Getting Better at Haiku...

Alt Tilte: Spirits, Alphabets, Splitting Headaches and Haiku.

'P'ke Baad 'Q'yun nahin aa raha hai,
Yeh Haiku; Soch, soch-ke
Head-Ache se Sar-Do ho raha hai !!!

Author's note: Well, will eventually get it, I guess.

What is Good for Geese...

Here is the excerpt that is taken out of an email that got sent to me; Someone has quoted Bryan Dollery as “Flow takes time to achieve, and it is fragile. If a programmer’s flow is interrupted it can take a large amount of time for her to regain the state, sometimes up to an hour. That’s an hour of lost productivity to your team. If a programmer is interrupted many times during the day she may never reach this state. Without this state, creativity is crippled”; and using this had come to conclude – “In Bay Area, environment is manageable as we get to use fairly good sized cubicles and generally its very peaceful here… … I noticed in India (no generalization here, this refers to my experience only) that there is not much of an effort in filtering out this new noise. Every input is of high priority. Chat from a friend, call from somebody, email from somewhere. … …”

Firstly, I want to agree to what is being said here; I'm sure we can be more alert, more organized, more disciplined in how we do our own work and how we do enable others. So lets all agree on that and take a deep breath...

1
2
3
4
5
6...

Now that agreement is done, I want to take conflict on this one "If a programmer's flow is interrupted it can take a large amount of time for her to regain the state, sometimes up to an hour. That's an hour of lost productivity to your team" - I believe this is a gross generalization - both on what engenders 'creativity' and what is implied by 'privacy'.

It may be true that some of the productivity is lost; but there are positives that come out of it; the point that we are able to relate well and work well within such a chaos, is a pointer to the vibrancy of others feel when the come to India. The seeming chaos and the seeming hurry all around us to get somewhere quickly, is also the one that arises out of our perennial scarcity; and the syndrome of scarcity is the one the make businessmen and housewives all across India innovate in their business model and in their daily lives. Also, some of this seeming chaos is what provides other aspects of work other than 'creativity'. Its patronizing to assume what is true for a culture is true for every other culture; just because IT which was done in the US is now done in India does NOT imply that it has to be done in a similar environment and in the same way. We were doing creative work within this chaos even before IT came here - look at all the R&D Government organizations; movie industry, ads, Tagore, Barathi, fast breeder reactor, Jaipur Foot and thousand other day-to-day innovations people make to live within the constraints of scarcity.

The privacy of space is much different in our culture than what it would mean in a western (or US) culture. Last week a friend of mine took my family into his parents’ home and his parents were most welcoming. I’m sure it introduced chaos into their lives and intruded into their ‘privacy’. Inspite of differences of languages between us, our inability to communicate effectively, at the end of it, there was nothing from them to suggest that they resented our presence as loss of their privacy. Privacy of space does not imply the same in India as it would imply in the US. Seeing it uni-dimensionally and assuming so, will be at Assumer’s own peril

Having said all that, just I’d suggest a viewing of this video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RjrEQaG5jPM
I wonder if such a self-organizing and self-healing environment can ever exist in the Bay area, for all the goodness the presence of Fry's and Saravana Bhavan brings to life :)

What is good for geese, in this case, is definitely not good for gander. And what perhaps makes up as a (newsy-juicy) sleaze should not be up for slander.

The Forsaken and Forgotten Battles

I wait for an opportunity to regain ground from my enemy. I know, like me, the enemy is also completely conscious and aware of the circumstances. At this point in time, we both are in the state of equilibrium - its like a breather where two gladiators size each other up after having gone hammer and tongs at each other with no one gaining any advantage; we wait for the other to blink and make the first mistake, at which we swoop down on the opportunity and push the other further back out of the territory.

We both are lone warriors; sent out to a distant outpost to protect a narrow strip of land that we both claim is ours. At best of times, we tend to share that land equally. At worst of times, small battles break out resulting in pushing and shoving; sometime very very obvious, sometime very very subtle. At most times, for us, the lone soldier on the ground, the watch has to be constant – there is no time to sleep; while the high command goes quiet based on seasonal changes, we have to be extremely vigilant. Any small movement of the enemy is circumspect: the attention that we give each other is unrelenting. This is a war that is fought in stealth and cannot be talked about; the high command will keep the façade of friendliness and will continue to be engaged in talks; while it expects us, the lone outposters to hold on to, at minimum, the fair share of the common ground that both of us claim. We are forsaken castaways…

…but we do our job. As I stare down my opponent in this strip of land, I have a genuine respect for him. I know he does for me too. But we aren’t going to let that come in our ways of this war of attrition. As we stand our ground, I see a slight slackness in my enemy – maybe its fatigue catching up. Maybe its something else, I sense an opportunity, but I don’t show it – I know any sign of excitement in my face would be a warning sign for my enemy – I keep a poker face and wait. At last, he makes a false move – as tiredness washes over him, he slightly shifts himself a step back; I sense the opportunity for the kill, and seize it; I drive in, as he moves a bit further on his own, I use his own momentum to push him off the narrow strip almost out of it. He clings on, but I know its only a matter of time, that I can claim the whole land as mine. I feel a gloating come up within me. I am proud - from where I was to now, this is good. I started on my edge of the land and have in this time, captured the whole strip, I feel elated…

Alas, my elation lasts only for a few moments; as I am being pulled away forcibly from the land that I occupied with great difficulty – I see that providing my enemy an opportunity, to grab his lost ground; As I’m being recalled by my high command, I see with disappointment, at the lost ground…

…As the man in the aisle seat, 21C, gets up to go to the restroom in the plane, his left forearm wistfully looks at the armrest of the seat that it had occupied comfortably for the past 10 minutes and finds that the person in 21B, seat himself comfortably and occupying the armrest to his right…

Haiku at a Junction !!

On the bumpy ride
of self discovery
On the path strewn
with pointers unseen
to future Unknown,
Why are the milestones
visible only in the rearview ?
Where are the signposts
promised at the cross-roads?
Frozen inaction, he thinks up,
irrelevantly, a non sequitur
"I've nary a clue
on Haiku too !!"

Primogeniture

There are a few times in your life that you pause and examine your gory past.

One such definite time is when the mortality deals you a kisami Zuki (or front jab) and smiles at you. I recently went past yet another birthday and I realize perhaps I will have less years to live than I have lived thus far - I used this to joke with a young pup: "You folks sleep walk through life having no idea if you are going or coming; alteast, us blokes are sure, we are going" !

The other triggers for introspection is when you are conscious of what you profess now as to what you did when you were much younger; the kind where you elevate yourself from the scene and look at the situation right on the ground - say you as a respected man of standing (hopefully) have to advice the above-mentioned young-pups on taking responsibility; it was much like what I used to wonder - if ever Krishnamachari Srikkanth becomes the coach of the Indian cricket team - he was pretty close to that, coaching the India A team - what would he ever say to, someone like Dhoni or Sehwag ? That they need get behind the line ? Sometimes, to fess up the truth, I feel so surreal to be advising my neice on what the right thing is !! Anyways, I'm digressing (blame it on old-age)...

Third such moment of introspection is your existing relationship and your part in it; as against what it was when you were at a different stage of your life. In this canvas, I looked at my relationship with my growing son; As a father, I know how i feel about him. This combined with my own mortality and perhaps my father's mortality - made me look back at my father's relationship with me...

To understand that better, we need to rewind a bit more. I've an older (really old, if you are reading this :) ) sister... In my dad's family of 4 siblings, she was the first kid in the extended and joint family - hence immediately adopted by all my dad's siblings and my grandparents as the princess. When she was born, it was not only a successful launch of a new product, it was a successful product also. If the legend has it right, the eco-system that revolved around that small house in chennai seemed to revolve around and for her - the hand-rickshaw-wallah, the opposite petty shop, and if i were to believe some stories, even weather in Chennai those days. So you get the picture - she was the darling of all and everyone. Then several years later, I happend. Forget it, I wasn't even Dravid's 180 to Laxman's 281. I was the opener's score in that match - do you recall who he was ? Do you recall what his score was ? My point exactly.

So as we grew, thing changed. For the better for my sister and for the worse for me. She actually studied much better than everyone else and first in the family to get into professional (medical) college. I was actually getting better at what I had embarked on - that is being the worst student of the class and kind of settled down in the last quarter of the class in my middle school. For my dad, who believed (past tense, since I suspect experience has changed him now) that getting to be a meritorius student is the ultimate for any growing kid, it was a pefect foil that my sis was feeding him. I, languishing where I was in the class, had no locus standi to convince him otherwise; for merely it would be an excuse - not that I had anything else in some field to show for. So I kind of settled for the 9th place in the two-person race vying to be the favourite in the family. Forget the game, like they say, I wasn't even in the same ground; forget the ball-park, I wasn't in the same league. I was collecting ducks playing street cricket, whereas my sis was scoring 100s in test matches. It was that contrasting.

With that being the background, some 20 years later, my son came along. I do know how I feel about him; and that made think - could it have been the same for my father ? At such an intersection (some call it cross-roads) of age and my feeling for my son, I paused and looked back. As I introspected, one incident stands out.

I think i was in the 9th or 10th standard and we were living in Bangalore. There was this guest from some other town, who had come home and wanted to go to Whitefield to meet the Godman, Sri Satya Sai Baba. He had asked me to accompany him to the ashram; the plan was to leave our house at 6AM, ride down to whitefield and have Sai Baba's darshan (at 6.45AM). He had also borrowed my dad's scooter to get there. As we started, the guest of ours, not perhaps used to riding a vespa, did not engage the clutch right - the scooter reared up like an horse on hindlegs. In any case, we did reach the whitefield ashram, but had just missed the morning darshan. Our guest decided to stay till the 9AM darshan, see the Baba and return. We did so and returned to our house around 10AM. The guest parked the scooter, gave the key to me and left.

As I went upstairs to my house, my mom told me that seeing how our guest was driving the scooter, my dad was very worried, specifically seeing how our guest had driven the scooter. To add fuel to the fire, since we were to return after the 6.45AM darshan and we had not returned yet, my dad had gone out searching for us. After about 10 min later, my dad comes into the house, sees me. I clearly recall now - the scene is right in front of my eyes - he holds my hand for what seemed a long time and there are tears in his eyes.

I realised then, perhaps transiently; and i realize now, the truth - although, my sister was (or is) his favourite and he may have liked my sister more, he loved us both - equally.

The Alchemist

You are in your deep sleep,
your face set so serene;
Perhaps ensconced in a lovely dream
of fairy lands, rainbows and streams;
Your lips curl in smile,
in that frozen moment of reverie,
My dear son, you teach me,
The true meaning of complete tranquility !

You are my guru who questions my precepts.
That one day,
when you impatiently opened your present
threw that expensive toy away,
and played with the packing paraphernalia instead,
not a wee bit, I was disappointed,
For I had learned what a true joy means,
in your play, your face lighted up in 1000 neons !

Going against the grain of what you are,
I see you stay the tough course far,
As I stand watching you experience
the pain, frustrations and finally closure,
I now know – that is patience !

You have taught me unconditional kindness
by your guileless therapeutic hugs;
And that humor harmless
Could be humane and funnier than a biting wit.
Truly… you have been my master, my guru
You have taught me all and then a few,
An alchemist and a magician, to my daily blues.
Now let me,
In this world of grey moods of darker hues,
And in maze of rocks and shifting sands,
Allow me... let me navigate you through those gently;
If only you would clasp my outstretched hands.

Laws of Successful Marriages...

1^st Law: Law of Decision Making:

This is the most most most important law for a successful marriage. This would lay a strong foundation on which a solid marriage is built and also the other laws have been scripted. This law is fairly known and practiced all over by men; and has been found the most passed on advice from much-harried men to the man-on-the-threshold-of-marriage.

The law states thus: “Never, never let the women take important decisions. Important decisions are the domain of men. Women should only take very minor and unimportant decisions”. For example, the decision of what one’s country’s foreign policy should be, decision around the constitutional amendments, the composition of the nationals team, what should be the country’s fiscal budget is unequivocally the domain of men. Women of the household have no say in it – men decide it. However, all the unimportant decisions such as what should be the color of the blinds, what the furniture should look like, the paint colors should be that of women’s. Men typically should not worry about those.

2^nd Law: Law of Financial Equality:

As they say a sound financial balance is bedrock of any relationship – be it business or personal. The same holds for a successful marriage. The financial income into the joint account should be men’s responsibility; whereas the financial outgo from the account is the responsibility of the women of the house. These two should be absolutely equal. Typically, the equation tends to change on the outgo; as the women do their part to raise the outgo, immediately, the men are expected to do their bit to raise the income and hence endeavoring to keep the equation balanced and restore financial equality. Men do contribute to the outgo, when they tend to gather around in a place, where a bunch of them meet to decide on important things and also that of newest toys that they could lay hands on. Most women also contribute to the income these days, which makes this law a bit more complicated to balance out; and hence the 3^rd law.

3^rd Law: Law of Quick Agreements:

We all know that one of the key ingredients of a marriage is “ours” thing. Most women would like to believe about the ours, whereas men are less likely to be so. So women really like to seek agreement on decisions so that they would believe that it was “our” decision. Men on the other hand really do not care much, as long as it does not come in the way of the few key and important things that are to them – like a good TV surfing session, a good wine and depending on the age (not really), gawking at other women. Given that, the best time for women to get an agreement is when the man is watching a cricket match intently – most preferable time would be when Tendulkar is on 99, facing Shoaib Akhtar. If that’s a rarity, choose such an alternate time, such as when 'Chaiya, Chaiya' song is on, on TV with the men admiring the scenic beauty of India North East. Men will agree to anything at such times.

For men, this is a bit tougher. Since they don’t have the decision making power in the unimportant things, he needs to plan (or scheme, depending on the point of view) a lot more to get an agreement. Few of the best bets is to do something that is ‘romantic’, which scale differs based on the agreement needed – the lowest on the scale would be coming home early from work and declare that you would be cooking today and set about and try and make something that is her favourite. In the middle of the scale would be flowers, with the cooking added; and on the high-end would be something precious, plus the flowers and plus the cooking. Once done, do not assume it is the time to pop the question to get the agreement; women’s mind is much sharper than that of men. You should repeat the above acts (or such similar) for a period of 2-3 months, before you would want to seek to ask the agreement-question. Which simply means that men can get women to agree about 4 times a year; whereas women can get men to agree when cricket is played, when there is an item number on the TV, when Roger Federer is in his sublime best… you get the drift, fairly any time they choose to.

4^th Law: Law of Compromises:

Men tend to be loud from both the ends; through the day they really like to talk about all the important things and want to hold court with all their educated and well-read opinions on things that matter (refer to the 1^st law). As the night falls, they tend to get vocally quiet from that end and noisy from the other end. Women should compromise and look at persevering through this as an occupational hazard instead of providing the man with an opportunity or excuse to ask questions around the unimportant things such as expenses etc.

Women, on the other hand, are extraordinarily quick at certain times when specific situation demands so. If men decide to go out on an impulse, the women can typically get ready in about half the time they usually take to get ready. For example, if the going out is for a movie, rest assured that the couple will get to the movie; it might not be the same show that the man had planned for, but most likely the same day. This is a worthwhile compromise for the man to make; as against having to shave twice while waiting for the wife to get ready or the movie actually gets moved out after its usual run in the theatres.

5th Law: Law of Control:

Men and women like control equally; particularly remotely. Women would like control. Period. So, during the early stages of marriages, when Men are away from home, women have this high need of what the men is upto, which is natural, given men’s interest spectrum. So it is typical for women to call in once in a while say nice things to the man and then casually slip in questions about her man’s whereabouts. Men during the earlier stage of marriage mistake it to be love. As we had proved earlier, men are smart, but women smarter. As men begin to realize it is not about love, it is several years into the marriage and the pattern has been habituated; and habits die hard. One can see such instances of men in watering holes, with their mobile phones ringing at exactly the time they enter the premises – it is as if women have GPS bug installed in the men; and the man speaking to the woman in the hushed tone and slowly developing a guilt; which in fact is yet another tool for women to get to quick agreements (refer to the 3^rd Law)

Men too love control; specifically if its remote control, they would adore it. This is their one feeling of absolute control over everything they lord over – which is mostly the Television. If the attention of the men watching TV has to be got, then the first step would be to separate the remote from their hands. The men instantly go the phases of drug-withdrawal-like symptoms, some irrational behaviour and then settle down to listen, since that’s their only hope to get the remote back. The only time men feel threatened about the possession of remote control is when the son grows up and starts acquiring traits of regular man and gets into man’s territory; and fights for control of the remote. There are case-studies which shows, men have handled such usurpers with firmness much unlike the jungle rules; they have just go and buy the 2^nd TV, so that they have their own ‘remote control’

The number of laws and the understanding of individual laws themselves are evolving and I’m sure there is lot more out there. I will keep this updated as I hear more.

Eye for an Eye for an Eye...

[This story was published on the Deccan Herald - the link is here:
http://archive.deccanherald.com/Deccanherald/Sep102006/artic134821200699.asp]

Rajendra Patel was nearing his destination; the train would reach where he wanted to go in about another twenty minutes. Rajendra felt strangely at peace; there was some stillness in his mind and his heart. He believed that he is actually coming to a logical conclusion and felt there was a closure in his life. He had been carrying a big cross for long and in tomorrow’s news paper he would see what he had lived for since that fateful 24^th day of September 2002.

As Rajendra was looking out of his window seat, he saw the town sceneries go past; He saw a family in a scooter: man, his wife and their child. In his mind, it might as well be his wife of 6 years, Sonali, his 4year old child-son, Ankit and his would-have-been daughter, Ankita. Yes, it was, until that fateful day.

The distant past:

Rajendra was moderately successful businessman; he owned and ran a small chemicals factory, that supplied finished materials to various factories around Ahmedabad and Surat – his business was growing and he had found new customers in Mumbai. He had everything that he wanted; and when his son Ankit was born, he was over the moon and he doted over him. He had recently bought a nice house in a decent neighborhood and he had made friends across all faith. His joy was complete, when his wife announced to him that he would become a father all over again. His business was doing well and his family life was content and happy. He knew he has been blessed and his cup was full; until that fateful day.

It was Sonali’s wish that they pay a religious trip to the temple; thanking the lord for all the good things in their life. Rajendra had no heart to say no to her and he himself did not want to anger the Gods, whoever they were.

So on that day he had left his factory early, had asked Sonali’s brother, Suresh, to take care of things. The temple complex had some play-area and Sonali had wanted to go early so that Ankit can enjoy a bit more than just the prayers. It was around 4.30PM, had driven down to the temple with his family; and Ankit headed straight to the Tora-Tora area, with Sonali trying hard to keep up with Ankit. Rajendra left them there and sauntered off to the exhibition hall.

As he entered the hall, he glanced at his watch and it was around 4.45PM; he had wanted to quickly finish up and then go out for dinner. Then the hell broke loose; there was big commotion and he heard blasts outside and sound of what he had assumed to sound of crackers; then he saw two people running into the hall; it appeared completely incongruous to him and his keen mind immediately realized some thing was wrong and he wanted to rush back to where he left his family; but he just did not have time; he saw one of the men take out a gun and start shooting indiscriminately; a late middle aged woman ahead of him get shot and fall down bleeding; as she fell next to him, she grabbed his hand and pulled him along with her; perhaps that’s what saved him; Then he saw the two men run out of the exhibition hall towards the play-area; he desperately wanted to run ahead of them and ensure that no harm come to Sonali and Ankit; but the lady who had grabbed him was over him and had held to him tightly and there was no way he could have done it; in what appeared a short-time, he saw uniformed men come in and quickly and forcibly evacuate people who were alive and carry out the injured.

The next few hours and then days were a blur. He learned that both Sonali and Ankit never stood a chance when the grenade that lobbed went off just near them. He was thankful that they would have gone quickly. Once he heard about them, he had fervently wished that he was in the lady’s place and taken that bullet. He spent the few days in agony; and thought through several permutations on how he could have avoided the whole thing; he cried and anguished about various what ifs scenarios; what if Suresh had not turned up to relieve him that day ? What if he had not constantly reminded Suresh that he needed to be on time? What if he had stuck to the original plan of visiting the temple on the earlier Sunday, instead of choosing to snooze?

Over the next year or so, slowly, his anguish turned to anger and then to rage. He was also deeply disturbed on how the government and others went about; he being a sane man could see right through some of the designs of such guardians of public. He also saw similar events across the country and only found that they were being used for the politics of vote; having been one who has gone through, he felt felled by hopelessness. His sense of futility and from being someone who felt helpless, he metamorphized, inexorably, into a cold man; he had acquired something that was deep; both his parents, and in-laws just could not get through to him. Rajendra had become a complete recluse, not physically, but mentally. Rajendra’s conviction on what he needs to do strengthened, when he heard rumors around the terrorists and what they had done and who had protected them and helped them in their preparation – the preparation for the murder of his family – it added fire to his fury, that people who provided refuge and logistics to the terrorists were people who could have been part of his neighbourhood – and in his mind he blamed them for his irreparable loss; Rajendra was plotting revenge; he had sworn silently that his connections with God broke that day and he’d enter the temple of his favourite God – Bajrang Bali - only when the revenge was complete.

The recent Past:

It was nearly 3 years since he had lost his family – the first year was spent on grieving and being an automaton and going about his business; as his mental transformation happened, Rajendra had Suresh run the day-to-day business; and then the overall business itself. Suresh seemed very able and was growing his business steadily. Suresh was worried about Rajendra and had first refused to take care of the factory, so that it would force Rajendra come to work. He also had asked Rajendra to get married again – but every time, he was silently and very politely rebuffed in a way that Suresh did not feel any offence. Rajendra had told Suresh that he completely trusted Suresh to run the factory and he is going away on pilgrimages since he wanted some peace of mind. Rajendra used to disappear often from Ahmedabad and everyone would assume his visiting various temples. Reality was different; Rajendra was executing his plan: he had found dark corners in Mumbai, Lucknow and Bangalore where he could source raw materials for his plan. His chemical background was helpful and he was skilful in putting things together; he voraciously learned more about weapons of destruction – mass destruction in soft targets. Finally, he believed he found the perfect place where he can wreak maximum damage. He was also nearing in constructing his bomb. It costed him quite a bit, but he had so very well woven an intricate and well thought out story, Suresh had no idea that Rajendra was spending the money on it.

It was nearly six month since Rajendra had started execution of the project and it was now very close to fruition. He had found a mosque in a very crowded neighbourhood, which was just right – it was just right, since it had a very decrepit and a run-down, and barely surviving garage. The garage had a empty ground that was adjacent to the mosque; and nearer to the wall that separated the two property was a shell of an old car, with rust on it; the car shell was kind of planted into the ground; the years of decay through various seasons had rooted the shell and there was mound around it; in short it was a perfect place for Rajendra. His plan was almost done; he just needs to brush up some of his acting skills from his college days – a week later, he would have avenged the death of his family; its been more than 3 tortuous years; but it was worth waiting, in his mind. The fact that his plan would be executed in Bangalore, he was sure, would get it high attention and send out a message to everyone – ‘you mess in my neighbourhood, I mess in yours”

The Current Day:

It was two days ago, disguised as a drunken beggar, with scruffy and dirty clothes, with a garbage bag over his shoulders, Rajendra ambled into the garage compound and took refuge in the shell – presumably as a cover from rains – Rajendra assumed that Gods were in his favor: the unseasonal March showers in Bangalore came to his aid. The people around did not doubt his presence; it was common sight for them, perhaps. Over the night, he had expertly assembled the bomb, timed it to go in two days time; he then had ambled out of the place; later he was taking a train out of Bangalore.

Rajendra was jolted to the present; his train had stopped in the station. He checked his watch; it was close to 4PM. His revenge would be complete – the bomb would go off around 8.00PM today, the time when the crowd would be most dense; and the notice had also said the local community leader was to address a gathering in the ground of mosque. He was thousand miles away and he would read it in papers tomorrow

Rajendra was making good of his promise now; since his revenge would be complete, he was on his way to pay his thanks to the Gods – the one he had spurned over the past three years, but now its time for thanksgiving. Rajendra alighted the train, headed straight to one of the lodges that dotted the railway station area; he freshened himself up – asked the lodge help, Rehman, to get him some food and coffee. Having eaten, Rajendra headed straight to the temple.

At the temple he prayed fervently and thanked the God; he chose a silent spot and sat down to think – he strangely felt no elation and felt extremely empty. He felt cathartic inside the temple and tears started streaming down. For the first time, he seemed to doubt if his chosen path was the right one. He grieved again for his wife, his son and their unborn child. Along with them, he grieved for the lady who saved his life without her knowledge; and for her family, who lost a mother, wife and a daughter; and for hundred other such senseless losses. Amidst the stream of tears, he saw the face of the vagabond child in Bangalore who was around the mosque in Bangalore – he saw that face morph into the face of his son – that jolted him; he just wanted to get away from the temple now.

Rajendra Patel, completely confused of what he should be doing, stumbled out of the Sankat Mochan Hanuman temple in Varanasi at 6.15PM on 7^th March 2006. 30 minutes later he heard about the bomb-blasts in the temple and railway station, killing the innocent people at both places. As he got out of his room, he found Rahman rushing off towards the station, taking some blankets, whatever supplies he could lay hand on, to help the injured.

Rajendra Patel knew he was given a second life by the Gods; he just needed to decide how he needs to use; after a brief thought, Rajendra left the lodge looking for a specific place, so that he can heed his calling.

Epilogue - Timeline:

24^th day of September 2002: This was the day when two terrorist attacked Akshardam Complex near Ahmedabad and killed more than 50 people

7^th March 2006 6.30PM: Two serial blasts rocks Varanasi killing more than 20 people

7^th March 2006 7.50PM: Bomb disposal squad in Bangalore defuse a bomb in a garage in Bangalore adjacent to a mosque, based on anonymous tip received via a long distance phone call an hour earlier. It was believed that if the bombs had gone off, it would done considerable damage; and created widespread conflagrations across the country.

The Neo Barberians

Do you ever have this feeling that things around you are ever so slightly changing, slowly, innocuously, but suddenly one day you have ended up in a situation that is completely different; and you wake up and feel like you have been Ripped-Van-Winkled ?

I had one such experience a week ago. I had decided that I will have a hair-cut and as usual, paid a visit to the friendly neighborhood barber shop. My usual visit time is early mornings on a week day or later afternoon on weekends when his load is not at his peak. This time, however, I chose to go on a Saturday at 6PM – it was quite obvious to me that this was his ‘prime-time’ and he was running at his full capacity – all the three of them were busy with customers and there were two others waiting ahead of me. I too decided to wait.

…I wait; for the first time, I really look around the “shop”. There are lot more variety in magazines and news papers, than I could recall, with couple of English papers; also scattered around are must-in-every-barber-shop-two-months-old filmfare. I see he had upgraded his black and white TV to a color TV; a post-cricket match analysis was on. I watched that for a while; when those guys ‘returned to the studios’, after a bit of channel surfing, he settled for a music channel playing Hindi songs, where the VJ, with an accent, was trying to advise listeners on the ills of not having a steady ‘significant other’. I picked up a magazine and was trying to find out why King Khan felt he is not the numero uno in Bollywood, when my turn for the chair came. In response to the question from Barber #3, I told him I wanted a summer cut and settled down. Then something else caught my eye; in the chair farthest from me, barber #1 who had just finished a hair-cut, started applying some white solution on his customers face; Apparently, the customer was getting a facial. Through my hair-cut (I should call it styling; perhaps), I watched with fascination the whole process of facial – on the reflection, of course. B #3 was finishing up on the left side; then one of the phones rang; just like in the Airtel advertisement, each one of us reached for our mobile; and just like in the Airtel ad, all of us were left with sheepish grins, when the B#3 walked across to pick up his phone – a land line. He talked on the phone for a while, leaving me waiting.

In the meantime, in the adjacent chair, Barber #2 had finished the hair-cut and had gone on to the next one – it was not the usual shave – but apparently a “head massage”. He applied loads of oil on his customers head and went on to massage it, rub it, beat it, knock it in turns… it was a riveting sight to watch; I was amazed at the repertoire of services offered here; my barber returns from his call and proceeds on to finish; he asks me if I need a head or face massage, facial, shave … I reply in negative; for two reasons: I still need time to adjust and get used to this new era of hair-styling and men-makeovers; secondly, for a guy who used to go with 20 bucks to have hair-cut and then have a dosa at the nearby darshini, I’m not carrying enough corpus to buy any of the new services…

As I pay and exit, I ask for his phone number and store it in my mobile. Maybe the next time, I will have to make an appointment and actually carry my purse: I may choose to have a “make-over” than a simple summer crew-cut; got to change with the times.

Soliloquy

[This story was published in Sunday Deccan Herald under the title (linked) "Train to enlightment" ]

I was late. I had exactly about 30minutes to reach the Bangalore Cantonment station. My office was close to the Frazer town and somehow (and perhaps stupidly) I had assumed that Brindavan express would stop in Bangalore East, that was 5 minutes away. I worked in a small software company, along with 12 other guys that had a small office in Frazer town. We were all working on the next big thing that will give us a lot of fame and money; atleast that’s the dream that was dominating all of our waking time. We were working crazy hours – that typifies a start-up and set of people who are dreaming about the big pot-of-riches at the end of the IPO. I would steal hours wherever possible to get some work done. I travel to Chennai quite often, as a means to assuage my parents – they have this worry about me that I do not spend enough time with anyone other than work and still remain a bachelor, considering I will be 30 this coming Nov. Given the work pressure, I end up spending most of the time working even when I’m in Chennai; it was also perhaps my way of sub-consciously avoiding the topic that my parents always want to talk about.

I took by overnight tote-bag and packed my laptop and essentials into the tote-bag stuffed with clothes, came out of one of the rooms in the house (that was converted into an office) called out for my colleague, Rajeev, who had agreed to drop me at the station. Thanks to his skilful driving, I was at Cantonment station at designated platform just around the same time; I heard the horn of the engine coming into the distance. I got in along with the crowd that pushed me in, found my seat, which unfortunately was the middle-seat and settled down. I found that I had an old man about 65 already ready to doze off on my left at the window seat; and at the aisle seat another man about 40, very serious reading a book and not really interested in having a conversation. It suited me; I can complete the presentation I need to complete to meet a potential customer next Tuesday.

As the train started rolling out and picking up speed and once the din has settled down, I took out the laptop and the battery pack and began to work. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the old man’s interest peak up suddenly and was kind of craning to see as to what I was doing. I tried to ignore him to get on with the work. Supposedly, his patience ran out, he touched my forearm and asked,

“Nice computer, how much does it usually cost?”
“Its about a lakh”, I responded, perhaps tersely, so that I could get back to what I was doing
“That’s a lot, is it worthwhile?”
“Yes, I guess. Atleast it helps me to continue on my work, even when I travel”. I was hoping he would get the hint.
“I suppose so. I have a PC at home in Chennai”, he said.
He added, as an afterthought, “My son in the US had bought that for me”

I smiled and turned back to work.

After a brief silence, he asked, “Are you working in Bangalore or Chennai” ?
“Bangalore”, really trying to come across as terse as possible.
“My son is working in San Jose, in California. He is also in the computer line”.

I remained silent, with the fading hope that the conversation would stop; I wished I could have swapped my place with reader on my right.

“Oh, by the way, he should be your age; he passed out from IIT-Chennai in 1994; Computer Science. Where did you study?”
I lost hope of getting back to work, “Guindy”
“Why, did you not get IIT?”

The conversation went on, on what seemed forever. I lost hope and closed my laptop. If I were to be in the middle of the conversation, I wished I had gotten a seat next to that 25ish year old, good looking women two rows behind me. Hopefully, the old-man will run out of steam after the barrage and if I could answer all of them to his satisfaction.

Within the next 15-20 minutes, I had the complete life history of Mr.Vaidyanathan and his family. Mr. Vaidyanathan is retired from Railways (hence he travels in AC chair car). He has been a widower for the past 5 years. His son (name is Keerthivasan) has been in the US for the past 8 years in California. ‘Keerthi’ has worked in various companies (“They all are after him”, he had declared very proudly), had made some money during the late 1990s (“around the same time his mother died”) and has now settled down in a big company. He has bought a house in the US, and his children are beginning to go to school. His daughter, who is married to another IIT-graduate, is in the other coast in the US. Mrs. Vaidyanathan after a very brief illness had passed away in 1999.

As I was being fed with the life-history of Mr.Vaidyanathan, the catering staff had started selling eats in the train. The cutlet looked quite tasty (and now I can understand why Rajeev prefers traveling AC chair car – it meets his taste and interests). I had asked for one plate and asked the old man if he’d have one too. He did, but insisted that he pay for his own.

As we dug into the cutlet, he continued the conversation,

“What do you work on? And why is that you are not interested to go in the US? I assume for people from Guindy also get some opportunities”.

I started enthusiastically about what we do, then saw distinct lack of interest and gave the reason as to why I did not work in the US like his son. I could see that he thought my excuse was pretty lame and it was just that I could not land a job in the US.

“Where do you stay in Chennai?” I told him.

After asking more about it, he declared that he stays in Besant Nagar. “Keerthi had bought the flat for me. It has all the amenities, including park for me to walk on. He has even arranged for a cook that comes in and cooks every day”. He then went on to say more about the good things his son had provided for him and comparing as to why only the brightest and best go to the US and rest of the undeserving few, like us, have to stay back…

He was getting to me. I found the old man not only vain bordering on arrogant ignorance, he was also keeping me away from my work.

I focused on my cutlet and finished it; the old man had already finished it and something outside had caught his attention. The reader had disappeared and the seat next to me was vacant. I had decided in my mind, that in the next few minutes, after dumping my used paper-plate, I will come back and clearly tell the old man that I have some work to finish and hence I cannot carry on with the conversation.

I got up, took my paper plate and asked the old man, if he had finished. He nodded. Wanting to optimize, so that I don’t have to get up once again when he wants to dispose his plates, I picked up his plate, went towards the toilets, dumped the plates in the bin (or what seemed to be one), and washed my hands. Dreading to go back, I stood near the door for a while, looking at the scenery, as train was about an hour away from Jolarpet.

10 minutes later, I returned to the seat; the reader was back and so was the old-man. The reader was back into his reading. As I eased into my seat, I found the old man lost in thought and face turned away. Perhaps he wants to doze, lucky me, I thought. I took out my laptop and opened it with a prayer that I am left alone…

Damnit, I thought; the old man touched my left forearm again, and tentatively called “Mr.Karthik”. Impatiently, I turned to look at him. What I saw was different, the old-man seemed completely subdued, completely devoid of bravado and I could have sworn that there were tears in his eyes.

He said, “What you did was very very touching, not many people do that”.
I was not sure what he was pointing out, but mumbled, “I did nothing”.
“No, no, not many people really do this – you cleared my soiled plate. These days even paid servants don’t do these. The last time someone did that to me was when my wife was alive. Mr. Karthik, you know, to the outside world, it looked like everything has been taken care of. There is one thing that never gets taken care of…”, he trailed off.

Realization struck me. I closed my lap-top; put it back in the tote-bag. Mr. Vaidyanathan no longer appeared to me as a proud and vain human being – just an extremely lonely old man. Perhaps I should give him something that he misses very badly, some companionship, atleast for the next two hours.

My IPO-riches can sure wait another 2 hours, perhaps another 2 days as I spend the weekend with my own parents...

God's Own Country

It is nine and I’m bored, to death,
I’ve had my six-pack of cold froth;
For this day, I’ve bent my daily share of rules,
Pushed around these cops and bureaucratic fools,
Some for a fee and some for free
Who shiver at the mention of my great daddy.

Let me pick my gun and collect a few friends,
Get down to the bar at towns end,
In my Beamer or my SUVee,
Maybe knock down a few men -
Who'll miss a couple, in a billion and ten?
I’m God, freeing those poor bastards from hunger and pain
From their lives, so sorry and so in vain.
I’m God, no one dares to touch me,
Or he faces the wrath of my great daddy.

By the authority vested in my daddy and in me,
By the constitution of my great country,
Yes, I will just go have a ball,
Drink, be merry, may be shoot a Lal
And walk away scot-free,
Invoking the name of my dear-daddy,
In this fine land of freedom and liberty!!
(that’s just scripted right for me...)

The Ideal World

Kadir (alias Kadirvel Kuppuswamy) was almost falling asleep; he was in his office, a police station. He was the Sub Inspector; Given that that the Inspector of the station, Kannan, was under suspension for a month, until an enquiry against the inspector was complete, made Kadir the lord of that police station. Kadir appeared as if he had no opinion on the case against his former boss; if he had he held it within himself and nicely disguised it. Kadir, in fact, was very happy where he was in the hierarchy, until his inspector got suspended; he just had to do things that were told to him, did not have to take decisions, leave his work at 6PM, go home to his loving wife, Thamarai and more lovely 8yr old daughter, Aruna. He had no ambitions and was very content with what he was doing; the police uniform gave him some respectability and Kadir also ensure that he stayed clear of visibility and also trouble. The town’s setting was perfect for him – a very small town – Ootangarai – it was a non-decrepit town with one main-street running through it with shops and a few hundred houses on either side of the main road. It was, essentially, a bigger village trying to be a town. The primary profession of the town being farming and the Brick kilns; the bricks produced in this town were sent to nearby bigger towns of Krishnagiri and Thiruvannamalai and then out. The word out on the streets was that his inspector did not want to get into pay-in along with his Deputy Superintendent of Police of that district with the local rowdy-sheeter, “Sengal” Maran, who ran a small illegal operation in transporting of the bricks, which gave a neat profit for him and to the DSP and the inspector before Kannan came to the station. Kannan was young and an idealist – Kadir found Kannan to be a new kind of police man that he had not come across in his 11 year old policing career; he came to respect Kannan for his stand and began to help him out, in his own subtle, but none-too-obvious ways. Kadir’s world came tumbling down, when Kannan was suspended for a month on some trumped up charges; Kadir’s disappointment did not stem completely from Kannan’s suspension; he regretted a bit that Kannan was not successful; but he was more apprehensive that he was in the driver’s seat and will need to take decisions when need arises.

Today afternoon was trifling hot; drowsy and the summer air was dry and stifling; the ceiling fan made more noise than it was circulating air. He had returned about half-hour ago after a good lunch at home; as usual Thamarai’s had made tasty lunch. It has been nearly 15 days since Kannan’s suspension and Kadir had gotten away without having to do anything major; he was just counting days – may be he would take a week of sick leave. With nothing happening, Kadir was almost falling asleep; when the jarring telephone ring woke him up. It was the DSP on the other side…

“Ennaya Kadir, Thoongi-ittu irrukiya” (what man, Kadir, you sleeping ?)
“No sir, Yes Sir, Good after noon sir”, said Kadir, getting up from his seat and trying to get it right.
“How are things? No problems at the brick factories ?”
“No sir, everything is fine”

DSP continued, “Looks like that Maran fellow is creating some problems, one of his fellows would come and meet you, talk to him”. Kadir could not fathom what kind of trouble Maran was creating – not sure if it was real trouble for the town or trouble for DSP.

Kadir started, “Yes Sir…”, and realized DSP had already finished the conversation and had disconnected the phone.

Kadir had exactly dreaded this situation. The DSP has put him in a quandary, he was sure; the same kind that sent Kannan packing home, He wished he had listened to Thamarai and had gone visiting his in-laws in Pondicherry. Although Kadir did wish away, the inevitable happened; in the form of a man, who introduced himself as Kumaran. Kadir noted that Kumaran had a smile that was completely out of place and without any mirth. He said he was Sengal Maran’s cousin and had come to meet with Kadir to “discuss a very important matter”. Kadir listened to him, all the time wishing he was not in the police station and be in his in-laws place, facing his father-in-laws inquisition, which seemed much bearable now.

Kumaran left and in the nutshell, the important matter he wanted to discuss was that Kadir get into the pay-off with Maran. Without Kadir’s in the chain, things will not work as smoothly as it could, since some locals may actually file a complaint. Kadir can make a neat packet over his monthly salary and be happy; Kumaran concluded, “inspector-saar” – Kadir was about to correct him that he was Sub-inspector, but let it pass, “everyone is happy, including the DSP; after this Kannan will not be in this station and you actually become the big man of this town; but if you refuse, saar, why saar simply bring about problems for everyone; including yourself”. His innuendo and implied threat was unmistakable; Kadir did not react. Kumaran smiled at him one last time and left.

In what looked anything but coincidence, Kadir saw Kumaran in his street in the evening when he was reaching home – Kumaran had flashed his sinister smile at Kannan. Late that night, Kadir was still thoughtful about what had happened that day; he had absent mindedly gone through his dinner, pensive. Post dinner, he stepped out of his house into the small garden for a smoke (after a long time), sitting in a cement slab, lost in his thoughts.

Suddenly he felt his daughter Aruna, tugging at his hand. She had tears in her eyes; behind her was Tamarai, smiling proudly.

“Appa, I did something bad today”
Kadir stayed quiet, but gently pulled his daughter to sit next to him in the slab.
“Appa, in school today, when my class-mate, Latha was away, I had taken away her pencil and scale, appa, Without her knowledge, appa; and brought it home”
Kadir continued to look at her.
“Appa, amma told it was a wrong to steal somebody else’s things. I am very sorry appa. I will give back the scale and pencil back to Latha and give my ‘sorry’ letter to teacher. I will not do this again, appa. I'm very sorry...”, she trailed off, looking at Kadir, with frightened eyes...

Kadir was overwhelmed at his daughter’s talk and tears. At that moment, his adoration and love for his daughter grew, as he gathered her in his arms and hugged her tightly, reassuring her…
…and instantly, he knew what his answer to Kumaran and Sengal Maran will be.

The next day at the station, Kadir called Kumaran and got into Sengal Maran's pay-off along with his DSP. He loved his daughter too much to see any harm come her way.

Till Death Tears us apart...

Vijay Thakur is going through tough times. He has had nothing but a horse that was in his last leg, in fact all its four legs were in their last leg. But he got to make do with what he has, if he has to reach his love of his life, Lakshmi Kumari. He had no kingdom to swap for that horse., but he did swap his fathers (unknown to him, ofcourse) expensive television and his scooter for the horse and some money. He knew Lakshmi’s father had forbidden that she could not meet him; ever. But he had challenged that an old man can never stop his true love; and here he is on the horse, the only thing that could take him through the ravines of Hambal to Lakshmi’s village. He knew he had to be very cautious; he had just fought a gang of 10, who perhaps were sent by his would-be father-in-law to break his every haddi; they did succeed a bit, but when they tried to steal his horse, it was last straw on Vijay’s back – he “un sabko apne naani yaad dila diya”. As he passed through the ravines, he heard gun shots and suddenly the bullets whizzed past his ears and one even nicked his hand; but that did not stop Vijay from drawing his gun from the rucksack he had, looked directly into the sun, see the famed dacoits of Hambal and shoot each one of them. Funnily, as the dacoits were shot, they fell in somersaults; and some even fell in a way that would have put Greg Louganis to shame. Having warded them off bravely and one of his hands bleeding and his throat parched, Vijay Singh Thakur galloped on – on the horse that saw so much action that it forgot it was on its last leg; Vijay was tantalizing close – far away he saw Lakshmi running towards him in a slow-motion… On cue, his horse collapsed, he was now on the plains that separated him and his love of his life and started running towards her; strangely he heard a song as he ran towards her…

Lakshmi Devi was on the other end of the plain, on a bullock-cart that was part of the caravan. She was in the middle of the caravan, and the people around in the caravan wearing colorful dresses were singing and dancing as the caravan moved forward. Earlier just before the dawn, she had gone to the terrace of her house and climbed down the wall, bruising herself badly – she knew this was just the pain she would go have to go through – the love of her life – Vijay was waiting for her. Lakshmi had plotted her route carefully through the mangrove so that none can see her; except those five ruffians from the village, who happen to be in the mangrove that time. They started chasing her; one even caught up to her; but the stray-dog she had lovingly fed came to her rescue; she escaped his paws (the kamina's and not the kutha's); and the chase re-started - miraculously she evaded all of them; but they were gaining; as it was getting dangerous for her, she heard the sound of the cowbells and creaking wheels of bullock-carts; she ran towards it; the five ruffians who were chasing her gave up at the sight of well-built riders of the bullock cart. SLakshmi thanked the leader of the bullock-cart profusely, who although did not ask as to what she was doing at this early hour, but said he consider her to be his “beti”. That was this morning; in the interim, there was a chorus song by the people in the caravan; and over fire and over brunch, Laskhmi sang soulfully about her love, pining on to see Vijay and her future life with him. All of that was coming to fruition; they were in the edge of the plains and she saw Vijay in his horse; as soon as she saw him, she jumped off the cart and started running towards him. She saw Vijay doing the same and running towards her in slow-motion. She also heard the song she sang in the morning in her, but it was the joyous version of it…

Vijay ran, Lakshmi ran; and they ran as the birds sang, flowers bloomed... They were very close – with 20 meters separating them; and in a minute, they’d fall into each other arms and live happily every after…

“Engeetham stopped his writing and read through what he had written. It looked so déjà vu and he realized that this is the story of every other movie that gets made. He shook his head and tore what he had written into two, crumpled them, threw it in the garbage and left the room to have his coffee; hopefully that will induce some creativity”

...as Vijay and Lakshmi ran, suddenly there seemed to be a big divide appearing in front of them; They could no longer see each other; a crushing-searing pain passed through them…

Beneath Hope Lies

[Punctuation of the title is left to the discretion of the reader]

Chris’ Story:

Chris was in a heavy and slow moving traffic. Still, Chris of today, had the sense to not to get impatient and do something stupid. The days of stupidity are long gone by… As she waited for the downtown Los Angeles traffic to clear up, her mind wandered off to the past.
Christine Summers was an intelligent, strong and only child of her parents – Harry and Brenda. Harry was a very bright man, with a flair for life and humor, he was very much in love with his pretty wife Brenda and both doted on their daughter. Brenda was exact opposite of Harry; she was petite, sensitive and gave way to have Harry take the lead and be a strong support to the family. Chris had inherited her father’s sense of intelligence, independence and charm; combined that with the grace of her mother, she was quite popular and well-liked child. Those were the best days of Chris’ life, as she remembers it. Then the disaster struck – Harry was killed in an accident. Although, Chris, just over 9 years then, never understood it really well, she did feel a great sense of loss – she believes even today there is a thin vein of grief that can never go away; as she saw her father every time she looked into the mirror; she finally did come to a conclusion that Harry would be an inescapable and indelible part of her life.
After her father's death, Chris began to understand how much Brenda required someone like Harry – understanding, strong and someone who will never take advantage of Brenda’s diffidence and sensitivity. Brenda tried working at different places; because of her timidity, she always was taken advantage of. One such person was Vince – he was Brenda’s co-worker in the store, became friendly with Brenda and finally proposed to Brenda; Chris did not like Vince at first sight; she could rationalize that it was not because Vince is taking Harry’s place, but believed Vince was out to exploit her mother; things moved fast, Brenda married Vince; and then things grew worse. Chris’ impression of Vince proved right – he was a smooth talker, but he looked like one who could not hold on to the job. A year after the marriage, he began to be abusive. First words, then physically; Chris started staying away from home often – sometime staying at her friends’ house; or working late hours in the store; rebelling, she took smoking and drinking when she had gotten together with bunch of high school dropouts. When Chris was 12, Vince tried to be a tough father to Chris and tried to spank her since he had caught her smoking. Without blinking an eye, Chris slapped him hard across his face, and held the baseball bat that Harry had bought her and very calmly told Vince that she would not mind smashing his head in, if he tried that with her. She actually saw Vince then to what he really was – a blustering coward, who wanted to show his strength on people who were weaker to him. As abuse of her mother grew, Chris started staying away from home a lot; only come home when Vince was not around – she tried to counsel her mother to get away from Vince; somehow that never happened. Slowly, Chris stopped going home and rarely saw her mother. She moved to a different town, continued to do various jobs, got herself deeper into crowd that was mainstream and had history much more like her. Having started smoking and beer, she graduated into drugs and became a regular drug user; in spite of all this, Chris retained her interest in reading and continued to read whatever books she came across. It was an aimless life for her, but she did not really worry about it; once in a while she wondered of how her life would have turned out if Harry was still alive – maybe she would have been the lawyer that she said she would be, but then that momentary lapsing into reason will give way to what she did. Then she once drifted into her hometown – it was nearly 5 years since she had left it; first thing she did was to go see her mother. Hearing no answer after knocking at the door several times, she went around the house, gotten through the basement window and climbed up to the 1st floor. What she saw shocked her – her mother was unrecognizable wreck – she seemed to have lost all her beauty, thinned greatly and was sprawled out in the sofa; she seemed very sick; Chris found that her mother had very high fever and perhaps over a few days; Chris’ natural intelligence took over, she put her mom in the hospital, nursed her through, rediscovered each other (and discovered that Vince had left her mother for someone else), brought her mother back home, cleaned up the place and checked herself into a detox center. With 3 months, she had kicked her habit, took up a job and went to night school, got a degree, moved to LA with her mom and became counselor at a de-addiction center – she was slowly rebuilding her life and building her relationships with her mom and some real relationship outside; She had met one of the recovering addicts – Joshua Feldman at the center about an year ago and she knew Josh’s past; and sometime saw parallel to what she had gone through.
Earlier today, she had met Josh in his apartment this morning on the way to work – she had dropped the DVD of the movie, “Shawshank Redemption”, which she has watched several times over and over – to her Andy Dufresne mirrored her own spirit. Josh and she had gone out on some informal dates and she liked the way the relationship was moving – slow and its own pace and not something that is being hurried through – like the dinner last night at Josh’s house (until the magical moment got interrupted by the phone). It seemed it was like a small plant growing, but grow it will and flower. This morning, Josh was in the kitchen and she joined him in preparing breakfast and liked the closeness. They had breakfast together; as is wont, Josh was quiet. It was time to go, as she got up from the sofa to leave she kissed Josh lightly on his lips and cheeks; Josh reached out and hugged her. She could feel the warmth of the hug and just enjoyed the closeness; Josh’s embrace was tight; she slowly extricated herself, promised Josh that she will see him in the evening on the way back from work and maybe they could have dinner together. She was now driving through the suburbs of LA on her way to meet with Josh.

Josh’s Story:

Josh was sensitive young man with a flair for arts and with a keen mind for the abstract – Josh’s life was very similar to that of Chris; except that both his very rich and very much feuding parents made his life hell; as a very young kid he hardly saw them; Josh discovered that the stories where father read stories to their son before bed sounded exactly like those fairy tales – untrue and imagined. As 9 year old he had laid awake to see his parents when the come home, with a hope of a story being read to him; only to be disappointed as they were in no state to read anything to him. As Josh grew older, he found that he had enough money and he could buy whatever he wanted including love. Quickly he found that distasteful and then switched to alcohol – he liked what his favorite drink (well, any drinks) did to him. It gave him solace and made him sleep quicker, so that demons no longer haunt him. Josh had become a good artist and he started doing small exhibitions that was well received in the community. He believed he could do well there, which was anti-thetical to his dad, who wanted Josh to get into the business that he was running; This constant pull made Josh go into depression; quickly his friends introduced him to new type of drugs and that seemed to help him out of it. Josh’s first moment of joy turned traumatic as his debut art exhibition was panned by the local reporter and agreed on by his dad; that was the first time Josh tried to end his life, but swallowing fistful of sleeping tablets with good amount of alcohol already in him. He was found in time and the doctors managed to save his life. Josh continued to do his art, although he was getting convinced that he was not going to be successful in it – he had yet another unsuccessful attempt at suicide. Then one event changed his life. What he thought would be his last attempt as an artist, his last exhibition exploring the dark side of humans turned out be highly successful and a critical success; Josh was suddenly the new talent and the toast of people who he did not even know, but who claimed to know him. As he gained name and reputation Josh also realized that appreciation of his art was the high he sought out now; and started on the road to recovery and successfully kicked his habit. Although he was completely off the drugs and alcohol, Josh still did have haunting thoughts of death and his suicidal attempts); talking about it to his psychiatrist did not seem to help and make them go away.
Things changed about a year ago; he met Christine Summers; he saw her first as she was attempting to counsel a teen-ager and was riveted by the earnestness which she worked with that young-woman. She was beautiful in her own way and carried herself with certain strength and poise; as he came to know more about her, he appreciated her for the way she treated people with dignity. He slowly felt he was drawn to her; for the first time, he believed he could have meaningful relationship with people. He had gone out with her couple of times. He was just waiting for an appropriate moment to let her know; however he had no idea of how Chris would react and was mortally scared of rejection. That was his worst nightmare. And a recurring one.Yesterday, Chris had dropped Josh from the Gallery last evening; they had a nice quiet dinner at Josh’s house – Chinese take-away. They sat later on watching a movie that they caught half-way… As Josh started to tell her about how he enjoyed her company and perhaps would have gotten to it, when the phone rang – it was Josh’s father asking about his work; somehow the magic of the moment was broken and she left. Again this morning, Chris was at home and while leaving, she had given him a peck on the cheek; he wanted to hold on to her for more; she seemed uncomfortable and slowly extricated herself, quickly told her byes and seemed to be in a hurry to leave…

Chris and Josh’s Story:

Having successfully navigated late evening LA traffic, Chris arrived at and knocked at Josh’s door, she found it unlocked. She could not find Josh in his paint-room. As she walked through, she found the bath-room door ajar; in the tub was Josh filled with water, with both wrists slashed; and a note on the counter; she read the note, sat down on the edge of the tub, broken; after what seemed hours of crying, she slowly got up to call 911; and with despairing futility, she read the note one more time – “Chris, I love you a lot, but I just cannot take your rejection. Good Bye, love you always - Josh”