Leaving your nest

'It's the migratory season,' says Fayaz, with a sly smile.

A cold wave constantly circulates above us--you lift your hand and you feel it. This must be the coldest part of the entire office. A few months
back, not a single day would pass without one of us calling up
maintainence, telling them to reduce the chill from the Air-conditioner.

There are dreary faces all around. The pay hike was announced two days back, and 99% are dissatisfied. It's more so in our team, after we broke all previous records and set new standards in the number of defects detected in an application. The hike in salary is grossly disproportionate to the performance. The only guy who's all smiles is Fayaz, the team leader. He must've had a good raise.

Coffee arrives. The boy is clean shaven and looks different without his stubble. He smiles. 'I'm leaving. This is my last month here.'

There are tiny droplets on the window pane. The drizzle outside is barely visible. A feeble song from someone's system--a chartbuster. Here now and gone tomorrow. Then another popular song will capture the hearts and this one fades away. Nobody misses anything. Nobody misses anybody. And why do you expect to be missed?

'Are you looking for a new job?' The colleague in the next cubicle whispers, after making sure that Fayaz is out of hearing distance.

'Planning. Need to brush up a bit on basics. There's no more growth here.'

The guy who'd joined this company along with me, two years back, left for a multinational barely last week. We talked about him for a day and then forgot. Almost everyone around are pruning their feathers for a new flight.

'Don't be in a hurry,' says Archana, as I hand over the revised salary papers. 'Think before you decide to shift.'

Tejas is busy with his new toy-- a small baby elephant which squeaks if you squeeze it. He got scared the first time he heard the squeaky sound. Then slowly he's made friends with this new toy. He picks it up, examines it thoroughly and then puts it into his mouth before throwing it away.

'He's growing fast--more than the kids of his age,' A natural pride in her voice.'He wants to stand up and run around. Now he's learnt a new syllable---ooooo.'

Tejas looks up at her, then at me and cackles up. A whole life stretches before him--an adventure filled with perils and triumphs, learnings and mistakes. As he grows up, he'll be joining new nests, leaving behind the old ones, and building his own nests in the process. And that's part of his growth--shifting from nest to nest. You'll stagnate if you fear the adventure and stay inside your cocoon, inside your safety.

'Bring him new toys tomorrow.'

'Hmm,.'

Walking alone

My native village is a small picturesque place, nestled between a curving river on one side and the gigantic expanse of the Arabian sea on the other. It bakes in the summers and soaks wet in the fiery monsoons. The people are lazy, humourous, opinionated, contented, city-bound---like me. My childhood was, to a large part an anticipation of the one month every year, wherein we'd finish the annual exams, hop onto a dirty bus one hot april night at Bangalore bus-stand, and wake up the next morning smelling the fresh aroma of the salt-soaked air of Kumta.

For one month we'd forget all worries and lose ourselves in joyful abandon, pampered by granny and grandpa, swinging under the sapota tree, hurling stones at ripe mango fruits high up in the trees, building caves and canals and watching them get washed away by the approaching waves of the sea, sit by the silent river and listen to the never-ending rustle of the peapul leaves as birds returned home against darkening skies......sit around a fire where grandma prepared rice rotis, waiting to be dipped in hot, succulent prawn curry, listen to the local 'real' ghost-stories from uncle's friend and scream after waking up to nightmares, get up early and get dressed to attend the local fair, throw ripe bananas at the huge chariot of the Goddess, bring home a ripe jack-fruit and fight over who gets the most pieces, fill up a small tank with water drawn from a well, remove all clothes and jump into the tank and swim around until mid-noon.....

Of course, there were moments of pain and humiliation but they were obscured by a seemingly carefree time, filled with fun and frolick.

All of these came rushing into memory when a close relative from that village visited us last week, bringing with him delicacies, a simple dress for our tiny tot and an unspoken affection. And reminded me that it had been six years since I last visited his village. And told happily that his daughter had finished the tenth standard exams in flying colours. And long after he left, I suddenly realized that I hadn't sent any gift to his little daughter, whom I'd cradled in my arms when she was a child and who now has grown into a shy girl who makes her dad proud.

And when Archana reminded me last night, not to lose myself in my work and pursuits, not to lose my connections with relatives and friends, not to be stone-like.........

Mmmm.

Imagine this....

Your maid does all the household chores. She cleans your utensils, brooms and mops your floor, washes the heap of dirty clothes of your entire family-- she does this almost throughout the year--rain or shine, with no holidays, no annual leave, no sick leave. And all of this for a modest sum a month, much less than what you probably spend at Mcdonalds every weekend.

And one day, she tells you that she's four months pregnant. What's your immediate response? What's the first thing that comes to your mind?

Do you think--How will she be able to manage this work with a growing baby inside? How difficult could it be for her in the coming months, doing these chores? And she'll probably be back to work within months of delivery--can she handle it?

Or do you think-- God, how can I manage this burden when she stops coming after a few months? Will I find someone who's willing to work for a similar pay? And how many sick leaves will this lady take before she moves out? What to do on such days?

What's your first response? Not the rationalizations you provide later, not the second thougths that flood in. The first and foremost impression!!

What? Honestly.

If not me then who...If not now then when...?

Midnight.......The building next to my house is due for inauguration in another 3 days, so the final work is still going on, even at this hour. I browse through 'Radical simplicity' and pick up the above sentence, and begin applying it in my own context-- regarding my faltering meditations and unsure career growth. This book, which appeared damn boring and pedantic just yesterday, now looks wonderfully interesting--I was horribly out of mood yesterday. There are urgent lessons for me here. Maybe for others too.

Last week I rummaged through my dusty cupboards and spilled out all the books and dust that'd accumulated there for the past two years. Then I rearranged the books, divided them into those I've already read and will never touch again, those I've read once but will probably go through a few times more and those that I'm yet to open. Amidst all the jumble, I found a small bunch of sheets I'd scribbled nearly 7 years ago.

Those were the days of unbridled carefreeness and aimless living--and these notes reflected every bit of that mentality-- melancholic, slightly irresponsible and a tad worried too.

With my ears on the silence of the night, I glance at this paragraph from 20th sept 2000.

'Drizzle outside. The song from the radio mingles and loses itself in the whistle of the howling winds outside my window. A slight pain shooting up my spine. A distant rumbling of an approaching vehicle. Worried about tomorrow. An uncertain today. An eternal defeat.....

'There's a strangeness everywhere, wherever I look. Maybe all of this is an illusion! My attempts at creating fiction, my failures because of a gradual erosion of my personality, my pursuit of success, these rains, this moment, this night, a face that comes to memory over and over, a loss of innocence---what if all of this is an illusion? Then what is reality?'

That moment will probably never come again. It's a piece of eternity, momentarily glimpsed but remembered and recorded in a few sentences. And it has a very deep significance and importance, at least to one person on this earth---me. I wonder at all those other moments that were captured in such hurried scribbles--that were lost forever when I threw many of those sheets away...... Man!

Now.....

A great explosion awaits.
There are faint hints-- a clue here, an assurance there.
A mild fear that overwhelms at times.
But what shines through all of this is a tremendous hope for an extraordinary tomorrow.
I thought I was a worm, but no.
I thought I was a miserable fly but no.
What I am is beyond any thought.....

Life has fallen back to the same routine but now it's different. I follow the daily ritual--get up, rush to office, test code, try to understand more
than what I need to get the job done, get thrilled occasionally amidst getting anxious and bored, return home, play with the kid, discuss things with archana, watch tv, hit the bed..... Nothing seems to have changed. But still there's an undercurrent of a fresh outlook. A new confidence. New perspectives. The 'I'm different from what I was until now' attitude. A positive arrogance that's creeping up slowly!

In between, I manage some time for Meditations, for a quiet contemplation and browsing through a few books.

Purchased 'Tipping point' and 'Blink' on the roadside--for a throwaway price. Will get Gulzar's biography today evening. And waiting for 'The right to write' and 'Radical simplicity' from the couriers. When will I read all these? Starting today!

Found something simple yet unusual. All the kids in our family are comfortable with Dad, but not a single one with Mom. Even Tejas follows this trait. Dad picks him up and takes him for a round in the evening--he babbles, smiles, splutters or just watches everything around with great curiosity. Mom can't do the same with him. He grows restless within a minute if she holds him. Not that this bothers her. She's more than happy to be the strict one whom everybody fears or watches.

You can either do something or not do it. No other way. Looks stupid. It also implies that what you can do or can't, is largely dependent on your perception of yourself. If you think you can wake up early, meditate intensly, open up your faculties and enter samadhi, if you think you can leave your dreary job and become an entreprenuer or become financially independent, if you think you can sit down and write a fantastic story/novel, if you think you can learn how to stand in front of 1000 people and deliver a stunning speach, if you think you can make a list of the most fabulous places on earth and visit them all within the next five years, if you think you can discover your purpose and spend the rest of your life living that purpose instead of fantasizing about it....... You are right. You can do it all. And if you think you can't do these and other things? Or worse, you're too lethargic or occupied otherwise to even think of these possibilities...............

Look deep into the kid's eyes. He too does the same. No movement from either side for quite sometime. Then a faint hint of mischievous relaxedness on his face. Look down and a water spring arches into your shirt. A smile on his face.

Crawling through India.............!

I'm reminded of many similar journeys undertaken all these years. And with those journeys are entwined innumerable bitter-sweet memories. But maybe, this is the first time I'm traversing almost the entire length of India--South to North--by train. And all alone.

Evening platform. Lively. Noisy. A young couple, maybe newly-weds on a honeymoon trip. Their seats are far apart. The husband walks up to me and requests for an exchange of berth, so that he can be near his wife. I politely refuse--I can't afford to spend two days on this train, stuck up between noisy families. My seat is aloof and distant.

The train slowly chugs out of Bangalore. I pull out a book-- a compilation of literary essays, written with more life and lightheartedness than any best selling novel I've read. As I try to grasp a poet's dilemma and conflicts, my mind drifts. A recent exchange of emails with friends over a trivial matter--the bitterness still lingers on within.....Tejas is 6 months old now. I've missed nearly 3 months of his childhood. Maybe I won't send him away for such long durations until....until he's into his teens. Maybe!.....Mom's arm is healed now but she's sullen and detached. I'd asked Guruji about this, about how one suddenly loses interest in things after retirement, after old age sets in-- when a feeling of purposelessness dawns upon you....Fayaz is upset because I've taken a 10 day leave in the middle of an important project. Would I be relaxed in his position..... Moments escape into eternity and a poet watches them helplessly. From the womb of that helplessness, poetry takes birth....Janaki column. Who the hell is this Janaki?

'Are you alone or is there anyone travelling with you?'

She's an elderly lady travelling with her husband. You might've seen them anywhere, in any town, any neighbourhood. They're your typical next-door neighbours.

'I've a sore knee, my berth's up there, difficult to climb. Would you mind if we exchanged our berths?'

Refuse now, let me see. With a gesture of magnanimity and false smiles, I pick my bag and climb up, trying hard to subdue a grumble.

Nightfall. The compartment rocks gently. Two kids nearby chatter. An infant bellows at a distance. Most of the people in the compartment are lulled into a deep slumber.

Early morning. Glowing tree-tops. Forceful breeze from the open door. The train trods on a long bridge creating hollow echoes--the riverbed deep down has all but dried. Wasn't it that journey long back when you stood at the door, gathering courage to jump into the river below? What stopped you? How many times did you approach the door, ready to jump, holding back at the last moment? Looks funny....from here.

Two books keep me company. Osho defines Trust beautifully in his book on Intuition. 'If you accept that there are things beyond reason, beyond what your senses can perceive, then you are a believer. You have trust. If you refuse to accept the things beyond logic, you're a non-believer. You're closed!'

Atheism was and is fashionable. You're an intellectual, a man of scientific temper if you're an atheist. A rational man! Rubbish. You're plain stupid. Not allowing mystery, holed up inside your ego, you're a miserable idiot!

A short story I once wrote comes to mind--about a woman on a train journey who loses her purse and then pockets a dying oldman's money and begins to justify her actions. It was an amaeturish story but ambitious, with just two people, time-shifts, character build-ups, attempts at subtle nuances, changing view-points, compelling settings...Where would I be now if I'd stuck to writing and not decided to test code? A dozen published short stories, a couple of novels, booker-list---freedom and money. Or on the streets, depressed, lost in oneself. Or worse, stuckup somewhere in between. Or maybe at peace with oneself and ones art. I'd give anything to know about the road not taken.

North Karnataka. Maharashtra. The Sun bakes these parts though you don't feel it--the compartment is air-conditioned. Read somewhere--the climate defines your attitude, your behaviour. Sun-scorched, harsh climate breeds aggressive, arrogant mentality. Cold atmosphere makes you peace-loving. Maybe true, no idea. Islam originated in the sands. These parts are desert like; the people, harsh and rough.

I'm in the corridor, talking to the hot breeze of the afternoon. At a distance, I spot the guy with whom I'd refused to share my berth, reading a book on 'hacking'. I'm tempted to walk up to him and borrow the book for a while but he might just snap. People move through the corridor, chattering, laughing. Vendors stream in and out continously. Inside, some are dozing, a few reading, a few staring nowhere. A kid nearby plays chess with his grandpa. He's sharp--after a while he shouts, 'Mummy, check-mate!' If my sister had seen this, she'd first chide her son and then put him into a chess school once she got back to bangalore. No, archana won't do that, I hope!

The lady on my seat smiles.

'We're from Calcutta, now settled in Bangalore.'

'............'

'You said you're from Bangalore. How do you speak such fluent hindi?'

'Picked up a bit by watching hindi movies'

'By the way, what's your caste?'

How I love to tell her that I don't belong to any caste, or any religion. Watch her squirm. Out of politeness I mumble something.

She smiles uncomfortably. What would be her response if I'd told her that I was a brahmin? Or a Muslim? And then told her about the delicacies prepared out of beef?

Evening sets in. The nearby family is going on a North India trip. They discuss Agra, Taj, Hardwar...Baba Ramdev. The woman on my seat is also going there, to get medication for her knee from Ramdev's ashram. The next hour's talk is all about foodhabits--pancakes of millet and besan, fried fish from native villages. About daughters who went to Canada for higher studies and settled there. The atmosphere is richly family type. A bit comforting. A bit nauseaous.

The train halts at some station. An urchin lumbers in. He removes his shirt, cleans the floor with it and then extends a hand. A few drop coins. He's skinny and jovial. He wades to the other end of the compartment, gets up suddenly and comes back running and sprints out of the door. A policeman comes walking by, lathi in hand. What if he'd caught the lad and beaten him up in front of you? Would you've protested? Asked him not to do it? Face up to him? Recently someone caught on film a policeman thrashing an urchin and pocketing his money, in a busy place. Nobody protested.

Dinner. It's awful. No choice. Two weeks back, I was dining with Karthik and Guruji. 'Spirituality means wiping away all that you've accumulated until now and starting afresh,' Guruji said. 'An elderly person, who's finished all his responsibilities, who has learned and gathered so much over a life-time will find this difficult. For a young man, the spiritual journey could be easier.'

Munching the half-baked rice, remembering the sumptuous meal of that evening, I ponder over those words. Easy? Arduous? Takes a life-time to unlearn and begin ones journey into light-- afresh?..... Worth the challenge!

Midnight. Noises. Someone has forcefully occupied the adjacent berth. Soon the TC arrives. Negotiations and threats. The rightful occupant tells the TC: 'Look, I'm a goverment employee and I'm going to lodge a complaint against this fellow. And if you support him, I'll lodge one against you too.' After a while everything settles down.

Dawn...... Mathura. Reminds me of Jayanth's experiences here. The inhabitants consider themselves as the descendants of Lord Krishna and they emulate his qualities (stealing and promiscuity). Because the Lord stole butter in his childhood and courted 16000 women in his teens. The dungeon where the Lord was born 5000 years ago is now a temple. Just adjacent stands a mosque built 300 years ago by Aurangazeb and the site's now controversial--communally sensitive. Divine mischief. Sick people.

Agra..... Early morning. The landscape is bathed in a golden hue. The lady on my seat sits in a lotus posture and practices Ramdev's pranayam. In between, she gestures a hundred times about various things to her bored husband who's browsing yesterday's newspaper. Maybe it's her day of silence, but I have a hard time controlling myself from bursting out laughing!

A caterer stops by with a heavy bucket of bottled cold water. He's from Bihar and his family lives in Delhi.

The lady reads his badge carefully and decides to break her vow of silence.

'What's your name? What's written there...is it...Mum...'

'Mumtaz,' he says.

'How much do earn a day?'

'Depends. Commision system hai. 17%. If I sell goods worth Rs.100, I get 17. If I sell a 1000, I get 170'.

He's resting on a nearby seat. Half of the compartment is still asleep and the others, half-awake. A portly man and his son brush teeth near the tap on the platform. Sipping hot tea, watching the brightening surroundings, I listen to his exhausted words.

'How's the temperature in Delhi?'

'Very hot madam. Crosses 42 degrees.'

'Do you get free food here?'

'Yes, in the pantry. We get to eat something.'

'And you travel only in this train--bangalore to delhi and back.'

'Mmm. When this reaches delhi today, it starts back by evening towards bangalore. I'll be travelling again.'

I interrupt. 'Do you have an off on sundays?'

He chuckles. 'Saab, kya holiday? Have you seen a donkey? That's our life. Sometimes we take an off. But need to ask the manager. He may agree or may not.'

New Delhi. The train crawls into the station slowly. People get down without much of a farewell. They're busy finding coolies, ringing up waiting relatives. A few urchins outside on dirty tracks pick up used bottles and rummage through leftover food.

Boiling air. The station blisters with crowds. I have another train to catch in the evening before I reach Jammu by next dawn. It's a long way amidst pushing men and women before I stumble into the reservation counter.

Ticket's yet to be confirmed--my name's still on the waiting list, and the reservation chart will be pasted an hour before departure. I find my way into the upperclass waiting room. The hall's spacious but seems to house almost twice its capacity. People are sitting all over the place and many are standing, with their luggage suspended in space. I spot a vacant place on the floor and as I sit down, a man on the nearby seat taps my shoulder.

'That place's taken. The lady has gone to the washroom.'

'Fine, I'll vacate once she arrives.'

She arrives too soon with a bewildered look. I get up, make way and she squats hurriedly.

A comfortable corner which many of those standing on one leg have missed. I jump, swerve, trudge, hop and reach the corner,dump my luggage and sit on the cool marble floor. This must be heaven!

Delhi is hot and humid. But there's a dust storm and lashing rains by evening--adding all the more to the chaos at the station. A huge crowd begins to gather at the reservation chart. People jump on top of one another and nearly tear apart the chart, desperate to find their seats confirmed. When I'm beginning to think of leaving the station, brave the heavy rains to the nearby bus-terminus and hop onto a bus--I spot my name in the confirmed ticket list!

Shalimar express. Reminds me of the novel-movie 'Shaalimar', by Manohar Malgaonkar. And Zeenat Aman. The epitome of beauty and lust.

Another noisy family. And an old man beside me, from hyderabad, visiting the hill-shrine, Vaishnodevi. Outside on the platform, a man hobbles on one leg. How did he lose his leg? Road accident? Mine blast? Maybe he was in the army? Or got into an altercation with the local toughguys. Two sadhus in orange robes walk briskly, silently. I'm one of them, I know.

I rest back in releif as the train leaves New-delhi, which is now washed clean by the sudden evening shower. But soon the old man next to me goes to another seat and a woman, maybe his daughter-in-law, arrives. And soon enough, there's a plump man in his mid 30s, standing nearby.

'Your seat is also alloted to me,' he grins. 'We may have to share the berth'.

Three of us on a mid-sized seat. The lady's not happy with this plump guy. He's a don't-care brutish-mannered jovial person. And she's reserved and seems to think that this fellow's making passes at her. As I rush through the final pages of Osho's book, I try to enjoy their strange chemistry and non-verbal duel--all the while worrying about having to sit the whole night, without a blanket. It's getting colder.

'We'll talk to the TC,' I suggest. 'Maybe he can arrange an extra berth and we'll get separate bedding.'

'I'll talk to him,' the plump guy says, munching a chocolate bar. The lady plays a stupid game on her mobile and every 15 seconds, the mobile sings a 'game-over' tune.

The man gets up, vanishes and returns after a while. The noisy family is from Maharashtra--typically upper middle-class--happy and josh. One of them farts and they begin to speculate and guess who did it, and there's an uproar of laughter. It's a nasty fart! I feel like getting out and stand in the corridor for 15 minutes until the odour subsides. But if I leave now, they might just guess that I'm the culprit.

Soon enough the TC arrives. The Plumpy collects his baggage. The lady is enormously relieved. I ask him. 'Got a berth?'

'Kya yaar! This is India. Throw money and you can get this train itself. What to say about a berth!'

I call up Archana. Talk a bit. Call up Mom. Tell her about my whereabouts. Wait for dinner to arrive. Feeling sleepy.

The old man comes back to his seat and the lady returns to where she came from. This guy begins to bother the TC and the TC is on the verge of losing his patience. The old man says, 'My nephew's in the second class compartment and there are four army men sitting along with him on his seat. Can't you do something about it?'

'What can I do?' the TC explodes. 'They're armymen!'

We pierce through a never ending dark space. A million stars doze far above. The silence of this landscape is tremendously overpowering inspite of the deafening whistle of the train. There's a slow glow at the horizon.

Jammu! Waiting at the car-park for Archana, who said half an hour ago that she'd be there in 10 minutes. A lazy morning. There's a heavy presence of the army here. Just a few hundred miles across lies Kashmir. And then Pakistan. Life, death and dignity have different meanings and newer shades over there.

She arrives. Gets out of the car with the little angel! He looks different. Completely! I hug him and he slaps me. Chubby cheeks. Pure eyes. 'You've become thin,' she complains. And breaks into a broad smile. He blinks at the new arrival.........

The future is here....

You pick up a book, shuffle the pages--end to end, close it and bingo! you can remember everything that you've read, understand it and grasp
the essence of the knowledge. How's that! You think that's possible?

Okay, how'bout this? You've a flood of new ideas. Wonderful ideas about everything--right from how to capture and utilize Sun's energy--the way plants do, how to reorganize your work-schedule so that you save 2 hours everyday, how to rearrange the parking space outside your shop so that you can accomodate six more cars comfortably. Or how to use the right manure that can revitalize a barren piece of land. And you have an amazing gift of explaining this to anyone in simple terms and inspire them. These ideas keep popping into your mind continuosly, so fast that you can hardly contain your excitement--you're once again a small child who has just discovered how to make a small cave out of sand on the beach, and keep the roof from collapsing. What would you give to get to that state of being?

You read a book on learning portuguese, and in twenty minutes flat, you can speak the language fluently, as if you've been in portugal all your life. You have an insatiable thirst for knowledge, in diverse fields of science, technology, arts--and you can grasp the concepts very fast. You look at problems from various angles and find instant solutions. You can move objects with your mind, by connecting to the energy field of those objects. How would that be?

Sounds crazy and damn scary! Looks good on a movie. Yeah it's a movie, but at the same time it hints at future possibilities that await us. 'Phenomenon' is a fantastic movie which appears farfetched or possible--depending on how open your mind is. John travolta plays an everyday small town man who discovers his amazing potential one night, when a mysterious light from the sky knocks him unconsious. He gets up and walks back to the bar where his friends are still partying and asks 'Did anyone see that light?' Nobody has. The town's doctor, who's an expert chess player has a board spread out in front of him. Travolta, who's as good in chess as a kindergarten kid is in nuclear physics, walks around explaining to his friends how the light hit him in the face and in between, makes two moves on the chess board. It's a check mate! In no time, his brain has grasped and excelled in Chess!

Later in the movie, we have scientists explaining the medical reasons for this--but here too, they say that his brain is getting stimulated like no other man's and new cells are opening up. How travolta grapples with his new found powers and how he lives intensly, albeit for a short period forms the rest of this beautiful movie.

For me, this represents the future. We are advancing into a new age wherein science and technology are making amazing strides like never before. But what's hidden and yet to be acknowledged is the advancement of the spiritual sciences. You speak openly and it becomes mumbo-jumbo new age babble--stress relief, deep breath, auras etc. Yet we had Osho who could finish two-three books a day and had grasped nearly 75000 books on various subjects over a period of two years. Swami Vivekananda had similar capabilities and we have recorded accounts of Psychokinesis by Uri gellar. These look like exceptional cases but maybe in days to come, this could become the norm.

What's required, I feel, is a thirst for this possibility, a quest in that direction. How do we as normal humans strive for this possibility--apart from looking at the night sky, expecting to be knocked down by mysterious lights?

Any ideas? Or is it time to wake up and shut the alarm?

A Thought....

A delightful short story by Kurt vonnegut. I'd read this years ago in an anthology and thanks to India uncut, I get to relish it, amidst a searing headache, boredom and in between finding never ending bugs in a software application.

A cursory visit to Nick's place leads me to 'Dilbert's blog' with plenty of good posts. And this one's the first post I read(the comments are more entertaining).

Gyan on a rainy Evening. Amidst continuos channel-hopping, the remote stops for a few moments at a particular programme -- a nursery rhyme in which a mother sparrow advises its young one not to play with a young crow. The baby-sparrow asks why and the mother says that if goes out to play with the crows, he too will become black and ugly like them.

The young sparrow replies--"In that case, I must go out with him because there's a fair chance that by playing with me, he'll become white and soft, just like me."

I'm not the baby sparrow yet. I can't make anyone white but I should try not to get eclipsed by the darkness of others. It takes a master to accomodate others and allow his own influence to remove their negativities. I'm not a master, not even in my dreams.

The book I'm browsing through says that a wise man knows how to keep away people who cause nothing but mental irritation. And everything I've learnt until now tells me that your true mettle is tested in how you accomodate unfavourable people, how well you accept the shortcomings of others and allow them to grow instead of keeping them away. What's the meeting point of these two diverse approaches?

I think these two aren't opposites, but different stages in your journey. From an ordinary person who's affected by others, you grow into a wise man who knows how to keep these others away. Then you become a master who can accomodate everyone--saint or sinner-- and like an alchemist, transform them by awakening the true spirit lying dormant within.

Mastery is far away. My next destination should be wisdom--avoiding mental irritation. And the irritation these days is sometimes more from within than from without.

People I don't know

Uday is the guy behind the food counter of the small restaurant where I'm gobbling up a Masala dosa. It's late evening and not the time to eat anything serious, if you want to have a good dinner. But I'm unusually hungry today. The dosa is delicious.

'I'm getting married this month', Uday says. He's gushing. 'The girl is from my native. From my community. Marriage's on this month end, on 28th. I'll get you a card if you come here tomorrow by this time'.

I congratulate him. He's an acquaintance from 5 years, and we used to play cricket on some sundays. He's kept aside half a cup of coffee for me--of course, for free. I deny it but he insists. We chat for a while. I wish him again before leaving.

Mom's explaining about the different savings and fixed deposits available at the local bank. The power's gone and the semi-dark atmosphere is endearing. Mom had an accident two months back. Her elbow cracked a bit and the doctors had to perform a minor surgery before setting it right. She's recovered now but has difficulty in freely using her injured arm.

'How's it now?'

' Fine, although I feel a bit of discomfort occasionally. By the way, when are you leaving for Jammu?'

' First week of May.'

We discuss about investments and other money matters. A few of my friends have enrolled their kids to nursery and pre-nursery schools, and all talk I hear nowadays is about the exhorbitant donations and hefty fees these schools demand.

'Save money, if not for anything, atleast for your son's schooling.'

'Yeah.'

'Do you talk to Archana daily?'

'Yes, mom.'

'How's your son? Does he smile a lot? Does he laugh?'

'Mmm. She says he's quite active....'

India's early exit from the worldcup has meant that Mom gets to sleep soon--or else, she'd stay awake late into midnight until the last ball is bowled, even if it's a losing match for india. Frequent powercuts means she can't watch her favourite soaps on tv.

"Are you planning to shift?' she sounds apprehensive. 'I hear, that friend of yours has rented a house near your spiritual center. Do you have similar plans."

'No. We have no such plans. I'm fine here.'

'Don't shift,' She says. 'Such a big house, this one. Why do you want to go anywhere else?'

I'm speaking to that friend. He's a regular reader of my blog, and sometimes I've to tell him that a particular post was Not written about him.

'Did you read Coelho's 'Like a flowing river'?'

No, I haven't.

'It's similar to your blog. He's written the events of his day to day life and made a book. When I read it, I feel you too can make a book out of your blog.'

'...........'

'I read your post 'Old boy'. It's good.'

'...........'

'Any contacts with old boy?'

'No. No news about him'.

'Are you people treating me the way you treat oldboy? I mean... I don't see the same behaviour in others nowadays. They behave as if I've done a terrible mistake.'

I explain. " You are not like oldboy. His case is different. As far as you're concerned, maybe it's your feeling that people ignore you or disrespect you. I don't think anyone has the time or inclination to deliberately disrespect others. We all are busy with our own lives, our own problems and situations....."

'Still, I see others ignoring me. I would like to know my mistakes so that I can correct myself.'

I know my mistakes and shortcomings. Maybe I don't need others to tell me where I've gone wrong or what mistake I've been committing.

The sky's getting overcast. We may have good rains tonight--the first rains of this summer.

"'Go home soon, before the rain catches you," I say as he starts his bike.

Another day

'Why are you doing this?'

'Because I want to. I love to do it. This is my passion, my life...'

'Really!'

'.............'

I think about the conversation for long. It's there on my mind on the long drive back home.

Evening home. Dad looks sullen. 'Poornachandra tejasvi is no more,'he says.'He passed away today at noon'.

Tejasvi is one of the greatest writers of modern kannada literature. He's 68. Although he'd penned down just a handful of novels and shortstories, they were powerfully concentrated and rich in content. A brilliant thinker and a rebel, he'd lived for the most part, in a remote hamlet, cultivating coffee, fishing in the streams, walking the untamed forests with a camera and his beloved dog, soaking up the richness of nature and the people who were very much a part of that nature, and then creating soulful prose out of the essence of this experience.

'Do you have any of his novels?' Dad asks. Yeah, I do have. More than that I want to tell dad that I'll be sharing a bit of the household expenses. But maybe this isn't the occasion. I'll tell him tomorrow.

My room. It's hot and humid. Fan's on. A quick shower. Sounds of the sea emanating from Moksha on Worldspace. Darkness. Soothing. I'm tired. Fall on the bed. Open your eyes after a while. It's already early morning.

Saturday. Day of rest. A strange kind of laziness. Of inertia. I watch time rush by-- in a moment it's late evening. A few errands get done. A bit of bloghopping. Watch TV. Sit and think about future plans. About fixing a few things. About cleaning the room--dusting every nook and corner.

There's a missed call. An unknown number. Although I don't get inquisitive I call up. Twice. No reply. Then a message from the same number. 'Sorry, I was trying to call up a friend.' I write back,' It's fine. I thought it was a friend'. I delete the messages. Then the same person messages back--'I was playing a game. Happy easter.' Then another message. 'Can I forward messages to you? I'm a student and I was just feeling bored.' And one more. I ring up, ready to blast. No reply. Half an hour later the phone rings. A girlish voice, or maybe a girl. 'Sorry for disturbing. Happy easter.'

Call up archana.

'How's the kid?'

'He's staring at me as I speak to you. Laughs a lot. Tries to turn and roll over......Do you miss him?'

'Yeah.'

'Just a few weeks more.'

Late night. A million stars up there. Power's gone. Darkness everywhere stretching upto the horizons. Cool breeze. As I gaze up, there's a sudden feeling of loneliness. A sort of helplessness, depression, lack of direction, of purpose. Something which I'd feel often, years ago when I'd loiter on the terrace at night. But why now? When everything seems to be settled and on track? I probe it hard. Nope.

'Why are you bored?'

'Don't know. Maybe because I have a lot of time on hand and nothing much to do. ......Tell me, don't you feel bored at all?'

'It's a luxury I can't afford. I'm on the opposite side. Lots to do. Not much time.'

'............'

'............'

'You look confused. Is everything ok?'

'Yeah. Everything's ok. Nothing to worry.'