you want to go out alive"

The boy did not reply. He was escorted into the interrogation room by Kelappan. The boy paused to look around. There was a rope hanging from the ceiling with a noose at the bottom end. There were two tables in the room- one was bare while on the other lay rods and canes of different sizes. There were many bottles containing liquids which the boy could not identify. There was a pestle resting against a wall.

"Move it!', screamed the inspector.

The boy moved towards a chair in the centre of the room. The chair was directly below the noose.

"Sit", the inspector ordered.

The boy hesitated for a while. The inspector rushed forward and pushed the boy on the scruff of his neck. The boy tumbled onto the chair. The inspector took a piece of rope and tied the boy's hands behind the chair.

"So... you are the ISU leader"

The boy did not reply.

"Phaa.... you mother fucker. Look at me when spoken to", the inspector thundered.

The boy looked up.

"So why did you pour tar on the minister?"

"I didn't do it", the boy said defiantly.

The inspector lit a cigarette.

"Listen fucker... you are a kid.. and you won't even last ten minutes in this room. Just accept it and you might have to spend a few years in jail. No big deal.."
The inspector spoke in a very casual tone.

The boy's face turned red. He glared at the inspector. The inspector was busy puffing smoke into his lungs. The smoke from the cigarette filled the room.

"So what do you say... you want to save me the trouble??"

"I did not do it. I will not go to jail for a crime I did not commit", the boy replied defiantly.

The inspector guffawed.

"I heard you slapped a policeman when he tried to grab a girl protester. Is that true?", the inspector asked without looking at the boy.

"Yes. There were no women const.."

"Yes or No?"

"Yes"

"Hmmm.... So you are a little bastard after all"

The boy did not reply.

"Little mother fuckers like you need to be taught a lesson. You don't fuck around with the police, kid. Unless of course, you want to get fucked up like this"

The inspector threw the cigarette butt on the floor and crushed it with the sole of his shoes.

"So.. why did you do it?"
The inspector moved towards the boy. On the way he picked up a thick wooden rod from the table. The boy looked at the rod with fear in his eyes. His eyes welled up.

"I didn't do it", the boy said loudly.

Thwack!!

The wooden rod slammed into the bones of his left lower leg. The boy shrieked in pain.

"Why did you do it?"

"I didn't.."
This time the voice had reduced to a shrill wail.

Thwack!!
The wooden rod landed on the shoulder bone and the neck.

The inspector did not pay too much attention on where he landed the blows. The torture went on for ten minutes. Red bulges had started protruding from the boy's flesh. Streams of tears flowed continuously over the boy's cheeks.

"Kelappan..."

Kelappan came rushing into the interrogation room.
"Bring a matchbox", the inspector ordered.

Kelappan hesitated.

"What?"
The inspector looked at Kelappan who lingered in the room.

"Sir.. he is a little boy..."

"Mind your fucking business... Don't tell me what to do... Hear me?? Get me the match sticks", the inspector thundered.

Kelappan hurried out of the room and returned with a bunch of match sticks.

"Strip him and hold his legs"

Kelappan stripped the boy of his dignity. Kelappan then held the boy's legs tightly against the legs of the chair.

The inspector walked towards the boy with a match stick in his hand. There was a sadistic glee in his red, swollen, drunken eyes. The inspector grabbed the boy's penis and forced the match stick into his urethra.

The boy screamed in pain. The inspector pulled out the match stick and inserted it again with renewed vigor. Every timed the boy screamed in pain, the inspector pulled out the match stick and forced it in deeper.

The torture lasted five minutes.

The boy was in a state of semi consciousness. The pain had numbed his senses. Blood oozed onto the floor in steady droplets.

Kelappan's eyes had filled with tears.

"Give him some water. We will continue after I come back", the inspector instructed Kelappan.
Kelappan knew what it meant. The inspector's trysts with prostitutes always took just one hour.

The inspector left.

Kelappan brought a bowl of water and sponged the boys body. He poured water over the boy's penis and washed away the blood and the blood clots.

"Son.. accept it. He won't stop unless you give in. He has strict orders from above. This is a political goldmine. They will use every opportunity to tarnish the opposition"

The boy did not reply. Kelappan feared whether the boy had lost his consciousness. He shook the boy hard. The boy looked drugged. Kelappan gave the boy some water to drink.

The boy mumbled something. Kelappan moved closer to listen.

"I didn't do it"

Kelappan felt bile accumulating in his mouth.

"You and your fucking ideals.. Why are you so stubborn? You won't make it out of here by sticking to your lofty ideals.. No one would even care a fuck whether you died inside this hell... Ideals are for rich people.. not for poor nobodys like you... you hear me??"
Kelappan's eyes welled with tears again.

"I didn't do it"
The boy's voice had started drifting away.

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Two days later the sensational story of the student who attacked the chief minister was all over the news. People took sides. Some people blamed the degrading moral fabric of the younger generation. Some people blamed the fascistic rule of the government. No body blamed the inspector. And little was heard about the student who died in prison a few months later.

PS: Inspired by real life incidents, although I wonder if inspired is the right word.
3rd degree tortures: Courtesy this article

Rex - R + S = Sex

" I have a secret", my thirteen year old brother claimed as we walked out of the church.
I ran behind my brother, my ten year old legs barely able to keep up with my brother's brisk pace.

"What is it?", I asked.

"You see that white boy"?, asked my brother pointing to a fair boy walking ahead of us.

"Ya...."

"His name is Rex".
A mysterious grin followed.

"So?", I asked in all my ten year old innocence.

"Don't you get it.. remove R from his name and add S to it", my brother replied, still grinning.

"SEX", I said loudly.

"Shhhhhhh...."

"What?"

"Don't say it loudly"

"Why? It means man and woman no?"

Again the innocence shone around my face like a yellow halo.

"It means something else also. You will learn when you are my age", said my brother authoritatively. And suddenly I wished I was as knowledgeable as my brother.

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Children have a great fascination for sex. Of course, no one talks about it. But truth is everyone plays "the doctor" or "the family" when they are young. And most of these games are about innocent exploration of each others' bodies. I wonder how these games came into existence. More interestingly, how children across different cultures play the same games and have more or less the same names.

The other day while I was having a conversation with Mr. Nice guy (he wouldn't allow me to put his name), I realized that his version of mutual exploration was called "Mummy Daddy". You gotta give it to the kids. They come up with such cute names for such high octane games.

But whatever children do, there is so much innocence about them. Unlike us adults, children are pretty straight forward. Their directness and innocence is shocking. You can often see kindergarten kids requesting each other to show their privates. It's not a conscious interest; rather a natural curiosity. We come across such situations all the time.

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"Mom why do women have children immediately after marrying?", I asked my mother who was busy preparing lunch on a hot, lazy afternoon.

"You will know all that when you grow up", my mother tried to sound as disinterested as possible.

"I want to know now"
I was a persistent brat.

"I'm busy. Can't you see?", my mother said without looking at my face.

"I know how"
Everything stopped. Mother turned towards me.

"How?"

I gave a crooked smile. I didn't really know how babies came out of tummies soon after marriage, but I wanted to appear knowledgeable.

Mother was still staring at me.

"When they put garlands on each other", I said sheepishly.

Mother smiled and went back to work.

"Correct no?"

"Ya... who told you?", mother was still smiling.

"I figured it out myself", I replied proudly.
I was a genius. I had deduced the mystery behind birth.

Mother continued her chores. Life was normal and pleasant.

"If I put a garland around Anu, will she have babies?". It was a logical question considering children played "Marriage' all the time but no one seemed to have children.

Mother gave me a dirty look.

"Yes. If you put a garland around a girl's neck she will have babies. So you should not play those games right now. Those are games you play when you grow old".

Mother's reply had a tone of finality. I did not pursue it further though I wished I could marry Anu and check it out myself.

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It must be awfully difficult for parents to answer their kids' never ending barrage of questions. And often witty answers like above are handy to diffuse the situation. However there is a cloud of mystery and secrecy around sex. Even when their children grow up, most parents prefer avoiding the topic than confronting it. For instance, I never had a discussion with my parents on premarital sex, condoms, sexually transmitted diseases and so on. One might argue that these are things you pick up from friends, books, movies etc. My question is why not from the most reliable source itself?

To be honest, it would be an embarrassing dinner table conversation topic. But talking openly about sex at home is one of the first step towards ending this hypocritical stand on sex. The first time I saw Thoovanathumbikal, I was thirteen or fourteen, and my parents were watching it along with me. And then came the scene where Jayakrishnan hugs Sumalatha passionately for a long time. Nothing obscene, just plain Indian style love making. But I still remember my father's words - "how many nice films are there to watch and losers find only these kind of movies to air on television".

As Kamal Haasan famously put it, don't a man and a woman kiss? How did India have a populaton of 1 billion? By putting garlands around each other?

Anyways, I am not particularly angry at my dad for depriving me of the chance to watch this classic scene from a classic movie (I made up by watching the movie over 20 times, later in my life). But what if all parents chose to be open about sex with their children? Wouldn't we have a less perverse society? A less hypocritical society? Better literature on sex? Better self confidence? Less moral police?

As with all hypotheses, there are bound to be both pros and cons for my line of argument. Anyways, I leave it to the reader to decide. After all, we ultimately do receive all the education we ever need. Because even without open atmospheres at our homes, we still manage to procreate in the order of a billion ;)

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"Why do you go to Ashish's house?", my father asked skeptically.

"To play mortal kombat", I replied as if mortal combat was the only reason why computers were invented.

"How long do you browse the net?"
My father had no intention of giving up.

"Not much. We generally play the whole time."

"Hmmm".
My father let out a noise threatening enough to force Jengis Khan into submission.

"Don't see unwanted things on the net. It will spoil your mind and body. Hear me?"

"Yes dad". My mind had already wandered into the vast ocean of pornographic ecstasy called internet. I wondered if there was any kid who never watched porn.

"Come back soon. I want you back in two hours", warned my father.

I ran to the phone.

"Ashish, I'll be coming over in fifteen minutes", I said excitedly.

"Dude, come soon. I just found a new site called Desi Baba"



PS: The stories in this post are purely fictional. Any resemblance to characters living or dead is coincidental.

Random post

Hi all (which includes my imagined and actual readership),

Every time I come back to my blog after a certain gap, I feel like a stage performer who stayed away from the stage for too long while his audience waited patiently for him. The truth is quite different of course. There is no audience waiting. And probably there was never a show. But we all like to believe we are special and I'm no different.

Just finished reading 2 states by Chetan Bhagat. I'm not sure whether this writer gets the credit he deserves because he made me laugh from page 1 to page 270. And I immensely enjoyed the ride from Ahmedabad to Delhi to Chennai - the different states in which the story unfolds. I wish him all the best in his future endeavors now that he has become a full time writer. The story took me through the dark lanes of my own memories too. But I cannot blame it on him or the book. We all fall in love and lose. Shit happens!

Last week I saw three wonderful movies. One each on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The weekend started with Wake up Sid and I enjoyed it immensely. A beautiful movie with a simple theme and good music. Up was another cute movie although it didn't strike as many emotional chords as Wake Up Sid. Luckily, the third movie I watched wasn't cute. Inglourious basterds is anything but cute. If you enjoy Quentin Tarantino, or to be more precise, love watching a barbarious man smashing a guy's heads into pulp with a baseball bat, well, you would adore this movie. But then Inglourious Basterds isn't just about raw violence. It's much better to watch a QT movie than to read its review. So let me summarise the review in one word - Awesome!

Diwali was different this year. For the first time in three years, I celebrated Diwali in Hyderabad. Although there were just three of us (the same three musketeers from here and here), we had fun bursting crackers (which is made by under age children in Tamil Nadu) and eating Bheem Reddy's sweets.(which had enough cholestrol in it to last you a life time). And in the night we went for "Blue". If any of you are planning to watch it, rent a DVD later. An absolutely boring movie except for the beautiful under water sequences and Lara Dutt. But still not worth hundred rupees.

So that's what has been happening in an otherwise dull life. I forced myself to write this post to bring myself out of this self created blogger's block. So my apologies if I wasted your time. Hope life becomes more interesting in the coming weeks.

Redemption

Thomas stood in front of the mirror and looked at his face. Three pus filled pimples marred an otherwise innocent face. Thomas brought his fingers near one of the pimples and squeezed hard. Pus and blood gushed out. The face cringed in pain. Thomas opened the tap and washed away the blood and pus on his face and fingers. As he closed the tap he looked at his hair in the mirror. The hair was filled with dandruff. He dusted his hair vigorously. Huge flakes of dandruff flew away. He looked at the mirror again. The hair was still filled with dandruff. Thomas let out a sigh of despair. He collected some water in his hands and poured it on his hair. He then took the comb and combed his hair sidewards. After an hour in front of the mirror, Thomas switched off the lights and left his apartment.

Thomas reached the basement of his flat. He walked towards his bike parked in one corner of the parking area. The bike was covered with dust from the road. Thomas searched for the spare cloth in the leather bag on top of the fuel tank. The spare cloth was gone. Thomas let out a cuss word under his breath. He used his palms to wipe away the dust from the seat. As Thomas sat on the bike he looked at his dirty hands. After thinking for a moment, Thomas wiped his hands on the back of his jeans.

It was almost six when Thomas reached the theatre. After parking the bike, Thomas walked towards the ticket counter. And as he walked he brought his nose closer to the underarms of his T shirt and sniffed hard. The underarms smelled of sweat. Thomas turned to see if anyone was watching. After assuring himself of his inconspicuousness, Thomas proceeded to buy the ticket.

The atmosphere was brimming with excitement when Thomas entered the hall. After much difficulty Thomas found his seat in one corner of the theatre. The seat was directly below the AC and was the last seat in the last row of the theatre. All the other seats had already been occupied. After innumerable "excuse me"s and "I'm sorry"s Thomas reached his seat.

For a moment Thomas forgot the purpose of his arrival. A gorgeous girl sat in the adjacent seat. Thomas couldn't help staring at the girl. And then he realized that the guy sitting next to the girl was staring furiously at him. Thomas mumbled a meek "excuse me" and sat in his seat. The girl whispered something in her boyfriend's ears and laughed cheekily. Thomas turned away.

The trailers started to play on the screen. The sweet fragrance of the girl's perfume teased Thomas' senses. Thomas looked at the girl from the corner of his eye. She was dressed in a black skirt and a white top. She had long straight hair which rested on her right shoulder. Her eyelashes were long. Her nose was thin and straight. Her lips were inviting. Her neck was slender. Her bosom rose up and down with her breath.

Thomas felt sweat running down his forehead.

Thomas looked at the boy sitting next to the girl. The boy looked smart and sharply dressed. Thomas looked at his own self. He felt shabby and under dressed. He was about to take out the comb from his back pocket when he remembered the sweaty underarms. Thomas put the comb back in the pocket.

The movie started.

Meaningless images moved on the screen. Suddenly the girls hand touched Thomas' hand which was placed on the common arm rest between the seats. Thomas felt his heart getting lighter. He felt blood rushing from his hands to the other parts of his body. A smile appeared on his lips. Thomas felt himself being transported into another world. He felt he was lying on the clouds in the sky. The clouds felt fluffy and soft. And far ahead, in between two fluffy clouds, stood the girl, smiling at him like an angel. Thomas felt bliss running through every vein his body. The air was pure and sweet. A sweet fragrance filled the air. It felt like eternity. It felt like heaven.
It felt like love.

Thomas did not realize when the movie got over. For a moment Thomas could not believe that the movie had ended. And then, one by one, the crowd started leaving the hall. Before long, the hall was empty. Thomas sat alone in the last seat. The attendants yelled at Thomas asking him to leave the theatre.

The theatre premises were empty when Thomas came out of the hall. Thomas walked alone to the parking space. He stopped when he reached his bike. A bird had pooped on the seat of his bike. Thomas looked around for a piece of paper. There was no stray paper or cloth lying on the ground. And then Thomas scrubbed away the dry poop with his bare hands and wiped them on the back of his jeans.

PS: Inspired by this song.

PS 2: Happy birthday dearest Seema chechi :D Hope you enjoyed our small birthday present from Kondapur. The present was very yummy indeed :)

From the cattle class to the holy cows

Of late, reading has been my passion. But it has come at the expense of my favourite activity - writing. I read so much crap daily that in the end, all enthusiasm for writing is destroyed.

I mean, look at the benevolence of the Indian media. The media has started a non existent war with China, "cattle class" has suddenly become "derogatory" and "insensitive" and the "holy cows" are desperate to fix the monster it has created. Oh! It is called austerity drive by the way.

Can making/faking news under the pretext of gathering public opinion be justified? Can austerity be forced? Will punishing a twitter savvy politician satisfy the collective ego of the establishment? And what about us laymen? Why don't we get as passionate when thousands die in a flood? Or when political parties spend 800 crores for campaigning?

But when a man who is rich enough to pay for his own expenses stay in a 5 star hotel it is ridiculed. Don't you feel something is wrong?

We know it. We feel it. But we don't know what to do about it.

Is it the media? Do you feel its overpowering presence everywhere? Do you get intimidated by its power to change the way we think and live?

Or is it the growing intolerance and hypocrisy among ourselves? Hypocrisy is a dangerous word. The very act of calling someone hypocritical is hypocritical. But do you feel a lack of sincerity all around? When the whole world started crying for Tharoor's blood, that's the word which first came to my mind - hypocrisy.

Are you and me really offended that Tharoor used the term "cattle class" (which is a jargon for economy class)??? I'm not. And I'm sure you are not. Why should it matter to us what Tharoor tweeted as a reply to a personal question. Do we really think he was calling the people who travel in economy class, "cattle"? Then why this drama?

For whom are the media creating this hype? For whom are the politicians waging this war? For us laymen??

Well then, dear media and politicians, the "stupid common man" doesn't care a hoot what Tharoor replied in twitter to a personal question. We care about the prices of our daily commodities, the state of our roads, the opportunities for our generation and the security of our families. We are fed up with your hypocrisy and attitude of intolerance. In fact, we don't even mind being called "cattle class" if you can treat us with the same respect you show the "holy cows".

Happy Onam

Onam - a festival so close to my heart!
And yet tomorrow instead of celebrating it with my family, I would be in office wondering how things are back home.
Wondering what the design for the kalam would be..
Wondering how the kummattikali and the pulikali would be and whether my friend James would be a "puli" this year..
Wondering how Onam at home would be without me..

But I guess above all the celebrations, Onam is a celebration of a vision..
A vision based on a great glorious past, when everyone was equal..
When everyone lived in joy and merryment,
And when everyone was free from harm..

I guess wherever I am and whatever I do, the spirit of Onam will always be with me..

Happy Onam everybody!
May your lives be filled with joy and prosperity!