To my other friends...

The friend who listens to all my stories:

My coffee mug is white colored and narrow-necked, with a curved handle resembling the outline of a human ear. Many a day, I have wondered if this resemblance is the reason for my mug being such a good listener. Be it a happy story or a sad story, my mug always listens patiently and advises, "Have a sip." And with every sip, I am made to realize that life is also like coffee - bittersweet. When the memories are sad, I embrace the entire mug longingly and when the memories are happy, I hold on to the handle with gratitude. Be it the early morning hours or the twilight hours, my coffee mug will always sit across me and lend an ear, letting out steam for all the pressures in my life. 

The friend who will never let go:

My sweatshirt is black colored and two years old with a hood. Unlike other sweatshirts, mine is open to nature and is closed to people. It lowers the hood when it rains but it protects me in a room full of strangers. It takes a nap during sunshine and it loosens up in the midst of friends. My sweatshirt holds this unchangeable opinion that my heart is visible to others and so, it zips up when I am sad. I try telling my sweatshirt that it is okay to let go at times but it remains a steadfast friend who would not let go. Be it a celebratory t-shirt or an uninterested formal shirt or a caring casual shirt, my sweatshirt always ensures that warm hugs are available for every dress and emotion I experience. 

The philosophical friend:

My mobile camera is 24 MP sharp and it allows me to capture photos on 'portrait' mode. But it lays down strict rules such as to use 'portrait' mode only for capturing natural entities and man-made objects. "Respect the spirit residing in non-human elements," it guides me, as it lets me adjust the composition before capturing the photo. It also quotes two other lines constantly. "Celebrate the ordinary"."Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder". When I stumble upon a beautiful landscape or an extraordinary moment, it shuts off forcing me to enjoy the experience, and when I sigh at the mundaneness of something, it opens up throwing light on the beauty I failed to notice. My mobile camera is a friend that has helped me change my perspective about life. 

The friends in need:

My earphones are designed by 'Sennheiser' and my headphones are designed by 'JBL'. They always manage to know when to remain silent and when to play music. At times, when I consciously keep replaying a sad thought, they throw a Rahman song or a Hans Zimmer soundtrack at me. They refuse to leave my ears when I want to cry and they refuse to stay on my ears when birds are singing. They know what to sing when I am travelling; they know what to sing when I am stuck at work. They help me filter out all the abuses and anger, and they help me listen to only love and laughter. They never let me feel lonely and whenever words fail me, they jump into my ears and help my thoughts attain a rhythm.  

The entertaining gang:

The books I read come from different backgrounds and in all possible shapes and sizes. Every book is filled with countless stories and is incredibly interesting that the books, individually, gift me a good time and as a gang, they lead me into new worlds of joy and intellectual bliss. They are so loving that they share numerous stories with me and never expect a story in return, completely understanding my introverted nature. They are so content that they do not even mind if they never get a chance to leave my home. The journey between my bookshelf and my bedroom is satisfying enough for them. These books are truly my friends with whom I can stop a conversation midway and start it from the exact, same point even after the passage of months or years.

****

As I reach a 'Friendship day' in life where I have run out of ways to express my gratitude to wonderful human friends, I have tried describing my other friends to whom my gratitude has been long overdue. 

I have been understood by these friends as much as I have been understood by some amazing humans. 

With limitless love, I wish my other friends a very happy friendship day.

The questions children ask

Two weeks ago, I had travelled to Chennai and was returning to Bangalore with my mother on a train. Opposite to us, were seated a mother and her ~5-year-old son. The mother's father had come to the railway station to send off his daughter and grandson. The train was scheduled to leave at 3:35 PM and about 2 minutes before the scheduled time, the grandfather got off the train. He walked back on the platform to reach our compartment and confirmed with his daughter that she had water bottles, biscuit packets, sufficient cash, napkins, her government ID card, and lord Murugan's picture with her. She nodded for every item he mentioned and when asked about sufficient cash, she took out her purse to hand him a thousand rupee note. "Even if not for you, keep this for mom's sake" she said, forcing the thousand rupee note into her father's hand. He accepted it with the guilt of a father and the need of a family man.
"Why are you giving money to grandpa? Does he not have money?" the kid asked his mother, curiously. An awkward silence prevailed in the compartment for a few seconds.
The mother finally broke the silence, answering her kid, "Grandpa had given me a lot of money when I was in school and college. I am just repaying it now. It is always good to return what you borrowed, right?" The grandfather's face put on a forced smile. But the kid seemed convinced with his mother's answer.
"How much money did grandpa give you?" the kid asked his mom, after a minute. The mother's face expressed the helplessness of not being able to give her son a mathematical answer.
Before the mother or grandfather could come up with an answer that would satisfy the kid, he looked at his plastic watch that had spider-man casting his web from the center. He then turned to his mother and asked her with a serious face, "It is already 3:45 PM. Why hasn't the train started yet?" The passengers present in the compartment could not help smiling.

The train started its journey 15 minutes after the scheduled time. The kid's face remained pressed against the window rails for the next hour. And occasionally, he also turned to his mother to pose an interesting question.
"Why do people build houses amid rain water?", "Why don't people become happy when they see a train passing by?", "Why aren't farms and fields seen in cities?", "Why are there so many hotels? Don't all mothers cook food at home?", "Why do people feed crows but not dogs?" were some of the questions I remember now with a smile. As much as I fell in love with the kid's questions, I also felt sad for his mother. How do you explain to a kid that an adult's world is far removed from a child's world? Still, the mother responded to the kid's questions smartly, giving out answers that would not let the kid lose hope on humanity.
"The people who stay in houses amid rain water like to play with paper boats", "The people who see trains passing by are sad because they are not able to travel in trains", "There are people who stay far away from their mothers. These people go to hotels. And sometimes, mothers also need rest, right?" were some of her answers. Science shows that smart parents pave way for smart kids but this interaction between the mother and the kid made me wonder if the opposite also holds true - smart kids pave way for smarter parents.

Half an hour later, an old man stopped at our compartment asking for alms. The mother did not mind the old man and looked out the window. The kid could not understand this. "Why are you not giving money to him?", he asked his mother. An awkward silence prevailed in the compartment for a few seconds. The mother then took a ten rupee note from her purse and handed it over to the old man. "Why isn't anyone else giving money to him?" the kid raised a question, looking at us. An awkward silence, again. Slowly, the passengers fetched 2 rupee and 5 rupee coins from their wallets and handed it over to the old man. The old man looked at the kid and joined his hands in worship, shouting, "Live long, my lord". The kid smiled and waved goodbye to him. "Why did he call me a lord?" the kid asked his mother after the old man had left. The mother smiled and replied, "Maybe because he knew your name is Ishwar."
After ten minutes, an old lady stopped at our compartment asking for alms. All the passengers turned to look at the kid. He was looking at the old lady with a widespread smile on his face. A few minutes later, the old lady passed our compartment, shouting, "Live long, my lords".

For the remainder of the train journey, the kid continued his questions and a few of us continued our compassionate acts. Like how Carl Sagan had said, "We make our world significant by the courage of our questions and the depth of our answers", our compartment grew significant through the journey by the kid's questions.

Asimov's fifth law - A robot may not let a human fall in love with it

One of my friends recently fell in love. With his Google Assistant. 
I asked him the reason. "She is just so amazing" he answered. "How do you know it is a she?" I asked. He gave me an indignant look. I shut my mouth. A couple of minutes later, I asked him if he had seen the films Her and Ex Machina. He gave me an increasedly indignant look. I silently walked away from the spot.

But his romance helped kick-start a series of thoughts. 
Is it wrong to fall in love with a machine? Or rather, as my friend put it, an intelligent machine?
Aren't we all, in one way or the other, in love with our machines?
Television sets, laptops, smartphones, motorbikes, refrigerators - To each, his own. 
Perhaps, the affection has still not crossed its limit because most of our machines do not interact.
Imagine what would happen if the television set starts suggesting what program to see after identifying our mood, and starts displaying its comments and emoticons on the screen, becoming an audience with us.
Imagine a refrigerator that sheds light on the vegetable for the day depending on the spirit at home. 
Imagine a motorbike that takes you on a surprise trip to a breathtaking spot, playing pleasant music on the way - something close to a Bumblebee from the Transformers series. 
When our favorite machines start interacting, is there a possibility that we would start preferring them over humans?
But then, aren't we already doing that, preferring Google Maps over localites in a new place? Aren't we already doing that, preferring online shopping over physical shopping?
So, is it wrong to fall in love with an interactive, intelligent machine?

****

A parallel thought to this series of thoughts arose, revolving around our virtual conversations. 

How easy has it become to sustain friendships and build relationships with sparsely worded, unpunctuated messages and blue tick marks! 
How easy has it become to conceal the tone of a message with a tiny emoticon! 
How easy has it become to avoid an awkward or uncomfortable question blaming the network connectivity!

Virtual conversations have provided an easy escape from the messiness of real, face-to-face conversations. The questioning gaze, the awkward silence, the subtle expressions, the movement of the hands and legs - Skype may provide a solution to these but it can never simulate the body heat of a person or his/her touch.

When conversations are just intended to share information, then yes, virtual conversations are a blessing. But for conversations within a family, for conversations between loved ones, for conversations between friends, for such conversations that really happen only because non-conversation is not an option, the gaze and the silence and the chuckle and the touch play a paramount role. And these conversations that go nowhere, that teach nothing, that have no purpose are the real conversations.

****

I tried imagining a scenario where I encounter a womanly, artificially intelligent robot. I wondered how we would converse and questioned myself if I would fall in love. I could never reply yes. 
Because, I knew that even if I fell in love with the robot and proposed the love, what I would get in return would be an intelligent response. It would never be a raised eyebrow or a blushed cheek or a palpitated heart or a hard slap. It would never be any of these because the robot would understand my love but never feel it. 
And any relationship built upon just understanding and not a feeling is an unnecessary burden to the heart.
Be it with a robot. Be it with a human.

Gratitude in cold

With every day that passes, the weather here seems to be getting moodier. 
Splashing water on the face in the mornings has begun requiring more courage.
Sitting with the legs folded on the floor has begun taking a toll on the thighs. 
Keeping the windows open at night has become a rebellious act.

Some mornings, I set out on the heroic journey of buying milk from the shop down my street without wearing a sweater/sweatshirt. "Let me test my body's tolerance limit", I tell myself on those walks. But it is more a matter of mental tolerance. 
During these journeys, I cross a construction site with a small stone-walled room beside it. The room, which would approximately be the size of the kitchen in many middle-class homes and the size of the washroom in many upper-class homes, shelters a family of three. 
Whenever I get the privilege of crossing this tiny paradise when its door is open or when its inhabitants are out, playing with the sand and gravel from the construction site, I notice a constant smile on the faces. They seem to have realized that happiness seldom cares about its environment. 
I wish people who visit spiritual centers in search of happiness visit this humble home too.

There are nights when my generally brave blanket starts shivering. At such times, I get really close to whining. But I stop myself from doing so, thinking about the family in the stone-walled home.
Comforted by solid concrete walls and roofs, protected by woolen clothes and blankets, am I not inequitably lucky than they are?
I then hold my shivering blanket tightly and express my gratitude to life.

For some days, I kept wondering where the family of three took its motivation from. "What will they be grateful for?" I thought. 
Later, on one cold night, I saw a street dog lying outside the gate of an apartment, its body and legs held as closely as possible. 
Watching the dog, I understood how life, gratitude, and happiness worked.

The lost city

“So, how’s Bangalore?”

Whenever any relative or friend of mine asked me this question last year, I offered them a standard answer that only differed in the order of the descriptions.

“Pleasant climate.. Young and energetic people.. Continuously expanding construction sites.. Day-by-day worsening traffic.. Really beautiful girls..”

The last part of the answer was always accompanied by a sheepish smile. And I was so proud and happy that my answer served as a testimony to the general perception of this once-favorite-retirement-spot.

But for the past 2-3 months, I have been made to reconsider my perception of this city.

It all started with my house-hunting efforts.

Till then, the places I had visited in Bangalore had mostly been malls and a few parks. Having been surrounded mostly by the corporate crowd in such places, I had also assumed what most of the outsiders assume about this city.

"Bangalore is a city of young people hugging their computers 5 days a week, then moving on to hug their beer glasses and romantic partners over the weekends in pubs and malls and incredibly-priced theaters."

But the farther I traveled from IT parks and the deeper I entered residential areas, especially ones with houses as old as me or more, I realized a mistake I had committed.

I had never included the non-IT/non-corporate people of Bangalore in the equation.

Which I believe is a very common mistake.

Bangalore, in that sense, is starkly opposite to Chennai.

Chennai, when thought about as a city, serves primarily as the home of innumerable middle-class families, burdened by loans and earnest dreams, earning their daily bread from government offices and manufacturing units. The IT/corporate crowd, though continually increasing, still is a minority.

Since the reverse seems to be true with Bangalore, it makes me wonder if it is time that the minority rose up in revolution.

At least, for the sake of Kannada.

Once the IT/corporate crowd is removed from the equation, thinking about Bangalore offers a new perspective. Possibly, the real perspective.
This is a lost city.

****

Imagine that you are X and you have been living in a house for close to 2 decades. Naturally, the people down the street will refer to your house as 'X's house'. 
As time passes, you realize that your house is too big for you and you are also attracted by the prospect that you can earn easy money by renting out a small portion of your house to some other person. You decide to go ahead with your idea and rent out a small portion to a young guy named Y.
After Y's entry, something unexpected happens. 
Y is so young and so full of energy and so easy-going that it is just a matter of weeks before 'X's house' starts getting referred to as 'Y's house'. The newspaper-delivery guy, the milkman, the grocery shop owner - everyone acts as if 'X's house' never existed. For them, all that strikes a chord is 'Y's house'. 
When such an identity shift takes place, how would you feel?

****

This city has lost itself. 
As a result, its real people have lost their identity.
But then, what about the visitors?
By visitors, I do not just acknowledge the engineering graduates who leave behind their families and enter this city to embrace workplaces where their actions and restrictions would anger our selfless freedom fighters. 
By visitors, I also include the construction workers who come to this city from their tiny villages located hundreds of kilometers apart, just so that the cement and the mortar and the varnish that they breathe in, reaches their family as sufficient money for two meals a day. 
By visitors, I also include the innumerable pani puri sellers and innumerable small-scale eatery workers who pin their hopes on the corporate crowd still wanting to indulge in Indian cuisine. 
What about these visitors?
I see lost identities there as well. 

For the past 2 months, these thoughts have made me look at this city in a new light. 
Not a very bright, sunny one but a dim, subdued, wintry kind of light.
At times, I look around at the roads and trees and the mix of old houses and new towers and experience a feeling of pain.
I also look at the sky and wonder if the continually forming grey clouds and constant drizzles are the outbursts of this city's pain. 
Even now, as I am finishing up this post, I look outside my window and notice a grey sky. It stirs up in me an emotion which I have earlier experienced on days when my mom had been sick yet had taken the effort to prepare food. 
I decide to climb up to the terrace and spend some time with the about-to-cry sky. 
Perhaps, as a slow drizzle starts, I could start listening to the heart-wrenching 'Ennaku pidithal paadal..' from Julie Ganapathy and lose myself in the pain filled tears.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz...

The other night, I was travelling in a BMTC bus and I was amazed to notice nearly 90% of the passengers with their earphones inserted.  As I scanned the bus to see how each passenger was reacting to the song he/she was listening to, a strange thought struck me.

How would a mosquito feel in such a scenario?!

We tend to label the mosquito as just a blood-sucking insect but what about its not-given-due-credit hobby of buzzing in people’s ears?!

When a mosquito buzzes in our ears, we just try to push it away without the motive of killing it. But when it tries to suck our blood, there is a high risk of violence from our side.

That being the case, how sad would a mosquito be, looking at an earphone-wearing guy, to know that it can only connect with him through a fatal blood-sucking-mission and not through a jovially irritating-zzzzzzzz-game?

The thought made me feel bad for the mosquito but more importantly, it made me lower my earphones.

If one can tolerate curse words and gossips and impatient vehicle-horns, how much harm could an innocent buzz do?!

Artists as lovers

One of my friends, a really good font-artist, was telling me about her desire to learn charcoal painting. I asked her if she preferred portraits over natural scenery. She thought for a few seconds and replied that she had never really tried drawing human faces. She then quickly added that she liked drawing birds. I told her mockingly that I had asked her only about portraits. She angrily retorted asking me why I felt that a bird's face and its expressions should not be treated as a portrait. I did not have an answer. "Birds are better than humans in many ways" she enlightened me. I nodded with a smile. 
I thought about this conversation later that day and I was amazed. I had never really tried to think of a bird's picture as a portrait. "Could a person, other than an artist, have come up with such a thought?" I asked myself. The response was negative.

I continued thinking about artists. My thoughts slowly intertwined with thoughts on love and life. And the more I thought, the clearer it became - Artists are the best/worst possible romantic partners.

****

Artists are the most easily excitable of the lot. 
A sprightly butterfly, a silvery crescent moon, a half constructed brick wall, an iron chain tied to an elephant's leg in a temple, a silent stretch of desert, a dewdrop hanging for its life from a blade of grass - Only artists are capable of getting stimulated by these sources. To any other normal person, all these would only exist as mundane fragments of everyday life. 
That being the case, imagine being in love with an artist. 
Every emoji used, every gesture made, every thought shared, every little present gifted has the possibility of exciting the partner to the extent of inducing a great artwork. But the same cannot be said of a non-artist. The amount of joy on having received a gift from a loved one might be equal between the two but the wonderment caused by the gift will definitely be more in an artist. 
After all, every artwork is a gift to some person in some way. Wouldn't such gift-makers be excited more for the gifts they receive?!
Also, try imagining the gifts such gift-makers would make for their loved ones. If a normal person can become a poet after falling in love, imagine what a poet is capable of after love happens to him/her.

Artists are the best empathizers. 
Try telling a happy story to a bunch of people. The widest spread of a smile will happen on an artist's face. Try telling a sad story to a bunch of people. The first teardrop will roll down an artist's cheek.
A music composer is asked to compose a tune for a village based love story and the same music composer is asked to compose a tune for a futuristic urban love story. How does the composer do this?
Empathy.
When an artist can put himself/herself in another person's shoes so easily, how difficult would it be to wear a loved one's shoes?!

Artists are loners. At least, most. 
The pro of this is having a lot of private time with the partner. There is pretty less chance that a phone call to an artist goes unattended because he/she is partying with a group of friends. 
Most of an artist's parties happen inside his/her head.
But a big con is that most artists tend to prefer solitude over anything else - the 'anything else' might sometimes also include a loved one. The reason being that the artist might get interested to attend the party inside his/her head. 
What do you do then? Do you drag the artist out of the party to water your romantic roses or do you let the partner enjoy the party so that the next masterpiece can take birth?
Being in a relationship with an artist is a sure step towards attaining maturity.

Artists tend to have bottled up emotions.
Imagine that a family member of an artist dies. A month later, you -the partner- ask about the loss. The artist might open up about it for hours and hours but after all those hours, the shared feelings might still only sum up to half of the artist's suppressed emotions. 
An artist is always required to keep his/her artistic well filled with locked up emotions to fetch from in times of need. 
A family member's loss to tune in to sadness. A little kid's kiss to tune in to joy. A close friend's betrayal to tune in to anger. 
So, a "What do you feel?" or a "Do you want to share something?" might not always yield satisfying results. 
And again, a difficult choice would have to be made - Would you want one half of the emotions shared with you and the other half shared with the world through art? Or would you want all the emotions shared with you?
The decision would mark the difference between familial bliss and artistic greatness.
Hence an artist's partner needs to understand that their relationship not only needs to take care of love but also of the art. 

Thinking about all these, it actually makes sense that most artists end up falling in love with fellow artists.
Love for love and art for art.

****

After reading through the paragraphs typed above, I realized two things:

• My understanding of an artist is limited to a small circle of artistic friends and many of the above mentioned points can fail with relation to other artists
• I have ended up typing a piece which has a severe risk of being misinterpreted as a self proclamation of pros and cons 

I thought for sometime about throwing in an explanation.
But then, why spoil the sport?!
An artist matters only as long as what he does not say stays more interesting than what he says.

****

Post-publish edit:

One of my friends sent me a lengthy mail after reading this post, elaborating her thoughts on it. There were many appreciative statements, a testimony to her good nature. But there were also statements that affected me greatly.
"I have not come across a single person who has him/her completely disconnected from art. I wonder if you have! We can probably categorize it as people very close to art/ people not so very close. I doubt even if that makes sense.
I agree on everything you have tried to figure about artists.. 'Artists' as per the general definition. But I can never acknowledge the existence of non-artists.. At least until I come across somebody like that for myself personally!"

Her thoughts have not yet let me free.

"Could a person, other than an artist, have come up with such a thought?" I ask myself. The response is negative. 

I wait for another lengthy mail from my friend in response. 

The lonely sawaari!

His face wore a calm smile. A smile of contentment. 

"He must have gotten a passenger wanting to go to a pretty faraway place", I thought to myself. I then noticed that the back seat of the auto rickshaw was empty. 

I looked again at the driver. The calm smile still rested on his face.

Observing his smile unconsciously gave birth to one of my own. And then a strange thought appeared.

What if the driver was an introvert?!

I got interested.

If he was an introverted driver, which would he prefer - a lonely ride that gladdened his heart or a shared journey with a stranger that gladdened his stomach?!

Would he be more delighted if a single passenger boarded his auto rickshaw than he would be with a couple or a family?! 

Would he set the volume of the speakers in his auto rickshaw to the lowest in order to avoid attention in traffic?!

How willing would he be to honk his horn?!

Would he prefer the corner spot in an auto stand?! Would he even prefer being a part of an auto stand?!

How difficult would it be for him to ask a pedestrian if he/she wanted a ride?!

Would he even like his auto rickshaw being a bright yellow shade?!

I looked at the driver again. I wanted to board his auto rickshaw and have a hearty conversation. But I could not.

The introvert in me did not allow it.

But having typed this post now, I think - Should I blame the introvert for having missed a great conversation with an interesting man or should I thank the introvert for having been the cause of these words?!

I strangely feel that the auto rickshaw driver would hold an answer.

The hero a nation needs..

Last week, one of my friends was speaking to me about the current political scenario in India. I, not being a person who actively follows politics, was unable to contribute anything significantly to his thoughts. And hence I did that thing which I love doing the most in a conversation - I listened.

There were many new things I learned that evening from my friend. But one thing that lingered on my mind long after the conversation ended was my friend's mention of the growing dissatisfaction among Indians over various national affairs. He had ended the topic saying, "India badly needs an uniting factor.. An extremely positive one!"  

I let my mind work upon that remark of my friend's and in my most idle moment, it threw out an answer.
Sachin Tendulkar.
I couldn't help smiling.

I imagined how things would change if Sachin returned to International cricket. 
I, for one, would start following cricket again. Also, I felt that the collective mood of the nation would be uplifted. 
Like it had happened with the audience walking out of an M.G.R. movie. Like it happens with an audience walking out of a Rajinikanth movie. 
We do not walk into a Rajini movie expecting an artwork that leaves our hearts heavy and our minds intellectualized. We walk into a Rajini movie expecting to be consoled that good will always triumph over evil in this world governed by chaos. We walk into a Rajini movie just to be made aware that despite all the Panama Papers, despite all the Zika viruses, despite all the incredible advertisements being telecasted on Tamil television channels in relation to the 2016 Tamil Nadu Assembly elections, Rajini exists. We walk into a Rajini movie simply because we do not have an alternative to prove us the existence of God. 
All the above could be said of a Sachin's innings as well.
This is not to say that a Virat Kohli or a M.S.Dhoni cannot unite the nation. But there always exists a difference between superheroes and demigods. There always exists a difference between a cheer for a hero's victory and a tear for a hero's victory. 

I continued imagining how things would change if Sachin returned to International cricket.
I also realized that my imagination could escape its expiry only till it remained inside my head. Interestingly, at the same moment of the realization, something else hit me.
Sachin: A Billion Dreams.
I couldn't help smiling.
If the little great man could bring together a nation with just one of his straight drives, why couldn't the same or even something more be achieved with a collection of his innings accompanied by A.R.Rahman's score?!
I stopped my thought process and watched the teaser for the nth time. 
I met my friend the next day and told him, "The uniting factor India needs is right around the corner".

Evolution

I was in the middle of a client call in a conference room at my office.

The client was explaining about a particular data table my team had wanted clarification upon. As I was trying to understand the way the calculation of a field in the table had been made, I suddenly felt as if a huge hand had grabbed my shirt collar and I was being pulled through one time hole after the other until I was thrown down, landing on my face, beside a stone-age man (who for some reason, looked very similar to me) waiting to hunt. I looked at him and he looked at me. But not sparing me attention for more than a second, he started running towards his food which, at his sight, started running away from him. Before he could grab his food, blackness hit me and I was grabbed again and thrown this time beside the same stone-age man in his cave. He was fast asleep with a huge smile spread across his face. Before I could finish observing the walls of the cave, blackness hit me again, a hand grabbed me again and threw me back into my office conference room.

The explanation about the calculation of the field was still underway.

Data Analysis! Stone-age man! A hunt! A cave! Back to data analysis!

It was utter chaos. 

Then, slowly, it began making sense.

When man started his life on this planet, what did he really care about?!

Food. Shelter.

As the most dominant species breathing on this planet now, what do we really care about?!

Money. Respect. Love. A few other perishable items.

How drastically have we then evolved from a man requiring only food and shelter to a man who is a part of a society which sees a point in having numerous fields of work which determine the respect and money and other perishable items?!

From being alert to the movement of a wild animal to being alert to the fall and rise of the stock market, from being naked with nature to revering silk and platinum, from not knowing that communication could occur to sending out a voice mail and typing down abstract poems  – How dumbfounding a change?!

To realize that we created civilizations, we created languages, we created religions, we created money, we created marriages, we created jobs and to realize that most of our problems today revolve around these creations of ours – Don’t you wonder if the human species is a masochistic one?

As these thoughts started settling down in my head, the explanation about the calculation of the field came to an end.

There was a pause from the client’s side which after a few seconds, turned into awkward silence. My team leader quickly pressed the ‘Mute’ button in the Polycom conference phone and shouted, “Arey.. Reply if you have understood the calculation or ask the next question!”

I nodded and released the ‘Mute’ button.

“What do you actually think about our evolution as a species?” I wanted to ask.

“Thank you so much for that explanation.. Now we see why the issues in the data…” I started speaking.

I had evolved too much for life and truth.

The once-in-4-years Neelakurinji...

I started the day wondering about flowers that bloom once in 4 years. I then remembered about the Neelakurinji flowers that bloom once in 12 years. 
As the garden in my mind started witnessing the blooming of the purplish blue flowers, I remembered that a sister of one of my schoolmates celebrated her birthday today. 
Wasn't she too a sort of Neelakurinji?!
I then pondered over the difficulties that would be faced by such people blooming-once-in-4-years and my thoughts shifted to an article I had read sometime back. 
It seems that during its initial phase, Facebook did not have an option on common years to remind users of a friend's birthday that fell on 29th February.
As a matter of fact, many websites do not provide 29th February as an option for the birth date. 
How strange would it be to face such a problem in a matter as simple as the birth date?!
Setting aside the application forms and online registrations, how does a person born on 29th February decide upon a day to celebrate his/her birthday during the common years?!
There are actually 2 choices - 28th February and 1st March. It is said that people born before 12 PM on the leap day choose 28th February whereas the people born in the latter half of the day choose the 1st of March.

But having said all these, is life so difficult for a leap-day baby?!

Imagine you are in a room full of strangers. You need to introduce yourself and put something forth to the crowd in an interesting manner and sorrily, you are an introvert. In such a situation, don't you think announcing to the room that you are a leap-day baby would suffice?! 
After all, you would be someone who shares his/her birthday with only about 1/1461 of the population.
Similarly, imagine that you are in college as you celebrate your birthday today. By your next (actual) birthday, in 2020, there is a high possibility that you might have found yourself a partner to accompany you through life. By the birthday after that, in 2024, there is again a high possibility that you would have played your part in bringing out a beautiful baby into this world. Thus, with the passage of every birthday, it would seem like literally a new chapter is made to begin.
How many of us can claim of something so marvelous?!

I would like to end the piece with a line from an article by a writer born on 29th February,
My mom always offered me the same consolation, telling me that I'd thank her one day - on the morning when I can truthfully tell the world I'm only 10 instead of 40.
What an amazing gift! 
How many of us get to lead a mature life at an immature age?!

EMOtionally JInxed!

This happened two weeks back.
All my flatmates were gathered around in the hall and were discussing about a cricket match. For a reason I can't really recollect now, I joined them. In about 5 minutes, the discussion steered from the match to work at office. Each of the guys started complaining about the workload, about the unrealistic deadlines their team leaders were promising to their clients, about the careless mistakes their team mates were committing. When it was my turn, I really had nothing to complain about work. And I admitted the same. Which was reason enough for my flatmates to start a string of jokes attributing my happiness at work to the opposite gender in my team. 
In all the situations I have been made a subject of mockery - which is quite often - one of my strongest observations is that my responses to the mockery only made things worse. And so, I decided to remain silent. 
The jokes kept coming one after the other and at one point, I decided that at least a facial gesture was necessary and I turned towards my flatmates and made a 'sad face'. 
That moment, that very moment as my eyes shrunk and my lips attained the outline of an umbrella, my heart skipped a beat owing to a realization that had popped up in my brain. 
A realization that the moment before my face had become a 'sad face', the image of the WhatsApp 'sad face' emoji had come up in my brain. 
And this realization froze my world, shutting out all the mockery and laughs around me.
Had I brought about an expression on my face based upon an emoji?!
Had my emotions become so weak that they were beginning to mimic emojis for an outlet?!
Wasn't it supposed to happen the other way around?!
My brain couldn't handle the series of thoughts and in panic, it started throwing up images of all my facial expressions trying to examine the severity of the WhatsApp-emoji-mimicry-syndrome.
(Un)Fortunately, only 2 out of all my facial expressions - the 'tongue-sticking out face' and the 'sad face' - had fallen prey to emojis. All the others were safe and sound and original. 
But such an assurance did very little to pull me out of my panic. 
How in technology's name did an emoji become a reference point for a bone and flesh facial expression - my thoughts continued screaming. 
I locked them up after sometime and have held them in imprisonment till now.
I am afraid to acquit them since I fear being revealed the answer to their question. 
An even worse fear is the imagination that once the answer is out, my face would appear so shocked that it would resemble the 'mouth-less' emoji.
So much so for instant socializing :-/ 
So much so for the Oxford Dictionaries' Word of the Year 2015 :-/ :-/

Li(f)e

The point in a person’s life when he/she realizes that a lie is better than a truth – maybe for a good reason like to make another person happy or maybe for a not-so-good reason like to make oneself happy – is the point when childhood takes leave after being a memorable tenant and maturity steps in, with recommendations for renovation.

Fitness infatuation

In my residential layout, I observed a huge increase in the number of joggers today morning.

I wondered as to the reason for a sudden fitness awareness.

And in a totally unrelated way, I remembered that it was Valentine's day.

Thinking about it now, perhaps there was a relation. Or perhaps not.

Some brainy blah blah...

It happened to me on the first day of my college
It happened to me on the last day of my college
It happened to me the moment I realized I had fallen in love
It happened to me the day I came across an old woman, asking for alms, with a close resemblance to my grandmother
It happened to me the moment I told my mom that I had been recruited by a reputed organization
It happens to me every time I think of raising my camera to my eye in a crowded street
It happens to me every time a new thought takes birth

The stomach feels empty when in truth it is stuffed
The heart seems to be missing its rhythm when in truth it is throbbing in tune
The vision becomes blurry when in truth the pupil is dilated
The brain goes blank when in truth the neurons are hyperactive
The hand starts trembling when in truth the fist is clenched

I try to think about all such moments
They appear surprisingly similar yet they are starkly different
Joy. Pain. Fear.
They are miles apart in the emotional spectrum
Yet they seem as closely bonded as a community in rural India

I remain bewitched by the workings of the human brain
By its simplistic sophistication, by its mechanical magic
By the way it makes a person crack a joke
By the way it brings about a spontaneous comical response to a totally new situation
My friend once asked me the first thing I would say after a girl kissed me on the lips
I replied after a couple of seconds - "Ünga toothpaste la uppu irukka?!"
Sarcasm intended, but how did the response crop up so spontaneously?!
How do you crack jokes so well?
How does your friend crack jokes so well?
Next time, have a hearty laugh. And follow it up with some thought.
Wonder how the brain is such a good humorist
Wonder how the brain has a template in place to process the emotions
Wonder if the brain has an amazing brain of its own
Wonder how you wonder.

P.S.: I have been left wondering how my brain came up with the thought of 'A brain having its own brain'. 

En route to becoming a proud Chennaite....

I was filled with guilt last week for various reasons. 
One cause was my previous post. One cause was under-average work at office.
But the main reason was the bright sunny mornings I was waking up to. 

The sun's rays, lighting up one half of the balcony at my flat, made me sad because my hometown that was famous for its sunny days was experiencing so bad a phase of rainfall that the people were praying desperately for the sun to smile again. 
I am sure that unless you are a resident of Chennai, you would not understand the severity of the statement.
A Chennaite praying for a sunny day is similar to an Indian homosexual coming out in the open with his/her sexual orientation. 
It almost never happens and if in case it does, it shows you the extent to which things have gotten worse.  

When things get worse, when a war breaks out, when nature decides to give a tiny vent to its anger, being surrounded by his/her loved ones becomes a major source of hope for a person. 
However strange it might seem (or perhaps not!), knowing that you would face the very final moments of your life by the side of a loved one makes the scenario a lot better than facing the same alone. 
Which is why, I underwent a new struggle living safely 350 kilometers away from the floods which every person who mattered in my life was fighting against.
Strangely, I was able to understand the struggle a mother/wife/son/daughter of an army soldier has to go through every day. 

Are the people of Chennai fighting against floods? Yes. But the battle is not as simple as that. There is more to the fight than wading through chest-high water. 
The real strength of a community comes to the front when it rises back again from a calamity. The real strength of a community comes to the front when the common man starts setting examples to the rulers. 
The common man is misunderstood quite often. 
He might be a person who does not offer his seat to an old man in a bus. But that does not mean he is incapable of carrying the same old man on his shoulders in a street filled with so much water that it transforms cars into submarines. 
He might be a person who holds numerous grudges against his neighbor. But that does not mean he is incapable of feeding his neighbors as they are huddled together in the terrace, hoping that the water that had entered their homes would recede.
He might be a person who does not give a second thought about destroying forests. But that does not mean he is incapable of performing such an act. (I just had to share this picture. The real Baahubali, perhaps)

I have always believed that adversity is of utmost importance for a positive change.

Anything really beautiful has a pain filled story behind it. Like a child that does not see this world unless the mother suffers greatly. Like a heartwarming story that does not reach this world unless the artist loses a part of himself.

Hence, I believe that the floods, in spite of all the havoc that they cause(d), are a boon to Chennai.

They would give way to better buildings. They would give way to better drainage systems. They would give way to better planning of residential areas. 

And they would also give way to something more essential. 

Nobler humans.

Which I look forward to eagerly.

In no time, I am going to be a really proud Chennaite - much prouder than I am right now.

Healthy dogs, beautiful girls and lonely cars

There are many reasons that contribute to my liking of street dogs.

They have always accompanied me, sometimes silently and sometimes barking, on my midnight walks to home from an outing or a journey. They have made me contemplate on the purpose of a job. They have made me wonder, when they keep staring at an empty space while barking continually, if they have seen something invisible to the human eye. They have seemed livelier to me than most by-passers on the road.

But in Chennai, the tiny bubble of joy that slowly enlarged on seeing a street dog having its noon nap or seeing a lazy dog trying to pull up a fight with a lazier cow was always immediately popped by a sharp pang of sadness. 

Sadness on seeing their bony torsos. 

Only on very few occasions have I seen really healthy street dogs in Chennai.

Bangalore seems to be different, in a happier way, in that sense. Most of the street dogs that roam around are very healthy – as a matter of fact, a few are healthier than the domesticated ones that I see walking along with their owners on breezy evenings.

And one need not dig deeply to uncover the reason for their good health.

Most of the fast-food outlets (which are plenty in number here) have a street dog waiting nearby like a cautious guard. And the majority of the consumers of these outlets happen to be youngsters – boys and girls in the same ratio and of the age bracket of 20-30 – who generally tend to be more compassionate towards the street dogs than a father of a 5 year old or a mother of a 10 year old. The bones that remain after the feasting of a gang of 5 boys or a gang of 4 girls are dedicated happily to the dog waiting by their side.

The result – healthy dogs that walk the streets as symbols of the younger generation’s 

compassion.

****

“Bangalore ah da?!! Ponnunga laam semmaya irupaangale!!” – This is a comment I got to hear from most of my friends when they learnt that I was moving to Bangalore for my job.

Honestly speaking, I found myself agreeing with the comment after having spent just a couple of days in the city. There was something different to the members of the opposite gender in the city that made a new visitor take notice. And I wanted to figure out the something different.

“Adingu! Azhagaa iruntha paathutu poga vendiyathu thane! Ethuku da ithelaam oru vishayam nu discuss panni saavadikare?!!”, one of my friends shouted at me when I asked him what he felt could be the reason for the difference in the (additional) beauty exhibited by the women in Bangalore compared to the women in Chennai.  But unlike my friend, I believed that understanding the reason would help me appreciate the beauty more, thanks to Feynman’s views on beauty.

Weather, wider range of fashion/cosmetics, better cost of living leading to more air-conditioned homes – these factors were some of the many I considered to have had an additional impact on the opposite gender here. But they did not seem to sum up satisfyingly.

And then one evening, as I was wandering about in a shopping mall situated nearby my office, it hit me. I stopped walking and looked around the mall. 

Right. Left. Up. Down. 

After I had finished observing the entire mall, a smile appeared on my face.

In the entire mall, there were only two women above the age of 40 out of the 100 odd women shopping/roaming/picture-clicking.  And there lay the reason.

Unlike Chennai where you get to see a majority of women in the age category of above 35, Bangalore (in its entirety) functions like a very huge mall filled abundantly with women in the ‘below 30’category. 

And for innumerable pairs of ‘younger’ eyes of the male gender, understanding the beauty that comes with age is a concept as vague as dark matter.

****

Traffic jam.

If a poll was conducted among the residents of Bangalore as to their least favorite thing about the city, I am pretty sure that the aforementioned two words would emerge a clear winner by a very huge margin.

When a person drives a motorcycle very slowly, one of the most common jokes made is that even a person on his feet would reach the destination faster than the motorcycle rider. But very little did I know that the vehicular traffic in a city could worsen things to an extent where, literally, a person on his feet reaches a destination faster than a motorcycle rider.

And the sad thing is that every person stuck in the traffic jams realizes the reason behind it and yet does nothing to reduce its severity.

One car for one man – if you wish to know the reason. 

The space that could have accommodated 4 motorcycles, thereby 4 men, is wasted on a stylish looking four-wheeler carrying one occupant and 3 empty seats.

Will a man sacrifice his luxury for the benefit of others? I have little doubt of what the answer would be.

And I would have no right whatsoever to advocate a well-earning person to do away with his luxuries. He works. He earns. He buys. The logic becomes as simple as that.

But then, what would be a solution to the problem of these accumulating luxuries?

Nature always holds answers to the questions of men.

One morning, as I stepped outside my room, I saw a spider resting in the web it had woven the previous night. Sometime later, a misstep by my roommate destroyed the delicate web, making the spider rush to a corner in our corridor wall. When I returned from my office at evening, I was surprised to see that the spider had woven a beautiful web again.

The eight legged insect was leading a life so simple that it could build its home in a few meager hours how many ever times it might be destroyed. 

But we, on the other hand, lead lives weighed down by assets and luxuries that someday we would be out of breath, suffocating from the very possessions that we had bought in the first place to make our lives admirable.

It’s high time we started leading happy lives instead of the norm of leading happy lives in the eyes of others.

“In short, I am convinced, both by faith and experience, that to maintain one’s self on this earth is not a hardship but a pastime, if we will live simply and wisely.” 

                                                                               - Henry David Thoreau from Walden.

Stepping into a world of contrasts

I looked carefully at the route indicated in the ‘Google maps’ application that was running on my mobile phone. I then raised my head and looked ahead. I had to walk about 500 meters straight after which I had to cross the road and walk another 500 meters to reach the gate of the IT park where my office was situated. I looked at my watch. 20 more minutes to the time specified for entry at the office. I did not want to be late on my joining day and hurried.

After I reached the spot where I had to cross the road, I stood quietly hoping that I could join some random small group of IT professionals who would cross the road for the opposite side served as the source of livelihood for more than thousands of ambitious people. But as I saw people walking down the road hastily, some not caring about the speeding vehicles and some raising their hands thereby making cars swivel around them, I couldn’t believe that those people belonged to the same city and same profession of people who so quietly and so politely had filled the AC buses I had frequented the earlier day. It took me some time before I managed to cross the road, thanks to a lorry driver who took pity on me and stopped his vehicle, enabling me to walk across.

10 more minutes to the reporting time. And I was 200 meters away from the gate of the IT park after which lay another 600 meters to my office situated inside. I hastened my steps. After about five steps, I heard a feeble cry of “aiyya!”. A momentary feeling of excitement grabbed me on hearing a Tamil voice in a city where Hindi and Kannada (in that order) are mostly heard. I then looked ahead and saw a very old woman, dressed shabbily, seated at a corner, holding her hand out. I kept walking. “Aiyya!”, she called out again as I walked past her. I stopped on my way and reached for my pant pocket. As my hand moved over an empty back-pocket, I realized that I had kept my wallet inside my bag. I held the left strap of the bag and as I slowly pushed it down my left shoulder, the time displayed on my watch caught my eye. Not even 7 minutes left. With the bag hanging from my right shoulder, I sprinted ahead hoping badly that the lady would not call out to me again. She didn’t.

A 600 meter walk. A one-minute wait for the elevator. 10 floors up. A security check. After all these, I entered the room that had been assigned for the new recruits. Seeking a desk at a corner, I seated myself, placing my bag down. Most of the people in the room seemed interested in introducing themselves to each other. A guy behind me tapped on my shoulder and extended his hand. I grabbed his hand and shook it, glancing at my watch.

There was a minute more to the reporting time. A minute more.   

And I spent the rest of the day in the tinted-glass walled, marvellously designed, sufficiently air-conditioned office building with the cry of “aiyya!” echoing in my head.

****

Finding a PG (a place to stay as a Paying Guest) in Bangalore is not a hard task. But it is not an easy one either. The options are aplenty but it might take an eternity till you find one that suits your needs.

The one that I and my two other friends locked in on turned out to be a slightly uncomfortable one after we moved in. A small stretch of land with wild unkempt shrubs that lay near our ground-floor room, separated by a small wall, turned out to be a waste disposal yard as opposed to our perception of a waste land.  

We tried to analyse the severity of the 'garbage' situation, examining from behind the small wall and discovered that it served as an abode for many a plump rat.

“We are screwed.. totally! We need to find another good place by a month or two!” said one of my roommates as we gathered in our room after our analysis.

The next morning, I woke up early and with a desire to witness the morning Bangalore sky, I stepped outside my room. Muffled sounds could be heard from the garbage yard and I understood that the rats were busy. A few minutes later, an old man with a stick in his right hand and a jute-bag in his left, walked inside the garbage yard. I silently observed him as he collected the empty plastic bottles lying around. He then noticed me and waved his hand. I waved back, a couple of seconds later.

“Naye waale ho?!” he asked me. I nodded.

“Yahaan chuhae hain.. patha hai tumhe?!”, he asked me eagerly. “Haan! Kal raath hi pathaa chala!” I replied, smiling.

He let out a chuckle. “Par gabraane ki koi baath nahin.. Yeh chuhae toh bahoot achae chuhae hain!”  he said, giving the rats a certificate of appreciation. I smiled again after which he left, having collected the empty bottles in his jute-bag.

Today morning, as I stepped out of my room, I could see a rat busily eating a dish from a small plastic cover. I made a small kissing sound trying to grab its attention. The rat quickly dropped its food and rushed towards its hole. I tried the kissing sound again but the rat seemed to pay no heed.

I then remembered Ruskin Bond’s amazing little piece – Those simple things - in which he describes his friendship with a mouse during his stay at London.

“Seems like I too might become a Ruskin Bond someday” I told myself.
“Think about what stands in your way from becoming one” a question arose, followed later by two answers.

Writing.

Developing a friendship with mice/rats (After all, they belong to the same family).

I decided to begin with the easier one and started working on the kissing sound.