Thanks, Shailendraji

Agar dil ki zubaan hoti
Yeh ghum kuch kum tho ho jaata

Udhar woh chup
Idhar seene mein hum toofan chupaaye thhe.


Yeh accha thha na hum kehte
Kissi se dastaan apni

Samajh paaye na jab apne,
Paraaye tho paraaye thhe.

And the Clouds Clear

Thank you, dear reader for visiting. There was a lot of drama on this blog the last few days. Forgive me for the unpleasantness. The evil forces which controlled my blog have now been neutralized.

Right now, I am considering the following options:
i) try to retrieve lost content and copy it in here
ii) maybe if I decide this place is desecrated, I might start another blog

Meanwhile, I urge my loyal readers (teeming millions of them) to have patience and suck a few gum drops. I love you all!

Furi

Not-so-simple Logic

Is divine retribution a given? Do we all pay for our wrongs? Or does it only apply to them that believe in God? And how is the value measured? There are bound to be many factors:
i) the gravity of the crime
ii) the ability to withstand punishment

He got away. At least, I think he did. His did not meet his punishment before my eyes, so there is nothing to be gained by that. He got away. Why not me? I grin and bear it. I tense my body to the blows and try not to show emotion. Except in this semi-anonymous blog-world I have created (which I gladly neglect unless I need it).

Yes, he got away. No, I am paying for my crimes. In a way, maybe even for his crimes. I just hope my faith doesn't prove a dud. My faith that a day will come when there is no more darkness inside. No more crazy laughter. Just peace.

I have to learn to not look to people. Yes, I am aware of my previous 'Thanks' post. I have a lot of gratitude for these few people. But there is a point beyond which lies a vast continent that is inhabited only by me. I have to learn to not look to anyone to help me live there. No one can. Maybe I won't let anyone. Maybe not even me.

Being 26 - not nice. 27 is worse. So.

Thanks

Things are moving, exciting things. Yes, I am excited. Am I happy? I don't know.

I am now that much closer to my intermediate goal. But I am sadder and angrier now in a way because I feel the unpleasantness will all soon go away anyway, so the defense mechanism has gone complacent.

I am human, I messed up terribly. But I have served my sentence several times over, and now I should accept good things. I will work on that.

As for the people who pray for bad things for me: It's done, don't waste your time anymore.

For those who pray for good things for me: Thanks, I am surrounded by good things right now. They are all happening to me, all together.

I am 26, and I already have a few of my dreams fulfilled. I know I am a good person, who does some bad things sometimes. I am surrounded by precious people who are crazy about me, and make sure I am comfortable at all times. I am supposed to be happy right now. I guess that counts, and that should suffice to fire me further.

Thanks, Ma, for being so patient with me. For not asking questions. For somehow finding the balance between letting me be and always being there in case I need you.

Thanks, Pa, for being proud of me. For not writing me off, and for being my friend even though I don't treat you as one sometimes. (PS: watching cricket with you last night was great. It's been about four years since we last did that).

Thanks, Sis, for your love. For looking up to me, though I know I don't cut a very impressive figure.

Thanks, Chuch, for your prayers. For filling the holes and gaps, some of them at least.

Thanks, Manj, for choosing me to be your best man! That meant so very much to me. Thanks also for letting me disappear and resurface at will.

Thanks, Mo, for your 24/7 support. The times we have together, I can't find anywhere else.

Thanks, Pinku, Chris, Black, Shetty, Cheta, Mickey for the great times. Thanks for calling me every Friday, though I usually make some excuse and escape. The times I have with you all are filled with so much fun!

Thanks, Anusha, Anu, Sita, Prasita, Pramodh, Kiran, Udayan, Mani, Santo, Harish for letting me be the drama queen. Thanks for making me feel like a superstar, in spite of my tantrums. You all ROCK!

Thanks, T, for forgiving me. For not kicking me when I was down. For teaching me the beauty of maintaining one's dignity and nobility. You are one of the most beautiful people on earth!

Thanks, Adu, Pitil, Pedda, John for your forgiveness. You are wonderful people, and I will always wish you all the best, and will always miss the wonderful times we had together.

Finally, thank you, dear reader, for being here this moment in time, and witnessing a little bit of my life.

By the way, I am not going anywhere. Just wanted to thank you all and tell you I love you.

Forbidden territory

Your mind plays games. I employ the term 'your' here in a generic sense. No, I am NOT getting personal with you, dear reader. 'Your' could just as well mean 'my'.

So, your mind. Yes, it plays games. It defrauds you. Cheats you into building a whole different world for yourself. Not quite a fantastic one, usually, because that would be a dead give-away. It builds a mundane, not quite worth remembering world.

Then it completely blanks out bits of your memory. Memories that you do have a business knowing about. Memories that have contributed to the baffling paradox you are today. All locked up. This mind is kind enough to give you little gift-wrapped 'memory-ettes' from time to time. Just enough to keep you interested. These little gift packages somehow always arrive when you are at your weakest. You don't know what you don't need if you don't know what it is in the first place.

At other times, you puzzle over the forbidden territories in your memory. There is an electric barb wire fence surrounding these little pockets. Why? The 'why' will be answered once you find out the 'what'. No you are not allowed inside your own mind. Moron, this is because your mind is trying to 'protect' you from something terrible. From something that can completely devastate you. No wait. It is trying to protect you from something that has already devastated you.

Oh sure, your mind knows the facts. Maybe it was busy with other stuff at the time, so somehow it has botched up the processing of these facts. But the data is all there intact. It will come to you, bit by bit, in technicolor. Or in monochrome. Not necessarily all of it, though. Some of it, at least.

Your demons are your mind's business. If your mind thinks that you are not capable of fighting them (maybe you really are, but try convincing this rotten mind), then the demons are all safely locked away. Only time to time, out of malice, your mind unzips a bag or two to make sure you have to face a few of them. Just to keep you interested.



The past is not dead. In fact, it's not even past.
-William Faulkner

Instant gratification.

He was nervous. He had never done this before. He had taken special care to shave, to wear decent clothes. You would usually see him in shorts and a tattered t-shirt. But that day, he was in a fine shirt, ironed, and a pair of freshly washed blue jeans. Complete with a belt and clean shoes.

He was driving alone. He did not really care for music right then, because there was enough noise inside his head. His consciousness was nudging him about the beads of sweat on his forehead, the whitening of knuckles on the steering wheel, the beating within his throat.

He was thinking. Trying to think of a way out of this. Then again, trying to think of justifications. He remembered talking about this to a dear old friend a long time ago, how she was horrified, how she adviced him against this mission.

But then... he was lonely. Mostly out of his own choice, really. He had gone quiet a while ago, shut out everything. Every once in a while, all the silence rankled. He longed sometimes for an easily forgettable encounter. Something that would cause him to think, to feel, and then to forget. Also, there were some old sensations that were just awakening, that needed to be watered.

He slowed down near a particularly shady area on C Road. There was the shady bunch of people there, as usual, on that Friday evening. It had started to drizzle, so he had to strain his eyes. There. He could distinguish individual people now, all garishly dressed. Some of them even of a dubious gender.

He was really crawling his car now. He was looking for that one particular woman. Maybe she was already busy, and hence, away. He sighed, and shifted down a gear in order to take off and head home. But wait, there under a tree. He could see another silhouette there which he hadn't seen before. He slowed down again, then finally stopped.

He still couldn't really make out anything about that silhouette. He had to get out of the car if he wanted to go ahead with this. He tried to tell himself, "Oh but it's raining!" Actually, he was scared to take that step now that he had come all the way. Because the act of getting out of the car would make him vulnerable. Then there was this fear of the police. Also, the friendly, kind neighbourhood auntie who might be passing by that stretch at that exact moment.

Before he could think further, he was out of the car and running towards the shadow. It was she. He had driven this way, three Fridays, and had picked her out from the rest. He had a few parameters in his head. These parameters were stupid and unfair, of course, but he had to have some system for 'selection'.

"Hello", he coughed softly. "Five hundred rupees. Two thousand rupees full night", she whispered. He could distinguish her face now. Bad makeup. Hard lines showing through the paint. He could guess that her age could be anywhere between 30 and 45. He was 26.

"Yes yes. Full night," he muttered, and walked back to his car. She followed him and got in. "Adavance payment please", she said, suddenly quite loud. "Oh sure, sure," he said, trying to sound confident and nonchalant. ("Yeah sure. Of course I know about these things. I do this all the time").

He gave her the money, and started the car. They drove around for a bit, then he turned in the general direction of J town. It took them a while getting there. No conversation. No ranting about traffic, the weather, nothing. They just drove in silence.

He pulled up in front of a theatre. They had a nice play on that night. They got out of the car, and he already had two tickets for the show. The play was nice, quite funny.

Play over. They still hadn't said a word to each other. "Nice play, don't you think?" he said. She muttered something that sounded like a half hearted agreement. OK. So no thanks. But he wasn't really expecting or even hoping for one.

They got into the car again, and now they were headed towards K-nagar. "When are we going to your place?" she asked. "Oh soon enough, soon enough," he said. They slowed down and parked outside a darkly lit little restaurant. Chinese.

They ordered the food and fruit juice. Both of them didn't seem very hungry.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, suddenly.
"Er, my name is ____, what's yours?" was his reply.
"No, really, ____, what are you doing?"
"Why, ordering dinner, and introducing myself."
"OK. So when do we go to your place?"
"Maybe not, er, you didn't tell me your name."
"You know, right, that the two thousand is not refundable."
"Why sure sure. I know that. Can't we just have dinner and talk?"

They spoke. For a long time. They sat there, and spoke until they had to leave because the restaurant was closing. They were already calling each other by their first names, though neither of them had used their real names.

They were driving again. Suddenly, she touched his face.
"Thanks, I wish I could say beta. But I am not allowed to."
"Please don't thank me. I hope you enjoyed your Friday. I did." He paused, and she could see the workings on his face seemed to suggest a sudden realization. "And may I tell you that you are beautiful? Well. It's rather late, and we should both be going home now. Where can I drop you off?"

"Please drop me back at C road. My ride comes there anyway, and maybe I can make some more money tonight", she said trying to sound distant again.

He dropped her off at C Road. She fished in her bag and produced the two thousand.
"Please take this back. I cannot accept this."
"I cannot take it back either. You are very kind, but thanks."

They said their hurried goodbyes, and he left. That was that. They didn't know each other's names, they hadn't exchanged phone numbers. This somehow felt like a date, but not quite. He felt warm inside. A nice evening, it was. And an interesting encounter with a beautiful, intelligent woman. A woman that he would never see again.

Another story.

When he'd asked for his share, when he'd said he wants to go his own way, my heart broke. It has remained broken all these years.

How could I tell him that I dreamed of him many times even before he was born? How could I tell him that I was planning to build a great big beautiful house for him? How could I tell him that I am growing old now, and am no longer his superman Dad? That I need him around? Not for working in the field, I have servants for that. But just because watching him going about is the chief delight to my old eyes.

He took his share and left. And he changed his phone number, so I wouldn't know of his whereabouts. He was concerned of my knowing his whereabouts, but here, everyday, I have wondered whether the wolves have finally got my son. My son, my joy.

Yes. He was always my pride and joy. I remember, when he was four. His Mother and I dressed in our best clothes, and went to his school for the annual day. He was a star. No, really. He was dressed as a star, and he had to recite a poem. Something about goodnight, sleep tight. I remember how this was the last on the programme, and I remember gripping the chair tight, waiting for my little boy to come on stage. I remember him coming on stage and looking around. So small. So scared. Then he burst into tears, and had to be led away.

Heart-breaking. That was one quality my boy was blessed with. He was a heart-breaker. Always was. He didn't know it the first few years, but just watching him play, hearing his lispy questions, they just... well. Broke my heart.

My wife died many years ago. When my boy was sixteen. I remember seeing him broken, for the first time. He was always her little boy. They shared a bond which I never understood, and never tried to understand.

Then, only then my boy grew up. I tried to be there for him in every way. I found out all his heart's desires even before he told me of them. I tried to provide him with all of these things. I wanted more, I wanted to take him with me and show him the hills. Go camping, trekking. But I also saw that my boy was a big boy now. He wants to be with his friends.

My son grew up. He was strong like an ox. He was the star basketball player at college, then at the club. But he still used to giggle every time I ruffled his hair. His tightly curly hair.

Then, one day, he took me by surprise. I never even dreamed that my boy would want to leave. He said, "Dad, I want to go my own way. Please give me my share. I will start my own business." I tried asking him about it, but when I saw that he was getting uncomfortable, I just let him go.

I cried all through that night. After many years, I cried. I even rushed out of the house, mind made up that I will catch this boy, lock him up in his room and that should teach him. I looked everywhere that night. I called up all his friends. I went to all the bus stands, railway stations, even the airport. But all this takes time, and I was just hoping for a miracle anyway.

I was so sure he'd come back soon. Maybe next week. Maybe this month. A year passed. Then two. I just had faith enough to think that my boy was alive. Alive and well was asking for too much. I could only pray. The wolves. There are wolves everywhere, and my boy was always scared of the dark. I don't know how, but I know he is alive. At least till today. Then the fears come back to haunt me every night again.

Six years have passed. Maybe he has started his business already, and maybe he is doing really well. I still think of him everyday. I still miss him in the evenings. I just wish he would call or write to me sometime. Just once. I won't ask him to come back. I won't even try to find out where he is. Just call me sometime.

I keep scouring the news. I have newspapers couriered to me from ten different cities. This is because of that nameless fear for my son. I wonder if he ever thinks of me. I wonder if he remembers all the fun we had together. Oh we had lots of fun, the three of us. I hope he is having a good time now. If only he'd call.

I went for my walk this morning, as usual. And as usual, I was standing on the terrace and planning out my day. There was so much work to be done. By the way, I have already built that big, beautiful house that I wanted my son to have. It's been empty all these years. I need to go and see about the property tax filing today. Ah. These taxes. I've always been bewildered by them.

Is that a beggar? Crazy fellow, to be up and about at 7AM. Fine business he's going to do up so early. Well, poor fellow. Maybe he's hungry and just wants breakfast.

I went down the stairs, and saw this man standing at the gate. I opened the gate, and the poor fellow cringed and looked like he wanted to run away. "Hey! Wait, man. Wouldn't you like some breakfast?" He stopped and turned back. He looked very scared. Only then did I notice the tears.

My son came back today. He looks frail, but he seems ok. I will not ask him any questions. I am old enough now, he couldn't have come at a better time. Thank God, my son came back today. But I know, if he were ask me again, I'd let him go.

-----------------------------------------
For a similar, but much better story, check this out.