It was a fascinating trip to Murud. My wife’s longstanding illness had prevented us from taking up the weekend offers that kept coming from my friends week after week. The trip that we ultimately made was a welcome relief for both of us. For her it was a change of atmosphere. For me, a change of spirits! But, before you put away reading this post as a travel journal, please be informed that I have no intention of writing one. Travelogues impart readers with information about places and, to some extent, also communicate the vibes that fill them. The traveller gathers it all while exploring not only the chief spectacles a place has to offer, but also its nooks and crannies. I went to Murud without making any efforts at visiting Janjeera fort, the landmark that gives credence to why one chooses Murud among the scores of beaches that lie on the western coast. Surprisingly, the other seven travellers, my wife included, showed an equally inadequate inclination to see the fort. Bad, isn't it?
The only consolation given me was that I was on a vacation by the seaside with family and friends. Vast bodies of water evoke a strange fear in me. Many years ago, on biennial visits to our relatives in Delhi, we used to cross river Chambal on the train from Hyderabad to Delhi. The sight of the rippling water body seemed like so many salivating tongues eager to swallow a prey. I am no swimmer either. Those that can read the bulletin of my life in the horoscope predict that I would meet death by drowning. Along with it, they also add that it’s going to be cold waters due north. We were driving westward during the summer season. So, I was safe.
Secure in this rationalization, I chose to go for the banana ride. The word banana tricks you into believing that it’s going to be an absolute joy ride over the surface of the sea. The banana is made up of rubber. A rubber strap, a foot in length, is fastened to the inflated banana. You straddle over the banana holding it. The banana tugs along by the force of the motor boat.
Three of us volunteered and we thought we were fortunate that it was just three of us riding the 7-seater banana. Without my spectacles, I could barely look beyond a few feet into the sea. What I could not cherish with my vision, I celebrated through my shrieks. All the three of us shouted at the driver on the motorboat, “Tej, aur tej. Tej aur tej.” It was thrilling when we dashed against the waves and pierced through them. “Tej bhayya, aur tej,” we were shouting at the top of our voice. It seemed like our requests fell on deaf ears. The guy has been at work since the crowd gathered on the beach. He was used to the clamour and the ‘hush’ that follows from the riders. But, in our case, I thought, he would be corrected as we were still holding fast to our positions on the banana. As if he heard me, the driver starting navigating a turn. My thoughts then: “He is trying in vain to topple us.... Rs. 150 went down the drain....I am going ask for a complimentary ride....”
“Bhayya tej, aur te..........” The banana overturned….………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… …………………………………………..It took me so much time to realise what had come to pass. The thoughts that occurred to me then were not thought; they were shrill cries emanating from deep within. The first thing I could sense in the saline water was danger. I didn’t exist then. Something that found itself in danger responded to the moment. In retrospect, it felt like being on the boundary of existence and being pushed out of it.
Then, maybe the idea that I was wearing a life jacket was injected into me. Next, I sensed hope. Between the perception of danger and hope, I think, I was once thrown on the surface. But, without spectacles, it hardly made any difference to me except that I regained my ability to breathe and the howling sound at my ears stopped for a while. I could scarcely fill my lungs when I went down again. There was nothing thrilling about it.
When I rose up the second-time, I could see only one friend giving me company. Down again I went….Up. I saw a boat tugging along and a guy stretching his hand out to the other friend who now heaved into sight. Down…. I was making a vain effort to swim with the life-jacket on. I remained still and as expected was shown into air. My face, freshly contorted in horror, bore signs enough to give away my fears. Water had rushed into my ears and nostrils, and a good amount of it was lodged in my stomach.
My friends had mounted the banana. I was struggling to see myself on top. I squeezed the rubber, tried to get one leg on top, but slipped. I would have clawed the rubber like a cat but sense suggested to me that it was not a wise thing to do. The guy interpreted my struggle as fighting spirit. The idiot just wouldn’t help me. I was too tired for words. However, I got on the banana’s back on my own.
But, we were to suffer another shock of life on our way back. This time I put all my thought and energy on not losing the grip of the rubber strap. If the dive cannot be averted, I might at least ensure that it's made smooth. But, to no avail. The motor-boat took a steep turn and we went topsy-turvy. The grip came off as easily as the banana peel. Water can be such immense force! Thankfully, we were close to the beach and my feet could feel the ground.
The life-jackets were unfastened. I was a drooping figure of a bear on its hind legs; I did not even have the energy to wipe the saline slime trickling down my nose!
(1026 words)
27 April 2011
11 April 2011
After Grandpa Died, He Lived Happily!
His grandfather died! My friend could not attend the funeral. His father decided against it considering the loss of time and money it would incur. Father was rather snotty about his rank and office. He knew well that a son is pleased with inheritance rather than affection. In pursuance of this belief, father never wasted his love on his only son.
Unfortunately, even mother’s behaviour was a little uncharacteristic. She was a mother by virtue of being wedded to the father of the boy. She never persuaded him for a second helping at the dinner table nor entreated him to stay at home a little longer during vacations. The cords of motherly love when under constant strain by a disciplinarian father can sometimes go weak. In her case, they snapped.
Grandfather was the only family he knew. When he got the news of his death, he was inconsolable. His grief was writ large on his face. He used to share everything with his grandfather who always encouraged him like a friend. Now that he passed away, he had nobody to turn to but his college friends.
He walked up to his friend's flat and knocked at the door. All the inmates of the flat were irritated at the disturbance. The newspaper was carefully folded and pushed back under the mattress. The door was opened to a dejected face. The guy at the door remarked, “Has someone done your girlfriend?” There was no reply. The sad figure slumped on the mattress by the shoe rack. No one bothered to enquire any further.
The boys got back to work. The newspaper fold was brought out. Out of the assortment of cigarettes, the small and cheap ones were frisked till all that remained of them was the butt. One of them, master at sifting cannabis, took charge and crushed the weed between his palms. The powder and the seeds fell in different direction as if under the influence of some spell. Such was his acumen. Quickly three joints were rolled and they were ready for a jaunt.
One of them asked the corpse-like figure staring at the ceiling, “Are you dead?” “My grandfather died a few hours ago.” He started sobbing uncontrollably. They could not think of comforting words except those stereotyped expressions - ‘whatever happens is for good’, ‘forget it’, ‘nothing to worry’. One of them handed him out a 5-litre Bisleri bottle expecting that water would do him some good. The mourning friend struggled to open the seal and with great difficulty titled the bottle. Two mouthfuls he drank and a good many mouthfuls drenched him. The awkwardness of the whole business interfered with his tears.
With a mourner amidst them, the inmates thought over the possibility of executing their plan. Instead of blaring music, it was shehnai vaadan by Bismillah Khan. While the tone was being set for the solemn revelry, one of them emerged from the kitchen with a joint tuck at his lips. The twisted tip of the joint was burning bright! Our despondent friend was lost but, thankfully, wasn’t crying any more. The smoke was slowly overpowering the atmosphere. The joint was being circulated among the buddies and 50ps candies, bought by dozens, were distributed among all. Interesting topics came up for discussion and ridicule.
A hand stretched out to our sorrowing friend. It was a very solemn gesture, neatly executed, too serious to be assailed by casual objection. The invitation was duly reciprocated. He drew on the joint as if inhaling a sigh of relief. It remained with him till the light was almost at the butt. A pair of greedy lips waiting for its turn sucked the flame out of existence.
Now, they all had completed a holy circuit and were rising together to new levels of awareness. The results were scintillating. To one of them, languorously laid buttocks gave an impression of kudam (hollow, round section of veena). He opined that veena takes after a female body and must have been the invention of a despised lover who took fancy for his beloved buttocks – the result being kudam; music just a cover-up for his perversion. They started examining one another's kudam. The grandson was unanimously elected as the wielder of the best kudam and they also decreed that if ever he had a chance with a girl his kudam would be his sole recommendation. A smile shone on his lips and died out.
The shehnai had played for long in the background. The number that followed was Eye of the Tiger. One of guys remarked that the beats felt like an elephant thumping its feet. He got on his hands and feet and kept time by vigorously moving his limbs up and down. It was a convincing act. The song ended and there was a heavy banging on the door. It was the chairman of the society. He was unimpressed with the thumping on his roof 12 at night. Before he could vent out his anger, the fate of our friend was conveyed to him and they said that they were trying to cheer him up. Buffeted by sorrow and smoke, our friend was trying hard to comprehend the situation. The boy behind him up was whispering into ears. “Idiot, your grandfather is dead...dead...dead. Till now you were sorrowing so well. Why don’t you do it now!” He poked him with his finger, tickling him and the fellow started giggling. The chairman said very unkind words and gave an ultimatum to the flatmates to vacate the flat in a week’s time.
Poor fellow, the sympathy he basked under a little while ago was supplanted by choicest expletives. Even the dead grandfather was not spared from being made the butt of abuse. Someone also imitated the way he was crying, 'bhaae,bhaae, bhaae'. My friend had a very naive comment: “You are only losing your flat; I lost my grandfather. I am in no mood to fight. Let’s end it here. Let’s roll a last joint before dinner.”
A joint was rolled and they were pulled back into hearty discussions. Somebody’s hand fell on a book that flashed the picture of a noted personality with a verse from the Gita written underneath. He tried reading it out to our friend first in Sanskrit but failed miserably. Then, he read the translation: ‘Weapons cannot cut it, fire cannot burn it, wind cannot dry it, nor can water soak it.’ Our friend retorted, “Go and read it out to your grandfather. Stop bugging us.” Everybody erupted in laughter. Our friend’s lasted a little longer this time.
It was chicken for dinner. Everybody ate to their fill and continued their blabber till sleep overtook them.
(1121 words)
Unfortunately, even mother’s behaviour was a little uncharacteristic. She was a mother by virtue of being wedded to the father of the boy. She never persuaded him for a second helping at the dinner table nor entreated him to stay at home a little longer during vacations. The cords of motherly love when under constant strain by a disciplinarian father can sometimes go weak. In her case, they snapped.
Grandfather was the only family he knew. When he got the news of his death, he was inconsolable. His grief was writ large on his face. He used to share everything with his grandfather who always encouraged him like a friend. Now that he passed away, he had nobody to turn to but his college friends.
He walked up to his friend's flat and knocked at the door. All the inmates of the flat were irritated at the disturbance. The newspaper was carefully folded and pushed back under the mattress. The door was opened to a dejected face. The guy at the door remarked, “Has someone done your girlfriend?” There was no reply. The sad figure slumped on the mattress by the shoe rack. No one bothered to enquire any further.
The boys got back to work. The newspaper fold was brought out. Out of the assortment of cigarettes, the small and cheap ones were frisked till all that remained of them was the butt. One of them, master at sifting cannabis, took charge and crushed the weed between his palms. The powder and the seeds fell in different direction as if under the influence of some spell. Such was his acumen. Quickly three joints were rolled and they were ready for a jaunt.
One of them asked the corpse-like figure staring at the ceiling, “Are you dead?” “My grandfather died a few hours ago.” He started sobbing uncontrollably. They could not think of comforting words except those stereotyped expressions - ‘whatever happens is for good’, ‘forget it’, ‘nothing to worry’. One of them handed him out a 5-litre Bisleri bottle expecting that water would do him some good. The mourning friend struggled to open the seal and with great difficulty titled the bottle. Two mouthfuls he drank and a good many mouthfuls drenched him. The awkwardness of the whole business interfered with his tears.
With a mourner amidst them, the inmates thought over the possibility of executing their plan. Instead of blaring music, it was shehnai vaadan by Bismillah Khan. While the tone was being set for the solemn revelry, one of them emerged from the kitchen with a joint tuck at his lips. The twisted tip of the joint was burning bright! Our despondent friend was lost but, thankfully, wasn’t crying any more. The smoke was slowly overpowering the atmosphere. The joint was being circulated among the buddies and 50ps candies, bought by dozens, were distributed among all. Interesting topics came up for discussion and ridicule.
A hand stretched out to our sorrowing friend. It was a very solemn gesture, neatly executed, too serious to be assailed by casual objection. The invitation was duly reciprocated. He drew on the joint as if inhaling a sigh of relief. It remained with him till the light was almost at the butt. A pair of greedy lips waiting for its turn sucked the flame out of existence.
Now, they all had completed a holy circuit and were rising together to new levels of awareness. The results were scintillating. To one of them, languorously laid buttocks gave an impression of kudam (hollow, round section of veena). He opined that veena takes after a female body and must have been the invention of a despised lover who took fancy for his beloved buttocks – the result being kudam; music just a cover-up for his perversion. They started examining one another's kudam. The grandson was unanimously elected as the wielder of the best kudam and they also decreed that if ever he had a chance with a girl his kudam would be his sole recommendation. A smile shone on his lips and died out.
The shehnai had played for long in the background. The number that followed was Eye of the Tiger. One of guys remarked that the beats felt like an elephant thumping its feet. He got on his hands and feet and kept time by vigorously moving his limbs up and down. It was a convincing act. The song ended and there was a heavy banging on the door. It was the chairman of the society. He was unimpressed with the thumping on his roof 12 at night. Before he could vent out his anger, the fate of our friend was conveyed to him and they said that they were trying to cheer him up. Buffeted by sorrow and smoke, our friend was trying hard to comprehend the situation. The boy behind him up was whispering into ears. “Idiot, your grandfather is dead...dead...dead. Till now you were sorrowing so well. Why don’t you do it now!” He poked him with his finger, tickling him and the fellow started giggling. The chairman said very unkind words and gave an ultimatum to the flatmates to vacate the flat in a week’s time.
Poor fellow, the sympathy he basked under a little while ago was supplanted by choicest expletives. Even the dead grandfather was not spared from being made the butt of abuse. Someone also imitated the way he was crying, 'bhaae,bhaae, bhaae'. My friend had a very naive comment: “You are only losing your flat; I lost my grandfather. I am in no mood to fight. Let’s end it here. Let’s roll a last joint before dinner.”
A joint was rolled and they were pulled back into hearty discussions. Somebody’s hand fell on a book that flashed the picture of a noted personality with a verse from the Gita written underneath. He tried reading it out to our friend first in Sanskrit but failed miserably. Then, he read the translation: ‘Weapons cannot cut it, fire cannot burn it, wind cannot dry it, nor can water soak it.’ Our friend retorted, “Go and read it out to your grandfather. Stop bugging us.” Everybody erupted in laughter. Our friend’s lasted a little longer this time.
It was chicken for dinner. Everybody ate to their fill and continued their blabber till sleep overtook them.
(1121 words)
16 September 2008
The Wonder Kid
Recently, I had been to Noida. It was a long journey by train and also a journey through ideas that are triggered at the sight of sparse vegetation, shrinking water bodies, vast tracts of lands, burgeoning slums, teeming millions passing under the bridge. I ran through a chugging train of thoughts: the evolution of man, the future of mankind, the problems in society, the solutions thereto, and, then brought it all under a grand philosophical generalization (consolation) before giving up the whole effort and dozing off.
In these intellectual moorings, I put on the airs of a social scientist. Of late, the scrutiny of foundations of human judgement of right and wrong, understanding the dynamics of society, its utility and end have kept me occupied. Swaggering in the pride of my intellectual acumen, I came face to face with a 14 year old kid of standard 9, and, it was a very humbling experience.
My visit to my girlfriend was due for over 2 years and a half. The moment I found that the hot waters I had been all these years had cooled a bit, I set out to fulfill my promise. Accommodation was a problem. I was on a very tight budget. I relied on the munificence of my seniors from college. While in refuge, I had the privilege of meeting this little terror. I was well-informed about his exploits and was seeking audience with him. His maternal uncle, my senior from college, introduced him to me. After a while, the whole family except the boy was out running social errands.
The boy was quite healthy for his age. In shaking hands with him I felt that I had earned the acknowledgment of head of the family. When he sat next to me, he did it in a manner that told me he would dominate the talk. In a manner befitting an elder, he asked the purpose of my visit. I said I was there for some official work. I thought I had quenched his curiosity. I was about to ask him about his school when he asked: "Which company?"
"Clarion Technologies."
"Is it an MNC?"
"No."
" What does the company do?"
"It's an IT company."
"What is its product?"
"It is into web design and web development."
"On which platform?"
"PHP, .Net"
'What is the strength of the company?"
"Around 200."
"hmmm"
"Have you come here for some training?"
Luckily, my phone rang. His eyes were fixed on me. Actually he was looking at my outdated mobile and later remarked that it doesn't go with my personality. I decided that the moment I put down the phone, I would take the position of an interviewer. But, nothing struck me.
"How do you know my uncle?"
"I was junior to him in the college."
"Then, he must have told you about me?"
"Yes, he and many others have spoke highly of you."
"What did they say? That I ride my bike very rashly"
"Y...ya"
"Actually, I love power bikes. I have driven all of them. Just a week ago, my Pulsar was sent to Kanpur. Otherwise, I would have taken you for a ride. I usually drive at 150kmph," he said unassumingly.
"What are your hobbies?" I asked.
He seemed to be a little annoyed at the role reversal.
"Games, Cricket, cars, and computers."
I was quite taken aback when he told me that he is pursuing Oracle certification online and within six months shall be completing the course. I asked him who suggested this to him. He said that his teachers have encouraged him and his other classmates to pursue these certification courses. I was a fool to ask him: "How will this help you now?"
"Knowledge never goes a waste," pat came the reply. "Moreover, 2 years from now I shall take up a part-time job."
I really wondered how much money would he make as a part-timer. He must have read my thoughts.
He said: "I would be making about Rs. 40,000 from this and take control of my finances."
I was reeling at the figure. I wished he would not ask me how much I earn? Otherwise, he would regret the time spent with a nobody.
AND, then emerged the romantic side of this toddler. He asked me: "Do you have a girlfriend?"
I thought over the appropriateness of discussing this topic with a 14-year old. But, neither in his mannerism nor in his talk did he conduct himself as a kid. It was as if he was gradually trying to bring me out of my moral cocoon and then broach upon the secrets of my heart. He was jesting at my non-metro conservatism. I could see him hiding that mischievous smile lest I choose to keep mum on the topic and spoil his enjoyment.
"Yes, I have a girlfriend. Just a friend. Not a serious relationship."
"Actually, that's good. There is no point in running after a girl. Just the other day I ditched a girl. I can't stand their tantrums. An hour before you had come, I was speaking to another girl. I proposed to her and she accepted."
I was puzzled at his finished attitude and he took my expression for a disapproval of his opinion. As if to make up for his immodesty he said sighing: "I am waiting for a good girl to come into my life and mend my ways. I am looking forward to a peaceful and a settled life." He brought a richness to his expression by narrowing his eyes and looking at the ceiling aimlessly.
Me: "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He moved on. I was expecting this from him. "Smooch..........Have you?"
My moral clock ticked again. But, it was in vain. The social thinker in me had become an object of amusement for a metropolitan kid. I told him some cock and bull stories. But, he wouldn't be dodged by my description. He wanted statistics.
"Give me the number," he demanded
"17 times till now."
"18 times in the last 8 months."
(1005 words)
In these intellectual moorings, I put on the airs of a social scientist. Of late, the scrutiny of foundations of human judgement of right and wrong, understanding the dynamics of society, its utility and end have kept me occupied. Swaggering in the pride of my intellectual acumen, I came face to face with a 14 year old kid of standard 9, and, it was a very humbling experience.
My visit to my girlfriend was due for over 2 years and a half. The moment I found that the hot waters I had been all these years had cooled a bit, I set out to fulfill my promise. Accommodation was a problem. I was on a very tight budget. I relied on the munificence of my seniors from college. While in refuge, I had the privilege of meeting this little terror. I was well-informed about his exploits and was seeking audience with him. His maternal uncle, my senior from college, introduced him to me. After a while, the whole family except the boy was out running social errands.
The boy was quite healthy for his age. In shaking hands with him I felt that I had earned the acknowledgment of head of the family. When he sat next to me, he did it in a manner that told me he would dominate the talk. In a manner befitting an elder, he asked the purpose of my visit. I said I was there for some official work. I thought I had quenched his curiosity. I was about to ask him about his school when he asked: "Which company?"
"Clarion Technologies."
"Is it an MNC?"
"No."
" What does the company do?"
"It's an IT company."
"What is its product?"
"It is into web design and web development."
"On which platform?"
"PHP, .Net"
'What is the strength of the company?"
"Around 200."
"hmmm"
"Have you come here for some training?"
Luckily, my phone rang. His eyes were fixed on me. Actually he was looking at my outdated mobile and later remarked that it doesn't go with my personality. I decided that the moment I put down the phone, I would take the position of an interviewer. But, nothing struck me.
"How do you know my uncle?"
"I was junior to him in the college."
"Then, he must have told you about me?"
"Yes, he and many others have spoke highly of you."
"What did they say? That I ride my bike very rashly"
"Y...ya"
"Actually, I love power bikes. I have driven all of them. Just a week ago, my Pulsar was sent to Kanpur. Otherwise, I would have taken you for a ride. I usually drive at 150kmph," he said unassumingly.
"What are your hobbies?" I asked.
He seemed to be a little annoyed at the role reversal.
"Games, Cricket, cars, and computers."
I was quite taken aback when he told me that he is pursuing Oracle certification online and within six months shall be completing the course. I asked him who suggested this to him. He said that his teachers have encouraged him and his other classmates to pursue these certification courses. I was a fool to ask him: "How will this help you now?"
"Knowledge never goes a waste," pat came the reply. "Moreover, 2 years from now I shall take up a part-time job."
I really wondered how much money would he make as a part-timer. He must have read my thoughts.
He said: "I would be making about Rs. 40,000 from this and take control of my finances."
I was reeling at the figure. I wished he would not ask me how much I earn? Otherwise, he would regret the time spent with a nobody.
AND, then emerged the romantic side of this toddler. He asked me: "Do you have a girlfriend?"
I thought over the appropriateness of discussing this topic with a 14-year old. But, neither in his mannerism nor in his talk did he conduct himself as a kid. It was as if he was gradually trying to bring me out of my moral cocoon and then broach upon the secrets of my heart. He was jesting at my non-metro conservatism. I could see him hiding that mischievous smile lest I choose to keep mum on the topic and spoil his enjoyment.
"Yes, I have a girlfriend. Just a friend. Not a serious relationship."
"Actually, that's good. There is no point in running after a girl. Just the other day I ditched a girl. I can't stand their tantrums. An hour before you had come, I was speaking to another girl. I proposed to her and she accepted."
I was puzzled at his finished attitude and he took my expression for a disapproval of his opinion. As if to make up for his immodesty he said sighing: "I am waiting for a good girl to come into my life and mend my ways. I am looking forward to a peaceful and a settled life." He brought a richness to his expression by narrowing his eyes and looking at the ceiling aimlessly.
Me: "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
He moved on. I was expecting this from him. "Smooch..........Have you?"
My moral clock ticked again. But, it was in vain. The social thinker in me had become an object of amusement for a metropolitan kid. I told him some cock and bull stories. But, he wouldn't be dodged by my description. He wanted statistics.
"Give me the number," he demanded
"17 times till now."
"18 times in the last 8 months."
(1005 words)
15 September 2008
Sex Maniac
Yesterday, at a get-together of old friends, some of the stalwarts from our college days were remembered with honour. Each of these stalwarts is an epicenter of widespread unrest and can unhinge, if not ruin, the most organised system if he sets his foot in. To take up the task of sketching the character of these social desperadoes, would be an introduction to some of the impossible sorts that make up our world. People, who haven't ever been under absolute providential mercy in getting their misled lives on track, will find it hard to believe such turbulent individuals do exist in our world. They can bring a prophet to shame if he prides on his abilities of altering minds and hearts of common people. Sinners can be tamed but not the insurgents whose very presence can suck the environment of its natural peace. Such are the individuals I am out to describe. Here is the first one:
I refer to him as sexually deviant. Not that he had queer sexual preferences, but such hunger for sex is unheard of. Please remember that these idiosyncrasies fitted into his student life that obviously got extended in making place for such peculiarity at this station of life. In his words, man's life, at its basic, is a struggle for daily bread and weekly sex. Now, when such a well-founded idea of life is supplied by a monthly cash flow that answers the expenses related to house rent, petrol, phone, cigarette, choice food with inclusion of fruit juice after alcohol had inflicted irreparable damage to health, hitting every new release at theater, how can sex be a rare commodity.
This guy stalked the roads of the city to find the victim. He was always on the move. His eyes were analyzing the sex demographics of the place and the feasibility of investing his energies there.
By the time I came into a close contact with him, he had already mowed many areas of its virgins. He was notorious in the college for his misdemeanour, so the areas and suburbs that were quite a distance from college became his haunts. Only an inkling of a girl's potential promiscuity was enough to set him chasing her. He was convinced that Freudian analysis of human psyche is unshakable - Sex is at the root of human instinct. This conviction was fatal to girls and their partners.
"You have a girlfriend. What for? If it's not sex lurking somewhere down in the hue of friendship, then why not make friends with boys rather than go out of your way to befriend a girl? If you treat her as a sister, it doesn't mean she doesn't crave for sex. May not be before your eyes, but, left to herself, she won't remain a nun all her life." In both the scenarios, he deemed himself justified in arrogating his sexual rights over her. This rationale was given to the juniors in the college. If anyone desisted, it was being selfish and ignoring the favours shown during the ragging period. How could one be so mean as not to part with one's belongings when he voluntary offered his bike when needed. Then, why this resistance when it comes to sharing her? Does a candle losing anything in lighting the other candles!
I remember a scene very vividly. He had endeared himself to some of my batch mates who were very studious, the idea being 'being with a winner makes you a winner'. These guys were so uncompromising in their studies that even I, who was a very close friend of theirs, kept my distance for the fear where my unassuming presence would disturb their devotion to books. Now, he used to request each of them to explain him a chapter or two. This did work for him. He was seen getting into the long neglected academic fold.
He lodged at my friends' flat during the exams. Even I was there a day before the exams. It must have been an hour of a brainstorming session and coming to grips with the vast syllabus, when this hero of the story excused himself to grab a juice at the nearby fruit-stall. He went missing the whole day and we were worried for him as the exam was almost head-on. In the evening, we heard his bike halt at the door. Everyone was seriously revising the subject. There was a pin drop silence, the one that made me very uncomfortable but I respected their involvement with the books and dared not budge from my seat.
He came in disgruntled with thumping steps. When he entered the room, everyone raised his eyes to him and asked, "What happened sir?" He threw his key chain in disgust and shrieked, "That bitch is refusing me!" And, the disappointment withheld his steps to the exam-hall.
Once it so happened that a news leaked that a common girlfriend of the promiscuous folks was visiting the town. Where, how, nobody knew. All they knew was a 'why' and each wanted to answer it himself. This guy raided every hotel in the city but couldn't trace her. Around 5 in the evening he came home exasperated. The Don Juan was at a loss. We started recounting the names of the hotels. He paid no attention as he had been to all of them. During our recounting exercise, someone uttered the name of 'Puskraj' and it infused a flurry of activity in him. He dashed out saying what a fool he was to miss it out.
One of my friends, managed to get behind him and they reached the hotel. He identified one of the boys from the group that had seized her. He hid himself behind the pillar. When the guy went upstairs, he stealthily followed him and saw him entering the room. He came down mulling over the whole episode, approached the receptionist, asked her to call up at the room and tell the girl that her brother is waiting downstairs. That was an end to the orgy and the boys escaped one by one from behind the hotel with the girl left in the room. The uncontested leader went up and found his prey lying unclaimed!
Every girl that he loved, he loved her from the bottom of his heart; after a few days, from the core of his soul, and then it was time for getting maximum returns on love. Sweet words, threats, promises, anything that would serve his end would be employed. He wanted a girl anyhow. If his efforts did not pay him with the good act, he would at least manage out some undignified pleasure that can be had by messing with the girl's person. There were occasions when he would surprise the girl from behind and make such persuasive and nagging appeal to get on the bike that the girl was left with no choice. Now, that's what is called a killing instinct!
Once I asked him: "In so many flings that you have had, did you never take pity on a girl?" He replied, "Of course, I do pity them. But, it's like feeling pity for a beggar - overcome by compassion, you cannot bring every beggar home. Moreover, if I don't screw a girl, someone else would, then why not me."
Finally, he did clear his papers, got into a job and is happily married. Now and then, he does call up his juniors asking for phone numbers of girls. And, all embittered hearts who failed to woo a girl, happily pass on the number. Usually, he plays a havoc at the girl's hostel.
(1272 words)
I refer to him as sexually deviant. Not that he had queer sexual preferences, but such hunger for sex is unheard of. Please remember that these idiosyncrasies fitted into his student life that obviously got extended in making place for such peculiarity at this station of life. In his words, man's life, at its basic, is a struggle for daily bread and weekly sex. Now, when such a well-founded idea of life is supplied by a monthly cash flow that answers the expenses related to house rent, petrol, phone, cigarette, choice food with inclusion of fruit juice after alcohol had inflicted irreparable damage to health, hitting every new release at theater, how can sex be a rare commodity.
This guy stalked the roads of the city to find the victim. He was always on the move. His eyes were analyzing the sex demographics of the place and the feasibility of investing his energies there.
By the time I came into a close contact with him, he had already mowed many areas of its virgins. He was notorious in the college for his misdemeanour, so the areas and suburbs that were quite a distance from college became his haunts. Only an inkling of a girl's potential promiscuity was enough to set him chasing her. He was convinced that Freudian analysis of human psyche is unshakable - Sex is at the root of human instinct. This conviction was fatal to girls and their partners.
"You have a girlfriend. What for? If it's not sex lurking somewhere down in the hue of friendship, then why not make friends with boys rather than go out of your way to befriend a girl? If you treat her as a sister, it doesn't mean she doesn't crave for sex. May not be before your eyes, but, left to herself, she won't remain a nun all her life." In both the scenarios, he deemed himself justified in arrogating his sexual rights over her. This rationale was given to the juniors in the college. If anyone desisted, it was being selfish and ignoring the favours shown during the ragging period. How could one be so mean as not to part with one's belongings when he voluntary offered his bike when needed. Then, why this resistance when it comes to sharing her? Does a candle losing anything in lighting the other candles!
I remember a scene very vividly. He had endeared himself to some of my batch mates who were very studious, the idea being 'being with a winner makes you a winner'. These guys were so uncompromising in their studies that even I, who was a very close friend of theirs, kept my distance for the fear where my unassuming presence would disturb their devotion to books. Now, he used to request each of them to explain him a chapter or two. This did work for him. He was seen getting into the long neglected academic fold.
He lodged at my friends' flat during the exams. Even I was there a day before the exams. It must have been an hour of a brainstorming session and coming to grips with the vast syllabus, when this hero of the story excused himself to grab a juice at the nearby fruit-stall. He went missing the whole day and we were worried for him as the exam was almost head-on. In the evening, we heard his bike halt at the door. Everyone was seriously revising the subject. There was a pin drop silence, the one that made me very uncomfortable but I respected their involvement with the books and dared not budge from my seat.
He came in disgruntled with thumping steps. When he entered the room, everyone raised his eyes to him and asked, "What happened sir?" He threw his key chain in disgust and shrieked, "That bitch is refusing me!" And, the disappointment withheld his steps to the exam-hall.
Once it so happened that a news leaked that a common girlfriend of the promiscuous folks was visiting the town. Where, how, nobody knew. All they knew was a 'why' and each wanted to answer it himself. This guy raided every hotel in the city but couldn't trace her. Around 5 in the evening he came home exasperated. The Don Juan was at a loss. We started recounting the names of the hotels. He paid no attention as he had been to all of them. During our recounting exercise, someone uttered the name of 'Puskraj' and it infused a flurry of activity in him. He dashed out saying what a fool he was to miss it out.
One of my friends, managed to get behind him and they reached the hotel. He identified one of the boys from the group that had seized her. He hid himself behind the pillar. When the guy went upstairs, he stealthily followed him and saw him entering the room. He came down mulling over the whole episode, approached the receptionist, asked her to call up at the room and tell the girl that her brother is waiting downstairs. That was an end to the orgy and the boys escaped one by one from behind the hotel with the girl left in the room. The uncontested leader went up and found his prey lying unclaimed!
Every girl that he loved, he loved her from the bottom of his heart; after a few days, from the core of his soul, and then it was time for getting maximum returns on love. Sweet words, threats, promises, anything that would serve his end would be employed. He wanted a girl anyhow. If his efforts did not pay him with the good act, he would at least manage out some undignified pleasure that can be had by messing with the girl's person. There were occasions when he would surprise the girl from behind and make such persuasive and nagging appeal to get on the bike that the girl was left with no choice. Now, that's what is called a killing instinct!
Once I asked him: "In so many flings that you have had, did you never take pity on a girl?" He replied, "Of course, I do pity them. But, it's like feeling pity for a beggar - overcome by compassion, you cannot bring every beggar home. Moreover, if I don't screw a girl, someone else would, then why not me."
Finally, he did clear his papers, got into a job and is happily married. Now and then, he does call up his juniors asking for phone numbers of girls. And, all embittered hearts who failed to woo a girl, happily pass on the number. Usually, he plays a havoc at the girl's hostel.
(1272 words)
25 August 2008
Folly of Being a Trek Hero
Heroism is not a trait but an opportunity. The opportunity seized me when we were at the foothills of Sahyadri range and were to begin our trek to Rajgad. The other hikers were in no hurry; they were more interested in photo shoot. But, my spirits were raring to seize the fort. The bottle in my hand felt like a sword and the jacket was my armour. I was a commander leading a troop and mounting on my horse-like feet, I galloped towards the fort. Soon, I lost sight of my troop. The voices were heard for a while; I quickened my pace and the voices died out. I was now alone.
As I was scaling the hill, I saw an old lady standing under the shade of a tree hiding behind the trunk. “What is she doing here in the desolation?” I thought. I recently started reading Dracula and an encounter with ghosts had caught my fancy. But, it was an inappropriate place for my fascination to materialise. The oldie had drawn her saree over her head and only a part of her face was visible. The wrinkles on her face were very frightening. I slowed my steps and turned to catch a glimpse of my troop but they were nowhere in sight. I collected myself and proceeded ahead without looking at her. But, what if she struck me down. I continually glanced at her, posing as if her presence did not deter me. I wished that the trail struck off elsewhere before I crossed her. But, it led to her and to my ill-luck there was another old lady at a distance waiting in ambush. I could have wrested with one spirit but two was too much. I was unprepared for such an organised method of haunting. I regretted my stupidity and found my heroism deserting me.
Various thoughts crossed my mind. "Are they forest-nymphs waiting for me to kiss them to replenish their lost youth and seek a release from a curse, or are they blood-sucking vamps?" I scanned the first lady for any weapon that she could be hiding. She did not have any. Next, I looked at her nails (expecting claws) that would be used to rip me apart. Ghosts need not rely on any physical aids to hurt the victim, I thought. Perhaps, bravery would prevail over their evil intentions. Thinking thus, I moved ahead. When I was at a hand's distance, the woman picked up the bottle in front of her and said something in Marathi. I thought they were incantations to lull me...but it was lime juice that she wanted to offer for Rs. 5!
I excused myself and handed out a Rs.10 note. The fear still lurked inside; I unfurled the note to its full length holding one end and maintained distance just enough for her to grasp it from the other end. I crossed the other lady without paying heed to what she uttered. I ignored her and pranced into the direction straight ahead.
I was a commander and a hero again. I had successfully passed the test of courage, boldly facing two suppositious ghosts in guise of old women. Now, there was no looking back. My target was to reach the fort quickly. I thought I would rest for a while and absorb the silence of nature about me, unlike my colleagues who will barely have time to rest before they start marching back. Another intelligent consideration backed my decision: a crowd for company makes one thirsty!
The sun was a little harsh for monsoon season. But, as I ascended the hill, it got cooler. I could hear the voices of trekkers ahead. I was literally running towards the fort. I derived the joy of a discoverer treading the unchartered. I crossed muddy grounds, hard clay, stony tracks, barren regions, dense vegetation. On the way, I could find cigarette buds, plastic pouches and footprints. My enthusiasm drooped a bit on finding these human prints. It was taking away from the joy of exploration. I wished I was the first to tread along this trail. “Never mind, I don't have a company. Isn't it adventure enough?” I reasoned.
I continued my strut on 'the path less travelled'. Reaching a little ahead the footprints vanished. This whet my appetite for adventure. Now and then the sunlight would lose itself in the thickness of the forest. It delighted me. For a moment I thought that I would hide myself in the bushes and frighten my fellow trekkers. But, they were too slow and I couldn't wait for them.
After two hours of brisk walk, it occurred to me that we should have started a little earlier. The fort walls appeared very near from the base but they seemed to be receding now. But, I was determined. I crossed one valley after another. To my surprise, going further ahead, the trail sloped downwards. "If only our ancestors had the modern technology, they wouldn't have laid such a long-winded track. When the fort is yonder up, what is the point in paving a trail sloping a kilometre into the valley. "
The trail was often covered under the trees. But, I wouldn't be discouraged. I cleared my way and emerged victorious each time. I commended my decision because there were also girls in the group. It would have been a task to persuade them to continue walking in such a wild terrain. I was sure that some of them would have stopped half-way and given up the idea of trekking altogether. "But, some boys would definitely make it to the top inspired by my example." Moreover, we had ordered our lunch in the village hotel. Our food would be carried to us to the fort. But, it was scheduled 4 hours later. "It would be very cruel of my colleagues if they had their lunch mid-way and returned without me." But, can a hero be discouraged? No way!
I reached the other side of the hill and it was a welcome relief from sun. As it was rainy season, the soil was very damp and loose. My legs were trembling with exhaustion. My thoughts turned to the poor labourers who must have toiled in materialising the royal ambitions of an emperor. It must have been an unreasonable display of a king's fancy that subjected those labourers to untold suffering in erecting a fortification in such an impassable terrain.
Three hours passed and the fort was now out of my view. Now it happened that the trail suddenly met a dead end. I retraced my path and found another trail and expressed a sigh of relief. But, after some 20 minutes I reached the edge of a precipice. I froze! I had lost my way! I started shouting for help in the wilderness. I kept on shouting names of my colleagues till my throat went dry. There was no network coverage, so I couldn't even contact anyone. I played music on my mobile with the idea that if I happen to miss shouting for help, a passer-by would atleast listen to the music and respond. I sought company in the bottle that I carried with me. I held fast to the bottle as if it were some amulet that would save me from danger. "Do hell with the deceiving trail", I started the climb uphill holding the branches and twigs that snapped in my hands and I often slipped in these attempts.
I started looking for footprints but now I was actually exploring the hill! I strained my ears for footfalls but all I could hear was birds chirping and the sound of crickets. Insects crawled over me and I had to pull them from my skin. When the trees shook in wind, it appeared that a hungry bear or a cruel wolf was advancing towards me with force. I would look around frightened and chant Hanuman Chalisa loudly. I lost all hope of reaching the fort. "I would be lucky if I could atleast make it back to the village." Even that was not to be. I could not even identify my trail backwards. Now, I had a different concern. I was looking for a place where I could spend my night! Under the trees it was risky; near the stream, there were crabs; in the open, I would be drenched in rain. There was no clear ground. I was indeed lost! I slapped myself. Commander, troop, sword, seize were history and I was living in the face of absolute danger. I kept shouting and searching for a place to camp at night. I had no match sticks to burn fire. Even if I had what would I burn – there were no dry sticks.
I gave up all hope and started walking wherever the trail led me. I slipped but now I did not care to steady myself. I was dead tired, sweat dripping from my face. I continued walking with unsteady steps. I thought I would walk till sunset and reach a safer ground. As I continued walking, it grew brighter. I guessed that I was on the other side of the hill. A little ahead, the path branched off into two. Now, was the crucial hour of decision. I told my prayers and took the one to my right. I entrusted myself to providential care.
Gradually, the path opened into a well-laid track. I decided that it would be my resting-place. When I reached the open space, I could see the village down and the fort up and... my colleagues were shouting from the fort. God had saved me! The trek must have been an adventure to others, but for me it served to strengthen my faith in the Almighty. Men, carrying our lunch, were a little behind me.
I halted after every 10 steps. I was never so tired. Only the joy of meeting my people kept me going. By the time I reached the last ordeal to the fort, I could not speak and my face was brick red. Everybody had made it to the top, including girls and they were still chatting excitedly and I was out of breath. They were surprised to see me slogging my way up!
During the rest of the trek, I did not take a single step without someone leading me ahead!
(1726 words)
As I was scaling the hill, I saw an old lady standing under the shade of a tree hiding behind the trunk. “What is she doing here in the desolation?” I thought. I recently started reading Dracula and an encounter with ghosts had caught my fancy. But, it was an inappropriate place for my fascination to materialise. The oldie had drawn her saree over her head and only a part of her face was visible. The wrinkles on her face were very frightening. I slowed my steps and turned to catch a glimpse of my troop but they were nowhere in sight. I collected myself and proceeded ahead without looking at her. But, what if she struck me down. I continually glanced at her, posing as if her presence did not deter me. I wished that the trail struck off elsewhere before I crossed her. But, it led to her and to my ill-luck there was another old lady at a distance waiting in ambush. I could have wrested with one spirit but two was too much. I was unprepared for such an organised method of haunting. I regretted my stupidity and found my heroism deserting me.
Various thoughts crossed my mind. "Are they forest-nymphs waiting for me to kiss them to replenish their lost youth and seek a release from a curse, or are they blood-sucking vamps?" I scanned the first lady for any weapon that she could be hiding. She did not have any. Next, I looked at her nails (expecting claws) that would be used to rip me apart. Ghosts need not rely on any physical aids to hurt the victim, I thought. Perhaps, bravery would prevail over their evil intentions. Thinking thus, I moved ahead. When I was at a hand's distance, the woman picked up the bottle in front of her and said something in Marathi. I thought they were incantations to lull me...but it was lime juice that she wanted to offer for Rs. 5!
I excused myself and handed out a Rs.10 note. The fear still lurked inside; I unfurled the note to its full length holding one end and maintained distance just enough for her to grasp it from the other end. I crossed the other lady without paying heed to what she uttered. I ignored her and pranced into the direction straight ahead.
I was a commander and a hero again. I had successfully passed the test of courage, boldly facing two suppositious ghosts in guise of old women. Now, there was no looking back. My target was to reach the fort quickly. I thought I would rest for a while and absorb the silence of nature about me, unlike my colleagues who will barely have time to rest before they start marching back. Another intelligent consideration backed my decision: a crowd for company makes one thirsty!
The sun was a little harsh for monsoon season. But, as I ascended the hill, it got cooler. I could hear the voices of trekkers ahead. I was literally running towards the fort. I derived the joy of a discoverer treading the unchartered. I crossed muddy grounds, hard clay, stony tracks, barren regions, dense vegetation. On the way, I could find cigarette buds, plastic pouches and footprints. My enthusiasm drooped a bit on finding these human prints. It was taking away from the joy of exploration. I wished I was the first to tread along this trail. “Never mind, I don't have a company. Isn't it adventure enough?” I reasoned.
I continued my strut on 'the path less travelled'. Reaching a little ahead the footprints vanished. This whet my appetite for adventure. Now and then the sunlight would lose itself in the thickness of the forest. It delighted me. For a moment I thought that I would hide myself in the bushes and frighten my fellow trekkers. But, they were too slow and I couldn't wait for them.
After two hours of brisk walk, it occurred to me that we should have started a little earlier. The fort walls appeared very near from the base but they seemed to be receding now. But, I was determined. I crossed one valley after another. To my surprise, going further ahead, the trail sloped downwards. "If only our ancestors had the modern technology, they wouldn't have laid such a long-winded track. When the fort is yonder up, what is the point in paving a trail sloping a kilometre into the valley. "
The trail was often covered under the trees. But, I wouldn't be discouraged. I cleared my way and emerged victorious each time. I commended my decision because there were also girls in the group. It would have been a task to persuade them to continue walking in such a wild terrain. I was sure that some of them would have stopped half-way and given up the idea of trekking altogether. "But, some boys would definitely make it to the top inspired by my example." Moreover, we had ordered our lunch in the village hotel. Our food would be carried to us to the fort. But, it was scheduled 4 hours later. "It would be very cruel of my colleagues if they had their lunch mid-way and returned without me." But, can a hero be discouraged? No way!
I reached the other side of the hill and it was a welcome relief from sun. As it was rainy season, the soil was very damp and loose. My legs were trembling with exhaustion. My thoughts turned to the poor labourers who must have toiled in materialising the royal ambitions of an emperor. It must have been an unreasonable display of a king's fancy that subjected those labourers to untold suffering in erecting a fortification in such an impassable terrain.
Three hours passed and the fort was now out of my view. Now it happened that the trail suddenly met a dead end. I retraced my path and found another trail and expressed a sigh of relief. But, after some 20 minutes I reached the edge of a precipice. I froze! I had lost my way! I started shouting for help in the wilderness. I kept on shouting names of my colleagues till my throat went dry. There was no network coverage, so I couldn't even contact anyone. I played music on my mobile with the idea that if I happen to miss shouting for help, a passer-by would atleast listen to the music and respond. I sought company in the bottle that I carried with me. I held fast to the bottle as if it were some amulet that would save me from danger. "Do hell with the deceiving trail", I started the climb uphill holding the branches and twigs that snapped in my hands and I often slipped in these attempts.
I started looking for footprints but now I was actually exploring the hill! I strained my ears for footfalls but all I could hear was birds chirping and the sound of crickets. Insects crawled over me and I had to pull them from my skin. When the trees shook in wind, it appeared that a hungry bear or a cruel wolf was advancing towards me with force. I would look around frightened and chant Hanuman Chalisa loudly. I lost all hope of reaching the fort. "I would be lucky if I could atleast make it back to the village." Even that was not to be. I could not even identify my trail backwards. Now, I had a different concern. I was looking for a place where I could spend my night! Under the trees it was risky; near the stream, there were crabs; in the open, I would be drenched in rain. There was no clear ground. I was indeed lost! I slapped myself. Commander, troop, sword, seize were history and I was living in the face of absolute danger. I kept shouting and searching for a place to camp at night. I had no match sticks to burn fire. Even if I had what would I burn – there were no dry sticks.
I gave up all hope and started walking wherever the trail led me. I slipped but now I did not care to steady myself. I was dead tired, sweat dripping from my face. I continued walking with unsteady steps. I thought I would walk till sunset and reach a safer ground. As I continued walking, it grew brighter. I guessed that I was on the other side of the hill. A little ahead, the path branched off into two. Now, was the crucial hour of decision. I told my prayers and took the one to my right. I entrusted myself to providential care.
Gradually, the path opened into a well-laid track. I decided that it would be my resting-place. When I reached the open space, I could see the village down and the fort up and... my colleagues were shouting from the fort. God had saved me! The trek must have been an adventure to others, but for me it served to strengthen my faith in the Almighty. Men, carrying our lunch, were a little behind me.
I halted after every 10 steps. I was never so tired. Only the joy of meeting my people kept me going. By the time I reached the last ordeal to the fort, I could not speak and my face was brick red. Everybody had made it to the top, including girls and they were still chatting excitedly and I was out of breath. They were surprised to see me slogging my way up!
During the rest of the trek, I did not take a single step without someone leading me ahead!
(1726 words)
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