Fallen Promises?

It was our little family outing after a whole semester;Yes, H graced us finally. No trip to Bombay, the popular maya nagariya, seems complete without a trip to Churchgate, a walk down Marine drive. It was a little exercise I found rejuvenating, motivating in a weird sense. Little kid in the big city, walks around with the cool breeze of the sea on one end, the high rises on another, a dream to be a part of it all one lucky day. A wish to rise to the sky like these scrapers do, walk the paths of the rich and famous, to breathe the air that felt awefully familiar.

And with that same wish, I returned today, to be welcomed by the new facade to the drive. With the pavements being rebuilt and environment going through a face lift of kinds, it was going to be a difference walk, after all. Having read a ton about the men and the idea behind the whole reclamation scheme, I felt energised, motivated to be a part of it. As we treaded down, I looked out to all the new additions, recollecting details about the sit outs and bus lanes, little bits of information I got back from the reading.

It was with the same energy levels that I chose to cling on the wastes from an icey treat in BR. I insisted on my family following suit too, we were not going to emulate the family on a holiday trip from SOTC's latest ad to Save Mumbai (by the way, searching for this as Shahrukh Khan's campaign yields a more definitive result that anything else. We love our film stars, don't we.!). As we walked the way from Ambassador Hotel to Girgaom Chowpatti, we held on to our takeaway tubs and tissues, a keen eye on the look out for a waste bin to dump our refuses into.

Half and hour's walk and a kilometre or two later, there was no respite in sight; all we were left with were sweaty hands. It was with a total feeling of losers that we carelessly flung the tissues by the sidewalk. No, we were being stupid trying to be ideal citizens in a city where nothing that is promised ever gets to your hands. Might be the family that dumped waste all around them was right in doing so, did they have a choice anyway?

We have ministers and mayors and film stars publicising a scheme to promote a promenade that doesn't have dustbins for meters together. Keep Mumbai Clean.! But how, may I ask, Sir?? And there are dreams of Shanghai! Grow up people.!!

Monday Morning Blues

I amble around slowly, inconspicuous of my closest surroundings. It has been quite a while, I remember, since I sat down to do something I really liked; or should I dare to say, my heart really liked. It aches for the pleasures of being one with its wants; yearns for the joy in uniting with its dreams. It's been a long time.

I walk along, through dingy corridors, artificially lit to look alive; onto the dreary ends, where automatons sit and waste their lives away. It is a battle for the dough, I sense, and for why else a million kids would give up on their dreams, to idle away doing what a machine could do three times better. Alright, I agree, the cognitive process is absent in the machine, but isn’t it fading away with what is being done right now anyway? I mean, I can't remember the last time I burned up some gray cells work-wise.

I avoid all forms of human contact, primarily the eyes. That pain, which flows from one human to another through the mere look into each other's eyes, is earth shattering. Only the mighty would have the courage to face such wrath, leave alone a soulless worker without a dream.

There goes the lady I had promised to help last week and had conveniently forgotten; I had another task I couldn't say No to. Duck before she meets my eye. Now, there is the guy who has been trying to get my attention everyday for the last month, so that we could make a final word draft of our newsletter. Got too much on my mind for that now, quickly slip behind the column. Missed him.

Is it me, or are the walls really closing in on me? Room to breathe is subsiding by the minute and the gases breathed out from the human machines seeps into my lungs, eeking strange bile to every physical corner of my body. Freshness is missing, green is unknown, as the greys and the blacks of this world engulf me, the blanket getting impenetrable by the minute. I cough out and breathe heavily, a desperate attempt to revive the life slowly fading away.

As I swipe myself out of the dungeon, some part of reality slips back in. The windows dazzle and shine bright in the brilliance of the festivities outside. With each bursting thunder, soaring up from the world celebrating the festival of lights, my vision lightens up with the myriad colors it has to offer. For the fraction of second that each explosion lives, it engulfs the world around it in light, in the angelic hope that it has to offer. All this only to be eaten back by all the darkness, my frustrated mind thinks. No, I need positivity, my heart decides. Time for decision is here.

Enough, I conclude, of the monotony; living each moment for its worth is the key, I realize. I remember some great man say; never live a life where you are praying for the weekend every passing minute. I think back to days of innocence, childhood memories of bliss at trivial matters; down to earth experiences that brought with it heavenly pleasures. That first ride down the Giant wheel; the first time I watched the fire cracker sit there, quietly letting me light it; The horror movie watched between fingers clasping the face shut; The first extra size ice cream that I enjoyed; The first time I had the complete candy bar for myself, no sisters to share it with; The first time I scared all my cousins in a game of Dark room. A smile slowly creeps in at the silent corners of the face.

I had turned myself into a slave and no one could buy me freedom from this but me. So my mind is made, I shall turn around; walk back to the confines of my desk; shut down (off) anything that has to be; walk back to life and live it for the moment.

This moment makes me want to go down there where all the action is and become one with the lights and sounds of the night. And that is exactly what I will do right now, my mind reinstates, as I walk back to my seat. Imagine the bliss of throwing it all away and walking back to life, my heart flirts with the thought. I was finally going to do something that would make me a hero amongst equals, I infer, the one who dared to give all the goodies up for at least a minute of purity.

Here I am amidst things that shackle me...There lies the switch that will turn it all off...Yes.! Here I stretch to hit it off; Slowly..Let me enjoy this moment..And.. PING..!! What..?? A bug..?? In my code..?? Impossible...What the hell do you know..!! {type...type...into the night...}

Ramblings of a Loser

It was a tiring day, one of those were you felt squeezed, used and wretched at the end of it. I went back to a lonely house and let the lights remain off. The cozy sofa no longer relished my weight on it. Was it me or was it that every other thing around me had begun to hate me. Every other thing. Or every other being..!!

It wasn’t with any extra effort that thoughts took over the silent recesses of my mind. They were happy thoughts, from a time when life knew colors other than black, white and multiple shades of grey. When mornings were yellow and orange, afternoons were red and magenta, evenings drowned in pink and green and nights wrapped in shades of blue.

Any thought from good old days had you in it. With the recent changes, I tried to get them out forcedly. But they wouldn’t listen; Prodigal that they turn out to be. They tell me of all the good times I had had with you. All the mornings that I had woken up with your smell lingering around. All the nights that I had spent in your company. Worse were the nights that I had spent locked in your arms. Two beings beating as one. Those sent a train of chill down my spine. Misery!

I thought of all our escapades; out from hell to our few hours of sanity. Remember dragging you forcedly to my house one night. I wonder if this holds any part of your memory space, but I remember that quiet kiss at the door steps. I try hard but fail to erase it from the chambers lost in the head. Sweet Misery in itself.

Pain! This makes me remember that first time we held hands. Sitting quietly at the back of a dingy bus, it was more of a godly intervention than an intentional brush of hands. And the first time still rests engraved in my heart walls.

There was that other time, again I wonder if you remember this, when I reached hell early in the morning and you were there to pick me up. Seeing you in the brink of that early morning innocence!! Utter torture!

I sit quiet and list the number of Firsts that I have had with you in my life. First one to teach me what love was. First one who taught me what it was to feel important. First one who made me feel wanted. First one to leave me wanting for more. First one who taught me the tortures wrapped up in a kiss. First one who made me see heaven in sheer silence and company. First one who taught me the warmth in a relationship that can be the worst storms. First one who made me jealous of every other person who shared your partnership.

And the first one who made me cry from the heart. I remember the pain each parting caused. Every time you left me, I remember repenting ever having met you. You brought out such hatred in me, with your mere absence. I felt that it was all a mistake and Love was a dream. A mere fantasy that eludes you like the fleeting horizon by the shore. Takes you deeper and deeper into the ocean, only to let you drown in the lowest of the lows.

Such a low, where resurrection was unheard of. An abyss from where not even the adept can find your remains. That’s the pit were love leaves you. Lying alone, half dead and half alive, a mere vegetable.

I brush my thoughts off. Yes! It has been a tiring day. You're a memory, my past. I look forward and hope the gloom leaves me alone. I close my dull grey eyes and silence. Damn the bloody day when I promised friends to Quit Smoking!

Life and Maggi

After months of planning and friends turning traitors and us developing a strong dislike for 'shopping', we managed to make an unplanned trip to Kashid beach. So what if till the last minute Mr.Modest played truant, bringing on all the arbit reasons for us not to go? I, till date, cant figure out who was playing the fool with whom by acting uninterested. He later gave the final goal-reaching nudge we needed, by calling for a cab, thus taking us to the point of no-return in the plan. Ok, we'd miss the pleasure of getting there through more travel modes than one. Fine, we wouldn't feel the smells of rural India seep in and out of us when in the local ferry or the State transport back home. We were still going and that meant it all.

Up at 5 and packing the bare necessities in, brought back memories of the preparations for the weekend getaways; those one day treks out of modernity, to a land where none knew us and surely dint care if Lux was better than Fa. Switch and I were out early, as usual, and sat discussing topics ranging from early morning ablutions to mid day cleanings, while the Croissants guy readied himself for another mundane day ahead. The two hour delay in our leaving kinda mellowed the otherwise excited state that we were in. It was only after my sleep deprived eyes caught sight of the white colored 'silver' Tavera, that the sincerity of this whole expedition seeped in. We were doing it after all.

Settling into the back of the car, I flashed back into those trips with family, where that part of any moving object was reserved for me. It was in that crammed space that I had sat, building castles to live in; singing to myself like I were a rockstar. It was in that dingy that I ruled, oblivious to those claiming to live in better quarters. The pleasures of the wind beating on my face, I missed; yet found the comfort in sitting crossed legged in the dickie of the car, while others squeezed in tighter in the front.

To this day, the smell of the dickie gets me nostalgic and it was in that smell of familiarity that I made myself at home, with Switch as a constant company. So far so good. Life got a wee inch better when destiny played sport and my collection of tamil hits was the only cd in store worth being played. It was time for each of those songs to bring back memories of college, evenings spent in discussion over mind numbing lyrics; of weekends spent in understanding what a 'hyku kavidhai' really meant and of conversations over dinner about why the language was beautiful beyond doubt. Singing aloud with these numbers, picking up the thumping best was a turn-on by itself. Having people around you enjoy it atleast half as much as you do, irrespective of their being miles away from the land of origin of these melodies, is a different experience altogether. Life is good! Fine Mr.Truant was playing truant again. But What the Hell! If he wanted something better he should have fended for himself

Special mention has to be given to the lean mean thing, in the name of a driver, we were blessed with. Adept in returning any conversation you tried to have with him with a cold, dead stare, he managed to blow our nuts off in almost taking us to the totally wrong place. All of this was perfected with his pathetic driving, that made sure he broke too late, enough for us at the back to get a sense of the driver seat and a great habit of halting at any nook he discovered to reward himself with a smoke.

Any amount of frustration that any of us felt, sitting there in the heat, alternating between a fully blown a/c and Shaky's troubled body, bumps that caught us unaware and humps that pushed our heads through the roof were numbed by mid afternoon, when, as promised by all those travelogues on the net, we caught up with the sea. The smell reached us miles away; a quick halt at akshi was a pleasant break; Yes.! I personally couldn't wait to set foot.

And when I finally did, Nirvana was attained. I don’t want to get into the pleasures that my brain felt, already. Because preparations prior to that need mention too. There was a huge round of discussion over night-stay or no-night-stay, with the enlightened ones ruling over the sports and us settling for the former. Then there was a discussion over where to change and who to change and what to change. Uff!! I was all set and itching to unite with the elements that lay ahead.

Having given enough time for such distractions, the waves took care of the rest. If I remember Kutralam as a one-of-its’s-kind in waterfalls, then Kashid holds that place for the waves. They knew we were mean kids and wanted to wash us off for that very reason. As Switch forcedly dragged us further into the demon, the devil's claws moved well over my head at times, drawing me to its bosom. Never before had the quiet water retreating after reaching the shore have such a drag to it that you were more worried on its return than the first hit.

Marvelous was the word. The last storm that hit us was beyond doubt the worst. If not anything else, it instilled the fear of death in me. As it threw me forward into whatever lay ahead and beyond, impressions from the television of trains blasting and buildings exploding ran through my mind. I lived what those people would have, being catapulted by that massive force mightier than them. With no control over where I was going or what would happen when the going ended, I wished everyday in life would be just this; So overwhelmed with adrenaline that you had no time to worry about a minute beyond this one.

Later in the day, as we sat, exhausted; our minds numbed by the whole experience, our body at peace with the non living, comfortable in the taste of the trivial, I felt oneness. With the being outside, the air that surrounded us, the persistent sound of the waves, the constant rattle of the kid wanting to build his own kingdom in the sand, the scream of another mortal being lashed by the waves. Yes! Life made sense.

Time ticking away on our digital minds seemed so immaterial as we lay there watching the sun run its course. To the end of the day, a game of country soccer and cricket sure was a break. I realized that I was playing cricket after years, the minute I held the bat in my hands. I remember the last trial had been at Swaraj, when the Big Uncle, Deloitt Man and I were lazing through a dull holiday afternoon, when the thought of a quick round of box cricket rushed in. The very same rules; one pitch - out, direct out of the compound - out, one run for every touch, off side - no run; Man! life barely changes over the years. I also recollect being the one to score the most runs of the trio. And remember leaving the game in tears, when I had called myself the Gavaskar among the three and Deloitt had teased me for having retired before beginning itself. Little did I know I would hate the sport in the years to come.

It was amidst a rich game and such thoughts that we watched the sun set. A marvel of this sort, I hadn't set my eyes in the years till date. The golden globe slowly merged down with the vast majority of the sea, turning the skies to multiple hues on its way through it all. The purples and the pink were a beauty in their own league. It was a moment when all of us, in our own little worlds, stared at the sun, imagining a world for our own.

The effect took another hour or so to wear out, with us sitting there on the sands and the sky slowly darkening. It had been with much compulsion and utter resolve that I had left the comfort to back where it all had begun. Back in the cab that had been half the reason for us to have such a great day.

While the others lazed around, Switch, H Sac and I let Metallica rule our worlds, free our minds and untie our convoluted thoughts. And it was when this whole journey ended that the Maggi theory was born.

Again and again and again and again??

Someone recently told me not to look for motivation elsewhere, it has to reign within oneself. One has to be "self motivated" i heard. That let a whole rummage of thoughts racing through my head. Let's think about it. About all things that motivate me to wake up every morning and say to myself "What a beautiful day!!"

I hate myself for waking up past ten everyday. And I hate my work that forces me to such treason, all the more. I hate my mom for never having a problem with her only first kid going wanton in her ways. I hate missing the smell of fresh coffee every morning, with the sound of the crispy newspaper running through dad's hands. I hate to not smell the fresh morning air, free from all obscenities of the day.

Before I proceed any further, let me clarify. If you are flinching everytime you read the word 'hate' here and wonder why I am using such a strong word, trust me. When I say i hate it, I mean I HATE it.

So like I was saying. I hate what I have made of myself.I want to have a never ending collection of music with me. Am not biased and I need a range from ancient hindi and tamil movies to the latest in alternative rock, and make sure I have everything that happened in between. I want artificial intelligence to read my mood at any point in time and play me the most appropriate. I hate myself for the meagre amount of music I listen to. I hate myself for listening to the same songs every time I do listen to them.

I hate myself for the minimal amount of time I spend with my guitar these days. I look at Switch and hate myself all the more.

I want to read. Read everything I can get my hands on. Like I said, I have never been choosy. I wanna read everything that was ever available and still remain thirsty for more. I hate myself for never finding enough time to pick something up from a local library; for never finding support enough to pick up everything I want to from the local bookstore. I will one day, I know, but I hate myself today for the inadequacy.

I want to get a little drum kit for myself and learn to play it all on my own. Want to see myself sit there and play my heart out everytime I wanna express my frustration on this big bad world. I hate myself for not having the guts to do that. What happened to all the drive I used to have??

I want to own those little Bose speakers I saw in the showroom. Want to have a sound room of my own, with a complete A-V experience set up, topped up with a few bean bags thrown around. Inadequacy beats me here as well, for I know it wont fit my pants right now. All for the day I wait for.

I want to travel, far and wide, deep into that untreaded land. I want to tour with a great bunch of friends and I want to backpack all alone. I want a mind that decides between the crave for solitude and the want for a group that understands when I want my space. I want a intellect that manages the desire to explore abroad and the need to be patriotic in my ideas. I want to make sure that every single holiday is utilised in my meeting my real self and I hate every saturday that I spend at home.

I want stability, sincerity, honesty and dependability in things in contact with me. I want people around me to stand up and raise their voice against bureaucracy. I hate every single person who shuts up just to be the nice one and walk over me.

So tell me. None of these things I want seem to be available for takes in the near vicinity. And they talk to me about Self motivation?? To better it what do I have instead? A tag that reads The revolt, a look of scorn on all faces the minute I talk and smirk and a smile of triumph on all those who chose to change their ways to go ahead. What do I do? I eat the same food every day, I see the same people come rain and storm, I go to the same places everyday, I catch the same bus to office everyday, I sit and warm the same chair everyday, I numb my brain to the same extent everyday, I give myself the same amount of headache everyday and I go back home with the same amount of frustration everyday.

What's new? That is my constant question. In every conversation I make, in every thought I think and in every think I care to spend a moment on. When we were in school, a new period every hour was a change. In college, a new treat every week was a welcome change.
And now?? Predictability is killing me. The same sun rising over and over again is killing me. The same set of code I look at and relook at is torturing me. The same bunch of out-of-wavelength people I meet everyday are making me run.

What am I expecting?? I dont know. Something that is not already there. Something that I would least expect. A sudden call from somewhere that transports me to a totally different world..?? A teleporter that takes me back in time?? Or into the future maybe..?? A bomb blast in the neighbourhood, where I was there helping those people live a life, maybe?? A pair of glasses to change the same face I stare into every morning..?? A fracture in my leg that makes sure I limp to office for the next four months, for a change??

Dont make those weird faces and get the impression that I am a loser of all sorts...But I am serious...Mundaneness is Killing me..

8Two

i think ive fallen down from grace..

something's really wrong with me...

my head spins round at a steady pace...

my mind will not get free...

u tell me i am not the one...

u tell me i have done no good...

all that you say can be done..

my mind can it be understood...

i think ive fallen down from grace..

Smudged the picture of me i painted...

i stand with no longer a face...

all life and passion is tainted...

PS: March end - Depression sets in. Great thanks to a friend from workplace for coming up with the title. Kill Me!

Creativity, at its Worst!

Snoopy colleague reaches his limits of gossip monging and curiousity by peeping over to his neighbour's privates, only to check out "If it was really that big?". And you expect me to fall down on my stomach and laugh when the whole ad is boiled down to increased storage space on Rediff mail?

What happened to creativity in ads? How can there be ads like these made when we have classics like Prasoon Joshi's for Happydent, or the new Reclaim Your Life mantra from Safari Dicor??

Wait a minute? Was I being very finicky?? Conservative, is it, for not being able to enjoy such a dirty joke!! I can stand Kamasutra for years now, but Mail size and the Man's privates!! Give me a reason to corelate here, please.!

Cricket - o - phobia !

Scene off a canteen table. The otherwise choosy men pick up anything from the wide option of "delicacies" available and run, squabble to make sure they get a vantage position. The unlucky few curse their worst signs for having to go through the misery of sitting with their backs to the television.The ones with a good rapport with the girls, coax and please them to exchange seats. Some desperate souls compromise on the pleasures of tv viewing and go down to live commentaries on the radio.

But come Cricket world cup season and it is more of a pain for a girl, like me, to accompany the male counterparts to grab a meal. "Hey heard about this new scheme that they have come up for the pay cheque?", meets deaf ears, selectively deaf infact. Or it would be returned with a "Oh it was plum man..!", which totally bounces off the conversation. You are definitely received with necks craning over their shoulders to make sure not one ball is missed. And when there is no live telecast, damn those matches in the carribean, there are those innumerable replays, thanks to the countless channels that have resolved to mint money in the month to come.

Even if those dedicated channels do let them down, they always have their very own in-house experts, recounting tales from world cups they viewed as kids, moving on to the teenager days. How cricket was more a sport then than the game now. And then the usual argument, be it for the regional favorites or the bowler-all rounder issues, they just keep popping up always.

And respite is nowhere near in sight. Getting yourself served a meal quick is an option out on the open, for the canteen guys blink not an extra minute incase they miss out on that key stroke that would change the direction of the game. And such is their interest in the game, that any hopes of changing to anything else is minimal and bleak.

As we fight to move over to something more promising, I am down on my knees and ready to compromise. I am ready to put myself through an hour of Himesh Reshammaiyya's nasal drawl. I am keen on watching Sanskar and find out the positives of turning into sainthood. I am considering diksha as an option in life infact. I am ready to learn all the new asans that Ramdev baba has come up with for a severe neck disorder. But please, not another ball of the match.

A desperate plea. When are we getting the soccer matches back and why in the whole, bad hell does the Formula 1 season start this late?

Four friends and a flight to catch

Four friends sat on the kerb, oblivious to the pounding traffic that the internation airport was accustomed to. They were all professionals in the true sense. Some were back from work, their formals and name tags intact. One was out on an assignment which had given him the opportunity to meet the rest.

They had been different people, but had bonded. Some had made each other's life difficult in college. Some had belonged to opposing groups when ego ran high and friends were lost. Others had been the lone light for the other during difficult times. Most of them hadn't made contact in the two years that had flown by after college. The pain didn't show now.

They had had their differences; some still had them. A few drank tea while the others savoured their soups. Yet they were there together, reliving a past they had lived through soulfully. The stress that work life brought along showed on some. Others were making a successful effort at hiding it quiet. The few that were open about it shared the frustration and it found empathy from others around.

For they had been together in times when life was carefree. College life brings with it a phase of total freedom and ownership. You knew that anything that happened to you tomorrow was because of what you did today. Yet, you made sure you lived today to the fullest. There had been no politically correct statements then; If I dint like you I told you just that. Oblivious to its holding on anything coming forward.

We had all been ready for a battle had there been one. But we hadn't prepared for the one that was storming in us right now. The dreams, that had left behind sleepless nights, were safe and locked up, while we chased futile targets. We sat there as friends while a life of corporate culture lay behind us. We contemplate on what we had made of ourselves. It was all what had put unto ourselves. True!

All of us, in our own ways, looked at a distant nothing, staring at the us that we had been. We had grown up after all. When the time arrived, we silently parted ways, promising to have more such opportunities to reunite. It felt like a chance to live the real us. The us that was threatened to oblivion by the us we were all hoping to be.

Mee Mumbaikar Nahi!!

It's over a year now in this place and it surprises me that I am yet to form an impression about living in a place like Mumbai. While there are things that really amaze me like the old-world charm of the buildings and roads in South bombay(I still like calling it that!) and the way every nerve of Mumbai functions with little interference(Its wearing out with time I know), there are things that really annoy me and nullify the positives. I cant stand the horrid habit of chewing tobacco like you were on a competition with your bovine counterparts. I cant stand the art of making the world your spitoon all the more. Nowhere else have I seen such a horrendous habit(Fine I havent seen all the world. But the little suffices!). It seems as dear to a family as its heirloom. Bless their souls.!!

It was another one of those days when I was thinking about the level of annoyance Mumbai managed to throw into me, seated in a bus right behind a true Mumbaikar. The vehicle hadnt halted a micro second that the crowd poured out, like water gushing off the dam flood gates. With time I had realised the futility of trying to be a part of the mad rush. A nanosecond wasnt as precious to me as it was for these "hard earning" citizens. I could afford to wait for the bus to empty and take my space to get off.

Another attitude of the modern Mumbaikar that irks me is their total negligence to traffic rules. Pedestrians top the list of citizens ignoring traffic rules. Any mondane Mumbaikar would walk off unstopping from one end of any busy road to the other, cutting right through traffic, with the least concern to the oncoming vehicles. What they fail to realise is 1.Their waiting for their turn would ensure faster traffic outflow from the signal. and 2. They are not participants of some reality program that the world is watching. As I stand there amidst a bustling traffic, opposite an equally or most probably doubly busy train station, waiting for the green to turn red, and find my way across, people pour over all around me and walk ahead. The honks pound as drivers try to wade their way through this ocean of walkers. And the heights of irony was these 'concerned' citizens giving me the dirty look for standing there and obstructing their right of way.

I remember this particular rule that the municipal corporation of Bangalore had come up with, back in the late nineties, when I was in school. They imposed a heavy fine on this act - They even christened it 'jay-walking'. The traffic congestion on M G Road had come down drastically, as pedestrians slowly treaded along the footpaths, in search of a zebra crossing. Mumbai is desperate for desperate measures.

I definitely dint lose much from the two extra minutes I spent at the crossing here - It gave me more time to admire the citizens of this city. Once on the other side, I walked towards the bridge that would take me from the Industrial sector of the area to the residential part of it (OK! For those unaware, The east and west of a region was initially meant to zonalise the area and separate the industrial commotion from the residential peace. Not that we follow what is meant to be). If no other positive effect has come out of my frequent trips to the gym, I am fine. Because one thing I am carrying forward in life is climbing stairs, and doing it with a higher purpose than getting to the top. I usually skip steps and make sure I dont spend more than half a minute in going up the 50 odd steps out there. The fleeting adrenaline rush gives me a good feeling.

As I approached the foot of the stairs, I noticed a traffic jam of different sorts here. Fine, not everyone shares the same opinion about this little ritual of mine. I waded through traffic and was half the way up when a spree of competitors razed up, past me, reached the top and gave me that sarcastic smile. A smile of victory. Its not a city specific phenomenon I know, but what was it with men and not letting women overtake them? It was a road for God's sake.

This brings back times in the Textile city. H and me on the bike and zooming past sluggish men on their bikes, evading a confrontation at home. The minute realisation dawned on them that it was a bunch of college girls, who had just taken over, the Bull is up and razing. Phew.! Kids! I would say. It's a global phenomenon alright.

With a knowing smile on my face, in return to their glance, I walked up and over the train station. It was the usual, buzzing with sights and colors of any road-side market place in Mumbai. They sold everything from pirated cds to t-shirts and trousers. Numb to all of this now, I walked ahead, when a slight agonising moan from one end of the walkway distracted my attention. It was an old lady, hunched with age. The cause of her moan was two saggin bags on both hands, loaded with sweets for her grand children, probably. As she struggled to inch forward, tugging her goodies along, another sigh escaped her frail body. She slowly looked up to ensure she was on the right way, and to judge the battlefield still left ahead.

Observing all this, I had walked a few paces past her, when something made me stop. What was I doing, walking past, like I had a million dollar business to catch up with, when she was here struggling? I stopped. Unsure if I was doing the right thing, I retraced my step back to meet up with the old lady. I bent low to meet her line of vision and extended a hand towards one of her bags. In a soft Hindi I had rehersed in my quick trip to her, I asked her if I could carry her bags till the end of the walkway, to make it easy for her. By the end of the statement, my left hand was clutching the handle of her bag on the right, waiting for her to smile, aquiese and let go of her grip.

I dint know how it began, but a second later she was screaming on the top of her shrill voice.'Chor! Chor!'. I also dint know if the voice was really that loud or it was my racing mind that had amplified all of it. As I turned around to access the damage, I saw glances walk past me, a question in their eyes. I felt her hand loosen my hold off the bag and walk past quickly. As I stood there, shaken with what had just happened, I saw her turn back to give me a last complaining glance. Stealing my grand children's cookies..??

For once I was happy the citizens of Mumbai were not much of the interfering sort or concerned human beings. Else I would have landed up in a hospital near by and the next day's headlines would read something in the lines of 'Considerate citizens save an old lady from theft.','The young woman thief, working in a software company tried to lure the old lady to part with her belongings.','Citizens beat the hell out of the robber and make her confess that she was deployed by a distant wing of Dawood and was trained in multiple arms handling.'.

Was it my mistake? I ask myself again. Do these Mumbaikars need ten bomb blasts rocking the city in an hour or a flood draining their belongings, to show their compassionate side? Wasn't there something called Humanity that should be alive in us at all times? My Mistake!!

The first citizen of India

A quiet gathering of twenty odd somethings stood up as the National anthem sounded over the sound system. A few hundred kilometres away, the President of India joined other dignitaries on stage to sing the same anthem a millionth time in his life.

An hour back, the admin department had deployed the best of its troops to the cafeteria, to set out the stage for the occasion. I except all these learned engineers to be enthusiastic in listening to the scientist turned president speak. Lets keep some chairs in hand. Just in case. The Head had thought out aloud.

Half an hour earlier, a few last minute lunchers gobbled their meal up. They saw men armed, waiting to take their tables away, and make room for more chairs. They had to rush.
The Head checked his watch, the hundreth time in the last one hour. It was acceptable that the president was delayed and would be half an hour behind schedule. All these dignitaries are forever running late. But what happened to the great minds working in this building.? Did they have a fore thought that the president would be late? Would they come pouring in when the dignitaries arrived? I hope there is no mad rush. He was glad he was doing all the thinking in his head.

It was an hour into the function when the Head returned. After the welcome and introduction, the podium had been handed over to the president. He was well into his discussion about India and emerging technologies. The Head particularly liked the idea about a collaboration of all technologies - information, communication, biotech and nano - to form a system that works for bettering the standard of Indian living. A great thought.

Another prospective thought was about a change in the primary education syllabus, that ensures that children of tomorrow do not lose the creativity that's inbuilt, let a trade of between grades and originality take over. It looked like a root cause for many issues plaguing the generation coming up - the education system.

It was a good question this school kid asked - What was the First citizen's opinion about the brain drain that has been tormenting us for the last whole decade. Look at the positive aspect, he said. He quoted all those who have stayed back to make a difference. It was afterall an issue about our attitude and thought process. Why look and lament about those who have left us when there are ones that have stayed back for us. And to think that there are 2 million Indians living outside India!

After the National Anthem was sung, with all heads held high, the few who had come in to witness this occasion left, while in the other city, those gathered waited for the president to leave. It was a mere five minutes before the cafeteria lay silent. There was only the sounds from the kitchen, preperations for the evening snacks where in full swing.

As the Head sat on one of the seats in a distant recess, while his troops started putting the seating arrangement away, he thought. His mind went racing back to a time, when there this same canteen had been over flowing with people. Those who had made the terrible mistake of leaving their seats in their respective floors later than the others, where left with just enough space to stand and witness the proceedings. There was dancing, to tunes from the latest bollywood, and singing and a lot of cheering. Smiles lit all faces and a jolly mood was in.
He couldn't remember what the event was. But those who couldn't find space to sit then had come back to him with a complaint. The arrangements were bad. The company dint like us participating. This was the event that had forced him to ensure things went right today. He had made sure all the four hundred had place to sit or stand comfortably. Then what had gone wrong?

Why dint these minds of tomorrow find it not important to listen to the President speak, when he himself, a mere mortal, with a level of IQ much lesser than these that earned billions for the company, was excited all day?? Why were their priorities so misturned that a speech about their own country, delivered by their own president, at one of their own company campuses not require a trivial hour of listening time??

They are the future. The tomorrow of the country. God Bless!!