Perspective

Spin Doctor

I am not an alcoholic. Let me rephrase that. I do not ‘do’ alcohol. Hmm, let me rephrase that as well. I have never done alcohol in my entire life. True Story!!!! Of course, it has dawned on me that this information is, somehow, unbelievable for many.

You know how it is at get-togethers; almost everyone is doing alcohol. There is nothing wrong with that, is there? But there will be someone who will surely ask me why I wasn't drinking. Clearly, there is a problem with not drinking. I used to, until recently, tell them that I do not drink. The first reaction, almost always, is disbelief, which slowly changes to that human being seeing a halo around my head. Then I am prodded further about my drinking habits or the lack of it. Answers such as I do not feel like drinking or I have never had the inclination to drink are unacceptable. More questions follow – Are you that religious? Did your parents tell you to not drink? Do you think people who drink are bad people? (Yes, it’s true, I have been asked this).

There is often too much explanation and my having to needlessly defend my non drinking state of being. And then, as if almost by magic, I found the perfect answer. At a friend’s wedding I was asked why I wasn't drinking? Out of jest, I said that I was just out of rehab and was trying to keep away from alcohol. Guess what, this answer worked. There were no more questions, period. On another occasion I said that I was bored of alcohol and was hence taking a break. No more questions followed. So, I just make up answers now. Anything random always works. I had always heard that the truth was often stranger than fiction, it was only then that I realised what it truly meant.

How to De-addict yourself from Fb (for dummies)

At some point in your life you have wanted to de-addict yourself from Fb. Come on, admit it, everyone has. It is equally true that you have found the process grueling. You have deleted your account on many occasions but that lasted for a day. Let me also tell you that I have been successful in de-addicting myself from Fb. This is how. Follow these simple steps to lead a Fb free life.

Step 1: Check updates and pictures of each of your couple of hundred friends. You will get to know everything about them which will include what they had for breakfast, where they are, whether it is their cat’s birthday or sometimes, even, the colour of the undergarment they are wearing (though be prepared to also know that some may not be wearing any and are not afraid to announce this to the world). Clearly, all this newly acquired knowledge has enriched your life beyond measure. Now reflect on your life and realise how sucky it truly is.

Step 2: Just to be counted in the fbosphere you must upload a picture of yourself with someone really cool. Say if you are an aspiring chef, you could use the guys from Master Chef Australia, or if you’re a racer somebody like Schumacher will do or if you’re a budding economist, a God of economics like a Nobel Laureate will do (nothing else is cool enough). Engage in insightful conversation with this God of your field and get her/him to say “Oh! I did not know that”. Clearly, now you have “earned” this picture with your God. Use this picture as your Fb profile picture. Obviously the fbbrazzi will “like” your picture in a half a second and people who are not truly your friends but are on your friends list will also congratulate you on your “achievement”. With many “likes” you would have arrived in fbosphere, until you realise that your friend’s selfie has got twice as much “likes” than your picture with your God. This should enrage you. However, do not engage in complicated math like trying to figure the percentage of friends who have “liked” your picture versus your friend’s. This may turn against you. Remember the goal is to de-addict your- self and the fact that 56 per cent of your friends have liked your photo as compared to 17 per cent of your friend’s friends should not be considered. Be truly pissed at this rat race of mediocrity.

Step 3: Keep looking for more pictures of your friends. You will come across a picture of this dude/chick from your school/college/ex-workplace doing really well in life like studying at Harvard or working at a global investment bank or playing cricket for the national team. You remember this dude/chick as a complete lout but you cannot figure out how he/she got there. Now it is very important for you to think this dude/chick went to study at Ivy League/play in the national team because of “baap ka paisa” or because his/her family has pull. But never bother to check the facts, it could turn out that this dude/chick actually got a scholarship or is really good at what he/she does. In that case your anger will be completely unjustified. So as a rule do not check facts and let the, often unjustifiable, anger build inside you. Remember the aim is to de-addict yourself and facts can ruin this process.

Step 4: Repeat actions similar to steps one to three many times over for best results. These steps are most effective when administered on days when you are having a bad time. By the step 3 happened to me I was so fed up that I willingly gave up being on Fb. So now, I lead a Fb free life. If I can do it, so can you. Good luck.

The Constant

Among the myriad changes in life and the various perceptions of what life could be, there is this friend who is always a part of your tomorrows. Amid all the change which is happening within and around you, this friend is the constant. 

You hang on to this friend forever (but just not against its will) !

Letting Go

Down memory lane,
I walked again.
Through the times,
which had flown by...

...and there you stood cleaning your closet. Sorting clothes to give away. Until you realise that the shirt you held in your hand is the same shirt you wore on the day you got your award. It is hard to let go. But then you figure someone in the hills needs is much more than you do. You let go!

...you come across a picture on your computer with many happy faces. You take a moment,  you reminisce. Happy memories come flooding, in a fleeting moment you realise that, that was the past.In the now, you have have changed and so have the times since then. It is hard to gather how could such a past have existed given the now? Ctrl+Shift+Del is executed. You let go or in the least you try to. But did you really let go? You still think about the picture, the faces and the times !!!

...the old diary is found in the cartons with the books. You flip through the pages. You realise that you don't write often enough any more. In fact,  you don't write at all. Tucked away in the middle of the diary you find an old unsent letter. The contents of which, once pertinent and powerful, are not that pertinent or purposeful or even relevant any more. In that moment you realise that some bridges have been broken, forever. The letter is placed with the other papers to throw away.

..."...I won't be playing in the IPL next season"...It takes a moment for you to register this. Tendulkar had just announced his retirement nonchalantly. You sense that the final good bye is round the corner now. You don't know how you are going to cope with it. Somehow you have to prepare for the inevitable. You just don't know how! It is not just about Tendulkar, in many ways it is about you. A part of you will go away with him. You see the team doing well even when Tendulkar is not in the ranks. You tell yourself that it is going to be fine. Deep down, you know things will be fine but they will never be the same again.

Turning It Square

Everything stood in readiness as I reached the top of my bowling mark. I was unsure if I could bowl at all, considering I had not played cricket for a long time. The close-in fielders stood bending at their knees. I begin my short run-up, trying to concentrate on the grip with which I held the ball. The ball is delivered, it is air-borne for what seemed like an eternity. My gaze fixed on the revolving ball. The line is awry. It lands far outside leg stump. I cringe. It grips and turns with the wicket-keeper collecting it outside off stump. I burst in to a huge smile. It did not matter whether the line was wrong, or the ball was too flighted. The square turn was still there and that is what mattered. I am pumped up. I remove my heavy sweater disregarding the acute winter and reached the top of my bowling mark a lot more confident. The second ball pitches on middle stump and turns square, a wide is called. I correct my line and bowl a flipper on the third ball. The ball skids on. The arm movements are slowing falling in place. The fourth ball is pitched way outside leg stump, this time intentionally. The batsman leaves the ball alone and doesn't bother until he hears the sound of timber. The ball gripped and bowled the batsman from behind the legs. I was back and so was the spin. 

The Haunting

It haunts me. I squirm inside.

It is often hard to not compare yourself with your contemporaries. She has a fancy job; he is at a fancy university. You seem stuck in limbo. But then you console yourself. Others think you have an awesome life and a good job. Your boss thinks highly of you, some of your colleagues think you are prodigious. You are able to speak to a God of Economics, hold his attention and even tell him something which he did not already know. Of, course this should make you happy. Should it?

You stand before the mirror before you go to bed. You ponder for a moment and try to shut out the noises in your head. It yells at you – Judge yourself not by comparing yourself with others but with the difference between who you are and who you can be. Much chaos happens in my head. What if I am unable to close the gap? I tell the man in the mirror- “I spoke to God”. The man in the mirror smirks. A wry smile covers his face. He retorts – “Others may think that you are good, God may like what you have said, but where is your work? Where is your ORIGINAL WORK?"

I squirm inside. 

In the last Two Years

1. I have survived.
2. I have watched economic theory in motion. It has filled me with much exhilaration.
3. I have witnessed the birth of an idea. I remember feeling privileged just being there. 
4. I have felt lonely in the crowds yet I have found solace in the solitude. I have enjoyed anonymity.
5. I have struggled.
6. I have realized that Google has somehow found me!
7. I have found out that the fast and the slow trains are not materially different.
8. I have worried but I have found immense support and strength in my sister. 
9. I have felt constrained by the limits of my own capability. I have felt frustrated.
10. I have, somehow, not given up.
11.I have made friends and lost some good ones.
12. I have found time even when I was busy.
13. I have wanted to change my phone but I have never got around to changing it.
14. I have watched numerous movies alone. I have enjoyed being alone.
15. I have read some old letters.
16. I have written a letter.
17. I have missed my grandparents and I have wished that there were still alive
18. I have realized that my times in Chennai, sans the auto-wallahs, were good.
19. I have enjoyed cooking.
20. I have dreamt the impossible dream.
21. I have enjoyed studying.
22. I have admired Sve more than ever before.
23. I have been confused and I have sought answers.
24. I have tried to find the answers myself.
25. I have felt abandoned
26. I have had infinite patience.
27. I have worked on many weekends :)
28. I have read.
29. I have enjoyed my work (touch wood).
30. I have become a Central Banker, I think!

The Open Letter to Tendulkar

Hi Sachin,

I am not sure I got the salutation right. I debated calling you champ, or Sir or little master or just simply God. I settled on Sachin because Sachin itself is a salutation in its own right. 

You do not know me or perhaps you do. I am one among many of your fans, another brick in the proverbial wall or another candle at the alter, if you please. However, this letter is not a treatise on your accomplishments or to congratulate you on your 100th. No doubt it is an accomplishment that is beyond all praise or wreaths. The feat is in every sense monumental. There is nothing I can say that will befit the occasion. Therefore, I refrain. 

More than your cricketing achievements, I admire your humility, perseverance and passion for what you do. Once a commentator asked you what kept you going after all these years, you replied "I care about playing for India". I must confess my eyes were almost moist. Whenever your achievements are talked about, your talent is often discussed with much fervour. We have hour length features on prime time about your natural ability, your destiny and your class. However, I feel that it is unfair and perhaps misleading to talk only about your phenomenal talent.  

I believe that we ought to discuss the process and the perseverance behind all the achievements. It can not be the case that you got this far only on your talent or your luck. No body is ever that lucky. One hundred hundreds is a bit far-fetched to be explained solely by luck. No doubt you are one of finest batsmen that ever played the game, but your numbers are way ahead of everyone else's and by that metric you are the greatest ever. Therefore, I would argue that talent is only part of the story. We ought to stress more on aspects of your game that have stayed beyond the focus of all cameras. The endless hours toiled at practice, the thought process, the preparation, the humility, the discipline. More than anything else we ought to focus on how you keep the passion going. If there is no passion, then, perhaps there is nothing else that matters enough. 

You have inspired me. I wish I could work as hard as you do. I wish I could handle pressure like you have done. You have made me believe that no dream is too big or too far if one keeps at it. It is befitting that you said today . "Chase your dreams because they definitely come true! I had to wait for one for 22 years. We  won the World Cup - that was my dream" 

Of course, dreams always seem far fetched, improbable and perhaps impossible. But if they are anything less then they are not dreams, just expectations extrapolated into the future. And of course, I, too, have dreams - far fetched, improbable and perhaps impossible. But I will chase them with all I am worth. You also did.

You made me dream, the impossible dream !

In admiration

A.

(Another brick in the proverbial wall)

:)

Midnight's Child

I take the right at the newly constructed Vishwavidyala Metro Station on to Chhatra Marg and walk past the Vice Chancellor's bungalow.  It is past mid-night in December, I am heavily clothed. Heavy jacket, woolen socks, floaters but no shoes, muffler hanging around my neck and hands in the Levi's. My pace is slower than usual. I soak in the moment, the silence, the darkness, the chill and the solitude. Delhi has recorded historically low temperatures this year. I feel the tip of my nose going numb and cover it with the muffler, walking all this while. I approach the hostel gate of Miranda House to my right and PG Women's to my left. I pause for a moment and reminisce things that I should not have done and things that should have been done. I move on literally and in many ways metaphorically.

I am brought back to reality by the clickety-clack of a cycle-rickshaw that emerges from the darkness brought about by the canopy of tress beyond the university cooperative stores where the street lights have little effect. The cycle-rickshaw hurriedly passes by and disappears into the darkness as quickly as it had emerged. I walk on past the place where the U-Specials park in front of WUS on towards Ramjas passing Faculty of Arts, the Science Blocks, Faculty of Law and Nirula's. I stand in the middle of the road at the junction between Faculty of Law, Ramjas, D-School and St Stephen's deciding the direction to head in. The straight takes me to Kamala Nagar , the right towards SRCC and the left towards the ridge. 

I take the left and walk on beyond D-School, St Stephen's and Hindu. The long walk has ensured that the cold stays at bay, I let the muffler hang from my neck again. Soon enough I hit the cross road at Vishwavidyala Marg. A hot cup of tea is very tempting and I know that the possibility of getting one at this time of the night is the highest at Hindu Rao so I take the right towards Shri Ram Institute. However the though of the long walk back dissuades me and I do a 180 degrees and walk towards Gwyer hall hoping that I could find the chai wala outside the PG Men's. Now that Himmat Singh has shut shop after they moved the Maurice Nagar Police Station to near Patel Chest, the Vishwavidyala Marg is morosely quiet. Quite a lot has changed.

The chill  has ensured the chai wala's  absence so I decide to beat myself some coffee when I reached home.    I had been walking for longer than I thought I would, so I begin walking back home. I walk past Gwyer Hall, Faculty of Music and take the left on Mall Road and then the right at Hakikat Nagar and then the left at Nu Life Hospital and reach home, the mezzanine floor at 1944. I make my self the cuppa and begin reading Rushie's Midnight's Children.

The Evening After

The silver Jaguar is parked in its usual spot. The other parking spots are empty.  This is quite unusual for a mid-week evening. It is not a national holiday or a bandh. The boulevard is perceptibly emptier. A light drizzle envelopes the area.  Lesser than usual number people walk with their umbrellas, mostly black, in the never ending line towards Churchgate Station. After a fifteen minute brisk walk I reach the station only to find it sporting a derelict look.  Only during the India-Pakistan match during the World Cup was the station emptier. I call Sve on her phone, she does not answer. The train arrives, I board it and take my usual third seat under the fan, today without any effort. Usually I have to be quick. I take a sigh before climbing on, thinking that I should have called Sve again.

It is a miracle, its 6:30 pm and there are many empty seats on the fast Mumbai sub-urban local train. It rolls out slowly, I say a silent prayer. My fellow passengers are a little more ostensible. Some of them even kissing their lockets. I look at the many black bags kept above our heads on the luggage stand thinking which one… which one could be the one…which one… The compartment is quieter than usual not because there were lesser number of people but because everyone around was quiet. A man stands at the door staring at the fan. I could tell, he was not there mentally. I look at him and think what could he be thinking. Could he be thinking the same thing I was thinking? Which one could be the one…which one… Sve calls, I am only glad to answer her call immediately. The conversation is short. Everyone in the compartment looks at the bags brought in by passengers. It seemed as if only the bags mattered. The owners of the bags got no attention. I plug my ears with earphones and manage a faint carefree smile. The media usually report this phenomenon of ‘moving on’ as “The Mumbai Spirit”.   On the inside, my mind is racing thinking will I be able to make the end of this journey in one piece and alive. I reach my station and de-board with a sigh of relief. My mother calls. She is relieved to find me safe. I can sense the relief in her voice. She blesses me on the phone. These are difficult times not only for the Mumbaikars for the many people related to them as well.

I had just lived the famed “The Mumbai Spirit” but did I really have a choice. Do the many million Mumbaikars have a choice? Or is the famed spirit just a way to covering up the helplessness of not being able to do anything. They say that Mumbai never sleeps. But is that really true? How many more lives will it take to awaken Mumbai? Like soldiers on the border, a Mumbaikar does not know whether he will return. But unlike the soldier, he does not have weapons to fight back. Every time, every single time, all he has is the “The Mumbai Spirit”.

Disbelieve anyone who tells you that Mumbai never sleeps. I have seen it asleep, literally, during daylight and we have witnessed the city sleeping for almost two decades now. What else would it take to awaken Mumbai? Mumbaikar, Mumbai kar, Mumbai ab to kuck kar !!!

A Rush of Adrenaline !!!

A drop of sweat stationed on my forehead rolls down. Amid all the cheering and noise I hear the breeze and my rapidly beating heart. I feel weak in the knees. My palms are sweaty. I sit down for a moment to calm myself. Its my turn now. I am harnessed to the rope, the thickness of which seems inadequate to hold my weight. Nevertheless, I try to concentrate the on the task at hand. The instructor yells away instructions which I  register only partially. 

I walk down the slanted ledge. "Step on the pipe", the instructor yells. I release a little rope and station my step on the pipe at the end of the ledge. " Now, take a small step",  he yells again. He must be crazy, I think. I take a small step only to slip. I hang from a rope 80 feet above the ground, my heart racing, my muscle tense and my mind turbulent.  Somehow,  I gather myself and my posture on the rope. A dash of adrenaline hits me and rappelling smoothly down the 80 feet wall I come.

That felt nice, I say to myself and climb up the four storeys to try again. This time again I am a little nervous though perceptibly lesser than my first attempt. The instructor smiles and checks my gear and goes through the routine. I position myself on the ledge carefully, taking sure, small steps. My heart races again but this time out of excitement. I smile and take the plunge. Three leaps and I touch the ground. I look up and stare at the 80 foot monolith of a structure. It still stands high, but conquered.

  

Local Train Adventure

I found the train parked at the platform when I reached there. I had barely boarded the train when it began to roll out. I was the only passenger in the bogey. It was a bit surprising but I thought to my self that the train is usually empty at this particular station. So I took a seat. Having moved about 400 metres the train came to halt. To which I thought that some trains wait at the outer signal for the signal to turn green.

Just then a few crows came flying in to the compartment. This was the weirdest thing I has seen all day. I had never ever seen crows inside a train. Then a few more crows made an entrance. It looked like a scene from Harry Potter where crows usually play the role of being the harbingers of sinister. It felt a bit spooky. An empty train compartment in a stationary train in the middle of a train yard with a few hundred crows flying in and out of a compartment. I leaned outside the door to see if there were any other passengers on the train.Not a soul moved. Suddenly the fans are switched off. The silence was now accentuated so much so that I could even hear the flapping of the crows' wings. At the far end of the train I saw the drive deboarding. It is then I realize that the train was being parked in the yard. This was confirmed by a voice yelling at me from the other side of the train.  I deboarded the train as well and then tailed the driver all the way back to the platform. This was my little adventure on a rather unassuming day.

On a totally disconnected note, walking on railway tracks with formal shoes on is really tough.

Star Plus and Cooldom

In my experience of the world, people usually graduate from watching Star Plus to MTV to Channel V to VH1 to Star World. 

However, Sve- the very busy human being, takes time out of her busy schedule to watch Star Plus. She has graduated from watching Channel V and MTV to Star Plus so much so that the she even googles the plots of the soaps that she has missed or the soaps she intends to watch but can not watch becasue of the ever so busy schedule. Besides, she has got her sister and her entire family hooked to Star Plus giving us yet another example of how influential she is.

Now, all the advertising people here is a lesson for you- The new cool is what Sve says is cool !!!

Death Walked Down this Corridor

The winding corridor looks darker than before. The solitary bulb glows trying to dispel the darkenss. A solitary moth engages it. The shadows seem darker and a deathly stillness prevails. Some figures walk around the shadowy corners, stubbled and untidy.

A faint light peaks from under the closed door. The fan hangs still. There is a strong odour that I can not tell. A bunch of incense sticks burn in the far corner. There are too many of them. All placed in that one room as if they were intended to supress something. A door flings open, I can not tell why. There is no gale, not even a breeze. A boy in shorts and a crumpled t-shirt walks out in a hurry. He covers his nose with a dirty looking piece of cloth. He looks unsettled, his eyes red, his hair unkept and his slippers ragged. He walks past taking no notice of me. It hits me then, I am begining to tell the odour.

There are hurried footsteps beyond the dark corner behind me. I turn around. The solitary bulb shines on, the moth's still fluttering around it. I hear some distant incoherent voices. Three, may be four, voices, I figure. Four days...Suicide...Groundfloor...!!! is all I catch. The voices grow fainter with each passing moment. I can not hear them any more. The smell catches my attention again. Four days, suicide, ground floor come to mind. I put them together and realize that someone had committed suicide four days ago in one of the rooms on the ground floor.

The body lay decomposing, in the room with the many bundles of incense sticks, until they discovered it this morning. The incense sticks are doing a resonable job of supressing the rancour odour. Morbid pictures flash before my eyes. The room in which the suicide was committed is in front of me gaping wide like a death hole. I step back and then forward again. I stare at the room, then the fan and then the room again with a thousand thoughts grazing my turbulent mind. The whys, when and hows will remain unanswered. My phone rings, I answer it and head for the fifth floor. No amount of incense will be able to hide the fact and I shall always know that once death had walked down this very corridor.

My Experiments with Swimming

You may think that it is impossible for a boy of a six feet two inch frame to drown in five feet of water. Let me tell you, at the outset, that it is possible.

Having drowned, well amost, in a five feet swimming pool, I decided to learn to swim. I enrolled at the swimming pool at Anna University. The coach tried to teach me leg movements of the breast stroke. I kicked and I kicked hard for twelve days and could not even float. On the thirteenth day the coach thought that only fate could get me to swim. Thus, he made me dive in the the deepest part of the pool which was well over ten feet deep. I protested, he did not relent and got me to jump in to the pool. I jumped praying all the while to make God take me through this episode alive and in one piece. I jumped in and wallowed in the pool drinking large quanitites of chlorine water. I thought I would not be thirty for a week. I puked, well almost and felt sick. That was the last day I saw of the coach and the swimming pool at Anna Univeristy. I could not tell which was worse-drowning in five feet of water or trying to learn how to swim and the coach almost drowning you. The moral of the story was that I survived but did not learn to swim.

About two weeks ago I enrolled, again, in a course called "Learn to Swim" at the Tamil Nadu Sports Development Authority Complex. Twelve days later I could swim with much confidence and to top it all I have picked up three of the four genres of swimming. I managed to learn the freestyle stoke, the breast stoke and the back stroke. The coach, Mr Verra, at TN SDAT was brilliant. He got everybody in my batch to swim. I think I should take up the membership of the the TN SDAT to hone my swimming skills. Mr Phelps now is the time when you should start getting worried.