Struck by life

Beginning at the end

2010-06-03T09:00:00.000-07:00

“Diabolic. Servitude. Gratitude. Attitude. What are these terms? What are they referring to? “ These were the words the blocked writer started to type on his old typewriter in an effort to kick start his imagination. He took a long drag from his pack of Benson & Hedges as pondered the sources of these words.

Words do not pop into your head at random. Words are thrown into your mind from the depths of your sub conscious. “Where did these words come from?”

The writer leaned back in his chair and stubbed out his cigarette in his overflowing ashtray. He lifted his arms over his head and folded them under his head. He put his feet up on the edge of the table. He was now completely relaxed in a position that most would find terribly uncomfortable. But that was the story of this man’s life. He was comfortable in positions most wouldn’t.

He took a breath and thought about the word diabolic. Where did that come from? Was it from the movie by the same name that had a very hot leading lady whose name he had now forgotten? Was it an aspect of his personality that tried to run away from? Did he aspire to be diabolical? Would his life have been better had he chosen to be diabolical?

He dismissed these thoughts. He had made his choices. He was now living with them. Being diabolical would have filled him with hatred and torn him apart from within. No he was better off now. He had made the right choices.

Servitude and gratitude. These words had affected his life a great deal more. His schooling taught him servitude and life had taught him gratitude. He had to unlearn servitude. He had to learn to be grateful for the right things. Servitude and gratitude to humans were in vain. These he had learnt the hard way. It had taken a long time but now he was no longer serving other humans or being grateful to them.

While his servitude to humans may have ended, he now served his craft which was far more demanding than any human. His craft gave him pride and dignity in return for his servitude while humans took these away. His craft gave him humility and the right attitude to life.

These thoughts brought him peace. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He dreamed of writing the novel that would define the literary style of the twenty first century. He dreamt that he was speaking in front of an audience of thousands after having won a prestigious award. In his dream he heard the deafening applause that rose to a crescendo. People were on their feet as he descended from the stage and walked towards the exit.

The door opened in front of him. A white light shone and he walked towards it.

Dog day afternoon

2010-06-03T08:53:00.000-07:00

Dog day afternoon

The searing heat was burning my skin. The humidity was in the high eighties. I was doing my usual rounds in T Nagar on Venkatnarayana Road near natesan park. I shared a few biscuits with some buddies at the tea stall on the corner and decided to cool my heels in the shade of some trees in the park. I walked around looking for a place to rest. Apparently others had the same idea and all the good spots were taken. I walked around and saw an old man sitting by himself on a bench. He smelt funny. His hair was matted and his clothes were in tatters. He looked at me and smiled instantly revealing a few missing front teeth. The yellow of his teeth presented a stark contrast to his dark grimy skin. I hesitated. I wanted to move on but the heat was getting the better of me and i had to get some rest. I smiled at him and walked towards the bench.

“God!” This man had a very distinctly powerful smell. It was over powering. I just held my breath and tried to sleep. Just as I made myself comfortable, the man made a move to touch me. From the corner of my eye, I saw him stretch his hand out towards me. I jumped up instantly and walked away from the bench. “What was that guy trying to do? This place is full of weirdos.”

Resuming my search for another spot to catch forty winks, i walked around the park again. “Aha!” A good spot had just been vacated. I ran quickly to the place and made myself comfortable. “Whew! Finally I can relax.”

The sea breeze had just set in and the gusty afternoon wind lulled me into sleep. I dozed off.

“Mmmmm! That is a pleasant smell.” I opened my eyes to locate the source of this divine fragrance. As I swivelled my head around I saw her. I could not see her face. She had just walked past me and her fragrance trailed her. I was captivated by this smell. “How she walked!”

She walked tall, confident with a hint of haughtiness. She was well groomed. She was one of those uptown girls. “What was she doing in Natesan park? Was she lost?”

Just then, she turned around and her big brown eyes caught mine. She stopped in her tracks. She held my eyes for what seemed like an eternity. I fell in love instantly. She moved her head as if to suggest that I should walk with her. She said “woof” in a tone that could only mean one thing. I wanted to howl in pleasure but decided to play it cool. I replied “woof” and trotted off after. It was a dog day afternoon after all.

Chair

2010-05-16T09:55:00.000-07:00

A four legged piece of furniture meant to take the weight of your body and provide it much needed rest and support. A chair is a work of art. A good chair definitely is a work of art. Finding a good one these days is next to impossible. A good chair must necessarily fit the contours of your body. The mass produced ones these days just do not. It is a gross attempt at a one-size-fits-all that has gone miserably wrong.
A good chair must be made of wood. Plastic chairs, while cheap, light and easy to move around just do not appeal to my aesthetic sensibilities. Not only do they look ugly, but also you can’t lean back on just the hind legs without slipping and breaking your neck. They are good for concerts and plays, weddings and other public gatherings, provided they are all the same colour. I can’t imagine having plastic chairs as furniture in my house. Plastic chairs used in the living room shows a distinct lack of taste and class.
I had visited the house of a high net worth individual for an ethnographic project. This man started his life as an electrician. After several years of toiling as an electrician, he set up a company doing electrical writing for IT parks and offices. He became very wealthy very soon. I went to his house to interview him. There were plastic chairs in the living room. I thought to myself, “This man has a lot of money but has poor taste. No amount of money will help him acquire good taste. What is the point of having a lot of money if you do not have good taste.”
A good chair must be level. The most annoying chairs are the ones that are not level. The legs are not aligned and the chair is unstable. A stable chair gives you a feeling of secure comfort. With one leg shorter than the others, a rickety chair can shake the confidence out of a man.
Picture this. A fresh wannabe corporate hi-flier attends an interview. He enters confidently and sets himself down on a chair with one short leg. The chair rocks every time he shifts his weight. His mind starts focussing on the chair. He starts to wonder if the chair is going to give way. He starts to think of his posture and his body language. He tries to use his legs to stabilise the chair. He sits at the edge of the seat to prevent the rocking. While his mind is now thinking about the chair and his posture, he has failed to grasp the import of the question he has been asked. He says awkwardly, “Could you repeat the question?” By now a bead of sweat has broken on his fore head, is trickling its way down the side of his face. He wants to reach for the hand kerchief in his trouser pocket. To do this, he must lean back against the chair to reach into his trousers. As he does this, the chair rocks back and he loses his balance along with his composure. He fumbles in his pocket for the kerchief. He yanks it out of his pocket and dabs the sweat bead when he hears the words “Are you listening? What do you think” Our otherwise articulate candidate has not paid any attention to the interviewers and mumbles “ummm! errr!”. He then hears the words “It was very nice talking to you. We will get back to you soon.” He exits the room swearing “Damn that chair!”
I have suffered bad chairs all my life. The worst was in the seventh standard. Our class was given chairs with built-in writing tables. These chairs were designed for right handed individuals. I went through an entire year sitting in an awkward twisted position just because some idiot carpenter assumed that every individual was born right handed.
Chairs also tell you where you are in the corporate hierarchy. I noticed this when the office where I worked was renovated and we were assigned new chairs. The administrative staff and secretary pool were assigned chairs with a hard back and cushioned sear. These chairs did not have arm rests. The support staff was worse off. They received only cushioned stools. I was a junior executive. Hence I was entitled to a chair with cushioned seat and back rest. The chair had wheels and arm rests. You could only sit with a straight back on this chair. This chair did not support the lower back. It was as if the management was telling us that the chairs were there to help us work and not relax. My boss and all those senior executives sitting in glass cabins received chairs upholstered in red. The chair was ergonomically designed to support all the vertebrae. The chair reclined to an almost supine position. It was the company’s way of rewarding deceit, delegation, sucking up, back stabbing, plagiarism and abdication. The company was telling us to work our ass off so that we may one day be able to enjoy the comfort of an ergonomically designed chair. One of the perks of promotion was a more comfortable chair. It is surprising that many intelligent, educated individuals willingly submit to this subtle discrimination and humiliation. Corporate cubicle farms are no better than factories in during the industrial revolution in their treatment of employees. The chair symbolises this appalling fact. I do not wish to end my working life thinking “I wish I had a better chair”
Chairs inside airplanes are another example of class discrimination. Chairs in first class are wider, have more leg room and recline to almost 180 degrees. Those of us travelling in economy are squeezed into seats that barely accommodate your derriere with back rests that recline just enough to remind you that you are not special. I prefer flying low cost airlines. At least there is no discrimination. No one on the plane gets reclining seats or adequate leg room. We are all equally forced into 18 square inches of space. The funny thing about airline service questionnaires is that they never have any questions about the comfort of the chairs. I still do not understand why human beings are denied basic comfort in the pursuit of profits. The uncomfortable chairs inside airplanes fly in the face of their claims of unmatched customer friendliness.

random words

2010-01-15T20:51:00.000-08:00

Chair arm cram gin charm arming main can man rim marching. Now dawn nod wow dad wand down drawn draw wad ward won. Nag will long lion nil won now owl ill allow. Lines giggle gig legs single sin egg lens. Drew weed wired dew veered wide drive rid dire. Work ark stray wade mare tie ripe toy up in to may mat rat art tar wand fawn rim rope pore sport storm most start way say sway pay poll lick kill fill done doom mood fawn new wed seen does sand dunes. Grip pipe grape shape map paw. Saw ware sewer wed dog mode median man. Lay endear gender personal agenda was continue always. Power may be that writing will not chapter of love. Reading stories why over that may become shit.
Else stick which river crime should revoke spare life. Demand ended mend. Work shop tremble steel. Last business to achieve these goals happen. Wiring wing winning win wring wire reign rein wine green winner inner ring gin rig wig grin. Art part trap are true ape apt pure repeat taper rape par rap pat tap apart pate tar rat.
Exit excite get next tie exciting cent. Lab slab bad ideals bide sale sad sable said sailed bailed led basil die. Got tub dung tong but in ion bond bind bound gin. Dime dome did die mid. Perverts serve. God rod nod rid did dip dig rind ring. Dung ant din aunt gaunt daunting. Plan plain plaits plants giants pliant. Ion man main mountain mount. Pipe pip pits pit pose site. Ski den skid side skin.
Grade rave ever gear grave dear read drag age gave. Ask pack page cake gap cage age packages. Self full sell fully sully fuel use. Said sad mile mild elm smile maid mad dame idle ail mislaid dismal mail mailed dial dais sail lime. Poly lip politely.
Zest incest zinc inset set cent ice sent scent. Verbal bail able bale brave. Bum ramble rumble bell beam mare. Nose send fend doe sod. Late mate mat tea eat ate lame male salt salute same amulet. Cape escapist cap cast past pass pice cases.
Tree pint expire peer exit rin nit.

Today

2008-08-24T08:45:00.000-07:00

Started the day running 20 kms. I struggled through the distance. I told myself that I should take it easy the first half and push myself in the second half. I guess I shuold not do any such thing. I should just find my rhythm and go for it. While I finished the run today, I am not happy with the number of walking breaks I took. Frankly i know i am capable of much better but what happens to my confidence. My confidence in myself is not absolute, it seems relative to the others in the group. How does one develop will power and mental strength?

I have to evaluate my life and my goals. I am 31 years old. I have recently come into possession of my own apartment. I want to make more money just like everyone else. Should i try something new?

I have a good thing going now. I guess I should just work on doing it better. what do i want to do. I want to write and stage some plays. I have some ideas, i do not know why i just do not get on with it. It is frustrating. What am i waiting for? i do not know. I guess I will know only when i try.

I want to be fit. I want to have a fit body but my paunch is a big let down. I do not look the way i want to. How do i reduce my paunch. More exercise better diet. More self control. I eat when i am bored. I guess i should try and avoid boredom.

I want to save money but the waiting is killing and the process to long. Why can i not just make a lot of money in like in a lottery? It is a question of faith i guess.

I guess i am not clear about the things i want. Let me try and aput them down on paper. I will do that now.

People bother me. They are not around when i need them. Maybe i am not around when they need me. Why do i not reach out? Does that make me weak? The people I expect to respond do not when i do reach out. Anyway this is just the rambling of a bored mind. Think i shall go to bed now.

Maybe i want too many things. I cannot prioritise my wants. Hmm maybe there lies the problem

Apartment

2008-01-03T08:54:00.001-08:00

I had a fairly long list of things to do and i managed pretty well. I am unable to move forward on my apartment. I have brought myself in to this position by bringing in two people who seem to have vested interests in this project. I find it hard to trust both. One, who claims to be my friend, seems more interested in making money out of me. The other, i do not know what this person wants. I just need to remove myself from the shackle of these two and move forward to completing this project on my own.

Both of them seem to have very definite ideas on how i should live. I do not agree with either of them.

All i want is for someone to execute the interiors of my house to my expectations. The way i want it done. Instead I have people trying to add value by thinking. I am therefore an unwilling victim of their constipated thinking. People give their suggestions like they know something. They possibly think their suggestions are actually welcome. To hell with these people.

I guess I just have to take charge of the situation. I am not the kind who can soft peddle, therefore i must be prepared for some emotional outbursts. I should also be prepared for some social repercussions. If that is what it takes to live the way I want, so be it.

Thought for the day

2008-01-02T08:16:00.000-08:00

"There is danger there - a very real danger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual, the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives. The spiritual would not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survival of the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become?" - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in the words of Sherlock Holmes.

1000 words a day

2008-01-02T07:17:00.000-08:00

Ray Bradbury said that if you wirte 1000 words day, every day then you can become a writer. Today i shall begin.

Sean Connery in the movie Finding forrester said, "write first, think later". I shall try to do the same.

One more attempt at all the jotting down all the random thoughts that run through my head.

Played a game of scrabble online and lost. Am in the process of losing another one. It is just a game. So what. Perhaps my vocabulary of six and seven letter words is limited. Need to build that up. If you read my blog, you will find hardly any six and seven letter words. I need to improve my vocabulary of words with no vowels.

Why am I writing like this? I think that i am wiriting to an audience. There is a part of me that is conscious of the fact that people do read this blog. So am i being entirely honest? Is this going to keep me from being honest? Should I just go back to writing in my diary and not sharing my thoughts. OR should i filter these thoughts?

Perhaps I should just pick a noun and write about it as suggested by Ray Bradbury. Let me start with the noun "Friend". Let us see what the dictionary has to say about this word. Hang on. I've got to get my oxford dictionary. There is no other that is worth looking up.

Friend (n). 1. a person that one likes and knows well. 2. a familiar or helpful thing. 3 a person who supports a particular cause or organisation

Someone once told me this, " Some people maybe friendly but they may not be your friend. Some people maybe unfriendly but they may be your friend"

I guess friendship is very important to one's well being. Of the five books that comprise the panchatantra, two are dedicated to friends. The first book which is the largest is called "the loss of friends". This book has 34 stories. The second a smaller book is called the "winning of friends" has 10 stories. what does this tell you? There are more ways to lose friends than to win them? I don't know.

The definition of a friend does not have the word "loyal" or the concept of loyatly attached to it. Let us take definition 2 of the word friend, 'a familiar or helpful thing'. It is implicit that if a thing or person ceases to be helpful, he/she is no longer a friend.

I cannot agree with the first definition of friend 'a person that one likes and knows well'. We like someone because we do not know them well enough. When you know someone well enough then a choice is made to like them inspite of their short comings. There are times, more often than not, when you dislike someone after you get to know them. Then do they stop being friends? What do you do if you do not want to be friends with someone? That is easy enough. Just stop talking to them.

What happens when you think that someone is your friend but they do not think the same? What do you do when people get friendly with you just to use you? I do not know who my friends are. What can you expect from friends? Can you expect anything at all?

One can expect gifts from friends. This gift and act if gifting is an expression of this friendship. Your friends gift you things that they think you want or need. Most often they get it wrong. At least i do. And the moment of truth is when the recipient of the gift opens the gift and tries to conceal their disappointment or fake happiness.

Can I expect a friend to make sacrifices for me? Am i a good friend if I expect my friend to make a sacrifice?

I expect a friend to give me time when i need it. Is this a realistic expectation?

I expect a friend to maintain confidences and not use information given in confidence to mock me or hurt me. This has never happened.

Can i expect a friend to not be friends with those i am not friends? fat chance!

What I did today

2007-12-20T09:48:00.000-08:00

Woke up late. I listened to music till midnight yesterday and then started chanting. I don't know when i actually went to sleep. I woke up at 10 minutes to seven. Late. I had to be at work at 8:45. I intended to leave early and get there on time. My purpose was defeated when i sat in front of the Television. It is a time stealer. I am addicted to Sony Pix. Even when there is nothing interesting on tv, i wait hoping that the next program or the next song might be better. IT is the bane of my existence. I do not intend having a tv in my apartment. Let us see. hmmm.

I got to the office 15 minutes late. My colleagues were waiting for me. I felt like shit. Not that i know how shit feels. Lets us just say, that i felt bad. I shall try to be on time tomorrow.

My task for that morning was to meet, photograph and capture on video a man who owns a sweet shop. We were greeted at the gate by a very simple man in a simple trousers and a shirt. Style is not a word in his vocabulary or his wardrobe. He led us to the kitchen where the sweets are made. He led us up a path. The floor was wet, grimy and slippery. I don't know if it was from the rain last night but my first thought was, "how can they cook anything in this place?"

We passed two giant grinders. There was a man in a dhoti and a vest emptying the contents of one of the grinders. He looked dirty. Maybe he was just dark skinned. Maybe it was just the place. There was soot on the walls and the vessels were blackend with years of use behind them.

We walked into the kicthen. It was grimy and sticky. The men who worked there didn't look at all clean. Maybe they were clean but their appearance and attire did not give that impression. For one, i think people working in kitchens should not have any hair or pock marked faces. There was one guy with a large bulbous nose who deserves a facial especially to get rid of all those blackheads on his nose.

Anyways, there were three men concentrating on a red, semi-solid, slippery, aromatic concoction that was their speciality - Tirunelveli wheat halwa. It had to be stirred constantly to reach the right consistency. It required three men taking turns to keep stirring. We shot this and i was ready to leave.

We were led to another kitchen on the first floor. We were informed that the kitchen we saw first was the kitchen that has been in use for the last forty years. The kitchen in the first floor was brightly lit. The floor was dry. The tables were stainless steel and clean. There was no soot on the walls. The people working upstairs seemed cleaner. Is it because of the surrounding? The first floor was used for making north indian sweets.

Is this reflection of society. South indian sweet - grimy, old, unclean and unattractive. North indian sweet - new, clean and attractive.

This is for another bitch!!!

2007-09-18T20:41:00.000-07:00

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.
To hear the immense night, more immense without her.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me. That's all.

My soul is lost without her.
As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me. - Excerpt from a Pablo Neruda Poem

Bull shit. This is not how i feel. Well sometimes...when i am lonely. But there will be others...just like her. Get on with it.

Random thoughts in a love letter

2007-09-03T06:30:00.000-07:00

Dear XXXX,

It is 2100 hrs on a Sunday evening. I have finished preparing my job list for tomorrow. My mom is watching some tamil channel and I am here listening to my thoughts and the Goo Goo Dolls.

I am just writing what ever comes to my head. These are the random notes of a wandering mind. This document is the canvas of an unabashed dreamer. This dreamer is looking for someone to shape his dreams – maybe a potter in Goa. Maybe.

I have for long nurtured the idea of scripting a sitcom based on my life. In fact I think that my entire life is full of raw material for a mega sitcom. I have recognized this and I should do something about it before somebody discovers this goldmine and gets a copyright on my life. It is possible with the WTO and its TRIPS. There you go, another scenario for a sitcom. A multi-national production house gets a copyright on my life and I cannot speak about my life for it will be a violation of copyright. In such a situation, I will not be permitted to write this letter. OH my god! I think some hacker working for David Kelley is bugging my computer as I type.

Anyways if it is meant to happen, it will. I cannot stop it. Meanwhile I shall continue to let my mind wander and my fingers punch relentlessly on this hapless keyboard. I had better keep this keyboard safe for it knows more about the workings of my mind than anyone alive. I feel sorry for it and I must apologize someday to it for abusing it. Anyways this keyboard is very loyal – it responds to a light touch anytime of night or day. I cannot say the same about the mouse. It does not respond as well and I keep getting the left and right mouse button mixed up. The things are designed for right-handed people (how common!) while I am left-handed. So, the right mouse is actually on the left for me and invariably the wrong menu pops up when I use the mouse. That should explain my fondness for the keyboard.

Gosh! I didn’t realize that I felt so strongly about the keyboard. I can’t imagine what I would write about you if I let my heart dictate to the keyboard without periodic incursions of rationality from the mind.

How much can I write about nothing without saying something? It is impossible. When you write about nothing you are still writing about something, even if that something is nothing.

I feel like Woody Allen for writing something like that. Have you read his play “God!”? If you haven’t, you should.

Getting back to my sitcom! (Finally! I should start training my mind. It doesn’t listen to me. My mind has a mind and life of its own.)

Getting back to my sitcom again. I have identified several chunks of my life that will fit very well into the sitcom mode. These are as follows:

My quest for love in my life. That’s is mega sitcom in itself. I am searching for a title.But all the good ones are taken.
My career in advertising and publishing
My tryst with acting and fame
Sports and the story of a 5’5”tall high jumper

I shall start with episode one soon. Now I am off to meet with some childhood friends. Childhood friends are the best. They know your every quirk, mood and intention. They are the only kinds that will tolerate me. So I had better keep them in good humour. I can hear them honking outside my door. Got to go.

Will write you soon

Love

Vidyuth

September 28, 2003

Psycho obessessed me!!!- September 22, 2003

2007-09-03T06:25:00.000-07:00

Dear XXXXX,

I seem to have stunned you into silence with the flowers I sent you. Next thing you know, I’ll be outside your house going through your garbage. As it is I have a secret shrine filled with pictures of you in the deep dark recesses of my house. All I need now is some money for surveillance cameras. I’ve seen all the stalker movies (& The Practice) and read up on enough of them to know that I can plead temporary insanity and go scot-free. So don’t you even try calling the cops. He! He!

I have for long wondered about the mind of a serial killer. What must make him tick? What are the motivations? Love! Jealousy! Insecurity! Obsession! Mere lack of communication skills? When I watch movies like Silence of the Lambs, Jack’s back, Psycho, Seven, etc, I ask myself, how close am I to being one of them? Thankfully I come up with an answer of not very close (although you might not be inclined to agree with me just like most women I know. He! He! Some of them think that Psycho Sreenivasan is an apt description of me. Ha!)
Fortunately for me, YOU bring out the best in me.

Anyways, last week was really hectic. The Annual Merchants & Bankers Regatta (for rowing) was held last week and we put up a team from JWT. The races were held all of last week (morning and evening) and I was completely drained. We won in the women’s pairs and finished third in the mixed fours. We have a huge trophy in the office to show for our efforts. It was a quantum leap over last year when we failed to qualify for even a single event. I guess three months of training really paid off. Could have been better but then there’s always next year.

The event culminated with a party at the boat club that went on well into the morning. I must say that I will never again mix grass and alcohol. Am starting training again tomorrow.

Got to go now. Have to go and check on someone’s garbage. Will write you soon enough.
Love
Vidyuth

One more in the many letters i sent her

2007-09-03T06:20:00.000-07:00

One more Sunday night. One more time I find myself sitting in front of the computer writing to you. I think it is an addiction. I wait for this the whole day and I feel a whole lot better after writing. I can’t figure out why I just don’t write during the day or why I don’t just call you?

This now is an unfailing part of my routine. I go at 5: 30 to the boat club, finish my work out, have a bath, have dinner and head straight for the computer to write you. Like clock work.
On one level I think it is an addiction. On another it is very biomechanical. Either ways, I am just happy to write you.

Last week was a killer. The best part of my week was my conversation with you on Tuesday. Afterwards, it just went downhill. And tomorrow is another week. Maybe I should talk to you more often. I don’t know about you, but it will make me feel a whole lot better. He! He! (I can actually hear you go “Oh No!”) He! He!

I am going for a movie now (a Tamil flick). So I will stop writing (and she heaves a sigh of relief)
Love
Vidyuth
PS: I hope you managed to string up your mobiles without too much trouble. I have a really corny one (for posterity) “I hope you get caught in one of my lines soon”

A letter and a reply - September 1, 2003

2007-09-03T06:05:00.000-07:00

Dear XXXXX,
I just finished reading the book “Love in the Time of Cholera” by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Contrary to what you told me, the book was a drag. I, quite frankly, cannot understand why you find this author ‘amazing’.

To start with, I was unable to relate, in even the minutest possible way, to the setting. The author’s description of the town in which the story is set evoked images of the adyar river, the slums of Chennai and the madras port trust – each of these highly unlikely places to think about love leave alone finding it.

Even if the author’s objective was to unravel this tale of undying love in the harshest possible conditions to prove that love knows no place, class, or time, he could have done a much better job. The writing style although descriptive tended to get repetitive, tedious in parts and worse, even predictable. He simply failed to hold my attention.

I guess, the descriptions were tedious to accentuate the strife, the sheer monotony of the protagonist’s life and the unfailing patterns that one’s life seems to settle into. I believe that the author could have conveyed the same in about a hundred pages less.

I am absolutely disappointed in the characters in the novel. They are not strong. Not charismatic. Just weak and fundamentally flawed like most human beings. This is probably why the author is so highly regarded. If the author were to be rated on his ability to make the less than ordinary seem heroic and even noble, then he would probably score very high. Nevertheless his characters, in my opinion, lack depth and resolve.

Personally, I prefer characters like Howard Roark and Gail Wynand in Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead. They were also flawed but they were strong. There were other dimensions to their personality. They were driven by other passions besides love.

There is this one particular scene where the author describes a 72 and 76-year old couple making love – it was revolting and pathetic. Can you imagine your grandparent’s going at it like hormonally charged teenagers? Yuck!!! I just failed to see any beauty in it. I really do not have a problem with septuagenarians finding love, but I expect it to be dignified and mature. I also think that it is physically impossible for a 76-year old man to get it up. (Michael Douglas and Dev Anand will probably be exceptions)

The part I liked best is his description of death. People die in the most unremarkable and even hilarious ways. And the way a person dies maybe completely contradictory to the way one lives. A person can be a hero in real life but he could die having slipped in the bathroom - very tragic and hilarious but very real.

In any case, I didn’t really enjoy the book (as you’ve no doubt inferred). I had to finish it because I can’t leave one unfinished. Maybe, the English translation doesn’t do justice to the Spanish original. Maybe, to say “Gabriel Garcia Marquez is amazing” is the politically correct thing to say (at least to impress girls). Maybe promoting Latin American authors is another of America’s ploys to gain control of the South American economies. At the risk of not scoring brownie points with you, I must confess that I do not like this author. I would be really hard pressed to read another of his novels.

I also didn’t really figure that you liked mushy stuff like this. How wrong was I? If you haven’t already read, “Till we meet again” by Judith Krantz, please do and tell me that it makes far more pleasurable reading than this one.

I feel I should justify my reasons for launching into this book review. Under normal circumstances, I cannot imagine doing such a thing, but as of today, due to the Conditional Access System, all my favourite TV channels are off air.
Love
Vidyuth

P.S.: If you think that this letter is long and boring, you haven’t read anything yet. You should read the book. I sincerely hope that you enjoy this book more than I did.

Reply to my letter
hi
hey you didn't like the bit when the parrot fell into the soup shouting each man for himself it cracked me up. am rereading it and have enjoyed it terribly.
well am going to brave another long letter ripping a novel apart from you by suggesting that you read ‘alchemist’ and ‘By the river piedra i sat down and wept’ both by paulo coellho. you will probably hate both but i loved them and hey your letter carcked me up thanks again for the book
i then maybe should not ask you to read a hundred years of solitude ...ok ok i am grinning frankly strong strong characters piss me off there is just too much hype about personality and shit
heres to trashing more books in my very own readers critic club which includes two members you and me
love
XXXX

One more from my past - 08/03/04

2007-09-03T06:01:00.000-07:00

Dear XXXXX,

I am writing because I am thinking about you. It’s funny that I find it easier to write than to speak to you. I feel like I need an excuse to call but not to write. I feel like I intrude on your life when I call but don’t when I write. It doesn’t make any sense to me.

Besides, I still feel like a fumbling, stuttering 16-year old when I speak to you. And my words just tumble out all wrong when they are not tied up in knots along with my tongue. Not so when I write (God bless the man who invented backspace).

I went to see some agricultural land yesterday hoping to buy it. As it turned out, the land was in the middle of nowhere in the back of beyond. It was land in its barest, unappealing form. This plot of land, less than an acre in size, did not have an access road. It did not have electricity, water or even a fence. For God’s sake, it did not even have a tree on it…just dry, caked earth with weeds.

I have decided not to buy it. This is just the beginning of my search and will have to make several such trips before I find that perfect piece of land. My quest shall go on.

I am sorry to trouble you with such boring, irrelevant information. “Kya karoon? Kuch control hi nahi hota!!”.

You will continue to receive such e-mails from me because YOU inspire me. YOU ignite my soul. Is it you or is it the idea of you? I don’t know.

Hoping that you’ll always be “My Unattainable XXXXXX”

Love

Vidyuth

P.S: Should you reply to this mail, just tell me about the mugs and when they will be ready. I hope you received the Demand draft.

Would you react differently if I just asked about the DD? I guess I’ll never know. Maybe I am writing all this just to spice up a dull factual letter seeking the status of the mugs. Maybe I am trying to show off my written communication skills (Don’t comment on this one). Maybe Paulo Coelho’s ‘Eleven Minutes’ is having this effect on me. Maybe I am writing this with the secret hope that when I am rich, famous and dead, my letters to you will be discovered, published, prescribed as a text book, debated and awarded the Pulitzer prize.

I have no illusions about my writing skills. Maybe I will be awarded an… award (He! He!) for the strength, depth, conviction and originality in my writing rather than for my writing itself.

Enough Vidyuth!!!. Shut up!!

My 30th birthday

2007-08-09T07:11:00.000-07:00

I was on a train trying to sleep when the mobile buzzed to life just after midnight with the first message wishing me a happy birthday. I smiled to myself. I was flattered. It is nice to be remembered in the middle of the night. From that time, i received messages at regular intervals throughout the day. At least that is how i wish to remember it. Was it really that way, i am not sure. My memory fails me in my ripe old age of 30.

The train to Bangalore was late by about four and a half hours. We reached Bangalore at 9:00 am. More than a third of the day was spent trying to reach the destination. Sounds like the first third of my life too.

What was i doing in Bangalore? I was in Bangalore to act in a play titled "Five point someone". This play had been staged about eight times in chennai and this was a first attempt at wooing the Bangalore audience. We got off the train at the city station and walked across a busy junction to a purple coloured building that was our hotel.

Our rooms in the basement resembled prison cells in size, smell and lighting. The bathrooms had ventilators that let noxious odours out into the main corridor. The bars on the windows, designed to keep intruders out, adding the finishing touch.

The rest of the cast obviously did not let the ambience dampen their spirits. One of them decided to roll a joint and two of us joined him. At about 10:00, the three of us had finished smoking a really stiff joint. I cannot say that I enjoyed its effects as I was not sure I would recover before our performance at three. I think I had the other two guys a little worried.

We reached chowdiah hall just before noon and headed straight for breakfast that turned into lunch. We finshed our tech at two. While we were changing Chetan Bagat, the author of the book the play is based on walked in to the room. There was a round of courteus introductions. After which he realised that the cast had nothing really to say to him and he left.

The show started about 30 minutes late. The audience enjoyed it. I can tell by their reactions. They laughed as if on cue. There was silence at poignant moments. I think we had their pulse and we swayed them. We had a break for about an hour befor the next show.

The second show also started late but went of as well as the first. The highlight of the evening for me was not the show itself but what happenned at the end. When the director introduced the cast, she mentioned that it was my birthday and the 900 strong audience spontaneously erupted into "happy birthday to you". I couldn't believe my ears. I was shy, proud, elated and nervous all at the same time. I didn't know what to do. This had never happened to me before.

I remember thinking "where are all my friends? Why aren't they here to witness this? Will they believe me when I tell them? Do they really care?"

Anyways that ended and I went back to the green room. I checked my mobile. I had recieved five missed calls from my sister in Albuquerque. I called her back. She wished me and we got into a conversation about her life. She is not doing so well. She is having some trouble with her faculty and her doctoral program. She revealed to me that she was on grass for the better part of her waking day. She also said that she was feeling suicidal.

I was called backstage at that moment as we had to pack and clear the auditorium for we had a train to catch. I ended the conversation asking her to come back home.

When I went backstage, the cast and crew had dimmed the lights and lit candles on a cake that wished me a happy birthday. I was not really surprised. I had expected them to do this and I couldn't even act surprised. I went through the motions. They went through the motions. I think they were disappointed that I was not more enthusiastic or more overcome by emotion. I was disappointed too but mostly by the fact that the people I wanted there were not. I guess my conversation with my sister shook me a bit.

The rest of the evening was quite uneventful. We got to the station. There was some confusion about the coach numbers and their position in the line of cars. We got on the train and I promptly went to sleep when the rest of the cast was up all night talking. I had to get to work the next day and I needed the rest.

An eventful day, i think.

Dinner with ex step father and best friend

2007-06-04T10:37:00.000-07:00

I had dinner tonight with myex-step father and best freind. It was not uncomfortable. there was no baggage. I had a good time. I hope they did too.

Pressure points

2007-06-02T07:49:00.000-07:00

New apartment: Don't know when it is going to be ready. DOn't know how much it is going t to cost to do it up the way i like. My interior designer friend is not interested in helping me though she agreed to. I want an open kitchen. How do i go about it? I don't know. Where am i going to get the money? I don't know.

Business: Production unit closed down. I need another. Need to expand production. Need capital investment. Where am I going to get it? I don't know.

Theatre: I love acting. The more I love it, the fewer parts i get. I never get to play the protagonist. I always get supporting roles. Why?

Friends: Some call when they need money. Some call when they need to lean on me. Some never call. All of them are happy to meet me in private but never in company. Why?

Fitness: The one thing that I am proud of and happy to pursue gets compromised in the act of survival.

I will be 30 in a month. I am single. why?

The dirty hairy truth

2007-03-05T08:33:00.000-08:00

I am dirty hairy the hair sleuth. I have had reson to speak to several groups of young women (married and unmarried) about hair. Mind you, all my discussions had to do with hair on the head (that part of the anatomy above the shoulders supported by a neck). I must also add that all my discussions were with women who had medium to long hair.

Long hair is defined as hair that falls below the waist. Medium length hair is anything that falls between the shoulders and waist. Short hair is shoulder length or less. I find this funny because a guy with long hair would only have shoulder length.

So I asked them to describe 'the ideal hair'. Ideal hair is long, black, thick, shiny, silky, smooth, soft, heavy, dense without dandruff, split ends, hair breakage, hair fall or greying.

So I asked them, "Why do you want long hair?". The reasons ranged from, "I feel better about myself when I look in the mirror" to "A prospective groom will expect me to have long hair." The threat of being rejected as a bride for want of long hair is very real for some women. However for most women, long hair is one of the ways to get attention from both men and women.

Most women with long hair do not think they are beautiful or that they fit popular perceptions of 'beautiful'. They grow long hair thinking, "I am not beautiful at least I have long hair." So the next time you see a woman with long hair from the back, chances are that she will have a face that can make a thousand ships sink themselves voluntarily.

According to them, a girl with long hair grew up in a conservative, strict, rigid household with little or no freedom. This girl is more likely to show interest in classical dance, music, house keeping and cooking. She is not an extrovert and speaks when she is spoken to. She appears to have more girl friends than boyfriends. She is homely and has greater chances of getting married quickly as men want to marry 'homely' girls. She is also likely to have saris and other conservative traditional articles of clothing and little or no cosmetics.

According to them, a girl with short hair is bold, assertive, confident, extroverted wears western clothes (jeans / skirts) and uses plenty of cosmetics. She is ambitious and has aspirations of getting a job like an air hostess or model. She smokes, drinks and has more boyfriends than girl friends. This girl believes that she is beautiful otherwise and hence does not need long hair. She listens to popular western music like Michael Jackson.

After all this talk the truth was finally revealed. Women want to have versatile medium length hair. Hair that can be worn traditionally or that looks good with traditional clothes and hair that can be worn with western clothes. They want to have the best of both worlds (short hair and long hair). With versatile medium length hair, they can be the long haired girl with family and the short haired girl with friends and peers.

Same old same old

2007-02-25T10:13:00.000-08:00

I met a girl last weekend. I like her. I think she likes me. how do i take this forward without sounding desparate.

Stage life

2007-01-14T19:06:00.000-08:00

If the stage is an illusion and life off it real, why is it that I am me on it and an actor off it. I feel like i am staging life off it and living life on it. I am all mixed up.

The meek shall inherit the earth

2006-10-27T21:13:00.000-07:00

Who wants to be meek? who wants to inherit? I want to bequeath.

Weights & Measures

2006-10-26T10:40:00.000-07:00

The world measures success differently than I.

You'll never be successful if you try to measure up to standards set by someone else.

You have to set standards for yourself. And you need to raise those standards constantly. Why should these standards be raised? Otherwise you will stagnate. Life will become a monotonous ruinous routine. You will get into a comfort zone and rot. Still water may run deep but it also breeds disease spreading musquitos.

KAIZEN - a little improvement everyday. Easier said than done because it is not easy to stick to a plan. Why is not easy to stick to a plan? There is so much that happens around you that you miss when you stick to a plan. Your friends go out without you, there is a fantastic movie that gets released, someone gets married, it rains, there is a nice music video on TV, there is a play to act in.

Never lose sight of your goals.
If the goals are blurred then perhaps they have been defined too broadly. Have specific goals and work towards it. Do what it takes to achieve them even if it antagonising everyone you care about. Chances are, if they really care about you they will understand.

Keep the faith. Be brave. Be ruthlessly disciplined.

Life

2006-10-15T09:38:00.000-07:00

Business: New Motiffs for next collection. New layouts for Tharamangalam. CSS. New products. Website. Loyalty program. New store. Licenses & registration.
Fitness: Work on explosive power, stride length, shoulders, abs and flexibiltiy.
Theatre: Learn lines. Script panchtantra
Research: Write report. Read books on Organisational behaviour, psychology.
New Apartment: Organise finances. Look at floor plan and design interior.
Read: Thomas Friedmman's, "The world is flat"

Something's missing.

A friend in deed.

2006-10-13T10:03:00.000-07:00

Feeling what I feel everyday for two hours in the evening, alone, I logged into orkut looking to reach out to a friend. But I didn't. Don't want to intrude on their lives.

I go through my friend's list only to find that I only recognise names and faces but I don't know them. They don't know me either. They don't know where I have been, where I am or where I am going.

I can't share with these people the memories that shaped me. The people in my memories are creating their own elsewhere in the real world. I don't want to intrude on them either.

I think the idea of friends has changed. You can no longer reach out to them or lean on them when you need them. You now have to keep a bank of friends like a fixed deposit that you can dip into when it matures. Orkut is not exactly helping. I seems to be merely an exercise at informal networking that seems to say, "Lets not lose touch for in the future I might be able to use you and vice versa." Being networked seems more important than being there.

There is no real connection. I want to feel connected to my friends but online is not the way. I don't feel connected to anybody. The lines are all down.

I want to feel. Feel anything. Anger, happiness, joy, sorrow, pain, anxiety, frustration, excitement. I am unable to feel anything for longer than a heartbeat. I want to feel an emotion, harness it and ride it like a surfer on a tsunami.

I want to write

2006-10-11T10:31:00.000-07:00

I bought this book by Ray Bradbury and he suggests that anyone who wants to write should write about a 1000 words a day. To make things easy, he suggests choosing a noun and writing about it. I want to do so but I am afraid of what will come out. Some nouns that I think about a lot that I shudder to write about.

Father.
Family.
Friend.
Childhood.
O&M.
HTA.
Education.

My fascination for Tishani is not one of my reasons for wanting to write. That she is a writer appeals to the side of me that wants to write.

My vocabulary is limited. Any my writing bores me. What drivel am I writing!!!

Today

2006-10-11T10:09:00.000-07:00

I set the alarm for 5:15 am. It rang like it should at 5:15. Idecided to snooze for 10 more minutes. It rang again. I decided to snooze for 10 more minutes. When it rang this time at 5:35, I was in conflict with myself. A part of me said, "go back to sleep you went to be only at midnight." and a another part of me said that I should wake up do the surya namaskaram and head for my run. While this battle was raging in my head, 10 minuntes had passed and the alarm rang again. It was 5:45. It was time to decide. To sleep or not to sleep. A stray thought wandered into my head. It was an image. The image of my reflection in the mirror. I didn't like what I saw. I woke up, brushed my teeth and left for the gym in a hurry.

Got to the gym at 6:00 am. At the parking lot, I saw Bala's bike parked there and I felt like kicking myself for not being as committed. I rushed upstairs to find Bala troubling the treadmill with his constant pounding. To add to my woes, I saw suprathik from my running club going at a steady pace on the adjacent machine. I climb on to a treadmill and want to set the time for a 40 minute run but the machine has been programmed to not go above 35 minutes. So I set off at a steady pace of 12.5 kms per hour. I had intended to run 8kms in 40 mins. With 5 minutes less I still wanted to cover the same distance. I managed 7.5 kms in 35 minutes. An average effort. Then I worked on my abs for 15 minutes, did some weights for 20 minutes and yoga for 40 mins. With some rest in between I spent two hours in the gym. I left at 8:00 am

8:10 I was at home. I read the paper, watched BBC, drank milk, drank Kanji, had a bath and was ready for work. It was 9:30 am. An hour and twenty minutes. That's too long. Should stat work by 8:30.

Went to the Bank at 9:30 was back at 10:00. Had to make a couple of payments. Sounds simple enough but the paperwork took me an hour. I was done by 11:00.

Started designing layouts at 11:15 and went on till 1:15. Lunch from 1:15 to 1:45. Went to quantum. Was there by 2:15. Killed time till 3:00. Started the first group at 3:00 and finished at 5:15. Waited for the next group to start till 7:00. Finished at 9:15. Reached home at 9:45. watched TV for 15 minutes and started this.

Ordinary life. Maybe tomorrow...

Tishani

2006-09-30T12:07:00.000-07:00

Saw her picture in the paper a couple of days ago. My heart , I think, stopped. There was a very heavy feeling that I carried with me for the rest of the day after seeing this picture. She looked ravishing. I cut out that picture from the paper and put it in my wallet.

Why did I do that? i think I am in love with her. But I don't know if it is her or if it is the idea of her. Just think about it, she is a poet, writer working on Muralitharan's biography, dancer. She knows who she is. It is not very hard to fall in love with this creature. She embodies everything a woman should be. She is my idea of a perfect woman. She is an ideal.

"C'mon man, you are just saying all this. She is beautiful and that is what draws you to her." Not really. I wish it were true. But is not. She exudes a calmeness and a strength off character that is enchanting. She is graceful and polite. When she moves, she doesn't even disturb the molecules around her. I think, they actually part to may way for her. She looks delicate but that is very deceptive. She is strong. Must be all that yoga she does. Perfection can take a lesson or two from her.

The first time I met her, I was a frog. I had to serenade her in front of 500 people. Thank you lord for the opportunity. Though it was just a play, for me it was real. Too bad, I wasn't much of a singer. I don't recall if we ever spoke during rehearsals, but I do remember one time when some of the cast members went for a movie. She came for the movie with her boyfriend. I was shattered.

Several years later, I ran into her at the gym in the boat club. She was using the treadmill. A vision of beauty. Perhaps wordsworth was thinking of her when he wrote "she walks in beauty".
Stupid me could think of just one idiotic question to ask her, "What does a beautiful woman like you think about when you look inthe mirror?". Should fate present me with such an opportunity again, I should just watch and not open my mouth.

Fate has been kind to me. It brought us together once again after several years. This time it was an audition for a play, "A Mid summer night's dream". This time the roles are revered. She is playing Helena and i am playing Demetrius. Helena (Tishani) says,

Helena:
And for that do I love you the more
I am your spaniel and Demetrius
The more you beat me, I will fawn on you
Use me but as your spaniel, spurn me, strike me
Neglect me, lose me; only give me leave
Unworthy as I am, to follow you
What worser place can I beg in your love-
And yet a place of high respect with me-
Than to be used as you use your dog?

The above were the words of Helena but for me they came from Tishani. I felt as though she were saying the lines I was meant to say to her. What followed was the most difficult task I have ever done in my life. I had to say the lines of Demetrius

Demetrius
Tempt not too mcuch the hatred of my spirit
For I am sick when I do look on thee.

Such lies I had to speak. Those lines were in complete contradiction to what I was feeling. Such paradoxical situations life puts you in.

I didn't get the part. What's a part when the biggest drama of my life was being played out. All the world's a stage I guess.

I saw her again after about a year under the strangest circumstance. I had received a girl's horoscope with a proposal for marriage. I had met her earlier in the day. She was sweet, nice and polite but there was no chemistry. And I was wondering if chemistry exists between people. I went to Elliot's beach to contemplate this as I was really in two minds. As I turned the corner to the beach, I saw her. Tishani was talking to someone. I turned to park my bike close to where she was standing and she said, "Hello, Vidyuth.". I said "Hello", turned my back on her and walked away. But my confusion had vanished. My mind was made up. I would not marry the girl I met earlier.

Then I saw her picture in the paper.

Now all I have is a void. I am incomplete. Fate! I beseech you to give me one more moment with her. I shall savour it for the rest of my life. Please let our paths cross again.

soul cracked china

2006-06-25T11:32:00.000-07:00

I am this exquisite piece of antiwue china with delicate intricate designs on it. The glaze is perfect and the sheen always new. A work of art except I have this barly perceptible crack somewhere in me that I don't know it is. Something's amiss. I don't know what. I can't figure out where I have this defect. Help me! Help me! Save me from me.

Exorcising ghosts from the past

2005-09-09T22:29:00.000-07:00

March 14, 2004,

Dear XXXX,

I am stuck for words as soon as I finish typing your name. So you know how this letter is going to turn out.

Let me attempt to make this one different from the usual declaration of a love that will not be.

I woke up this morning and found myself in Bangkok.

When I write this line again, hopefully it will be true. Actually, I woke up this morning and found myself in Auroville. I came here to meet Jesus. (Strange place to look for him). Anyways this Jesus runs a dyeing company called “Colours of Nature” and, as the name implies, he works with natural dyes. Unlike his long gone namesake, this man is rude, unprofessional and suspicious. He could have told me that he is not interested over the phone instead of making me ride 135 kms. I frankly don’t understand why he doesn’t want to work with us when all we want is for him to dye 50-100 cotton sarees. Anyways, it is his loss. Now I am on the look out for other people who dye fabric with natural colours.

The rest of the day was fine. I created a billing system in excel for this organic farm where I have been volunteering. I saw a documentary on Bob Marley’s life in the evening. There was dancing to reggae before and after the screening. This was fun. I had to keep reminding myself that I was still in India. Considering I was one of 5 Indians in this gathering of about 300 people. Several thoughts were running through my head, “So this is how Hippies dance!!” “I don’t listen to Reggae. What am I doing here?” “I don’t belong here. This is not my place.” “How many others feel the way I do?” “I don’t fit in here.” (That’s the way I feel most of the time. So I just ignored that thought.)

I observed the people and came to the conclusion that most of them were far away from home on a shoe string budget and just wanted to let their hair (maybe I should use the word ‘dreadlocks’ instead of hair) down on a Saturday evening. And it was pretty much like any other party I have been to. I saw all the stereotypes –
the wall flowers,
the cool ones with the cool moves on the floor,
the group smoking grass in the corner,
the guys trying to impress girls with tai-chi and Capuvera and failing miserably,
the couple trying to Jive to Reggae,
girls dancing alone who groove so sensually to the music that you want to …,
guys and girls dancing alone and
just regular people having a good time.

The only strange thing was that THEY WERE ALL WHITE. It is funny that I should run into this congregation in a small town in South India and feel like an alien.

And then there was me. The outsider. The observer. I’d like to think that I was the only one of my kind. But I am not sure. This letter is threatening to run into two pages. So I shall stop.

Love

P.S: One last thing. This is something that has been troubling me for the last three months since my granny had a stroke. I have been unusually curt and brusque with her. That’s because, everytime I see her, I want to tell her “My dad did not die because of me.” She used to say so in anger when I was a kid. Now she is 82 and I feel I should hold my peace let her go in peace. I needed to get this out of my system. I feel a lot better already.

A letter I once wrote to an idea I was in love with

2005-09-09T21:52:00.000-07:00

Called your place twice today. First at 5:00pm and then later at 7:00 pm. I think I got a fax machine. The first time, I thought it was an answering machine and tried to leave a message and felt really silly afterwards. I got the same thing the second time but didn’t leave a message. I’m really intelligent.

I called to tell you that I finished reading “By the river Piedra…”. I am left with very mixed reactions. I am amused and disturbed.

I am amused because the book took me back to a Full Gospel Student’s Fellowship camp that I attended unwittingly. I was actually tricked into attending this camp. Soon after I finished high school, my friend told me that a group of people he knew at church were planning this trip to Bangalore for 2 nights & 3 days for just Rs.300/-. I jumped at the offer with visions of gorgeous girls and unlimited beer in dark pubs. I cannot describe my dismay when we were herded into a lodge and were given the itinerary for the three days

4:00 am – 7:00 am: Prayer and bible reading
7:30 am: Breakfast
8:00 am – 12:00: Word of God
12:00 – 12:15 pm: Coffee break
12:15 pm – 2:15 pm: Word of God
2:15 pm - 3:00 pm: Lunch
3:00 pm – 5:00 pm: Musical entertainment (gospel music. The worst singers you’ll ever hear in your life. I strongly believe that these singers wanted to be rock stars in real life but were never good enough. So they sing in church where no one ever questions / demands quality. Anything goes in the name of devotion. I am not generalizing all gospel music. I have heard some really good gospel music)
5:00 pm – 5:15 pm: Coffee break
5:15 pm – 7:15 pm: Word of God
7:15 pm – 8:00 pm: Dinner
8:00 pm – 9:30 pm: Bible reading and prayer

By the end of the first day, I had mastered the art of sleeping with my eyes open. And so the second day started with the pastor waking us up at 4:00 am for the bible reading session. Thankfully we were left to our own devices. I was reading Kane & Abel (by Jeffrey Archer) while my roommates were fooling around when the pastor burst through the door. He said “Shame on you. You are all a disgrace.” Pointing at me he said, “ You should all be like him. Look at him devoutly reading the bible.” As the only Hindu in that congregation I was instantly despised. The cherubic expression I had on didn’t help matters.

Over the next two days, I heard people speak in tongues, laugh the divine laugh and survived several attempts to change my faith. It was an experience second to none.

I am disturbed by Paulo Coelho's book because it tells me that I should surrender to my heart and emotions completely and not be ruled by reason. This goes completely against everything I have told myself. I tell myself that love (or a relationship) is a distraction that will take me away from my chosen path. I cannot get involved with anybody till such time as I have a lot of money in the bank and a piece of land to call my own. But I have a void in my life that I am seeking to fill. I turn to books, sport and theatre to fill that void…but nothing helps.

Which explains why I am writing this letter. If I were to do as my heart commands I will find myself outside your house day after tomorrow for nothing more than just a glimpse of you. The “Other” inside tells me that I am undertaking an exercise in futility for, I quote the “Other”, “Your presence or absence does not make even an iota of difference to her. She only replies to your mails and takes your phone calls because she is polite and nice.”
Here I will quote Paulo Coelho “Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worst kind of suffering.”

“A fall from the third floor hurts as much as a fall from the hundredth. If I have to fall, may it be from a high place.”
Love

Marathon training

2005-09-08T09:59:00.000-07:00

Sunday morning. The alarm goes off. Its 4:30 am. I decide to snooze for 5 more minutes and next thing I know it is 5:10 am. Fuck. I wake up already behind schedule. I tell myself off. Hurriedly I brush my teeth, put on my shoes, take 100 bucks and get out. Its 5:20. Its still dark.

I can't start running cold. So I decide to walk to my starting point. A pillar that resembles the ashoka pillar on 5th trust cross street. I reach and I start running. Its 5:30.

I start with a slow jog, go past Alphonso playground and turn left to hit santhome high road. As I turn left, I notice that all the street lights have been turned off. I feel this place is the crack of dawn. It difficult to describe this place. It is not dark. It is not light. The air is fresh and the heart is light. Nature's own mood lighting. The birds are just stirring and there is a nip in the breeze. I remember thinking chennai is at its best this time of the day.

The smell from the stagnant back waters on foreshore estate wake me up. I tell myself to concentrate on my breathing. Inhale for 3 strides, exhale one stride. Its hard at first but I get into a rhythm with every stride.

I pass quibble island cemetery and wonder about its name. How did it get its name? Maybe the buried have some stories to tell. I settle into a nice rhythm and find my stride length increasing automatically. I focus on my breathing.

I am now at Elliot's beach running towards the vailankkani church thinking I should reach there by 6:00. I push a little harder. As I approach the church, I am faced with hordes of people jay walking. I can't help feeling under dressed amidst church goers dressed in their sunday best. The crowd slows me down a bit. I get past vanandurai, my mind starts to think about stopping. I tell myself I should decide after getting to the LB Road signal. At this point I can see the signal, so it was no problem.

I run past the signal into Indra Nagar, happy with myself for not giving up. My pace has come down. I chastise myself. I try to run faster but I can't. I spot two tea shops. I went to the one that looked cleaner from the outside. I ask for a bottle of water. He takes about a minute to get me the bottle. A minute that felt like forever. I yell at the man for taking so much time. He looks at me strangely. I don't know whether he was amazed or amused. He advices me not to gulp the water but to sip it. I nod, drink down several gulps, pay him and leave. I had been running for 45 mins. I decide to walk for 5 minutes to resume at 6:20 am. I walk past the foot bridge across the buckingham canal on to the IT corridor.

I start to run but the bottle of water feels like it weighs a ton. Every few strides, I keep switching hands. I am no longer focussed on my breathing but on the bottle. I am unable to run with the bottle in my hand. I hand it over to a passing stranger who accepted it with a smile. NOw my hands are free and so is my mind. I am fresh and feel confident that I can run all the way home. I turn left at Madhya Kailas temple, cross the road and turn right into Kotturpuram. I think about second wind and thought that I was now on my second burst of energy. I feel light. My stride has returned and so has my breathing rhythm.

As I approach the bridge, I am battling myself. I begin to doubt if I had taken on more than I could do. What was I trying to prove by running this distance. I could stop now, hail an auto and go home. I don't have to run. No one is looking. I could still brag to my friends that evening that I had run for an hour. It would still be more than any of them could imagine doing. Better still I could tell them, I had run all the way home. But could I respect myself if I did that?

I press on. I had long since stopped focussing on my breathing. My lungs are unable to follow my instructions.

I am faced with an uphill climb on kotturpuram bridge. I pull myself over the bridge one stride at a time urging myself to c'mon. As I reach the other side of the bridge, I notice that the chennai corporation was constructing a park in that corner just before the turnbulls road - ABM avenue fork. For a minute I thought it would be nice to go there in the evening. Then I realise that it would be patronised by people from the slums nearby. I remember thinking that the city needs public spaces for middle class people to patronise without having to compete with the have-nots. A wholly impractical thought.

I run into turnbulls road pondering the merits of taking ABM avenue. I decided I had made the right choice and proceeded. I turn right, go past park sheraton and onto chamiers road. There are viehicles standing at the signal. I want to stop. I tell myself that I should run to the next signal and then take a call.

I run to the next signal. I tell myself "C'mon to the next signal at chennai kaliappa hospital". By now I have lost all my rhythm and the only thing keeping me going is the constant chatter from my mind. My mind tells me that I'll lose self respect and I press on.

I run past the bridge that takes me across the buckingham canal again. I 'm almost home. I reach the junction near kovai pazhamudhir nilayam and my mind begins to celebrate. I tell myself, don't celebrate too soon you still have a few hundred yards left. I run past the mandaveli bus terminus. I remmber thinking I should finish quickly or might not last till the end. My stride lengthens and my pace quickens to what I felt was a sprint but to observers nothing more than jogging. I reach the turning to First trust link street, see a mark painted on the road in white - 100m. This is my mark. This is the end. I stop. I walk. Some passersby smile at me. They have no idea what I have just accomplished. I smile to myself and walk home. It is 7:00 am.

Document of events

2005-08-26T09:47:00.000-07:00

Monday morning, I reached chennai from Bangalore. Monday evening, I am on a train to Madurai. I travel by first class A/C for the first time in my life. It makes no difference to me. I love train journeys. Besides there is no one to witness the event. Hillary must have felt the same way. He's reached the top of the world but there is no one to witness it. No applause. Only frost bite. How long did it take for news to spread and for him to become recognised? Talk about delayed gratification.

I read the zahir till I fall asleep. I am woken up by a polite railway staff who informs me that I have reached Madurai. It is 3:30 am. I am picked up at the station by the hotel's taxi. I am too tired to point out that the driver has misspelt my name. That evening I went to the Meenkashi Amman temple. I was in awe of the building. I felt humbled by its size and age. I tried to pray but I couldn't. The million thoughts in my head just wouldn't stop buzzing to allow me even a minute's prayer. God! Please shut down these unnecessary thoughts and teach me to focus.
On that day, I learnt the difference between freedom and independence. Freedom is when you are able to smoke. Independence is when you smoke and your father looks the other way.

I watch TV till my eyes can't stay open any longer. I wake up late and feel guilty for waking up late and missing my jog. I have a hot shower, a hearty breakfast and head head off for work. I return late that evening and eat curd rice for Rs.110/-. Thank god it didn't have grapes in it.

I watch TV, Try to read and fall asleep. I wake up early. Think about going for a jog but go for a swim instead. Hearty breakfast and then work. From there to the railway station for the journey back to chennai. I get to the station early so I can concentrate on my book alone in a crowded place. No one bothers me till hunger pangs get the better off me. I go to the food court at the station and eat some parotta and egg curry.

I think, only that morning I had been swimming, in a pool with peacocks walking by, and eating breakfast in one of the finest hotels the city had to offer. How quickly life changes?

Strangely I felt like I was observing myself. As if I were the subject of some research. I could only think of writing about that experience in this blog and what someone who actually reads it might think. I felt detached from myself. I still feel that way.

I was there but I was not in the moment allowing all my senses to experience the richness of the moment. I did not feel anything. That is the same emptiness I have in everything I do. I do but I don't feel. God! Help me find passion in my life. Help me be in the moment.

Sincerity, catharsis, appreciation

2005-08-26T09:20:00.000-07:00

I returned from a particularly ordinary trip to Bangalore on Monday (22/8/05). No pubs. No booze. Just work. At work I spoke to people. Different people from different backgrounds.

I met a clerk in a govt. organisation who having worked for almost 20 years, now has a house of his own. He has spent 20 lakhs on this house. He loves trekking and goes to the himalayas periodically.

He leads an ordinary life. He owns a two-wheeler and all the amenities necessary for a convenient life. He is able to indulge in his passion - trekking. Yet when I ask what he thinks his achievements are, he says - I have achieved nothing. An acceptance that I cannot understand. Is my life better than his? Am I a better man than he?

I met a man who sells abrasives for a company owned by his brother-in-law. He admires his boss and wants to do his best for the company. He dreams of developing software to help SMEs. He dreams.

I spoke to a man whose mother died when he was young. He still hasn't recovered.

These conversations sap me. at the end of the day, I am unable to remain unaffected by the people I meet. Am I better than them? Is my life better off? It is gut wrenching to see in others traits that I see as unique to me. Sometimes I come across someone who just holds up a mirror to me and I don't like what I see.

I just finished reading The Zahir. The author suggests that the only way to move on is to empty one's cup and refill it with new experiences. I shall use this blog to empty my cup. Seemingly to the world. Seemingly to none.

I don't think I am being entirely honest. I am writing hoping that someone will read this and comment. This then is not a sincere attempt at catharsis although I would like it to be. Please god...allow me to be sincere.

I am an onion

2005-08-26T09:07:00.000-07:00

I do not have a core. I just have layer upon layer upon layer. I am not hollow. My words are akin to the sharp pungent taste of a raw onion. I make you cry when you peel my skin. It might put you off and you might stop. But don't. Persist. You will find the versatility of the onion. Get past the initial hurt and you can cook me as you please.

Alone in a crowded space

2005-08-14T10:12:00.000-07:00

August 13, 2005: Saturday night. After spending much of the morning doing nothing, rushing through the afternoon trying to make up for lost time and 3 hours with an accountant, I was ready to meet some friends and have some fun. The plan was to go to a bar for a drink.

We decided to meet at a friends place, have a couple of drinks and then leave for the bar, which happened to be at a posh hotel. When we did get to the bar, all 10 of us, the consensus was that the place was not 'happenning' enough. This place was not 'happenning' because you could get a table, the music didn't drown out conversation and there was enough room to have a drink without someone's elbow getting in the way. But this was not good enough. So we moved to a discotheque that had an american DJ spinning.

The group comprised 4 women and 6 men (1 married couple, one now-on-now-off couple, and one pair that couldn't decide whether or not to take the plunge.) I was one of the stags. The dynamics of relationships and group outings dictates that the person most intimate with the anchors of the group, by mysterious ways of networking and SMS does not get slotted as a stag. I was not one of them. So in my designated role of a stag, I paid full cover charges for a couple and entered this bastion of 'happenning'.

As expected, the place was 'rocking', sorry 'raving'. The music was so loud that I had to do a pantomime to place an order with the bartender who promptly gave my beer to someone else. I felt like Fred Astair, dodging all those wildly heaving bodies on the dance floor, trying not to spill my drink. Attempting a conversation in that noise would have only resulted in laryngitis. So I did what I felt was the logical thing to do - move my head to the beat, pretending to enjoy the music and my drink.

The place was bursting with people. People unwinding, people watching other people unwinding, people sleeping and people like me. The group that I came with was complaining about the crowd and the music. They had quite a conversation going but I felt totally left out. I was alone in that crowd. It seemed like eternity before we left. I vow never to do this to myself...till the next time.

One foot out the door but the best foot is in

2005-08-09T10:34:00.000-07:00

People like to collect things. Stamps, college degrees, sea shells, footwear, books, coins, women, cars, credit cards, bad debts, so on and so forth. I fancy myself as a collector of experiences.

Life is a set of discrete experiences woven and held together by human memory - an entirely unreliable technology. We remember only that which we choose to. Fortunately, this machine does not have that choice. Elimination of the vagrancies of memory, so that I may recount tales from life to my grand children with as much accuracy as I choose to give at the time of writing it, is the sole purpose of this blog. If you are entertained by it, it is purely accidental.

This blog is dedicated to my quest for new experiences. In order to collect them, I must open several doors and put my best foot forward while having the other out the door to catch another experience. I shall endeavour to get as much depth into each experience as possible.