The Girl at the Jubilee Bus Stand

It was evening, and I was standing at the Jubilee Bus Stand, with the heavy college bag on my shoulders. I was tired from a long hectic day at the college, and was eager to board the bus.  I was wearing a green corduroy shirt and a black jeans.  She was standing just beside me, very sure of herself.  I noticed her, just as we notice people around the bus stops or train stations, observing neutrally their dress, their faces, and trying to get a peek into their lifes, with no intention of communicating.  She was wearing a pink salwar suit, and was quite shorter than me (I am 5' 2").  Her face was like a cute south Indian heroine, I can't really explain.  You know one when you see one.  She was certainly older than me...about 23 I guess.  And she had a travelling bag lying at her feet, it was black, and was packed quite generously.  She also had a hand bag hanging down her shoulder.  Her hair was long and hung braided. It was 6:15 p.m.

Zooommm, came bus 8 R.  Wooh! I sighed.  This would take me directly to Afjalgunj, meaning, I would not have to change another bus.  Usually it would take me anywhere from 3 to 4 buses, to travel one lap (College to home/home to college).  I instinctively and reflexively hustled and shouldered the crowd, as you begin to do, after years and years of bus boarding during rush hours in Hyderabad. I didn't notice that she was also climing behind...facing problem of course, with her bag...

I entered and immediately captured a comfortable space, spreading my legs apart to gain balance and sliding out my bus pass, to show to the conductor.  As I did, she asked the conductor: Kachiguda station?  It was only then that I understood....

She was new in the city, on her way to which ever state she belonged, and had boarded the bus just for the heck of it! May be because she didn't want to stand longer at the bus stand! It was winter time and was already dark.  Cool! I thought! That's called guts! You don't know which bus to board, you don't know where to go, you don't know if you should ask for help, and you seem so sure of yourself!  I smiled inside. Tapped her on the shoulder, she turned...

Ye bus Kacheguda nahi jata, that's quite on the other side of the town...
Then which bus?
You don't have a direct bus from Jubilee Bus Stand...why didn't you hire an auto?
Ok, I .. get down..?  Stoopp...bus, stopp! She shouted.
Wait, don't get down now, wait till the bus reaches Tank Bund. I will tell you when to get down.  From there you can go to Kacheguda.  It will be easier from there.
Thank you. She gave me an anxious smile.
When does the train leave? I asked smiling back.
7 o' clock  (I looked at my watch..she didn't look at hers)

 It was past 6:30 p.m. Does she know what time is it now?! Is her watch alright?

Tank Bund came, and I informed her.  She looked at me. I saw some kind of expectation in her eyes.  I felt wierd. She got down, and I helped with her bag.  The bus was stuck in traffic and couldn't move for another few minutes.  She stood down on the road, looking at me, I shouted...Catch an auto, quick!.  She nodded.
Just at that moment, I couldn't restrain myself.  I got down too.  It was adventurous! It was exhilarating.  It seemed like that action movie mission. An impossible deadline, a tough problem and a hero with lady in distress!

I could feel gratefulness in her eyes and relief in her breathing rhythm.  I took her bag, man, it was heavy!  I started hailing autos. Kuttey kahin key.  None was stopping. Hyderabad autowallahs are a breed - devoid of humanity, devoid of ears, devoid of eyes.

We started feeling we would miss the train.  It was 6:40.  My heart beat grew stronger.  I couldn't believe I was actually on it!  Kacheguda is far man! But if we just get an autowallah, a smart one at that, and if the train stops for say five minutes longer, we stand a chance!

Just then, an auto stopped. It was about to turn, when he saw our luggage and probably thought of making a quick buck. I felt--thank God! But shit! It was not empty. It had a lady passenger already. And she was cursing him...Rukey kyun? Hum paise diye na jee apko? Humareku late nahi hora kya? Aise anjaan logon ko nahyi bithatee main. 

I began pleading with her, and ultimately, ignoring her blabber, we stuffed the bag and ourselves, in the back seat.  Time to think!  First I felt victorious! Yayee! We got an auto, and it will take us to Kacheguda. Then I looked at my watch. I felt dead! What am I thinking! This guy will first drop this lady at her home, and then take us to Kacheguda! But when?  Wasn't it a bad judgement to have hired this auto?! But she was smiling!  Innocence and ignorance of the problem gives eternal strength! I smiled back, asking for assurance.  She assured me.  

It was 10 minutes to 7.  The lady passenger had got down.  She and I were alone, in the back seat now, her bag between us.

What's your name?
Silky. Yours?
She told her name and I forget what it was...but I do remember that it was a beautiful name.
What do you do?  I asked.
I am a prescriptionist. I write medical prescriptions, assisting the clinic doctors
Not very interesting I thought. Where are you going?
To Bangalore.  I stay there.
Why did you come here?
To meet my brother and sister-in-law.
Why didn't they come to drop you at the station?
They had come to pick me up, when I came here. I only told them I can go alone on my way back.
Coooool I thought. That's my entry into the scene.
Who told you to stand at Jubilee Bus Stand?
She laughed shyly. No body.
She was stranger than I had thought. I smiled and looked at my watch. The watch looked back at me and said: Look girl, I can't slow down the world for you, ACCEPT that, will you? 

The auto wallah was doing a good job. She and I were asking him every 3 seconds, aur kitna der... aur kitna der. And he was handling us, our questions, his auto, the traffic, and the fellow autowallahs very very well. Commendable multi-tasking. Just get us there baap!

It was SEVEN now, and a minute past that!

I asked her...which train?
She said some name. 
Does it start at Kacheguda?
It comes from somewhere north, she said, and stops at Kacheguda on the way. 

Good news. Wasn't it getting reallly easier with every passing minute...

We got there. My legs felt numb. I looked at the watch for the last time. It was 7:03.  I took her bag...in both hands...like a tray, and dragged myself as speedily as I could.  I needed to breathe properly....but no time!  She caught up with me, after paying the autowallah. And pleaded that she will take it from here, on her own. I ignored her.

I ran, ran and ran.  I was hallucinating. No time for platform ticket. 
Which platform???! She read some Telugu stuff on the red digital screen and shouted some number.
Platform no. # kahaan??? I asked some passers-by for direction.
Apparently we had to climb stairs....just the thing we needed! 

Midway on the stairs...my hands gave way. The bag dropped. No glasses inside I hope...
I used the moment to breathe a bit properly and then, picked it back up.  She held to one side of the bag, offering to help, we dragged it together and that slowed our climbing speed!  Great! And now we had to climb 'down' the stairs.  But ....wait....I felt calmness! We saw it....the train,  from atop the stairs!  It was there!  For a mini-second I stood motionless.  And then, there was no stopping us!

We heard the whistle. The train started moving....slowwwwly.  We were midway down the stairs. I threw the bag down faaarrrrr. No glasses after all I guess...she didn't bother the last time I dropped it. :P  We rushed behind the bag that fell with a looud thuddd. We reached the nearest train gate, dragged the bag. She would find her coach and all inside...I didn't bother.  I asked the train name from a man at the gate to confirm.  Yes, that was it!!

 I sighed!    I smiled.    I laughed like mad!    I put the bag on the train, she got on.    She sighed.   She smiled.    She laughed like mad!   She looked beautiful.   As the train moved, she stood at the gate and I jogged along, with my school bag feeling lighter than ever on my shoulders.  She drew out her hands, held my two cheeks, pressed them and ......and said verrrry loudly "I LOVE YOU SILKY".

Byehh! I said....

CBI Investigation of Radia, at her Farmhouse ?!!

Servants (10-20 if them):  Mem sahab everything is ready.  The sofas upholstered, the nice music of their choice selected, New coffee cups and plates brought on the centre table in the drawing room, and curtains changed.

Radia:  Well done all of you..

(TING TONG TING TONG TING)
(Servants rushing helter skelter...)

(1 at the drawing room entry
2 at the farm house entry
3 at the driveway
4 at the garage
5 in the kitchen
6 holding the room heater controller
7 as a koolie to hold their bags and investigation files
8 as a farm house guide
9 revising last minute Q & A with Radia maidum
you get the drift....)

Investigation Officers: Namastey madam. How have you been doing? (with a little bend in the back, and a smile)

Radia: Namastey, kaise hain? Rasstey main koi problem to nahi hui na aapko? Main Bahadur ko bhijwa deti aapko pick up karne ke liye. Apne bina matlab hi takleef ki.

Officers: Hehe. Ab humara kaam toh hume hi karna padega. Hehe.  Aap bas co-operate kar rahi hain, wahi bahout hai.

Radia: Arey ye toh main insaaniyat ke natey...achha chodiye, aap chai paani to keejiye. Abhi mangwaati hun... (Geeta....jara.......) Achha aap bataye mujhse kya kaam tha?

Officers: Madam, ye leejiye kuchh quiz questions hain. Aapko bas jawaab dena hai. In fact jawaab humne aapko bhijwaye bhi they, kuchh din pehle. Aapne tayiyaar to kar liye hongey na?!

Radia: Jee bilkul! To chaliye. Let's get done with this. Huhahahhehe.  Fir socha hai, aap itni door aye hain ghar toh dekh ke hi jayiyega!

Officers: (Play Bournvita Quiz, laugh, crack jokes, Drink and chat, and later take a look around the farm house and eat a few apples from the garden, also, are given a basket each full of hybrid grapes)

Radia:  Jee bahut bahut dhanyawaad aaney ke liye.  Agli baar beewi bachhon ko le ayiye. Winter vacations chal rahi hain. Unka ghumna bhi ho jayega. Huhahahhee. Agli date ke baarey main pehle se inform jaroor kijiyega. ....

(Servants helter skelter...)

Cliques, Leaks and Clicks

I can feel it in my nerves.  Of late, all the cynicism around has started to disappear.  Is it true? Are we really entering the dawn of a new era!?

When I hear Baba Ram Dev in the morning on Aastha channel, I am bound to believe him.  Yes, he says that 'Bharat Swabhiman Andolan' is not going to ever look back now.  It is surging forward like never before.  Yet, when I think of the sudden death of one of his great companions, I am forced to fear, what if suddenly someone assasinates him!  But no one will.  Because that will act as nothing but a greater catalyst to whatever this man, and many others like him, are trying to achieve.  

Today, though we are all surrounded by everything out their to gain our attention, and to partake of our income, we will be greatly mistaken if we think that the corporates wield the greatest power.  When I hear about scams, one after another, I am overwhelmed, not by the corruption and the statistics, but by the untiring ability of media to keep the discussion going.  Small town incidents and cases that would in another time, lie underneath the weight of files, now, have begun to pull minds and bring them together to criticise, comment and complain.  The names strike emotions and spark opinions: Ruchika, Jessica, Zaheera, Tahira, Todi, Afzal, Kasab, Commonwealth, Inflation, 2G, Adarsh...

I would give the credit to INTERNET.  It is NOT the NDTV or the Aaj Tak who are beating this heart.  They are merely observing and following the pulse of the people, the ones who (out of whatever reason) start discussions on such topics.  The thing with such a phenomenon is that, Opinions cannot be controlled, as with TV, or Radio or Newspaper.  The discussion community manager for example cannot stop you from disagreeing, or cannot force you to believe that Congress or Left or BJP is the best.  Hence, inevitably, people Tweet, Comment, and speak out.  And since no one person is big enough to lead the opinion, there's never a dearth of 'disagreement'.  This, is a great virtue.  When there is a freedom to disagree, and when there are two equally large groups saying YES and NO, a new joiner will not choose sides on the basis of 'physical strength' of the group, or because Rahul Gandhi told so on TV.  He will 'think'.  And such thinking will lead to the larger understanding of what is right.

Internet's biggest strength is that no body can control content here (if I know enough).  And thus, its brokenness, will make sure that nobody can bind society into deformity.  And that is enough to ensure reform.  Because, internet has created social media:  a diverse opinion generator, which can tear anyone into shreds: whether it is TATA or FOX or OBAMA or whoever.

So when things like Wiki Leaks challenge the wayward Cliques, people will Click and make sure they come right on track. :)  

Dadaji is my Computer student

My very resourceful dadaji wants to add another talent to his kitty.  And it is using computer this time.  He is an advocate, and has been doing everything on paper all this while.  He has a very old and, believe me, utttterly heavy typewriter on which he types his powerful words.  But times are changing and he wants to go along.  So I have something meaningful to keep me occupied now. :)

I have prepared a step by step syllabus, which we hope to cover within the next 20 days, spending about one hour each day.

•  Switching computer on and off.
•  Being able to move the mouse at will (I have thought of creating a mock folder with many mock files for him to practise moving and clicking...getting used to left and right clicks, double clicks, and dragging).
• Opening new folder/word file, Naming, Saving, Searching and Deleting them. And making them password-protected.
• Typing Letters in Ms-Word :  Margins, Paragraphs, Bullets, Underline, Bold, Italic, Alignment.
• Searching information on Internet.
• Bringing information from Internet to Computer.
• Taking files on the pendrive, and running anti-virus on it.
• Receiving and Sending e-mails, with file attachments.

I will feel very good if we are successful in our endeavour.  Any useful suggestions are welcome. :D

3 girls, 4 months

Dedicated to Jyothi and Tabitha, my room mates for 4 complete months, in a hostel.

Our playing mother to each other; your applying oil to my hair and my massaging Jyothi's feet with mustard oil when she sprained her leg; scratching together our itching heads on Sunday mornings and wondering why the hostel water favoured such luxuriant lice growth.  Our bathing in the small adjacent hostel cubicles and singing mad songs, and splashing water across the low partitions over each other (:P once it fell on some other girl because I didn't know if you were on my left or on my right!). 

Your wanting to wear my kurtis and insisting it suited you more than it suited me!  Your loudly calling me sexy when I would be down and lowly, and my insisting you had strong lesbian tendencies.  Our mummas sending us a month's stock of sweets and snacks and our finishing it in less than a week and then blaming each other for the greed and impatience.  My making you laugh with my antics and silly imitations of hostel staff.  The grotesque cat walks we did in our small room and cartoon behaviours that we recorded on my cell phone.  Your exploring every feature of me new hi-fi cell phone before I could even learn to switch it on.  Your wasting my cell battery by listening to radio as you went to sleep and then forgetting to switch it off as you drifted into dreams; and then rushing to college bathroom to charge my cell because that was the only place a safely usable plug point existed.  Our opening that room switchboard and charging our cells in the silence of night.

 Your helping me jump over the hostel gate and taking my side with the hostel warden, when I wanted to particpate in a dance competition, and stay out late for practice.  Your hideously sneaking up food from hostel kitchen, and keeping it for me till I returned to our room.  Our observing each other's pimples and assuring ourselves that they were fading.  The vulgar jokes we cracked, and your teasing me about every guy I mentioned.  Gossiping and hating other girls together and then wondering if we were anti-social. The shopping with you and coming back, only to realise that we forgot buying pads.  Your telling me that I slept the last night exactly in the pose of the college dog. Your once ordering a full Biryani pack, and insisting we could finish it... and then ultimately distributing the jumbo feast to other girls (some of whom we hated). 

My calling Tabitha a baby because of the ubiquitous thumb in her mouth...while talking, sleeping and staring at walls.   Our planning assasinations of certain members in the hostel staff and laughing our guts out.  Our copying the bulbul in the outside tree, because we were not allowed to make noise, and we wanted to.  Washing clothes together and your sharing the clips with me, and bringing back your clothes along with mine whenever it suddenly rained, and folding them neatly on my bed.  Your reading my secret diary and then making my next few hours horribly embarrassing. My telling you we were Three Musketeers and your asking what was that!  My gifting you silly hand made crafts on your birthdays and your treasuring them.  Your facing my bad moods at times and watching me like a baby waiting for his mother to get over her anger.

And then, the day you cried and cried and cried because I suddenly announced that I am leaving the hostel;  your helping me pack my luggage.  The hugging, the slapping, the spanking and the joking.  And so much more...I can never begin to express fully...
Girls, you have created a void inside me, which will always remain...

And though you lazy, lost bugs will never know I wrote this piece...but what the heck, I love you.

Living with my Grandparents and my ever-youthful uncle

On May 2010, I shifted base back to Kolkata, after 7 years.  I don't know why I feel like crying as I write this.  My eyes are swelling with tears and I can feel lumps in my throat.  It was not a very deliberately thought out decision. Nothing in my life has ever been that way.  I do things on instincts, and sometimes keep doing a thing without listening to the strongest of my instincts.  And so I boarded the Falaknuma Express, with my messily packed clothes and baggage and some properly packed food that mumma gave me.  My mother came to see me off (staking her school salary) and my brother too (though he was more interested to go back soon to his Telugu friends).  And then they left, rightly sensing that I needed solitude.  But someone was there till the train started moving.  And may be a bit longer after that.  And we both had tears, and we wanted to NOT cry, lest that made it difficult for the other person.  But cry, I did.  There were other passengers looking at us, and I wanted to be bold and brave.  I don't know what they were thinking :  that I was weak, that I was emotional?  I am not.

I have faced it all.  I have stayed in Kolkata, for eight months now, dragging myself off the bed every morning, edging myself on, to my fitness routine, forcing myself to study STUPID Quant STUPID DI and STUPID VA, and holding on to the belief that it will all turn out rewarding.

But I wonder why? Why did I do all this? Things were in my control, nothing was forced onto me.  I have no reasons.  And yet, no regrets either.   I met Papa here in a different sense, and realised how important it was for him, that I come here.  I learnt to see love in his eyes and gestures, like I had never seen before.  I saw my grandparents and learnt to admire and appreciate them, their resilience, their very very active old age.  Their commendable fitness routine, their hopes, their arguments, their advice, their suggestions, and their motherliness.  I saw there are so many people who love me and found the comfort of family.  At the beginning there was resentment against them, against myself, against the IIMs, against the 10 lakh packages, but I ultimately had to surrender to the warmth of my family.

I haven't given a 99 percentile type exam, and my score might very well be on the wrong side of 95 percentile.  And may be these 8 months will straight add weight to the useless periods of my life, since I haven't written other easier management exams, haven't gained any work experience and obviously haven't joined any college.  But I am not going to buckle down.  I know exactly what I am worth, and though the details of how my next year would be are hazy as of now, I have a pretty clear picture of how I am going to be a few years away. And that picture is beautiful.

but why the name Silky???

Our name, in any bloody language, is the sweetest word to our ears.  You hear someone calling you, and and you suddenly feel, you Exist:  yes, that's me, that's my name, I am the one you are calling.  Suddenly all your senses are active, reflexes awakened, response impending. But I want  to ask you a question.  Who gives identity to whom?  Does the name give us identity or we give identity to the name?

My mom named me Silky, very innocently. :P  And ever since I realised my name stood out in the crowd, I have been proud of it.  When I was a child, I used to find ways of advertising the fact that my name is 'Silky'.  Any stranger I would meet, say a new friend, or a new relative, I would deliberately ask their name...social courtesy made it sure they would ask mine in return! :P  So as soon as they had told their name, I would stand ready to be thrown the evergreen question: "What's Yours?"  I would blurt out, 'SILKY', and then help them by spelling S-I-L-K-Y, and smile with all my teeth out; and look at their confused-cum-amazed face; and I would clarify - yeah you heard it right baby, and yes that's my good name, the name my class teacher calls out from the register, ask my mom if you don't believe me.

Of course, I slowly got bored of the name game as I grew up.  But of late, there is this another sense of uneasiness growing within me.  Silky sounded good when I was a cute little baby.  I am no more so. And I wonder what will happen when I get married, become a mother and then pass into old age. The name will stay...but none of its silkiness!!

People have already started finding it funny, earlier they used to find it cute.     :(  I can't help noticing people smirking when they hear my name and I think : you jealous creature with a boring name, I don't give a damn. But the fact is I DO CARE.... not about the fact that how to justify my name. But about 'WHY SHOULD' I justify it.  To add to the contradictions, I am quite clumsy (behaviour unsilky), my hair are that strange wavy kind (unsilky), and my skin follows suit :( (unsilky). 

So I put my foot down and think of Wordsworth: 'What's in a name?'  I am NOT going to live up to my name.  I don't owe anything to it. Infact, it works the other way round.  My name is going to live up to me.  It owes me my meaning, the meaning that I give to it everyday, by my actions, by my achievements, by my relationships.  And I am going to decide what that meaning is!
And when people talk about me, I don't want them to wonder "Who is Silky?"....I want them to wonder : "Who Silky Is?"

Contemporary Dance

Feels like your body is the canvas, the paintbrush and the colour, all together.  And you are the artist.  Every movement is perfect - with the right angle, in the right direction, at the right beat and for the proper duration.  Say- your legs stretching over and above the ground, with your feet in line, adding to the length, and your pointed toes adding finesse.  Or your arms opened, as if circling a huge, round, invisible pillar, your elbows and wrist, making the right bends, with stiffness and suppleness joined like never before.  Or your head, tilted diagonally, looking up, through the ceiling, into the sky, with your neck straightened, as if to help you peek.  That's contemporary dance for me.

The Winter Sun

A strong, hot Sun, on a cold wintry morning, burning the uneasy dampness of the last night, and spreading the warmth of a new, beautiful day.  The dew, slowly lifting off the leaves, and becoming one with the air around. The bright light, filtering through the windows, into our homes,  sprawling and stretching itself across the floor, the carpet and the verandah.  The Tulsi herb, smelling the heat in the atmosphere, and finally letting go of some of its flavour, in thin wafts of invisible fragrance-welcoming you as you walk in, to hang some washed clothes on the line.  And you stay in there, for a few minutes more, encouraging the golden rays to reach your bones and to shake off the sleepiness; and to wake you up, to a new day ahead.

Many a Few

Many, who dream awake and asleep
Few, who dream as they work
Many, who want to change the gone
Few, who change the now
Many, who desire the destiny
Few, who walk the road

God, Google, Gupshup - the 3G life

Roti, kapda and makan - we all know.  But that's just for basic subsistence - important to keep us alive; our belongings and modesty safe.  Beyond however, lies the vast space of unfulfilment, when you are just not satisfied with the best dress, the best house and the tastiest food.  You need more - a friend to tease, gossip and play video games with, a girl friend or boy friend to convince, fight and patch up with, a job to feel useful, and a god to thank and complain to, from time to time.  These are all essential to make our house homely, our clothes dressy, and our meals a treat. 

All these would be difficult without

1. God  a.k.a  destiny
R/o:   last seen by Chetan Bhagat in a train
Occupation-  to help you, tease you, frustrate you and confuse you (as the situation may demand)
           
2. Google  a.k.a  IT
R/o :   omnipresent
Occupation:  gives you everything- job, money, ideas, relatiponships
(strong contender for the first place)

3. Gupshup  a.k.a  advertsising
R/o:  omnipresent
happily married to Google
Occupation:  makes life easy
Warning:  use it or lag behind

The Upright Rikshawalah

I love to travel on rikshaws, especially the ones driven by paddles; the hand-driven ones give the impression that you endorse slavery.  However, the fun in sitting on a rikshaw, the one with a high seating, is that you have the whole panoramic view of the society around you.  You actually feel like you are sitting on the Aladin's kaleen, flying over the streets, treating your eyes to the spectacle around.  Whenever I can't start for my daily coaching classes early enough, I take a rikshaw to the mainroad.  And if, on the way, I sight a bus zooming in from behind, I wave at the driver, alight from the rikshaw, hurriedly pay the fare to rikshawallah and mount the bus (Kolkata bus drivers come directly from heaven - always very kind to stop and wait for you - however irritating it may be for the other passengers).  More often than not, I end up paying a few coins more to the rikshawalah, than the fare he blurts out; I am in too much of a hurry to keep the bus waiting for that long; what if the driver is not so divine after all!?  But I never regret the loss of a few coins.  Paying more is always better than paying less in a hurry; and if I can spend hundreds, at one go, in a mall, why cringe for a coin or two in an urgent moment like this! (I am addicted to being punctual, however late I start from home).  This happened twice with the same rikshawallah.  I didn't think much of it.  He may have thought of me as an extravagant girl, weak in maths, careless, whatever.  But the strangest thing was that he found a way to balance the scale.  I happened to find him near my home more often.  I  amusingly thought, that he just wanted to make a quick buck.  So I never went up to him unless one day when I was sure of being late if I didn't take the rikshaw.  And so, there I was, mounted on the top of the world, flying on my kaleen, looking around for any bus. None was in sight yet, and thus we went all the way to the crossroads.  When I alighted, and asked him the fare, he deliberately said 'nau rupay' instead of the usual 'barah'.  I was dumbfounded.  I gave him a ten rupee note, with my forehead wrinkled, and waited as he returned a one-rupee coin. 

Count my blessings

1. I was born a girl.
2. I was not born a girl in Afghanistan.
3. I am above poverty line.
4. I don't have to pay income tax.
5. I have crossed twenty.
6. Old age is still a long way down the line.
7. I have girlfriends.
8. I am straight, and so are they.
9. I can blog.
10. Nobody reads.

Late to bed

Until just a month ago, I was a staunch believer in the 'early to bed-early to rise' principle.  But the nocturnal creature inside me was destined to leap out one day, and I must tell you that there are very thin chances of it going back inside; unless of course the hypochondriac in me arrives with rumours of absolutely abnormal and malicious changes in my body rythm.  What a stupid thing to say. But then who is going to read this anyway. Ahh. Such freedom in writing inanities on your blog; sitting in your bed, late at night, enjoying the cool peaceful breeze from the window and filling the web with yet another spam, which will do little but sprout here and there as a misdirected link to somebody searching for something really important.  I am loving it, the night.   I have heard that godly spirits are active in the day time and devil spirits in the nights! Such a cruel thing to say!  I am by no means a devil, even quite godly by nature. Nights have been dealt a very raw deal. Anybody who has experienced it will agree that it is so calm, serene and peaceful. For me the period post 21:00 hrs has turned out to be such a bliss.  The time hangs still, it is just me and my pastimes - the net, some interesting book and a refrigerator just within reach, which thanks to my grandparents always offers something nice to eat.  Everyday I look forward to the night, my daily period of absolute joy and freedom.  There's no urgency of any sort, least of all of sleeping.  You don't have a meal time hanging over you, or a guest knocking on the door at this time of day.  You can just sit back and enjoy yourself.  You can dream, reflect and plan.  You can step outside yourself and watch as you go about life. You can walk to the verandah or sit by the window and look into the dark. What a luxury! Thank God, there are no war planes overhead and you don't have to fear being bombed. India has certainly afforded us this one great freedom. And I wish to experience this luxury each night of my life in this country.

The Philosophy of Convenience

The Philosophy of Convenienve: The moment I heard this expression on my first day in the T.I.M.E. coaching centre, I knew it would stay with me life-long. Since that day, I have been constantly assessing myself against this wonderful idea. I have realised that life gets so much simpler and hassel-free when we pause, take a look around and weigh our options. Rushing forward blindly into anything and everything that comes before you is a sign of sheer lack of vision. It is just a question of 'reaction'. How would you react? Reaction has many levels - the lowest being mechanical and the highest being intellectual. The philosophy of convenience says that the solution to a problem should be devised such that it uses the least mental, physical and temporal resources. More often than not, some degree of mechanical or intellectual effort in the right direction can save a lot of your resources: the most precious being time. The trick lies in discovering if there is an easy way out; and taking that parsimonious path. This ability is seen only in those who are miser with their time and energy.

I thought I knew me

I thought I was perfect, had all the strengths, needed no improvements. I was wrong and I began to decay. When things fell apart, I was left stunned to my bones. But I rejected the truth of it. I went on with my false belief in me. I denied watching my failure, but fail I did...many times and many times over and over again. Blindness overcame me and I lived aeons in darkness. And when nothing else was visible I closed my eyes. Tired of fighting myself, I sought answers within. Lightening bolts started hitting me, one by one. All my beliefs started breaking down, obstinate oaks against the mighty storm. No. This had to end somewhere, I had to accept defeat. I had to bend before my limitations. And thus I found - not the victory, nor the defeat, but the realisation that life is not about winning, it is not a race, it is a pilgrimage....where every fall should be a humble acceptance of that higher power, and every rise, a humble gratitude to the same.