I do not know how many among you had the opportunity to booze with your dad? Last night, for the first time in my life I had a beer with my dad. Now, I have seen my Dad drinking his usual peg many a time, I have talked to him about alcohol, grass and all possible intoxicants. My dad knows that I drink, he offered me a beer last Christmas when he poured himself a Black Label, but since I had an examination the next day I couldn’t accept it then. But yesterday it happened…I had a beer with my dad.
I was in Chennai doing a small South Indian city hopping trip and had come to Chennai to meet my dad who was down on official purpose. It was all good, met him, had some lunch, talked about Telangana and things back home and the usual son-father talk. By around 7 pm my uncle and his colleague, an Englishman joined us and my uncle pulled out some beer and some Indian brandy. My dad all of a sudden offered me a beer. For a minute I didn’t know what to do! A chilled beer on a hot Chennai evening is quite a tempting offer I must say. I stood like that for a minute, accepted the beer.
While sipping my beer there and enjoying the company of my family members and a stranger, I realised something, I had grown up and beyond that I understood my dad acknowledged I had grown up…
My dad is somebody who never even let me ride a bike or even let me pillion ride it till recently, but now when I approached him saying in a big city I need a bike, he gave me the go ahead after the initial no’s.
I have never owned or used a mobile till I reached HCU for my MA, it had been a strict no for me, but when I stepped into that campus, my dad gave him his own saying use it carefully.
He never gave me money in excess for me to squander, but when he went back to Trivandrum after dropping me in the University, he pulled out a sum, gave me, said the rest he’ll go home and deposit into my account and got into the car. When I counted how much it was after he left, it was 10k.
I have fought with my dad the maximum in my life for a multitude of things. For not letting me use a mobile, for not letting me go for a late night movie, for not letting me stay back for cheering the college basketball team, for not letting me ride or ride behind a bike and for a zillion other things…but now when I think, I am what I am because of what he didn’t let me do and for letting me what would help me in my life.
That gesture of offering a beer to me was very symbolic to me, it was as if he had accepted that I am on my own now, that I am capable of taking care of myself now. I go from Chennai a happy man, and when I say a ‘man’ this time, it holds a renewed feeling…that my dad, the man I admire the most in my life has acknowledged that I am a grown up guy now.
I had a beer, probably one of the best I have had till now...
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Uncertainty...
For those who don’t know me, I am perennially confused. I take confusion to a new level altogether, be it the food I order from a menu, the girl I wanna go out with, the whiskey I wanna gift my dad, the career I have chosen, the office I work in, the shoe I buy…I am so damn confused. As a result I am in my 5th job in 2 years…
In my first job I was an ‘I dunno what to call’ but my director’s boy in a small film production firm. It was nice, adventurous, different, but it paid me too less and as a result, there went my first job in less than 1 and a half months months time. I called it quits.
My second job was with an IT solutions company as a content writer. Writing is not a bad thing…but writing about microfinance, about genetically modified seeds, about hospitals! Well…not to say more, 4 months is what I lasted for. I got so bored that when I was writing about the Brain & Spine care unit of a hospital I actually wrote Brain & SWINE care!!! (Thank god I wasn’t chucked out)
My third one was by far the most comfortable one. I was with the United Nations in Delhi as a Research Associate. Good money, good and knowledgeable boss, good profile, cheap beer, good chicks…everything was good except that I had some ideological clash with the UN and just that I prioritized my relations over my career and so thought Hyderabad was where I belonged. Yea, I know what you must be thinking, what an ass! Anyway, needless to say more, I quit!
Took a break after that, went travelling, travelled with the best of people…my childhood friends, saw the poorna Kumbh (once in 12 years), travelled in what could called a bus, but a tin with wheels suits it better, boozed for a lifetime, saw new places, new people, new culture…that’s probably one of the best thing that has happened in my life so far.
My fourth job was with a Green Energy Development Company based in Hyderabad. Okayish company, great boss, okayish money (enough for chicken and beer), but I didn’t like corporate life! I felt chained, I didn’t life conforming. I didn’t wanted to be judged by the perfect pleats of my trousers or the shining tip of my shoe. Put up with it for 10 long months.
Now I am teaching in a college in Hyderabad. I am happy with what I am doing. I am not conforming to anybody, I have a very decent pay package, I bought a good television for myself, shifted into a beautiful house, probably the first proper house ever since I left home and it looks like I will stick with this job for a while…its all very good! But you know what, I am slightly freaked out. I got so used to uncertainty that the sheer feeling of certainty is freaking me out! Maybe its all for the better, maybe that’s how things change as I grow older. But as of now…its slightly overwhelming and that’s confusing…
Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a rolling stone’ fits me the best I guess…
“To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone…”
In my first job I was an ‘I dunno what to call’ but my director’s boy in a small film production firm. It was nice, adventurous, different, but it paid me too less and as a result, there went my first job in less than 1 and a half months months time. I called it quits.
My second job was with an IT solutions company as a content writer. Writing is not a bad thing…but writing about microfinance, about genetically modified seeds, about hospitals! Well…not to say more, 4 months is what I lasted for. I got so bored that when I was writing about the Brain & Spine care unit of a hospital I actually wrote Brain & SWINE care!!! (Thank god I wasn’t chucked out)
My third one was by far the most comfortable one. I was with the United Nations in Delhi as a Research Associate. Good money, good and knowledgeable boss, good profile, cheap beer, good chicks…everything was good except that I had some ideological clash with the UN and just that I prioritized my relations over my career and so thought Hyderabad was where I belonged. Yea, I know what you must be thinking, what an ass! Anyway, needless to say more, I quit!
Took a break after that, went travelling, travelled with the best of people…my childhood friends, saw the poorna Kumbh (once in 12 years), travelled in what could called a bus, but a tin with wheels suits it better, boozed for a lifetime, saw new places, new people, new culture…that’s probably one of the best thing that has happened in my life so far.
My fourth job was with a Green Energy Development Company based in Hyderabad. Okayish company, great boss, okayish money (enough for chicken and beer), but I didn’t like corporate life! I felt chained, I didn’t life conforming. I didn’t wanted to be judged by the perfect pleats of my trousers or the shining tip of my shoe. Put up with it for 10 long months.
Now I am teaching in a college in Hyderabad. I am happy with what I am doing. I am not conforming to anybody, I have a very decent pay package, I bought a good television for myself, shifted into a beautiful house, probably the first proper house ever since I left home and it looks like I will stick with this job for a while…its all very good! But you know what, I am slightly freaked out. I got so used to uncertainty that the sheer feeling of certainty is freaking me out! Maybe its all for the better, maybe that’s how things change as I grow older. But as of now…its slightly overwhelming and that’s confusing…
Bob Dylan’s ‘Like a rolling stone’ fits me the best I guess…
“To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone…”
Monday, August 29, 2011
Passion?
I have often wondered what exactly ‘passion’ is. The word never appealed to me much. I like many a thing, in fact a lot of things, I like music, I like travelling, I like books, I like speaking, I like good company, good stories…I mean the list goes on, but I don’t know if I am passionate about any of this cause at the end of the day I have to survive and once I started for fending myself, I understood that big difference between life and living.
I had the opportunity to run a marathon yesterday, the Hyderabad annual marathon. For me it was a matter of a challenge. I have never run 10 kilometres at one stretch in my life so far. When my ex colleague rang up and asked me if I was game for a 10K run, I thought why not.
I reached the starting point at 4.15 am in the morning, I was stunned to see at least a crowd of a strong 600-700 people assembled there. I saw people of all age groups, but what stays in my mind is the number of what I would call ‘oldies’, people way beyond their 40’s and 50’s. In the newspapers, I read today that the eldest to run was an 81 year old! I was humbled to say the least, but beyond that, I saw what passion was. They had a passion for running. While I was struggling to finish my 10K I saw a young man (55 years old) striding on his way to finish his 42k!!! It was passion, a passion for running, a passion for better health, a passion for proving themselves…maybe I know now what passion is.
It could be that thing what keeps you going when you’re all alone and the distance seems so far.
It could be that thing which makes life more challenging.
It could be hope.
I know not, I am still confused over the word, but I know one thing, if I really love something, that could mean the world to me.
I had the opportunity to run a marathon yesterday, the Hyderabad annual marathon. For me it was a matter of a challenge. I have never run 10 kilometres at one stretch in my life so far. When my ex colleague rang up and asked me if I was game for a 10K run, I thought why not.
I reached the starting point at 4.15 am in the morning, I was stunned to see at least a crowd of a strong 600-700 people assembled there. I saw people of all age groups, but what stays in my mind is the number of what I would call ‘oldies’, people way beyond their 40’s and 50’s. In the newspapers, I read today that the eldest to run was an 81 year old! I was humbled to say the least, but beyond that, I saw what passion was. They had a passion for running. While I was struggling to finish my 10K I saw a young man (55 years old) striding on his way to finish his 42k!!! It was passion, a passion for running, a passion for better health, a passion for proving themselves…maybe I know now what passion is.
It could be that thing what keeps you going when you’re all alone and the distance seems so far.
It could be that thing which makes life more challenging.
It could be hope.
I know not, I am still confused over the word, but I know one thing, if I really love something, that could mean the world to me.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Mamu with a smile
There are some people you come across in life who make a huge influence on you. There is a Mamu I know who sells chicken fry outside a small residential colony in Hyderabad. His wayside bandi is not the most visible thing on the main road nor is he the kind of guy whom you would give a second glance. It is out of pure adventure spirit that I once went to his small bandi to get some chicken for one of the booze parties in the campus. That’s it, I became a fan of his chicken fry! Its probably one of the best things I have had in Hyderabad and that remains true till date. Then as fate had its way, I moved into that same residential colony and his chicken fry became a regular affair for me and my friend who were major poultry fans.
You know how it is, once you buy it from the shop, you’re a customer, twice you’re a customer…everyday you’re his most faithful customer. The bond grew beyond a customer and vendor relationship. I used to chat with him almost on a daily basis and he used to love having a chai and sutta with me. We talked about life, about relations, bikes, religion…the years in his life had taught him many a thing and I started to respect him for that.
He was a man in his early sixties, each day early morning he would start his preparations for the evening. 6 o clock, he is there in front of the colony gate catering to each and every one. There is a small paan shop beside his bandi which he manages at times if not for his son who hasn’t impressed me as much. Rain or shine, Sunday or Monday he is there with his bandi.
On one fine afternoon I met him with 2 big packets in his hand waiting for a rickshaw. As part of the usual socialising I said a hi and asked him whats all the luggage. He said he is off to his hometown for Ramzaan and that there ain’t any chicken for the next couple of days. I wished him an Eid Mubarak. To my astonishment, he put down the bags on the road and gave me a hug and wished me the same, I was quite taken aback at that unusual expression of love, but when I looked into his face after that…It was probably one of the most genuine smiles I have ever seen, it was one of the most genuine hugs I have ever received.
Hardly a day went without greeting him or seeing him on his stool sitting outside the dome and smoking a cigarette. Once when I went back home very late at around 12 in the night, he was there outside packing up. I walked up to him and filled him up on the details of the day over a chai. When I was about to leave, he said “its been weird not greeting you at least once in a day, I have been wondering where you’ve been, now I will call it a day”.
Days passed too soon, the chicken had grown on me and Mamu had become an inevitable part of Hyderabad, but life has to go on. I got a new job (Yes, again!!!) and the commute was too much for me to handle. Finally one fine day I bade farewell to good old Gulmohar Park, my lovely penthouse and above all...the toughest, Mamu. I shifted on August 1st and that evening is not something I would forget so easily…Mamu had a sober yet smiling face and he offered me some chicken to munch on the way. He blessed me and said “Har ek ko apne zimmedariyon ka khayal rakhna hain aur bus jeete jaana hai…”
I am penning this more than a month from that day…I miss that old man with a smile on his face each and every moment. Life has not been very good to him unlike to many of us, but he never had a smirk on him. He reaffirmed my faith in people and my faith in humanity.
I have not posted anything for long, and this is my 50th post, not a huge number, but a mark for me. This is a dedication to Chand Pasha a.k.a My Chicken Mamu, one of the finest people I have met in my life. Thank God, I had time to chat with him, have a chai with him, eat his wonderful chicken and to have met him.
You know how it is, once you buy it from the shop, you’re a customer, twice you’re a customer…everyday you’re his most faithful customer. The bond grew beyond a customer and vendor relationship. I used to chat with him almost on a daily basis and he used to love having a chai and sutta with me. We talked about life, about relations, bikes, religion…the years in his life had taught him many a thing and I started to respect him for that.
He was a man in his early sixties, each day early morning he would start his preparations for the evening. 6 o clock, he is there in front of the colony gate catering to each and every one. There is a small paan shop beside his bandi which he manages at times if not for his son who hasn’t impressed me as much. Rain or shine, Sunday or Monday he is there with his bandi.
On one fine afternoon I met him with 2 big packets in his hand waiting for a rickshaw. As part of the usual socialising I said a hi and asked him whats all the luggage. He said he is off to his hometown for Ramzaan and that there ain’t any chicken for the next couple of days. I wished him an Eid Mubarak. To my astonishment, he put down the bags on the road and gave me a hug and wished me the same, I was quite taken aback at that unusual expression of love, but when I looked into his face after that…It was probably one of the most genuine smiles I have ever seen, it was one of the most genuine hugs I have ever received.
Hardly a day went without greeting him or seeing him on his stool sitting outside the dome and smoking a cigarette. Once when I went back home very late at around 12 in the night, he was there outside packing up. I walked up to him and filled him up on the details of the day over a chai. When I was about to leave, he said “its been weird not greeting you at least once in a day, I have been wondering where you’ve been, now I will call it a day”.
Days passed too soon, the chicken had grown on me and Mamu had become an inevitable part of Hyderabad, but life has to go on. I got a new job (Yes, again!!!) and the commute was too much for me to handle. Finally one fine day I bade farewell to good old Gulmohar Park, my lovely penthouse and above all...the toughest, Mamu. I shifted on August 1st and that evening is not something I would forget so easily…Mamu had a sober yet smiling face and he offered me some chicken to munch on the way. He blessed me and said “Har ek ko apne zimmedariyon ka khayal rakhna hain aur bus jeete jaana hai…”
I am penning this more than a month from that day…I miss that old man with a smile on his face each and every moment. Life has not been very good to him unlike to many of us, but he never had a smirk on him. He reaffirmed my faith in people and my faith in humanity.
I have not posted anything for long, and this is my 50th post, not a huge number, but a mark for me. This is a dedication to Chand Pasha a.k.a My Chicken Mamu, one of the finest people I have met in my life. Thank God, I had time to chat with him, have a chai with him, eat his wonderful chicken and to have met him.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
My Coffee House, everybody's Coffee House - The ICH
Till the age of 20 I have loitered in and around the little town of Trivandrum. It is a charming town with beautiful beaches, a wonderful railway station, a bunch of engineering and medical colleges, a not too terrible International Airport, some really good schools and a lot of small way side eateries which is a food lovers delight. But I should warn you that there is no subway where you can spend a lazy afternoon or a mac donalds to take your kid out for a quick snack. Subways, Pizza Huts, Mac Donalds were all a new phenomenon for me once I reached Hyderabad. But there is something very unique to Kerala which I believe is something every malayali is proud of – The Indian Coffee House.
They are spread across the length and breadth of this land. After very long, today I had the fortune of going to an Indian Coffee House. In a fast moving world where I can’t even be sure if a two way road in the morning is one way by evening it filled me with a weird nostalgia and delight how the ICH (Indian Coffee House) hasn’t changed a bit. The chairs were still the same, the uniform of the waiters were still the same white and they still wear the Nehru caps, even the curtain drapes were the same.
For those who don’t know the ICH, let me give you a small description of the place. Each Coffee House looks different, but it does give the feel of a place which has an intellectual air about it with many a guy sitting in a corner stroking his beard and having a Malayalam weekly in his hand. The tables are plain with no fancy mats on them or fancy glasses atop to please the aesthetic. The walls have their special dishes plastered on them which I don’t think has changed ever since inception of the ICH. Anytime of the day, the place is lively with discussion and chatter. One can see crowd of all strata, be it the coolie or the white kutra clad politician or the young college goer, they are all there having their chai and talking.
If all these people are there, you can imagine what the pricing could be. It is damn cheap. Where else can you find a cold coffee for 15 bucks? A masala dosa for 12 bucks? I don’t think that’s quite common, and mind you…its damn tasty, don’t think its some cheap stuff. Ever heard of something called the mutton omelette? That’s their speciality, a well cooked yellow omelette draped around mince fried mutton which can give any non vegetarian a palatal orgasm, and again – damn cheap. A decent tasty meal wouldn’t cost you more than 20 bucks. Ah…ICH, the poor man’s Taj.
True, in my early youth I did not know who Ronald Mac Donald was or what was the latest addition to a Pizza Corner Menu card, but I can say I have had the fortune of having a chai, spending time with a select few friends and munching on the wonderful mutton omelette of The Indian Coffee House. This I believe is an experience no High funda eat street can give you. For me, the ICH holds a very special and fond memory too, during the days when I used to freelance for the Hindu Metro Plus, I did the interview of one of the top college bands in Kerala during those times in a corner of the ICH sipping chai and discussing Heavy Metal. During my Uni-Y days (The university wing of the YMCA) after a heated debate on topics ranging from politics to porn, we would all go to the ICH to have our tummy fill.
There are some things unique to a place, The Indian Coffee House is one experience. You have to be there to know it. Felt good to see that structure still up and alive catering to the common man. Hats off…
They are spread across the length and breadth of this land. After very long, today I had the fortune of going to an Indian Coffee House. In a fast moving world where I can’t even be sure if a two way road in the morning is one way by evening it filled me with a weird nostalgia and delight how the ICH (Indian Coffee House) hasn’t changed a bit. The chairs were still the same, the uniform of the waiters were still the same white and they still wear the Nehru caps, even the curtain drapes were the same.
For those who don’t know the ICH, let me give you a small description of the place. Each Coffee House looks different, but it does give the feel of a place which has an intellectual air about it with many a guy sitting in a corner stroking his beard and having a Malayalam weekly in his hand. The tables are plain with no fancy mats on them or fancy glasses atop to please the aesthetic. The walls have their special dishes plastered on them which I don’t think has changed ever since inception of the ICH. Anytime of the day, the place is lively with discussion and chatter. One can see crowd of all strata, be it the coolie or the white kutra clad politician or the young college goer, they are all there having their chai and talking.
If all these people are there, you can imagine what the pricing could be. It is damn cheap. Where else can you find a cold coffee for 15 bucks? A masala dosa for 12 bucks? I don’t think that’s quite common, and mind you…its damn tasty, don’t think its some cheap stuff. Ever heard of something called the mutton omelette? That’s their speciality, a well cooked yellow omelette draped around mince fried mutton which can give any non vegetarian a palatal orgasm, and again – damn cheap. A decent tasty meal wouldn’t cost you more than 20 bucks. Ah…ICH, the poor man’s Taj.
True, in my early youth I did not know who Ronald Mac Donald was or what was the latest addition to a Pizza Corner Menu card, but I can say I have had the fortune of having a chai, spending time with a select few friends and munching on the wonderful mutton omelette of The Indian Coffee House. This I believe is an experience no High funda eat street can give you. For me, the ICH holds a very special and fond memory too, during the days when I used to freelance for the Hindu Metro Plus, I did the interview of one of the top college bands in Kerala during those times in a corner of the ICH sipping chai and discussing Heavy Metal. During my Uni-Y days (The university wing of the YMCA) after a heated debate on topics ranging from politics to porn, we would all go to the ICH to have our tummy fill.
There are some things unique to a place, The Indian Coffee House is one experience. You have to be there to know it. Felt good to see that structure still up and alive catering to the common man. Hats off…
Thursday, May 26, 2011
That thing called beauty
When I saw this competition on Indiblogger about "what real beauty means to you?", I didn't think I would write about it nor did I think I would be sending it to them. I just wrote down what was fleeting through my head when I was going back home after a late night movie with one of the best people in my life so far. I was in a cab and the weather was just perfect. The roads had a deserted yet mysterious feel to it. The breeze was pounding on my face with a vengeance which only nature can so softly inflict and there were the world's best musicians playing into my ears, as if they created that song just for me.
Beauty is that which reaffirms my faith in the sheer existence of love and humankind.
Beauty is what makes me want to believe that God exists or at least existed.
Beauty is what makes me smile when things around me seemingly goes wrong.
Beauty is what makes me as belligerent as a kid.
Beauty is what gives me that extra jive to write when I am not able to.
Beauty is what makes me want to be with someone even when we are loggerheads.
Beauty is what makes some unpleasant truths bearable.
Beauty is what makes me dream, lets my imagination far and wide.
Beauty is hope personified.
Beauty is truth.
Beauty is what makes me want to see her smile and for which I would sacrifice many a thing.
Beauty is what makes me never forget someone, something, some place.
Beauty is music, beauty is nature, beauty is all around.
Beauty is my muse, my whore, my beloved.
Beauty is what made me write this...
Beauty is that which reaffirms my faith in the sheer existence of love and humankind.
Beauty is what makes me want to believe that God exists or at least existed.
Beauty is what makes me smile when things around me seemingly goes wrong.
Beauty is what makes me as belligerent as a kid.
Beauty is what gives me that extra jive to write when I am not able to.
Beauty is what makes me want to be with someone even when we are loggerheads.
Beauty is what makes some unpleasant truths bearable.
Beauty is what makes me dream, lets my imagination far and wide.
Beauty is hope personified.
Beauty is truth.
Beauty is what makes me want to see her smile and for which I would sacrifice many a thing.
Beauty is what makes me never forget someone, something, some place.
Beauty is music, beauty is nature, beauty is all around.
Beauty is my muse, my whore, my beloved.
Beauty is what made me write this...
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
A very fond memory...
Till I left Trivandrum, me and my younger brother have always shared one bed. It was a habit which has been there for as long as I remember. Even though there were occasional fights for wanting the whole bed to oneself, we would somehow squeeze in and fight for the better pillow, for more space, for a ear phone of the Walkman and all sorts of fights possible in a hushed tone and in a small bed. After a while, we stopped listening to music at night before sleeping. Instead my brother wanted me to tell him stories. I used to read a lot more during my lesser responsible times and I could narrate it pretty decently too.
My brother loved to listen to stories. I would tell him stories ranging from Tinkle to Mario Puzo to Sidney Sheldon and Jeffrey Archer and anything which I thought was interesting. He would listen to them patiently. Sometimes I might not have finished reading the book, but he would want to hear half of it and the rest after I finish it. He used to manage his sleep timings in such a way so as to go to bed around the same I also do, so that he could listen to stories. Sometimes I would be so engrossed in the story telling that I wouldn't realize he has slept off and those small hands are hugging me. Sometimes the story would be so gripping I can feel him gripping my hands. There have been times when he kicked me when he didn't like the villain in the novel. My mom has woke up at the middle of the night coming to my room and asking whats the murmur going on inside. When we have a family get together and somebody mentions a book, my brother who was very young even then would get up and say I know the story to people's astonishment. I would secretly be glad.
I didn't think this would have any impact on him. Everybody likes to listen to stories. But when he was in the 9th standard, he read the 'Godfather' because he thought it was one of the best stories he has ever heard and that he would like to read it himself. I couldn't be more happy. A few days back when I was getting back from an unusually weary day, I received a text message from my brother asking me if I have read 'The God of Small Things' to which I replied, yes. His reply was “How can people write like this, its so bloody awesome”. It might be the pride of a brother who finds his younger brother growing up, it might be the secret pride that its me who introduced him to the world of books and stories...but I felt so damn good!
I don't know how much my brother misses listening to me or if he even remembers, but I miss my li'l brother who was quite shaken for a day or two when I left for Hyderabad to pursue my MA. More than my mom or my dad, he was the most affected. After all, it was a time when he was still in school and I was his best friend...
My brother loved to listen to stories. I would tell him stories ranging from Tinkle to Mario Puzo to Sidney Sheldon and Jeffrey Archer and anything which I thought was interesting. He would listen to them patiently. Sometimes I might not have finished reading the book, but he would want to hear half of it and the rest after I finish it. He used to manage his sleep timings in such a way so as to go to bed around the same I also do, so that he could listen to stories. Sometimes I would be so engrossed in the story telling that I wouldn't realize he has slept off and those small hands are hugging me. Sometimes the story would be so gripping I can feel him gripping my hands. There have been times when he kicked me when he didn't like the villain in the novel. My mom has woke up at the middle of the night coming to my room and asking whats the murmur going on inside. When we have a family get together and somebody mentions a book, my brother who was very young even then would get up and say I know the story to people's astonishment. I would secretly be glad.
I didn't think this would have any impact on him. Everybody likes to listen to stories. But when he was in the 9th standard, he read the 'Godfather' because he thought it was one of the best stories he has ever heard and that he would like to read it himself. I couldn't be more happy. A few days back when I was getting back from an unusually weary day, I received a text message from my brother asking me if I have read 'The God of Small Things' to which I replied, yes. His reply was “How can people write like this, its so bloody awesome”. It might be the pride of a brother who finds his younger brother growing up, it might be the secret pride that its me who introduced him to the world of books and stories...but I felt so damn good!
I don't know how much my brother misses listening to me or if he even remembers, but I miss my li'l brother who was quite shaken for a day or two when I left for Hyderabad to pursue my MA. More than my mom or my dad, he was the most affected. After all, it was a time when he was still in school and I was his best friend...
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thus Spake Buffaloes
Hyderabad, Delhi, Ahmedabad, Bangalore, Uttar Pradesh, Uttarakhand...each place is unique, but one thing is common, Buffaloes. They are quintessentially Indian and they are there everywhere. I was just wondering what they had to say if the could speak.
Hence, here it is...'If they could speak' :
# They call us cattle and animals. Look at what they are doing, drink something which looks like what we pee and then they puke it all over the roads. Just that the point of throwing out is different. Very interesting...
# You might have a Merc, you might have a BMW, but you better stop when we are walking on the roads. Its not just yours because you've a car. Its our home.
# Yes, we are black and we might not take a bath as regularly as you, but at least we don't smear paint over our body like some of those in the posters on the walls.
# You poor pedestrians on the streets...when you have to cross a road, how long do you have to wait? You have to be at the mercy of some soul who might slow down for you to cross or till the light on the pole turns red. Look at us, its either our way or no way.
# Yes, when we die we might not get a burial or a decent cremation. Our soul is left to wander. But at least, nobody will fight or kill each other after we're dead for what we have left.
# The white of our species, the female ones give milk and they are worshiped. So do we, but we do not complain or go on hunger strikes or not give milk right? No...
# Sometimes late night, we can see your lot, staggering on the roads and eventually walking like us on all fours. We sometimes laugh over it, sometimes we just go crap and watch the fun.
# We crap on the roads, yes. If you can, please build us a toilet. We'll try putting it to good use.
# No, there are no cannibals amongst our lot. We love each other too much for any such antics.
# And No, we don't worship cows. We just hit on them.
# We acted in a Tamil movie which was made into many languages and is many other movies. But we don't have the arrogance of a film star or anything, let us remind you.
# We heard somebody by the name Kancha Illaiah has written a theory with our name. We would like to meet him someday for a chai party, of course our own milk.
PS: The post is in bold just like the Buffaloes, BIG, BLACK and BOLD.
Hence, here it is...'If they could speak' :
# They call us cattle and animals. Look at what they are doing, drink something which looks like what we pee and then they puke it all over the roads. Just that the point of throwing out is different. Very interesting...
# You might have a Merc, you might have a BMW, but you better stop when we are walking on the roads. Its not just yours because you've a car. Its our home.
# Yes, we are black and we might not take a bath as regularly as you, but at least we don't smear paint over our body like some of those in the posters on the walls.
# You poor pedestrians on the streets...when you have to cross a road, how long do you have to wait? You have to be at the mercy of some soul who might slow down for you to cross or till the light on the pole turns red. Look at us, its either our way or no way.
# Yes, when we die we might not get a burial or a decent cremation. Our soul is left to wander. But at least, nobody will fight or kill each other after we're dead for what we have left.
# The white of our species, the female ones give milk and they are worshiped. So do we, but we do not complain or go on hunger strikes or not give milk right? No...
# Sometimes late night, we can see your lot, staggering on the roads and eventually walking like us on all fours. We sometimes laugh over it, sometimes we just go crap and watch the fun.
# We crap on the roads, yes. If you can, please build us a toilet. We'll try putting it to good use.
# No, there are no cannibals amongst our lot. We love each other too much for any such antics.
# And No, we don't worship cows. We just hit on them.
# We acted in a Tamil movie which was made into many languages and is many other movies. But we don't have the arrogance of a film star or anything, let us remind you.
# We heard somebody by the name Kancha Illaiah has written a theory with our name. We would like to meet him someday for a chai party, of course our own milk.
PS: The post is in bold just like the Buffaloes, BIG, BLACK and BOLD.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
I am a Bachelor
Yes, I am single and a bachelor. Till very recently I have been living alone in a penthouse where all I had for company is my laptop and some books and some things I wouldn't wanna reveal. I am a happy bachelor living in my pad and I love it because:
# True, sometimes when I wake up in the morning and I find the tooth paste is over. I might have to adjust with an orbit or some other chewing gum. Its okay, its not like I am going to kiss somebody.
# What if my clothes are not washed for a while? How do you think deodorants survive in the market? They should actually, as a token of respect and appreciation for all the non cleaning provide bachelors a year's free supply of deodorants.
# Yes, papers might be spread on the floor and I might be spread on them. Any issues?
# I might go home late night or not go at all. So what? There is nobody waiting there to share a dinner or to welcome you home. So let it be.
# Can you imagine playing Pink Floyd or The Doors in a faint decibel? Music is meant to be played loud. I will play it as loud as I like, so what? I don't speak to myself much to hear me.
# Sundays are meant to be spent with the 2 B's and 2 M's, Boxer shorts + Beers and Movies + Music.
# Yes, I am a social being. People will come home, and since they are all humans, they'll laugh, sing and dance too. As long as they don't hit on the neighbour or hit the neighbour its okay.
# I might wake up in the middle of the night and start watching The Departed or Pulp Fiction again, am I disturbing anybody?
# Realised utensils are a waste of space and cleaning them is a lot of effort. Beer, you can drink straight out of the bottle and so do other fruit juices and sodas which comes in tetra packs and plastic bottles. For everything else, there are disposable plastic glasses.
# There is nobody to tell me, do not walk on the terrace wearing a boxer shorts. In summers that is a real comfort, if you want to know, try it out yourself.
# Food eaten out of the packets they are packed in is the tastiest. Plates are a major pain once used till next use and the effort between the cycle, phew!
# Spreading waste materials on the floor is very bad, accepted. But who said, crumbled papers, plastic covers, beer bottles, news papers etc are waste? They are very useful. They are all sources of money. Go green, recycle your waste.
# Sometimes I do try to cook, I cook everything and find out the plates are not washed and I am too lazy to do anything after cooking. Ever tried having chicken curry out of a pressure cooker? If not, try it. Its amazing and tasty.
# Yes, I might wake up in the morning with the lungi (a mallu attire resembling a bed sheet) over my head or it could be used as a bed sheet. Frankly, who cares. If you've a problem do not walk into my room during my sleeping hours.
# Hair, it grows on you. The more you try to curb it, the more it grows. Leave it to its own pace, when others really want to see your face they'll do something about it.
# Mirrors for girls. Leave it, its of no use to people who don't shave or comb their hair.
# Last but not the least, Intoxication is not a crime, its just a way of life.
Ah, I am a happy happy bachelor...
# True, sometimes when I wake up in the morning and I find the tooth paste is over. I might have to adjust with an orbit or some other chewing gum. Its okay, its not like I am going to kiss somebody.
# What if my clothes are not washed for a while? How do you think deodorants survive in the market? They should actually, as a token of respect and appreciation for all the non cleaning provide bachelors a year's free supply of deodorants.
# Yes, papers might be spread on the floor and I might be spread on them. Any issues?
# I might go home late night or not go at all. So what? There is nobody waiting there to share a dinner or to welcome you home. So let it be.
# Can you imagine playing Pink Floyd or The Doors in a faint decibel? Music is meant to be played loud. I will play it as loud as I like, so what? I don't speak to myself much to hear me.
# Sundays are meant to be spent with the 2 B's and 2 M's, Boxer shorts + Beers and Movies + Music.
# Yes, I am a social being. People will come home, and since they are all humans, they'll laugh, sing and dance too. As long as they don't hit on the neighbour or hit the neighbour its okay.
# I might wake up in the middle of the night and start watching The Departed or Pulp Fiction again, am I disturbing anybody?
# Realised utensils are a waste of space and cleaning them is a lot of effort. Beer, you can drink straight out of the bottle and so do other fruit juices and sodas which comes in tetra packs and plastic bottles. For everything else, there are disposable plastic glasses.
# There is nobody to tell me, do not walk on the terrace wearing a boxer shorts. In summers that is a real comfort, if you want to know, try it out yourself.
# Food eaten out of the packets they are packed in is the tastiest. Plates are a major pain once used till next use and the effort between the cycle, phew!
# Spreading waste materials on the floor is very bad, accepted. But who said, crumbled papers, plastic covers, beer bottles, news papers etc are waste? They are very useful. They are all sources of money. Go green, recycle your waste.
# Sometimes I do try to cook, I cook everything and find out the plates are not washed and I am too lazy to do anything after cooking. Ever tried having chicken curry out of a pressure cooker? If not, try it. Its amazing and tasty.
# Yes, I might wake up in the morning with the lungi (a mallu attire resembling a bed sheet) over my head or it could be used as a bed sheet. Frankly, who cares. If you've a problem do not walk into my room during my sleeping hours.
# Hair, it grows on you. The more you try to curb it, the more it grows. Leave it to its own pace, when others really want to see your face they'll do something about it.
# Mirrors for girls. Leave it, its of no use to people who don't shave or comb their hair.
# Last but not the least, Intoxication is not a crime, its just a way of life.
Ah, I am a happy happy bachelor...
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
My city, My everbody's city
While drinking a mug of cold beer at one of the many joints in the city, somebody whom I met very recently asked me, “How do you find Hyderabad after being here for a while now?” to which, even before I opened my mouth my friend replied “Oh, he is in love with Hyderabad”. The person who asked me the question looked quizzed and asked me rather sarcastically “What do you find here? I personally like Bangalore or Mumbai better and so do my friends”
I have thought the same and many others have asked me why I don't leave Hyderabad. The answer is very simple – Just like there is no reason in many of my likes and dislikes or in many of my actions, I don't have a reason as to why I love Hyderabad.
I reached this city by the fall of 2007 as a student of Hyderabad Central University. I don't consider the University as part of Hyderabad at all since that 2500 acres of land is an entirely different experience. It is once I started working that my real stint with Hyderabad started. In between, I did I leave Hyderabad for Delhi. Delhi was accommodative, but not too benevolent. The winters were beautiful, the summers just as harsh, and the people... just like the climate, extremes. I was not a very happy man in Delhi I must say, but each time I go there I study something or the other as I have mentioned in one of my earlier blogs. Fate is very weird, so there I was...back to Hyderabad again by mid 2010. Its April 2011 and I don't see myself leaving this place for another year at least.
Now, I am determined to find reasons and justify why I love Hyderabad. Here are some:
(1) Hyderabad has the charm of the old Nizam ruled state and the fervour of a burgeoning Metropolitan.
(2) Hyderabadi people are one of the most friendliest lot I have come across in my travels across the country.
(3) The cuisine is mind blowing and its a meat lovers close second to paradise, the first being Kerala.
(4) The winters are lovely, mild and beautiful. The summers are hot and cranky. But better compared to Delhi.
(5) It is the place I left home for. The place where the University is, the place where I have had probably what could be called the best time of my life till now.
These are some reasons I tried to list just for the sake of convincing others why I like a place. There are reasons which I don't know.
Maybe it is because all my people, my friends are here
Maybe because I can go back home at 2 o clock at night without fearing lack of transportation
Maybe because I haven't had better beef shawrma from anywhere else
Maybe because I know if I am in trouble, there are people to bail me out
Maybe because I know where and how I can get my work done
Maybe because it is close to B'lore and not too far from Trivandrum
Maybe because I know I won't get lost here in this city
Beyond everything, I am a very happy and free man here. I have known what I am after coming here. I have never felt lonely in this city. How much ever I fight with auto drivers or with anybody for that matter, I have never felt hate or repulsiveness to the people here. Its been very benevolent and caring towards me. It is a choice I made, the city, the people and my people here haven't disappointed me yet.
As much as the city has grown on me, I believe now I have grown on the city too and it doesn't want to leave me...
I have thought the same and many others have asked me why I don't leave Hyderabad. The answer is very simple – Just like there is no reason in many of my likes and dislikes or in many of my actions, I don't have a reason as to why I love Hyderabad.
I reached this city by the fall of 2007 as a student of Hyderabad Central University. I don't consider the University as part of Hyderabad at all since that 2500 acres of land is an entirely different experience. It is once I started working that my real stint with Hyderabad started. In between, I did I leave Hyderabad for Delhi. Delhi was accommodative, but not too benevolent. The winters were beautiful, the summers just as harsh, and the people... just like the climate, extremes. I was not a very happy man in Delhi I must say, but each time I go there I study something or the other as I have mentioned in one of my earlier blogs. Fate is very weird, so there I was...back to Hyderabad again by mid 2010. Its April 2011 and I don't see myself leaving this place for another year at least.
Now, I am determined to find reasons and justify why I love Hyderabad. Here are some:
(1) Hyderabad has the charm of the old Nizam ruled state and the fervour of a burgeoning Metropolitan.
(2) Hyderabadi people are one of the most friendliest lot I have come across in my travels across the country.
(3) The cuisine is mind blowing and its a meat lovers close second to paradise, the first being Kerala.
(4) The winters are lovely, mild and beautiful. The summers are hot and cranky. But better compared to Delhi.
(5) It is the place I left home for. The place where the University is, the place where I have had probably what could be called the best time of my life till now.
These are some reasons I tried to list just for the sake of convincing others why I like a place. There are reasons which I don't know.
Maybe it is because all my people, my friends are here
Maybe because I can go back home at 2 o clock at night without fearing lack of transportation
Maybe because I haven't had better beef shawrma from anywhere else
Maybe because I know if I am in trouble, there are people to bail me out
Maybe because I know where and how I can get my work done
Maybe because it is close to B'lore and not too far from Trivandrum
Maybe because I know I won't get lost here in this city
Beyond everything, I am a very happy and free man here. I have known what I am after coming here. I have never felt lonely in this city. How much ever I fight with auto drivers or with anybody for that matter, I have never felt hate or repulsiveness to the people here. Its been very benevolent and caring towards me. It is a choice I made, the city, the people and my people here haven't disappointed me yet.
As much as the city has grown on me, I believe now I have grown on the city too and it doesn't want to leave me...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)