Land of the Brave!

Nana was living in fear – not fear of death or fear of something major; there was a stretch of train travel in the (infamous) Mumbai suburban train that he loathed – he loathed himself for being afraid. Nana (alias Narayan Iyer s/o Shri. Sivasankaran Iyer, the late priest at the Guruvayoor temple) had been a sheltered son of a very orthodox family down south. He had finished his B.Sc. and after trying for work in and around his native town without much success he landed in the big bad world of Mumbai in search of job – that was in January, nearly 6 months ago. He got one, as a technician in one of the Pharma factories at the suburbs, that paid for his living in a one-room shanty with shared toilet and bath room – more importantly, it helped him to save some money and send it back home to his widowed mother and younger sister.

Nana was scared about Mumbai – he had heard stories about how cold the city could be and how mirthless it is – where people go about doing what they do without bothering about someone’s plight. Coming from a villagish-town it was a huge culture shock for Nana. However, around after the 3^rd month he had learned to cope with Mumbai. It certainly did not win him over, but he found ways to co-exist with it – it was symbiotic, he thought remembering his 12^th standard biology – he needed Mumbai for the survival of his family and Mumbai needed people like him to remain aloof, cold and ruthless. He was insignificant; but by end of first month it had stopped bothering him to an extent and he knew he was becoming one among them. Even in the local train that took him to and from his job, he found people doing their own thing or on the opposite end of the spectrum sticking to the same group. He tried smiling at someone who seemed regular but couldn’t strike up a conversation due to his limited knowledge of Hindi. He then decided it was better to shut-up and not let people know that he was an outsider without the knowledge of Hindi or Marathi.

But then disaster struck. Someone seemed to take attention of him – in a way that Nana did not foresee or ever want. There was this tough looking man wearing a pyjama-kurta and his two cronies who seemed to find Nana’s nervous quietness funny. Initially, indirectly and then directly – they had started bullying him in one way or the other; more so after they found he was an outsider. Nana tried to switch compartments and avoid them. It worked for a week, but then they found him; the same about missing the train – did work for a while, but then it always came back to the same thing. Once they found him waiting for the train to go, got down and told him in no uncertain terms that he needs to take the train that they are in…

Since then, Nana lived in fear. He talked to someone at work, but didn’t help. He thought of changing his residence so that he doesn’t have to take that suburban train, but just couldn’t afford a place anywhere in the city. He was ashamed of his cowardice and lack of courage to stand up to those bullies; He also hoped that someone would come in his aid and help him out. But none did – its Mumbai and more importantly, it was not a movie.

Today he was returning from work – the July weather, matched his mood – seemed morose and threatened the evening with rain. He did not see the goons yet. He chose a place to sit that had his back turned towards the door with a hope that he would escape notice. The train had stopped in Borivli – out of the corner of his eye he saw the main-goon with his usual smirk and unlit beedi climb on to the train. Nana’s heart sank…

Nana further shrunk in his seat and waited for the inevitable tap on the head and the wicked grin. He didn’t get any – maybe the train was crowded enough for the goon to wade his way back to him, maybe goon had a change of heart, Nana hoped. As Nana waited, he felt a blow to his body, much more than what he had expected – he was stunned for a moment; then he lost his consciousness. When he regained it, he was completely disoriented, there was thick smoke and the compartment was in ruins. They were body lying all around; he heard screaming all around and people scrambling out. He quickly understood that a bomb had gone off and ripped through the compartment; along with the crowd and in the chaos he rushed out. Now outside, Nana’s instinct told him to run for safety, since there were screams that there could be more bombs inside. He found himself unhurt, by God’s grace and he thanked God (“Guruvayoorappa”) quickly and started to walk away – he wanted to be as much far away as possible when the next bomb went off.

For some reason, he turned back one more time – he saw the goon down on the floor, very much bleeding, very much conscious and very much in pain, with a piece of twisted metal over him. For the first time, in the Nana saw there was no bravado in Goon’s eyes, but a pleading and panic. Nana hesitated for a minute, flash of thought around God’s ways ran through his mind; “God’s ways”, it struck him – he climbed back in. He quickly inspected the goon’s condition – he seemed ok – there has been big injury to his arm and it was ripped away, but his legs seemed in good condition; and there was bleeding from the stomach, with a big ugly open wound. Nana told the goon to lie still (not sure if he was heard), tried to wrench the twisted metal away – he couldn’t and muttered aloud about being a vegetarian! He, also assessed that he cannot carry the weight of the goon; he decided to drag the goon under the metal to the door-way by his legs. He told the goon what he was going to do in broken Hindi; At the door-way, he let the goon’s legs dangled out, he pulled the goon to sit-up tilted him on his back and carried him out 20 meters away and dropped him on the ground, as yet another tiny blast went off inside.

Nana looked down at the goon. There was gratitude in those eyes; Not sure if those eyes saw fear in Nana’s eyes. Not today, as Nana turned to see if there was someone else he could help with…

Empowerment Vs Delegation Vs...

A lot of times at work, we get told and tell our colleagues that we need to “empower” our folks. I was explaining to someone as to what is the difference between empowerment, delegation and abdication…

…and decided to state that thus:

	The employee has		Then its,	heading for	Long term, manager does	Short term, manager does
	Capability	Potential
When the work gets pushed to one level below	Yes	Yes	Empowerment	success at a “raised bar” level	New objectives, higher bar, mentoring outside of hierarchy	Allow to set objectives, make decisions, "promote" to next level (of hierarchy, complexity etc)
	No	Yes	Delegation	Success	Reviews, coaching, hints on what-if scenarios, asking questions (but no answers)	set context, "gate" decisions with y/n
	No	No	Abdication	Failure	Change the employee out of current role	Operate at "activity/task" level

Makes sense ?

Toilet Humor

Heard in the toilet at our work place...

Middle Aged Guy: So , since it was raining so heavily yesterday, how did you get from the bus stop to your house ?

Young guy: My wife had come to the bus-stand with the umbrella

MAG: Oh... so you have been married only for 3 months right ?

YG: Yep...

MAG: My wife just told me to wait in some shelter until the rain stops

Thats just not it.

A bunch of folks in the toilet nodded in sympathetic been-there-experience-that kind of nod.

A good good Movie

Over the past weekend had watched a Tamil movie - Mozhi. It was a great great surprise - although I had read the review in the Vikatan, didn't really expect the movie to be great shakes. But was pleasantly, pleasantly surprised. During the movie and after the movie, I could clearly feel myself enjoying the story-telling - the movie was extremely well directed and well acted. The visuals were simple and good (with the whole family watching, identifying some of the locales in the foreign land :) ), pleasing, the backgrounds and the other supporting cast blending in nicely.

Essentially I saw the title "Mozhi" (Language) indicating that the two main protoganists relate to two different languages - one the music that he plays and the other the silence, she always hears. The hero, Karthik is a musician by craft and Archana is deaf-mute. Karthik who sees Archana and falls for her show of guts even before he knows of her disablity. When his resolve becomes stronger once he discovers her disability, one doesn't feel, its 'that tamil movie thing'. For, in essence, Karthik comes across a very decent human being, who is sensitive to people who really need that touch. The interactions between the professor (who is stuck in the 1984 due to his son's accidental death) and Karthik have been very sensitively woven into the story. The sorrow that laces the interaction is poignantly poetic. At one scene, when Karthik tries to reason with angry Archana, the professor intrudes with a 1984 non-sequitor. Karthik, for a fleeting nanosecond shows his annoyance as Archana walks away, but then stays with the professor to hear his story. Very beautifully done by the director, Radhamohan.

There are several such moments in the movie. Even Prakash Raj's comedy is not out of line. His comic inter-play with the association secreatary and off-the-cuff-oh-btw one-liners are very enjoyable and do not jar the story line like the regular comedy-track we see in other movies. PR should do more of this - comedy and production ;). Swarnamalya's role as Sheela is underplayed; inspite of my bias, I did believe she too did a decent job, particularly when she talks about her life to Karthik.

Karthik played by Prithviraj is aptly done. If you can pardon his accent, he has beautifully played his role to the T. No overt and overacted emotions, no wasted motions in his actions - very nicely done. Jyotika is very good in most places depicting the character that believes 'what one does not know will hurt you'; and just when Karthik draws her out, she retreats back behind the iron-curtain. She could have used her eyes better, given that she had no dialogue to fall back on.

Although the story ends predictably, you don't begrudge the ending as cinematic. At the end of it, you'd actually think it would be injustice if they don't get together.

The music, by Vidyasagar melts into the story. The editing is sharp with no extraneous scenes and keeping the storyline going. Even the bulb/bell thing that can appear quirky, gives you a touch of humor. In all, a great viewing that touched me in a way that I didn't expect. The taste still lingers on.

Infact, last week I was telling one of my friends that one way to get his young teen-age kids understand "values" is to get them to relate to a cause that is greater then themselves. That way they would realize how fortunate are we. I've told him that he should see this movie as a first step!

Sound bites

The state Governor who had earlier in the evening, when elicited for his views on four young children of the K.R.Halli slums being badly mauled by stray dogs, retorted pointing to the need that we Human Beings, as a more evolved species need to be compassionate to animals, now slept soundly in his fifteen acre mansion far away from and completely immune and oblivious to the cacophonous din created by those pack of dogs in the slums of K.R.Halli in the middle of the night...

It is a singular sentence inhabitants of K.R.Halli go through all their lives.

Humour at its Subtlest best !

Although this blog is for original (!) creations (!?!), there is this recent joke that I heard that deserves a mention; of course, attributing it to the oft quoted author - A.N.Onymous:

Q: What do you get if you roll an atheist, dyslexic insomniac into one ?
A: You get a person who stays awake all night wondering if there is dog !

:)

The Reel justice !

I’m sure most of you would have followed either in great or peripheral interest regarding Sanjay Dutt story on the papers; if you were in the periphery, then you would have been brought into the maelstrom by yesterday’s and today’s coverage. Thankfully, I had meetings uptil late last night (31^st) and hence was fortunate not to turn on the TV. But then, one can run, but cant escape – the news was on the first page – "Sanjay Dutt gets 6 year-prison-term"

My sympathies do not lie with Sanjay Dutt – He may not be a terrorist; but he is guilty on several counts – he broke the law, and he tried to un-make by trying to diabolically conceal the first breach. And he should have been incredibly stupid to do it. Or even incredibly drunk with celebrity psychology of “I can do anything and get away with it”.

However, what is laughable is the content story in the Hindu, on Sanjay Dutt’s arrest.

Since Sanjay Dutt is from the stable of the above - it is not surprising he was obtuse; looks like the whole film industry seem to believe that one could break the law and s/he can get away with it on perfectly legitimate grounds stupidity ! What does the film industry think? Or want ? That they could script a perfect court-room scene, where Munnabhai after the crime, would ask for leniency on grounds of "Jaadu ki pappi" and one last call to his beloved and the judge would break down, pound the gravel and let him go, with one year suspended prison term; then the hero, hand in hand with his dear wife and lovely kids, would walk out and break into a song as the credits roll?!

Look at the roll-of-honour in the news item – Each one of them is Nani Palkhiwala in their own right and understand the law better than the care-takers of Indian Justice and legal system. Victim of Conspiracy ? Hello ???!! Anyone home? What next, Monica Bedi would start expounding as to why faking passports is a perfect normal thing to do in this country?

I wish the Justice Kode hauls all their collective asses wholesale into couple of days into the prison on the charges of contempt of court, off their wonderland and get them into the real world !!!!

Fractured !

I had some interesting discussions in the past 2-3 weeks. I’ll classify those as:

Lack of Dignity of Labour:
In reacting to a comment on the blog about Apathy, I had talked about the “dignity of labour” or general lack of, in a booming city like Bangalore. Everywhere you go, we get to see a predominance of this mentality, where we believe what we are doing is somehow much bigger or important than what others do. This is manifest so starkly in the swank offices and how the generation of IT folks treat non-IT people, even in their own company. I’ve seen many a times, that people swish past the security at the reception, looking elsewhere but showing their badge with so much “nonchalance” at the security. Its very hard to understand this – I don’t believe it takes much for us to look at the security, smile at hir and then show the badge. The minimum respect that we could give the security for the job s/he is doing is to look into hir eyes before flashing the badge. The same happens to other “helpers” – the coffee boys, the helpers etc. It may make no difference to us if we know their name; but simple thanks with their names would go a big way for them to feel proud about their work. They are part of the eco-system that we have created.

Fashionably dissing the Doing Urge:
Few days ago, we had an interesting discussion at Lunch. Apparently someone was run-over in the Hosur road. This had enraged the people of that area and they had blocked the traffic for 2hrs and delayed the office goers for 2-3 hours. The "blockers" were dissed by one and all and to me it was a bit disturbing. My point to them was this: “Who is better - those guys who were incensed and wanted to do something about it and did (although that was inappropriate) or us folks, who just sit in our car for the traffic to clear"? From a societal level, I'd pick the former; Atleast they try to be the agents of change in a convoluted way... Convoluted, since its most likely their means is more a manifestation of anger rather than a thought out need to change. Of course, like someone said, there is option not to pick both, but the ones who actually took the people to the hospital. Yes. thats the best option. But at an unemotional level, for the injured, it makes a difference, but to that locality none; since accidents will continue to happen at that spot.

So there are three kind of people

1) One who seeks to change the system (the protestors)

2) One who seeks to help the victims of the system (the medical helpers)

3) The ones who do nothing (in the car waiting for protestors to go away)

#1 above may not have thought out well to initiate the change - but its disturbing to me that people who do nothing tend insult and to pick holes at people who are trying to do something.

I wonder if a combination of both above - i.e., disrespecting people for what they do, specifically by the prosperous few and those prosperous few doing nothing for removing the ills that ails us in this city, resulted in the chaotic scenes when Rajkumar passed away. The divide seems to be getting bigger and deeper. A little less of back to basics in politeness and respect and most importantly some introspection, would help this city, I would guess.

The Great Indian Apathy !

Of all the writing that Soliloquist does, so eloquently, I may add, this one stood out for me. The article was about the Indian apathy, and how it was tough to get someone in a crowd, that too a crowd claiming some commonality of purpose (like belonging to the same company), to come out helping out in a tight situation. The blog had concluded this is endemic and named it as a Great Indian Apathy.

I do believe there is apathy that prevails in our society and there is also an implicit acceptance of “fate” and “destiny” for even simpler failures; or attributing somebody else’s discomfort or misfortune to it; and hence no pointing in to getting into the situation or helping out. In spite of all that, I do think people have in them the innate need to help someone else out, when someone is in trouble. Yes, most of them would not put themselves in a situation when it threatens themselves or their loved ones security. Otherwise, I believe they tend to.

As there is an example in that article, here is another – an apt illustration of both ends of the spectrum. For passengers transiting between the international airport to the domestic airport, a bus facility is available to take them, with an hourly frequency or so. Prior to the departure, the passengers wait in a hall, with minimal facilities – but, of all the incongruities, a facility to charge their mobile phones – mirroring the explosive growth of that specific industry. A month ago, I was in one such bus. As the bus was leaving, one old gentleman hurried out asking the driver to wait. As we were waiting, we were treated to two gentlemen (gentlemen is really anomaly), who were loud, irritating and really irreverent to both the situation (middle of the night) and to the people around. The kind of topics they chose to talk to went on the lines of how they could make money of their jobs, how to outwit their management and how things in Mumbai were so bad etc, but safely taking refuge in speaking in their local language. As one of my relatives had said, they were the outstanding example of how IT industry in India has encouraged and nurtured mediocrity. Then the old man returned a bit harried – a person next to him queried as to what happened – apparently the old man had left his phone to charge and forgot about it – by the time he had gone back in for it, that was gone. His neighbour, immediately offered his mobile phone for the old man to call in his number – the old man was a bit tentative, since it was a long distance call, since his phone number was that of Bangalore’s. As this was going, the two idiots went on their view of how futile the whole exercise was. That did not deter the neighbour – he did get the number, called it himself; and gave it again to the old man to keep trying his number, with a hope that someone would answer the call. Unfortunately, nothing came of it.

Somehow I believe, the good neighbour’s name could be Avinash. Or Avinash Pathy. I’d have loved to say “Sol, Meet Avinash or the normal Indian, A. Pathy :-) ”.

The Game

Elsewhere

Vish looked forward to those few times in a week, where he would match his wits with his close friend Shanky. When both have time off from their worldly worries, they would typically get together with their better halves at one of their places – chat for a while on the general 'state of the universe', do a community-dinner after which Vish and Shanky would retire to play their favourite game – “Battle of wits”. In the game, they would pick a situation, a setting and each start with a set of pawns and start maneuvering them in a way that one of them would win by reaching the goal.Vish is usually the one that creates opportunities and dons the role of a skilful attacker, where as Shanky would either staunchly defend or counter-attack. Today was one such day – they had good food, the kids had retired and their wives had gone out to another room to watch an absorbing 24x7 reality show unveil. The game had started. Vish had planned his moves a few days ago and was well prepared. But he knew Shanky was a formidable opponent. He watching Shanky intently – Shanky seemed to activate an unconnected pawn… Hmmm…Absorbing…thought Vish.

Right Here

Hari was a typical bachelor living in the IT city working on one of those typical and huge companies that had just moved out of city onto the typical outskirts location. Usually, he rode to work on his bike; but for the past couple of days his bike had given up on him and both his friends Vishwa and Shankar were out of town on an holiday – so hitching a ride was ruled out. He was left with no option but to take the company bus for just this day, after getting permission from the transport-coordinator in the company. He was waiting in the bus-stand – he saw several of his colleagues that he couldn’t even recognize. The bus was arriving and Hari just went along with the human flow and got into the bus – as he got in, he looked for empty seats and found one in the center of the bus. As he sat down near the window, he saw someone, three rows ahead, looking at him – it was Shilpa!!!! The very same Shilpa that he met through a common friend nearly two years ago, the very same Shilpa that he went out with, the very same lovely girl that he had built his dreams of his life around; and unfortunately the very same girl that he broke up with and they drifted apart. And later, which made him look back with what might-have-beens and although in denial, a tinge of regret, sometimes. Shilpa had turned around and smiled at him. He smiled back, tentatively as she turned away. He could not figure out if she was glad to see him… As he sat there wrestling with his thoughts, his mind went into shades of sepia flash-back.

He found a great amount mental fulfillment and a sense of completion, in Shilpa’s company – that was very much true in their discovery phase. After, the initial meeting a friend’s place, he soon they found that they liked to be in each others company; that started into meetings without the friends. Then slowly, it became a standard practice of going out regularly. The thing that Hari liked about Shilpa is her simplicity and a certain refreshing openness. But, as they say, familiarity breeds, well, familiarity. In that, Hari also found that, on the other end of the spectrum, she was quite fixed on a few things – like some of her interests and goals for life and Hari’s had no common ground. At that time, neither of them wanted to make the compromise and gradually they came to see the differences to be far greater than what they enjoyed together. And without citing the standard irreconcilable differences, they broke up. Shilpa had also moved out of the town on an assignment for about 6 months and that made the break a bit easier. But there were times that Hari always wondered of what could have been. As he grew up in his job, he now believed that those perceived differences between them weren’t that great and there could have been compromises and meeting mid-way. He often wondered if Shilpa felt the same way, but never did take the initiative to call her; as there was another inner voice that told him otherwise and it will be headed towards another heartbreak.

He was broken from his reverie, as the bus slowed down to the next stop. He looked at her direction and she was looking at him. She signaled to him, imperceptibly, to come join her in the space next to her. As Hari was getting up, few more of the employees had gotten onto the bus. He found that a fat person, occupying the space next to him, blocking his path out and at the same time, another guy, who seemed to know Shilpa well occupy the seat next to Shilpa. Hari was disappointed; he imagined he saw some appear in Shilpa’s eyes, but quickly she turned and started talking to the person next to her, as the aisle got crowded, with a few folks standing and line of sight to Shilpa was blocked. Something told Harish that would be the last time he would see Shilpa for a long time; and what-might-have-been would remain intact!!

Again, Elsewhere

Vish looked at Shanky – Shanky had skillfully used all his pawns to thwart Vish. Vish gave up for this day and conceded to Shanky – but his time would come. Looking up from the large board game, they found that their wives had also joined them in the game room watching the scene unfold. One of them sighed, “You two should really stop playing with people’s lives – that was a near-miss. Poor those-two !!!”.

Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva smiled at their consorts benignly.

Never Ending Story

Aabid:

Aabid Aleem was day-dreaming. Infact, it was dusk and the night was falling softly after another dreary, cold, dull day. In the gloaming, there was an eeriness that looked very un-natural. Aabid wished he was with his wife – ah she was something - and the smiling infant he was looking at. Instead, he is here in a cold outpost, supposedly guarding an army station. As an army sepoy, he has never seen the real enemy from across the border, but he has come face to face with militants who always seemed to find ways to start something when it seemed the situation is turning to normal. There has been a lull for a while, and he hoped this time it was permanent. In about 3 hours he’d have some one to relieve him – he would go, have the army rations and hear the crude banter from his bunk-mates. There had been no enemy activity of late and Aabid was happy that his valley is again turning towards peace. Perhaps, it would be like old times, when he grew up in his small village

Aabid let his mind wander, the twilight making him a bit tired and he thought about his village.

Aabid grew up in a very small village, nestled in the valley. He was the last of the 5 children. His father was also in army, but retired by the time Aabid had grown up. He had a small orchard that he was looking after. As far as Aabid could recall he had lot of fun growing up. Fahad, his neighbour, had become his inseparable friend. There were times when he used to live and sleep at Fahad’s house and always found Fahad's family, especially his father, who he called Chachoo, very kind to him and very indulgent. Looking back, at certain times he felt that Chachoo made no distinction between Fahad and himself – treated him as his own son and fondly called him Abu. As they grew up, he found the character of the valley was changing slowly, but definitely. There were more news about fights, deaths, people coming from across the border with weapons and to counter that more and more army coming in – Aabid always watched the army with fascination, since long ago he had decided that he would follow the footsteps of his father and brother there. In this transformation, he found that Chachoo and his own father had very differing views; and increasingly, their debates were heated. Chachoo seemed to think that root cause of the problem was the government and they ought to have their own way of choice of freedom. Fahad imbibed similar views from Chachoo; except that he was more militant and was in trouble several times and was questioned by the army. Slowly, as the philosophies diverged, so did the chasm in their relationship. Chachoo moved out; He also heard that Fahad was taken by the army for one last time for questioning and he never returned. Aabid looked back it with a certain poignant nostalgia and wish it would have been different. But life moves on and has a way to blur the past and getting us to live in the present, he thought wryly. An year ago, he had gone home for leave, his parents had found a perfect girl for him – Afraa – she was the most beautiful girl Aabid had laid his eyes on and he instantly agreed to the nikah. After the marriage, he spent the 17 most wonderful days of his life, taking Afraa out to see the sights of the valley – everything seemed more beautiful, fresher and alive. Afraa, initially shy, turned out to be the one with the lovely smile and mischievous glint in her eyes. Aabid rued that he had to report to the camp so soon, as the militants had stepped up activity. He had returned home for a brief leave 4 months ago and Afraa was pregnant at that time. A week ago, he had received a letter from Afraa, stating that he would have to contend with another man in her life – their son and had sent the picture of a tiny bundle ! He immediately started dreaming about his son’s life – maybe his son will have a “Fahad” as a friend, maybe he would name him Fahad. Aabid also knew that like his father before him and like himself, his son would grow up and join the army – perhaps not as Sepoy, but as an officer. Aabid would to see to that that his son will have all the education that he did not have. He dreamed about going back to his village. He had re-read that letter several times. He turned toward the light and took out the letter one more time...with no knowledge of what was laying in wait for him...

Faaris:

Faaris Umar lay in wait. He was immovable and had become part of the fauna around. Faaris believed in destiny and in fact did not have any compunction on what he had done in the past and what he would do in the future. At some point in time, he had self-doubts about his path, but he always shook them off. Although he believed that his starting point was right, sometimes in the moment of doubt, he wondered if it was belief or revenge. Belief in what and revenge for what? However, he knew he was too far into this and there was no way out. He no longer yearned for his family or his friends; long ago, he was like anyone else, with close friends and sons and daughters. Some of it was taken away from him and some he gave up in pursuit of his path. When what was dear to him was taken away, he turned to arms with all his heart and mind. He, with his kills, had swiftly grown in the organization and had even gone across the border for special training and strategic planning. Because of his importance, of late he had hardly taken part in a mission, but today was different. The situation seemed to turn to normal and it was being talked about that there could be lasting peace in the valley; and people were also getting tired of war all the time – being pushed to live in fear of both the army and the militants. Faaris was disappointed that the very same people, for whose rights he was fighting for and laid his life and his dear one’s life on the line, had turned weak. He was going to show them for one more time; that it is possible to defeat the army.

He lay in wait silently and motioned quietly to his troops of nearly hundred, who were waiting in the woods, a stone-throw away from the perimeter. The first obstacle was that soldier who was sitting beyond the electrified perimeter in a narrow gap in the wall with the intruder-alarm switch at his reach. Faaris knew every detail and they had effectively dug below the electrified fence. All he needed to do now is to get to the guard and get rid of him and signal to his troops to tunnel through the perimeter. He waited patiently and knew soon an opportunity will come by and it did. That idiot who had been dreaming for the past hour and had turned his back now to get closer to the lamp. Stealthily. Faaris slithered towards the soldier, with the unsheathed knife between his teeth, as the soldier started reading a piece of paper.

Another Story Begins:

Aabid took out the letter from the tunic, glanced at his watch – another hour to go and started reading it. He did not see the sly shadow of a figure coming close to him, until the time he saw the gleam of the blade. He turned around with his hand going toward the alarm and the other at his gun. As he turned, his eyes softened in recognition…

Faaris was very close to the idiot, he silently took his army-issue knife out from between his teeth, and as he had done several times…

Aabid could not feel any pain as the knife slashed his throat and the sound gurgled out, ebbing out with the blood; as he hung on to Faaris’ shirt as he was gently laid down, in dying pain, he mouthed the word “Abba”, smiled at Chachoo and died in his arms…

As Faaris slashed his knife, he recognized the soldier – it was Abu, the kid he had loved like his own son and yearned to see after his own son’s disappearance. Momentarily devastated, he caught the falling Abu and cradled him in his arms. As he gently lowered the dying soldier down to the ground, he had heard Abu mouth “Abba”; the letter and the photo had slipped from his arms and smudged by the blood. Faaris, laid Aabid down gently, let out an anguished, silent cry and shed tears for his dead Abu; he picked the photo up, looking at smiling infant, who could have been his grandson; and who probably would be pitched against him in a few years time, if both of them make it through... He pocketed the image, stood up and steadied himself a bit. He seem to pause for a moment in thought - then wiped his eyes and signaled to his soldiers. Faaris would have his victory tonight, but looking at Abu, he knew it would be an exercise in futility. Yet, he will not be the one to end this cycle of madness.
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Note: The picture above is a movie poster of Oliver Stone's Platoon. That imagery kind of stayed in my mind and it seemed pretty apt for the story.

Behind the block !

Funny, you think you make time and you actually get very very busy. I've been away from the blogging part of the world for a while, although have been reasonably up-to-date in checking out what my "regulars" have blogged of late. Even after choosing to work "reduced" (really ? does that work ?) hours this summer, I'm not finding time to write. So, I guess that does mean that I'm actually achieving the goal which I had started out to, when I decided to work reduced hours... (However, what would my BH say ?!!!). In any case, with the reduced hours, I find at work, I'm completely focussed at all times and getting to complete most things that I ought to; and have no time to do anything else other than work !! Although the work follows me home during off-hours, its at least at my beck and choice.

Going back to the reduced work hours and the goals for it, I've been reading a bit - also started another blog, about something thats very close to my heart.

Anyways, just back from a good vacation in the middle of nowhere (for about 6d), where no access to computer and net. When I touched the computer it was to transfer the photographs ! The time off was really good. I've a few things to write about:

• About 5-8 stories that I have the plot for
• On my thoughts on getting a puppy at home
• The Great Indian Apathy - a Contra view to Soliloquist's
• The novel that I promised to complete by end of this year, I've the total outline (any ideas on how to publish it on the blog - doing the whole novel would be tedious to read)
• About several other things

Will post something by end of this month. In the meantime, do not lose your finger nails and move back from the edge of your seat ! ;)

Prize Erosion

Everybody feels a warmth, when a 14 year old comes on to the scene, with a certain earnestness that binds you in a thrall, in spite of his prodigious talent, a certain humility that is endearing and that touches you and a certain sincerity that awes you. You adopt him virtually, watch him grow, watch him succeed, watch his intensity to say the right things and do the right things. He inspired generations - people of his time and people before him. You egg him on to be more successful, gloss over his errors, explain away his failings and glorify his successes. As the cliche goes, every mother would want him as her son-in-law and every father, as his son...

... then sh*t happens. He grows old - life's entitlement and insecurities catch up; leading to demands that is in the vicinity of presumptuous impudence. He starts thinking - "although I make tons of money, its sacrilege to have asked me pay for my (Ferrari) toy as per law of the land". Or "How low would these men stoop to question my commitment to my craft" (although what he's crafting these days are turning out to be quite crappy) and so on.

But then, like I said, age happened. The sheen is wearing down; the rust is showing on the humility and sincerity. With age, not only innocence erodes; with it goes a litany of other things too.

Oh btw, Happy Birthday Boy ...or whatever !

Quo Vadis Tu !

Having hit a block on writing, I took the easier path – write on what I’m up to… An update to the September’06 Quo Vadis…

I am reading:

• My experiments with Truth – M K Gandhi
  
• Smart moves - Carla Hannaford

I am listening to:

• My wife, as always… (this does not change)
• Mish mash of Tamil mp3, ranging from oldies to newies.
• FM 100.10 on my car radio – the Carnatic channel, a perfect antidote to the late evening traffic

I am amused by:

• This jpeg that someone sent me – brings a smile,

  

  without having to roll on the floor laughing!
  
• (On the lines of Devon Malcom’s or Courtney Walsh’s art of batting,) Rahul Gandhi’s attempt at politics (or realpolitik, if I may add). It, my friends, is worth ROFLing!
• Sachin Tendulkar’s outrage on being questioned. We, the lesser mortals, forget – God is next only to him.

I am looking forward to:

• Cautiously, restart of Karate classes; about a month into it and I’m feeling good, good, good!! (except for the closing 15m of the class, when I'm ready to drop dead and Sensei pushes for that last effort !)
  
• Hopefully, running the Bangalore mini-Marathon (at least 10Km) – not sure if I’m training enough.
• My “magnum-opus” – its just seems around the corner, just behind the (writer’s) block and clouded by the lack of motivation (to write, to complete)

I am frustrated by:

• Sometimes, Parenting – it’s a two-step-one-step thing – with forward and backward thrown in somewhere there. Wish could lay my hands on that book...
  
• Our tendency to admire the problem and not get into the details to actually solve it, methodically; but continue to talk of how the situation needs to change
  

I am impressed by:

• The Sri Lankan team – who have proven that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
• Even with two losses to Canas recently, Federer’s dismantling of Roddick in Australian Open and this shot by him (sorry, cant post the clip - but trust me, that return of Roddick's smash is just out of the world) !! Awesome!!!