What if...

1. What if you lose your vision (not eye sight) in the hustle bustle of everyday life?
2. What if all the moral premises you held sacred are actually pointless?
3. What if every valued relation you trusted are actually farces?
4. What if you start dreading those few lonely minutes every night (just before falling asleep) because the silence of the hour accuses you of sinking into mediocrity?
5. What if you get into that monstrous lethargy where even the very act of wanting something requires effort?
6. What if everything you are doing is because it is expected of you, and not because you want to do it?
7. What if you realize you are not living, but just biding time with every passing minute?
8. What if there is no tomorrow?

The most romantic gesture ever...

One of my aunts was ill recently. After the regular tests, the docs found out that she is now a border-line diabetic. She has been advised to cut down on carbohydrate intake, exercise moderately and is starting with medication soon.

My aunt apparently is a huge foodie. She enjoys good food and never misses a single festivity anywhere. She is one of the favorites in the family, known for her wise cracks, witty remarks and incomparable knack of imitating people. She always has us in splits when narrating funny anecdotes from her heydays.

Diabetes does not deserve a second thought these days. But my aunt was depressed and very unhappy with the new changes she was required to adopt, and that made it seem like something severe.

After the reports came, my uncle (her husband) gave up sugar. He now prefers sugarless coffee/tea and has drastically cut down on sweets. He goes on long walks with her everyday where (he confessed this) they talk about their time together so far, about the trials and tribulations they have faced together, their promotion in life from being a newly wed couple to becoming parents, to parents-in-law and grandparents recently.

Out of curiosity, I could not help asking my uncle what he feels when people around tease him for treating his wife like a new bride even after thirty plus years of marriage. His answer was a sweet smile, all he said was, “you will understand as you grow up.”

Somehow I knew I’d witnessed the most subtle and yet, the most romantic gesture ever.

On green gold...

Unlike most days, I decided to come to office with a friend in car yesterday. We followed our usual bus route through Mysore Road to E-City via flyover and Corporation, and I don’t know how I’d missed it before; maybe I would be blissfully asleep in the bus every day. Something seemed amiss as we neared Gopalan Mall in Mysore road yesterday morning. It looked too bright and oddly sunny. It took a minute for the horror to sink in. The huge trees on either side of Mysore road have been felled for the purpose of road widening!! There is an empty patch just opposite Gopalan mall where a lonely peepal tree still stands, probably thinking the clichéd “mera number kab aayega??”

The gravity of the situation was suddenly and glaringly obvious. Is there no alternative to felling mammoth trees for road broadening purpose? We are aware of the effects on deforestation. Global warming and greenhouse effect are spoken about in every second home. And we allow indiscriminate felling in the name of progress. Are we really going to let matters pass till they are totally out of hand? As I waited for my wave of nausea to abate, I was starting to see what disgusting hypocrites we have become.

We feel hurt when someone close to us is hurt. We feel miserable when our pets fall ill. We very well know plants and trees have life too. Why can’t we feel anything when these precious trees are chopped down? Is it because they are mute and immobile? Or because, they just give, give and without expecting much in return?

Today is apparently Earth Day. I’m no eco-propagator but I take this opportunity to list a few facts I know for sure.

The organizations in charge of road widening and in turn tree felling, do promise compensation for the felled trees in terms of planting trees and saplings in some other area. It is a different matter altogether that there is no one to check on how far the claimed compensation is being carried out. If they do carry out as promised, it is interesting to note that the artificial forests they build are full of Eucalyptus or similar trees with long and pointed leaves. In a layman language, I can call them conifers.

Eucalyptus has medicinal properties, no doubt. But we need oxygen and shade too. Anyone with a pea sized common sense can tell that trees/plants with wider foliage (broader leaves) give out more oxygen. Eucalyptus and other cone trees grow fast but they tap maximum underground water and then, try resting underneath one of these tall trees on a scorching afternoon for pronounced effects.

I was on my way back home the other day from an aunt’s place when we had to pass the artificial forest maintained by Khodays’ group in Kanakapura road. The afternoon sun was merciless and the heat was unbearable but innumerable long coniferous trees served no purpose in the regard. I could not help thinking; had it been a forest full of the Indian Beech Trees (honge mara) or the Sacred Indian Fig (peepal tree), there would have been no dearth for pure oxygen supply and my journey would have been so much cooler.

One Sacred Indian Fig singlehandedly manages the oxygen supply required by 1000 men. True, they take eons to grow to full glory but we can at least preserve the existing handful giants and make sure the next generations benefit too. With the alarming rate of global warning and environmental imbalance, I feel it is high time we have rigid, stringent laws against indiscriminate felling of trees.

Boondon se baatein......

My day was as usual, packed to the brim and probably overflowing, with work, work and more work. Either the server has issues or my fix, eventually my work just has to get extended all the way till the last minute.

It was past afternoon when I finally sorted the infrastructure issues and I gave a whoop of joy when my code worked, it was almost 7.00pm then. I can’t even heed to my body’s hunger pleas when I’m working, Of course that has less to do with interest and more to do with frustration to get the damned task completed. Extraordinary events like Sachin’s double ODI ton do pep up interest and provide a great respite between my usual grueling hours and my code working was definitely something to celebrate. More than anything else, I hadn’t eaten anything post lunch and suddenly feeling ravenous. I managed to coax my team mate and good friend Nithin to accompany me to our in-campus Barista.

We sat in the relaxing ambience, spoke of the usual things around, downed an Apple pie, steaming hot chocolate and a Mocha Tease between us and were returning back to the ODC when we saw the huge crowd obstructing the passage way out. We managed to go a bit forward to see what was happening and to our enormous surprise, it was raining the proverbial cats and dogs!!

Maybe the heavens were applauding the Little Master’s latest exploit, or maybe the Gods took pity on the sudden heat wave post Shivarathri. Or maybe it was the angels of Kyocera weeping over San’s resignation and the fact that it was her last working day. Lol!!

Whatever it was, was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long long time. The fat rain drops glistening under the dazzling yellow glare of the sodium vapor light, pelting mercilessly down and the strong winds trying to blow them in all directions was amazing to watch from the shelter of our café.

Barely a minute passed and I was taken by this mad urge to dash out in the downpour. (Those who know me, know my eccentricities too, the “mad” adjective is deliberately for the others.. :P) I suddenly remembered someone saying that getting wet in the summer rains is bad for health or something to that extent. I held back for a few minutes and when the rain began to abate, I could not take it any longer. I dragged a reluctant Nithin out in the face of the torrent. The fat rain drops hit us hard and we were soggy within seconds. I closed my eyes and faced the heavens, braving the hard hitting water drops. I remembered a tacky Raj of RNBDJ saying – Taani partner, apni aankhen bandh karo aur baarish ki iss pehli boondon ko apne dil tak pahunchne do..

Truly a miracle..

No, it was more than that..

It was..

The first showers of the year!!!

???!!!

One best friend of mine got married and in the true sense, “moving on”!! Forget the girls, so many of my guy pals are getting married and they are all still 24-25 something. God, whats happening?? Why are people in such a hurry to settle down?? Is it some sort of an early bird offer – the first one getting the best deal??

Not that I’m excited and looking fwd to getting married now, but I can’t help wondering if I’m being left out in this craze, given that the whole procedure started quite early at my place. Is it something to do with plain looks?? Well I’ll rather avoid that question.

Nevertheless, some “change” is happening and I’m not sure if I’m comfortable with it. And I neither want to meet any of these guys from the list my mum’s short listed, nor meet any on my own. I just want to wake up and realize I’m still in that predictable world I can identify with, my family and friends being just the way I’ve always known them to be and all things in the way I can connect with. But it just isn’t meant to be, I guess. And for someone buried in “quarter life crisis”, its not going down well either. Sigh!!

This one's for you, Chetan Bhagat...

Chetan Bhagat – you can either love him or hate, but you sure can’t ignore him.

Cliché?? Maybe..

I initially was in a shock after reading “Five Point Someone”. Come on, I’m a typical South Indian Brahmin and we are notoriously brand conscious where educational degrees, qualifications and employers are concerned. After all, all this to a South Indian Brahmin (not just to a Tam Bram) is what marble flooring is to a Punjabi. (Oops!) I guess I did not pay much attention to the line “what NOT to do at the IIT” on the front cover and was flabbergasted with the idea of booze, fag, dope and s** while studying at IIT, of all colleges. Nevertheless, the contemporary style of narration especially in a language exclusively used by people of my age was appealing and I loved it. Yeah, here was an author who targeted my generation and one to look out for!!

“One Night @ the Call-Centre” was a disaster. I still wonder if what Chetan had in mind and what eventually came out in print are the same. To have Salman and his brothers make a bigger joke on the book was too much to tolerate. My impression of Chetan changed to that of a budding writer who tried to create impact through exaggeration and sensationalization with his wholesome use of pure slang.

Penning “The Three Mistakes of My Life” was a mistake, reading it was a bigger mistake indeed. Cricket, communal riots, politics, making out with a student (who is also the best friend’s sister fortunately or unfortunately), earthquake, adoption, etc etc etc. Phew, I almost wrote to Chetan asking him to reconsider his investment banking profession. Certain topics while writing are like some forbidden fruit; you should have experience and command to carefully manage the aesthetics, based on which the outcome is either crass or has class. It hugely upset me to picture Chetan in the “char din ki chandini” frame and I blamed this book on his inability to handle fame in such overwhelming doses.

Desperate to learn from my own past mistakes, I did not follow up with Chetan’s latest offering i.e. “2 states”. But a book worm is a book worm; I gave in to the temptation at last and could not resist people giving a thumbs-up. Another reason is that my work has been screwing for the past 2-3 months and it has been impossible to peacefully settle down with a book. Bangalore weather has been very teasing lately, it is a royal pain in all the wrong places to sit in front of the computer and pushing the keys away to glory in such lovely weather, when I could be relaxing on a bean bag with a novel and steaming mug of hot chocolate. I grabbed the book at the first opportunity (last friday evening, to be precise) and heaved a sigh of relief two hours later, Chetan is back and with a bang!!

The story of Ananya Swaminathan and Krish Malhotra, based (rather exaggerated) on his own life is an almost-sequel to Five Point Someone. Being the typical South Indian Brahmin girl that I am, I was able to relate with so many incidents in Ananya’s life that it was awesome to kind of read about myself in Chetan’s style of narration. One of my closest friends is getting married in less than 2 weeks and the dreaded topic is almost open at my own place too. With the never ending “love marriage versus arranged marriage” armageddon raging in my head, this book came out at the perfect time and it could not have been better. No, it did not help me decide which was better but I did get a temporary respite by being able to laugh at my own predicament from a third person’s perspective.

Cheers Chetan, this one was good indeed…

Another one, from Ayn Rand...

I was reading Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead for like the nth time, over this long weekend and just had to make a note of this one particular monologue.

Scene –

Steven Mallory misses his appointment with Howard Roark and there is no hear from him for over a week. Roark decides to hunt down Mallory and after inquiring with a great many art dealers, architects and art galleries, tracks down his address. Roark goes to meet Mallory in person. An initially reluctant Mallory puts up a brief and unconvincing “don’t give a damn” appearance before finally giving in to his paranoia. He eventually breaks down without caring for Roark’s presence but it’s a certain plaster plaque of a baby done by Mallory that has Roark murderously angry and wondering, such great talent so criminally ill-treated!! Roark orders Mallory to talk about things that really matter and Mallory, shocked to realize that is exactly what he wants, opens up. Mallory goes to Roark’s office the following day with an impeccable confidence, facing Roark as an equal and an ally for life, the horrendous past not yet forgotten but conveniently put aside.

The dialogue goes as below –

Roark pulled the chair over to the bed and sat down. “Now,” he said, “talk. Talk about the things you really want said. Don't tell me about your family, your childhood, your friends or your feelings. Tell me about the things you think

Mallory looked at him incredulously and whispered: "How did you know that?"

Roark smiled and said nothing.

"How did you know what's been killing me? Slowly, for years, driving me to hate people when I don't want to hate.... Have you felt it, too? Have you seen how your best friends love everything about you -- except the things that count? And your most important is nothing to them, nothing, not even a sound they can recognize. You mean, you want to hear? You want to know what I do and why I do it, you want to know what I think? It's not boring to you? It's important?"

"Go ahead," said Roark.

Then he sat for hours, listening, while Mallory spoke of his work, of the thoughts behind his work, of the thoughts that shaped his life, spoke gluttonously, like a drowning man flung out to shore, getting drunk on huge, clean snatches of air.

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Have you seen how your best friends love everything about you -- except the things that count?

I swear to God, had I read Ayn Rand while I was doing B.E, I’d have quit college and gone insane in some terrifically insane sort of a way. I always wondered why I was some kind of a misfit there, and later found the answers neatly compiled in a book that has been on the bestsellers’ list since 1943!! I’ve since been ridiculously glad and relieved that I did not pick Ayn Rand earlier.