Evening by the beach

She: Wow, it is so calm and beautiful here. You were right, this city isn't that bad.
He: See I told you so.
She: But the problem here is not the people, it is some people. Most people have more than enough problems in their life that they don't care why a young couple is sitting by the beach at this time of the hour. While some are happy to see us happy. Yet, there are some who can't find anyone else being happy even if it's nothing that will affect them.
He: Of course there are bad people everywhere, not just here.
She: Yeah but these aren't bad people right; or goondas or criminals, right? At least these are not professional killers or anything. These people have normal day jobs, loans, electricity bills and that usual middle class fubar. Most probably they go back home to their wives and kids after a good day of moral policing. They are normal. Now that is what dangerous.
He: Come on. Chill no? I mean let us enjoy this moment.

Them: Hey hey hey! Who are you? What is this, America? Who are you two? What is this a hotel room? Hey, who is this girl? Is she your wife? Show me the thaali! What is your name? What is her name?
He: Hey hey! What are you doing? Keep your hands off man! She is my girlfriend. Yeah!
She: Of course! We are together. He didn't force me to sit here and it is none of your business anyway.
Them: Girl friend? Huh? This is India? Give me your parents number! Give me your phone?
She: Ok ok ok! Wait, wait!  Let me take it!

She (turning to him while ruffling through her bag): See, this is what I said.

Then she finds what she is looking for from her bag, loads it and shoots Them in their faces.

He: Ok, lets have some chai now?
She: Yeah! And some Uzhunnu vada. Let's go.

Bucharest Chronicles

I see a pretty lady in the metro with a bunch of flowers. She is looking so sad. I want to hug her and tell her that everything will be alright.

Romanian ladies are generally pretty; but once and now you find a face that takes your breath away. I see one right now.

I am walking down the old town at around 2.30 am on a weekday and it is crowded like the Ernakulam Broadway at noon.
"Don't these people have work tomorrow?", we ask each other.
(Maybe they are asking the same question pointing at us).

Oh these revolving doors! Argh! They are on my case I reckon. Damn!

I feel bored. I go to trim my beard. I cut my ponytail off. Hair today, gone tomorrow.

Sitting alone in Cismigiu; one oldish dude comes and asks for a single cigarette. He insists on paying for it. His name is John Rambo and he is an ex-serviceman. No joke, he even shows me his ID.

Get into the tram from near the hotel. Old tram, old town, old people - I never felt so young in a very long time.

Whenever I see old people here I wonder about their experiences - they must have survived the war, the interbellum, the war again, the communist era, the revolution and now the democracy. I think this city is like an old cat - hit hard and made harder by the hits.

The city is so arty. To be arty is to move. To move is not really to be arty. Trams move. Trains move.

Again in Cismigiu. Lots of them bring their dogs to walk. The dogs make friends with each other, but their owners don't. Man is a social animal.
 
It's morning. They are practicing for the evening orchestra at the George Enescu square. I look at them and walk across the square, near the stage. I stumble and almost fall. They see me, some smile; a few laugh. Oh the artists notice me. Cheers.

Get drunk. Walk around. Get lost in the old town. Eat gelato. Yawn.

Last Sunday in Bucharest. Cismigiu again - happy people, beautiful place: beautiful people, happy place. There is a lake. Ah! there is a duck. Hi!

Witch-hunter.

He woke up swearing. The fever dreams were always so vivid and almost always appalling. He vaguely remembered the whole dream, yet some parts were still there; like an after taste from a very strong piece of cheese. The part where his girlfriend did not want to get up from her pet's embrace even to say good-byes to him was one. She didn't even open her eyes, although they both knew they won't be seeing each other for a long while. The part where he wakes up (in the dream) to see a man and a woman speaking in hushed tones was the other one. They got into the wrong house apparently, but they were already inside the locked house. Well, the thing about dreams is that they didn't have to be logical in any sense. Then the girl undresses, wears another dress and leaves with the guy.

Enough about dreams. Now he had other things to be taken care of. He was a 'witch-hunter' in the modern world; but what he was hunting can scarcely be called witches. He was commissioned by a very large and powerful religious institution to hunt and fetch the girls who had married outside their religions. These 'treacherous wenches' has chosen to defile their mighty god. He was supposed to hunt them down, kill their men and bring the girls back to these religious leaders. He was not to hurt the girls, unnecessarily. He was never to sexually harass them either; although hurting young girls was never his thing, even for money. But he doubted if it was the same with the lofty high priests of the religious order.

One thing that he always made sure of is that he would never work for the same religion more than once. After all, there are hundreds of religions and sub-religions; and hence no dearth of new employers. And the job is always the same; pay is always good. He packed his bag and took a look at the photograph in his wallet. It was so ironic to think that he does this all to give  a comfortable life to his two daughters.

Valsamma Sir

Valsamma Sir is the pinnacle of gender equality in Kerala. She wore a saree to work, she even had the umbrella - folded and tucked under her arm - stereotypical Malayali government employee lady in all senses. The peon calls her 'Valsamma Sir', because 'Sir' is above everything in India, especially in government offices; except to his or her 'Sir'. So this strict hierarchy goes all the way up the ladder; to the very end. But even the topmost person will have someone to call 'Sir'. Oh it's a maze, don't think too much about it now! I digress. Yet these whole complexity doesn't make any change to the fact that Peon Ramu (a stereotypical Indian peon with a stereotypical Indian peon name) has to call Mrs. Valsamma Thampi 'Valsamma Sir'. Now thats how gender equality should be, eh?

Sic Semper Tyrranis. 

Apolitical art?

Can there be any art without political inclinations? Is there anything as 'Apolitical art', worth being called art? Politically inclined art, either for or against an ideal, any ideal, is what that actually exists; the ones that do not talk about the plight of men in a society where they are being trampled upon is, in all reality, siding with the same men who are trampling them. Love poems, stories, sonnets - everything, every single plot is either with them or against them; and if you think you are neither, then my friend, you too are with them.

Dream-catcher.

"Because sometimes, most of the times knowing is not enough one has to know how to let others know; teach others. I know what I'm doing now might look crazy to most of you, but like I said it is more important that I do this more than ever because of that reason."

Then he can only vaguely remember what happened after that. The idea was to be tied to a bunch of balloons and then slide across the beach for probably half an hour or so and get the attention of the crowd and spread his message of love, faith and righteousness. But, they misjudged the number of balloons; he just started flying up up up. At first he thought this was how it alway started; that you will go up for a while and then slowly start to come down. But after a while he realised there was something really wrong. To add to his worries the breeze took him towards the ocean, further away from the land. He closed his eyes and started praying; he had faith. He knew everything would be fine soon.

Up there away from the land dangling from a bunch of balloons you loose track of time, it's absolutely normal. You start thinking aloud. You wish for something exciting.

Hunger will always be in the back of your mind; yes, you are hungry but it's the thirst that is what nags you all the time. But it’s only for a few more hours, someone will find him and he would be, there is always hope.

After a couple of days you are not really sure if you are more concerned about your thirst or hunger or tiredness. But you know you will give up anything to have someone to talk to. Needs of the soul are always more important that of the flesh. You need to go on; you can't give up. He didn't make you so that you could give up. You start to pray.

After a long while you loose everything - your faith, your hope, your conviction. You just wish to die and die soon.

*** A Brazilian priest tied himself to some hydrogen balloons in his quest to spread the message. He flew up. His decaying body was found floating in the ocean after a couple of weeks.

Obituary!

He was sitting in his room, watching some music video. He had drunk some and smoked some. I went inside and broke the news: "Dey, Bob Marley is dead!!!". He threw his headphones and said "O shit O shit" and then even while I was walking down the stairs, I could hear him shout.

Then he comes down and asks another room mate, "Dey net il check cheyyada, Bob Marley chathu".

Roomie who was playing some computer game in his room (the game is the sick one where you manage a foot ball team and become rich) was annoyed but still heeds to the request. He checks wikipedia to find that "Edey iyalu 1981 il vadi aayatha. Shavam." Well he hears that, comes and and sits in the living room and said, "Ayyo nammal arinjathu valare late aayi poyi."

à la Barrichello :|

Remember that race where a part of Barrichello's car flew off and hit Massa square and which had sent him retiring in the hospital room for sometime? Any part of the vehicle ever fell off while you were riding/driving? Well, it happened to me; today. The metal thing that stays on the back of the bike, behind the seat fell off. It was loose for quite a long time, but I was lazy for a longer period of time. My laziness is much more powerful than a silly piece of metal that is hanging loose from the back of my bike. Some rattle can't frighten me off.

It did fall in a crowded area, but thankfully no one got hurt. Some one could have, this is a heavy piece sharp and a bike can hit it and fall over. It can get stuck in a car-tyre. Thankfully neither of it happened. I took it to the restaurant where I had my breakfast and kept it there, with the promise that I'll take this today noon and fix it. I'm still waiting.

Act !!!

Are you the kind off person who gives money to people who beg on the streets? I never used to since every where the money we give goes to some big mafia coccus group. What me and my cousin used to do sometime is to buy them food, especially if they are kids. 

There is this guy who used to sit to the sidewalk next to my office. He used to sit in the way between the office gate and the tea shop. So once in a while I used to give him a coin. The guy has some kind of ailment like elephantiasis on his leg. Once while giving him the coin I touched his hand. His eyes did flicker with some surprise, which he suddenly tried to hide. 

I was thinking about him, this is not a disease which cant be cured. Maybe I can get my company Corporate Responsibilty people to do something for him. Also there is this guy from my old company  who heads the Charity Trust there whom I could phone. Maybe even I can ask him what kind of help I can do for him.

Well I did think a lot, but the next day when I was walking down the street, he was gone. I did think like maybe many others. But I was not of any help to him right. Makes me feel bad,  though. And thats also not gonna help him either.

To Serve and To Protect

The Karnataka Police have never failed to amaze and to a certain extent amuse me. From taking 10 Rupees to even a Pepsi bottle for a bribe, to threatening to throw a large stone at me for jumping a signal - they are too innovative and advanced for me.

This last day I found the great police force extorting vegetables and coriander leaves from a roadside vendor. They were throwing the stuff from a vendor ladies push-cart to the tow away van. And yes all they all had that noble air and attitude written all over them.

"Bastards"; that's the first word that came to my mind and that's the feeling and after taste that still lingers in my mind. Add to that the feeling of sheer helplessness. I have seen Mercs and Bimmers parked in the wrong places. I have seen them coming full throttle in the wrong side of the road. I have seen those sons of bitches who call themselves 'Jansevaks'  jumping signals with heavy traffic. And I have seen Police there too, but not even once doing their job. These cars don't carry vegetables in them right? Or having double standards is the basic bare necessity of being part of the police force I reckon.

Jai Hind !!!

Revolutionary in the making.

We have the Sree Ram Sena founder Prakash Muthalik blessing us with more general knowledge, profound thinking and lots of noble ideas again. He says that the "Sadhvi" Pragya is not a terrorist, but a revolutionary like our very own Bhagat Singh, Jhansi Rani and the likes. Hmmm, I say we should do exactly the same what the then establishment did to them. Let the future generation and their history books decide more on their stature. Isn't that being fair enough to the "Sadhvi"? Makes me feel how lucky we are that we have such a noble person as the self declared custodian of our culture.

Isn't it amazing?

58th Republic Day isn't it? And what do we have here? Well let me see, O yeah, we successfully attacked some ladies in a pub and showed the world how noble and great we are. Should really be proud of the fact isn't it? And now there exists only one problem, we have two organisations vying for the credit. Well this requires serious investigation, 'coz we don't want the wrong people taking the credit for this, do we?