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….
Sunday, February 24, 2008
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.
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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.
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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 ???
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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 ???
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.
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Because he is sitting right next to you and muttering,"We are screwed man!"
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