Psalms

How would you know if you were asleep and the world that you lived in was a dream?
How would you know if you were dead?

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It has been a year since I have begun counting the days. I don't remember how many days or months or years have passed before that. Nor do I remember when it all started. All I know is I've been here for a very long time.

I woke into this world on an early winter morning. I was lying on meadow covered with grass so green and soft that it felt like velvet. It felt weird because I knew I was supposed to wake up on a bed. But there was no bed. No house either. No buildings, no shops, no roads, no people... I thought I was still asleep and went back to sleep. But when I woke up it was all the same. I was alone and I felt frightened. I wanted to cry to my mother but I couldn't remember her name or her face. In fact I couldn't remember anyone. It was scary. I hoped it was a long bad dream and went back to sleep. But again, nothing changed when I woke up.

It is hard to describe what I felt in those early days. I told myself that I was in a coma. Every day I went to sleep in the hope of waking up to people I knew; people I remembered.

Things never changed.

It was hard to deal with this unrealistic world. I began to tell myself that I was insane. I hoped that I was being treated somewhere and that when I was finally cured I would start seeing things; remembering things. But there was no treatment. No people. No animals. No living creatures. And no memory of my previous life.

Days and months passed. I did not grow old. My body remained the same as it was when I woke up on that cold winter morning. I had never moved from the meadow for I was afraid of what lurked beyond. And for some irrational reason, I believed things would go back to normal if I stayed at one place for long. I persisted through the long winter with my false hope. It was cold but I never felt the chill once I was asleep. And everyday when I woke up, the meadow was just like the previous day. Pristine green and soft.

I wondered why I never got hungry. Once I spotted an apple orchard at the far end of the meadow. I was bewildered I hadn't spotted it before. I ran to the orchard in the hope of finding someone. There was no one in the orchard but the trees were full of ripe apples. I tried one or two. The apples were juicy and succulent but I did not feel like eating more.

That day, I sat in the apple orchard and cried until nightfall.

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It was hard to sleep at night sometimes. I would sit and look at the moon and wonder about my worthless existence. I longed to meet someone. Something. I would have been glad to meet an animal. But I met no one. I contemplated ending my life, many times during those sleepless nights. But something in my heart; I don't know what it was; kept telling me to hang on. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was instinct.

One fine day I decided to leave the safety of the meadows forever.
I realized that if I was ever going to meet someone, it was not going to happen by sticking to the safety of the meadows. And so I left my lonely home once and forever. I walked for days. Maybe months. I rested only at nights. My legs never got tired and my stomach never felt hungry. I drank water only to feel fresh. I avoided eating and drinking because it made me defecate. More than that it created emotions in me which I did not want to feel. For there was no greater pain than unshared feelings.

Everyday, I saw the sun rising through the hills ,spreading its golden splendour across the wilderness. I saw the sun setting below the horizon painting the sky with its crimson red. I saw streams, waterfalls, lakes, seas, mountains, valleys...

But I never saw a man.

I must have walked for years. My persistence was abandoning me. The last drop of hope had evaporated. I decided to end my life.

I was, of course, scared to die. But I had been contemplating about death for a long time. I even hoped that my death would take me back to the life which I thought normal although I had begun to forget what normal was. There was so much beauty around me and yet I could not take it alone. The entire beauty of the world lay before me and yet I did not want it. I wanted an end. I wanted death.

I wanted to die as painlessly as possible and yet that was impossible for I knew I wouldn't die due to starvation or dehydration. I had to mutilate myself to die. Or probably crush my brain so that I could no longer see or think. I spent days devising my death. And finally I found a way.

It was simple. At the time, I was in a valley surrounded by cliffs that were as tall as the sky. I climbed one of the cliffs. It took me two full days to climb the cliff and by the time I reached the top it was night. It was a full moon night and I could see the valley clearly. For a moment I paused and recounted my life in this world. But I was too eager to die. And as the moon and the stars witnessed in total silence ,I jumped from the cliff to the depths of the valley.

I do not remember what happened after I jumped. But I gained consciousness after some time. I looked around. I was lying on the floor of the valley with my arms and legs outstretched.

I lay there and cried bitterly for a long time.

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I tried many things. I banged my head on rocks. I cut my veins and neck with sharp stones. Every time the pain would shoot up through my body and blood would gush out. And every time I would pass out from the pain and loss of blood. But every time I woke up I had no wounds and no pain. I jumped into the seas only to be washed ashore by the waves. I jumped from cliffs and mountains only to wake up with a healthy body. I mutilated my body parts only to realize they were back in place after a long sleep.

I had begun to turn insane. Even death had forsaken me.

It was impossible to bear the torture of my existence. The pain of my existence was far more unbearable than the greatest pain I inflicted on my body.

Gradually, I came to accept that I was a prisoner in this world for eternity.

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I roamed in this world for months and years. I don't know where I went. I don't know how many times I tried to kill myself. But every day was the same. And hence I never stayed at one place.

I thought about God a lot. I wondered whether there was a God. It felt stupid looking to the sky and speaking to empty space. It felt stupid talking to myself because all that I ever heard was my sound. I wondered about hell too. Was this hell? Am I the soul being punished for the sins of my mind and body? Would I never go back? Would I be alone? Forever?

And whenever the torture of loneliness and the weight of eternity crushed my soul, I cried out loud. I cried like a mad man. I tore my hair and flesh. And then I cried more.

When I had cried for days, my heart would feel at peace. And in those moments of peace, I listened to the sound of the wind, of the waves, of water flowing in streams, of leaves rustling. And whenever I listened to them, I felt peace flowing through my body like a cool , healing, divine grace. In those divine moments my heart would swell with gratitude and love.

And then it was loneliness again. Eternal, silent loneliness.
The sun rose and set every day. The seasons came and went. Years passed. But nothing changed. Everything remained the same.

I remained the same.

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I don't know why I started counting the days. Guess I had nothing else to do. Everyday I get up when the sun's rays fall on my eyes. I walk and walk to the far ends of the earth in search of a companion. I walk in the hope of finding death. At night, I go to sleep hoping I would never wake up. But I always do.

I guess this is my hell.
To live amongst all this beauty.
To live alone.
To live forever!

A rainy evening!

And finally rain poured down!
It was preceded by a strong wind, almost resembling a storm. Papers and plastic bags were swept of their feet and forced to sway to the tune of the monsoon winds. Window panes lashed against each other and the sound of glass breaking could be heard from a distance.

I looked out from my third floor window to watch the commotion.

Outside, the monsoon ballet continued. Women hurried to the terraces to take back the clothes hung for drying. For a moment they paused and watched the dance of the wind. And then they put the pallus of their sarees over their heads and carried on with the rescue mission. Children who were back from school popped their heads out of verandahs to watch the droplets of water falling from the sky. The nearby temple continued playing the loud music it had been playing all day. Somehow the loud music did not gel with the occasion. I put on the earphones and started listening to the only song I listen when it rains.

The rain had picked up the tempo by then. The sky was suddenly dark blue but it wasn't dark. The dark blue combined strangely yet beautifully with the green of the trees. The trees seemed to glow with green. There wasn't much greenery in between all the concrete buildings. But it looked like all the sleeping trees had suddenly woken up to welcome the rain.

The colours of the buildings changed as the rain poured down. White turned grey, blue turned dark blue and every other colour appeared richer in nature. There was a cold wind now blowing against my body and I resisted the temptation to go back into the depths of my memories. That's what the monsoon and the monsoon wind does to me. It takes me back to my past, against my will, only to bring me back to the ordinariness of the present. The present always seem ordinary. The past always seem wonderful.

The rain had now reduced its tempo. It had reduced to a drizzle but the wind continued to draw the attention of the rain watchers. It swayed form one side to the other defying the laws of direction and pressure. The papers and the plastic bags swayed along with the wind in the shape of a cone, with its mouth towards the sky. Somehow the wind resembled a seductress and the paper bags, infidel men.

It was quarter past six and the sky was now turning dark. The rain had stopped. Yet another false prophet, I thought. The dark blue had changed to dark grey. There was not even a drizzle. The wind too seemed to have disappeared fooling the papers and the plastic bags. Children looked towards the sky for their heavenly companion.

But the rains were long gone. And all that could be heard was the loud music from the temple.

PS: Last year's monsoons are here.

Down the memory lane

How fast time goes !

Yours truly, a simple layman, has completed one year in the blogosphere.

In my last few years, blogging has been the only activity which I have pursued passionately over a considerable period of time.
I know.
I realized that fact while I was typing it. And even within this short span of time the doubter in me had done everything to throw myself off track. I have complained about blogging a million times. I have mocked it, hated it, loved it, doubted it, ignored it...

And yet here I am.

What's the big deal, you ask. Well nothing really, if you put it that way.
But as I said, it feels nice to have done something on my own for a full year.

I haven't yet acquainted myself with this ever changing world. But I'm at peace. I'm no longer the over enthusiastic beginner. There is no inexplicable craving for comments or to comment. I believe I have become a much lesser hypocrite. I have learned that I cannot change the world by writing long essays and that it's much easier to change myself. I have learned that silence is sometimes golden indeed.

In fact, I have learned so many things this year. And I'm sure the lessons can be applied in the real world too.

One more thing before I end this post.

A big heartfelt thank you to you dear reader.
Often when the doubter in me almost succeeded, you kept motivating me through your comments.

Keep in touch. And when you have finished reading all those wonderful blogs and intelligent opinions, do drop in here to say a hi. Probably one or two words.
We can share a layman's perspective on things.

You would always be welcome here :)

Pages from the heart...

Most days pass like this. I seem to be caught in a timeless warp of routine and sameness. Will I get out of it? I don't know.

Have you ever felt the child in you dying slowly to give birth to the man that you have become? I have been feeling that for quite some time now. My mind has filled with cynicism and apathy. Do I really care for anything in this world?

Why do I keep searching for meaning? Why do I view the world with a pessimist's eye? What has happened to me? Where have the mirth and innocence gone?

A short life here. And then we disappear into the timelessness that is eternity. What are we in this grand scheme of things? What are our achievements, our joys, our victories in this battle with timelessness?

Billions and billions of planets revolving around billions and billions of stars in billions and billions of galaxies. What are we - tiny negligible living organic matter called humans, in this huge scheme of things.

What is ego, love, anger, pride and sorrow? Are these mere permutations and combinations of chemicals and hormones?

What are our parents? The left hand side of a chemical equation?
Or am I the fulfillment of destiny?

What meaning does destiny hold for those millions who die in poverty, hunger, war and crime? Is a destiny worth the lives of millions, worth it?

Have you ever felt that the line between good and evil has been erased long back? Do you feel helpless when the world debates even the most heinous crime, justifying it with plausible explanations? Do you feel lost when the world that you have known, the values that you have believed in, vanish in the name of modernity and globalization?

Do you feel lost?
I do.
Every day.

What inspires you to live a life with purpose and meaning?
Doesn't it upset you that you arrived into this world without knowing your purpose and will leave it without knowing where it is headed?

How I crave for meaning and purpose.
How I wish my life had more meaning than a big bang.
God.. How I wish I knew..

The last night

The man stood on the edge of the terrace.

The moon had spread its milky splendour across the night sky. The night was strangely silent for a city of its proportion. But it added to the serenity of the moment.

The man was contemplating. This was his last night. But something kept him from doing his final act. Probably it was the beauty of the night. There was something so beautiful about it and he couldn't understand why. He couldn't take his eyes off the moon. He realized that he hadn't looked at the moon for a long time. Peace flowed through his veins.

Moments back he had been a volcano erupting with anger, frustration, sorrow and pain. He had no one. Rather he had distanced himself from everyone who loved him. It wasn't his fault. It was small things that tore his life apart. He didn't notice these small things. He thought he was in control. And by the time he realized he wasn't, it was too late. And there he was. A failure in life.

At first, he tried to live with it. But he couldn't. He kept thinking about his lovely wife and his beautiful daughter. The memories haunted him like a plague and he would drink into the wee hours of the night. Often his neighbors heard him crying in pain. But they didn't bother to help him. They were afraid of him. They weren't always afraid of him. But he had become this monster ever since his wife had left him. A monster who cried and screamed and shouted at night. In the beginning, his friends tried to help. And then, even they stopped trying.

Tonight he had drunk more than usual. He didn't remember when he passed out. But when he woke up it was dark and silent. For some strange reason, he didn't feel like drinking again. He climbed the stairs to the terrace of his ten storeyed building. He was devoid of all emotions while he climbed the stairs.

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He had been standing there for quite some time now. He felt that time had stopped. In that moment of timelessness, he didn't think about the joys of his past, the sorrows of his present and the uncertainties of his future. In that moment, all he felt was eternity. He wondered if he was alone in the universe. He wondered if God was standing next to him. His heart felt full.

He looked down one final time. He wondered if everything would go back to normal, when he hit the ground. And then, all that he had suppressed until that moment, came back to him. He saw his beautiful daughter, his wife, the wonderful life they had, his friends, his successes, his failures, his parents, his childhood.......

Time stopped.

The man jumped from the top of the ten storeyed building.

The moon and the night sky stood witness to his final moments.

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For a moment there was absolute silence.
And then he felt an angelic voice whispering into his ears. And as moments passed it grew louder and clearer.

"Daddy Daddy.. wake up. Mommy, Daddy is crying!"

The man woke up into a new day with new life.


PS: This story is dedicated to all my dear ones for making me feel loved; for inspiring me to start anew everyday.

Crumbled notes

Most people don't talk about love stories. At least not about their own. There is something so hypocritical about our society that makes love, a beautiful thing otherwise, sinful and wrong. World wonders have been made, epics have been written and nations have fought all for this divine feeling of love. We all have wished to be in love; to love and to be loved at the same time. And yet when we see two people in love, we are in a hurry to judge.

Does love have to be mature? Can only scarred hearts and old minds understand the complexities of love?

I have never understood people who say they'd rather be alone and happy than being in love and sad. What sadness are they referring to? Is it the pain of being so close and yet feeling the need to be closer? Is it the pain of saying a thousand words only to realize you have said nothing at all?

Or is it the pain of losing your love? Oh! That's true pain indeed. I know the pain. It's been years but the memories still dig a hole deep in my heart.

I met Anna when I was in the second grade. I don't remember what I thought of her then. For that matter I don't remember what I thought about anything then. But I do know that I thought about her a lot. Every day my pre sleep dream consisted of myself, Melvin, Anna, Mary and Mrs. Gonsalvez. I don't remember why I had so many characters in my dream instead of just Anna and me. Well, I guess Mary was there because I had a small crush on her too. But then those were the years when I didn't know about the rules and morality of love. My little heart was big enough to accomodate two lovely girls. Two girls on whom, all the boys in my class had a crush. But then Anna was my true love and Mary was just a distraction.

I don't remember much of what happened through my second and third grades. Those were the days when first rank and appreciating comments from teachers were more exciting than love itself. But then fourth grade was different. That was our final year in Little Flower convent after which the boys went to Trinity Lyceum boys school while the girls went to various reputed girls schools int he town.

We had started exchanging little notes by then. I was the one who started it. One day while Mrs. Gonsalvez was writing the exercises on the board I wrote something on a piece of paper, crumbled it and threw it to Anna who was sitting to my right at the other end of the bench. I don't know what I thought while writing it. But the moment I threw the crumbled bit my heart was filled with mortifying fear. What if Mrs. Gonsalvez saw me throwing that piece of paper? What if Anna complained? What if someone else complained? My little heart beat twice its normal speed and had Anna not responded the way she did, it probably would have stopped beating. Anna picked up the crumbled piece of paper, opened it and read it silently for a moment. Ladies and gentlemen, I have seen many beautiful smiles in my life. But believe me when I say, that was one of the most beautiful smiles I had ever seen. And all I had written was "Hi Anna".

Anna did not write anything back. She did not throw back a reply that full day. But the next day while Mrs. Gonsalvez was leaving after the first hour, a paper ball hit me. It was a crumbled piece of paper. I looked at Anna. Anna stood at the other side of the bench with her head down and a shy smile on her lips. I don't remember what I expected out of that crumbled piece of paper. But I did unwrap it fast. Inside it were written three words
"Hiiiiiiiiiii Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii"

Ah! The joy I felt that day. That night Mrs. Gonsalvez and Melvin were conspicuous by their absence in my nightly pre sleep dream.

The exchange of notes continued with the contents remaining more or less the same. I had seen, at the time, movies in which the hero proposed the heroine through a love letter. Maybe it was those movies but one day while making the crumbled notes ,an idea hit me. I decided it was time to write something more significant. Something that would fit the stature of a nine year old boy in love. I decided to write the most revered three words in the whole damn world. I wrote "I love you" on a piece of paper, crushed it and threw it to Anna.

Unfortunately on its way, the paper ball decided to change its route and hit Mrs. Gonsalvez instead. And to think that it had to wait all these days to take the detour. Mrs. Gonsalvez turned back suddenly and saw the culprit. She picked up the piece of paper and walked towards me. For a moment, the ground beneath me crumbled. I had the vision of a white light with my parents standing at the other end of the tunnel. And then Mrs. Gonsalvez shouted.

"Joseph, what are you doing?"

I didn't reply.

"Is this how the class leader is supposed to behave? Throw paper balls at teachers? Go kneel down outside the class!"

At that moment, all my prayers were focussed on one thing- that Mrs. Gonsalvez do not open the paper ball. I guess my guardian angel did hear my prayer after all. Mrs. Gonsalvez threw the paper ball in the dust bin, looked at me with a hint of disgust in her eyes and walked away. I thanked God, my guardian angel and all those names my little brain knew.

At the end of the day, Anna walked to the dust bin, picked up the crumbled piece of paper from the dust bin, put it in her bag and left.

Anna stopped throwing the paper balls from the next day. But she started smiling at me whenever the teacher turned her back on the class. I was apprehensive that Anna would complain to her parents or to Mrs. Gonsalvez. But her smile told me that everything was ok. In fact, I guess it told me she liked me too. Those were lovely days.

It is strange how you think when you are small. I didn't know what else to do once the biggest task of conveying my love had been accomplished. We smiled our way through the fourth grade and soon it was the final exams. I had a reputation to live upto and it would be fair to say that Anna skipped my mind for two weeks. At the end of the two weeks came our last day as a class. Most students had tears in their eyes. Many cried. I thought it was foolsih for big boys and girls to cry like that. But I was sad too. I had glanced at Anna twice and she had not smiled back.

The final day ended soon. It was time to part. I said goodbye to everyone except Anna. We who had talked and laughed through three years, exchanged notes and love, couldn't find enough words to say goodbye. Worse, I didn't know her phone number nor the school which she was going to attend.

I remember the agony and pain of those final moments while I waited outside for the school bus. Anna was picked up by her father everyday and she was waiting outside too. We stood side by side, without uttering a single word. I remember a storm brewing inside my little mind. I was caught between the agonising pain of wanting to say a few final words and the torment of not knowing what to say or how to say it. I wished she would walk upto me and say something. But then probably she wished the same too.

In the end, her father came and she left. She did not turn back or wave a final goodbye. And that was it. Gone forever.

I tried in vain to know her whereabouts, from my numerous other friends. But just like the boys of my age nobody knew a thing about girls. And then slowly, like all good things, Anna and her memories faded away into oblivion.

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In my later years, especially while in college, I ran through social networking sites like Orkut and Facebook. I found Mary, Melvin and even Mrs. Gonsalvez but not Anna. I enquired about Anna to Mary and Melvin (they did remember me alright) but Anna had vanished.

Probably Anna is living happily with a man who loves her more than himself. Probably she too, like me, is living in the memories of a beautiful childish romance. Or probably she doesn't remember me at all.

But whatever the case, I believe love is for everyone and for every age. And however cliched this sounds, it's better to have loved and lost than not to have loved at all.

Lovingly,
Joseph

PS: Based on a true life story

A salute

Hope it's not too early to celebrate. Nah.. it's not.
So in true parliamentary style...

KOOOOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIII ....

To the Left, To the Right and to the non existent third and fourth fronts .

Congrats to Mr. Manmohan Singh.

The voters have proved yet again that they know who they want at the helm. They don't want fundamentalists, street market power mongers or pain in the ass ideologists.

A big salute to the Indian voter.
A big salute to Mr. Manomhan Singh.
Jai Hind!

Happyness

Some of us are in the path towards where we want to be. Some of us do not know where we want to be and therefore we wait on the sidewalks. We wait in false hope for a sudden realization of our destination. Or destiny rather. And when the dusk comes we realize we have waited too long. So we walk along the path, going wherever it leads us. Because ultimately we all have to walk and reach a safe destination before the night sets into our lives.

In retrospection we ask - 'Is this where I wanted to rest in the dusk of my life?'

Time has a very strange effect on us. For reasons beyond our comprehension, we continue to believe that we have lots of time. Isn't it evident from the way we live? Chasing things we don't really care about in the false hope that it will lead us to things we really care about?

I have been taught and led to believe that life is about discipline - about sacrificing momentary pleasures for the greater good. What is living the moment then? More importantly when do we stop sacrificing and start living?

Does it fascinate you that happiness is defined in reference with success? It disgusts and suffocates me. We all want to be successful. Do we really care whether we are happy? Or probably we are all so overpowered by this definition of happiness that we assume success will guarantee us happiness. I don't think it would.

What is pursuit of happiness? Can we pursue happiness? It's a relative term, isn't it? What you perceive as happiness may not be the same for me. How then, can we, conform to this idea of 'pursuit of happiness'? But then we do not conform to the idea, you say. We all pursue happiness in our own different ways, you say.
Why then do we judge people who follow their own ways of pursuing happiness? Why do we crave for conformity and get intimidated by difference?

This has turned out to be a long unnecessary rant. There.. I used the word unnecessary. Why would I write it if it was unnecessary? Truth is, it was necessary for me and unnecessary for you. And my need to conform makes me feel guilty. I try to belittle my own efforts for your happiness. When would I be bold enough to be happy?

Summer in Hyderabad

Summer in Hyderabad is HOT. Try imagining a desert with its dry sands spread as far as your eyes can see and without a trace of life or water anywhere. Try imagining the scorching sun above your head frying you with its unbearable heat. Do you feel the heat striking like a hammer on your head? Do you feel the heat pricking your skin and scalp? Do you feel the sweat running down your neck and forehead? Do you feel like being cooked in an oven? Do you feel helpless, tired, exhausted, sticky, dirty, thirsty and craving for redemption?

Well, what you feel is just a millionth of the agony we face here at Hyderabad.

The temperature is now playing in the early forties. The summer is in good form and barring exceptions is expected to go on and make a half century (temperature wise). Imagine its 4.45 pm now and the temperature is a mild 38 degrees!

We (Vignesh, Sreejith and I) got lucky this year as we are on the third floor of a 3 storied apartment. Hence the terrace gladly transfers all its heat into our bedrooms making our nights thoroughly enjoyable and memorable. Yesterday night was so enjoyable that I had the privilege of hearing and swearing abuses from 3 am till 5 am in the morning. Oh and did I tell you? We have power cuts every day for 25 hours... oh! It must be 24 as there are only 24 hours in a day.

I mean... how stupid can the electricity board get? In December, when it's cold we have difficulty sleeping without the fan. And yet the electricity board is magnanimous enough to bless us with full voltage electricity right throughout the night so that even a dysfunctional man who sweats in December will have the luxury of switching on his fan and sleeping comfortably. But now when the sun is in its prime and when nights are barely tolerable even with the fan on, the electricity board decides that "enough is enough... people are spending way too much electricity... so let's start saving some when people are sleeping after a hectic days work!!"

How brilliant.

The electricity board in Hyderabad is very understanding of its people's needs. On Saturday the power went off at 10 AM. It returned at 3.30 PM just when the match was above to start. See what they achieved there? People who wanted to see the IPL could not complain now and they had their five and half hours of power cut. Wow John wow!!!

On Sunday they were more understanding. The power cut started only at 1.30 PM but it stayed till 4.30 PM. Why? The match was delayed in South Africa due to rain... The power returned just as the first ball was being bowled. The power went off again during the strategic time out and returned when the play resumed. Thereafter it kept going off and coming back after every over. This is not a joke. It really happened. Amazing right??

On Saturday afternoon, we really lost it. I was depressed, angry, tired, exhausted, thirsty, sticky and every other negative emotion that you can think of. I tried to sleep on my bed. But my bed was 41 degrees hot and I realized that five minutes on it would peel off my outer skin. I tried sleeping on the floor but the marble floor was hot enough to make a bull’s eye in case an egg fell on it and broke. But ultimately I chose the marble pan to the bed skin peeler. I opened the living room door and lay on the ground subjecting myself to be seen by 1) people who passed through the common corridor 2) people from other apartments 3) people looking from far away apartments through binoculars. I didn't care though.

Soon clothes started coming off one by one and just when it was about to turn into vulgar exhibitionism, I stopped.

But there was no redemption.

And when the power came back, finally, I said a silent prayer for my ancestors. Man... Were they resilient?

So overall, we are now enjoying the great Indian summer in all its glory. The summer is expected to continue till mid June. So if any of you folks feel like repenting for your sins, do come down to Hyderabad. Penance is waiting.

Home sweet home

After 3 long months I go home.
What a breath of fresh air...

:D :D :D :D :D

Poo venam poo pada venam poo vili venam......
Poo naram charthiya kanni poo makal venam .....

:D :D :D :D :D