All in a Train's Day - 55 Fictions

"Four Different Stories - Four Different Times - Four Different Emotions - About One Character - The Train"

0600 Hours:

A moist breeze laden with wet promises of the day rushed past the speeding train. A few early risers and a few empty cabins floated past a city rising to the embers of the sun.

Littered out on the roof tops and on the window sills, a few kids alone stared at the passage mesmerized.

1200 Hours:

Nobody knew who dropped their lunch on the entrance of the carriage; Warm rice and curry, still steaming and thrumming along with the rhythm of the train; its spicy flavor and fragrance flicking the roiling appetites of the passengers.

The passengers jumped across the spilled food, their attire and their hunger neat & intact.

1800 Hours:

The train started to sweat. It’s every orifice enamored with the crowd returning from their jobs to their homes. Humans hung to each and every piece of holding and standing space available; jostling at each other; their parts and pieces hanging out of the vehicle; squirming with life;

The train plodded on.

2400 Hours:

A few beggars moved from compartment to compartment; picking up whatever hooped their fancy. A red kerchief, a bottle with some water left in it, a few news papers, a couple of ear buds. Carrying the echoes of life left behind, the train clanged hollow.

Amidst these empty ensembles, those beggars compared their today’s loots with glee.

Author's Note:

I have been wanting to start blogging again for quite a while. For that, I was looking for an idea both interesting and also challenging. A jump start of sorts. And when i was playing football today evening, I had a eureka moment about what I was going to write.

A group of 55 fictions, that would all stand alone as separate fictions but when put together can evoke a singular narrative. A single character narrative.

And hence, the story! after some deliberation, I decided to take train as the character. (Last Week, I visited Chennai by train and had an awesome weekend. Hence the inspiration.) I hope you guys like it. Also, I got a few amazing photos while searching for nice snaps of trains. Do visit again to read the stories I frame on those images. Cheers. 

If you are interested in reading my similar fictions, kindly visit use this link.

"Her nightmare": My entry for the Get Published contest

The Idea-

Yes. The fiction is about love. Not just that ephemeral string of amber tones between the lovers themselves. It is about the tight bonds that are strained between the parents and their kids involved. A youngster in the final year of her engineering graduation gets caught red handed by her mother while chatting with her lover in skype.

Of course, she is placed in a well reputed MNC. Her career is secure.

Of course, she has always been given ample freedom to make her own decisions.

Of course, her parents have always been more friends and guides than the conservative meaning of the word.

Of course, the boy she loved is a senior executive working in management sector, is a responsible guy earning handsomely, not just loved her but cared about every aspect of her and her family.

Their love was heartfelt.

But, all that’s for naught, when her mother confronts her with the raw fact that she had to find out about her daughter’s love like a third person. Just by accident.

What Makes This Story ‘Real’

The first serious problem lovers face, confrontation with their parents. It’s inspired by my own friend and her parents – as they try making sense of the spiraling realities of love.

Extract-

“What were you doing?” her mother’s crisp voice prodded

“Nothing” She said staring at her mother standing at the doorway.

“Do you want me to believe that” her mother asked as she came into the room and sat down on her bed.

The clock stuck two; its chimes ringing across the silent room, jumping from one blank wall to another slowly dissolving into the darkness of the night. The fan continued in its merry go round, a dull creak with every other round, probably just not merry enough. And despite all those swirls of air, that it threw forth, she started to sweat.

“Who were you chatting to” her mother’s voice was eerily calm.

“No one” She blurted out, the words tumbling out of her and slipping into open.

“No one??”

“Yes, no one”

Her mother sighed. “You forgot to switch off the modem and the web camera. The computer itself is still running.” She paused and looked at her daughter’s widening eyes.

“Was it in Skype?? Who was he? You were chatting with”

“Who??” she mouthed back. The actual words never crossed her throat; they just suffocated themselves rather than lying to her mother again. She looked up at her mother, tearing herself up into pieces, not knowing what to say. She felt her fingers through her loose hair, caressing with all the love and then a stifled tear shot across her cheeks.

“It’s okay. Please don’t lie” her mother shifted herself to hold her head to her bosom.

“It’s just that ” her mother paused “after all the freedom I gave you, after all the open environment I provided, after everything” her voice wavered for the first time “I ….. I had to learn it like this.”

Endnote: This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs from Yashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

The shopping safari-

The snap-

The Tale-

I was out shopping with my mom and my sister last weekend. And as always, it was one of the most enlightening and enriching experience, I am destined to have as a guy with a girl (be it mom, girl friend or wife). It’s not just about lugging around their purchase, trying to keep up with their trails that that tend to follow no known path. It’s not just about the ample amount of time that you are going to wait for her to make her choices. It’s not about you always having the right supportive comments even if it’s about obscure things like which is the best color for mattress mauve or amber (Yeah, yeah- I have been educated by the women in my family, those are indeed colors.) It’s not even about all the money that’s being eased out of your pocket with finesse. Ah, and there comes the punch line, putting forth the corner stone of shopping.

It’s not about you, at all. It’s about her.

And no, no questions are entertained by women on this part. Period.

I am pretty confident that shopping can be used as a litmus test to see whether you are ready to tie the knot with your girl. If you can sustain the slaughter for the entire day and still manage to smile at her when she calmly asks you, with a thoughtful pause whether she has bought too much, then hats off dude - you have just been perfectly potty trained. And hey, better hang on to her. You don’t really want to undergo the cumbersome training process once again with the next girl down the line. Do you??   

And yes, the trickiest part of the shopping yet- One that has stumped generations of men, one that’s still going to trip the unwary, the oldest problem in the book, the choice con. It all starts with a simple vacillation that she has and cannot decide between two colors and asks you for your comment. Of course you don’t really know the colors and knowing is not really going to help you when you are shopping for a garden hose but then this is the holy grail of shopping. And what you are going to do here- she is going to remember forever.

Whether you were there for her or not?

Whether you care about her selection or not?

Whether you are interested in her purchases?

Whether you were paying any attentions at all or not? (Of-course that question’s rhetorical)

My mom can spend all day trying to decide what color hose to buy and she would still need some more time. She might even purchase the damn hose and then will have a feeling that the other hose was aesthetically much better. It’s like being mesmerized by the bottles of a juggler. The women, they are too skilled in this arcane art swindling their choices and tastes around their limber minds leaving us men totally lost.

And to know that it all started with those few words my mom uttered with genuine puzzlement “I think red hose would be good but I am still thinking”.

And how are you going to face this?

How are you going to claw yourself out of this one?

How are you going to prove your mettle to her?

Tough questions-

And no, I don’t know the answers. If I would be that lucky bastard who knew the right reply, I would be out there teaching it all those men in need out there, not writing this blog post.

And yeah, a final question begs to be pondered.

 What’s so unnerving about a women selecting a sari* -

May be it’s the way she makes the sales guy show her almost every single sari in the store;

May be it’s the way she asks exactly what is not available in the store without even realizing it; May be it’s the way in which she asks for the first sari she was shown after making a huge pile;

May be its way she looks calmly at the sales man after causing all the ruckus in the world to select a single sari and then demand a discount with all the cool and reserve in the entire universe.

How do women get away with it? When I asked my mom, she just smiled and answered me –“hey we are women and we are entitled to certain things”

“Like” I quipped

She calmly looked at me and just smiled for an answer. Go figure that.

*Sari – the most common attire that women wear in India. It looks real good on a girl. Trust me on this one.

Author’s note –

Though the post can be construed as a puerile attempt at humor, I would like to stick to the idea that truth can also be humorous.

And guys, I would love to hear—your take on the topic.

The Puberty Talk-

The following contains material of mature discussion between my sister and myself and reader discretion is strongly advised. The author does not intend to hurt anyone’s ethics nor their cultural perceptions. The issues raised are but a fragment of quite a few pertinent questions that creep around the fringes of our mind, concealed, camouflaged and forgotten but still breathing, pulsing and very much alive.

The Snap-

Sis- “I wonder why it’s that hard for parents to teach their own kids about Sex, their menstrual periods, related stuff. I think they don’t really know the kind of misinformation that’s rampant among teens especially girls.”

Myself- “Misinformation really. I honestly thought that with internet, face book, chatting and stuff, kids today are more knowledgeable than ever.”

Sis- “You THINK??”

Myself- “Wow, you sound pretty raw!! Why what happened?”

Sis- “hmhm… My friends and I were discussing about our first periods, the way our parents handled us, the problems that we faced, our first education on hygiene during periods and so on …………. and I heard some pretty fucked up stories; Stories that I know to be true but just cannot digest the reality of them.”

Myself- “Okay….”

Sis- “you do know my old roommate! Right? Did you know that she actually believed that she had cancer when she had her first periods? She misinterpreted her bleeding to be associated with cancer and assumed that she was going to die. Imagine her terror as she struggled mentally for 2 months with that misunderstood fact! Thankfully, her mother caught her bleeding during the third month and that put an end to her misery.”

Myself-“Wow- that’s pretty hard to take in”

Sis- “Okay, then you are not going to believe a word of the next one. Happened to one of my class mates. She had her first periods. Her mother helped her clean up. They had the usual ceremony* marking her first menstrual cycle. Then they went on with their lives. They never really talked about what happened. And now again, imagine the state of the girl when her second period starts. She was not just flabbergasted with the unexpected bleeding but ill equipped to handle the situation when it occurred to her in school. Sordid chagrin of a memory.”

Myself-“I…..... I don’t know what to say!!”  

Sis-“Yeah, it does feels daunting! Right? To acknowledge that matured adults are pretty much fumbling in the dark when it comes to dealing with issues on teaching their own children stuff such as periods and sex in a sensible manner. It’s not like I want to generalize but I think the majority of those who rant about the preservation of culture fall under this same category.”

Myself- “hmhm… yeah, that argument can be made. And yes, honesty with regard to such issues between kids and parents are pretty low. But still I am at loss for words. How can such extremes of ignorance exist?”

Sis-“hmhm…  It’s hard to reason it out or explain. In a society such as ours where people want to preserve the idea that they are culturally enigmatic, sometimes gives rise to some pretty messed up scenarios. Some even hilarious!! You know, what happened to me!! ”

Myself- “WHAT?? ”

Sis-  “After my first period mom was explaining to me about hygiene with regard to tampon usage and its proper disposal. You know how she is – quite a stickler for keeping things neat and compartmentalized. She was explaining to me that the best way to manage the stuff to be used during periods was by keeping a separate bag for all the pads and wipes being used. Then she gave bag for me and instructed me to start using it. It was then that I saw a similar bag on the credenza and asked her about it. She shrugged nonchalantly and told me, it was her own bag for her own periods. I looked at her appalled and blurted out “You too have the same periods!!!” ”

* In Tamil Culture, the first Menstrual cycle of the girl is celebrated as a customary ceremony of welcoming her into adulthood. 

Author’s note-

This is not an effort to impart any knowledge, nor any solutions to  bridge the gap that exists between the parents and their child when discussions pertaining to issues of sex, menstruation, hygiene and such are concerned.(I am hardly hardly an expert.) It is just a confirmation of the issues that are at hand and are eating away at the rims of our society. I just want people to take notice. Just want them to ponder for a few seconds. Just want them to be aware. Nothing more. Nothing less. Hence the succinct and sharp tone of the post. 

Practice makes a (Wo) man perfect - A 55 fiction

The Snap -

 

The fiction -

It ended abruptly. No scratching, snarling, rank abusing, tearing of clothes, pulling of hair, biting, nails trying to plough through skin like any other cat fight.

A single blow to the jaw was all it took.

“You can ….. Really Punch” The spectators stammered amazed.

“Yeah” She shrugged. “I have an elder brother to practice on”

Author’s note - 

Quite a while back, I asked my sister what she will do in case someone’s trying to hurt her, really hurt her. She thought for a while and said that she will use her nails on him. But then, nails won’t really do much damage and it will never save anybody in case of a physical skirmish. In fact, I told her that the only thing long nails are good for is to look good her. That’s when I talked her into learning a few basics of self defense and how to punch.

The easy part was teaching part - how to make a strong fist that will direct the punch, not divert it, how to maximize the force of the punch and so on, the hard part started when she started to practice on me and from there it went to worse and worse as she got better and better. And nowadays, when I anger her, she sweetly lets me know with a sharp punch or two. Courtesy - of course my own selfless punching lessons.

The 55 fiction was hence inspired.

But then, jokes apart, I think basic self defense is something each and every woman should know. No need for full blown karate or kung fu lessons but it does not hurt to know how to throw a good punch. You never know when it will need it.

 This post is dedicated to all sisters and brothers. A very happy Raksha Bandhan to one and all of you guys. Have fun.

A few lapses of Recognition-

The Snap -

The Story-

"I wonder why people from cine field can get recognition & national, state awards so easily. I mean, I have nothing against the industry. In fact I love good movies. It’s just I know so many people who are so good, dedicated & selfless at what they do- in other fields, like engineering, medical, social service and what not."

"I mean, why should actors & actresses be called stars first of all. Acting is a job like any other."

"Why should people listen to their interviews on festival days? What kind of sense does that make? I mean, they are professionals who just portray what’s given to them. I respect them for what they are. But, why I ask, are they given undue importance."

"I love movies. I love the movie industry. But, don’t you think – Most of the times, recognition that is met out to people in the industry aren’t always well keeping in line with their achievements. People from other walks of life deserve more? From the public. From the government. Don’t they?...."

My father shrugged with a calm reply- “ Well we asked them.”

“You asked them.”

“Yeah.” He replied. “When I was there to get the president’s award, which was quite a while back, we were told that, the president was busy & so we will have to receive the award from the junior dignitaries. For once, I was ruffled. I know I have worked hard for what I am going to receive & I deserved to get the award from the president. At least I am entitled to a better answer than the president’s busy.

I blurted out – "But will you do the same if some actor or cricketer is receiving the same award?"

"Do you know what I was answered ?"

My father had a dry smile as he quoted their single worded reply – satirical scar from a wound long forgotten.

“Revenue”

Author’s Note –

There are usually ample reasons for the president to give awards to celebrities by themselves.

Bad publicity,

Criticism from Fans,

Money factor,

Close watch of such issues by the Media –

Are a few of the concerns….. But anyways, it does not really stop me wondering…..

But, people from other fields deserve – better recognition. Don’t they??

PS -

The image I used- may not be exactly in tune to the topic. But It had a few Iconic movies, such as Sholay & I guessed nothing could be a better attention grabber.

Do note that, I am quite a movie buff myself- with Christopher Nolan & Zack Snyder topping my current interests. Counter arguments & opinions are welcome.

A cultural chaos- An expedition of feet & the mind

The Meenakshi Amman Temple- The majestic entrance.






The post-


Someone said that due to some accident or something the buses in the route are being delayed. A collective groan rang out from all of us waiting for the bus.

A possibly long night. Or may be the start of a long morning. The clock had just stuck two. Tired and exhausted to the bones, I watched as a cold winter morning, with damp drifting winds complete; soaking my already sweat drenched shirt. Drifting in and out of the grey regions of slumber, I looked around.

Being a busy route, in no time there was quite a crowd waiting for the bus. People wanting to get to their homes to their loved ones; every one lost in their own version of life; Strings of thoughts throwing multiple shadows in the crevices of their own urgency and need. Just like a heap of gooseberries poured from a sack, a myriad of people sat around scattered with their eyes expectantly looking out at the entrance of the bus stand.

Almost four hours of waiting was starting to get to everyone.

A few mothers were trying to calm their children, pulling the red worn out muffler over their exposed ears; a couple of old men more wrinkled than the quilts that they dug into with their skinny hands blue veins protruding, laid low huddled together; a group of farmers tried to best the chill and the wait chewing their pan squatted around talking among themselves. A handful of working men restless, probably returning home for the week end were heatedly engaged in critiquing the transport system. And of course a few lost souls like me were passing time by watching the entire milieu unfold. Every bus that came into the bus stand was rushed into by us, only sadly to realize that not even one of them were en route to our destination.


The gargoyles leaping out-





The Impulse-

Just then, a bus slowly moved out of the bus stand, the dull lights of its interior painting up the destination board that read – Madurai. My eyes popped out. The bus was almost half empty and my legs were yearning to take a rest. On an impulse, I got on the bus. Of course I wanted to get a bit of shut eye in those warm inviting seats but most of all, I was simply giving in to my sudden urge to visit Meenakshi Amman temple of Madurai.



Meenakshi Amman Temple –

A place that I last visited almost 10 years ago, when I was in my 6th standard. Memories of the school excursion flooded my half awake senses. Nostalgia closed in. My school friends, the unforgettable bus trip, the dance that we did as we stepped into each other’s legs while travelling in the bus, a piece of laughter that was shared, a trip that was cherished and remembered almost a decade ago, a child’s memory with it’s own nuances and sauces; I fell asleep.

The earth was slowly warming up to the kiss of the sun’s early morning light and the birds were making a delightful ruckus in the trees around the temple. A few peddlers selling flowers and incense to the devotes who have arrived early to avoid the rush, A old lady was busy sweeping the yard in front of the road side stalls, someone was decorating the front of the temple with a rangoli, a couple of foreigners were asking for directions from locals, the air was warm and inviting. A good day to have come to visit the temple, I thought to myself as I looked around standing at the entrance of temple. It’s Gopuram (Temple Tower) as majestic as ever stood above the environs basking the glory of its own regality.

I walked inside the temple drinking in the serenity.

The temple was almost empty and in its void, I felt perfectly peaceful. After all you don’t need to be a theist to feel the aura of a temple; you just need to listen. After spending a while, taking in the freshness of the atmosphere, I started to wander about lost with the purpose of being lost.



Beside the Porthamarai Kulam (the sacred pond)-





The perfect symmetry of stone pillars, the exquisitely engraved statues, the walls with tepid stories painted with vivid colors untainted, Stone gargoyles with fangs menacing leaping out at the edges of the walls, spacious corridors well laid, ceilings brush stroked with beautiful geometric patterns, the Thirukkural (Tamil poems) that have survived the passing of time etched into marble walls, the temple towers purple and mighty with their brows looking at the sky; The entire place is a standing testimony to the brilliance of the architecture of the Dravidian*(ie the Tamil) culture.

I took a deep breath and felt glad that I responded to my impulse and took the trip; a worthwhile expedition to put my camera to good use.

I started clicking away.



A detailed design on a pillar-






A temple is a whole new level of stage where people act out their religion. Sometimes stern faith, sometimes even absurd faith – instilled by blood.

People were busy praying, completely involved in their poojas, trying to catch a glimpse of the holy deity, sitting around eating prasadham (blessed food), some singing hymns in praise of the lord, everyone in their own way practicing religion just they way their parents and their parents before them would have done, no questions asked. A local was explaining to a curious foreigner – the culture of the south as he saw it- the customs, practices and the religion.


After standing around listening to him for a few minutes, I found myself trying to wrestle with a few questions.

What is culture?


Is our culture defined by our religious practices, the customs of matrimony and other such practices we surround ourselves with?

Is it our language? The way we express ourselves – the phonetic finesse of our evolution.

Is it the way we relate ourselves to our caste and to our own creed?

Is it a collective dictum of India as a nation?


The ambiance filled emptiness-




With every one brandishing their own version of culture – from the thakareys, the self proclaimed saviors of Marathi culture to KCR in telangana, the self anointed political reviver of Telangana culture-

The word culture has been interpreted in a million ways or may be even more- After all, political parties keep at it everyday- bringing in new meaning to the word itself.


I stopped wandering and sat down. My mind alone still lost with a purpose, searching for an answer.


I gave out an involuntary sigh. The more I sought for a clear definition, the more ifs and maybes cropped up. The vaguer, my own idea of culture became.



May be- Culture, though defined as a collective prerogative of a group of people, its outlook with regard to every specific individual has to be decided by that individual itself.

May be- It is in the “variety of interpretation of culture with regard to passing time” - the evolution of the social and the political society of tomorrow depends on.

May be- Culture is in taking pride in what we are, rather than in politicking what we are.

May be- Culture is about accepting people for what they are with their short comings, tears and laughs.

May be- Culture is what that makes us believe that we are one as a society, a human civilization.


Too many answers..... Nothing specific.... But everything related and bonded with each other- moving in cohesion with the chaos of humanity.



The paintings on walls-





Sitting amidst alternating dance of shadows in the the Thousand pillar hall, I finally seemed to have realized the source of it all.




It's in pride.

The pride of what we are. What our forefathers have achieved. Our sync as a civilization.

Every one wants others to know and acknowledge, the richness of their own past, of what they have achieved and the potential they hold within themselves.


That's why, people get ruffled when talked about culture. After all, blood is thicker than water.


But, then...

Doesn't real plume, pomp and pride shows off without any effort.? Just like the way, the great temple of Meenakshi Amman has astounded me, putting me in touch with the architectural culture of my forefathers.

Just like the way India stand as a edifice of meditation, yoga and spiritual without anyone advertising it?

Like the way, every time- you hear an exquisite poem in your native language, you get your blood pumped up and your heart revved up. You can feel the beauty of the words, blooming with the poem.


For me, that's culture.


Nor I have the need to barter it. Nor do I am too insecure, to protect.

I am content just to take pride in my culture of what I am -- a lineage of people who strive to be themselves, establishing exquisiteness in things they work towards, thereby leaving a piece of themselves behind for the future generations to take pride in.



Inside the thousand pillar hall-





I see the temple as a standing testimony to that.

Ha... Ha... May be even my blog is a part of me. Something I leave behind. A part of my culture, challenging you to think for yourself.

To believe in yourself. To push and break your own boundaries.



Now... About your own culture..... I leave you to decide...









Author’s note-

I visited Meenakshi Amman temple a few months back and this post was written with the frame of mind, I had during that visit. The post goes along my own flow of thought process and impulses.
The snaps that I have posted were taken with a Nikkon Coolpix- P5100. I have reduced the resolution, for easy uploading.


PS-

( I was not able to upload all the good snaps I took, so If you guys would like to have the original snaps with high resolution, do ask so, I will mail you.  people who are interested in knowing more about the temple - do visit this link- I have purposely avoided telling too much about the temple as that data can be obtained from web.)


See you guys in the next post.

A city that will get to you - Hydrebad.

The snap--






The tale--



The dark night's landscape sparkled with a million electric fireflies as maruthis, Hyundais and Accents rushed past, tiny but still luminescent adding flavour to the crisp coldness in a warm distant manner. The sky was filled with heavy clouds that looked down empathetically at the miniscule humans rushing about in the chaos commited to keep themselves fed and comfortable. A few pigeons tired after a day of searching for trees in this concrete maze of a city had settled on some rooftop corners, complelled to be satisfied with whatever that left green in the city, even the green paint of the nearby walls.

I always love heights. Seeing things from above puts everything into perspective- your own life, your commitments, your own heart and the world buzzing around you. And standing at the 7 th floor of my hostel, the paranomic view Hydrebad gives, always astounds me. I look back at the last 50 days of my stay in hydrebad. Quite a few days and yeah, quite a few emotions that the city has put me through.

A city where I got my watch stolen, A city where I found friends whom I could cherish for life, A city whose zest for life has thrown me offgaurd, A city where someone had the dare steal my mobile which was under the pillow with me sleeping on it, A city whose hot biriyanis and spicy cusine- I have grown to love, A city where I am learning a lot, may be a bit more than I bargained for, A city where even beggars compete for your money, A city where your everyday pedestrial activity on the road becomes quite an ordeal with all the vehicles trying to run you down, A city where the same local newspaper boasts about some achiever everyday while the last page of the same news paper carries the sad news of some young fellow taking his own life.

A multi- dimentional spectrum of a million colors, A girl who will always remain a mystery to you. An engima. A quest. The more you try to get to know her, the more she throws at you twists & turns that you never expected.

A city which you can never love completely but then you cant even hate her completely.

A broken glass -- a lost cause.

A kaleidascope -- of broken glass.


I took a deep breath and turned back slowly tracing my steps towards my room. I need to rest. Who knows what the city is planning for me tomorrow.



Author's note--


This is a way is a short reminescense of my stay here in Hydrebad. In a couple more months, I will be back at my home with ample time at my disposal, then- I will sure write in detail about the varied experiences and people that the city shared with me.

The tag- A few books that have stuck to me.

The Tag-

A couple of days ago, I got tagged by pranksygang to name 15 books that will always stick with you in your memories. Thank You for tagging me girl. I am a voracious reader (both fiction and non fiction). I love to try out new genre of writing, new authors and after almost a decade of reading a whole lot of books- I found it funny that, my most memorable reads were just a few(have written detailed description of them).


The Books-




Don’t stand too close to a naked man- Tim Allen

An outrageously funny, truthfully bold, satirically sincere book by Tim Allen. He talks about men, women, the differences, the quirkiness, the compatibility issues and everything else in between. Even his silly rant on sex seems to have a mild philosophical edge to it. A bawdy laugh-out-loud-book that I guarantee will sure tickle your humor ribs.

Men look at women the way men look at cars. Everyone looks at Ferraris. Now and then we like a pick up truck, and we all end up with station wagons. -- Tim Allen

The day of wrath- Sever Gansovsky

A book that I caught my attention when I was going through aimlessly at a garage book sale. A book that cost me just Rs.6. A book that redefined my entire perception of what science fiction should be. A book that was not only original in idea but also revolutionary in what it incited me to think. A book that I am addicted to read whenever I feel down.

I researched the author after I read the book & found out very little information about his work. Most of the articles were in Russian & there was not much in any encyclopedias either. I was a bit disappointed. Why is that people who are doing research thesis in their post graduation studies always choose the much treaded path like Shakespeare to work on. Why can’t they take an initiative & work on much less recognized authors like Sever Gansovsky. How else will people know the geniuses that are lost in the treading of the time?


Pillars of the earth-Ken Follet –

Not just a novel, A epic. Not just a story, a memory. Not just words, but lives. Not just plots, but people. Not just cathedrals & churches, but history. Not just faith but love that eats up eons on its path.

Such is the intensity of the Novel by one of my all time favorite authors. And also it is in this novel – that Follet brings to life the fictional girl who I will eternally pine for.

Ellen -- A rebel who defies the orthodoxy of the medieval church. A free thinker who stands up against every form of oppression, a beauty with a passion for life that will burn even the sun, a virago with a tongue that can sting & curse with vengeance when scorned, A lover with a zest for love that will throw you off guard, a drizzle that wets you to your heart but, still somehow her warmness refuses to wash off you.

The Sicilian – Mario Puzo

Yes, Of course- Godfather is the holy grail of all mobster novels. No questions. The perfection of the plot, the staggering visual display put up by the easel of Puzo’s words, the bluntness of the violence and gore, the twists that always keep you on the edge – It has no rivals.

But I think “The Sicilian” has something more. It is not perfect but unlike Godfather, it has a rawness to it that attracts me. It has poignancy to all the blood shed. A dark deep satire in the plot that wretches the soul. People lost in a way of life that reeks of greed, money, freedom, fiefdom, beauty, love, violence, governance and a lot and lot of Sicily, so fresh and sunny that U may smell the olives that are grown
over there.



The other books that I seriously recommend reading are

White out- Ken Follet ---

One heart gripping page turner that has so many twists & surprises that take care, you don’t fall down as you read along. :)


Air Frame - Micheal Cricton ---

The world’s best science fiction writer gives you a bite of what it is that makes a aero plane fly all the while keeping you on the seats edge.

The timeline- Micheal Cricton ---

The most perfect snap of history to be done by an author with strong characters and a story line that leaves you wanting more.

The life of Pi- Yann Martel ---

My most favorite booker prize winner – a book that treads between the realm of reality & fantasy. A fairy tale set in the modern times. Said in words that will not only make you believe but will make you doubt what you imagine as real.

Angels & Demons – By Dan Brown

The da Vinci Code – Dan Brown

The horse Whisperer -Nicholas Evan

If tomorrow comes – Sidney Sheldon

Faking it – Jennifer cruise

Lord of the Rings – J.R.R.Tolkien (Strictly for people who love epics with verses.)

Mahabharatha – Vyasa (Again strictly for people who love epics with verses)



Happy reading guys--

am kind a working on a short story-

Will post that soon.

Until then. Cheers.

The spirit of sports - An experimental story.

The snap -




The dignity game – (7 sentences)


The match was dense, intense and heated up with hormones, sweat and energy scorching like sex for the first time in all its magnificence. Both the players were equally skilled, well matched and played with their own heart and soul on the line. Even the table tennis table must have sweat ed a bit along with the four walls – the lone spectators, losing themselves in the tension of the game. The ball was served for the game point, the last point and ball bounced on the table along with the heart of the two lone men fighting with each other and with themselves for to lose was unacceptable to them.

Damn Once again draw, draw for the 7th time in a row.

The tired players decided to take a tea break at the club cafeteria. The tea must have been too good, for they never returned to finish the game.


We are men - (5 sentences)

Nobody knew who started the fight nor did anyone remember who cheated at the game first. But that doesn’t really matter as what has happened has happened and there is no going back.
After all a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. A few broken bones, bruised knuckles, scars, scratches, cuts, a few drops of crimson blood shed, violence and fighting.
Of course they won’t be playing for a while but at least they made sure to show they are not pussies.


The credit - (3 sentences)

The jubilation and the celebration of the victory, a well deserved victory flowed and flooded the room – hugs, slogans, shouts, embraces, teases, friendly punches, shoulder slaps, smell of sweat, glory and victory.
“The winning ball goes to” the coach paused with the ball in his hand raised for all to see.
Expectations soured sky high, wavered with expectations and then bloomed fulfilled when the couch with a sparkle and a smile shouted out “the team”.


The loser – (1 sentence)

He lost the game but people respectfully made their way for him as he left the stadium, for anyone can win like a winner wins but only the real sportsmen, men who laugh, cry and break along with the sport can lose like a winner; for they alone love a sport for what it is and what a sport is is just love unconditional.


Author's note -

Sports is something that not only unites men but it is like a bond among us. I remember the fights, the fun, the wins, the loses when I used to play football for my team in college. This post in way is like a dedication to all those moments and those moments that await to put me in bliss in the future.

Guys, This is one of my experimental stories. I have started with exactly 7 sentences and reduced them from story to story to reach 1. I have not taken into account the word count as long as I can limit the number of full stops I use.

I would really love your take on my attempt. And If you loved the above then you will also love my other attempt of the same experimental kind that I wrote a few weeks back - the topic of my stories being the darker shades of women. You guys should try it out.[link]



PS -

And guys, one of my political tweets got featured in a BBC article. Check it out. My tweet is above the first picture - the one with the congress supporter with coolers[link].


I was so in seventh heaven when I came to know it. Nothing like recognition of your own words to boost you. Hariprasadm tweeted me about this. Thank you so much dude.



Cheers then guys...

until later.

muthu

Me, Myself and horror movies - the deadly fiasco...

The snap -





I love seeing quality horror movies, movies like the ring, 1408, the silence of the lambs, saw part 1 (the other parts lacked the good screenplay and descended into mere blood and gore). But I have one problem – I cannot, I repeat I cannot watch these movies alone. I need company to hold hands and get scared with. To shrug at each other and laugh it off once the movies is over.

Usually when I see movies or do something that I am interested in, my external sensory perception abandons me and I get sucked into the vortex of what I am doing. And in the case of movies, I get so into them, that I can get jolted for simple surprises.

Like in Jurassic park movie series, of course I know that some creepy looking reptile is going to jump on the guys from any side now, especially when they put that really creepy music and it’s going to chase them with the protagonists escaping within hair’s breath of a distance. Absolutely predictable. Really... absolutely predictable. Nothing new. But I can’t help it anyway, my mind goes haywire calculating the possibilities of the reptile emerging from every nook and corner of the screen that when the animal finally arrives, I literally jump out of my seat sweating like anything.

And this anxiety of mine easily creeps up to those around me and people watching horror movies with me usually have their worst times and best scares. Paradoxical but also memorable are those moments. Man I still remembered the way I and Ram (a friend of mine) freaked out seeing the movie sixth sense (esp the girl ghost with the noodles like stuff flowing out of her mouth), the movie “saw – part 1” when I almost went through a death and rebirth phase when that guy in that weird white mask comes to kidnap people (By the way, both are absolutely good horror movies).

I can really freak the shit out of myself and out of the people who are watching horror movies with me.


-------And now I have had this 1408 horror movie with me for a long time (for almost a year)and I never saw it for I did not get any company to watch the movie in my home(My sister hates horror genre and father and mother aren’t really into English movies). I avoided watching the movie at all costs almost till then but I couldn’t quite bring myself to delete the movie. Having heard from my friends that it’s one good scare and a meaningful scare at that (a horror movie with a good plot), I was too damn curious to just scrap and delete the movie. So I kept it.

And every time, I came across that movie folder in my PC, it would silently mock me and I would just put my head down and would try to ignore it pretty much like the way we people ignore the politicians kicking up each other’s dust and disasters during the pre – election campaigns.

But then on one fateful day, I was too damn bored to care about anything. I was too reckless if I remember exactly. I started to see the movie alone.

I steeled myself. I had to see the movie someday I reasoned. No use, postponing the inevitable. I had to do it. I must confront my fears. Face what has to be faced. I have the guts to do it and I am going to do it. Yeah, in a way I think talked myself into it.

And the movie started. It was completely wicked. With every passing scene, as the tension and the complexity to the plot increased layer by layer, I started to sweat around my neck. My grip on the arm rests on my chair tightened a bit. The idea of the story was so evil that all my insides were slowly quivering scared for the hero. I just wanted to stop the movie, shut my PC down and get outside into the sun but I was held rapt by what was happening on the screen that I could hardly move.

But somehow this time, though I was watching alone; I was determined not to lose my cool. That is... my exterior cool. I am a grown guy and I am going to take it like a man. But the movie was challenging my solidarity.

Each and every twist was so evil and cruel, that each time I consoled myself that the movie couldn’t get any possibly worse, it outdid itself. It was like trying to run away from a horrifying ghost, only to find that the more I ran, the more the ghost got closer to me. And the climax was even more twisted when the last knot of the story was unveiled at the funeral of the hero. It was like finding that until now I have been running on a treadmill whose remote has always been in the hands of the ghost that was pursuing me.


The funeral of the hero - Hurrah. I have finished watching the movie. Oh yeah, I have finished watching the movie. The statement was so dense that I had to repeat it to myself to fully understand it. Fully comprehend the meaning of it. I have just finished watching the movie. And that too alone. I did not need company to watch the horror movie and nor will I anymore. Oh…. Yeah. I am the man.

I relaxed. Took a deep breath. Loosened my grip on the arm holds. I was having those thoughts of proud self appreciation and bravery, which guys usually display on completing some task of heavy challenge or mortal risk.

And then it happened.


How can I forget it? How could I have let my guard down? The ghost always comes back for one last scare. My quick euphoria on my completing the movie without getting jolted must have gotten to my head.


Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.





The last and the final scare got to me. I was severely jarred and visibly shaken. I was left speechless.


I think I am going to need company when watching my next horror movie.





Author's note:

Guys, I just returned from Coimbatore.

A few highlights of my travel, if you ask me - it would be - 2 haiku s, 1 poem(I always write while traveling - will post them later), drank a lovely glass of mulam palzham* juice (*Tamil for musk melon, in Hindi - kharbuja); the drink was so lovely, I am salivating just thinking about it, and I realized I am slowly getting addicted to blogging. :D


Cheers then. Until later.

Muthu.

Who cares, who screws….

The Snap -




The Tale-


There is just one thing, only one thing- that can make really angry and all pumped up. And that’s when my sister is being intimidated and I cannot do anything about it. But then, it rarely happens. No. It never happens. You see guys….. I have always nurtured this fighting tendency in my sis that almost all the guys studying studying with her, who knew her for awhile,  would have already tasted a good bite of her casual sass and thus they never mess with her.

So I never almost have any reason to get all angry and pumped up. Almost. I repeat. Almost.

And that's because like all  my mothers, my mom knows me a bit too much, and when she is upset with me, she shows it to my sister to get to me.(She can’t make me to fight back otherwise.)

I hate these situations. Really really hate them.

And that's exactly what happened today morning when I refused my mom when she asked me to accompany her to her sister’s home for a couple of days. She showed her anger to my sister.

Like you can guess easily, I felt pretty enraged. Furious and still suffering like the guy who just got kicked right in his balls. Down depressed and seething about it like those active volcanoes just waiting to explode into a million bits. Do add ample more similes to the list and trust me however creative you are going to be, it just would not do justice to what I felt.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


My mom left for her sister's home with my sister in the afternoon.

She called me up late night to tell that she has reached there safely and as we were talking, she suddenly slipped in a sorry.

“For what?” I asked.

“Just that I was angry with you and made you feel so bad”

“That’s Okay mom. No big deal.”

“Really I am so sorry. I felt so bad, when I thought about what I did while traveling”

I hate to see my mom apologize.

“You did nothing wrong mom, what you did was absolutely natural and I am cool. Okay.”

“Okay…” She paused. “I will never do it again.”

“Mom, you did nothing you shouldn't do and stop talking like this. This isn't like you. Can we just stop talking about this.”

“Right. Okay” My mom answered back.

And then after a few minutes of consoling and cajoling my mom and another few minutes talking about other mother son stuff like lock the back door when you go to bed, do not over load the washing machine while washing clothes, bath daily, brush daily (spare me the rest - its too embarrassing.) etc….. she allowed me to go back to what I was doing.



Damn women. I was the one in anger and was in the need of some consoling and a hug. I was the one depressed and was feeling like shit. She was the one who must have been doing the prep talking.


But everything happened in reverse. I ended up trying to cheer her up. Some tough luck.




The philosophy – It never matters who screws up in the first place, the girl or the guy but it always ends with the guy trying to cheer the girl up.


PS:

The photo is of my sister and was took while i was experimenting with my camera, when I first brought it.

The temple teachings:

“Will you do something for me? Don’t say no. I won’t ask you if I had any choice”


These were the exact words my mom said to me and since she never really goes for this approach, I can simply guess that she wants me to do something that I really hate. I was wondering what she might want me to do. That was when she said that she wanted me to go to a temple to attend a specific pooja* and bring back the prasadham*.

Now I hate going to temples. It’s not like I don’t believe in God. I am a theist. I believe in God. But I see him as someone who is not just bound to the temple, as someone who is in the essence of everything living and non living. I hate the customs that people do at temples and people paying to see the deities of the divine. With my mother it’s just the opposite, she is totally into it. She is regular in her prayers. Never misses her poojas*. Is a devoted hindu* to put it in simple terms. What makes peace between us in this aspect is that she never asks me to go to the temple and I never dissuade her from going.

And when she broke her deal when I was least expecting it, (of course she breaks the deal once in a year, on my birthday) I was not going to give in without a fight. And when she said that she will not be able to go temple because she had to be at another temple, it simply left me completely bewildered. But her approach gave me no space to refuse or fight back (Damn…. These women really know how to get things done by a guy). I simply asked the specifications of what I have to do at the temple and left for the same.

On reaching the temple, I gave the priest the specifications of the pooja* and waited for my prasadham*. A lot of women and a few men were there gossiping about as they were also waiting for the aarathi*. I was really feeing like the odd man out. It was so completely dull and boring that I was watching the ants that were laboriously doing whatever they were doing near my feet.

After a while the aarthi* was shown and people crowded up to see the view of the decorated deity. Then the prasadham* was distributed. It was then that I noticed the old man sitting by the side of the temple. He must have been about 65 – 70 years old. It could be easily seen from his torn clothes that he was too poor to even feed himself. But his clothes were washed and neat. After eating half of the prasadham*, he slowly looked around and after satisfying himself that no one was looking, kept the other half in his pocket. He must be saving it for later or may be for some one, I presumed.

I felt really bad for him. But his face showed no such emotion of pain or regret. In fact he started to play with a small kid nearby. I got up and went near him. When he saw me coming to him, he simply smiled and said “Isn’t the child a beauty” and smiled at me. I smiled back assuring myself that I am not going to defeat this man by showing sympathy or charity. He needed neither. He may not be the richest guy around but he was so happy that the happiness seamed to flow out him when he was playing with the child.

After a while, I bade him good bye and reached home. Thinking about it now - What I saw in him, completely over whelms me.

You need not be the richest or the cleverest or whatever superlative terminology you are going to add, to be immensely happy. You simply need to loss your self to something beautiful. It never matters what it is. It may be the playfulness of a small child to the calmness of the early morning dew. Also it never matters in what state you are. You will be happy and find peace within yourself.




Hindu - A religion that is predominant in India.
Pooja - A custom in which the deity is washed in milk and other auspicious things, then garlanded and decorated along with the chanting of the hymns. Each and every single deity has its own special day for pooja and each pooja has its own requirements.
Prasadham - The eatables and other things that are offered to the deity and then are consumed by the devotees as a token of the blessing received from the divine.
Aarathi - It’s the climax of the pooja, where along with ringing of the bells, a burning flame is shown to the deity(the flame is usually on a plate and burns from camphor or from oil lamp).

Let’s get drenched:

The snap-

The Tale-

Yesterday it drizzled. The smell of the wet earth, the sudden lush greenness that jumps out of its hiding, the rhythm of the rain drops, the umbrella flowers and raincoats, the dirty puddles of mud – rain has always been the very essence of life to me. I always wondered why can’t people just for a while get lost in the chaos and get drenched. May be, they are too much forgotten in their own life that they easily miss to see the bliss of beauty around them.


Once one of my friends asked “what’s so special about getting drenched in the rain?”


I was simply not able to find the right words to describe the feeling to her.

What happens to a kid when he is given such a lot of beautiful wrapped gifts that he is not able to decide what to open first? He would be bouncing with all the joy in the world. What happens to a congenitally blind guy (blind from birth) if he is given his sight? He simply wouldn’t have enough eyes to see all the loveliness in the world for the first time.


The same happens to me in the rain.


There cannot be any more poetism than the world in a shower. There cannot be any more a symbol of purity and virginity than the world after the dance of rain. The wet road gleaming inviting to the foot of the dreamer, the fallen flowers and leaves on them, a Picasso or Renault I would say and the blooming flowers in trees still dripping wet, the drenched walls with the water arts of rain on them, the willowy sun slowly blooming out, its rays so slant that it seems like its bowing to the rain’s performance, the air hugging you as it passes so pure in its earnestness like a kid saying to her parents her first learnt rhyme and finally like a girl so spontaneous in love that she blushes on seeing her guy, comes out the rainbow raining again on the spectators a plethora of colors.

Now again I to ask “Are you going to miss all this sitting in the monochromity of your home?”

May be you can enjoy the same rain from the safety of your home.

But hello….wait Am I hearing you right? Are you refusing first row stadium tickets to see your favorite star’s foot ball match to see the same on television? Dude you must be seriously nuts. Come on I am waiting……


“Let’s get drenched”

Are we safe?

The Snap-

The Tale-

It was almost one am of our independence day when this happened. I was returning after 3 days of yoga sessions at the Isha yoga center at Velliangiri hills in Coimbatore. The Udumalpet* bus stop was completely deserted but as I am not new to night travelling (in fact I love to travel in the night), I started to walk towards my home which is at a walk able distance from where the Coimbatore bus dropped me. I saw 3 police men standing opposite to the nearby petrol bunk, checking the crossing motor cyclists for any drunks. As I was passing them, I realized they must be on special Independence Day duty to be on the patrol at this hour.

The night was so serene and peaceful. I searched for the moon and was a bit disappointed to see a cloudy sky. The climate was pleasantly cold. A kind of coldness that brings your hands together to rub, but does not get to your bone. It was like the whole world was deep in a dreamless sleep after a day of rigorous work except the stray dogs that roamed about. I myself was totally exhausted by the past three days of heavy physical exercise at the yoga center and would have loved to go flat on my bed with a warm pillow.

Just then I was disturbed from my thoughts. A passing 2 wheeler was stopping beside me. It had two people on it and the one in the back asked me where was I going and was offering me a lift. Now that these guys were offering a lift unasked at this ungodly hour was another thing totally, but the fact that there were already two on the motor cycle made me uncomfortable. Suddenly I realized that I was all alone. I simply said to them “thanks but no thanks boss, I am almost there. Look my place is near the next right turn” and quickened my pace of walking.

They crossed me and went into the turn that I was about to take. That did it. I was getting a bit nervous. I bent down and took a stone (sounds corny but that’s what I did), like it was going to help me if I was to be ambushed. Well anyways it gave me the confidence that I desperately needed. I simply know for a fact that if these guys are going to jump on me, I am done for. But I really didn’t want to go down before giving those guys a really tough struggle. At least I wanted to break one of their noses if they were going to rob me.

And at the turn, my suspicions were confirmed. One of those guys was taking a leak and the other was sitting on the bike ready to fire up. Then I realized these crooks must be planning to go for my bag which was hanging on my shoulders. I saw them at the corner of my eyes as I crossed them and felt my heart lurch when they did the same. What happened next was really slow and I remember every single second of it. I crossed the road, and kept walking keeping to the right of the road. I brought my bag in front of my stomach and held to it as tightly as I could, hoping to make things as difficult as possible for them.

The motor cycle behind me fired up and It sounded as if they were gaining on me. I was not going to turn back. It would, may be I thought will give away that I know about their intentions. Then it happened. Out of the blue a lorry coming from the opposite direction crossed me and as the dust raised by the lorry slowly died down, I realized that those guys were gone.

I reached home in one piece.

Two days later when I was talking with my aunt, who resides in Tirupur*, She told me how she almost got her chain cut when she was riding her TVS by a guy who was on a motor cycle. And when I said about what happened to me, I was told a lot of more serious stories that made my own experience comparatively really a easy one.

Now thinking about this problem in preventive terms, what can we, the public in respond to such thievery?

The cops cannot be all over the town protecting people at all the right times. Come on they are not are super man or in the least Steven Seagull- “always there to protect and save the innocent” (much like heroes of our own tamil cinema- where they always say that its just their duty to save the damsel in distress who invariably ends up as the heroine). Life isn’t that perfect to always have a savior near you.

We must be more careful I thought. After all you cannot have text book rules to behave in such situations and not all of us are black belts in karate. Yourself living would be much worthier than any valuables you may be having. But I still don’t think that I have answered the question that I raised at the beginning. Are we safe?

Wait may be I have got the question wrong. Yes, that’s it. The question we have to ask ourselves is not “Are we safe?” but


Am I safe? Are the people who are close to me safe?


Only when thinking about the same in the singular perspective we may be able to see the true status of our own safety. This doesn’t mean to ignore the needy at times of distress when they may need your help. I have always been inspired by people who put their own life on line to rescue others. I look up to them. I want to be always one of them. All I want to do is to merely suggest a way to know where you stand. Always remember that you will have to be in safe grounds to rescue others. After all your own life is what you make out of it.

Isn’t it so?