Searching for answers

Last night I searched for my specs for half an hour. I looked under the bed, on the bed, on the table next to my bed, in the kitchen, in the living room, near the computer, anywhere and everywhere. And I finally found them. They were on the table next to my bed.

Believe me when I say it but I actually checked on the table a couple of times. But I didn’t look hard enough. And, that was the problem. All the while that I was searching, the specs were sitting right in front of me and I didn’t even notice.

I drew a parallel with life. We spend so much looking for answers. We go to places, meet people, listen to stories, read stories and still cannot find the answer. For all you know, the answer could be in front of you.

It’s about looking and realizing that the answer never ever left you. You chose to ignore it.

Shades on the flight

The person sitting next to me had his shades on during the 90 minute flight from Hyderabad to Goa. He wore his shades when the hostess was serving; adjusted them when she was clearing his plate and had them on when he was reading the paper. The only time he removed his shades was when he was watching something on the in-flight entertainment system. I found this amusing.

Why would somebody do that? Am I missing a point?

Shades are supposed to keep out the sun. People also wear them to look cool. I buy both those points. But on a flight, where is the sun? And who’s around to impress? I am not too sure the hostess really cared.

I was itching to ask him about the shades. I said ‘excuse me’ and he turned. I couldn’t tell whether he was looking at me or looking outside. So I said ‘nothing…sorry’ and looked out of the window. He went back to his reading or so I thought.

And then, I started thinking of possible reasons why people wear shades on a flight. I couldn’t get beyond the “I look so cool in these shades” factor and left it at that. I went back to thinking of all I could do in Goa in 24 hours.

We landed 10 minutes later. As I was getting into the cab which would take me to North Goa, I saw my neighbor for possibly the last time in my life. He was arguing with a cab driver and…you guessed it right. He was wearing his shades.

S for suffering

We have a maid who comes in the mornings to wash utensils. And this is her story.

Her name is Padma. Her husband was a watchman in the flats opposite our house. He was sincere and always ready to help. But he had one big problem. He was an alcoholic. Inspite of repeated warnings, he couldn't stay off alcohol. One fine day he was asked to leave and so he left with his wife and 2 kids. I don't know where they went.

And time flew.

One day Padma landed up at our place and told my mum that her husband drank himself to death. My mum decided to employ her. And so, she started coming to our house in the mornings
to earn a little money and feed her family.

Padma is one of many who knows the meaning of real suffering. Not our version of suffering but real suffering. The list is endless: widows, physically handicapped and mentally challenged people, lepers, orphans...What they experience is the real stuff.

All we need to do is look. Look outside and then look within. And for all you know, S for self pity will be replaced by S for suffering.

Old mails, refreshing memories

I went through some old mails last night. Mails from friends I am no longer in touch with. The memories came back in a rush. Good memories, not so good memories but memories nevertheless.

The mails were 3 years old. The memories were also 3 years old but unlike the mails were trapped in the deep recesses of my mind. All they needed was a trigger to surface.

One mail was about this cricket match we played against boys from the neighboring colony. They batted first and scored 120 in 12 overs. We chased down that score with 3 balls to spare. We won the 500 buck bet and then went off to my friend's house to celebrate. A good memory.

A not so good memory. That evening it was pouring outside. Not a soul on the road. I was sitting with a couple of friends in a coffee shop. An argument broke out between 2 of them and I tried to play peacemaker. And all of a sudden, one of them slapped me and told me to stay out of it. I remember that incident. It was the beginning of the end of a friendship of 4 years. Call it ego; call it immaturity. We never really spoke after that. I don't know where he is. He doesn't know where i am. Sometimes not knowing is better.

As I went through the mails, the memories started flying off my head. They were alive and kicking. They were performing in front of me. I was travelling backwards in their presence. I lost track of time. And then, the power went. The screen went blank and the mails disappeared taking the memories with them.

I jogged back to the present, switched off the comp, wished my memories good night and drifted off to sleep.

Tennis lesson

I played tennis after a really long time. I was rusty but hit the ball better than expected. Tennis is such a beautiful game. It is a potent mix of power and finesse. The inside out forhand, the backhand slice, the top spin serve, the smash, the drop volley and the lob make this racquet game a thrill to play and a treat to watch.

I played for about an hour and a half. I felt good.

And then, my cousin told me about the coach’s son. He was born with a problem in his brain. I was stunned. This coach of mine, whom I know since my 12th standard, is an amazing person. I have not seen him angry even once. He has a smile on his face all the time and is equipped with bundles of patience. He deserves the very best in life. And yet, life hasn’t been a fairytale for him.

That made think for 2 minutes. What makes this man get up every day at 5.30 and head to the court to teach kids of all ages this beautiful game?This man is hurting and yet, is smiling all the time. He is approachable.He is ready to help.

I headed home thinking life’s been good for a lot of us. Loving parents,good friends and a world full of possibilities. If only we could value what we have without chasing something all the time.

Momentary contradictions

One moment i want to do something; the next moment i want to do something else. For 5 mins, i am at peace with myself and the next 5 mins its a different story. I want to disappear from the face of this earth; i want to get into the wild and not be in touch with anyone.

One moment i feel like crying and my eyes get watery. I want to kneel in front of my parents, spread my arms and submit myself to them. Another moment, i feel like rushing off to Goa and getting drunk.

One moment i think of her and feel good. Another moment, i think of her and feel depressed. One moment i feel loved. Another moment, i feel hated. One moment i think of the beggar outside my house. Another moment i think of the BMW in my office.

It's all about the moments. Moments that make up your life. Moments that thrill you. Moments that hurt you.

After all, moments are just what they are supposed to be.

Enter a visitor, exit a patient

My cousin got admitted into CARE, one of the city's leading hospitals. I decided to pay him a visit. Visiting hours are between 5 and 6 pm. I got hold of a visitor's pass and made my way towards the door. People were shoving and pushing to get in. I also pushed and got in.

I headed towards the lift where i was greeted by 20 people waiting to get in. The lift arrived 5 minutes later and i didn't get in. I was pushed in. The lift was shaped like a tunnel. I was standing in the front. The people at the back seemed like they were 2 kms away. The lift stopped on every floor and by the time i got out on the 6th floor, i had spent 7 minutes inhaling stale breath. I was feeling sick.

I dragged myself to room number 610. That's where my cousin was. He smiled when he saw me. I didn't smile immediately because i was trying to recover from my journey of 6 floors. By the time i smiled back, he had pulled the bedsheet over his face. Spoke to my uncle and aunt for 10 minutes. Declined the coffee because the cup looked suspicious.

Said bye to them. As i was heading towards the lift, i took in as much breath as possible since i knew what lay in wait for me. Entered the lift shit scared. Thankfully, the journey this time was not that bad. It took 4 minutes to hit the ground floor.

As soon as the door opened, i ran towards the entrance and continued running towards the parking area. It was only after i exited the hospital and travelled 200m that i felt alright.

I decided to not go back to the hospital in the future. It might be CARE hospital to a lots of people. As far as i am concerned, it is SCARE hospital. It got me scared. It almost made me a patient.

The Curtain Call

What are curtains used for? You must be thinking what kind of a question is this. Of course, curtains are used to keep the sun out, beautify the house, etc.

But did you know that curtains serve as blankets? I didn’t know this till last month. I was traveling with couple of my friends to Goa by Paulo travels. When you have paid 800 bucks to travel by an AC bus, you expect a blanket, a bottle of water and a decent sleep.

Well we didn’t get any. First of all one had to pay 50 bucks to borrow a blanket which looked like it was washed once in 365 days. I guess the original colour of those blankets was white which had blackened with the passage of time.

And then, when you ask for a blanket you get a curtain. The curtain because there are no blankets is an answer which baffles me. 25 blankets for 50 passengers is a no-brainer because it means you are expected to share it with your neighbor whom you are seeing for the first time and probably will see him for the last time, 14 hours hence.

But what really irritated me was the audacity with which the conductor gave the passenger a curtain instead of a blanket and the subsequent nonchalance which laced his reply to the former’s confused expression.

So much for Paulo travels. An AC which refused to work after 8 hours, the driver who continuously hit the brake mistaking it for the accelerator and the conductor who distributed curtains instead of blankets.

So the next time you plan to go to Goa, don’t take Paulo Travels. If you don’t have an option, carry your own blankets.

Stranger, stanger...Why did you go away?

You meet a stranger who then becomes an acquaintance. Before you want it to blossom into a friendship, he is gone. He disappears from this world for no fault of his.

Imagine the plight of his family. Their world has crumbled overnight; the father who hand held his son till he could go to another place and work needs to be hand held now because his vision has blurred with the never ending tears; his walk has lost its fatherly grace; his dreams for his son have been derailed.

What about the woman who gave birth to him? The tears she shed when she saw her son come out of the womb s now been replaced by tears from seeing him lifeless. The life she had conceived has left her forever making her a living ghost.

The younger brother who wanted to follow his brother’s footsteps has been blinded by the sudden lack of direction and guidance.

The parents have lost their elder son. The younger brother has lost his protective elder brother. Together they have lost their bloodline.

The elder brother’s room is empty. The walls echo with sounds of his laughter; the mirror reflects his handsome image . They are painful memories which will lose their sting with the passage of time but will never cease to trouble the waking minds.

But as days turn into months and as months shed their shyness and become years, the tears will dry. The images will fade and the minds will accept reality. And yet, the sadness will linger forever.

The bearded beggar

As I stepped out of home singing “Socha nahi to socho abhi” from Rock on, a bearded beggar appeared out of nowhere. I stopped in my tracks, cut the song short and took a good look at him. Dressed in tatters, his beard dominated his face so much that it looked as if he was trying to peep from a bush. And then, all of a sudden he started singing “Mere baare mein bhi socho saab”.

I removed a 20 and gave it to him. He folded his hands and said “Shukriya saab. Ab aur bheek nahin mangoonga. Seedha hotel jaake khaana khaaonga”. I felt numb the moment he said that. I couldn’t move. And then, the numbness was replaced by elation. I felt good.

The begger thanked me for making his day. The truth is he made my day.

Dark circles or beauty spots

I feel dark circles look quite sexy. They give this character to a person’s face. I know a few people who have dark circles. And a couple of them look mind blowing. I get lost in those beautiful eyes and then travel further in those awesome dark circles. Those circles just sit there knowing fully well that they will get the desired attention.

I am raising a toast to dark circles and to people who look quite awesome in those dark circles.

The next time somebody tells you about your dark circles get in touch with me and I will tell you how amazing they look on you.

Bangalore to Hyderabad (Part 2)

It was time to hit the road again. Kurnool to Hyderabad takes about 4 hours by road, 5 hours by train and don’t know how many hours if you decide to walk it up. Though it took me only 10 mins to get to the highway, it was only half an later that I could really step on the gas. The trucks in front of me were ripping at 20 km an hour and I just couldn’t handle the speed. In fact, one the trucks sported a board which said Rajdhani Express.

As the hour hand inched towards 2, the distance to Hyderabad shrunk from 200 kms to less than a 100. The hour hand slowly made its way to 3 and I surely made my way to the outskirts of Hyderabad. And then, for 15 mins, I could not move an inch. What a way to be welcomed into the city. It was like the city didn’t want me back.

I got to know that the delay was the result of an auto banging into an alto. Both the drivers were involved in a brawl right in the middle of the road. The cops were, don’t be surprised, not on time. By the time they arrived on the scene, the drivers were tired and agreed to resume their battle half an hour later.

I cursed both the drivers for a tenth time and then headed towards home. I wanted to get home by 3.30 but by the time I parked the car and said whazza to my folks, the clock had stuck 4.

All in all, it took me ten hours to get from Bangalore to Hyderabad. I know that nothing will change. Even if coming back to Hyderabad means meeting my friends only once a month, I know one thing will not change however hard I try. Any guesses?

Well, it’s the number plate.

Bangalore to Hyderabad (Part 1)

I left Bangalore before the sun woke up. I hit the highway just as the sun woke up. He was surprised to see me up so early. So, for a change I said whazza? Long night last night? He chose to ignore the question and set about casting his spell on the rest. Like I cared. I was on my way to Hyderabad. I wasn’t alone. Images and memories of Bangalore were accompanying me.

I stepped on the accelerator. The speedometer started sprinting in multiples of 10. The speedometer started panting beyond 100. I stepped off the pedal and let it rest for a bit. Just as it thought this was going to be a joy ride, I decided to give it a run. The airport was left behind and so was Chikballapur. Just as Karnataka started giving way to Andhra Pradesh, I slowed down and started looking for a chai shop for a much need caffeine kick.

Found one in Penukonda, a blink-and-you-miss town. Don’t know what Penu means. Konda is hill in Telugu. The wonderful coffee couldn’t help me figure out the meaning of Penu. I left Penukonda with the hills receding in the distance. I sped though countless diversions and indifferent roads.

A hog crossing the road welcomed me into Kurnool. My stomach started growling and the hog got scared and ran away. It was time for some food. I stepped into hotel Jayashree because the façade looked good. And, the façade was true to its name. The restaurant was dirty and the bathroom was… well let’s not get into it. There were exactly three items on the menu: puri, idly and wada. I chose Puri. I am still reeling from its effect.

To be continued…

Family Weddings (Part 2)

If getting re-introduced to people at weddings is one problem, having a conversation with them is another pain. How will a conversation with your mum’ second cousin sound?
Let’s call her Sandhya aunty.

Sandhya aunty: Pramod! Is that really you? You look so different.
You want to say: Of course. Duh! You are seeing me after 3 years.
But you say: I know aunty. It’s been a long time.

Sandhya aunty: You have become so thin.
You want to say: But you have put on some weight. And look at your husband. He’s become so thin. Now, I know how you have put on weight.
But you say: I know aunty.

Sandhya aunty: So what are you doing these days?
You want to say: Wasting my dad’s money. Trying to figure out what I want to do in life.
But you say: Preparing for some competitive exams aunty.

Sandhya aunty: You know, my son is doing his MS in US.
You want to say: Tell me something new.
But you say: Wow!

And she goes on and on. You have similar conversations with your dad’s seventh cousin or your aunt’s sister. Whoever said, at weddings you meet people you otherwise don’t meet. I think, at weddings you meet people you don’t want to meet.