22 Nov 2014

The hopeless romantic





As I saw them fallen
Brew an anger inside uncontrollable
A sight, not the first time, to my eyes
But the blood boiled nevertheless
'How vile an act!' my mind screamed
I kept staring at the culprit
My heart filled with despise
Despise for a being so rid of love
And I determined to question him
Question how he could be so loveless..

Looking above at his face, I screamed
"Do you not know love? Is your heart so wooden?"
There came not a reply
"Speak out, you big fellow!
Do you not feel an iota of attachment?"
There prevailed silence
"Why hold back now? Not the first time, is it?
Every year happens this cold act. And you seem not a bit affected."
The leaves rustled a bit now
"See how close they stay to you. 
And what in turn do they get? Separation under the veil of autumn!"
A branch squeaked somewhere
"And now these poor ones?" my hand pointed to the fallen flowers
"Were you burdened by their beauty?
Did you sell them out to the wind and the rain?"
The burning anger in me was expressing itself
Every single word, its play
But not came even an alphabet in reply from the big fellow
And I scorned at him
This was after all, a routine to him
A big old wooden tree that he was
Why then would he care?
And I walked a few steps ahead..

But I stopped and looked up at him again
I needed not a reply from the cruel fellow
But I wanted justice and I walked towards him
Looking above, I raised my leg
Pulling it backwards, I directed all the energy to my feet
And landed a blow on his wooden heart
A blow so solid and strong
Oil would have sprung out had it landed on earth
But on this guy, it had no effect
Or so thought I for a moment
Before happened something unexpected
A reply for all my questions he gave
Not in words, but by that act -
A shower of tears poured down
A shower he had been holding back for long
A shower he had been holding back in his leaves
A shower he was so relieved to have poured out
Intermittent were the tears for a minute
And as they slowly stopped
My feet took a few steps back..

Drenched in his tears, I looked at him..
The blow I had landed had shook him
But his response had shook me, my perspective now altered
And as I looked at him now, I understood
Why he had been silent
Why his heart had become wooden..
I thought for a moment the pain he would face every year
Letting go of the ones he had so long cherished
Be it for the season or be it for the wind
And having to start over all anew
Year after year after year after year
And I closed my eyes
A silent prayer that never should one be faced with such a love affair..
I apologised to him, a terrible blunder on my part
And slowly walked away
Only to turn after some distance
And see the poor guy silently standing there
Rooted by the grave of his loved ones!

19 Nov 2014

Picture-perfect!

(A short long story based on not one but many true incidents)

“When you don’t have evidence, why try to refuse it?” argued Ali, shrugging his shoulders and closing his lunch box.

Shekar gave him a cold stare and said, “Fine. I don’t have evidence. But, do you have any evidence to prove that they exist, sir?”

Ali paused for a moment and snapping his fingers, shouted, “Area 51!”

“Area 51? Seriously? Is that your evidence to make me believe in extra-terrestrial beings?”, asked Shekar, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Well.. You can’t say that the happenings there and the reports about…” and Ali stopped abruptly. His eyes widened. Shekar asked him why he had stopped. Ali signalled Shekar with his eyes to look behind.  Shekar turned and saw Reshma standing by their desk.

“Yes, Reshma! What is it?” asked Shekar. Reshma tilted her head slightly and continued staring at Shekar without replying. Shekar looked at her confused for a few moments before he remembered the text message she had sent him last night. “The book review, right?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with the joy of discovery. She nodded without answering.

Shekar quickly turned to Ali and asked for his English assignment note. Ali, who had been looking at Reshma till then, quickly bent down and fetched the note from his bag.

“Here Reshma!” said Shekar, handing her Ali’s assignment note. “You will probably never come across a better review of a book. Ali is the best when it comes to books. ” Shekar added.

Reshma smiled and looking at Ali, she said, “I will return it in a day or two.” Ali nodded and quickly added, “No problem. Keep it as long as you want.” Shekar turned towards Ali and glancing at him for a moment, he turned to Reshma and said, “Yeah. You can probably even tear it to pieces after you complete the review.”

Ali nudged him as Reshma let out a chuckle. She opened her mouth to say a statement when the hour-bell rang. She quickly turned and hurried off to her desk.

“Keep it as long as you want? So weak a romantic line?” Shekar asked Ali after Reshma left. Ali stared at him plainly. “Why didn’t you tell me that she had asked for it yesterday?” he asked Shekar. “If I had told you, you would have jumped up and down in joy. But how could I let you be happy, my dear?” asked Shekar, his eyebrow raised. Ali punched him in the stomach and as Shekar raised his hand to hit Ali, entered the Physics teacher and everyone in ‘XII -B’ classroom rose from their seats for greeting her.

****

“Did you notice the way she smiled when you said that I was the best when it came to books?” Ali asked, a large smile spread over his face, looking at the road below.

“Yeah! But I guess she smiled taking it as a joke.” snubbed Shekar. Ali raised his head and gave Shekar a nasty look. “Are you going to rejoice because she smiled when I said something about you?” asked Shekar, in a bit serious tone.  Ali remained silent.

“But it doesn’t matter much anyway, Ali. She already knows that you like her.” said Shekar, in a very calm tone. Ali froze and stopped in his track. Shekar kept walking forward not paying heed to Ali who had stopped.  Ali continued looking at Shekar hoping that he would turn but as Shekar kept walking on, Ali quickly ran ahead and stopped Shekar.

“Does she really know?” Ali asked, fear visible in his tone. Shekar let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head in denial. “But we can actually change that.” he added to Ali. Ali punched him on his shoulder and continued walking.

They kept walking for a few steps, their footsteps the only sound that could be heard on the 5th main street that led to their homes.

And suddenly breaking the silence, came Ali’s statement. “I want a good photograph, Shekar.”

Shekar looked at Ali confused. “Profile picture! I want to change my profile picture.” Ali explained.

“Why suddenly?” asked Shekar. “I just felt like changing it. Why? Can’t you take a photograph?” Ali asked him. Shekar smiled and a few steps later, he suddenly stopped. “Reshma? Are you changing your profile picture for Reshma?” he asked, a bit shocked. Ali did not answer. “Ali, this seems silly. Do you seriously think that changing..” but his statement was stopped halfway by Ali.

“Please. I felt like changing it. Let alone the reasons.” he said. “Could you possibly take one today?” he asked, a minute later. Shekar nodded. Ali’s face brightened up.

”You know.. I have always wanted a photograph with the sun-setting-orange-sky as the background. The beauty it brings about is something amazing. Especially, the sky with the sun slowly.. ” Shekar placed his palm on Ali’s mouth. “I will take care of the setting. Walk quietly.” he told Ali.

About half an hour later, Ali was adjusting his hair for the fourth time as Shekar stood patiently, holding his camera. They had come over to a small pond that lay at a five minute walk’s distance from Shekar’s house.

“Do you think that my shirt colour would match with the background? Shall I perhaps rush to my home and change my shirt?” Ali asked with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Yeah. Please proceed to your home.” Shekar said bluntly. Ali quickly sprinted ahead. “You bloody fool! Do you think the sun is going to keep waiting for you to change your shirt?” shouted Shekar at Ali. Ali stopped immediately and slowly returned back to the spot where Shekar had told him to stand. He dragged his shirt a bit down and adjusting his collar, he pulled his stomach in. He then showed a thumbs-up signal to Shekar who removed the lens-cap and bent down a bit, holding the camera near his eye. He slowly adjusted the aperture setting and as he tuned the ISO, he lowered his camera.

“Why are you holding your breath trying to keep your stomach in?” he asked Ali. Ali let out the breath he was so difficultly holding and as his tummy came out protruding, he slowly moved his hand over it. He then looked at Shekar asking for some compassion.

“If you are going to be your normal self, I will go ahead with taking your photo. If not, I am leaving.” he warned Ali.

“Shekar, please! Just see how big this fellow is!” Ali pleaded, shaking his tummy.

“If you are going to hold your breath, I am not taking your photograph.” iterated Shekar. Ali remained silent for a moment. “Fine. Let’s do this. One photograph with the stomach in for my sake and one with the normal self for your satisfaction. How about it?” he asked Shekar.
Shekar opened his mouth again to argue but he looked at the sky. He was already losing the lighting required for the photograph. So, he agreed and asked Ali to stand with his head lowered a bit.

He then started clicking the capture button, slightly lowering and raising the camera angle with every photograph. “Two is enough, Shekar” shouted Ali from his spot. “Stand quietly.” shouted back Shekar and continued snapping photographs. A few clicks later, he slowly lowered the camera and pressing the play button, he looked at the photos that had been captured. Ali quickly rushed to join him and watched the photos along with him. As the photos went by one after the other, stopped Shekar at a photograph and handed the camera to Ali. “I guess this one’s the best” he told Ali.

Ali took the camera from him and looked at the screen. On it was seen a beautiful photograph of Ali, till his waist level with a bleak smile on his face, at the left corner with a blurred background of the pond and a magnificent orange sun, occupying a majority of the top-right corner. “It’s fantastic Shekar” Ali delighted in joy. Shekar nodded and asked back the camera.

“Wait for a few minutes. I need to take some photographs” he told Ali and walked towards the pond. Ali walked behind him. Shekar wore the camera’s strap around his neck and sat down on the ground. He then picked a peculiar looking stone and placed it at the edge of the pond. He searched around for a bit and at some distance, he found what he was looking for. He looked at Ali who was standing nearby and asked him to fetch a dried-up yellowish leaf that lay a few feet away. Ali quickly brought him the leaf.  Shekar placed the leaf resting on the top of the stone and moving the stone a few inches more to the edge of the pond, he removed the camera from around his neck.

“Move back a bit” he said to Ali and as Ali moved back, Shekar prostrated himself on the ground. Adjusting the aperture setting, he focused on the leaf resting on the stone and started clicking a few photographs. “Why did Sheela aunty take a break from photography, Shekar?” asked Ali suddenly. Shekar gave him an angry stare and Ali quickly placed his hand over his mouth.

A minute later, Shekar got up and seated himself before the pond. He then slowly took the peculiar looking stone and threw it inside the pond, very close to its edge. As the stone fell inside, started spreading ripples and he quickly threw the dried-up yellowish leaf into the pond. The leaf flew in the breeze and landed on one of the ripples getting carried away. Shekar quickly rested his camera on the ground and focusing on the ripples, he slightly adjusted the aperture setting to bring the leaf into focus and a moment later, he got the ideal image that he was looking for which he photographed.

“Why did Sheela aunty take a break from photography?” asked Ali again, as Shekar stood up dusting off the mud from his shirt and pants. Shekar looked at Ali for a moment. “Why this question suddenly?” asked Shekar, continuing to dust off the mud.

“The last time I visited your home, I noticed the ‘India Today’ cover photograph that aunty had taken hanging on the wall. I thought of asking about the photograph and as to why she had taken a break then but for some reason, I didn’t. I suddenly felt like asking now seeing you engaged in photography” Ali explained.

Shekar hung the camera around his neck and signalling Ali to proceed, started walking towards his home. “It was that photograph which you saw hanging on the wall that caused the break” Shekar said, as they had taken a few steps. Ali looked at Shekar. “Do you remember the photograph?” Shekar asked him.

“Yeah. A little girl smiling from inside an overflowing garbage bin. It kind of shook me a bit” Ali said.

Shekar nodded and explained, “It shook my mom more than a bit. She had managed to capture the photograph easily. But when she saw her photograph on the ‘India Today’ cover, she broke down. She ran to her room and smashed two camera lenses that came to her reach. She then grabbed this camera..” Shekar pointed to the camera around his neck and continued, “.. and was about to smash it too. But my dad hurried in and snatched it from my mom. It took him more than a week to completely console her. She felt ashamed for having taken the photograph of the girl inside the garbage bin and told my father that she was never ever returning back to photography. ” Shekar ended.

A minute of silence prevailed as the two of them kept walking towards Shekar’s home.

“Why then hang the photograph on the wall?” asked Ali slowly, looking at Shekar. “To remind herself not to get back to this” Shekar said, pointing again at the camera that hung around his neck.

A minute later, they reached Shekar’s home. “So, does she never even touch the camera?” asked Ali, still pondering over Shekar’s mom’s break. “It’s not so. She does teach me a few techniques about lighting and camera angles. But it’s been about two years now since she captured a photograph.” said Shekar.

“Not even a selfie?” asked Ali, smiling.

Shekar raised his eyebrows in anger at Ali’s comment and as Ali’s smile slowly disappeared, he let out a hearty laugh and slapped Ali’s back.

****

Ali refreshed his Facebook page again.  It had been more than an hour since he had changed his profile picture. He had got only 6 likes.

He clicked the tab that lay nearby the current tab on his browser. He had opened Reshma’s profile picture on it. He looked at her photo – a simple image of her standing by a tree – and as he scrolled down, his heart sank a bit. 231 likes.

He banged his head on his computer table. A set of novels that lay at the edge of the table tumbled and fell below. Ali let out a sigh and got up from his chair. He picked up the novels and set them on the table. On his way to returning to his chair, he passed the full-sized mirror that lay attached to the wall. He stopped and turned towards the mirror. He walked towards it. As he stood a few inches away from it, he looked closely at his reflection on the mirror. He then turned to his left and looked at his sideways reflection on the mirror.

He slowly moved his hand over his protruding stomach. He then slowly pulled it in. Pulling it inside to the fullest, he looked at the mirror. He kept staring at his image having a flat stomach and he slowly moved his hand over the reflection’s stomach. As he kept moving his hand, his body couldn’t take it anymore and his stomach came back to its normal self. He abruptly stopped moving his hand and dragged it back from the mirror.

He then slowly walked back to his chair and seating himself on it, looked at the screen. It had Reshma’s photo on it and the likes had gone to 240. He moved his mouse pointer and returned to the nearby tab that had his profile. He closed his eyes as he clicked the tab and slowly leaning forward, he opened them. The same 6 likes.

Frustrated, he removed the photo from his Facebook profile and switched off his system. He then leaned back on his chair and began staring at the black screen of the computer, slowly punching his stomach.

****

“Who the hell told you that a girl is going to be impressed by the likes you get on a Facebook page?” Shekar asked angrily, as he opened his lunchbox. Ali did not reply. He sat staring at his unopened lunchbox.

“Are you not going to open it?” Shekar asked. There was no reply. Shekar dragged Ali’s lunchbox closer to him and opened it. Arranged neatly inside were 5 chappathis, rolled and stuffed with potato curry. “Wow! My favourite! Are you going to have one or not?” asked Shekar, holding the lunchbox to Ali in one hand whilst biting a large piece off a chappathi roll held in the other. Ali remained silent staring still at the spot the lunchbox had been before.  

“Fine.” said Shekar bluntly and placed the lunchbox by his side. As he completed one chappathi roll, he took out another and started eating it. Ali, still staring at the same spot slowly moved his hand towards his lunchbox. Shekar, seeing this, moved the lunchbox a bit further from Ali’s reach. Ali stretched out his hand a bit further. Shekar moved the lunchbox a bit more and Ali eventually turned and looked at Shekar. Shekar slowly dragged the lunchbox back and pushed it to Ali’s side. Ali got hold of a chappathi roll from the lunchbox and started munching it.

“So, tell now, my dear. Who the hell told you that the likes you get for your profile picture would impress a girl?” Shekar asked, smiling.

“Nobody” said Ali bluntly. Shekar smiled a bit more. “Why do you care if she gets 240 or 250 likes? It just means that there are those many jobless people in her friend list.” he told in a sarcastic tone.

Ali let out a chuckle, spitting out a bit of the chappathi roll.

“A profile picture is after all just an identifier, right? People need your profile picture to help them recognize you. Why the hell has it been made into a tool to measure your attractiveness? Does 240 likes mean you are handsome and does 5 likes mean you are ugly? ” Shekar asked, the last statement in an anger filled tone.

“Actually, it was 6 likes.” corrected Ali, still munching at his roll.

Shekar let out a hearty laugh. “Idiot!” he exclaimed, laughing. “By tomorrow morning, I want to see your photo back as the profile picture. If it doesn’t get even a single more like, I don’t care. I like you the way you are. I like your tummy. I like the entire 90 kilos of you. Be happy and proud of who you are and how you are, Ali. And I will kill you if you lay your hand on the last roll!” he finished, hitting Ali’s hand that had reached for his lunch box.

“You were saying something very seriously. So, I thought you might not notice” Ali said, laughing.

“You are important to me. Fine. But the chappathi roll is, on any day, more important” said Shekar, mocking. Ali let out a laugh and a moment later, his laugh abruptly stopped. Shekar asked him what it was. Ali signalled with his eyes to look behind. As Shekar turned, he saw Reshma standing.

“Ali, I completed my review last night. But I have given your assignment note to Kavya. She said that she would definitely return it by Monday. Hope you don’t mind” she said, looking at Ali.
Ali shook his head furiously, signifying a no, trying to swallow hastily the food inside his mouth.

“And I also wanted to say that your review was fantastic. I have not even heard of the book – The Reluctant Fundamentalist. But you had reviewed it so well that I felt like I had read the book after finishing your review. Really great, Ali! ” she said, smiling. Ali kept looking at her, his eyes widened. He wanted to thank her but he could not bring about his mouth to say it.

“Ali becomes a statue when someone praises him. I thank you on his behalf.” quickly added Shekar, smiling, looking at Ali. Ali nudged him but he still couldn’t bring himself about to thank her. “It’s fine. I should only thank you” said Reshma to Ali and turned to leave.

“Ask her which book she chose” whispered Ali to Shekar, hurriedly. “So, which book did you choose, Reshma?” asked Shekar, making Reshma turn.

Twilight. I chose Twilight.” she said, smiling and walked away.

After she had gone a few steps, Shekar burst into a hearty laughter. He started banging the desk, unable to control his laughter. A minute later, still laughing, he slowly turned to Ali. Ali was still reeling from the shock.

“Hey! Your face seems to have become as pale as the Edward’s face described in Twilight.” exclaimed Shekar and started laughing even more. Ali landed a hard punch on his back and told him to stop laughing. But Shekar was able to control it only after about two minutes.

“What an irony! Of all the books in the world, your dream girl chose the one book – the only book – that you hate. I really feel sorry for you Ali” said Shekar, beginning to laugh again.

Ali was silent for a minute and then he said something which made Shekar laugh even more.

“The first thing I am doing after reaching home is keeping my photo back as the profile picture.”

****

Shekar looked at the clock. It was 8am. He wondered for a minute as to why he woke up early on Sundays when he found it extremely difficult to wake up on the working days of school.  

He switched on his desktop computer and shouted out, “Mom! A drinkable coffee please!”

There was no reply for a few moments. He slowly peeped out of his room, sitting on his chair. A moment later, his mom came out of the kitchen and gave an angry look. “It would take at least 20 minutes. After all, I need to make it drinkable, right?” she smirked. Shekar grinned widely and nodded. His mom returned back inside.

Shekar opened the web browser and logged into his Facebook account.

The earlier day, Ali had been constantly whining about Reshma’s like for Twilight but by evening, he had come to a phase where he had started saying that everyone had a few negatives and it wasn’t a big issue. Shekar had become afraid that Ali might get back again to feeling sorry for his profile picture and had lied to him that Reshma, during a conversation with Shekar the earlier night, had mentioned that she had felt that Ali’s photo had looked good and had asked Shekar why Ali had removed it. Ali had not believed it but Shekar had threatened him that he would call Reshma right then and make her say that she liked the photo and so eventually, Ali had agreed.

Shekar had decided to ask Reshma, if she came online, to ‘like’ Ali’s photo. Shekar had told her a few months back about how much Ali liked her and so he knew that Reshma wouldn’t mind liking Ali’s photo. She, though did not like Ali in the complete sense, had considerable respect for him.

But as soon as he logged in, Shekar saw that he had received a message. It was from Ali. As Shekar opened the message, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Ali had sent him a screenshot. It showed a Facebook notification, from Ali’s profile, which said: “Reshma Saravanan likes your photo”.

Shekar was overjoyed. He wanted to congratulate Ali and as he glanced at the left bottom corner of the page for the list of people online, he could see that Ali’s name had a green dot accompanying it. As Shekar began typing, he noticed that Ali was also typing something and Shekar stopped.

A moment later blinked the message: “This is going to be a lengthy message. Please bear with me. I need to tell you this :P ”

Shekar was a bit confused on seeing the message but he waited patiently, expecting a long-winding message about Reshma.

And then came the lengthy message bit by bit.

“Kavya messaged me yesterday on Facebook. She had messaged to let me know that she was having my English assignment note :D”

“She told me that my review on the book was great. She admitted to have read only 3 books in her life and asked me how many books I have read so far. I shamelessly admitted as to have read about 300 books  :P I also told her to read more books and suggested a few good ones :D ”

Shekar smiled as he read the message. Ali was the only guy he knew who would type entire sentences instead of using short phrases even on Facebook.

“But here is the main part :D She told me that my profile picture looked good :D I thanked her and only then looked at her profile picture. It was a photograph of a small child. I asked her why she had not kept her photo as the profile picture.”

“And the reply that she sent made me feel really bad. She sent this – ‘LOL :P If I keep my photograph as the profile picture, I would probably not get any more friend requests :P :D’. I really felt very bad, Shekar. And you should not scold me for what I did after this :P ”

Shekar started imagining all kinds of possibilities as to what Ali would have done when appeared the next message.

“I sent her the following message – ‘The profile picture is just an identifier. Why do you say such stuff? Take me, for example. I have a huge tummy. I weigh 90 kilos. But I love my tummy. I love the entire 90 kilos that is me. Be happy and proud of who you are and how you are :D And sorry if I had said anything wrong :) ’. I know what you would be thinking after reading it but like I said, please don’t scold me :D ”

Shekar let out a hearty laugh reading the message. It was stuff like this that made him love Ali.

“And do you know what Kavya replied? She sent me this – ‘ No aplogies please :) No one has ever shared such things with me. Thanks a lot. I guess this book review has not just given me a book to read but also a great friend :) ’. And she actually changed her profile picture – it now has her photo :D ”

Shekar smiled reading it.

“All of this happened only because of you :D Be it Reshma :D Be it my photo :D Be it the advice that led to Kavya becoming friends with me :D I will somehow beg my mom and bring chappathi rolls tomorrow also :D Thank you my friend :D ”

The last message made Shekar smile even more. This was another characteristic of Ali’s which he loved. Ali never hesitated to express his gratitude even for the smallest of things. But Shekar knew that this time, he didn’t deserve Ali’s gratitude. He typed:

“ Congrats on Reshma’s like – I told you yesterday na? :D And hats off with Kavya – you have made a girl feel proud of herself :D Seriously super :D And stop thanking me. Everything happened only because of your book review :D Realize that and thank yourself :D And please Ali, somehow make your mom agree to the chappathi rolls :D”

And he sent it to Ali. He got back a “Definitely :D” from Ali after which Ali went offline.

Shekar read the messages that Ali had sent him one more time. As he read Ali’s thank-you message again, he experienced an overwhelming feeling of happiness but this time it was tinged with a slight guilt.

He recalled all the statements he had said to Ali the previous day about profile pictures. He looked at Ali’s message again and he couldn’t help feeling bad. He moved his mouse pointer to the top of his profile and clicked on his profile picture.

It was a photograph of a butterfly rested atop a torn shoe that Shekar had taken.

He kept staring at the picture for a few moments and began scrolling through his earlier profile pictures – a bird perched on a railway track, a line of water droplets about to fall from a clothesline, a lonely hibiscus flower that lay fallen on a long empty road, a dog resting on a bench with its one eye open, a caterpillar crawling across a leaf – all of them captured by Shekar.

He recalled the instance when Ali had asked him, a few months ago, as to why he never kept his photograph as his profile picture. Shekar had smartly answered him that he wanted people to recognize him by his ‘photographsand not by ‘hisphotographs.

But now, as he kept looking at the photographs he had assigned as his profile pictures, he felt sad. He knew the real reason as to why he had not kept his photo as the profile picture.

He did not consider a picture of himself worthy.

He slowly got up from his chair. He walked to the balcony and looked out at the sky. The sun was at its most powerful, shining brightly.

As he kept staring at the sky, he recalled Ali’s message. He also recalled Kavya’s message that Ali had sent him.

As his eyes became blinded by the sun’s rays, it slowly dawned on him.

He decided that he would no longer be a hypocrite and turned to enter his room. He saw his mom standing by his computer table with the coffee cup in her hand.

And his heart skipped a beat.

As he looked at her standing there, he recalled all the hours he had spent with his mom learning about photography. He had, on a lot of occasions, asked her to photograph various images that had caught his eye but she had refused outright on every single occasion.

He now remembered the one thing he had never asked her to photograph.

And he entered the room quickly. He took the coffee cup from her hands and placed it down on the table. He held her hand and dragged her to the balcony. He told her to stand near the entrance of the balcony and entered the room again. He grabbed the camera th and came back to the balcony. He told his mom not to move and hung the camera’s strap around her neck. She tried to lift the strap off but Shekar told her to wait for a moment.

He then walked towards the edge of the balcony. Looking at the sky and the sun for a moment, he positioned himself at a place where the sunlight bathed one half of his body while the other remained dark. He looked at his mom.

She was grasping the strap of the camera, ready to remove it.

Shekar looked at her eyes and bringing about a smile on his face, he slowly asked her,

“Mom, would you take a photograph of me?”
                                                
*****

16 Nov 2014

If not for you, my man...

I still remember it crystal clear. The very same date – last year. My hero walked out onto the ground and stopping at the 22 yard pitch, bent down to touch it. It was his way of thanking the 22 yards that had been his constant companion for 24 years.

I was watching the scene on my laptop along with my roommates, hesitant to cry as it might reveal my tenderness. But sometime later, I got up and walked to the restroom nearby our room and shutting the door, I sat down inside. My mind went blank for some time and I still try to recollect, to this very day, as to what happened to me those 15 minutes inside the restroom.

In a life not completely full of pleasures and joy, there was of course the support of family and friends. But the heart is never satisfied with what it has. And it always keeps searching for a partner to hold onto during times of joy and sorrow. Being dragged out of childhood at a very early age, the search for the partner began quite soon in my case. And at so early an age when romance was too difficult a word to even spell, the heart did manage to find an able partner – a guy born in Mumbai, cricket his profession, who went by the name SACHIN RAMESH TENDULKAR.

The Mumbaikar, along with ALLAH RAKHA RAHMAN who joined him a bit later, have been two of my closest companions ever since I realized that there were things in this world that were out of the control of He-man and Phantom.

There were a lot of days in my childhood when I kept staring around at people crying profusely not knowing why they were doing so. There were a lot of days when I was caught amidst angry retaliations. There were a lot of days when the silence at home deafened me. And during all these periods, if there was anything/anyone that/who kept me going it was only the little master.

I had a lot of friends who would collect toys, Pokemon tazzos, WWE cards and a lot more. I also did collect a few of them. But the most favorite hobby of mine was collecting Sachin snippets from newspapers. Every time he scored a century, the next day in our home could be found at least 4 different newspapers. I knew that every newspaper would report the same event but I experienced a kind of exaltation seeing the praises and appreciation for Sachin over and over again in every newspaper. 

The admiration and the affection slowly grew into a possessiveness so strong that it became equal to a child’s possessiveness of its mother – a child can never stand its mother being shouted at but there is one other thing it totally despises – another person being affectionate to its mother. I hated people who spoke ill of Sachin but I hated more the people who called themselves to be admirers of Sachin. With age, the possessiveness has been healthily pushed aside paving way for beautiful and lengthy conversations with fellow admirers of Sachin but even today, at moments, the ferocious streak of extra-possessive love over Sachin shows its face (to my joy, indeed!).

A few friends of mine, admirers of Sachin, were/are also very good in cricket. They would discuss his square cuts and straight drives and his cricket-textbook-grammatically-correct shots. I was/am very weak with cricketing terminologies and even worse with regard to playing the game. I was included in most of the cricketing teams that would play near our house for the sole reason that I owned a MRF bat. But then I never really cared about it all. Because, unlike for most of them, Sachin is not just my most favorite cricketer or sportsperson. He is a lot more.

I remember the incident when my mom, before the board exams in my tenth grade, stuck a few pictures of various deities above my study table so that they would shower more light for me to shine brighter. And I added a picture with the ones of the deities – Sachin’s – to my mom’s shock. But she is a sensible lady who always gives more preference to my happiness than my beliefs and so let the picture be.

Sachin was/is my equivalent of a God. A religious person gets agitated and infuriated when someone speaks ill of his religion or his God. And I remember incidents of throwing the remote control at the television seeing a news reporter say that Sachin better call it a day instead of trying to score the elusive 100th hundred and tearing apart a newspaper after reading a report that Sachin should leave way to the youngsters post his tennis-elbow injury. I myself knew that I was being a tad too hyper-emotional at times but then, why lead a life till the wrinkled face and trembling hand come about without loving at least a few people as fully and as sincerely as you can?

Many a day, a lot of my friends would ask me as to why I kept doing all that I did for Sachin and why was I such a crazy fanatic when after all, he did not even know that a guy like me existed. I never had an answer and would simply shout out at them in anger. I did not have an answer even until the 10th of November that passed.

But that day changed it all.

My brother, as affectionate and as caring as he always is, had sent me a surprise package and as I opened it, I was dumbfounded (I have used this very term – dumbfounded – a bit often and I honestly admit that this post is the first one for which I really typed the word having realized its meaning). Lying inside the package was a brand new hardback copy of ‘Playing it my way’ – Sachin’s autobiography.

I slowly took it out and as I moved my fingers over its glossy cover, tears rolled down. Partly because of my brother’s unconditional love. Partly because of the fact that I had gotten hold of my hero’s account of his life.

But the main reason behind the tears was this – every single instance of my life that had shook me and had made me realize how much a person loved me had only been through Sachin. Be it my best friend (a miniature bat with Sachin’s autograph), be it my brother (Playing it my way) or be it, even my mom (The list is a bit lengthy).

And there lay it. The answer.

Sachin Tendulkar not just gave me hope like he did for the millions. Sachin Tendulkar not just gave me joy like he did for the millions. Sachin Tendulkar gave me a lot more.

He gave me love and more importantly, he gave me my life.

In Sachin’s own words from his farewell speech,
“I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart, and also say that time has flown by rather quickly, but the memories you have left with me will always be with me forever and ever, especially "Sachin, Sachin" which will reverberate in my ears till I stop breathing. Thank you very much.

P.S.: As for the book – Playing it my way – I find the internet spattered with reviews that call the book a ‘dud’ – one review called it a ‘duck’ from a man who constantly scored centuries – stating that the book offers very less insights about Sachin that that is already known. I would just like to ask this – When you media people make every single happening in the great man’s life a news-report, what do you expect ‘extraordinarily extra and revealing’ to be present?
But then, I honestly know nothing of reviewing books and its better I be quiet. Moreover, it does not really matter for me if the book is not insightful. A religious Hindu would not probably blame Bhagavad Gita for not providing more insights into lord Krishna’s mind/life now, would he?! 

15 Nov 2014

Aaromale and its aftermath!

As the clock struck 4 pm, I was totally clueless as to what to do. Sleep seemed to evade me and for some reason, there was not the seriousness to watch a film. I decided to lie down on my cot for some time but I knew that lying down staring pointlessly at the roof of my room would only lead to an onslaught of thoughts which I needed not. All I needed was peace. And so, I resorted to the only option I could think of - AR Rahman.

As the playlist played on from the playful 'Pennalla pennalla oodhaa poo'  of Uzhavan to the soul-stirring 'Naetru aval irunthaal' from Maryan to the out-of-the-world 'Thirakaatha kaatukullae' from En Swaasa Kaatre, I could feel a sense of serenity spreading over the stretch of my mind. And only if it had continued the same way. Alas! The strumming of guitar strings began. The slow buildup began. And 'Vaamalayeri varum thennal' in Alphons Joseph's voice began. 

It was Aaromale from Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya.

And I let out a sigh. 

Not because I disliked the song. But because I loved it beyond description. And I loved the scene that followed the song in the film beyond description. Every single time I listened to Aaromale, I needed to play the scene that followed it on my laptop. I just couldn't resist the song. The scene, even worse.

The scene - a sequence where a man and a woman come across each other three years after their break-up (if it could be termed one in the proper sense) and sit down at a bench at the Central park to have a chat that begins with the pair discussing their current lives and ends up with the pair returning to their forlorn romance- is probably one of the best shot romantic scenes of Tamil cinema. 
Right from its start - the sound of the birds chirping heard at the background as fallen leaves lay spread on the ground with Trisha's Jessie seated facing Simbu's Karthik who is shaking his legs (symbolizing his restlessness as well as the joy on seeing his loved one again) as the first dialogue begins - the scene assumes greatness. 
As the camera slowly zooms in on the characters, one cannot fail noticing the slightly bent-about and damaged fence behind Karthik's back - a probable reference to the state of the relationship of the characters. The conversation begins with Karthik thanking Jessie for not walking away and as it slowly proceeds with Jessie mentioning about his dream of becoming a filmmaker coming true, comes a nod - a meagerly shy one from Karthik, putting forth the delicacy. And as Jessie continues with queries about Karthik's family, comes an abrupt 'Hmm.. Nalla irukaanga' (They are fine) from Karthik who quickly turns away, reflecting a sense of disinterest with the trivial chat. His hand hits his lap and Jessie turns away as the score - the strumming of strings with the magical piano touch (as only Rahman could) - begins, peaking the uncomfortable silence that prevails.
Jessie breaks the silence finally asking him if he wants to say something or ask, perhaps. And Karthik looks down slowly and turns away for a moment, signifying so beautifully that anything said or asked might probably have no positive outcome. As Jessie proceeds with the intruding 'Vera yaarum irukaanga la.. Enna Karthik?' (There is someone else right.. Karthik?), Karthik who keeps looking at the ground till then looks at Jesse abruptly, his eyebrows faintly raised, indicating an angry 'How could you?' and as Jessie continues, trying to iterate strongly that he must have moved on and there must definitely be another girl in his life, Karthik's mouth opens and closes momentarily depicting a silent sigh with him nodding in agreement and admitting to Jessie that there is indeed another girl. And now happens the so beautiful 'surprised and shocked' reaction of Jessie's to his statement which she quickly tries to hide with a forced laugh and silence. 
Karthik goes about with his story of how he had met the other girl and as Jessie inquisitively persuades him to describe her, begins the slow zooming in on Karthik (building up the mood) as he describes the girl (every trait of her's matching with Jessie's) and comes to the 'defining' trait - 'Padam paaka avaluku pidikaathu' (She doesn't like watching movies) - with a momentary silence paving way for the melancholic Hosanna background score as Jesse's eyes widen in slow realization beginning to make our hearts heavy. And Karthik goes about with the description, his eyes slowly becoming teary and as he desperately looks at Jessie and delivers the final statement - 'Ava peru Jessie, Jessie!', any boy/girl who has suffered the misery of losing a loved one to the culprit called life would cease to live for a moment. 


I try to remember any other scene that I have so fallen in love with. I try to think about the reason behind the immeasurable attachment towards this scene and as the scene plays again in my head, I find it hard to keep my heart beating at its proper rhythm.

I have faced the ridicule of many of my schoolmates who would call the scene a sappy one and would add that I was trying to over-worship it. But to me, it is one of the most plausible and sensible romantic scenes written and crafted depicting the helplessness of the characters as opposed to the regular norm of the Tamil cinema to always provide a way out of improbable situations for the leads. And moreover, when describing love, one can never be right to the fullest. Because, love in itself is a complicated issue.

And the heavy feeling that the scene left me with would have probably carried on for long if not for my decision to stop the film and continue with my playlist.

The next song turned out to be a continuation of the melancholic setting yet an absolute gem in its own right - the female version of Aaromale.

And I closed my eyes letting myself drown in Shreya Ghoshal's heavenly chants of Aaromale, slightly wishing at a corner of my heart that I had laid down on my cot staring pointlessly at the roof of my room in the first place instead of causing this chaos and this post.

Kadalinu karayodiniyum padan sneham undo?
Mezhukuthurikalayi urukan iniyum pranayam manasil undo?!

Some things are best left, unexplained.

12 Nov 2014

Madras Bashai

(Warning: The post contains many Tamil statements typed with English alphabets sans any translations. So, please do not proceed further if you have no prior knowledge of Tamil or Madras Bashai)

I wanted to type up this post for 2 main reasons. One, Madras (the film). The other, a very short yet very memorable encounter with a flower-seller on the morning I reached Chennai (I had gone home for my study-holidays).

Madras fascinated me for various reasons. The fact that a director had had the guts to make an immobile, non-living thing – a wall – as a character as important as the protagonist, the fact that Santhosh Narayanan seemed to be growing with every film (especially his background scores), the fact that Karthi, after a slew of headaches, had finally acted in a film with a story worth boasting were some of them. But the one main element that really gladdened me was that every single character in the film spoke Madras Bashai. I tried to recall a recent Tamil film that had its female lead speaking all the lines in Madras Bashai and except for Aishwarya (she was actually not the female lead but the closest to one) in Aaru, I couldn’t come up with any.

But then, this post is not an analysis as to why Tamil film female leads are always made to utter the dumbest of lines and wear even more dumb designer clothes. No. This post is a tribute of sorts to my tryst with Madras Bashai.

Studying in one of Chennai’s premier schools has a lot of pros. But of the few cons that it has, everyone around you expecting only (posh) English to come out of your mouth is an important and a terrible one.
Machi! Ethuna panniye aavunum da. Kandukka kuda maatraa!”, “Sappa matter da! Onniya problem illa! Nee free’aa voodu!”, “Inna thaan da prachna intha Chemistry vaathiyaanuku? Varra gaandu la book eduthu padichiralaam nu thonuthu!” were dialogues often heard in my school-gang circle. And when a friend repented because of a girl, the pain was expressed in its entirety, not by ‘It hurts me a lot’ or ‘She is slowly killing me’ but through a poetic “Novuthu machaan, novuthu! Avalukaandi evlo senjiruppen?Ippa mattum innavaan da?!
The slow march as we crossed another premier school, on our way to the bus-stand, in order to catch a glimpse of the girls there during when most of my friends would have their mouths wide-opened and would require a comment like “Aiee chiii! Moodu vaaiya! Nallaa aaaa’nu Anna Arch maari!” to close it still lingers clearly on my mind. Certain passers-by would wonder among themselves, quite loudly, as to how ‘local-language’ guys like us were given admission into premier schools like ours. And a quick “Dho daa! Soltaaru Shakespeare maama paiyan!” would fly from our side. Those slow marches and retorts, when thought about now, tend to abase me a bit but they also do infuse me with laughter when I realize that none of it was intentional.

The Madras Bashai that I practised stopped with my school and school gang. But its existence was/is always felt and cherished with certain unforgettable characters I came across/come about in my Chennai life.

How could I forget the tall and rude conductor with the totally worn out leather-pouch inserted under the armpit shouting at a deaf old man:
"Aie perusu! 5'ovaa vechikinnu laam T. Nagar pova mudiyaathu! Aerri varra sollave paaka maatiyaa nee thuttu keetha illaya nu? Pee pee uthikinnu ilichavaayan irupaan nu nenappa unukku?!"
(For which the old man would very politely reply, “Aama aama. T Nagar thaan! Oru ticket pothum.”)

How could I forget the old vegetable vendor at the marketplace near my home who would jump into a fit of rage at the sight of a customer breaking the tips of ladies-fingers:
"Yamma! Nee un paatuku udaichikinnu poiruvae. Naan bonee panna venaan? Venun na vaangikinnu vootla poi udaichi paaru ma!"  

How could I forget the fat barber at my regular hair-saloon who would welcome me with a huge smile and would spread the same old white cloth (the same one for the past 5 years!) over my body and tying it tightly around my neck would sprinkle water all over my head and begin speaking, looking at my image in the mirror:
Regular cutting thane?! Appalika bossuu.. 2 maasama aalaye kaanum?! Vera ethuna A.C. kadai paathukiniya? Unnakaandi speshaal cutting laam paanikuraen. Maranthuraathe bossuu..

And of course, how could I forget the old maid servant, at my home, whose face would give birth to a very strange expression if I roamed about while she was sweeping the floor:
Kannu! Kootinu irukka solla thaan 4 thabbaa ippidikaa appidikaa poviya? Anga engana poi orama kunthu.. Kooti mudicha apaala suthiko!


Apart from these lines and these characters, Madras Bashai also has to its glory two main features – first, the way it mixes English words amidst local Tamil words giving them completely new dimensions and second, the curse words. I wanted to dedicate an entire paragraph to the curse words since the beauty of Madras Bashai cannot be fully described without the curse words. But I guessed that it might accidentally offend anyone kind enough to give this post a glance and decided against it.

Anyways, coming to the giving-new-dimensions-to-English-words part, I guess there wouldn’t be a word that would have assumed more meanings possible than matter. One of my most favorite English words – more so in scientific terminology (especially with the words dark or anti preceding it) – when thought of in Madras Bashai terms sure does invoke uncontrollable laughter. And so do scene, film, show, party and many more.

Moreover, among the various dialects that exist in Tamil Nadu like the Thirunelveli dialect with its elai, enna la nee’u and makka, the Coimbatore dialect with its endra, undra and aenunga, the Madurai dialect with its vanthaainga, ponaainga and vechu senjitaainga maapla that apply slight modifications to the regular norms, Madras Bashai stands tall with its very own gaandu, bejaru, meiyaalama, takkaru, galeeju, attu, mokka, kasmalam, apeetu, sokku and of course, the now popular mersal. 
(And by "its very own", I only point to the immense popularity and the stronghold of the Madras Bashai terms and not to the words' roots because it seems, after all, kasmalam is derived from a Sanskrit word and mokka from a Burmese one. )

And I guess I would probably go on but the rumination already seems to have become quite lengthy and I guess it would be better to conclude with the second reason behind this post.

It was about 5:30 am as I got down at my stop from the bus I had boarded at CMBT. I had to walk for about 10 minutes to reach my home from the bus stop. And I started walking towards my home, earphones inserted and “Yun hi chala chal rahi” from Swades playing. Being one of my favorite songs, I kept swaying my head to and fro as I walked and for a moment, I got so immersed in it that I forgot to look around before crossing a junction that a few seconds later, I stood dead on my track, my eyes widened, heart in shock and the front tyre of an auto-rickshaw about 2 centimeters from my left leg.

As I slowly retreated a few steps, removing the earphones, the auto-rickshaw moved forward and shouted a voice from inside:
Yov saavugraahi! Nee vulunthu tholaikka en vandi thaan kadchithaa?

I stared at the driver blankly when a voice from behind me, to my utter surprise, shouted:
"Aan aan..Ivaru vandi thorai vootu vandi! Ivaru vandi la vula'kaandi thaan thavam kedakuraanunga! Mappu la nee vanthukinnu antha pullaiya aegurriyaa nee? Moothevi! Moodikinnu poda!"

The auto-rickshaw driver gave a nasty look at the lady who had shouted and drove away. I looked at the lady, a flower-seller, and not knowing what to say, I mumbled feebly, “Romba thanks aunty!

She looked at me and looking at the earphones in my hand, she said:
"Atha maatikinnu innathuku naina roat'la varra? Onnu kedakka onnu aana inna pannuve? Kanda kanda bemaani kaila laam pechu vaanganuma ippidi? Vootla poi atha maatikinnu kelu, mandaiya aatu - inna venaa pannu. Roat'la venaa naina. Inime kaandi paathu iru!"

And she started sprinkling water over the flowers arranged before her. I thanked her again and started walking, now very careful of the vehicular movement on the road with the earphones deep inside my pocket.

As I neared my home, those statements of the flower-seller still kept ringing in my ears and as the statements kept playing continually, I couldn’t help smiling.

Anger and affection couldn’t have been expressed more beautifully in any other dialect/language than it had been, by the lady, in the Madras Bashai.

Madras Bashai meiyaalamave top-takkaru maamu!!