The Love will last the world!

A few days back as I went to sleep, this thought kept coming back to my mind again and again. By the end of it all, when the dust settles down and the bones rot, the air will still smell of love. 

When one of my friends told me yesterday, "I'm so proud of you", I got reminded of that thought again.

I had not achieved anything big, was just trying to put together my reading habit again. I was never the voracious reader but never was I a non-reader. Books had always been a part of my life. Till suddenly the social media bug bit me. The world of small sentences and images and videos had spoilt my hunger for books. Suddenly the mind settled for the low-hanging fruits of the twitters and the Facebooks. 

After many failed attempts at resuscitating the dead reading habit, this year I have finally gone back to the days of the youth! Ah, the smell of a new book. I set weekly targets and have achieved most of what was aimed for and it is already the 6th month. The inner human in me was flaunting this achievement to the dear friend. The human need for validation is immense I suppose. I'm proud of you da, she said then!

The brain lit a spark. The human heart aches for is pure unsolicited love not necessarily the pat on the back after a victory or achievement. Knowing me, I would have still flaunted myself for keeping such targets to read books, even if I had been a miserable failure and had not read a single book. And the friend would have still been proud, for there is love beneath that pat on the back. Pride is just the afterthought, an addendum of sorts, to the underlying love! 

Two people in my life have shown me what it means to love. 

The wifey is the epitome of it. For she could muster love through the most difficult of circumstances. When life sucks, when I'm at my worst behavior, through all the non-sense our families threw at her, she could carve out love, earnest, and sincere. 

Then my Mom. Her name spelled love. Dust on my mom's life has settled down. Her bones I'm sure are rotten. Life is so normal, that I sometimes find it difficult to imagine, how it would have been to have her around. Yet, all that remains of her was the love she showered on everyone around. Love pure and love pristine. Memories of the hugs and the kisses. The pats on the backs. The hugs. The smiles. And through it all, the love. 

Love shall last the world! For the human aching for love is real.  

Good bye great man!

"They asked me to buy a cycle for Rs.150/-. I refused; My boss enticed me saying I can get enough bribes to pay it back. I decided not to do it and walked everywhere till I could afford one", said thatha(Grandpa). I was listening intently to his stories. 

I don't know the man well, yet I secretly admired him. He was my dad's uncle. I know my dad had a secret admiration for the man as well. As we laid him down one last time, after that dreaded virus corona had already taken the life out of the body, I decided to let open the secret. 

He came from a very poor family. Lost his father early in life and had to work and discontinue studies during the initial days of engineering to support his family. Yet apparently he was so good with everything he did that his friends and the village elders supported his studies which enabled him to become the man he finally became. 

To become a civil engineer with the government in the early years of Indian independence would have been a blessing. India was buzzing with a lot of activities and he was in charge of building a few dams in my state. He climbed up the ladder quickly and very soon had the reach of the upper echelons of power. Yet, he never misused it. He was so particular that he never even used his official vehicle for anything personal. 

When I, as an arrogant young man in my early twenties, wanted to build a small bridge in the remote village of Assam, thinking I know it all and had it all sorted, he gave me a lesson in humility and work ethic I could never forget. He gave me the design I wanted, to the 'T', every line in its place. He was in his 70s then. Retired. This work of mine should have been the last thing in his mind. Yet, he gave his all. The bridge still stands. I proudly claim to the world, I built it. There goes one secret. It was thatha's! 

He had cancer for a year. Yet every time we went to see him, he never flinched. His face was calm and serene. There was never panic. The world around him shouted imperfection; craziness; loud white noise; Yet the man never showed anything on his face. 

After the dreaded virus had come and he knew the end is near, apparently the same calm remained on his face. "I have lived my life, I know where I'm going, let me go peacefully", were his words when the doctors suggested some surgery to help him out. And peacefully he did go! In fact, I have never been part of a more peaceful funeral. It was all so calm. It was all so quiet. The man reflecting life even after death. 

Goodbye, great man Perhaps knowing the destination was your answer to life! 

 

The blue jean and black 'T' shirt!

When you are born in a small town to a Gandhian father, apparels were the last thing in your mind! All we (my brother and I) knew were a bat and a ball and we cared very little about anything else in life. Not even when the first signs of testosterone came into the picture! One fine day my sister got married to this guy from the US and I saw him wear something which I had not seen before. Maybe I had seen it, but not cared much. That memory of him wearing it so casually on the day of his engagement said something about him. 'Cool' is the word. He looked 'cool'. That image registered in my mind! Then after a few years, one man was revolutionising the world with a new product called the iPhone. I knew who Steve Jobs was then but saw him on the television sets for the first time. He wore the same cool thing my sister's husband wore that day. One of my friends had gone to Chennai to do his masters and one day he was coming back and I went to catch up with him and there was 'J', wearing the same cool thing.

Years later, when I sit and type furiously on my computer, blue jean and black T-shirts are just another dress. They are still my favourite though, but they were once a young boy's dream. I may have bigger dreams now, but the dream of looking cool in blue jean and a black T-shirt of the young boy from the small town was part of his folklore. The folklore of life!

Food, bloody food!

I brought back food home from school in the evening! Perhaps I ate from the friend's tiffin box. It was made early in the morning. When my dad found out my tiffin box was full, it was already late in the night. The food smelt bad. Has it started to rot? The dad started giving me the food by his hands. It tasted bad. There was something definitely wrong with that. I resisted. Resisting my dad is stupid. No way he is backing away. He gave me the food and I ate it. Simple! 

He called me aside! You are not throwing food in the waste bin. There is no wastage of food in this house. I heard him well. The dad and his principles. My first lesson on food!

We were moving to a new place. The man guarding our office had a sad smile; His friends are moving. 'Saapiteengala na,(You had food?)' I asked him. 'Illa sir (Not yet)', came the reply. My friend and I were planning to buy the famous Ambur Biriyani for lunch. 'Ungalukku vaangava (Shall we buy for you also?)', we asked him randomly. Okay, sir, he smiled sheepishly. We bought him a biriyani and went on our merry way. I met him again in an hour, perhaps on the last trip transporting office things. 'Saapiteengala na(You had food?)' I asked again! Tamilian way of greeting, you see. He replied in the negative. I was a little taken aback. What happened to the biriyani? Why didn't you eat it, I asked him." I have kept it for my children, for they have not had Ambur biriyani before". 

Biriyani, the very same biriyani I eat every other day was way out of reach of the lower-middle-class security guard. 

Lockdown had just happened. The migrant crisis was hitting the roof. A group of like-minded people were trying to help the migrants by giving them food. Scores of people were made to stand in a queue and food packets were delivered. Everyday many after standing in big queues went back without food. A young boy, in jeans and a T-shirt with nice sneakers came along the side after finishing his first packet and asked, "Sir, aur yek packet hain kya, Mujhe bhuk lagen hain (Is there another packet sir, I'm hungry)"; The image of a bright young man begging for food is still fresh in my mind. 

Then that incident happened! I could never take this out of my system. Never! 'P', who works as a rescue worker and a childhood hero of mine pinged. "Sam, I need someone to be admitted in a hospital; Need doctors opinion" said she! I called my doc brother and together we went to check on this boy. 'D', the boy had not had food for a few days; 'Many', will be a better adjective. For the boy looked sick. Lockdown, parental problems and his own sickness made him dislike food. The photo speaks for itself. Let words not shadow the image.

On the day when the minister of state in parliament proclaimed that even stray dogs in India don't go to bed hungry, I'm learning a lesson. A big one at that. 

Food, bloody food, something which I take for granted is a privilege. Food, that which has given 'the foodie' in me so much joy, is grace. For I don't deserve it.

Travesty of the childhood dreams!

You dream; dream big. Dream to be like 'X'; Dream to be like 'Y'. 

Didn't we all dream? As a starry-eyed eight-year-old, I dreamt of becoming the next Sachin Tendulkar. what were the geography classes for if not to dream him. Who of us here did not want to be the next Kiran Bedi? The strong police officer, who fined the prime minister's vehicle for a violation. Didn't any of you want to be like Chetan Bhagat? (of course, I was young then). 

Mohandas Pai? Remember the name? When engineering was the fad when everyone who did not get to become a doctor wanted to be the next big software engineer, the man was big. Rajnikanth? Ah, the quintessential hero of my generation. 

I adored every one of them. Wanted to be like one of them at various stages of life. Thought very highly of them. Had a heart full of respect. 

When E.Sreedharan, the metro man joined the BJP, I went back to the time when I adored the man. The Metro man. He built the Delhi Metro without corruption. As a student of politics, he was the stereotypical hero. My world then wanted a piece of him. He was always in the limelight. The Kerala Metro wanted him. I hoped and prayed he agreed to join the TN metro. The inner Tamilian in me! 

At various stages of life, all of them had disappointed me. I had kept them on the pedestal. And all of them fell off it. Every one of them. 

Where did it all go wrong? Is it wrong to put people up on the high throne in our minds? And then put them down every time you don't agree with them? Can I be philosophical and brush it off as differences of opinion? Is it just so simple to do away with the heroes you grew up worshipping? To take them off your head and make the heart understand that they are mortals, mere fallible humans? 

I wish Dhoni does not join twitter and abuse and hate like every other person. I don't want Rafa to one day come out in the open to be an extortionist. To hear about the 'X' and 'Y' come out as sexual predators as I heard about Ravi will be brain-numbing. If the brain could be numbed! 

Idealizing flawed and imperfect human beings was indeed my idiocy. Of course, there cannot be perfect homo sapiens on this side of the world. 

But is it all a travesty to just dream of being someone else? 

 

Are Social media friendships for real?

Friendships are fascinating; Ain't it? 

Who was your first friend? Do you remember your first friend? When you were still learning the art of walking and talking. Are you still in touch with them? I'm one of the lucky few for whom the first friendships have stayed on. 'S' was a friend even before I knew it. We were 2 then. She is the big doc now; But for me, she is still the 'S' I know. For more than 30 years. 

'J', was the first friend I made in the real world; The world outside the campus we lived in. Who was yours? Do you remember your early conversations? 'J' stuck on too! After so many years, we still talk nonsense, as only friends can.

When did you talk last to your primary school bestie? Sadly 'Be' my BF from school lost touch! Life happened I presume! The senior school besties 'B' and 'T' stick on. Few fell along the way though. College and work? But for few, not many has stuck on. Friendships are such I suppose.  

Through the growth process, we call life, people come in and go. Circumstances bring us together to a few; 'S'  would never have been friends with me, if her dad not chose to live next door. 'J' went to the same church. 'B' studied with me in the same school and 'T' played on the basketball team as I did. 'Circumstances'; That is the word; The word which brought as together. Someone else was deciding my acquaintances, rather friends. Providence. Luck. Parents. Work & Study place. Whatever. 

Then social media happened. By preference, Twitter happened. 

Suddenly the person I talk to on Twitter does not know me. Neither the fact that I'm fat and ugly. They know my views. Just my ideas, beliefs and principles. And we become friends. Not by circumstance. But by choice. I get to pick and choose people who speak my language; who has my belief system; who could understand my principles and ideologies. 

Isn't that a paradigm shift in relating to people? 

Suddenly, I realized my friends on SM have more variety to life than those I had known forever. There is a CA, a banker, a bird watcher and an IT professional. Circumstance did not take me through any of these. 

I'm still a beginner in SM friendships. I cannot confidently say I have found friends for life on Twitter. A few may become Best friends for life. I don't know. But I'm sure I have seen and talked to a few who have found real joy in friendships online. 

Are ideologically similar relationships better? Can friendships be beyond ideologies and principles of life in the first place? 

I'm not giving up the 'S' and 'J' and every other beautiful people which life threw at me. I'm sure life's circumstance will flip a few more along the way. I still find it difficult to relate to people who I could never see; I'm sure there are a few wonderful friends out there, who I will make. I'm learning; I'm learning. But the shift is for real. 

Friendships on SM is here to stay and from what I know, is beautiful in its own way.

The curse of the girl child!

Scene 1:

The doctor picked up the baby. The pink limbs stretching itself, the baby crying; A life on earth is born. Another! The first cry can be heard outside. 

The man was waiting with bated breath. It was his child. He could hear the cry. His heart missed a beat. The granny next to her had a tear. Even before the tear dropped by, the nurse brought the baby to them. 

Baby boy! hurray, you can hear the man shout. The baffled nurse said, "sir, it is a girl". "No, it cannot be. I cannot have a girl. I know it is a boy; I know it is a boy. You are cheating". The man's elation turned to bereavement. 

Scene 2:

An IUD! Intra-Uterine Death. The baby born was not crying. Stillborn, they called it. The life that was supposed to have never happened. News spread. You could see the wailing outside. It was painful. The air was thick. You could feel the tension in the air. As the babies relatives came over to gather the lifeless body, the crying hit the roof. And then the eyes fell on the beautiful one. Still, yet lovely. 

The wailing stopped abruptly. Oh, a girl? They all stopped suddenly. Looked at each other. Just walked out. The pain they had felt is gone. It was just a girl they had lost. Not worth crying over. 

Two separate incidents. One week. Two different hospitals. 

After listening to the wife tell the first story and my sister the second one, I died within. My wife and my sister. Two women, who are beautiful in their own ways. Both doctors. Brilliant minds. Sculpted in the image of the creator. Much better people than I can ever aspire to be. What makes them lesser human beings in the minds of these vile offenders in the stories just coz they are women?  

Men, oh men, when will you step aside and let the women live. Let them be. Just be.