For Glory Sake

It has been more than 2 years since the rat and the rotten heat. Now as then a beast approached, patient and confident, savouring the scent of the meal to come and this beast is exactly like the one I had encountered years ago. It was the inmates of my room that provoked it.

While in the kitchen I spotted two rats on the kitchen slab. Those rats saw me but decided not to budge from their place until the time I threatened them. Calling upon Dinesh and George I decided to make a plan to terminate the rats. My roommates were not too keen on killing manually and decided to use rat poison instead. I, finding myself without any support had to forfeit the plan of making a plan. So I let go of the plan and got back to finding Economics in the Economics of IT course.

By this time the rats had begun their monkeying around in the kitchen again. Sensing an opportunity to do something more interesting than studying I walked in to the kitchen. This time too the rats took no notice of me and continued with their skulking around. The disdain with which the rodents treated me spurred every dram of self respect in me. This is when I immediately made a mental team of lethal rat hunters and proclamined myself captain of the team with George and Dinesh being in the team for moral support. I stormed out of the kitchen and spoke to a studying Dinesh, I said "Yeh chuha aaj marne wala hai". Dinesh looked at me suspiciously and gave me a "do not ask me to join your hunting party look". This is when I took the responsibility upon myself to get rid of the rat. After having found the perfect weapon I entered the kitchen armed with the weapon-a phool jhadoo and a torch light to make the battleground war ready.

All exits were cutoff. The kitchen slab cleared of all cooking and non cooking paraphernalia. I switched off the light and switched on the torch light. The trap was set. With bated breathe I waited in anticipation to unleash a lethal strike with my weapon. But that SOB rat did not come out in the open this time around. I was beginning to feel hot and took matters into my own hands. I switched on the light and removed newspapers from the stack behind which the rat was hiding. Sensing trouble the rat ran out in order to escape through the window.The window was closed. Finding a good chance and an opportune moment I took aim at the rat and unleashed a punishing blow. The impact of the broom was so hard on the slab that the broom broke leaving only a piece of the handle in my hand. Ofcourse I had missed my target.

Now I was in a battlefield with a non functional weapon and the enemy within striking distance. I was in a dilemma. I had to chose between running away from the rat and living with the ignominy of having fled from the battlefield or fighting to the death. I remembered that dying in the battlefield was the greatet glory that a spartan could achieve in his life. So I decided to stay and fight even when I had lost my weapon figuring out that beyond this epic battle immortality awaited me and it was there for the taking. I fought for my room, for glory and for the one place in my hostel that stood for cleanliness and neatness. With savage force I struck the rat with the broom's handle. This time my stike met its target. The rat was still mobile and was scampering around. I even think that it was trying to retaliate by biting my foot. But before it could come near me I used my height to my vantage and sanitized the rat with another strike. The rat lay motionless on the floor. I stood looking at it for signs of life.

I combed the entire kitchen to look for the rat's accomplices. The areas was clean. Having reduced the rat to a piece of carrion I channelized my energies to restoring the broom for I feared that the loss of a broom would not go down too well with maids. I succeeded partially in restoring the broom to its original health. For now I can bask in the glory of a battle win. The war is not over yet and I fear that the rats will return will re-enforcements. I am going to be watching my back and this time around I will try to involve George and Dinesh in the expedition for I feel that being my freinds and roommates they too deserve a shot at glory. As for me, I am etched in the memory of the rats as the greatest gladiator that ever lived.

Random Strokes

Thoughts running through my brain when I take a break from my dissertation.

1. Running a regression with 10 data points is ridiculous.

2.Running a regression with 3 data points is even worse.

3.Solow ripped Posner.

4.Recession and Depression are the two faces of the same coin.

5. Why should relative inequality be such a problem?

6.When was the last time I had Frooti?

7.Toto is sleeping in the lab.

8.Will my dissertation be published?

9.I must catch up with my friends.

10.I will call them today.

11. But why should I do all the calling?

12.I will call anyway.

13. I have to study for my exams.

14. I must write on my blog.

15.Now I must go and watch IPL.

Time Heals!!!

I came across "those" pictures again. The same pictures, with the same people in it, doing the same thing, at the same place. But something is different. Very differnt. Infact it is very very different. Say about a year ago "those" pictures had evoked acute nausea and made me feel sick in my stomach. Today they are just pictures. Pieces of digital paraphernalia.

Someone said that time is the best healer, I could not agree less.

Lynard Skynard is singing in the background reminding me of Sweet Home Alabama, "the" picture before my eyes, indifference in my head and a smile on my face.

Life is Queer!!!

Life can be queer sometimes. Upon a second thought, life can be queer most of the times. Upon a third thought, life is queer most of the times. Allow me to drop the verb 'can' for it merely explains that life has the ability to be queer but the fact is that life is queer most of the times. So it is, the second interpretation of the verb can is, thus, dropped. ( The word can has two forms, one noun and two verbs) Infact, why am I even bothering to ask you to allow me to drop the word can? Think about my predicament, while I write this post you are not here. So I am finding it hard to ask you to allow me to drop the word can.I assume that you were going to allow me to drop the word. So I drop it anyway even before you have been asked by me to allow me to drop the word can. Thus does it make sense for me to ask you to allow me to drop the word? Wait, do not run away. I'll answer that. No, I won't, I am digressing too much from what I started to seek.

Ok so we start again- Life can, oops, is queer sometimes, oops, most of the times. I know you are a little worried about the fequent, ok I accept, excessive use of punctuation. Punctuation, you see, is a wonderful invention in English language. It allows you to string multiple ideas in a single sentence. Thus giving sentences the panache each sentnce deserves. Puntuation... Ok ok look I have digressed again from what I started to seek.

Ok we start again- Life can, oops, is queer sometimes, oops...what the hell...I am going to digress anyway so why start. I express my heartiest thanks to you for allowing me to drop the word can. It is very important to be polite, you see. You know being polite....Ufff Ufff Ufff I am digressing. Life is queer, no matter what I do I always digress. I am sure you do too, may be to a different degree. Please agree with me for it will make me feel less lonely. You see being lonely is not a good thing because...Ahhhhhh!!!! I am digressing AGAIN. Life is indeed queer.

One Year Hence!!!

It was exactly an year ago when I was indulging in the most extravagant and larger than life activity that I could ever imagine. One year down the line I can look back and say it all went gurgling down the drain. I found no sleep in the train that night, too excited to sleep lest I miss my station. Such was the madness in the moment that it did not allow me to see logic. Delhi was 8 hours away and I fretted that I was still too far away and that the dawn had been taking so much longer to come that day. The passion was overwhelming. I was engulfed and consumed in it. The heat did not matter, my empty stomach did not matter, the uncomfortable second class berth did not matter all that mattered was that I was going to find bliss, that Delhi was approaching, that I was going to be captivated in the fragrance of the persona. Such affection, such madness, such impatience, such a long night.

One year hence, I look back, contemplate. No regrets. I did what I thought was right. I wanted to do it. That smile that had taken my breathe away time and again, it was worth more to me than anything I could imagine. Looking back I think what a fool I was, such naiveness, such puerility. I can forgive myself for I did nothing wrong. I kept my part of the story, it is unfortunate the other part was discarded without minimum fuss. The same place where I thought I would find bliss was inaccessible, all for want to a damned rickety steel object.

It is over and for good. The story has ended. The game is over. I am glad I played with a lot of heart. The past is over and looking back is sin. I do not look back for that is not the way I am taking. Perhaps I will indulge in the same madness and the same passion or perhaps in more madness and more passion just that I shall delay it by a span of 27 dawns. The darkness is at its deadliest best. For me the dawn is approaching.

But Still

Simple words are powerful. I realized this in the most uncanny yet a very unforgetableway. It so happened that this friend of mine and I were deliberating on the concerns of the Indian Economy.

She believed that the Indian Economy was doing excellently well. I, however, refused to agree with her. Both of us then put forth our arguments. Her argument was that since there was so much activity on the Indian stock exchange, India was doing well, that the glitz of Gurgaon was a tell tale sign of India's coming of age and that cheap airline tickets proved that India was taking off.

I brought to her notice that the activity on the stock exchange was inconsummerate with what was happening to the fundamentals of the economy, that the glitz of Gurgaon was due to captive gensets and not real power generation and that the low cost airliners were reeling under heavy loses. She refused to see the point. I seconded my arguments by giving her all the developments that were happening on the poverty and develpoment fronts. I told her that inequality was on the rise, malnutrition levels were higher than in Africa, rate of decline of poverty had slowed significanlty, the ICOR had increased realtive to the 1980's. After much effort and pain I managed to convince her, or atlesat that is what I thought, that India was not doing so well.

She was begining to see the point and I thought that I had won. Just then two simple words stole away my well deserved victory. She said " You know Anand, India has all these problems that you have just pointed out and I agree that the scenario is not as rosy BUT STILL....

I was defeated by the ill famed BUT STILL argument. Come to think of it, 'but still' may sound very harmless but when used in the right context and at the opportune moment they serve to be deadlier than any nuclear weapon. I found this out in a way I would like to forget but the impact of those words was such that even today those words ring in my ear every waking and somnolent hour.

A Bird Called Me!!!

Another one flew away today. I stood there, in silence, dazed. A part torn away from me. It flew away. There were many like me there. Most were dazed some unfazed and some stood with emotions that were hard to tell for my dazed mind. It was all finally coming to an end. One of the many stories that end with a hope for the future. This one seemed to have got the plot wrong. Time stood still and a tear drop stationed at the corner of my eye rolled down. I wiped it off before it was noticed, lest my emotions gave me away. Irony and contradictions clouded my vision. I wanted to take refuge in tears, in the soothing bosom of my helplessness to which I had surrendered my self hoping that I would be taken care of. Torn was I with emotions pulling me in different directions- to help it soar higher or to keep it close to me. Time had begun it journey. Before I could decide on whether to help or to baulk, it flew away before my eyes. Not too keen on leaving but not too sad either to leave.


Like all else it is so fleeting, momentary and elusive. I am here today. Grieving the flight and celebrating the freedom. Wisdom dawns on me and I prepare myself for my time. My wings are growing and tomorrow is my turn to fly.

Riddhiculously Yours!!!!

DKD is my prof from college. The following is a small part of my conversation with him. Only later did I realize that sometimes overtly commonplace conversations can be extremely hilarious. DKD was trying to recall the name of this very good friend of mine. He did not succeed in recalling her name but in the process discribed her in ways that perhaps suit Riddhi very well. Expression was the Literary and Debating Society in College. Alongside is Riddhi's picture.

DKD: Tumhari English Hons wali dost kaisi hai?

ME:(Looking lost) Kaun si dost Sir?

DKD:The woman who was always with you and was a very good freind of yours.

ME:(visibly stunned thinking does he know about me and Mhk) Sir many women were good friends with me.

DKD: Arrey wahi jo staff room mein hamesha rehti thi.

ME: Ankita, Maddy, Vaishali?

DKD: No no. The one who walked with a sense of purpose all the time.

ME: Sir can you be more specific.

DKD: Wo jo chasma lugati thi!

ME: Sir bahut saare log chasma lugate they!

DKD: (looking pensive) Wo jiske baal bikhre rehte they.

ME: Bahut se loogon k baal bikhre hote they Sir.

DKD:(Almost frustrated) Arrey wahi jo "Pagli" si thi Expression mein.

Me:(laughing hysterically) Riddhi.

DKD: Haan Wahi...Where is she?

Mess!!!

Why would you want to call it the Mess? I mean really!!! I have always wondered and in the process I have managed to use up quite a bit of my free time (not that I am seriously busy anyway). It is the last place you would expect to find in a mess adhering to the fact that people eat in a Mess. A place that can ill afford to be in a mess.

Such was the gravity of the question that I submitted my self to its investigation for hours at a stretch. It was one of the more perplexing questions that I had encountered in a long time. After much perseverance I have somewhat managed to decipher the code in question. I may be grossly off the mark but allow me to conjour up the answer for it is one that befits the situation at MSE and the timing of the discovery of the answer emaculate.

The discovery of the answer was even more breathtaking. I woke up one morning feeling a little wiser and probably a little more enlightened. With long white locks and white whiskers that reached his stomach an elderly man looking quite young for his age appeared in my dream.Such was the radiance of his face that I was nearly blinded. However I remember his baritone clearly. He told me that there once lived a man in the middle ages who had perfect foresight and is credited with the discovery of the word Mess. Before he could finish his story the alarm went off. I woke up feeling wiser, now i had one vital piece of information that had the calibre of answering my question. I put much thought in to the fact that the man with perfect foreesight had coined the word Mess. After hours of contemplatation, rumination and a little confusion I arrived at the answer. It seemed to fit the bill just about perfectly and also its timing was perfect.

I figured out that the wise man had forseen that a boy would be born in God's own country. He would dawn the name of the Gods but his conduct would put the demons to shame. This boy would then grow up to be a bigger demon and then run a catering service in the sleepy suburb of Cheenai in an institution called MSE. This catering service would be one of its kind. It would not only earn the ire of the inmates of MSE but also defame the South Indian cuisine. This would not entail the food being bad becasue it is South Indian but becaue it would be very badly made. The choices that this service would offer would be a little different, a choice of not what one wants to eat but what one wants to avoid more.

Ramdasa's catering, in all its philanthropy, would intend to serve humans but the even the cows would refuse to eat the uttapam from this catering service. To top it all rice would be served with slimy looking, white harmless, well cooked worms. The management of the kitchen would be in harmony with nature, cockroaches would have full access to the refrigerator and the storage. The water cooler would be well protected from an invasion of flying insects with a series of cobwebs serving as the first line of defence and King Spidy would over look all assults on insets and humans alike that dared to infiltrate the boundaries of the water cooler. Ramdasa would be the Indian manifestation of Shylock-miserely, unscrupulous and clever. He would be allowed to steal water from the cooler with the help of King Spidy, his close accomplice. The curd rice would be Ramdasa's secret weapon against the inmates of MSE. With a liberal use of chillies, far more than what humans would like to eat, he would often prove a point. The dosage of Sambahr rice would so good that even the ice cream would taste like it. All in all, this would be a perfect Mess!!! One in which one had to be there to fully undertand that the origin of the word, for the first time in history, was not in the past but in the future. God bless the man with foresight. He gave us subtle hints, it's a pity we could not see it coming.

When I Died

The light is fading away, and dusk is approaching.
Flickering and unsteady the light goes out………
A story has ended, a lifetime spent.

Wails, cries and frantic howls.
In a state of possession she sits by my side.
Can not be comforted by any aide.
Too shocked and stunned, he can’t believe
His son has taken his last worldly leave.
Never to come again and never to go away.

He had never imagined; he would see this day
On his shoulders he carries me away
One last hug; her momentary comfort
Smell of incense and some holy chant
I enjoy the ride on my father’s back.

A pile of wood and a river near by for the common good.
I am laid on it, on top of me some more wood.
His eyes are teary and red,
He can’t see I am cozy and comfortable on my bed

I am set ablaze, like a stone he watches me burn,
Soon it will be somebody else’s turn.
Hands, legs and torso turn to ash,
And the rancour odour rising from my burning flesh.

From the material into the sublime
I pass, and it’s time.
They go back and try to forget in vain,
They knew that I would never walk at home again.

Another tear, another cry
No smiles and another sigh.
Dull, dark and grey all around
Not even the shadow of joy to be found
The birds don’t sing, nor do the flowers bloom
The music also never plays at home.

I go near and try to comfort her,
All I manage to soothe is air.
In different worlds we live, but yet I care,
She is my mother; I can’t touch her, is it fair?

Now the sun never rises for it never sets,
The air is soothingly warm; I go to Him on his behest.
On a new journey I am sent.

A bud on my own shrub, I blossom and I grow
The caressing wind pushes me to and fro.
Another tear in her eyes, she holds me close to her
Now I feel her comforting touch, he watches us.
In dazed silence he takes her away,
Quite aware, this momentary reunion is here to betray.

My days are done again,
It’s winter, fury the winds gain.
Blown away am I
On the cold earth I lie.
Withering and wilting
Pismires are also working
And it is the time for another journey.