Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Scar
Not even the old rusted school bell could wake up Ritesh during his slumbers which seemed to take him to a wonderful world where he could build bridges near his house, buy ice cream from the stationary store and even have a dance with his on-screen hero. The last hour of the day was usually given as a leisure hour.It meant revising time for the first bench girls and it was also the time for the boys to score centuries in the game of book cricket. Finding the game too silly, ritesh usually looked forward to a good sleep for he knew that that was the only time in his life he could ever run faster than his classmates, do which nobody including himself thought he could accomplish. Unavailability of money and lack of medical attention was partly responsible for him having a crippled leg. It had worsened when he had fallen off the roof of his single storied shack when he was foolishly trying to imitate Shaktiman. He was bruised heavily and one mark especially caught everybody’s’ eye. A scar right across his right palm. If he were ever to be a legend, that would be his mark. Like the legend of zorro. At least that was what he had dreamed.
In one of his dreams, when he was just about to receive the Olympic gold, a hard nudge woke him up. He spun around with a irritated expression but that expression melted as soon as he saw that it was Shefali. A girl who bubbled with enthusiasm, shefali always looked forward to the walk she had with ritesh after their school hours. Ritesh ‘s shack was just a few blocks across shefali’s mansion in suburban Kolkata. Shefali was probably too young to realize that it was wrong on her part to share a candy, a walk or even a conversation with the boy who delivered newspaper to her house in the mornings. She had not even realized that ritesh had been given admission to the school under a special scheme where a certain number of students from the poverty areas were supposed to be admitted in every school. All of these did not matter to her. To her, he was a friend with whom she could be who she actually was, with whom she would not have to flash a phony smile with lips polished with costly lip-sticks just as in front of her parents’ business associates. It was very noticeable that she showed a very mature behaviour for her age of 12.
She had often fantasized about having a friend who could appreciate for who she was, who in her later stages of life would be just a phone call away and who would hold her hand in her darkest times, if not be the light. Her walks with ritesh was the happiest part of her day since her family had moved to Kolkata a few years back. She would narrate to him every single minute of her day forgetting the fact that both of them were in the same class. On one such day, as they walked the familiar roads, a group of classmates cornered them.
“look who it is. Its our shaktiman protecting the queen”, echoed the group. A shadow of anger passed ritesh’s face.
“oooooh. Will you chase us ? by the time he catches us, it will be time for him to deliver newspaper to my house. Ha ha”
“Lets go ritesh. Don’t mind those spoilt brats”, she had said and pulled him along. She had stopped when she realized that she would hurt his crippled leg.
Ritesh was always an intent listener. Shefali would sometimes go on and on even after reaching their homes. They would usually stand under a banyan tree and would chatter for an hour or until her mom called out to her. If he was absent to class, she would have a dejected feeling or would lose interest in the day’s classes only because of the fact that she would have to walk alone. She would have to walk without her friend. Without her best friend.
“ritesh, I feel that you are my friend only during school hours. I can always call up a girl from my class but sometimes when I feel bad its you I want to talk to. I wish that it was possible”, she had said once with a hint of sorrow in her voice. Ritesh in his usual calmness, having thought for a while removed a little bell from his bag. It had a lion and a bull engraved on its surface. It had a fiery red thread attached to it.
“My father found this on his way back from the fields. You take it now. When you feel like talking to me, run across the road and place the bell in the little burrow in this banyan tree. Nobody will know and I can see it when I come to deliver the newspaper. On those days I shall come early to school. “
Nobody had ever given thought to her feelings like ritesh had done. She felt better when she thought of all her girl-friends who used to put on masks to talk to the hunks of her class. Ritesh was after all her best friend. She had nothing to prove to him nor impress him. The bell would signify that Shefali needed Ritesh the most during those times.
Their friendship grew and ritesh never broke his promise about the bell. She had told him about her dislike towards the parties her parents insisted on her going, her plans for the future and almost everything else. It was during this time that she learnt that he wanted just to be able to stand on his own legs and that he dreamed about serving people one day. This dream was fuelled by his own experiences, his own father working tirelessly to make ends meet. It was also the time when she had discovered the scar on his palm and she had found that it was impossible to shake his hands without feeling the scar. The touch of the scar, she discovered, sent a sorrowing feeling through her soul and for her it symbolized a scar on ritesh’s life.
The holidays were a time in which they met considerably less frequently. The year in which she celebrated her 14th year birthday, she discovered on the first day of school that the class strength had reduced by one student. She looked around for the missing person and failed to identify the person as it was common practice that students usually skip the first few days of school. Among the missing was ritesh. This was usual as he had missed a couple of ‘fist-days’ before. She was disappointed with the fact that she would have to walk alone and so she decided to hang the bell on her way back. After wading through her first day of class, she listened intently to the attendance call.
Roll no 36 rahul, roll no 37 rohit…..37 was supposed to be ritesh’s roll number. She thought that it was just a mistake and that such things happen at the beginning of a new academic year. She hurried home after the class and hung the bell in the normal spot.
The following day, as per the ritual she went to school early and was horrified to see that there was no ritesh waiting for her near the gate. Sulking, she went to class with a hope that ritesh would come to class. The same attendance saga continued. She did not want to assume anything, she did not want to show that she was the only person in class who had noticed his absence in the class. After the last hour, which seemed to go extremely slow, she hurried home and rushed to the servant quarters and enquired about ritesh and his family. What she heard would leave a mark on her life forever. She knew it the moment she heard it.
“His father could not afford the fees in this school. They shifted to another town and nobody knows where madam. They did not tell us anything”
“Thanks”, was all she could manage.
She could not digest the fact that ritesh would leave without giving her the slightest of clues. She went to the Banyan tree, pocketed the bell and stood there looking at nothing in particular. It was not possible for her to come to terms that of everything she could possibly give up, her friendship with ritesh which was so pure and innocent had been one thing she was very afraid to give up.
“Some things in life are in your hands, some things beyond your control. Living in a society with a framework which aims at making people more sterio-type in thinking, which aims at making people believe that the only relationship possible between a boy and a girl is that of love, with a framework that is more suitable to the creators than to the mortals following it, you come to a point in your life where you have to decide whether you wish to live in this society or if you wish to create a world of your own where all that matters is how you feel, where everything is how you want”Shefali believed that she could have found a worthy friend in Ritesh whom she could treasure for the rest of her life.
Knowing that she could not find ritesh, shefali retired to her old ways where she would go to school with a grim and go home with a grim face as well. The banyan tree stood in all its glory and shefali always found that it mocked at her, reminding her that she could never stand with a person and have a enjoyable conversation like she had done so with Ritesh.
She had waited many a day for him, and the days had turned to months, months to years and it always seemed like a lifetime.
She finished her graduation in public relations and she had once waited for roll no 37 in her college. She knew it was very stupid. Her dream of being a news reporter never came to be realized as she was married to a very rich family in Mumbai as her father thought it was a very good business alliance. She had not protested and she often felt that Ritesh would not have let her agree to her father’s decision. But that was not to be and she had shifted to her husband’s house in Mumbai which was nothing like her own house. There was not a tree in sight, it was hard to say whether there were more number of cars than the people or not. She had often missed home, but as a married woman she had responsibilities which kept her occupied most of the time. In years to come she would have children and ritesh was just a fond memory.
“suno ji, there are no friends around. I feel lonely sometimes and your secretary says you are busy. How can I talk to you?”, she had asked.
“I cannot help it. I am busy and that’s how it is”, her husband had replied in the most sullen way.
That little incident had brought rushing back her memories of ritesh and the little bell and all that seemed like little adventures to her. She had spent almost a full hour cleaning the bell which she had preserved it like a piece of jewel. It was infact more precious than that. 16 years had seemed a very short time. It had been 16 years since she had a true friend. Well, that was all a memory now.
With the arrival of children her life had changed and so did Mumbai with the arrival of the monsoons. That year had been expected unusually high rainfall. Shefali lived in an area kissing the Mumbai water ways. She would always take a walk two times a day and her path would take her along the water ways. She would always find it soothing watching the water, the ripples jumping into the air, a bird swooping down and an occasional yatch in the distance. She would also sometimes visit her friend Anita’s house for a chat. Anita and Shefali had met in a marriage function and they soon discovered that they could brighten each others day with a little laugh now and then.
On a Thursday, a slight drizzle failed to stop Shefali from paying a visit to her friend Anita. Sipping hot tea, they watched an Amitabh starrer, Black, and soon lost track of time. They had also failed to hear the thunder outside and it startled Shefali when she saw that it was the heaviest rain she had ever seen. It was already 3.30 and she could not afford to wait longer as her children would return from school. Against Anita’s protests she started home. It was obvious that she find no rickshaw and so she had to literally wade her way home. Almost home. A few hundred meters from her house, a tea shop where labourers would have their hot tea and a cigarette was being uprooted and the winds were making the knee deep water flow like in a river. Shefali watched her house in the distance and she could catch sight of hardly any soul. Just when she thought she had gone through the ordeal, a swirl made her head turn and she saw the wooden roof of the tea shop flying towards her. That would be the last thing she would see for many hours.
Shefali was knocked cold and she had been carried by the current. She had crashed against a makeshift ration store, and she had been covered with the debris from the surrounding areas as the shop served to be the only obstacle in the path of the flowing water. Hundreds of people were trapped and it was only until evening that her husband realized that she was missing. A complaint had been registered. Rescue teams comprising of the Police and volunteers were sent in search of survivors.
It had been almost 12 hours and nobody had found Shefali even though she was just a few hundred meters from her house. Shefali had woken up and found her body going numb. She could not think straight. She knew she would die. She had not eaten and her body was too cold for too long a time. Just about then, “hey hey there is someone here”, shouted a voice. Just when everything seemed to be dark, a light came through the top of the debris. Shefali flinched as it had been a long time since she had seen light. A hand propped in and she heard,” take my hand. You will be alright”. Following it like a child, she held it. Something rubbed her hand and she held it harder. What she felt sent a chill down her spine. Even in that bruised state, it was impossible for her not to feel the touch of the scar. A scar which had fascinated her, a scar which she had not seen or touched for 16 years, a scar which had symbolized her best friend, he true friend.
She was drugged as soon as she was pulled out and she was airlifted to the nearest hospital. It was only 8 hours later when she woke up that she realized that it was god himself pulling her out. It was like an angel saving her, it was true both literally and metaphorically. She was confused if she felt happy that she had survived or because she had finally fund her best friend after 16 years.
After a days rest at the hospital, by which time the rains had almost stopped, she went to the nearest makeshift rescue station and enquires about the Thursday on which she was saved. She learnt that if she had not been saved in time, she could have died of hypothermia. That she had been found just in the nick of time was a miracle. Shefali knew within her that her story of her best friend saving her was an altogether a spiritual experience, something more than a mracle.
“ Could I meet the rescue team. I would like to thank them personally”, she asked with gratitude. She had hoped to see Ritesh limp towards her, she would narrate to him every minute of the past 16 years, she did not care how long it would take. But what she heard would take her more than a lifetime to grip.
“The team which went out never returned. They were believed to have been washed away into the water way. We all here feel the loss of the brave souls. You can make contributions for their families. Here are their names. Please pick a name and indicate how you would like to help”
It took her a full minute to read the first name through her tears. Ritesh Gorkand. She dropped the paper and ran home. She wanted to go back to sleep, wake up knowing it’s a dream, still waiting for Ritesh, with no rains in Mumbai. That was not to be.
He had been her best friend even in her darkest times, he had held her hand even though he himself was not the light. He had afterall realized his dream of helping people. He was afterall Ritesh wasn’t he ?
She lied to her husband the she has to leave for Kolkata urgently. The flight journey seemed to be a blur, she reached her house. She told her mom that she would go out to the store close to her house and where she went was a place close to her heart. The little cavity where she hung the bell was shielded from the rain by a thick growth of lichen. 16 years had had no effect on it. Out of curiosity, she thrust her hand into it. She felt a little metal and she pulled out a little metal container. She opened it and a stench greeted her. A rotting piece of paper was waiting fto be read by her,
“I have to leave for Mumbai. I don’t know if I will ever get to stay in one place. I am sorry I could not tell you. I was too afraid to come to your house. You will always be my best friend. Ritesh”
These words scribbled on the sheet would be etched in Shefali’s memories forever. Tears rolled down her yes. But these were tears of joy. Ritesh had not left her as though she meant nothing to him. Her best friend had infact treasured her friendship.
She slipped the container and the piece of paper into the cavity. She walked away.
As she did so, the sun caught a piece of metal and something shined from inside the cavity. A closer look would reveal that it had a fiery red thread attached to it.
In one of his dreams, when he was just about to receive the Olympic gold, a hard nudge woke him up. He spun around with a irritated expression but that expression melted as soon as he saw that it was Shefali. A girl who bubbled with enthusiasm, shefali always looked forward to the walk she had with ritesh after their school hours. Ritesh ‘s shack was just a few blocks across shefali’s mansion in suburban Kolkata. Shefali was probably too young to realize that it was wrong on her part to share a candy, a walk or even a conversation with the boy who delivered newspaper to her house in the mornings. She had not even realized that ritesh had been given admission to the school under a special scheme where a certain number of students from the poverty areas were supposed to be admitted in every school. All of these did not matter to her. To her, he was a friend with whom she could be who she actually was, with whom she would not have to flash a phony smile with lips polished with costly lip-sticks just as in front of her parents’ business associates. It was very noticeable that she showed a very mature behaviour for her age of 12.
She had often fantasized about having a friend who could appreciate for who she was, who in her later stages of life would be just a phone call away and who would hold her hand in her darkest times, if not be the light. Her walks with ritesh was the happiest part of her day since her family had moved to Kolkata a few years back. She would narrate to him every single minute of her day forgetting the fact that both of them were in the same class. On one such day, as they walked the familiar roads, a group of classmates cornered them.
“look who it is. Its our shaktiman protecting the queen”, echoed the group. A shadow of anger passed ritesh’s face.
“oooooh. Will you chase us ? by the time he catches us, it will be time for him to deliver newspaper to my house. Ha ha”
“Lets go ritesh. Don’t mind those spoilt brats”, she had said and pulled him along. She had stopped when she realized that she would hurt his crippled leg.
Ritesh was always an intent listener. Shefali would sometimes go on and on even after reaching their homes. They would usually stand under a banyan tree and would chatter for an hour or until her mom called out to her. If he was absent to class, she would have a dejected feeling or would lose interest in the day’s classes only because of the fact that she would have to walk alone. She would have to walk without her friend. Without her best friend.
“ritesh, I feel that you are my friend only during school hours. I can always call up a girl from my class but sometimes when I feel bad its you I want to talk to. I wish that it was possible”, she had said once with a hint of sorrow in her voice. Ritesh in his usual calmness, having thought for a while removed a little bell from his bag. It had a lion and a bull engraved on its surface. It had a fiery red thread attached to it.
“My father found this on his way back from the fields. You take it now. When you feel like talking to me, run across the road and place the bell in the little burrow in this banyan tree. Nobody will know and I can see it when I come to deliver the newspaper. On those days I shall come early to school. “
Nobody had ever given thought to her feelings like ritesh had done. She felt better when she thought of all her girl-friends who used to put on masks to talk to the hunks of her class. Ritesh was after all her best friend. She had nothing to prove to him nor impress him. The bell would signify that Shefali needed Ritesh the most during those times.
Their friendship grew and ritesh never broke his promise about the bell. She had told him about her dislike towards the parties her parents insisted on her going, her plans for the future and almost everything else. It was during this time that she learnt that he wanted just to be able to stand on his own legs and that he dreamed about serving people one day. This dream was fuelled by his own experiences, his own father working tirelessly to make ends meet. It was also the time when she had discovered the scar on his palm and she had found that it was impossible to shake his hands without feeling the scar. The touch of the scar, she discovered, sent a sorrowing feeling through her soul and for her it symbolized a scar on ritesh’s life.
The holidays were a time in which they met considerably less frequently. The year in which she celebrated her 14th year birthday, she discovered on the first day of school that the class strength had reduced by one student. She looked around for the missing person and failed to identify the person as it was common practice that students usually skip the first few days of school. Among the missing was ritesh. This was usual as he had missed a couple of ‘fist-days’ before. She was disappointed with the fact that she would have to walk alone and so she decided to hang the bell on her way back. After wading through her first day of class, she listened intently to the attendance call.
Roll no 36 rahul, roll no 37 rohit…..37 was supposed to be ritesh’s roll number. She thought that it was just a mistake and that such things happen at the beginning of a new academic year. She hurried home after the class and hung the bell in the normal spot.
The following day, as per the ritual she went to school early and was horrified to see that there was no ritesh waiting for her near the gate. Sulking, she went to class with a hope that ritesh would come to class. The same attendance saga continued. She did not want to assume anything, she did not want to show that she was the only person in class who had noticed his absence in the class. After the last hour, which seemed to go extremely slow, she hurried home and rushed to the servant quarters and enquired about ritesh and his family. What she heard would leave a mark on her life forever. She knew it the moment she heard it.
“His father could not afford the fees in this school. They shifted to another town and nobody knows where madam. They did not tell us anything”
“Thanks”, was all she could manage.
She could not digest the fact that ritesh would leave without giving her the slightest of clues. She went to the Banyan tree, pocketed the bell and stood there looking at nothing in particular. It was not possible for her to come to terms that of everything she could possibly give up, her friendship with ritesh which was so pure and innocent had been one thing she was very afraid to give up.
“Some things in life are in your hands, some things beyond your control. Living in a society with a framework which aims at making people more sterio-type in thinking, which aims at making people believe that the only relationship possible between a boy and a girl is that of love, with a framework that is more suitable to the creators than to the mortals following it, you come to a point in your life where you have to decide whether you wish to live in this society or if you wish to create a world of your own where all that matters is how you feel, where everything is how you want”Shefali believed that she could have found a worthy friend in Ritesh whom she could treasure for the rest of her life.
Knowing that she could not find ritesh, shefali retired to her old ways where she would go to school with a grim and go home with a grim face as well. The banyan tree stood in all its glory and shefali always found that it mocked at her, reminding her that she could never stand with a person and have a enjoyable conversation like she had done so with Ritesh.
She had waited many a day for him, and the days had turned to months, months to years and it always seemed like a lifetime.
She finished her graduation in public relations and she had once waited for roll no 37 in her college. She knew it was very stupid. Her dream of being a news reporter never came to be realized as she was married to a very rich family in Mumbai as her father thought it was a very good business alliance. She had not protested and she often felt that Ritesh would not have let her agree to her father’s decision. But that was not to be and she had shifted to her husband’s house in Mumbai which was nothing like her own house. There was not a tree in sight, it was hard to say whether there were more number of cars than the people or not. She had often missed home, but as a married woman she had responsibilities which kept her occupied most of the time. In years to come she would have children and ritesh was just a fond memory.
“suno ji, there are no friends around. I feel lonely sometimes and your secretary says you are busy. How can I talk to you?”, she had asked.
“I cannot help it. I am busy and that’s how it is”, her husband had replied in the most sullen way.
That little incident had brought rushing back her memories of ritesh and the little bell and all that seemed like little adventures to her. She had spent almost a full hour cleaning the bell which she had preserved it like a piece of jewel. It was infact more precious than that. 16 years had seemed a very short time. It had been 16 years since she had a true friend. Well, that was all a memory now.
With the arrival of children her life had changed and so did Mumbai with the arrival of the monsoons. That year had been expected unusually high rainfall. Shefali lived in an area kissing the Mumbai water ways. She would always take a walk two times a day and her path would take her along the water ways. She would always find it soothing watching the water, the ripples jumping into the air, a bird swooping down and an occasional yatch in the distance. She would also sometimes visit her friend Anita’s house for a chat. Anita and Shefali had met in a marriage function and they soon discovered that they could brighten each others day with a little laugh now and then.
On a Thursday, a slight drizzle failed to stop Shefali from paying a visit to her friend Anita. Sipping hot tea, they watched an Amitabh starrer, Black, and soon lost track of time. They had also failed to hear the thunder outside and it startled Shefali when she saw that it was the heaviest rain she had ever seen. It was already 3.30 and she could not afford to wait longer as her children would return from school. Against Anita’s protests she started home. It was obvious that she find no rickshaw and so she had to literally wade her way home. Almost home. A few hundred meters from her house, a tea shop where labourers would have their hot tea and a cigarette was being uprooted and the winds were making the knee deep water flow like in a river. Shefali watched her house in the distance and she could catch sight of hardly any soul. Just when she thought she had gone through the ordeal, a swirl made her head turn and she saw the wooden roof of the tea shop flying towards her. That would be the last thing she would see for many hours.
Shefali was knocked cold and she had been carried by the current. She had crashed against a makeshift ration store, and she had been covered with the debris from the surrounding areas as the shop served to be the only obstacle in the path of the flowing water. Hundreds of people were trapped and it was only until evening that her husband realized that she was missing. A complaint had been registered. Rescue teams comprising of the Police and volunteers were sent in search of survivors.
It had been almost 12 hours and nobody had found Shefali even though she was just a few hundred meters from her house. Shefali had woken up and found her body going numb. She could not think straight. She knew she would die. She had not eaten and her body was too cold for too long a time. Just about then, “hey hey there is someone here”, shouted a voice. Just when everything seemed to be dark, a light came through the top of the debris. Shefali flinched as it had been a long time since she had seen light. A hand propped in and she heard,” take my hand. You will be alright”. Following it like a child, she held it. Something rubbed her hand and she held it harder. What she felt sent a chill down her spine. Even in that bruised state, it was impossible for her not to feel the touch of the scar. A scar which had fascinated her, a scar which she had not seen or touched for 16 years, a scar which had symbolized her best friend, he true friend.
She was drugged as soon as she was pulled out and she was airlifted to the nearest hospital. It was only 8 hours later when she woke up that she realized that it was god himself pulling her out. It was like an angel saving her, it was true both literally and metaphorically. She was confused if she felt happy that she had survived or because she had finally fund her best friend after 16 years.
After a days rest at the hospital, by which time the rains had almost stopped, she went to the nearest makeshift rescue station and enquires about the Thursday on which she was saved. She learnt that if she had not been saved in time, she could have died of hypothermia. That she had been found just in the nick of time was a miracle. Shefali knew within her that her story of her best friend saving her was an altogether a spiritual experience, something more than a mracle.
“ Could I meet the rescue team. I would like to thank them personally”, she asked with gratitude. She had hoped to see Ritesh limp towards her, she would narrate to him every minute of the past 16 years, she did not care how long it would take. But what she heard would take her more than a lifetime to grip.
“The team which went out never returned. They were believed to have been washed away into the water way. We all here feel the loss of the brave souls. You can make contributions for their families. Here are their names. Please pick a name and indicate how you would like to help”
It took her a full minute to read the first name through her tears. Ritesh Gorkand. She dropped the paper and ran home. She wanted to go back to sleep, wake up knowing it’s a dream, still waiting for Ritesh, with no rains in Mumbai. That was not to be.
He had been her best friend even in her darkest times, he had held her hand even though he himself was not the light. He had afterall realized his dream of helping people. He was afterall Ritesh wasn’t he ?
She lied to her husband the she has to leave for Kolkata urgently. The flight journey seemed to be a blur, she reached her house. She told her mom that she would go out to the store close to her house and where she went was a place close to her heart. The little cavity where she hung the bell was shielded from the rain by a thick growth of lichen. 16 years had had no effect on it. Out of curiosity, she thrust her hand into it. She felt a little metal and she pulled out a little metal container. She opened it and a stench greeted her. A rotting piece of paper was waiting fto be read by her,
“I have to leave for Mumbai. I don’t know if I will ever get to stay in one place. I am sorry I could not tell you. I was too afraid to come to your house. You will always be my best friend. Ritesh”
These words scribbled on the sheet would be etched in Shefali’s memories forever. Tears rolled down her yes. But these were tears of joy. Ritesh had not left her as though she meant nothing to him. Her best friend had infact treasured her friendship.
She slipped the container and the piece of paper into the cavity. She walked away.
As she did so, the sun caught a piece of metal and something shined from inside the cavity. A closer look would reveal that it had a fiery red thread attached to it.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
The Innocent Bomber
18 years had passed since the Soviets had let Afghanistan from their claws. Nothing had changed since then, other than the falling levels of Opium cultivation. Thousands of youth were now becoming “The Students”. They are famed for all the wrong reasons. They are an organization whose influence runs deep in the war torn nation of Afghanistan. Like parasites, they feed upon the war-wounds of the country. They are feared by the western world, immortalized by the fanatics. They run Afghanistan. They are “The Students”, which in Arabic means, Talibs. We know them better as Taliban.
Amjad Khan, a man in his early forties, like many other had seen the men from ‘The West’, destroy his tribe, among many, which had for many centuries made the slopes of Nowshak its home. His father, Imjat Khan had died fighting the War that was not theirs. They had no interest in the senseless violence down in the planes of Peshawar. As far as they were concerned, Nowshak was their home, their nation and their heaven. The Soviets though pulled them into the war when they made air strikes on the great mountain ranges of Hindu Kush. They destroyed cattle, homes. They destroyed innocent lives. Then arrived the Arabs, then the Americans and they kept coming. It was all like a spiral descent, going round and round the same point but always going down with every round. For the people victimized in this everlasting war, revenge was one thing which stuck to their heart like a leech sticking to your leg. You never know its there until its too late and it starts bleeding. These people were not educated. They did not even know that a country called USA or Russian existed. All they knew was, there is Afghanistan, there is Pakistan and then there is the west. They hated the west.
Amjad Khan was married when he was 19 and he now had 3 children. He like most others, did not believe in Education, he himself was uneducated. His children spent hours memorizing the Quran. After all they were doing what their father asked them to and their father told them what he was taught. Amjad’s brush with reality happened in a Mosque on an early December Friday morning. As he got up after his prayers, a rough yet caring voice spoke to him,
“Salaam malikhoom”
“Malikhoom salaam”, he replied courteously.
“I know all about you and your past. I want to help you”
Amjad had never seen this man and the man said he knew him and wanted to help him. He was baffled by this .
“I know you don’t know me. Meet me near the old mosque near the market tomorrow. You will always be grateful”
The man disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared. Amjad tried hard to remember if he was one among his old friends, or a relative. Coming up with no answers, he convinced himself that it was a case of mistaken identity. It was always difficult to recognize someone when everyone around has the same turban and a beard.
The whole incident slipped from his mind and he was soon submerged in his daily routines and the calendar ticked like clockwork. Amjad went to the usual prayer place the following day and offered his prayers in the direction of the Holy Mecca. It was only then that he was reminded of the mystery man whom he had met. He tried to forget about it but then a strange thought passed his mind-what if it was actually mistaken identity? What if it was an emergency? He could at least go to the mosque and explain to the man who he really was. Pleased with this idea he walked to the old mosque near the market.
“Welcome my friend. I knew you would come”, said the same voice which had baffled him the previous day.
“I am sorry. I think you are mistaken. I donot even know you”
“You don’t have to. Please follow me”
“But…” he could not complete as the man had gone ahead and was beyond the audible range. Amjad trotted behind him and entered the mosque. He could never have guessed what he would see inside. There was a big hall with ruined walls. In the middle sat business men he recognized, some teenagers he had seen occasionally and the mystery man who was responsible for him being here. All their attention seemed to be focussed on a heavily bearded man who spoke with inspiration in his voice, hatred in his voice.
“…..This is a direct assault on Islam” was all that Amjad could catch from the man’s talk. The men dissolved into little groups of their own and spoke in low voices. Nobody seemed to notice his presence.
Amjad decided to resolve this situation and moved towards the mystery man. The man almost instantaneously turned and gave a gentle smile. It was he first time Amjad got a detailed look of his face. It was tanned, bearded and had a scar on the cheek. This seemed unsymmetrical on the short, thin body.
“Why did you call me here? Do you know who I am?”
“I know about you my friend. You are Amjad Khan, son of Imjat Khan. I know you lost your tribe, its like losing a part of your soul. I am afraid we both are in the same boat”
“ how on earth do you know that?”, a bewildered Amjad asked.
“Allah has wished and has its destiny that our paths have crossed”
Amjad Khan had no idea who the man was and yet he was talking about his life and their destinies.
“Allah has a path planned for everyone. The westerners crossed their path and strolled into ours. They thought it to be their own and if that was not enough, they wanted it all by themselves. Centuries have passed and the Holy Quran and the Prophet are still our guiding lights in this dangerous journey. We live on this Earth as long as we have a duty to fulfil. Once completed, we leave and join the beautiful, eternal gardens of Allah”
“why are you telling me this ?”
“do you not see the signs ? Allah provoked you by making you lose your tribe. He calls upon all the holy warriors of Islam. He has foreseen an attack on Islam and The Quran says that it is not crime, but duty to injure or kill your enemy if the cause is to protect Islam.”
“I have to leave”
“think about your children and wife Amjad Khan”
A shady shack, a tired wife and three innocent faces passed through his mind. They meant more than anything in the world to him.
“what about them ? don’t you dare even think about pulling them into this nonsense”, shouted Amjad. The people around, for the first time turned to have a look at him.
“Anger is important my friend, but only when used at the right time. The Westerners never cared for us, we did nothing wrong, yet they tore us apart. They did it because we are Islam. Please meet me tomorrow here at the same time. You wont regret this Amjad. I promise”
Amjad felt numb, he felt he was transformed into another dimension. He had no idea as to who the man was, what he wanted and yet what he said made sense to him. The Westerners hurt them for no mistake of theirs, didn’t they?
He went home, had a silent lunch, then a silent dinner of roti and sabji and retired to bed. He kept thinking about the incident in the mosque. He could even sleep a wink. He contemplated on whether to meet the man, what was wrong ? he would just listen to him and come home. He would lose nothing. He, anyways had no work. It was a very simple situation. He could pull out anytime he wanted. That was the mistake. He was now wandering into a world which had only an entrance gate and no exit. He neither knew why he was entering it, nor did he know what was waiting for him.
After a rather long night, when time seemed to have stopped, Amjad Khan went to the prayer place, offered his prayers and rushed to the Mosque.
The same voice greeted him, “I am glad you came”
He silently led him inside and the heavily bearded man who was speaking the previous day was waiting for him.
“hello my child. It is indeed a pleasure to have such dedicated Islams. Allah has finally made your path clear, his intentions are that you carry out his mission and he is waiting for you….”
The man who called himself ‘The Shiekh’, spoke almost the same words the mystery man had spoken the previous day, but this was only more refined, more convincing and Amjad Khan had fallen for it.
“You are making the right choice. People wait to do this. But everybody is not so lucky my child. Allah awaits you”
If the mystery man had managed to brainwash Amjad, the Sheikh had rinsed it and removed every little bit of sanity left in him.
After innumerable brain-washing sessions, Amjad was somehow talked into believing that the only way of serving Allah was giving up his life and in the process, taking some non-believers with him. “They take more lives of their own people than that of the enemy”, was an amorphism which suited these fanatics.
On one such meeting, the Sheikh said, “Child, its time. This is your destiny. Allah-o-Akbar”
A strange looking man, with spectacles and a lean body approached Amjad. He held a strange looking apparel. It looked like a jacket, but there were wires all over it.
“who are you ? and sheikh, what is this ?”, sputtered Amjad.
“there is no need to explain, son. Just wear it”, said the strange looking man rather blandly.
Amjad was given a few more tips and they said, “you will mwwt Allah tomorrow. May the Lord be with you”. They told him that a car would pick him up at the mosque at 10.00 am and that there was no need for him to know any other detail.
It might seem that ‘volunteers’ are trained and stay in waiting line for months, but its logically senseless. It is not feasible to give them so much of time, simply because it was too much a time for them to realize their mistake. It is like bread, its sold as soon as its baked.
Amjad Khan ate through his dinner quietly that night and looked at his children.
“Baba, I don’t feel like eating”, said the youngest of the lot.
Amjad Khan looked at him with an expressionless face.
“Please feed him. The child has not been eating properly. He might fall sick”, said his wife with a tired face.
Amjad monotonously fed the child. He was physically there, but his mind was roaming the gardens of Allah.
“maa, food is so tasty in Baba’s plate. I want another roti” the child munched through the roti with gleeful innocence.
Amjad’s eyes filled up with tears, but he never let them roll down. He retired to bed, but sheerly due to the physical exhaustion, went to sleep.
He woke up very early the next day, finished his prayers. He sat with his children, tinking about all the moments he spent with them. The birth of each one of them was more special than the other. He wished to give them a life better than his. But his encounter with the ‘Messengers of Allah’ had changed him. He had not even once thought about his family. But before he could stroll down that path, the clock ticked 9.50.
He said he would go to the market and left with a strange jacket under his dress and tears in his eyes. It was 10 when he reached the Mosque and a red car was already waiting for him. An unknown man was inside.
“Amjad Khan ? Sallam-malikhoom”
“Malikhoom Salaam”, he replied and he got in.
He was informed that there was a button the driver would press, then they would count ten and they it was “Destination:Allah’s Gardens”
As the car rolled, Amjad was lost in his world. All he could think was his family. This was strange as they had never appeared to him ever in the earlier months. The radio was broadcasting a Urdu news update
“…innocent children lost their families in the suicide bombing. With no parents, the future is very dark for these little darlings….”
It hit him like a rock. Who would take care of his little ones ? what would he gain by this ? if it was so good, why did the Shiekh himself not do it ?
Tears rolled down his cheeks as pictures of his son eating roti from his hands rolled into his heart. He wanted to pullout.
“Bhaisab…”
A ‘click’ cut through his lines, and also his life. the button had been pressed.
10
“…He could pull out anytime he wanted …”, is how he had thought in the beginning.
9…8…7…6…5
He would leave his children fatherless, he would leave his wife a widow. This was a crime.
4…3
He would not only leave his family torn, but also many others. He did not want to do this.
“Baba…”, echoed his child’s voice.
2…1
If only….
Amjad Khan, a man in his early forties, like many other had seen the men from ‘The West’, destroy his tribe, among many, which had for many centuries made the slopes of Nowshak its home. His father, Imjat Khan had died fighting the War that was not theirs. They had no interest in the senseless violence down in the planes of Peshawar. As far as they were concerned, Nowshak was their home, their nation and their heaven. The Soviets though pulled them into the war when they made air strikes on the great mountain ranges of Hindu Kush. They destroyed cattle, homes. They destroyed innocent lives. Then arrived the Arabs, then the Americans and they kept coming. It was all like a spiral descent, going round and round the same point but always going down with every round. For the people victimized in this everlasting war, revenge was one thing which stuck to their heart like a leech sticking to your leg. You never know its there until its too late and it starts bleeding. These people were not educated. They did not even know that a country called USA or Russian existed. All they knew was, there is Afghanistan, there is Pakistan and then there is the west. They hated the west.
Amjad Khan was married when he was 19 and he now had 3 children. He like most others, did not believe in Education, he himself was uneducated. His children spent hours memorizing the Quran. After all they were doing what their father asked them to and their father told them what he was taught. Amjad’s brush with reality happened in a Mosque on an early December Friday morning. As he got up after his prayers, a rough yet caring voice spoke to him,
“Salaam malikhoom”
“Malikhoom salaam”, he replied courteously.
“I know all about you and your past. I want to help you”
Amjad had never seen this man and the man said he knew him and wanted to help him. He was baffled by this .
“I know you don’t know me. Meet me near the old mosque near the market tomorrow. You will always be grateful”
The man disappeared as mysteriously as he had appeared. Amjad tried hard to remember if he was one among his old friends, or a relative. Coming up with no answers, he convinced himself that it was a case of mistaken identity. It was always difficult to recognize someone when everyone around has the same turban and a beard.
The whole incident slipped from his mind and he was soon submerged in his daily routines and the calendar ticked like clockwork. Amjad went to the usual prayer place the following day and offered his prayers in the direction of the Holy Mecca. It was only then that he was reminded of the mystery man whom he had met. He tried to forget about it but then a strange thought passed his mind-what if it was actually mistaken identity? What if it was an emergency? He could at least go to the mosque and explain to the man who he really was. Pleased with this idea he walked to the old mosque near the market.
“Welcome my friend. I knew you would come”, said the same voice which had baffled him the previous day.
“I am sorry. I think you are mistaken. I donot even know you”
“You don’t have to. Please follow me”
“But…” he could not complete as the man had gone ahead and was beyond the audible range. Amjad trotted behind him and entered the mosque. He could never have guessed what he would see inside. There was a big hall with ruined walls. In the middle sat business men he recognized, some teenagers he had seen occasionally and the mystery man who was responsible for him being here. All their attention seemed to be focussed on a heavily bearded man who spoke with inspiration in his voice, hatred in his voice.
“…..This is a direct assault on Islam” was all that Amjad could catch from the man’s talk. The men dissolved into little groups of their own and spoke in low voices. Nobody seemed to notice his presence.
Amjad decided to resolve this situation and moved towards the mystery man. The man almost instantaneously turned and gave a gentle smile. It was he first time Amjad got a detailed look of his face. It was tanned, bearded and had a scar on the cheek. This seemed unsymmetrical on the short, thin body.
“Why did you call me here? Do you know who I am?”
“I know about you my friend. You are Amjad Khan, son of Imjat Khan. I know you lost your tribe, its like losing a part of your soul. I am afraid we both are in the same boat”
“ how on earth do you know that?”, a bewildered Amjad asked.
“Allah has wished and has its destiny that our paths have crossed”
Amjad Khan had no idea who the man was and yet he was talking about his life and their destinies.
“Allah has a path planned for everyone. The westerners crossed their path and strolled into ours. They thought it to be their own and if that was not enough, they wanted it all by themselves. Centuries have passed and the Holy Quran and the Prophet are still our guiding lights in this dangerous journey. We live on this Earth as long as we have a duty to fulfil. Once completed, we leave and join the beautiful, eternal gardens of Allah”
“why are you telling me this ?”
“do you not see the signs ? Allah provoked you by making you lose your tribe. He calls upon all the holy warriors of Islam. He has foreseen an attack on Islam and The Quran says that it is not crime, but duty to injure or kill your enemy if the cause is to protect Islam.”
“I have to leave”
“think about your children and wife Amjad Khan”
A shady shack, a tired wife and three innocent faces passed through his mind. They meant more than anything in the world to him.
“what about them ? don’t you dare even think about pulling them into this nonsense”, shouted Amjad. The people around, for the first time turned to have a look at him.
“Anger is important my friend, but only when used at the right time. The Westerners never cared for us, we did nothing wrong, yet they tore us apart. They did it because we are Islam. Please meet me tomorrow here at the same time. You wont regret this Amjad. I promise”
Amjad felt numb, he felt he was transformed into another dimension. He had no idea as to who the man was, what he wanted and yet what he said made sense to him. The Westerners hurt them for no mistake of theirs, didn’t they?
He went home, had a silent lunch, then a silent dinner of roti and sabji and retired to bed. He kept thinking about the incident in the mosque. He could even sleep a wink. He contemplated on whether to meet the man, what was wrong ? he would just listen to him and come home. He would lose nothing. He, anyways had no work. It was a very simple situation. He could pull out anytime he wanted. That was the mistake. He was now wandering into a world which had only an entrance gate and no exit. He neither knew why he was entering it, nor did he know what was waiting for him.
After a rather long night, when time seemed to have stopped, Amjad Khan went to the prayer place, offered his prayers and rushed to the Mosque.
The same voice greeted him, “I am glad you came”
He silently led him inside and the heavily bearded man who was speaking the previous day was waiting for him.
“hello my child. It is indeed a pleasure to have such dedicated Islams. Allah has finally made your path clear, his intentions are that you carry out his mission and he is waiting for you….”
The man who called himself ‘The Shiekh’, spoke almost the same words the mystery man had spoken the previous day, but this was only more refined, more convincing and Amjad Khan had fallen for it.
“You are making the right choice. People wait to do this. But everybody is not so lucky my child. Allah awaits you”
If the mystery man had managed to brainwash Amjad, the Sheikh had rinsed it and removed every little bit of sanity left in him.
After innumerable brain-washing sessions, Amjad was somehow talked into believing that the only way of serving Allah was giving up his life and in the process, taking some non-believers with him. “They take more lives of their own people than that of the enemy”, was an amorphism which suited these fanatics.
On one such meeting, the Sheikh said, “Child, its time. This is your destiny. Allah-o-Akbar”
A strange looking man, with spectacles and a lean body approached Amjad. He held a strange looking apparel. It looked like a jacket, but there were wires all over it.
“who are you ? and sheikh, what is this ?”, sputtered Amjad.
“there is no need to explain, son. Just wear it”, said the strange looking man rather blandly.
Amjad was given a few more tips and they said, “you will mwwt Allah tomorrow. May the Lord be with you”. They told him that a car would pick him up at the mosque at 10.00 am and that there was no need for him to know any other detail.
It might seem that ‘volunteers’ are trained and stay in waiting line for months, but its logically senseless. It is not feasible to give them so much of time, simply because it was too much a time for them to realize their mistake. It is like bread, its sold as soon as its baked.
Amjad Khan ate through his dinner quietly that night and looked at his children.
“Baba, I don’t feel like eating”, said the youngest of the lot.
Amjad Khan looked at him with an expressionless face.
“Please feed him. The child has not been eating properly. He might fall sick”, said his wife with a tired face.
Amjad monotonously fed the child. He was physically there, but his mind was roaming the gardens of Allah.
“maa, food is so tasty in Baba’s plate. I want another roti” the child munched through the roti with gleeful innocence.
Amjad’s eyes filled up with tears, but he never let them roll down. He retired to bed, but sheerly due to the physical exhaustion, went to sleep.
He woke up very early the next day, finished his prayers. He sat with his children, tinking about all the moments he spent with them. The birth of each one of them was more special than the other. He wished to give them a life better than his. But his encounter with the ‘Messengers of Allah’ had changed him. He had not even once thought about his family. But before he could stroll down that path, the clock ticked 9.50.
He said he would go to the market and left with a strange jacket under his dress and tears in his eyes. It was 10 when he reached the Mosque and a red car was already waiting for him. An unknown man was inside.
“Amjad Khan ? Sallam-malikhoom”
“Malikhoom Salaam”, he replied and he got in.
He was informed that there was a button the driver would press, then they would count ten and they it was “Destination:Allah’s Gardens”
As the car rolled, Amjad was lost in his world. All he could think was his family. This was strange as they had never appeared to him ever in the earlier months. The radio was broadcasting a Urdu news update
“…innocent children lost their families in the suicide bombing. With no parents, the future is very dark for these little darlings….”
It hit him like a rock. Who would take care of his little ones ? what would he gain by this ? if it was so good, why did the Shiekh himself not do it ?
Tears rolled down his cheeks as pictures of his son eating roti from his hands rolled into his heart. He wanted to pullout.
“Bhaisab…”
A ‘click’ cut through his lines, and also his life. the button had been pressed.
10
“…He could pull out anytime he wanted …”, is how he had thought in the beginning.
9…8…7…6…5
He would leave his children fatherless, he would leave his wife a widow. This was a crime.
4…3
He would not only leave his family torn, but also many others. He did not want to do this.
“Baba…”, echoed his child’s voice.
2…1
If only….
Thursday, January 17, 2008
The Guardian
There was a definite poise about the young man which showed that he was from a very affluent family. His tie was elegantly fastened, his shirt neatly tucked and the shoes could have shown a reflection of the dead twigs along his path. Walking home after school was a relatively new experience for Nidhish Malhotra,who had seen the beautiful canopy of trees and the old Maratha Fort near the school only through the windows of his car. He had always wished that he could pack a picnic lunch and go around in his bicycle with his friends to visit the old fort and the little hillock nearby. His friends however had long forgotten the idea of a bicycle. Their free time usually consumed by their girlfriends and the bubbling pubs, they rarely made it to the category of ‘friends’ in Nidhish’s book.
On the wake of Globalization and India becoming a major player in the World Economics, Malhotras had an almost 150% growth in their family business of shipping which operated in the Jawaharlal Nehru Port,at Nhava Sheva[Navi Mumbai].The Jawaharlal Nehru Port now handles 65% of India’s container traffic. Nidhish always disliked his father indulging in corruption, paying the port authorities hefty amounts to get easy clearance for his carriers. When he asked him about this,” Its all a part of survival, son”, was the answer he got. His father had now made enough money to ensure that even the next generations of Malhotras could live lavishly. Nidhish’s mother however rarely questioned the virtues of her husband nor the progress of her only son. She was content as long as she got her pocket money.She spent most of her day indulged in kitty-parties, shopping, movies and other equally useless activities.
The Malhotras lived in a lavish bungalow near the Thane Creek and their little burrow had cost them 3.5 crores. They had so many servants that they could afford to have a servant exclusively to clean their pets. Nidhish always longed for a friend or a brother with whom he could share his joys and sorrows. He was very much liked by his servants as he never scorned looking at them,unlike his parents. Apt to his name, meaning ‘Lord of Treasures’, he had all the riches a boy could want.He had everything except the family bonding he wanted. And he knew all the money in the world could not buy it for him.
On a cloudy Saturday in the month of August, after yet another day of his 11th standard classes, Nidhish had walked down to the auditorium for his Drama practice.But due to some unforseen rains in the city of Mumbai, the practice was cancelled. His car was scheduled to pick him up only in the evening. He still had almost 3 hours with him. He decided against calling his Dad’s office and requesting the car. He instead wanted to walk down to his dad’s administrative office which was just around 3 km from his school.
He was studying in Embassy International School, one among the best and the costliest in his city. It was located on a hillock, near a summer fort of the Marathas. Though the fort was in ruins, Nidhish had always harboured a desire to explore it. The day provided the perfect opportunity for him to do this and thus he started walking down the rocky path, covered by a canopy of trees like a beautiful green umbrella and this was indeed ‘picture perfect’. He could get the glimpse of one of the ruined, yet beautiful, pillars of the fort. He reached for his lunch box and nibbled through the sandwich and decided to save it for later. As he walked down ,strange thoughts crossed his mind. He wondered wat he would do once he finishes his studies. Would he go into his father’s line and keep the family tradition? Would he also be consumed into this westernized world? He would have deeply appreciated someone being there with him when he wanted to discuss his dreams, his fears, his anxieties, and his thoughts. Just when he was venturing off into his other thoughts, he was brought back by a deep rumbling sound which reminded him that it was August and it was the peak of the Monsoon season in Navi Mumbai .He hurried along planning to take shelter in the fort and he also knew that there was a little settlement of sorts nearby.
Nidhish Malhotra was elated to see the Maratha fort. He was greeted by puzzled faces of little children, men in their early 60s coming down to have a peaceful lunch after working through a humid afternoon. Among the people there, a old man caught Nidhish’s eye. He was sitting by the gate, smiling at passers-by. His back was bent such that it would have done a Chalukyan-architect proud. There was something about the old man which made Nidhish believe that the old man had absolutely no worries. but the fort was more appeasing to him. so without sparing much thought to the old man, he hurried along marvelling the structure around him. As he made a quick tour of the place, he began to wonder as to why the tourism department had not maintained the place. He was among the very few who knew that the place actually existed. As he was consumed by the Maratha grandeur, the sputtering of rain drops brought him back to this world. He ran to the nearby shelter which turned out to be a ruined storehouse, but the roof was intact. He rarely carried a cell phone to school and the nearest phone booth was only 2 km ahead. So he decided to wait it out. He took out his iPOD and started humming to the tunes of Bob Marley. He had never felt the necessity to carry an umbrella or a raincoat and he found himself to be up against the fierce cold and rain with very little protection. He sat down putting all his belief in the Maratha architects and masons, hoping the roof would not crash down on him.
The black iPOD,8gb was a gift from his uncle from the US and it had proven to be a very nice companion during his lonely hours. He had put enough songs that he could play it continuously for 6 hours straight. He was now almost nearing the end of his song-list, when panic set in. it had been 4 hours and the rain showed little signs of subsiding. He received another blow when he realized that he had a 2 inch gash above his ankle and he guessed that it must have happened when he ran for shelter. He was anaemic and he had let the wound to bleed for nearly 4 hors now. He ripped a piece of his white shirt and tied it around his wound. He had learnt this in one of the scout camps. Within minutes the white cloth was fiery red. Mumbai and its surrounding areas are famous for their thunderous rains and Nidhish feared that he was caught in one. Just when he was getting bored of the sound of rain drops, he heard a light cough. The shelter was around 15 feet deep and most of it other than the entrance was shielded from the sun. Nidhish hesitantly made his way down towards the source of the sound, guided only be the glow of his iPOD. He caught the sight of a dim lamp at the corner and noticed a rock of a very peculiar shape next to it. Intrigued by it, he went close to it only to realize in amazement that it was the old man near the gate and not a rock.
“hello”, whispered Nidhish.
Speaking in classical Hindi, “wat brings u here my son? Did my lamp draw your attention like it does to an insect?”, asked the old man in the most caring of tones.
“I was just wandering around in the fort when I got caught in the rain. So I decided to wait here”
“the sky will not stop roaring for a few more days. I and you are comrades in a battle against the Rain.”
“how do u know about that ? are you from around here ?”
“I have no place I can call mine, son. I wander around and I believe God will take me my destination”. There was a tone of sadness and Nidhish was not sure if he saw the wrinkled face turn on a bland expression, the light id not let him notice this.
Before Nidhish could speak, the old man noticed the red cloth around his ankle and asked “ what is that coloured cloth ? is it another of those fancy new styles from the city?”
Nidhish laughed and said, “no sir, it is just a cut I had. Its nothing at all”.
“is it paining?”
“no. its nothing at all”, lied Nidhish.
He just sat there silently browsing through his iPOD aimlessly. Before he could realize, he had slipped into a slumber and he was woken up by the old man. Nidhish was shocked to see that the time was already 9pm. He then realized that he was about to spend the rest of the night with the old man in a century old Maratha store house.
“where do u live? Wont your parents worry about you?”
The idea of his parents worrying about him was rather strange to him. “ I am from Navi Mumbai. I live near the Thane Creek. Nidhish is my name. Nidhish Malhotra”
“Nidhish u say ? that is a very rare and also a very familiar name to me. Are u by any chance the son of Lalchand Malhotra ?”
Nidhish was awestruck on the mentioning of his father’s name. how could a total stranger recognize his name and associate it with his father’s ?
“how on earth….” His voice trailed as he felt that he was being taken on a flying saucer going round and round. He had experienced once before in his life. He had been taken to the hospital where the culprit was identified as Anaemia. The doctor had warned him about the situation and that negligence could lead to dire consequences.
“wake up son. Wake up” The old man sprinkled some fresh water and Nidhish noticed that he was now sleeping on a pillow which was made out of the old man’s turban.
“ you had passed out for almost an hour. are u inflicted by any disesase?”
Nidhish reluctantly explained his situation and admitted that he is scared of being in a new place all by himself. The old man took out a small piece of cloth and placed it on a rock nearby. He got up and his bones creaked like an old teak door in a palace. He made his way out towards the entrance and trotted back with fresh rain water collected in a small cup made out of beetle leaves. He had taken 20 min to go the distance and Nidhish could see the old man’s heart telling him to go on when his body refused. He sat down with heavy panting and poured the water on the wound and cleaned it with his bare hands. Nidhish had never felt such warmth in a living being. He was always used to being treated by his servants who were just doing their ‘duty’. But the old man had no obligation of doing this to him. He was almost 8 times his age, with physical problems, but had never lost the humanitarian heart he was blessed with.
The old man elaborately cleaned the wound, applied turmeric with his trembling fingers, and pressed the cloth on the wound.
“chacha, you knew my father? And why do you travel alone? Where is your family?”
On hearing the word chacha, his face blossomed. It had been a long time since someone addressed like that
“ my name is Ram Shankar Prasad. 65 years ago, I left my home in Karnataka and came to Mumbai to find a job. My first job was to clean the public areas where people urinated and the Britishers did not like the stink. After doing my job for 3 years, I got a promotion of working on the Jawaharlal Nehru Port. We were responsible for cleaning up the rotten left overs from the trades. It was during this time that your grandfather, Ramchand Malhotra, hired me as a porter for his shipping company. Gem of a man, your grandfather was. I worked for him for 40 years son. 40 long years I lifted sacks of silk, spices, cloth and vegetables for him. That was when your father took over the business. He apparently wanted to get rid of the waste, and he fired me. He had found me inefficient as my back had bent under the weight of my family, my children’s education. I had given my blood and sweat to my work and my 3 children had finished their graduations with assistance from your grandfather. They were also given jobs in the same shipping company. They found me and my wife as a burden and put us in an old age home. She could not take it I guess. She passed away 15 years ago. I managed an excuse and came away to live on my own. And here I am, free as a bird, roaming the country side like I please. These young people want people like me to quietly tuck into a corner and die. But I tell u this son, Ram Shankar Prasad has not seen his last day yet.not yet….”
Nidhish fought hard to hold back his tears, but in vain.
“did you keep your bag outside by any chance ? I saw one completely drenched outside”
There goes my sandwich, thought Nidhish.
It looked like Ram could read thoughts, he asked “Do you have any food ? you look very tired”
“I am afraid not sir. But don’t worry, I can manage for a night”
Ram smiled innocently and without a second thought told,” a woman gave me 3 rotis in the afternoon. I would be happy to share it with you. You can have two”
Not wanting to hurt his feelings, Nidhish accepted the offer. He ate two hard, dry rotis sharing stories with the old man whose spirit was brighter than the lamp next him. It was the happiest meal he had had in recent memory.
“time to sleep son. Take my shawl. I can do with one less clothing for a night”
Nidhish was so greatful to him that he held his hand and told, “thank you”. The eyes lit up with an innocence like a child, and the happiness on Ram’s face was the most genuine Nidhish had ever seen.
The shake of the hand and the twinkle in the eye spoke a million words.
Nidhish got up early the next morning to find that the rain had stopped. He found a little boy to whom he promised money if he would get the message to his father’s office about his place. The boy gleefully ran with a hope of earning his first salary.
Ram made his way out slowly. He had a big smile on his face.
“I hope we can meet again”, said he as he began walking towards the gate.
“chacha, why did you do this for me? You took care of me like family”
“everybody is family, son. We are all travellers, wanderers in this huge circle of life. and one more thing, I did this for your grandfather. I can never forget the timely help he had given me in raising my family. A gem of a man he was, a gem of a man…..”, he said in his shaky, caring voice.
Nidhish stared with deep gratitude and somewhere down his throat, words had lost their way.
The black Corolla pulled up on the entrance and the driver, Utsav, ran towards Nidhish.
“are you alright sahib ? wat happened ?”
“nothing. Lets go”. He paid the little boy 30rs and got into the car.
“Utsav, I would appreciate it if you would not tell my parents about where you found me”
“As you say sahib”, replied Utsav. He, like other workers liked Nidhish and agreed without a second thought.
Nidhish reached home and found his mom in the dining room.
“where were you beta ?did you go to..”
He cut through her talk, “ I was at Rahuls’ mom”
He did not wait for her reply. He simply did not care. He had bigger things to worry about. He had decided to lend half of his pocket money to Ram and he was about to make the necessary arrangements. He knew that Ram would be still around and he could find him easily. He wrote the withdrawal requisition and started for the bank when he realized that the bank was closed that day and he had to wait one whole day for the withdrawal. He spent the whole day gloomily, thinking about the previous night. He had a bad sleep as well.
He got up early the next day, grabbed a photograph which had his grandfather in it. He skipped breakfast, called out for Utsav and sped away to the bank. He made the required transaction, and told Utsav to take him to the fort. His heart raced along faster than the car looking out for the old man. He then found the little boy whom he had paid and asked him, “ oye, have you seen the old man with the bent back?”
“ Ram sahib ? one minute”
The boy called out to his mother. A thin lady, visibly exhausted by her work approached Nidhish with her colourful veil covering most of her face.
“have you seen Ram, madam?”
The name seemed to trigger an emotional outburst from th lady. Her eyes swelled with tears and Nidhish knew something was wrong.
“Sahib…sahib..”, she stuttered.
“what happened? Is he alright?”
“there was a landslide last night only a few kilometres ahead. I am afraid Ram has finally finished his journey sahib”
“you are lying. She is lying, isn’t she Utsav?”, shouted Nidhish even though he felt she was not.
He pulled Utsav by his hands and went to the district hospital. He enquired about the landslide and was directed to a big hall. It was the hall where the bodies were kept for identification.
“sahib, you wait here. I will ask and come back”
“no Utsav, I have to do it myself”, said Nidhish as we walked with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He entered a gloomy hall. Nurses were walking around with writing pads in their hands, masks covering their mouths.
Before he could even ask, he had noticed the figure of Ram at the corner of the hall. The arched body was unmistakable even from a mile.Nidhish broke down. He could no longer fight his emotions. He did not want to.
“he ran towards the bed, the face was clearly recognizable, it was the face of a man who held gratitude over hatred, happiness over regret and more importantly the body had housed the soul of the most wonderful person Nidhish had ever met.
“would you like to help us in identification sir?”, asked a young nurse.
“I would like to claim this body”, answered Nidhish meekely,still crying.
The nurse produced a form. “ your name sir?”
“Nidhish Malhotra”
“the body hasnot been known by a name sir. Do you know the person?”
“Ram. Ram Shankar Prasad is the name”
“right sir. Your relationship with the deceased?”
The night at the Maratha Fort fluttered through his mind, the touch of the old man still lingered around. The warmth had touched him, it would change him forever. He knew it. In the old man, he had found the love of a parent, the concern of a teacher and more importantly he had found a friend.
“sir, your relationship with the deceased please”, repeated the nurse.
“My Guardian”, was the ironic reply.
On the wake of Globalization and India becoming a major player in the World Economics, Malhotras had an almost 150% growth in their family business of shipping which operated in the Jawaharlal Nehru Port,at Nhava Sheva[Navi Mumbai].The Jawaharlal Nehru Port now handles 65% of India’s container traffic. Nidhish always disliked his father indulging in corruption, paying the port authorities hefty amounts to get easy clearance for his carriers. When he asked him about this,” Its all a part of survival, son”, was the answer he got. His father had now made enough money to ensure that even the next generations of Malhotras could live lavishly. Nidhish’s mother however rarely questioned the virtues of her husband nor the progress of her only son. She was content as long as she got her pocket money.She spent most of her day indulged in kitty-parties, shopping, movies and other equally useless activities.
The Malhotras lived in a lavish bungalow near the Thane Creek and their little burrow had cost them 3.5 crores. They had so many servants that they could afford to have a servant exclusively to clean their pets. Nidhish always longed for a friend or a brother with whom he could share his joys and sorrows. He was very much liked by his servants as he never scorned looking at them,unlike his parents. Apt to his name, meaning ‘Lord of Treasures’, he had all the riches a boy could want.He had everything except the family bonding he wanted. And he knew all the money in the world could not buy it for him.
On a cloudy Saturday in the month of August, after yet another day of his 11th standard classes, Nidhish had walked down to the auditorium for his Drama practice.But due to some unforseen rains in the city of Mumbai, the practice was cancelled. His car was scheduled to pick him up only in the evening. He still had almost 3 hours with him. He decided against calling his Dad’s office and requesting the car. He instead wanted to walk down to his dad’s administrative office which was just around 3 km from his school.
He was studying in Embassy International School, one among the best and the costliest in his city. It was located on a hillock, near a summer fort of the Marathas. Though the fort was in ruins, Nidhish had always harboured a desire to explore it. The day provided the perfect opportunity for him to do this and thus he started walking down the rocky path, covered by a canopy of trees like a beautiful green umbrella and this was indeed ‘picture perfect’. He could get the glimpse of one of the ruined, yet beautiful, pillars of the fort. He reached for his lunch box and nibbled through the sandwich and decided to save it for later. As he walked down ,strange thoughts crossed his mind. He wondered wat he would do once he finishes his studies. Would he go into his father’s line and keep the family tradition? Would he also be consumed into this westernized world? He would have deeply appreciated someone being there with him when he wanted to discuss his dreams, his fears, his anxieties, and his thoughts. Just when he was venturing off into his other thoughts, he was brought back by a deep rumbling sound which reminded him that it was August and it was the peak of the Monsoon season in Navi Mumbai .He hurried along planning to take shelter in the fort and he also knew that there was a little settlement of sorts nearby.
Nidhish Malhotra was elated to see the Maratha fort. He was greeted by puzzled faces of little children, men in their early 60s coming down to have a peaceful lunch after working through a humid afternoon. Among the people there, a old man caught Nidhish’s eye. He was sitting by the gate, smiling at passers-by. His back was bent such that it would have done a Chalukyan-architect proud. There was something about the old man which made Nidhish believe that the old man had absolutely no worries. but the fort was more appeasing to him. so without sparing much thought to the old man, he hurried along marvelling the structure around him. As he made a quick tour of the place, he began to wonder as to why the tourism department had not maintained the place. He was among the very few who knew that the place actually existed. As he was consumed by the Maratha grandeur, the sputtering of rain drops brought him back to this world. He ran to the nearby shelter which turned out to be a ruined storehouse, but the roof was intact. He rarely carried a cell phone to school and the nearest phone booth was only 2 km ahead. So he decided to wait it out. He took out his iPOD and started humming to the tunes of Bob Marley. He had never felt the necessity to carry an umbrella or a raincoat and he found himself to be up against the fierce cold and rain with very little protection. He sat down putting all his belief in the Maratha architects and masons, hoping the roof would not crash down on him.
The black iPOD,8gb was a gift from his uncle from the US and it had proven to be a very nice companion during his lonely hours. He had put enough songs that he could play it continuously for 6 hours straight. He was now almost nearing the end of his song-list, when panic set in. it had been 4 hours and the rain showed little signs of subsiding. He received another blow when he realized that he had a 2 inch gash above his ankle and he guessed that it must have happened when he ran for shelter. He was anaemic and he had let the wound to bleed for nearly 4 hors now. He ripped a piece of his white shirt and tied it around his wound. He had learnt this in one of the scout camps. Within minutes the white cloth was fiery red. Mumbai and its surrounding areas are famous for their thunderous rains and Nidhish feared that he was caught in one. Just when he was getting bored of the sound of rain drops, he heard a light cough. The shelter was around 15 feet deep and most of it other than the entrance was shielded from the sun. Nidhish hesitantly made his way down towards the source of the sound, guided only be the glow of his iPOD. He caught the sight of a dim lamp at the corner and noticed a rock of a very peculiar shape next to it. Intrigued by it, he went close to it only to realize in amazement that it was the old man near the gate and not a rock.
“hello”, whispered Nidhish.
Speaking in classical Hindi, “wat brings u here my son? Did my lamp draw your attention like it does to an insect?”, asked the old man in the most caring of tones.
“I was just wandering around in the fort when I got caught in the rain. So I decided to wait here”
“the sky will not stop roaring for a few more days. I and you are comrades in a battle against the Rain.”
“how do u know about that ? are you from around here ?”
“I have no place I can call mine, son. I wander around and I believe God will take me my destination”. There was a tone of sadness and Nidhish was not sure if he saw the wrinkled face turn on a bland expression, the light id not let him notice this.
Before Nidhish could speak, the old man noticed the red cloth around his ankle and asked “ what is that coloured cloth ? is it another of those fancy new styles from the city?”
Nidhish laughed and said, “no sir, it is just a cut I had. Its nothing at all”.
“is it paining?”
“no. its nothing at all”, lied Nidhish.
He just sat there silently browsing through his iPOD aimlessly. Before he could realize, he had slipped into a slumber and he was woken up by the old man. Nidhish was shocked to see that the time was already 9pm. He then realized that he was about to spend the rest of the night with the old man in a century old Maratha store house.
“where do u live? Wont your parents worry about you?”
The idea of his parents worrying about him was rather strange to him. “ I am from Navi Mumbai. I live near the Thane Creek. Nidhish is my name. Nidhish Malhotra”
“Nidhish u say ? that is a very rare and also a very familiar name to me. Are u by any chance the son of Lalchand Malhotra ?”
Nidhish was awestruck on the mentioning of his father’s name. how could a total stranger recognize his name and associate it with his father’s ?
“how on earth….” His voice trailed as he felt that he was being taken on a flying saucer going round and round. He had experienced once before in his life. He had been taken to the hospital where the culprit was identified as Anaemia. The doctor had warned him about the situation and that negligence could lead to dire consequences.
“wake up son. Wake up” The old man sprinkled some fresh water and Nidhish noticed that he was now sleeping on a pillow which was made out of the old man’s turban.
“ you had passed out for almost an hour. are u inflicted by any disesase?”
Nidhish reluctantly explained his situation and admitted that he is scared of being in a new place all by himself. The old man took out a small piece of cloth and placed it on a rock nearby. He got up and his bones creaked like an old teak door in a palace. He made his way out towards the entrance and trotted back with fresh rain water collected in a small cup made out of beetle leaves. He had taken 20 min to go the distance and Nidhish could see the old man’s heart telling him to go on when his body refused. He sat down with heavy panting and poured the water on the wound and cleaned it with his bare hands. Nidhish had never felt such warmth in a living being. He was always used to being treated by his servants who were just doing their ‘duty’. But the old man had no obligation of doing this to him. He was almost 8 times his age, with physical problems, but had never lost the humanitarian heart he was blessed with.
The old man elaborately cleaned the wound, applied turmeric with his trembling fingers, and pressed the cloth on the wound.
“chacha, you knew my father? And why do you travel alone? Where is your family?”
On hearing the word chacha, his face blossomed. It had been a long time since someone addressed like that
“ my name is Ram Shankar Prasad. 65 years ago, I left my home in Karnataka and came to Mumbai to find a job. My first job was to clean the public areas where people urinated and the Britishers did not like the stink. After doing my job for 3 years, I got a promotion of working on the Jawaharlal Nehru Port. We were responsible for cleaning up the rotten left overs from the trades. It was during this time that your grandfather, Ramchand Malhotra, hired me as a porter for his shipping company. Gem of a man, your grandfather was. I worked for him for 40 years son. 40 long years I lifted sacks of silk, spices, cloth and vegetables for him. That was when your father took over the business. He apparently wanted to get rid of the waste, and he fired me. He had found me inefficient as my back had bent under the weight of my family, my children’s education. I had given my blood and sweat to my work and my 3 children had finished their graduations with assistance from your grandfather. They were also given jobs in the same shipping company. They found me and my wife as a burden and put us in an old age home. She could not take it I guess. She passed away 15 years ago. I managed an excuse and came away to live on my own. And here I am, free as a bird, roaming the country side like I please. These young people want people like me to quietly tuck into a corner and die. But I tell u this son, Ram Shankar Prasad has not seen his last day yet.not yet….”
Nidhish fought hard to hold back his tears, but in vain.
“did you keep your bag outside by any chance ? I saw one completely drenched outside”
There goes my sandwich, thought Nidhish.
It looked like Ram could read thoughts, he asked “Do you have any food ? you look very tired”
“I am afraid not sir. But don’t worry, I can manage for a night”
Ram smiled innocently and without a second thought told,” a woman gave me 3 rotis in the afternoon. I would be happy to share it with you. You can have two”
Not wanting to hurt his feelings, Nidhish accepted the offer. He ate two hard, dry rotis sharing stories with the old man whose spirit was brighter than the lamp next him. It was the happiest meal he had had in recent memory.
“time to sleep son. Take my shawl. I can do with one less clothing for a night”
Nidhish was so greatful to him that he held his hand and told, “thank you”. The eyes lit up with an innocence like a child, and the happiness on Ram’s face was the most genuine Nidhish had ever seen.
The shake of the hand and the twinkle in the eye spoke a million words.
Nidhish got up early the next morning to find that the rain had stopped. He found a little boy to whom he promised money if he would get the message to his father’s office about his place. The boy gleefully ran with a hope of earning his first salary.
Ram made his way out slowly. He had a big smile on his face.
“I hope we can meet again”, said he as he began walking towards the gate.
“chacha, why did you do this for me? You took care of me like family”
“everybody is family, son. We are all travellers, wanderers in this huge circle of life. and one more thing, I did this for your grandfather. I can never forget the timely help he had given me in raising my family. A gem of a man he was, a gem of a man…..”, he said in his shaky, caring voice.
Nidhish stared with deep gratitude and somewhere down his throat, words had lost their way.
The black Corolla pulled up on the entrance and the driver, Utsav, ran towards Nidhish.
“are you alright sahib ? wat happened ?”
“nothing. Lets go”. He paid the little boy 30rs and got into the car.
“Utsav, I would appreciate it if you would not tell my parents about where you found me”
“As you say sahib”, replied Utsav. He, like other workers liked Nidhish and agreed without a second thought.
Nidhish reached home and found his mom in the dining room.
“where were you beta ?did you go to..”
He cut through her talk, “ I was at Rahuls’ mom”
He did not wait for her reply. He simply did not care. He had bigger things to worry about. He had decided to lend half of his pocket money to Ram and he was about to make the necessary arrangements. He knew that Ram would be still around and he could find him easily. He wrote the withdrawal requisition and started for the bank when he realized that the bank was closed that day and he had to wait one whole day for the withdrawal. He spent the whole day gloomily, thinking about the previous night. He had a bad sleep as well.
He got up early the next day, grabbed a photograph which had his grandfather in it. He skipped breakfast, called out for Utsav and sped away to the bank. He made the required transaction, and told Utsav to take him to the fort. His heart raced along faster than the car looking out for the old man. He then found the little boy whom he had paid and asked him, “ oye, have you seen the old man with the bent back?”
“ Ram sahib ? one minute”
The boy called out to his mother. A thin lady, visibly exhausted by her work approached Nidhish with her colourful veil covering most of her face.
“have you seen Ram, madam?”
The name seemed to trigger an emotional outburst from th lady. Her eyes swelled with tears and Nidhish knew something was wrong.
“Sahib…sahib..”, she stuttered.
“what happened? Is he alright?”
“there was a landslide last night only a few kilometres ahead. I am afraid Ram has finally finished his journey sahib”
“you are lying. She is lying, isn’t she Utsav?”, shouted Nidhish even though he felt she was not.
He pulled Utsav by his hands and went to the district hospital. He enquired about the landslide and was directed to a big hall. It was the hall where the bodies were kept for identification.
“sahib, you wait here. I will ask and come back”
“no Utsav, I have to do it myself”, said Nidhish as we walked with tears rolling down his cheeks.
He entered a gloomy hall. Nurses were walking around with writing pads in their hands, masks covering their mouths.
Before he could even ask, he had noticed the figure of Ram at the corner of the hall. The arched body was unmistakable even from a mile.Nidhish broke down. He could no longer fight his emotions. He did not want to.
“he ran towards the bed, the face was clearly recognizable, it was the face of a man who held gratitude over hatred, happiness over regret and more importantly the body had housed the soul of the most wonderful person Nidhish had ever met.
“would you like to help us in identification sir?”, asked a young nurse.
“I would like to claim this body”, answered Nidhish meekely,still crying.
The nurse produced a form. “ your name sir?”
“Nidhish Malhotra”
“the body hasnot been known by a name sir. Do you know the person?”
“Ram. Ram Shankar Prasad is the name”
“right sir. Your relationship with the deceased?”
The night at the Maratha Fort fluttered through his mind, the touch of the old man still lingered around. The warmth had touched him, it would change him forever. He knew it. In the old man, he had found the love of a parent, the concern of a teacher and more importantly he had found a friend.
“sir, your relationship with the deceased please”, repeated the nurse.
“My Guardian”, was the ironic reply.
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Something about EC....
"Its RVCE-E&C combination this year"--these were the exact words from the Deccan Herald on the day after CET Councelling,Engineering round-Day1.From that very day i began to wonder "wats about EC in RV?????".I was fortunate enough to get into RVCE to have a look at 'the most sought after branch in the sate of Karnataka' myself.
The first look at the department building shows no characteristics of being the 'colloseum of technical education' which it is hyped to be.I asked my friend wat he thought about this and he said "Y u want all this da ??..no good girls only in EC".I was satisfied with the answer due to the fact that i had no more impetus to investigate this very peculiar trend in the ELITE STUDENTS of the state which shares its borders with TN,Kerala,AP and Maharashtra.This was the scenario until we actually met an "EC Student".
It was the second day of college.Me and Nakul sitting in College Bus,are greeted by a very warm smule and the face bearing this smile was fair,and the body holding it was normal.This guy turned out to be Gaurav.He seemed to be one among the nicest guys i have known(he actually is) and as a part of our conversation,he mentioned that he is from "EC".The moment i heard the question,a question escaped my throat--
"CET rank?"
"43" was the answer i got.But there was absolutely no auroa,no arrogance,no "i am EC and u are not"kinda look.
I have now learnt that CET-1 is also in RVCE EC and that he is among the most polite students in College.So i was thinking and thinking as to wat defines an RV student apart from the single digit and two digit CET ranks.It is their humour,thier perception in many issues which is so unique and funny sometimes--
Gaurav--"Do u know y Electronics fest is named 'E to the power IT',its because the geekiness of EC students is rised to the exponential power to that of IT students"
I swear i could not catch wat he was talking.The fest is named liked that only to show that both the EC and IT departments are taking part.I could not see even a nanometer of another view regarding this issue.
Me-"Look at that girl da..she is that Telecom girl everybody talks about na ?"
Nakul-"yes da,thats the one.hey gautam,is she from ur school??"(Gautam-EC)
Gautam-"yes da,she was in D section.She was studying well.She had once got the 3rdrank in 11th....................................................................everyone says she is cute also"
Finally !!!!!..that was wat we wanted.But its EC u see.
But these guys are among the best.They complete assignments one week before the last day,they attend 3.25 hours off a 3 hour lab.Their marks are somethng like this--
50
49
49
50
47
That 47 is wat fuels them for the next internals."i lost 3 marks in Environmental Science !!!!!!"
There are a lot of things i appreciate in the EC friends of mine,which is applicable to us in all aspects,thier humility.Getting into RVCE EC is not a joke and definitely not something normal.Whether they like it or not,they can choose to be indifferent and arrogant academically towards others because they are licensed to do so[academically ONLY].But they are the most humble,nicest,over-the-top kinda people u can find.
"You earn respect by showing wat u have,rather than by telling wat u are going to have"
The first look at the department building shows no characteristics of being the 'colloseum of technical education' which it is hyped to be.I asked my friend wat he thought about this and he said "Y u want all this da ??..no good girls only in EC".I was satisfied with the answer due to the fact that i had no more impetus to investigate this very peculiar trend in the ELITE STUDENTS of the state which shares its borders with TN,Kerala,AP and Maharashtra.This was the scenario until we actually met an "EC Student".
It was the second day of college.Me and Nakul sitting in College Bus,are greeted by a very warm smule and the face bearing this smile was fair,and the body holding it was normal.This guy turned out to be Gaurav.He seemed to be one among the nicest guys i have known(he actually is) and as a part of our conversation,he mentioned that he is from "EC".The moment i heard the question,a question escaped my throat--
"CET rank?"
"43" was the answer i got.But there was absolutely no auroa,no arrogance,no "i am EC and u are not"kinda look.
I have now learnt that CET-1 is also in RVCE EC and that he is among the most polite students in College.So i was thinking and thinking as to wat defines an RV student apart from the single digit and two digit CET ranks.It is their humour,thier perception in many issues which is so unique and funny sometimes--
Gaurav--"Do u know y Electronics fest is named 'E to the power IT',its because the geekiness of EC students is rised to the exponential power to that of IT students"
I swear i could not catch wat he was talking.The fest is named liked that only to show that both the EC and IT departments are taking part.I could not see even a nanometer of another view regarding this issue.
Me-"Look at that girl da..she is that Telecom girl everybody talks about na ?"
Nakul-"yes da,thats the one.hey gautam,is she from ur school??"(Gautam-EC)
Gautam-"yes da,she was in D section.She was studying well.She had once got the 3rdrank in 11th....................................................................everyone says she is cute also"
Finally !!!!!..that was wat we wanted.But its EC u see.
But these guys are among the best.They complete assignments one week before the last day,they attend 3.25 hours off a 3 hour lab.Their marks are somethng like this--
50
49
49
50
47
That 47 is wat fuels them for the next internals."i lost 3 marks in Environmental Science !!!!!!"
There are a lot of things i appreciate in the EC friends of mine,which is applicable to us in all aspects,thier humility.Getting into RVCE EC is not a joke and definitely not something normal.Whether they like it or not,they can choose to be indifferent and arrogant academically towards others because they are licensed to do so[academically ONLY].But they are the most humble,nicest,over-the-top kinda people u can find.
"You earn respect by showing wat u have,rather than by telling wat u are going to have"
POSITIVE
As my fellow contributor has officially taken up Gowda bashing; I thought lets write something for the occasion. Yup, its World AIDS Day today and I would like to review a short docu. I saw yesterday on NDTV. It was named Positive (directed by farhan akthar) and was screened at the ongoing IIFI,
Saturday, November 24, 2007
"Daddy Daddy,I want to be CM too"
After England's 2-3 defeat against Croatia at The New Wembly,England Boss Steve McLaren was sacked and the hunt for the new manager began.Most of the men in target ruled themselves out of the race for securing "The second most pressurized job in the Footballing world".Mocking this scenario,Sportcenter asked a question on its show which said-"Does anybody want the England Job?".Its the exact scenario in Mr.Farmer's house.
"Kumarswamy,neen CM agtyeno?"
"Illapa,sakagogide"
"Saribidu,nimmanna Revannane agli bidu"
This must be Deve Gowda's tea time talk.one has to remind him that this is not his "Card Club" he is managing,its a state,its a game of managing Peoples' lives.His house might be stinking with the odour of Cellulose and other organic matter due to money rotting,but that does not make him the power who controls this state's future.My talk might be audible to just about 20-30 people,but wat else am i supposed to do ?This is the same feeling in all the people of the state.its not just Deve Gowda,every damn politician is of the same breed[i am in no way qualified to talk about anyones character,i am just talking about work ethics].
My good friend Nakul is elated every time the topic of 'Presidents Rule' comes up."yahoo!Presidents rule is up to April end.Work is going to go faster in Bangalore" is what he says.Maybe this is what everyone wants.Everybody is sick and tired of political dog-fights,blocking roads,taking up most of the news space.The biggest problem is that every joker is a crook.So u have to choose a smarter idiot from a bunch of morons.Every election means emptying the sate's treasury.
State's treasury=Deve Gowda's Pocket Money=People's tax.
In the recent power struggle,it was so evident that the concern for the state was no where to be seen when the power sharing issue took center stage.
I sometimes wish we have educated dictators for every state.I wish we had City States like in Ancient Rome.That would have been an efficient way as the leader is responsible for a lesser number of people thus leading to a 'problem-sharing' scenario.The reason i don't like democracy is summed up by this:
"Democracy is for the people,by the people,of the people.
Here,people=politicians"
No minister feels the responsibility vested upon him.This is very well depicted in the TATA TEA ad where the politician asks which job is does he have to give an interview for ? Its the job of running the Country is the answer he gets.Another scenario is the answer our PM gives after any Terrorist attack.He in his feeble voice"I strongly condemn this attack".Who does not u fool ????? I am not putting the blame on him saying he is responsible for terrorist attack and all that,but just that every fellow takes the job of running INDIA very lightly.The reason i see is,pleasing all communities of people,intentions of securing communal votes.I would not go into this discussion at this point of time.
Another reason for the mockery of justice-ILLITERACY.The Education Minister cannot even spell Education i guess.Wat is the use of having 20 Kannada poems in a BCom degree course??There are so many such issues,like filing an appeal for having reservations in IIM.This discussion brings to my mind a very funny thought-
--There is School opposite my house.EAST WEST PUBLIC SCHOOL.It is owned by a former PT Master.I have nothing against him rising to such heights.But that fellow became the Corporator of an area and then THE BANGALORE CITY MAYOR.On the occasion of Teachers' Day,he was expected to give a talk to all the Government teachers.He started like this--
" Hello to everybody and Welcome.We are here today to celebrate Birthday of Sir M. Visvesvaraya...."
And his secretary was applauding in a way Victorious Gladiators are applauded"
Another disgusting aspect is that of posters.Some fellows picture,all his wives,their husbands,his classmates--everything is one poster on some big road.Wat the f#%k man ?? How can u allow someone to put up a 10-foot poster to wish someone Happy Birthday.We are living in Digital Age with cell phones.Call him and wish him Happy Birthday all night.Who is stopping u ?? but y spoil Bangalore's image by putting up some un-edited pictures of ANIMALS ???That too that HDK showing all sort of postures and his father GHOSTLY-GOWDA showing pictures of him talking on the phone keeping the mouth-piece near his ears.
There are so many issues to be sorted.I pray that we get a very good leader who can at least determine as to which direction this Country must be taken in.
"Kumarswamy,neen CM agtyeno?"
"Illapa,sakagogide"
"Saribidu,nimmanna Revannane agli bidu"
This must be Deve Gowda's tea time talk.one has to remind him that this is not his "Card Club" he is managing,its a state,its a game of managing Peoples' lives.His house might be stinking with the odour of Cellulose and other organic matter due to money rotting,but that does not make him the power who controls this state's future.My talk might be audible to just about 20-30 people,but wat else am i supposed to do ?This is the same feeling in all the people of the state.its not just Deve Gowda,every damn politician is of the same breed[i am in no way qualified to talk about anyones character,i am just talking about work ethics].
My good friend Nakul is elated every time the topic of 'Presidents Rule' comes up."yahoo!Presidents rule is up to April end.Work is going to go faster in Bangalore" is what he says.Maybe this is what everyone wants.Everybody is sick and tired of political dog-fights,blocking roads,taking up most of the news space.The biggest problem is that every joker is a crook.So u have to choose a smarter idiot from a bunch of morons.Every election means emptying the sate's treasury.
State's treasury=Deve Gowda's Pocket Money=People's tax.
In the recent power struggle,it was so evident that the concern for the state was no where to be seen when the power sharing issue took center stage.
I sometimes wish we have educated dictators for every state.I wish we had City States like in Ancient Rome.That would have been an efficient way as the leader is responsible for a lesser number of people thus leading to a 'problem-sharing' scenario.The reason i don't like democracy is summed up by this:
"Democracy is for the people,by the people,of the people.
Here,people=politicians"
No minister feels the responsibility vested upon him.This is very well depicted in the TATA TEA ad where the politician asks which job is does he have to give an interview for ? Its the job of running the Country is the answer he gets.Another scenario is the answer our PM gives after any Terrorist attack.He in his feeble voice"I strongly condemn this attack".Who does not u fool ????? I am not putting the blame on him saying he is responsible for terrorist attack and all that,but just that every fellow takes the job of running INDIA very lightly.The reason i see is,pleasing all communities of people,intentions of securing communal votes.I would not go into this discussion at this point of time.
Another reason for the mockery of justice-ILLITERACY.The Education Minister cannot even spell Education i guess.Wat is the use of having 20 Kannada poems in a BCom degree course??There are so many such issues,like filing an appeal for having reservations in IIM.This discussion brings to my mind a very funny thought-
--There is School opposite my house.EAST WEST PUBLIC SCHOOL.It is owned by a former PT Master.I have nothing against him rising to such heights.But that fellow became the Corporator of an area and then THE BANGALORE CITY MAYOR.On the occasion of Teachers' Day,he was expected to give a talk to all the Government teachers.He started like this--
" Hello to everybody and Welcome.We are here today to celebrate Birthday of Sir M. Visvesvaraya...."
And his secretary was applauding in a way Victorious Gladiators are applauded"
Another disgusting aspect is that of posters.Some fellows picture,all his wives,their husbands,his classmates--everything is one poster on some big road.Wat the f#%k man ?? How can u allow someone to put up a 10-foot poster to wish someone Happy Birthday.We are living in Digital Age with cell phones.Call him and wish him Happy Birthday all night.Who is stopping u ?? but y spoil Bangalore's image by putting up some un-edited pictures of ANIMALS ???That too that HDK showing all sort of postures and his father GHOSTLY-GOWDA showing pictures of him talking on the phone keeping the mouth-piece near his ears.
There are so many issues to be sorted.I pray that we get a very good leader who can at least determine as to which direction this Country must be taken in.
Saturday, November 17, 2007
A very HUMBLE ATTITUDE
There are some people in this world who have a very subtle knack of getting on your nerves.Maybe u get irritated by them,maybe they act wierd or dumb.Keeping apart such trivial issues,there are people who are hated with ease only because of their 'ARROGANCE'.This word ARROGANCE is often used synonimously with one very common word 'ATTITUDE'.This word might be among the 'My Favorites' list in the world of female gossip--
"wat attitude this fellow has ya..he is writing about girls gossiping and all that".
Attitude is something each and every one of us must have.That is wat we are associated with.Ur attitude can be in tune with your character,your outlook,your mindset.People often mistake 'being humble' to 'not having attitude'.Attitude in you must have the right mix of character,courage and it always reflects how you take things in life.But people often put on a false attitude to please people.You always show attitude in something you are good at--
Michael Schumacher stamps Fernando Alonso-y ?---Schumacher is better than him,as simple as it can get.
Akthar glares at Tendulkar,Tendulkar looks down.Akthar comes steaming in and is launched out of the stadium.Tendulkar looks down,Akthar looks up.
So it is very evident that people recognise you only by wat you are good at.You not wanting to talk to ur opposite sex and thinking its attitude if u wait for them to approach you,you are so mistaken,you just lack confidence.
People can take you for a ride unless u set certain standards for urself,you sometimes have to assert ur position.I definitely dont mean asserting ur position 'Deve Gowda Style'-threatening to pull Yediyurappa's plug every alternate day.I think i have my attitude,i show where i am supposed to-but just be humble enough because there is always an option of building a floor on the terrace.
You might be wondering wat makes me think i shuold write about attitude,arre mere dost,The Blog is named "RVCE-My Way Of Life" with a meaning.
.
.
.
I dont have an attitude problem.
I just have attitude.
You have the problem.
"wat attitude this fellow has ya..he is writing about girls gossiping and all that".
Attitude is something each and every one of us must have.That is wat we are associated with.Ur attitude can be in tune with your character,your outlook,your mindset.People often mistake 'being humble' to 'not having attitude'.Attitude in you must have the right mix of character,courage and it always reflects how you take things in life.But people often put on a false attitude to please people.You always show attitude in something you are good at--
Michael Schumacher stamps Fernando Alonso-y ?---Schumacher is better than him,as simple as it can get.
Akthar glares at Tendulkar,Tendulkar looks down.Akthar comes steaming in and is launched out of the stadium.Tendulkar looks down,Akthar looks up.
So it is very evident that people recognise you only by wat you are good at.You not wanting to talk to ur opposite sex and thinking its attitude if u wait for them to approach you,you are so mistaken,you just lack confidence.
People can take you for a ride unless u set certain standards for urself,you sometimes have to assert ur position.I definitely dont mean asserting ur position 'Deve Gowda Style'-threatening to pull Yediyurappa's plug every alternate day.I think i have my attitude,i show where i am supposed to-but just be humble enough because there is always an option of building a floor on the terrace.
You might be wondering wat makes me think i shuold write about attitude,arre mere dost,The Blog is named "RVCE-My Way Of Life" with a meaning.
.
.
.
I dont have an attitude problem.
I just have attitude.
You have the problem.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
The Beauty Of Friendship
This world would be full with people and still a lot empty without relationships,be it friendships,love,hatred.Half of ur newspaper is about one fellow hating another,someone being appreciated,some doplomatic stuff(Newspapers other than Times Of India ofcourse).And it is such nice entertainment and gossip taliking about love--"do u know?Rahul asked Priya out"--"Priya??..is he blind?".So it would be so boring without relationships around you.
It is at the same time very confusing to identify relationships.Some people say they are in love.wat do they mean by love ?this is such a common question.but we haven't answered a question which is at a lot lesser level of complexity--wat is friendship ?well,this is my view about it-
The 'FRIEND' term has a lot more weight than girlfriend/boyfriend.In a commitment,there is always a tendancy of changing ur views to impress the other player.u might be cared for,get attention and a lot of other stuff from ur LOVE,but there is always a feeling of living like an animal in a National Park.I am careful not to use the word Zoo,because it cant be so bad.Animals roam around in a National Park quite freely,but there is always a boundary.Friendship is where u live in a forest.Free,beyond the level of impressions.You can be completely free without worrying that you will have to fight with ur LOVE the next day for yawning in between ur conversation.You can call and tell "oye,coming to eat?" instead of "Honey,are u hungry ?do u want to go out and eat?".I am in no way opposing falling in love,but this is just my view.
Friend is not someone who sits next to you,rids u of boredom but rather who listens to everything you have to say,who gives you a helping hand when you need one.Often,people dislike people who oppose thier views.A friend is someone who does the exact same thing when u are wrong.This idea brings to my mind a wonderful quote-
"In a team of two,if one person always agrees with the other,one of them is unecessary"
--Wrigley,Jr.
I already have some wonderful friends.I wish all of u as well could have such friends.I end this rather SERIOUS,PHILOSOPHICAL post by quoting a very nice SMS i once recieved--
"A GOOD FRIEND is one who bails u out when u are in jail,but your BEST FRIEND cant do that.y ???
.
.
.
Because he is sitting right next to you and muttering,"We are screwed man!"
It is at the same time very confusing to identify relationships.Some people say they are in love.wat do they mean by love ?this is such a common question.but we haven't answered a question which is at a lot lesser level of complexity--wat is friendship ?well,this is my view about it-
The 'FRIEND' term has a lot more weight than girlfriend/boyfriend.In a commitment,there is always a tendancy of changing ur views to impress the other player.u might be cared for,get attention and a lot of other stuff from ur LOVE,but there is always a feeling of living like an animal in a National Park.I am careful not to use the word Zoo,because it cant be so bad.Animals roam around in a National Park quite freely,but there is always a boundary.Friendship is where u live in a forest.Free,beyond the level of impressions.You can be completely free without worrying that you will have to fight with ur LOVE the next day for yawning in between ur conversation.You can call and tell "oye,coming to eat?" instead of "Honey,are u hungry ?do u want to go out and eat?".I am in no way opposing falling in love,but this is just my view.
Friend is not someone who sits next to you,rids u of boredom but rather who listens to everything you have to say,who gives you a helping hand when you need one.Often,people dislike people who oppose thier views.A friend is someone who does the exact same thing when u are wrong.This idea brings to my mind a wonderful quote-
"In a team of two,if one person always agrees with the other,one of them is unecessary"
--Wrigley,Jr.
I already have some wonderful friends.I wish all of u as well could have such friends.I end this rather SERIOUS,PHILOSOPHICAL post by quoting a very nice SMS i once recieved--
"A GOOD FRIEND is one who bails u out when u are in jail,but your BEST FRIEND cant do that.y ???
.
.
.
Because he is sitting right next to you and muttering,"We are screwed man!"
Thursday, October 25, 2007
The Farmer who bought a Mercedes
Most of u must have seen FLIRTS who change girlfriends every other day without the slightest of regards that the girl cared for him.Such FLIRTS are increasing day by day.ever wondered y ??? Its because its in the food we eat.U see,Deve Gowda,is a FARMER who flirts with peoples future and the future of this state and so obviously its in the food as farmers give us grians and vegetables.English meanings have to be changed if u observe Deve Gowda.He is a POOR FARMER.He is worth just around 2.5k crores.What the f&%k ????? u gotta be kidding me ! if u have such money and still say u are poor,then i have only one logical explanation-he must be eating,breathing and farting diamonds !
The Coalition party a couple of weeks back proved that there is no leader in Karnataka and if the Deve Gowda is considered a leader,words fail me in expressing the miserable state of Karnataka Politics.Lets see-he is not an orator,he is not educated,he is not shrewed-he just knows mathematics and the real estate values of some crucial areas.I believe that the blame is to be put on people for not standing up or are the people too tired of caring ?
This brings to my mind a very nice scenario from History Channel.--The episode was about Osama-bin-ladden.There is a conversation between an American Intelligence agent and the head of the Afghan Left Front,the main enemy of Osama in Afghanistan.The US in assocaition with the Left Front would have planned an attack on Osama but finally withdraws fearing backlash and thus leaving The Left Front exposed to danger.The leader of the left front says one satement which sums up every bit of the situation--"Are there no more men left in Washington?"
Karanataka situation may not be so intense,but there has to be a limit.These jokers cant take us for a ride anymore.One example of public misuse--y does a MLA need a Chevorlet Optra or a Skoda Laura ?? there are people dying without food and water.how can they even have the heart of flaunting luxury ? I wll be the first to show respect to politicians if they behave in a way which demands respect.people like Narayan Murthy,Dr.A.P.J. Abdul Kalam are people who deserve respect.
People have stopped caring for the nation.Billions of Signature Campaigns,peace marches wont help.There is no literature,no intellect required in todays leader,instead he should have loads of paper on which there is the signature of the RBI Governor.
Our PRESIDENTIAL seat is a joke.Its mockery of history which shows the the very same position was held by people like Dr.Radhakrishnan and others.Prathiba Patil ??????????????????Many did not even know that she existed until she was being flaunted as Congress' Presidential Candidate.The whole Parliament,except a few,is full of MISTAKES.Just a bunch of jokers who see this as a part time job rather than their duty.Every politician has a College,Hospital and an Industry of his own.Every body speaks of India becoming a Global Power.I agree on this,but wont other countries laugh at us looking at the leadership issues in the country ?
The main reason i believe is a lack of Patriotism.Singing the National Anthem,eating sweets on August 15th and observing Dry Day is not patriotism.Its about standing up for the country,standing up for urself.People like Deve Gowda dont have rights to play with the future of this Country.Did so many Freedom fighters sacrifice thier lives so the these jokers could ruin this great Nation ? I doubt if Deve Gowda can even spell INDIA.
There is another problem-these politicians are seasoned.No character,no self respect,full bullshit.So its not easy getting into their heads about their mistakes.The open dog fight about the karnataka Government shows exactly this.The only solution i believe is Youth.I dont mean Rahul Gandhi ofcourse,but educated genuine people who feel proud of leading their country.One more example,rather a comparison--The term "The President Of The United States Of America" brings about such a powerful image.An image of Power,FBI agents,Air Force One and all this inspite of Bush being the President of USA now.But the term "Prime Misnister Of India" brings no such image.Are we so bad ?Bloody,we are the ones who run the Intellectual part of the World.
Its just about expressing urself and standing up for something u believe is right when the whole world says its wrong.
The Coalition party a couple of weeks back proved that there is no leader in Karnataka and if the Deve Gowda is considered a leader,words fail me in expressing the miserable state of Karnataka Politics.Lets see-he is not an orator,he is not educated,he is not shrewed-he just knows mathematics and the real estate values of some crucial areas.I believe that the blame is to be put on people for not standing up or are the people too tired of caring ?
This brings to my mind a very nice scenario from History Channel.--The episode was about Osama-bin-ladden.There is a conversation between an American Intelligence agent and the head of the Afghan Left Front,the main enemy of Osama in Afghanistan.The US in assocaition with the Left Front would have planned an attack on Osama but finally withdraws fearing backlash and thus leaving The Left Front exposed to danger.The leader of the left front says one satement which sums up every bit of the situation--"Are there no more men left in Washington?"
Karanataka situation may not be so intense,but there has to be a limit.These jokers cant take us for a ride anymore.One example of public misuse--y does a MLA need a Chevorlet Optra or a Skoda Laura ?? there are people dying without food and water.how can they even have the heart of flaunting luxury ? I wll be the first to show respect to politicians if they behave in a way which demands respect.people like Narayan Murthy,Dr.A.P.J. Abdul Kalam are people who deserve respect.
People have stopped caring for the nation.Billions of Signature Campaigns,peace marches wont help.There is no literature,no intellect required in todays leader,instead he should have loads of paper on which there is the signature of the RBI Governor.
Our PRESIDENTIAL seat is a joke.Its mockery of history which shows the the very same position was held by people like Dr.Radhakrishnan and others.Prathiba Patil ??????????????????Many did not even know that she existed until she was being flaunted as Congress' Presidential Candidate.The whole Parliament,except a few,is full of MISTAKES.Just a bunch of jokers who see this as a part time job rather than their duty.Every politician has a College,Hospital and an Industry of his own.Every body speaks of India becoming a Global Power.I agree on this,but wont other countries laugh at us looking at the leadership issues in the country ?
The main reason i believe is a lack of Patriotism.Singing the National Anthem,eating sweets on August 15th and observing Dry Day is not patriotism.Its about standing up for the country,standing up for urself.People like Deve Gowda dont have rights to play with the future of this Country.Did so many Freedom fighters sacrifice thier lives so the these jokers could ruin this great Nation ? I doubt if Deve Gowda can even spell INDIA.
There is another problem-these politicians are seasoned.No character,no self respect,full bullshit.So its not easy getting into their heads about their mistakes.The open dog fight about the karnataka Government shows exactly this.The only solution i believe is Youth.I dont mean Rahul Gandhi ofcourse,but educated genuine people who feel proud of leading their country.One more example,rather a comparison--The term "The President Of The United States Of America" brings about such a powerful image.An image of Power,FBI agents,Air Force One and all this inspite of Bush being the President of USA now.But the term "Prime Misnister Of India" brings no such image.Are we so bad ?Bloody,we are the ones who run the Intellectual part of the World.
Its just about expressing urself and standing up for something u believe is right when the whole world says its wrong.
Friday, October 19, 2007
A prayer.....
For all the innocent lives lost due to mindless terrorist attacks..... the song "zindagi maut na banjaye" -Sarfarosh... sums it up beautifully.... Ironic isn't it... some brainwashed individuals playing with innocent lives... for some mindless ideology...The thing is terrorism proliferates on fear.... the induction policy among these al-qaeda leaders (or any such terrorist group for that matter) is that they pick up fellows who are hopelessly lost in life with the cup of their woes brimmeth over... and promise them;their families.. paradise [as the song says -Chand sikkon keliye karthe ho kaam bura jiske hote hain, anjaam bura...]Then brainwash them that what you are doing is completely justified and the lord almighty will be pleased by your sacrifice..... and train them to execute mind numbing plans which benefits none but the leaders... as they get the attention of the politicos who pump in money so that they can proclaim in front their 'Religion' voters that he is doing all that he can to protect his religion against the other majority /or such like....(George bush himself forms another category who justifies wars against oil-rich nations saying that its a war against terrorism)To stem this vicious cycle proactive members of the society/ entrepreneurs must provide some kind of a welfare prog. to the youths who are not able to do well in life; train them in some essential skills which is in demand in society.....and counsel them by denouncing terrorist activities with the help of a local priest/mullah....of all religions to give a religious angle to this by saying GOD would never accept such a "Sacrifice"... he will be happy if they led a principled life and also helped others along the way.... this might foster a positive environment and might help us in shedding hatred among ourselves and make india a truly secular nation...... ambitious it may sound but i think it's a very do able solution......So a prayer perhaps on the occasion of dusshera, to the lord almighty to put an end to this madness of killing our own brothers in the name of religion .......
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
The Adrenaline rush
The IT Boom not only got Software Giants into Bangalore but also a lot of other issues of which Traffic is a major one.If there were points for lane descipline,i am sure India would have points on the negative scale !!!...this brings to my mind one funny quote by Nakul"the only way u can drive here is...find a little space on the road and start honking".This is absolutely true...thats how it works.so if this is the situation of a 110cc 2 wheeler,imagine wat a a 6 wheeler with 10times the power has to undergo.This is probably the reason why there is this popular notion-"An Indian Driver can drive annywhere on the planet".
I have told so much wat happens in my College Bus...let me now tell about men in the COCKPIT and the Adrenaline Rush on Mysore road.there are basically 2 drivers who handle my route and one among them is known to all as Schumi.I till now haven't figured as to how can a human control such power in the way this man and the the man contributing to his nickname,do.Probably our bus driver would not even know that he is being reffered by the name which many consider sacred,but this is one bus journey which u have to experience to believe it.Schumi always drives us back home rather than driving us to College.So the traffic would have incresed exponentially when compared to the morning trip.
A Ride with Schumi--
time-4-15pm
Vehicle-a classic Indian Bus
Colour-Yellow
Make-Ashok Leyland
Specifications-one steering wheel,6tyres and other things which do not mean much to the driver in focus.
After another day in RVCE,with some people doing titrations,some welding pipes ans with some doing loads of crap-students start trickling into their buses and our bus in particular is almost full with place for almost everyone.Schumi was not to be seen for a couple of days.So the bus rides were rather monotonous with the same honks,same traffic signal,same girls,same police whose right hand is controlling vehicles and the other is controlling money.There was a sudden buzz in the bus.I opened my sleepy eyes.I could make out that there was a lean fellow,with a gray hat on in the COCKPIT.it was the unmistaken signs of Schumi.the sight removed every ounce of sleep and i told Nakul "we will go home half an hour early da...and keep all ur belongings tightly...the roller coaster is starting".
His eyes lit up and his focus shifted from a beautiful girl to the man who would drive us for the next 30min.The engine roared to life and the bus began to move.The moment it left the College and kissed the 4-lane Mysore road,students from other buses concluded that Schumi is in control.the acceleration was thrilling.A bus moving in 100kmph is like a a bob of a pendulum,where even a small steering wheel movement is converted into sparks igniting ur Adrenaline flames.There are barricades placed on the road and they are placed parallel to each other so that vehicles slow down.the result is that vehicles have to go in a snakeward path through the barricades and for Mr.Schumi,the barricades are just yellow things obstructing his path.I bet u,he does not even take his foot off the pedal while going through this path and the whole bus literally swings from left to right and even the "nerdiest" people with no enjoyment cant help but to enjoy this.Even though the barricades are very irritating, i wish that there are barricades all over the road when schumi is driving.He then enters Vijaynagar and overtakes from the left,right anywhere and zips through the traffic like its not his problem.He sometimes takes turns where the bus goes within inches of other vehicles !!..he finally drops us in our stops and every one wishes that they could ride again...and if u still havent understood y he is called Schumi,u gotta be dumb or u have to be pro-actively insane to hate Michael Schumacher.
This is just a scaled-down comparison of the legend.i am very sure nobody would give the nickname as Alonso...why ????
F1=Speed=Michael Schumacher
Anybody see the word Alonso there ????
I have told so much wat happens in my College Bus...let me now tell about men in the COCKPIT and the Adrenaline Rush on Mysore road.there are basically 2 drivers who handle my route and one among them is known to all as Schumi.I till now haven't figured as to how can a human control such power in the way this man and the the man contributing to his nickname,do.Probably our bus driver would not even know that he is being reffered by the name which many consider sacred,but this is one bus journey which u have to experience to believe it.Schumi always drives us back home rather than driving us to College.So the traffic would have incresed exponentially when compared to the morning trip.
A Ride with Schumi--
time-4-15pm
Vehicle-a classic Indian Bus
Colour-Yellow
Make-Ashok Leyland
Specifications-one steering wheel,6tyres and other things which do not mean much to the driver in focus.
After another day in RVCE,with some people doing titrations,some welding pipes ans with some doing loads of crap-students start trickling into their buses and our bus in particular is almost full with place for almost everyone.Schumi was not to be seen for a couple of days.So the bus rides were rather monotonous with the same honks,same traffic signal,same girls,same police whose right hand is controlling vehicles and the other is controlling money.There was a sudden buzz in the bus.I opened my sleepy eyes.I could make out that there was a lean fellow,with a gray hat on in the COCKPIT.it was the unmistaken signs of Schumi.the sight removed every ounce of sleep and i told Nakul "we will go home half an hour early da...and keep all ur belongings tightly...the roller coaster is starting".
His eyes lit up and his focus shifted from a beautiful girl to the man who would drive us for the next 30min.The engine roared to life and the bus began to move.The moment it left the College and kissed the 4-lane Mysore road,students from other buses concluded that Schumi is in control.the acceleration was thrilling.A bus moving in 100kmph is like a a bob of a pendulum,where even a small steering wheel movement is converted into sparks igniting ur Adrenaline flames.There are barricades placed on the road and they are placed parallel to each other so that vehicles slow down.the result is that vehicles have to go in a snakeward path through the barricades and for Mr.Schumi,the barricades are just yellow things obstructing his path.I bet u,he does not even take his foot off the pedal while going through this path and the whole bus literally swings from left to right and even the "nerdiest" people with no enjoyment cant help but to enjoy this.Even though the barricades are very irritating, i wish that there are barricades all over the road when schumi is driving.He then enters Vijaynagar and overtakes from the left,right anywhere and zips through the traffic like its not his problem.He sometimes takes turns where the bus goes within inches of other vehicles !!..he finally drops us in our stops and every one wishes that they could ride again...and if u still havent understood y he is called Schumi,u gotta be dumb or u have to be pro-actively insane to hate Michael Schumacher.
This is just a scaled-down comparison of the legend.i am very sure nobody would give the nickname as Alonso...why ????
F1=Speed=Michael Schumacher
Anybody see the word Alonso there ????
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Monday, October 8, 2007
First Steps in RVCE
i am going to spare u the description of Orientation Classes which were soooooooooooo boring that i was wondering...u have to work so hard and listen to this crap ????...the only good thi ng was i got selected in Football...so here is my first day in College...
I heard there was ragging in the College bus and i was a bit nervous as i was not ragged in my PU also.So with mixed expectations asd anxiety,i entered the bus of RVCE.There was nothing to suggest,other than the green paint outside,that this was the bus of RVCE.It was just like any other 6 wheeler.The bus was pretty deserted and since mine was only the 2nd stop,not many people were there.I sat there expecting all kinds of people and especially SENIORS whom i dreaded.My school friend Nakul,classmate KK and a new friend Gaurav sat there in the bus,a little relaxed that there were no intros to be given,no songs to be sung or proposals to be done !!!..then finally one senior got in and he turned to be my school senior and also a member of a football team i had played against.So he was also eliminted as a potential tormentor.After gettin down in College,we were walikng with smiles on our faces as if it was a big achievement that we were not ragged,especially after stories of my friends in IITs.
The College had started on a monday.the next day as well,we went expecting that there wont be any seniors..but we were wrong...the bus was like a semiconductor diode...half with free electrons(seniors) in the back and holes(seats) in the front.i sat there and every nerve in my body was trying to listen to wat seniors were talking and i was actively scanning for the word RAGGING.There was nothing of that sort till Vijaynagar.so we were cool that the seniors were vey kind and stuff...and then suddenly...there was a soft melodious tone in the air...it was a male voice..a voice which i knew well...which i knew too well...Gaurav !!!...i was careful enough that i dont make sudden movements in turning back(its like a prey running from the predator).Gaurav was asked to sing,give a dozen intros,take intro from a girl sitting in the adjacent bus in a Traffic Signal.Another girl wa asked to sing Baah baah black sheep.(just rough details).Me,Nakul and KK--"we are done".
Day--Thursday(Half Day)
Location--College Bus
Time-1.30
Details-Shivajinagar Bus
Me,Nakul,KK have our first half day in RVCE.We frantically search for buses which ply on our route.we finally get to know that its the College Bus in the Shivajinagar route.i was relieved that we got the bus(BMTC would be tooooooooo tiring).But the relief was soon wiped out by one sight-a bus with 17 seniors,5 junior boys(including us),3 junior girls.We naturally,like a pack of cows,sat together in a 3 seater even when there were enough seats for us to sleep.that was the first signal of fear we sent.its like showing ur predator that u are scared--thats wrong baby.
me--"KK,u are going first"
Nakul--"Shhhhhh...dont talk...they might call us"
silence......
Nakul--"i hear them talking about ragging us"
Every part of my body was hoping that he did not hear it...i was wrong...dead wrong !
A hand taps me on my shoulder--"Excuse me,they are calling u 3"
KK--"u guys go..i have already been ragged"
i still managed a laugh in that situation"common da...its ok"
17 seniors staring at u is a very intimidating site especially when 2 of them are 6'5 and others are all nested between hot girls.
Addressing me--Senior X:"listen man..take it cool...we are the good boys...the bad boys are at the back"
X to Y(in the back)--"oye....i want this raw meat tested now...but go easy...the driver is a cranky fellow"
bus starts--my heart beat sounded louder than the engine of the old Bus.
Y to Nakul--"come here"
He walks meakly towards him.
"name?"
"Nakul"
"Full name"
"Nakul Sangolli"
"ok...enough bullshit-lets get to serious stuff"
calling another junior"i ragged u yesterday na...show these fellows how to get ragged.."
y--"Lets play Mortal Kombat "
me thinking "Mortal Kombat ??????????????...wat the f$%# ???????"
y addressing two juniors "u are my player.i make u a cow--and that fellow is the opponent,he is a chicken.now run around like fighters."
They run around like children-Mooooooooo---puck puck puckaaa puck puck
it was amazingly funny and it was nice that i found my sense of humour and a laugh leaked out.That was it--
"hey u,u find it funny ?"
"er...no...it isn't"
"ok guys,lets all concentrate and rag him together "
The walls of the bus seemed to close in on me..i felt that i was cornered..
"Biodata?"
"Abhiram.K.G...Born on..."
"i said full biodata"
"i was born on November 1st in Bahrain.i was then named as Abhiram......................................."
"very good...u know Twinkle Twinkle ?"
"yes"
"sing"
"Twinkle twinkle little star..(very nervous)...up above the..."
"Macha...he does not know Twinkle Twinkle !!!!!!!!!!"[Bus errupts in laughter]
"sorry..(i finally found the right words)"
"ok fine...now after every two words..add...Up my a@# down my a#$!!!!"
holy crap !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Twinkle twinkle up my a#$ little star down my a$#....(i finally finish it with a lot of difficulty and embrassement)"
in the meantime,i noticed Y getting pissed when N akul told that IEM was the worst branch.
X to me--"which branch do u think y is ?"
"IEM"
"y do u think so ?"
i gave the reson as stated...
"macha..this fellow is smart da...i will deal with him later..."
i breathed a sigh of relief.just when i thought it was all over,the best thing happened.The Hottest girl in the bus..senior,looking at me,addressing to X"i want this fellow to propose to me"
"y him ?"
"he seems to be the smartest in the lot"
"macha..this fellow is SRK da...bloody...Archi chik has asked him out..."Y--"i will show him..."
Y--"propose to each and every girl in the bus in a unique way...common...quick..."
they were probably seeing us as entertainment...but this ?????????????...i am not an actor...!!!!!
Just when i was done with the first proposal,it was then that i realized that my stop had come...travellin 11 km was never this fast or rather this slow in someways.
X,Y--"nice fun man...no hard feelings"
me--"no man...nice meeting u"
So i felt like i was 50kgs lighter when i got off the bus.The expectations,the images of Ragging were replaced by fun,an experience u miss if u are not ragged or if u chicken out...and if Samadhi or twister is reading this...dont compare this to IIT rag...i know IIT is better in all aspects...wait...except one...The Female Species !!!!
I heard there was ragging in the College bus and i was a bit nervous as i was not ragged in my PU also.So with mixed expectations asd anxiety,i entered the bus of RVCE.There was nothing to suggest,other than the green paint outside,that this was the bus of RVCE.It was just like any other 6 wheeler.The bus was pretty deserted and since mine was only the 2nd stop,not many people were there.I sat there expecting all kinds of people and especially SENIORS whom i dreaded.My school friend Nakul,classmate KK and a new friend Gaurav sat there in the bus,a little relaxed that there were no intros to be given,no songs to be sung or proposals to be done !!!..then finally one senior got in and he turned to be my school senior and also a member of a football team i had played against.So he was also eliminted as a potential tormentor.After gettin down in College,we were walikng with smiles on our faces as if it was a big achievement that we were not ragged,especially after stories of my friends in IITs.
The College had started on a monday.the next day as well,we went expecting that there wont be any seniors..but we were wrong...the bus was like a semiconductor diode...half with free electrons(seniors) in the back and holes(seats) in the front.i sat there and every nerve in my body was trying to listen to wat seniors were talking and i was actively scanning for the word RAGGING.There was nothing of that sort till Vijaynagar.so we were cool that the seniors were vey kind and stuff...and then suddenly...there was a soft melodious tone in the air...it was a male voice..a voice which i knew well...which i knew too well...Gaurav !!!...i was careful enough that i dont make sudden movements in turning back(its like a prey running from the predator).Gaurav was asked to sing,give a dozen intros,take intro from a girl sitting in the adjacent bus in a Traffic Signal.Another girl wa asked to sing Baah baah black sheep.(just rough details).Me,Nakul and KK--"we are done".
Day--Thursday(Half Day)
Location--College Bus
Time-1.30
Details-Shivajinagar Bus
Me,Nakul,KK have our first half day in RVCE.We frantically search for buses which ply on our route.we finally get to know that its the College Bus in the Shivajinagar route.i was relieved that we got the bus(BMTC would be tooooooooo tiring).But the relief was soon wiped out by one sight-a bus with 17 seniors,5 junior boys(including us),3 junior girls.We naturally,like a pack of cows,sat together in a 3 seater even when there were enough seats for us to sleep.that was the first signal of fear we sent.its like showing ur predator that u are scared--thats wrong baby.
me--"KK,u are going first"
Nakul--"Shhhhhh...dont talk...they might call us"
silence......
Nakul--"i hear them talking about ragging us"
Every part of my body was hoping that he did not hear it...i was wrong...dead wrong !
A hand taps me on my shoulder--"Excuse me,they are calling u 3"
KK--"u guys go..i have already been ragged"
i still managed a laugh in that situation"common da...its ok"
17 seniors staring at u is a very intimidating site especially when 2 of them are 6'5 and others are all nested between hot girls.
Addressing me--Senior X:"listen man..take it cool...we are the good boys...the bad boys are at the back"
X to Y(in the back)--"oye....i want this raw meat tested now...but go easy...the driver is a cranky fellow"
bus starts--my heart beat sounded louder than the engine of the old Bus.
Y to Nakul--"come here"
He walks meakly towards him.
"name?"
"Nakul"
"Full name"
"Nakul Sangolli"
"ok...enough bullshit-lets get to serious stuff"
calling another junior"i ragged u yesterday na...show these fellows how to get ragged.."
y--"Lets play Mortal Kombat "
me thinking "Mortal Kombat ??????????????...wat the f$%# ???????"
y addressing two juniors "u are my player.i make u a cow--and that fellow is the opponent,he is a chicken.now run around like fighters."
They run around like children-Mooooooooo---puck puck puckaaa puck puck
it was amazingly funny and it was nice that i found my sense of humour and a laugh leaked out.That was it--
"hey u,u find it funny ?"
"er...no...it isn't"
"ok guys,lets all concentrate and rag him together "
The walls of the bus seemed to close in on me..i felt that i was cornered..
"Biodata?"
"Abhiram.K.G...Born on..."
"i said full biodata"
"i was born on November 1st in Bahrain.i was then named as Abhiram......................................."
"very good...u know Twinkle Twinkle ?"
"yes"
"sing"
"Twinkle twinkle little star..(very nervous)...up above the..."
"Macha...he does not know Twinkle Twinkle !!!!!!!!!!"[Bus errupts in laughter]
"sorry..(i finally found the right words)"
"ok fine...now after every two words..add...Up my a@# down my a#$!!!!"
holy crap !!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Twinkle twinkle up my a#$ little star down my a$#....(i finally finish it with a lot of difficulty and embrassement)"
in the meantime,i noticed Y getting pissed when N akul told that IEM was the worst branch.
X to me--"which branch do u think y is ?"
"IEM"
"y do u think so ?"
i gave the reson as stated...
"macha..this fellow is smart da...i will deal with him later..."
i breathed a sigh of relief.just when i thought it was all over,the best thing happened.The Hottest girl in the bus..senior,looking at me,addressing to X"i want this fellow to propose to me"
"y him ?"
"he seems to be the smartest in the lot"
"macha..this fellow is SRK da...bloody...Archi chik has asked him out..."Y--"i will show him..."
Y--"propose to each and every girl in the bus in a unique way...common...quick..."
they were probably seeing us as entertainment...but this ?????????????...i am not an actor...!!!!!
Just when i was done with the first proposal,it was then that i realized that my stop had come...travellin 11 km was never this fast or rather this slow in someways.
X,Y--"nice fun man...no hard feelings"
me--"no man...nice meeting u"
So i felt like i was 50kgs lighter when i got off the bus.The expectations,the images of Ragging were replaced by fun,an experience u miss if u are not ragged or if u chicken out...and if Samadhi or twister is reading this...dont compare this to IIT rag...i know IIT is better in all aspects...wait...except one...The Female Species !!!!
The lighter side of my choice
I have already mentioned that its a matter of pride that i get a seat in RV.i will tell u y...example--Case1:
Relative/stranger--"yaav College serikondiyo ?"
me-"Uncle,RV College"
"oh...tumba olle college bidu..."[status-mouth shut/good impression created]
[me feeling very happy and proud]
Case2:
Relative/stranger--"yaav College serikondiyo ?"
me--"XYZ"
"oh...yellide...Hebbal?"
"illa uncle...ille(some area)"
"houda...RV athva bere College iralilla alva...parvagilla bidappa..."(bere Colleges-PESIT,RNSIT,MSR,SJBIT)
So the brand RV earns u some status which u might not have got even with a better rank.
[p.s.-i am clearly not against any other College(from the bottom of my heart)]
This is just the light side of y i chose RVCE.The truth is that i really wanted to join the College because of its name...ok...enough of the boring crap...let me start with the real side of RVCE...
Relative/stranger--"yaav College serikondiyo ?"
me-"Uncle,RV College"
"oh...tumba olle college bidu..."[status-mouth shut/good impression created]
[me feeling very happy and proud]
Case2:
Relative/stranger--"yaav College serikondiyo ?"
me--"XYZ"
"oh...yellide...Hebbal?"
"illa uncle...ille(some area)"
"houda...RV athva bere College iralilla alva...parvagilla bidappa..."(bere Colleges-PESIT,RNSIT,MSR,SJBIT)
So the brand RV earns u some status which u might not have got even with a better rank.
[p.s.-i am clearly not against any other College(from the bottom of my heart)]
This is just the light side of y i chose RVCE.The truth is that i really wanted to join the College because of its name...ok...enough of the boring crap...let me start with the real side of RVCE...
The Path to RVCE
The Outlook and The Week rated IITs among the top 10 institutes in India and a College called RVCE,Bangalore was placed in 10th place among the list of 'Best Private Engineering Colleges of India'.Looking at such responses and the standing of brand IIT,i too had my target locked on IIT or even a NIT was wat i was hoping for in the beginning of 1st PU.This was the very reason y i chose BASE rather than a conventional Shastri or Gururaj tutions.My time in BASE was extreme fun.Maybe umashankar wont fancy the word FUN to be associated with BASE,but i had some serious fun there.My marks were somewat like this in First year-54%,43%,30%,20%,20%.......20%.i was very consistent !!...the first ranker used to get around 60%...so 20% was no big deal.one scenario will sum up my 1st PU--BASE class at 2.30.We are in Upahara Darshini(50mts from my College) at 2.25.10 of us standing around the table
"wat to do ??...5 min for class.."
"whose class da ??"
teacher Xs name is uttered--
"Arre yaar..its ok...i am hungry...i am taking a bhel...anybody want a share ??"
at 3.00--
"we should have gone to class man...i have lost track about the lessons "
"thats the whole point...we have already lost track...so by the time we find it...its 2nd year...simple !"
suddenly in a sense of alarm--
"tomorrow is BASE test da....anybody remember ???"
"crap...anybody knows portions ???"
After a lot of tests like this--Selection results--Phone call-
"Can i spek to Mr.Abhiram?"
me--"he has gone out...wats the msg ?"(with a fear that its attendance shortage)
"plz tell him that he is selected for 2nd year BASE"
me--"thats great...thank you"
so this is how i got into 2nd year and thats when i realized i need to get serious.But this is my one regret-i had already lost major ground in 1st year which i was not able to cover later.
My target was then shifted from IIT-JEE to AIEEE as i had to get realistic about my chances.Since i could have only 2 targets and now that IIT-JEE was virtually out of the equation,i set RVCE as my secondary target.The reason-My Dad-RV E&C,my bro-R IT,my uncle-RV as well.all the engineers from my family are from RV...so it was in my head that i should get atleast a minimum of a free seat in RVCE.it was a matter of pride,as i put it.
My second PU was pretty good...was among the top 20 in my College....but still PU screwed me--90 %--this led to me getting 1758 rank in CET--my gate pass to RVCE-IT.
"wat to do ??...5 min for class.."
"whose class da ??"
teacher Xs name is uttered--
"Arre yaar..its ok...i am hungry...i am taking a bhel...anybody want a share ??"
at 3.00--
"we should have gone to class man...i have lost track about the lessons "
"thats the whole point...we have already lost track...so by the time we find it...its 2nd year...simple !"
suddenly in a sense of alarm--
"tomorrow is BASE test da....anybody remember ???"
"crap...anybody knows portions ???"
After a lot of tests like this--Selection results--Phone call-
"Can i spek to Mr.Abhiram?"
me--"he has gone out...wats the msg ?"(with a fear that its attendance shortage)
"plz tell him that he is selected for 2nd year BASE"
me--"thats great...thank you"
so this is how i got into 2nd year and thats when i realized i need to get serious.But this is my one regret-i had already lost major ground in 1st year which i was not able to cover later.
My target was then shifted from IIT-JEE to AIEEE as i had to get realistic about my chances.Since i could have only 2 targets and now that IIT-JEE was virtually out of the equation,i set RVCE as my secondary target.The reason-My Dad-RV E&C,my bro-R IT,my uncle-RV as well.all the engineers from my family are from RV...so it was in my head that i should get atleast a minimum of a free seat in RVCE.it was a matter of pride,as i put it.
My second PU was pretty good...was among the top 20 in my College....but still PU screwed me--90 %--this led to me getting 1758 rank in CET--my gate pass to RVCE-IT.
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