You

You gave me a life

Took away my soul

‘ll be happy you said,

Look, of me, what you’ve made

I ain’t no horse to race like this,

Small joys you’ve made me miss

I got it all I thought, but I got nothing;

I yearn for more, don’t know where I’ll put it!

I came to go back I was so sure

You got me stuck here with all you had to lure

I stand here stranded; and it’s not even a crossroad

All I do now is sing to self, this ode

Yes, I aint no one to complain

It’s me who’s made me slain

I will, but, one day, get out of this muck

I will, but, one day, be no more stuck

Bow Wow

It started when I was 5 years old. Outside a huge bungalow with a sprawling garden. Like those built by the Britishers. Government servants were allocated such houses in those times. Dont get misled into thinking of me as an old man. 'Those times' just means a couple of decades back. A little more, perhaps.

It was a small town. Since my father was with the state government we would socialise with the District Collector, Commissioners and the likes. While dad and us would attend dinners and cocktails whether on Christmas or Diwali, mom would keep herself busy with badminton, kitties and high teas. We as kids would tag along with either for most of the outings. It was one such day when I was going to Collector Aunty's (Collector's wife, that's that we called her) house to play with her kids. Collector aunty had pets. Tiger, deer, lion. Stuffed. And one white Pomeranian.  Real.

I was not particularly fond of pets. Stuffed or real. Although we have had dogs of all breeds. Well, almost. An Alsatian a Great Dane and a couple of others, mixed breed. They were all called Raja. But I was never the one cuddling them. Lets face it - I was scared. I still am.

So, the white Pomeranian sensed it. In less than a minute and an exchange of a few glances the devil sniffed me out and chased me around the garden. I don't remember running that fast ever after that. Not even in my school sports events.

I ran to save my life. He wanted to play with me, I am told.

So the white thing ran after me. I somehow managed to reach home. Collector Aunty's poor son would have been waiting for me to play a game of Ludo or something. Sorry bud.

Things haven't changed since then. Dogs of all ages, all breeds whether a stray or a big fat bitch being walked by her hoity toity master; they all want to 'play' with me. Sure.

I cant get myself to liking them, not that i dislike or detest them. They are just not in my scheme of things. You know what I mean?

I'd rather spend time playing a video game. With dogs in it perhaps. Where I chase them. Scare them. Sigh.

The reason why I posted this now. I don't know. But scared I am.

The P&L of good deeds

On my way to office is one temple. A cow and its caretaker are parked right outside. Every day.

It’s a tradition in India to offer the holy cow the cattle feed. It’s considered to be a good deed; that washes you off sins you ‘may’ have committed, and earns you “punya” (your P&L of good deeds).

It’s a practice as I see every day- devotees buying the feed from the caretaker and offering it to the cow. Strange, aint it? The caretaker is one person the cow spends her whole day with; he carries the feed but doesn’t feed her till someone pays for it. Is that a good deed?

The devotees don’t mind this quick ‘buy-feed-earn-good-deed-points’ mechanism as it saves them of the trouble of getting cattle feed on their own.

Its all a matter of convenience. But then we all do it. All the time.

Miss D

She was waiting for a cab. D.

And me, after a tiring walk from the bandra lake till the flyover was confused if I should eat, find an AC cab or pee. the motormen were in the hospital. hunger did that to them. or less wages perhaps.  

D had mandir ka tikka on her forehead. Dying to reach some medical center for counseling. She looked at me and asked if she could join me. ‘medical centre’ and ‘counseling’ had gotten me a little scared. But I looked at her again. the tikka did the trick. I smiled and said ‘yeah sure’.

Next on my mind was the state of my bladder. Control - I said to myself.  
It wasn’t so bad after all. The traffic cop said ‘yahaan se taxi nahi milegi, ricksha le lo’. Like a savior came one face covered rickie. Wonder why his face was covered. One tends to over think when the Kasab trial, cloudy sky and motormen strike- all decide to happen on the same day, you see.

We got in and headed towards the mouth of the sea link; on the bandra side.

No cabs there. We rush to Lilavati and take a regular cab. Apologies from D follow. I grudgingly smile and say it’s ok. There we are sitting at two ends of the back seat; me wiping my face and she finding newer ways to apologize. ‘That’s fine…..really’ I say.

Her boyfriend sweats a lot too she told me as she saw streams of sweat flowing across my brow. With total disinterest and disgust i said “o really? guys generally do, you know” I was not going to be interested in how much her boyfriend perspired and where. His name was R.

She was an MBBS graduate interning at some place. And the counseling she had mentioned was to seek admission for her post graduation. Then began the tale. Tale of love; of career; of family; of how familiar she was with Mumbai.

R was in Ahmedabad working with some organization that kept him really busy. Miss D complained she didn’t get any time from him. Sorry expression with intermittent “ohh….so sad” followed from my end. Her parents were cool about it but she could not visit him since they were a little conservative. So the love birds could meet just once every 6-7 months. Another routine of “ohh..." from my end.

Then began a series of questions about her privileged travel companion. Where was I from? Where was I working? Why engineering and then advertising? How old was I? etc. etc. I answered all. You don’t look 33 you know." (smiles, surprise, happiness all flashed in mere 2 seconds)“you know I thought you must be 25-26."

I usually don’t know how to react to such compliments besides a smile and thank you. I did just that. Another sigh from her in amusement.

She pulled out a green bottle of cold water. I looked at it with the same yearning as that of little child looking at a candy jar. She offered. I sipped. Another apology. “its really fine you know” I said.

I wasn’t getting bored anymore. This whole experience was reminding me of Mr. & Mrs. Iyer a film I had seen a few years back. Its about how a married woman with a child gets stuck for a day with another bachelor. Its about the interaction they have in that one day.

I started contributing. Asking questions. Taking interest. She was a nice girl. Full of energy, aspiration and ambition. For her career and for her love. I was amused with the sheer zest for life she had. I secretly wished she rubbed off some to me while in that cab.

The cabbie took us to her destination first. She got off. I wished her luck with all my heart. I wanted her to get what she wanted. She offered to pay her part of the fare. I refused. My good deed for the day. “Bye. All the best. You will do well”. Smiles.

The sweat hadn’t stopped trickling down my face. But it didn’t bother me. There was a strange sense of contentment that I had helped someone. In a small way, I know. But I did.

The taxi zoomed to drive me to my destination. Office. What followed was just another regular day.

A-lone

Lonely heart and lonely soul,
so many lives still on roll.

Nam-Ambar ki Baarish

November 11th, 2009
I woke up feeling unusually nice about this rainy November morning. The famous November Rain song had formed an important part in post lunch discussions at office and Facebook status messages for the past day and a half. Call me uncool but honestly I have still not been able to place the song. Quite a ghaat that way.

News channels had been showing alert messages on the new scare for Mumbai. The Phyan cyclone or something. Left me wondering why does the MET department alert mumbaikars at the eleventh hour. Sorry, sometimes it’s even after the tragedy has done the damage.

So, news channels on one side and my mom (very well supported by my brother’s intermittent updates) on the other.

I was happy that I may not go to work the next day. Didn’t work out that way, though. So here I was after a steaming hot cup of tea - flavoured with tea grass; getting ready. Left home with some hope of a call from office saying ‘don’t come. ..water clogging here..other offices are shutting down already”. Nothing like that happened.

Like a good boy, I walked upto Andheri station. Had missed the fast train that I usually catch. Took the slow instead. Things in the train weren’t very different. from the usual Loud stock updates, meeting confirmations, lies and fights for not giving enough space. Mumbai will always have a problem with that one.

The morning wasn’t different either except the wonderful sweat-less train trip and the rain. Just then, I thought to myself. Why the f*** am I going to work? Why can’t I take the alerts seriously.…seriously enough?

Why am I ridiculing my mother’s constant concern take care? I think I just wanted to prove a point. The never dying spirit of Mumbai or so we think. I am not sure. The rat race.

Luckily I am not the kinds who will take situations like these as opportunities and reach office early than normal. Like those kids in school who used to finish an extra lesson in Diwali vacation just to get that appreciation from teachers. In office we call such species “chatlyas”.

Yes but rat race it was. I wanted to ensure I don’t turn out to be the black sheep who didn’t come when rest of the office was there whether from Thane, Dombivali or Cuff Parade.

Office was filled with all teams and well in time so. Not bad. But the mood was generally upbeat unlike the regular. From the elevator queue where a Hindi copywriter put it as (forgot to mention earlier, I work in Advertising); the month is Nam-Ambar (Nam meaning moist or wet and Ambar, the sky) and not November.

Walked into the office to find happy faces. It was the rain.

The alerts didn’t cease coming whether through sms’es or a loud conversation from the next cubicle. Finally a television channel announced that MET has urged for offices, schools and colleges to shut by 2pm. My client decided to do as asked. But no movement in our office. After a little coaxing and some really loud discussions with my friends and colleagues to ensure it reaches my bosses' ears, some people took charge to find what next.

The result? Well, like always we were given an option to leave if we wished. Its open, they said.

We all were in two minds. Remember the rat race?What if I leave and the other teams stay? I will, for sure get a taunt tomorrow. Sigh.

Fortunately, one 'lady', our savior, decided to take the baton to ensure everyone leaves since offices close by were shutting too. And for all said and done we are dreadfully close to the sea.

So we all decide to leave at 3. We actually do, unlike all other times when ‘leaving early” plans never materialize. And this ‘early’, mind you, is 8 in the evening.

By 5 I’m home. Happy. Sleeping for the next 4 hours; only to get up @ 9 and dreading the fact that it hasn’t rained a single drop since i reached home and tomorrow is going to be like any other day.

Wait; my MET friends have said all is safe. Going by their record I might just be home tomorrow.