my sojourns

Beginning of an affair...

2012-01-29T07:21:00.000-08:00

"Have you ever been to Goa"

"No"

"Oh! then you haven't experienced anything."

Finally it was time to put to all those questions to rest. Jo and I decided to meet in Goa in the second week of October, just before the beginning of the tourist rush. I woke up when my bus entered Karwar. The dawn was yet to break; the sidewalk and everything that met my eyes seemed to have bathed in the silvery moonlit night. I wasn't sure what woke me up; whether it was the continuous banter of my co-passengers or the warm moon rays that teased me through the window pane.

The initial excitement was replaced by disappointment with unnecessary delay. I decided to take the bike ride to Baga from Panjim. The salty sweetness of the fresh catch, friendly smiles, and colourful houses infused with Portuguese and modern architecture was enough to lift my spirits. A clean 1-BHK apartment at Gypsee's Cove and a visibly excited Jo were waiting for me. The next 3 days in Goa was like a beautiful dream. The delicious food, awesome weather, friendly locals, carefree visitors, neat but narrow roads, and a dash of history infused with modern lifestyle.

I did not spend much time on beaches, night clubs or on the poker tables - the reasons why people flock to Goa. I roamed around in the streets, interacted with the locals at restaurants, juice shops and those numerous shops that sold souvenirs. I didn't feel like a stranger from the very first minute I landed in Goa. No, it has nothing to do with the place but the people - the locals. Everyone minds his/her own business; they are neither in awe or feel intruded by you. They maintain a neutral stance towards the hordes of people that flow in and out of Goa. You are completely on your own, and this feeling is so liberating. May be that's why everyone feels at home here. The invisible shackles of certain 'obligations' are broken. I remember telling Jo that I could ACTUALLY live here. What's the reason that makes Goa so different from all other tourist destinations? You are made to feel like a visitor/outsider in most of the places no matter how long you live or how well you know their language or culture.

What makes Goanese unique? Is it the Portuguese that made Goa their home till late 60's? Is it the cultural upheaval though marred with a dark history but eventually evolved as a balanced culture imbibing the best of East and West? There may be more than one reason but I know for sure that I have fallen in love with Goa and thus, begins a long affair with it.

I got them inked

2011-12-01T08:02:00.000-08:00

Words fail to express how nice a feeling it is when a long pending wish is realized. As a kid I was fascinated by the tattoos my grandparents had on their hands. I wanted to get them on mine too. Putting an end to my procrastination, I called up a friend to check if she was free on weekend as I needed some moral support. I knew what I wanted to get done from a long time.

As a student of English literature, phoenix caught my fascination when I read about it first time. The imaginary bird has inspired poets of almost every era to create immortal works of art. When life cruised through off-beaten path and rough weather, I fell and rose learning, understanding and realizing. I thought of my grandmother and parents who, not until few years back, enjoyed the good things in life. I strongly believe that there is a reason behind the incidents that occur in a person's life and all of these converge towards a certain purpose that one gets to know in the later part of life. My life by far has been quite different from a normal girl's life and I wasn't prepared for any of this. I am destined to head towards something which I have a feeling, going to be very different. Phoenix fascinated me at the beginning, inspired me eventually and in a way, I relate to it today. Now I am proud to carry it on my shoulder.

My mother, just like any mom, worries a lot about me. She doesn't miss a chance to check if my stars are favorable for the day, week, month or year. As per the Indian almanac I was born in the most auspicious times in the early hours on a cold December morning. Governed by the two most powerful planetary bodies - Sun and Jupiter - my moon sign is Pisces. Today I show off two fish on my hand.

I met my friend at UB City, had the best continental lunch and then finally went to Hakim Alim's boutique. In less than 2 hours I came out with two beautiful creatures inked on me. I am going to carry them to my grave. It feels nice to know that I won't be alone when I go.

The pillar falls

2011-09-18T10:39:00.000-07:00

My Sunday seemed to have started nicely with a yummy breakfast at my favorite joint with friends after a tiring workout. When I saw papa's call on phone I thought it was one of those regular calls to check my plans for the day. But the news left me numb. My grandma passed away. I listened in silence, suppressed the overwhelming emotions inside me as I didn't want to spoil the mood of the group.

Emotions took the better of me by the time I reached home. I broke down. She was the last one of that generation in my family. With her going, not only one entire generation is gone but also many untold stories and struggles that laid the foundation on which we built our lives today. "Maamma" as we all called her endearingly, was the pillar of strength to all of us and lead by example on how to live with dignity. Her life was no less than a female oriented Bollywood movie which experienced every ordeal that was ever scripted.

The dusky village lass fluttered many a heart with grey-green eyes, chiseled features well set on defined cheekbones and jawline and carved body. Widowed in her early 30's she defied every rule and norm in the village to feed her 6 children and mom-in-law. The docile woman who was enjoying being the lady of the house was forced to step out of the house and to work shoulder to shoulder with men in fields. She used to stay away from home for days together and walked many kilometers selling goods from village to village. I spent long hours listening to granny whenever she visited us. I remember she telling me once, "I didn't have the time to mourn your grandpa's death. If I broke down what would've happened to everyone who was dependent on me? You know even when I thought there was no way out I never thought of dying." Such was her determination.

She was illiterate, couldn't recognize numbers or count money but she took up every sundry job to keep the hearth warm. Over the years, she emerged as a shrewd businesswoman who gave every man in the village a run for his money. She endured extreme poverty and enjoyed lavish lifestyle with same grace. "I never imagined I would see this life when I was struggling to stay afloat. Such were the testing times that I thought life would be degraded to abysmal depths," she said while narrating one such incidence.

Life kept snatching her loved ones from her but she kept going. She cremated her 2 grown-up sons, daughter, son-in-law and grandsons. She performed final rites of a homeless who took refuge in her house. She stood by the people who believed in her. She drew flak from villagers from time-to-time but unfazed she moved on. She stood tall in the male bastion, earned respect and lived with dignity.

Maamma had the habit of licking palms while bidding goodbyes. As kids we used to run away to avoid her licking our palms at the end of summer vacations. The belief behind it is the person whose palm is being licked will never forget her. Yesterday, she licked my uncle and aunt's palms as she knew it was time for her to go. For the first time I regretted for living so far away. I regretted for not being there to be licked by her. I regretted for not licking her palm so that even when she is crossing over to the other world she shouldn't forget me.

At the same time it was a relief that she was, finally, liberated from her 2-year long suffering. It was a relief for everyone around her who couldn't bear to see her suffer with helplessness. It was a relief that she breathed her last in a warm bed amid her loved ones after spending many cold nights building her life.

Maamma, you will be remembered as a brave woman who defined her own destiny. Even though I am going to miss your hearty laughs, your funny quips and antics, you will always be a source of inspiration for me and everyone who knew you.

Maamma, I'll love you always and forever.

The enlightened bull

2011-06-20T10:15:00.000-07:00

Aviator as he calls himself, my first meeting with him was very interesting. A smile, a somewhat reserved dispostion, and yeah the impeccable diction caught my attention. A short coffee visit extended to couple of hours at an unassuming coffee shack by the busy road of Begumpet. Apart from the light-hearted conversation, what blew me off was his effortless free-flowing rhyming words.
Many meeting which followed, while strolling on the city roads I used to throw random words at him and he after a few minutes of silence, with a far off look, a lazy stride, recite eloquently sprinkling beautiful thoughts and dreams just like the stardust peppered on the path to heaven.
After more than a year I got chatting with him yesterday. Here are some of his ramblings sputtered in between our conversation.
Note: This the first cut, the unedited version without punctuations :-)
--------------------
With the first ray of sun over the horizon,
the mists may melt away into nothingness,
but the thought of you blooms up as a million springs
through the fogs of life I travel through
looking up at the beacon called your smile,
too misted am I to notice anything,
but the sapphires of your,
O love, let me drown in the haze of your dreams,
hold me in the arms where I forget myself to omniousness
--------------------------
Gentle sways of your hair,
moonshine lingering about you,
the blink of your blues,
what more could be magical,
if not the whole you,
O soul, my breath,
take me on a climb so high,
where I lose myself in your passion,
this time and for eternity be mine.
---------------------
The wild moon for a face,
hair that shy down the cascades,
petals of rose for lips,
mystic in your eyes,
I wait an eternity to be yours,
O heart, my soul,
this moment I beg you of thee,
to glide you down to my arms,
so I walk the path of heaven with you by me
-----------------------
Somwhere in the whole wide world,
I dream to meet you,
where smiles bloom like flowers,
where troubles melt like lemon drops,
somewhere in the whole wide world,
I wish to see you,
where stars shoot across like wishes,
where passion lights up as candles,
somewhere in the whole wide world,
I crave to feel you,
where rain meets water like long lost love,
where body meets soul to feel complete
------------------------
I said: Dude you write so bloody well! Don't you see it?
His reply: When truth gets beyond comprehension, it turns out to be a compliment but I wish the person can see it's still the truth in perspective.
I may not be able to post the entire conversation here....but my friend, someday, may be that person will. Amen.

This time of the year....

2010-12-24T04:28:00.000-08:00

When the chilliness in the air brushes past my cheeks and nose, when the icy breeze moist my eyes, dry my lips, and numb my hands after an evening ride, when the thick fog leaves behind dew drops on my window sill and car roof in the morning...I know it's December, my favourite time of the year. Every year this time I travel down the memory lanes as far as childhood days. Being a December baby, I always longed to celebrate my birthday just like other kids in my class. But unfortunately I was never able to do that due to half-yearly exams in school. Most of the times I never got to meet my classmates due to change in the seating arrangements during exams. I missed all the attention that a birthday girl gets in her new dress. I went in my school uniform. Twice it got worse when I came home crying for messing up my maths paper, most dreaded subject. The traumatic mornings used to be taken over by evenings filled with oodles of love and attention by parents and siblings. However, wearing a new dress to school when everyone is in their boring uniform fascinated me and at the same time eluded me. I braved all these "hardships" and grew up to be a strong girl. December also meant 10 days of holidays when we spent most of the time lazying, playing badminton in late morning sun and studying less. After many years I had one awful birthday when a dear friend of mine betrayed me with a bundle of lies and made me look like a jackass. Coming from a small town and protected family, I had a tough time getting into the groove of big bad world. But, I guess, I did a good job at that. It's the friends that become your second family. I had mine too. But little did I know that I trusted the wrong person. After a month long brooding over my short-sightedness and misconstrued notions, I came back to my senses with a jolt. I ushered in the new year with night long party with my close friends. That incident made me appreciate the people who have been in my life for a decade now. I refused to get bogged down by the weaklings and selfish. I make friends even today, I trust even today, and I enjoy the attention of everyone even today. I made my first friend after moving to Bangalore 3 years back. I got a friend request from him through Orkut and I kept rejecting. He relentlessly sent friend requests till one day I decided to send him a curt scrap. He replied and so did I. Soon we were chatting, thanks to my long boring office hours. After a month we decided to meet. He turned out be extremely shy and I liked that part about him. But the triggering point of our friendship was we shared our birthdays. He helped me in finding a house and setting up my small world in a new city. He has been a family since then; made me happy with birthday gifts, lazy rides after dinner, outings, movies and planning my weekends. I didn't know what to give him and so whenever I asked what he wanted, he would say, "make a nice lunch for me." Kunju (I re-christened his name), I truely treasure you. I couldn't have asked for more when my school buddies and friends from Hyderabad and Vizag shifted base. We celebrated festivals together, had weekend jamming sessions, and went on trips togather. Last week my childhood dream came true with a twist. My school friends came home with a birthday cake. After the little sing-song on guitar and cake cutting, we relived our school days. As we spoke late into the night, the crushes, affairs and pranksters came to the fore. The revelation that quite a few had a crush on me almost tickled my funny bones. As I stand at the fag end of year 2010 and turn back to look at all those days past by, I can only think of good times - a new addition to the family, marriage of one of my closest friends, spiritual trips for soul searching, weekend getaways to exotic locations, bonding with old friends and new job and setup. I am going to carry all these people and good times to the next year hoping that it will ring in more happiness to everyone I care about. Contentment brings out forgiveness. So, I forgive my maths madam who looked only at boys in my class and taught; my games teacher who believed in punishments only, my parasite roomates; the mindless cabbies and frustrated autorickshaw drivers who scratched my car; a colleague who suffers from behaviourial disorder; the mean and weaklings who depressed me at times. Wow! I feel like GOD (I flicked this line as it feeds my big fat ego) Wishing everyone a beautiful year ahead.

The paradoxes I believe

2010-08-08T03:08:00.000-07:00

I never really appreciated Mills and Boons while in school and college though read a few classics. A book worm since school days, I exhausted almost all books of Robin Cook, John Grisham, Daniel Steel and few others. But I enjoy watching a complete romantic movie. A true Sagittarian and hopelessly romantic, I so much believe in happy endings and fairy tales. I watched Wake Up Sid third time last weekend and realized that I can watch it any number of times.

Most of my friends and few in family have had love marriages. They clicked and it amazes me even today. In all their cases, one of the partners didn’t fit the “tall, dark, handsome” or “fair, slim, beautiful” bill. But everyone’s story borders on surrealism.

Beauty and the beast, dumb and intelligent, calm and noisy, pompous and modest. You may say opposites attract. But I guess, it’s the feeling of incompleteness that binds them together. My belief goes stronger whenever I see my uncle and aunt, the most odd couple, but married for 40 long years!

Jail with a humane touch

2010-05-02T11:30:00.000-07:00

.......I took a deep breath and stepped inside the compound. Advivaram Central Jail was a far cry from the sordid prisons I saw on TV. The 150-acre sprawling land overlooking the Ghats, was beautifully landscaped. The superintendent’s office was spacious with French window look-likes that gave a good view of the dormitories and nature. After exchanging pleasantries, he warned me not to move too close to the inmates. With two armed guards I was on my way to attend the Morning Prayer with the inmates. By the time I reached, they were done with their Sunday prayers and listening raptly to a discourse by one of the Brahma Kumari. The silence was broken by a moment of commotion among the audience. I felt their enquiring stares and heard their whispers. I greeted the speaker and stood in a corner.

The speech resumed in a few minutes, but Raju, who was sitting in the last row, looked distracted. I pretended oblivious when he stole a few stares at me. I knew whom to start with after the speech. I caught his eye this time and smiled. He was startled and looked embarrassed as if he was caught stealing. He didn’t move a bone in the rest of the session.

I introduced myself to Raju, he greeted me hesitantly and moved quickly to join his group of friends. I realized that it was the guards and not I who shooed him away. I asked the guards to wait, while I joined his group of friends. After the initial hiccups, the men opened up, talked about their village, job and family. I met others to know how they were finding the morning prayers. The prayers and discourses sure made a difference, when the Brahma Kumari told me that around 40% turned vegetarians after they started visiting Advivaram. Shifting to vegetarianism is just not a food habit change but a transition to calmer and peaceful lifestyle.

I met the vocational instructor who was training them to make almarahs, boxes, carpentry and wooden toys. When I asked the challenges he faced with his students, he was clearly offended. “There are many skilled artisans here. Just because they are here, it makes them no less than anyone. Will you ever know that they spent few years in jail if you had met them outside?” The middle-aged instructor annoyed me but it was his way of letting me know that I should not make his pupil feel “different”. I took a quick tour of the place where the shining tin boxes, almarahs and intricately carved toys were ready to be dispatched to the bazaars of Vizag and Vizianagaram. I had a renewed respect for the instructor who busied himself with his talented students.

I interacted with the gardener and his students in the sprawling gardens. “Few of them are so good that they can start their own nurseries,” said he. I spent time strolling, talking and laughing at the jokes cracked by the inmates. All this while, my temporary body guards never lost me out of their sight. It was time for me to head towards the kitchen to check out the Sunday lunch. I was pleasantly surprised to know that the chief and sous chefs are inmates! I got a welcoming smile from one of the cooks who was making “gongora chatni”. “We make more vegetarian food than non-vegetarian these days. Many have shifted to vegetarianism and the numbers are increasing faster,” he said. “Will you taste our food?” he asked hesitatingly. “Give me some rice with gongora chatni. It’s my favorite,” I said. The chatni was a bit sour to my liking. I walked into a dormitory which had 8 beds arranged in two rows. The inmates were relaxing after their morning work and waiting for the lunch bell. I was greeted by an inmate in his late 50’s. The cell looked lively as some were watching a movie on a portable color TV hung from the roof while the wining duo was noisy at a game of carom. Devudu, the oldest member of the cell, spent 15 years in the jail. “How many years left?” I asked. “I am here for double murder, so will be here for a while.” He stared at me a tad longer to note my reaction. He was relieved to see that I was nonchalant.

My next stop was the psychiatry cell, where a group of social workers, counselors, and psychiatrist deal with the most difficult part – helping the inmates to cope up with their new surroundings. “The first few months are the most difficult for a newbie. The newbie lives in denial and either gets depressed or hostile. We help him/her to come to terms with the situation.” Besides fighting the teething problem, the team is kept busy containing homosexuality and STDs.

It was late afternoon when I thanked the guards whose presence helped me to sail through the day. My perception towards the inmates changed. They were mere victims of a moment of weakness. Most of them regret for their actions and wished if they had been strong enough to withstand the testing times. But what bothered them was if they would be accepted in the free world. Families visit them often initially. Slowly the gap widens. Weekly visits turn to biweekly, then monthly, few months and subsequently once or twice in a year. They miss being at marriages, baby showers or festivals. Life outside the wall moves fast whereas inside it just stops.

The jail was thrown open for the public on Sundays for a month. “Are the inmates an object of amusement for the public to see?” I asked the jailer. “It is just an effort to let public change their perception about the inmates so that they get accepted once they go back,” he answered. This news was taken with mixed feels among the inmates. While some were happy that they get to interact with public, others were offended by their exhibition.

I went back to the free world with mixed feelings. I was glad that they live with more dignity than the ones languishing in other parts of the country. And sorry because no matter what freedom is priceless.

One fine morning...

2010-01-17T09:46:00.000-08:00

Mother was surprised to see me up so early on a Sunday morning.

It was when I was a sub-editor with an English national daily. My day used to start at 10 am in the morning with a hot piping tea and three national dailies. Yes, it was expected of every journalist to make a comparison of how a piece of news is carried by the competitors. After reaching home around 1 am, I had the habit of watching movie, if interesting or read for a while before calling it a day.

I did the usual on Saturday and returned home in the wee hours of Sunday. I was restless rather tensed and couldn’t sleep. Mother was surprised to see me dressed up at the breakfast table.

“Are you going out,” she asked.
“Yes. I have an assignment.” I said. I was unusually quiet.
“Where?” she asked.
“To the central jail. I have to do a story on the inmates.” I said. I was in no mood to talk, wanted time for myself to calm down.

Father lifted his face from the newspaper, looked at me and resumed his reading.

Mother threw a fit. She expected a bit more from my father.
“How could your boss send a girl to the jail to meet a bunch of thugs? Isn’t there anyone else left in your office? Give me his number. I will talk to him.” She was fuming.

I asked her to calm down but deep within I wanted her to stop me from going. I can’t remember the last time I was this scared. I was going to spend the whole day with the inmates, definitely, not an exciting one to look forward to.

“Are you fine? Do you think you can do this assignment?” inquired papa before I left home.
“I think I can,” I replied.
I so badly wanted to say no. I wanted him to call my boss and cook up a story so that I can be saved.

As the huge gates opened, I was greeted by one of the bodyguards of the jailer.
“Sir is expecting you,” said he.

A dramatic monolog

2010-01-17T06:49:00.000-08:00

After Andrea Del Sarto and My Last Duchess, if I enjoyed any dramatic monolog in a long time then it was by Sridevi, my co-passenger in train a month back. A casual chit chat ended up as an intense one-sided monolog. I kept listening amused by her intonation fired by emotions.

Sridevi was heavy built with a passable face, too matured for a 23-year old. Even her tall figure couldn’t hide the roundish contour. She had to give up a promising career to get married to somebody 8 years elder to her. Six months into marriage, she was caught up between conservative husband and orthodox in-laws. Her gregarious nature kept going back to a carefree life that was quelled by a life without love. As she spoke, I recalled a lecture on writing techniques by my professor in university. It’s called Stream of Consciousness with a slight difference - Sridevi was thinking loud.

I wondered and in fact, envied her for letting her emotions out with so much ease in front of strangers. She left her melancholic mood as if it was never there, and jumped on to a lighter topic. I listened. In between she kept calling her husband who was recovering from fever. She checked if he saw a doctor, took medicines and had food. She harped on her favorite topics, and unfinished discussions. I listened.

She looks out of the window and gets up without warning. “You know what, I will make this work. Time for me to go,” she said and left.

I was impressed by her optimism. With such an infectious nature, she can make anything happen her way. Wishing her all the luck in the world.

PS: She didn’t ask my name, which I really liked.

An unfinished journey

2009-12-06T10:25:00.001-08:00

For once Gayatri is not irritated waiting for the train. She dreamt of this journey many times, sure that it’s going to be a joyous one. Lost in her dreams, in harmony with the cacophony, she felt his arms around her. She smiled and looked at him. She kept staring at him, searched for that assurance. She couldn’t find it. Is he trying to convey her something? The quiet and shy Gautam, took her by surprise often with the innovative ways of expressing his affection. Ah! How much she savored every such moment.

She held him close oblivious to the disapproving stares. She felt his body stiffen. “Why is he tensed and uneasy?” She thought. “Didn’t we dream of this day together? But it’s natural to be apprehensive about a new journey, bigger responsibilities and unknown challenges.” She was talking to herself in her thoughts.

Her reverie was broken with the approaching train. She pushed back her thoughts, held him tight, ecstatic as a child looking at the roaring train.

He held her away from him; “it’s time for me to go,” he said.
“I’m sure I heard it wrong,” she thought looking at him.
He shrugged her looking at the stoned figure. Mouth parched, she whimpered, “but why?”
Silence was the answer.
“Can you ever forgive me?” He asked.
He couldn’t see her agony. He was already looking for salvation even though she hasn’t absorbed the news yet.

“Sorry,” he squeezed her hand one last time and boarded the serpentine train as it chugged its way out the platform to its onward journey.

Day melted into dusk; perched on a marble bench she stared emptily at the sad and happy faces bidding adieu to their dear ones. With a numb mind and wounded heart, she wobbled towards the exit. Her frail body quivered as the tears of humiliation drenched her in shame.

Her once perfect world is shattered into pieces now. It’s for the time to decide if she can shape it up again and discard the useless parts.

“Didn’t we dream of this journey together? How could he take a decision on my behalf without taking my consent?” the thought irritated her.

“Show me your platform ticket please?” Asked the ticket collector at the exit.
She showed her train ticket.
“Oh! This train left in the morning. Did you miss it?” inquired the TC.
“I was never meant to be on that train,” she smiled feebly and moved on.

The "P" Effect

2009-08-03T08:44:00.000-07:00

It’s going to be two years in my present company soon but feels like yesterday. The first day went very fast and pleasant. Introductions, formal “hellos”, casual jokes, welcome mails and a joining lunch treat by one of the team members. I replied to the welcome mails that came from my manager, VP and the senior VP, Mr. P – his signature in office mails.

One of the team members enquired if I heard from P, to which I nodded. What followed after that was a 15 minutes introduction of P who is a demigod in the company. Sure he is - a prodigy, who knows how to run a show successfully. The India office witnesses a flurry of activities every time he visits, which is too frequent.

It is impressive to know that he acknowledges everyone by name and enquires about personal tidbits of oldies in the company, talks about cricket nonchalantly over a cup of coffee, pulls a fast one on others or entertains us by making himself the butt of jokes.

On the professional front, he talks about why the code is complicated, why the SQL query is unnecessarily lengthy, why is the architecture not scalable, where is the deployment going wrong, what requirements are missed in the FSDs, how can the user interface be improved and what should be the documentation approach.

He is awe-inspiring, but it also resulted in intellectual disparity between him and the rest of the organization. Even an intellectual is capable of making mistakes if he doesn’t have the check points regularly. The outcome could be monopoly and chaos, which can spell disaster. There were times when plans had to be altered at the 11th hour, his casual comments and feedback kept most on tenterhooks. Everyone is panting to meet his expectations round the clock. Ironically even I am one among them who is gasping for breath. Obviously, I can’t have my way and stay out to watch the whole act being enacted again and again! It was not surprising when P’s “foresight” took precedence over customer deliverables. There had been rumors that friends turned foe when they came to work for him and finally bowed out.

He is standing alone in the arena, with no real contenders to challenge him. If somebody of his caliber and intellect comes onboard then it would be no less than watching Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged unfold. Till then it’s going to be the “P” effect here.

The slumdog millionaire

2009-04-25T23:17:00.000-07:00

It was when we shifted to Bangalore and moved into our neighborhood in Kormangala. My father, who belongs to the old school, believes in friendly and helpful neighbors. Not even 10 days old in the city, he knew Mr. Joseph, our immediate neighbor and “the old couple” (this is how we refer them even today) in front of our house and few more in our street. His day starts with a half-an-hour walk followed by scanning the morning newspaper in the portico.

Next to the “old couple” house is an empty plot which is a bigger version of a kitchen garden. If you thought in 30 by 40 plot, one can hardly grow any plants, then you are wrong. A mango tree, plantain, papaya, bottle gaud, brinjal, and many more seasonal fruits and vegetables. Dressed in an old shirt and a lungi (Indian version of sherong), he comes everyday to remove weeds and water the plants. It is a sight to watch the gardener who nurses every plant, observes every leaf and bud, oblivious to his surroundings.

My father, out of curiosity, wanted to know the market value of the plot. So he asks, “Excuse me; where does the owner of this plot stay?”
The gardener: “Why?”
Father: “Well…just like that. Does he come anytime this side?”
The gardener: “What do you want to know sir? You can ask me.”
Father: “hmm…I wanted to know the price of this land?”
The gardener: “60 lakhs….I am the owner.”
Father: “Is it? There is one more plot at the beginning of this street. I saw you there too.”
The gardener: “Yes. Even that’s mine.”

Father walked into the house with nothing more to ask or say. By then, mother and I understood that the facts hit him hard and he is taking time to absorb them! He looked at us and what followed was a riot of laughter.

I was intrigued by this gardener, who is nothing less than a millionaire. What I am about to reveal is the facts about him which are no less than any shocker.

He has three other big plots in and around Kormangala, each costing a few crores. He is employed by a private firm as a grade 4 employee and takes home a salary of Rs 3,500. He has four daughters who are studying in a government school which hardly has any facilities. He doesn’t buy vegetables from the market. Whatever he grows in these two plots near our house is what they eat. Now you may ask, what happens when there are no vegetables in his kitchen gardens? I don’t have to answer that. You would have guessed it by now!

What’s special in the Sunday menu? Half a kilo of mutton cooked with papaya. Ever heard of that combination? By the way, papaya helps to cook the meat faster besides adding to the quantity that suffices a family of seven (including his mom. His father passed away)!

Most of us would not see that kind of money even if our two generations worked in an IT firm. I was tempted to ask him many times, “Why is he living a life of a pauper?”

Now you know why I have called him the Slumdog Millionaire.

Alone in the crowd

2009-01-24T09:18:00.000-08:00

We got the corner seat with a good view of the DJ, the dance floor and the bar. Being the first Saturday in the New Year, Chrome, the pub, was bubbling with crowd by 10 pm with lot of eye candies.

I wasn’t too keen on hitting a pub a few hours after a day-long journey. I wanted to catch some sleep after an early dinner and a lazy stroll on the beach. But anyways, here I was. The theme of the evening being Techno, I couldn’t enjoy the music for long. My eyes strayed to check out the crowd. The bar was jammed with people waiting for their drinks while the bartenders had their hands full.

As I watched the groups engaged in animated discussions, New Year hugs and wishes, I felt like a stranger in my hometown. I don’t know a single soul other than my family. My friends, just like me, left the city after studies. My gaze kept going back to a guy in his late 30s and probably approaching the 40 mark much sooner than he wanted. I am sure he was not too happy with his receding hairline. He was dressed more for an executive meeting than a Saturday night party in a light blue shirt and a navy blue trouser, rimless spectacles and black leather shoes. He desperately wanted to be a part of the young employees of HSBC. He laughed louder than the others, cracked a joke that turned out to be a damp squib and hugged everyone he met for the first time. He was such a misfit!

His desperate measures reminded me of a middle-aged lady in Hyderabad. While partying at a pub, she wanted to join us on the dance floor. We said yes, and she gunned for one of the guys in the group. She shooed me away with her heavy make-up, strong perfume, tights and a tacky halter neck top. Gyrating to the beats with all the "moves" she gave the oomph look to my friend. His girl friend gave up and decided to join me and so did the rest. Though I felt sorry for her, we had a good laugh looking at my friend who was put to so much unease. By the way, I spotted her a few more times at different pubs everytime with a different group. Nobody noticed when she came and went alone always.

Back to the hero of our story!

Sensing the pulse of the crowd, the DJ decided to change the music. We hit the dance floor and were having a good time. I saw the “executive” dancing too but without a company. He was with the crowd but still not one among them. After a while he opted out of the floor and contented himself by joining the onlookers.
Tired and sweating after a good half-an-hour dance, I decided to call it a day and headed home.

A frozen moment...

2009-01-24T07:43:00.000-08:00

She said bye to her mother, sisters and brother while her father asked her to hurry up. Mother was breathlessly giving her instructions to be good to her grandfather; she was going to stay with. “Remember your every action will speak of your upbringing and us,” mom said umpteenth time. “Tinku, study well and take care,” she hugged her brother.

It was a full moon night. The tar roads, the big water tank, the TV antennas standing on every roof top were drenched in silvery moon rays. She hurried behind her father who was walking fast with the cycle and the lone suitcase tied to it. “We should reach early, remember we have to talk to K.G. Rao uncle,” he said. He was the TTE who had promised to get them a berth till Vizag. While she took long strides to meet her father, she turned back one last time at the end of the street. She saw the silhouettes of her mother and her frail sister who was waving at her excitedly. She felt empty and confused, not sure if she was doing the right thing by deciding to complete her higher secondary in Vizag. She was too young to understand what it was like to leave a sanctuary and be on her own.

As she passed the familiar sites, she thought of the 7-day long Goddess Bhagwathi festival every year; the school annual function and sports day; the evening chit-chats with her siblings and friends and the undisputed attention from her parents. “Never mind, I am going to come here on every vacation.” Lost in her thought, she didn’t notice Bappi, her neighbor. He was more of a rival than a good neighbor. Felt exhilarated whenever he made a sarcastic comment on her and siblings; probably the symptoms of a confused teenager. “Hey, are you leaving today?” he asked with a grin.
“Yes.” She replied.
“When are you coming next?” he asked.
“In Dusherra holidays” she answered and didn't wait for anymore conversation.

Unaware that with every step closer to catch the 8.30 pm Konark Express, she is leaving behind the 10 years of the most precious and carefree life, she misses even today.

Even after so many years, that moonlit night has been frozen in her mind’s eye and feels as if it was just yesterday.

That She was Me, when I left home for the first time.

Preface

2008-12-18T12:07:00.001-08:00

One more blogger on the block! You may think….and you are right! There’s nothing extraordinary about this blog. My Sojourns is about the innumerable experiences I had as a journalist while chasing deadlines like a maniac. It’s also about the out of job observations, one of my favourite pastimes even today.

My friends say I am good at weaving picturesque plots around the most mundane incidents. I hope they did not mean “fabrication”! After a lot of dilly-dallying, I decided to compile those incidents I talk about over and over again.

This is no disclaimer, but here I am going to talk about the people who contributed directly and indirectly to navigate my thoughts in a direction, I thought, never existed. Most of them have moved on but what left of them with me are their faded faces and distant voices in my memory and the lessons I learnt. Many may not read these pages as they are not tech-savvy and others, if they read, will be able to identify themselves. Folks, thank you!

Glucklich Lesen!

Sudha

A unique name

2008-12-18T11:54:00.001-08:00

It was a sultry summer evening; I was waiting for the bus at the stand. With darkness fast approaching and no good story yet for the coming edition, I didn’t know whether to feel restless or enjoy the cool sea breeze that can draw anyone into the lull of sleep. That’s when I noticed a pan shop with a peculiar name, Post Graduate Pan Shop. Out of curiosity, I first bought a couple of water packets and slowly started a conversation with the owner, Mr. Prasad.

Obviously, I was not the first one to enquire about the name. The shop spoke a lot about his trials and tribulations. A post-graduate in Commerce, his excellent academic record couldn’t earn him a job of even Rs 3,000 a month. After enrolling himself at Employment Exchange, he waited two-long futile years in the hope of hearing from them. He kept himself sane by doing sundry jobs. Finally, he thought of self employment and opened a pan shop. The name drew flak from the local MLAs and municipal corporator. Mr. Prasad was pressurized to change it for it became a testament of a limping political system.

A few blocks away in Andhra University, the pan shop story stealthily sneaked into the classroom discussions of MBA courses. Later, the students did a case study on Mr. Prasad’s unique venture under self employment.

On my last visit to Vizag, my hometown, I went there to check if the shop exists. I saw Mr. Prasad busy attending to his customers. Little seemed to have changed in all these years. He looked prosperous with a slight paunch and peppered hair. The shop is slightly bigger now.

Even today the name catches attention of many passersby.