Thursday, March 13, 2008
A Hero Returns
"Ah! Home at last". This was the only thought that raced through my mind as the train hurtled past the final stations of the journey. I was only too aware of the fact that my mood was going to change drastically in the next few minutes. "Oh! Home at last?" was to be the updated version of my thoughts, and sadly it hasn't changed a bit over the past few days. My mother had arrived at the station. The conversation was quite normal till we arrived at the parking lot. Till then it had been quite harmless, seasoned with occasional remarks regarding changes in my anatomy over the past semester. It was only when we were comfortably seated in the car that she looked me in the eye, and asked THE QUESTION (Er.. you know what they are bound to ask the day after your exam ends). I quickly browsed through the gallery of my 'ready – to - wear expressions'. I couldn't find any of the latest 'fraudo' looks. So I decided to execute the backup, which was a part of the ' winter 2004 ' compassion show. It was of a pale hue, and made me look like a quarter quintal of cow dung. But it served the purpose and some temporary, well-earned mercy was shown. Phew! That was close. Unfortunately this was only the beginning. The toughest times were yet to come. They were those moments in the middle of some arbitrary conversations when I knew that if I were to utter just one more word, the outcome would be an hour's sermon on how to revamp my CGPA. I would have to spontaneously change the topic from, "The funniest professor on campus" to "Hey! That dog's pissing on our car!". The first time I was successfully caught off guard was over dinner yesterday night. I was explaining how beautiful our campus was, to my grand mom, and the freedom that we were given here. "Are also allowed outside at night?" "Oh! Yes we are!" was my prompt reply. "Then, do you roam around when it's dark?" Engulfed in a fit of machoism, I replied "Oh yes we do!"(With due apologies to manu and venky). That was enough for her to conclude that I missed the first lecture frequently, to which I pleaded guilty after a few minutes of desperate attempts at defending my cause. The outcome can be assumed by anyone who has read this far. Please pray for me guys, till the results arrive. Jai Yanthra Dharma!"
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Utgard Loki
They approached the gates of Utgard,
The three unmatched friends of Asgard,
Thor, Loki and Thialfi were their names,
Ready to face king Utgard - Loki's little games,
The King of Utgard approached them, 'Away with your tasks',
Loki was with Logi in an eating race,
Thialfi vied with Hugi in foot pace,
And Thor the mightiest with his mace,
Was to lift a large cat, had the kings foster mother to face,
And drink from the largest of horns,
All three failed.
As they sadly retreated, Utgard-Loki spoke the truth,
Logi is fire and consumes all,
Hugi is thought faster than call,
The cat was Jormugand the world-supporting asp,
And the ocean, laid in the horn's clasp,
And the foster mother was old age incarnate,
None can overcome Mother Nature's mandate.
The three unmatched friends of Asgard,
Thor, Loki and Thialfi were their names,
Ready to face king Utgard - Loki's little games,
The King of Utgard approached them, 'Away with your tasks',
Loki was with Logi in an eating race,
Thialfi vied with Hugi in foot pace,
And Thor the mightiest with his mace,
Was to lift a large cat, had the kings foster mother to face,
And drink from the largest of horns,
All three failed.
As they sadly retreated, Utgard-Loki spoke the truth,
Logi is fire and consumes all,
Hugi is thought faster than call,
The cat was Jormugand the world-supporting asp,
And the ocean, laid in the horn's clasp,
And the foster mother was old age incarnate,
None can overcome Mother Nature's mandate.
JAB JUICE NE MERA JAAN CHOOS LIYA....
“Cheta, edhu station aanu?” I asked, exhausting 75% of the words from my self compiled Malayalam lexicon. “Chiplun” came the reply. My mind was still swimming in a sea of vagueness, a hangover from the long nap that I had just been enjoying. However, I was alert enough to correlate Chiplun with ‘Kokum juice’. So I descended from the upper berth of the train compartment, donned my chappals and made my way to the nearest ‘Kokum juice’ center on the station’s platform. But the nearest center was a bit too far. I knew that the train was supposed to wait for at least 10 minutes at this station and this backed my decision to go ahead with the venture. Only later, would I realize that I had been sleeping for about 8 of those precious 10.
This was the first station within the Maharashtrian borders to which I had been a non-unconscious spectator. So I was keen on demonstrating my ‘pakka mumbaiyya’ manners to the country bumpkin who sat at the cash counter. I suavely handed out a 100 rupee note to the chap, demanding an 8 rupee worth juice bottle in return. What follows, if properly documented and interpreted, will serve as the ideal thought flow diagram for a psychiatrist dealing with extreme disorders. In narrating this incident, I have also scaled up the concept of time so that the reader will not be overwhelmed by the rapid succession of maddening events that follow. So I peeped over my right shoulder, just in time to see the signal turn green.
“Bhaiyya, juice jaldi de do…gaadi nikal raha hai”. I received a very self-assured, snug look (Which came free with an equally comforting reply) in return, an expression that instantly transported me to the land of ‘no haste’. I waited on, as the shop assistant laboriously pulled out a bottle from the bottom of the freezer. I quickly grabbed it from his hands, and turned towards the train which had already started off with a weary “Chug.....................Chug” pace, which was still easily beatable. Psychiatrists, please note the arrival of turning point #1. I just remembered that I had actually given the dude a 100 rupee note…So where the hell was the change???
I had two choices. I could either forgo the 100 bucks, which my parents earned after much labor, enjoy Kokum juice, catch the train, go back home and just apologize to them for the loss instead. Or, I could turn back, grab the change and challenge a few speed records as I chased the speeding train. My low adrenaline levels prompted me to choose the latter. I turned back to the tobacco-chewing statue that sat behind the cash counter. “Abe saale paisa nikaal, ghaadi nikal raha hai!” (Note the ‘local’ tinge to the request). The de-icing was over at last, and the man finally began to show some signs of animation and cooperation. My pulse rate rejoiced as it finally overtook the accelerating ‘Chug..Chugs’ of the train that was fleeing behind me. Behind the thick veil of betel stench, and in the midst of my attempts at dodging the ‘paan’ arrows that were shot at me every time he opened his mouth to soothe me with his two penny wisdom, (Besides being heckled by an occasional thought of the departing train) I managed to discern something that sounded like “Abhi time hai bhai…”
That was the breaking point, “Madar$#%d, ye kya mazhak lag raha hai kya tujhe???”. He handed me the change, with a scowl. I silently reveled on the achievement of having finally discomfited him. So with the change in one hand, and the juice bottle in the other, I approached my final obstacle in the course. The train had almost pulled out of the station, with only three bogeys still to pass me. I ran after the nearest door, but soon realized that with both hands occupied, there was not a free hand to grip. For a moment I deplored the whole process of evolution. Primates had such excellent, prehensile tails. Turning point #2. Drop the bottle, keep the change and grip the door, or keep both and keep thinking (and of course running). Inspired by the TV ad for a motorbike, I ‘lock’ option B. “Is this the sahi jawab?” I calculated the velocity of the train, sought the blessings of all my mechanics professors, closed my eyes and gave one great leap. Thankfully, my basics in the subject were strong, even though I got a B grade. My feet felt the now static floor of the train.
“Sea returned Sailors yearn for solid ground,
Takla wishes to depart with the train’s sound,
If he had missed and was forced to stay,
Who would tell his parents of his GPA”
My joy knew no bounds. I felt as proud as the boy receiving the ‘Best all rounder’ award. I had escaped the dangers, while simultaneously clinging on to all that I yearned for. I waved to the ‘seer’ at the stall who showered his blessings upon me in return. As I mulled over the muddling events of the two minutes past, it suddenly dawned that I had missed a 3rd turning point. I could have simply taken the cash back, and continued with nothing having happened. But then, what fun is there in a life without adventure?
This was the first station within the Maharashtrian borders to which I had been a non-unconscious spectator. So I was keen on demonstrating my ‘pakka mumbaiyya’ manners to the country bumpkin who sat at the cash counter. I suavely handed out a 100 rupee note to the chap, demanding an 8 rupee worth juice bottle in return. What follows, if properly documented and interpreted, will serve as the ideal thought flow diagram for a psychiatrist dealing with extreme disorders. In narrating this incident, I have also scaled up the concept of time so that the reader will not be overwhelmed by the rapid succession of maddening events that follow. So I peeped over my right shoulder, just in time to see the signal turn green.
“Bhaiyya, juice jaldi de do…gaadi nikal raha hai”. I received a very self-assured, snug look (Which came free with an equally comforting reply) in return, an expression that instantly transported me to the land of ‘no haste’. I waited on, as the shop assistant laboriously pulled out a bottle from the bottom of the freezer. I quickly grabbed it from his hands, and turned towards the train which had already started off with a weary “Chug.....................Chug” pace, which was still easily beatable. Psychiatrists, please note the arrival of turning point #1. I just remembered that I had actually given the dude a 100 rupee note…So where the hell was the change???
I had two choices. I could either forgo the 100 bucks, which my parents earned after much labor, enjoy Kokum juice, catch the train, go back home and just apologize to them for the loss instead. Or, I could turn back, grab the change and challenge a few speed records as I chased the speeding train. My low adrenaline levels prompted me to choose the latter. I turned back to the tobacco-chewing statue that sat behind the cash counter. “Abe saale paisa nikaal, ghaadi nikal raha hai!” (Note the ‘local’ tinge to the request). The de-icing was over at last, and the man finally began to show some signs of animation and cooperation. My pulse rate rejoiced as it finally overtook the accelerating ‘Chug..Chugs’ of the train that was fleeing behind me. Behind the thick veil of betel stench, and in the midst of my attempts at dodging the ‘paan’ arrows that were shot at me every time he opened his mouth to soothe me with his two penny wisdom, (Besides being heckled by an occasional thought of the departing train) I managed to discern something that sounded like “Abhi time hai bhai…”
That was the breaking point, “Madar$#%d, ye kya mazhak lag raha hai kya tujhe???”. He handed me the change, with a scowl. I silently reveled on the achievement of having finally discomfited him. So with the change in one hand, and the juice bottle in the other, I approached my final obstacle in the course. The train had almost pulled out of the station, with only three bogeys still to pass me. I ran after the nearest door, but soon realized that with both hands occupied, there was not a free hand to grip. For a moment I deplored the whole process of evolution. Primates had such excellent, prehensile tails. Turning point #2. Drop the bottle, keep the change and grip the door, or keep both and keep thinking (and of course running). Inspired by the TV ad for a motorbike, I ‘lock’ option B. “Is this the sahi jawab?” I calculated the velocity of the train, sought the blessings of all my mechanics professors, closed my eyes and gave one great leap. Thankfully, my basics in the subject were strong, even though I got a B grade. My feet felt the now static floor of the train.
“Sea returned Sailors yearn for solid ground,
Takla wishes to depart with the train’s sound,
If he had missed and was forced to stay,
Who would tell his parents of his GPA”
My joy knew no bounds. I felt as proud as the boy receiving the ‘Best all rounder’ award. I had escaped the dangers, while simultaneously clinging on to all that I yearned for. I waved to the ‘seer’ at the stall who showered his blessings upon me in return. As I mulled over the muddling events of the two minutes past, it suddenly dawned that I had missed a 3rd turning point. I could have simply taken the cash back, and continued with nothing having happened. But then, what fun is there in a life without adventure?
EK LADKI KO DEKHA TO AISA ‘LAGA’…..!!!!!
It took many of these small yet intense incidents to forge the precocious, prodigious ‘Takla the wise’, who stands before thee. Trust me; many of the truths of life are cradled in those seemingly insignificant aphorisms that we hear regularly. A common taunt that every Mumbai teenager encounters is, “Ek din ladki ke chappal se maar khayega!”. An average, brash, unwise youngster would have taken those words for an insult; however ‘The wise me’ happens to be inured to its effect thanks to one of those ‘small’ incidents that took place in my early pre-teens.
I think I was in 5th standard, and I think there were 2 girls…wait or were there three! Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The lesser they were, the better it would have been for me. The fight had been stirred, thanks to the truckloads of invective that had been exchanged between ‘The then unwise myself’ and one of those girls, over a time period of a few days. We used to travel by the school bus, the roof of which I still hold tantamount to ‘The Bodhi Tree’ under which the supreme light dawned upon me. It was my decision to transcend the verbal virtue of the quarrel, and start off with the physical assault rounds. The sexist in me had for long undermined the physical strength of a woman. Not that I even vaguely resembled my favorite WWF star, but I could still never submit myself to the possibility of being thrashed by a representative of the fairer sex. My doctrines seemed reinforced, when I tasted victory in the first ‘Battle of the bus’.
The much anticipated counter-attack came on the following day. The enemy came to the field with reinforcements, which seemed to violate the terms of our contract. Brutal violence ensued, and when the smoke cleared one would have seen me curled up in a miserable bundle under one of the seats. A sea of faces, studded with wicked and ‘I told you not to…’ smiles adorned my entire (now hazy) field of vision. The insuperable chauvinist had fallen. However, the concluding coda was yet to be presented. I postulate that the girls had been overcome with a fit of remorse or fear of retaliation for the ghastly deed they had just done (But wait till you hear what they presented me with…). They decided to approach the highest court that deals with ‘juvenile cases’- Their Mothers – for anticipatory bail.
The ladies (Enemy + reinforcement’s mother) arrived at the bus stop the next evening. I could do nothing but allow myself to be swept away by the chide, which apparently was for fighting with their daughters. The chauvinist in me was still packing his belongings but was yet to vacate, thus preventing me from enlightening the ladies with the fact that ‘I WAS ALSO BEATEN BY THE GIRLS!’. The issue was thenceforth declared closed. I left the scene, much subdued, much humbled and with a much better opinion of the members of the fairer sex. Those two (or three) females had really brought me down on my knees (In all respects), but strangely my ego did not hurt this time. Probably it was'nt even there (It returned later, after this short vacation). Other trivial consequences of the incident were:
1. I deserted the co-ed sections of the bus and decided that ‘gay was my way’.
2. x + x = 2x, a concept that my math teacher had been striving to explain was suddenly revealed whilst I was nursing my bruises under the bus seat. (Just substitute x = 1girl)
I think I was in 5th standard, and I think there were 2 girls…wait or were there three! Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The lesser they were, the better it would have been for me. The fight had been stirred, thanks to the truckloads of invective that had been exchanged between ‘The then unwise myself’ and one of those girls, over a time period of a few days. We used to travel by the school bus, the roof of which I still hold tantamount to ‘The Bodhi Tree’ under which the supreme light dawned upon me. It was my decision to transcend the verbal virtue of the quarrel, and start off with the physical assault rounds. The sexist in me had for long undermined the physical strength of a woman. Not that I even vaguely resembled my favorite WWF star, but I could still never submit myself to the possibility of being thrashed by a representative of the fairer sex. My doctrines seemed reinforced, when I tasted victory in the first ‘Battle of the bus’.
The much anticipated counter-attack came on the following day. The enemy came to the field with reinforcements, which seemed to violate the terms of our contract. Brutal violence ensued, and when the smoke cleared one would have seen me curled up in a miserable bundle under one of the seats. A sea of faces, studded with wicked and ‘I told you not to…’ smiles adorned my entire (now hazy) field of vision. The insuperable chauvinist had fallen. However, the concluding coda was yet to be presented. I postulate that the girls had been overcome with a fit of remorse or fear of retaliation for the ghastly deed they had just done (But wait till you hear what they presented me with…). They decided to approach the highest court that deals with ‘juvenile cases’- Their Mothers – for anticipatory bail.
The ladies (Enemy + reinforcement’s mother) arrived at the bus stop the next evening. I could do nothing but allow myself to be swept away by the chide, which apparently was for fighting with their daughters. The chauvinist in me was still packing his belongings but was yet to vacate, thus preventing me from enlightening the ladies with the fact that ‘I WAS ALSO BEATEN BY THE GIRLS!’. The issue was thenceforth declared closed. I left the scene, much subdued, much humbled and with a much better opinion of the members of the fairer sex. Those two (or three) females had really brought me down on my knees (In all respects), but strangely my ego did not hurt this time. Probably it was'nt even there (It returned later, after this short vacation). Other trivial consequences of the incident were:
1. I deserted the co-ed sections of the bus and decided that ‘gay was my way’.
2. x + x = 2x, a concept that my math teacher had been striving to explain was suddenly revealed whilst I was nursing my bruises under the bus seat. (Just substitute x = 1girl)
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