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.

Killing the conscience...

Imagine you are waiting at a traffic signal on your vehicle. The signal shows red. You know that you have to wait till the signal turns green. But the road ahead is empty. And your mind starts oscillating - should you wait or should you go ahead? Fear of overstepping traffic rules scares you. Imagine at such a point that a car arrives behind you. The driver of the car starts sounding his horn. He wants you to not pay heed to the signal and go ahead. What do you do then? Do you start your vehicle and drive ahead or do you shout at the car driver for not respecting the traffic rules? 
If you do the first, you would have to ride the rest of your journey with guilt as your fellow passenger. If you do the second, you would end up hurting the car driver. Who knows what kind of a situation the car driver is in? He might be required to reach his destination really quick. What do you do?
You end up doing the only thing which seems right to you. You start your vehicle, move a bit so that the car driver rides ahead and wait till the signal turns green. And at such a point, as you wait for the green circle of light, you get stranded on a strange place - you get stranded on the middle of the road. 
When you think back as to why you ended up on the middle of the road, the answer appears pretty simple - you did not want to be a bad person. You wanted to respect the traffic rules and you also wanted to make peace with the car driver. But take a look at the result. 
What if you had not had a strong conscience? Would you have cared for the traffic rules? Or would you have given thought about the car driver's situation? You would have simply lashed out at him. 
Either way, the journey would have been a lot easier. 

If these are the complications that the conscience can create at a traffic signal, imagine the complications that arise in friendships and relationships. 
And things only get a lot worse when you are an humanist.
Being a believer in God makes life easy. If you commit a mistake, you have someone to pray to. If you hurt a person, you have someone to request for forgiveness. But if you are unable to believe in God, if humans are the only Gods you believe in, whom do you pray to?
Such a fear makes you want to stay as good a person as you can be. But at what cost?
Every time you refrain yourself from hurting another person, every time you suppress your anger, every time you try to remain a good person even when the odds are stacked against you, a part of you withers away in uncontrollable pain as another part feels good about itself, lauding its altruism.
Should a person continue being good if it comes at such a cost?
Ideally, yes. But it would make sense if others also tried being good. 
If the people around you do not try being so, injustice starts creeping in. How can you raise a sword against a person holding a machine gun?

At times, things reach a point where you want to pluck the conscience from inside, grab a strong rope and strangle it till it dies. Things would get a lot easier.
Why roam around carrying your conscience amidst a crowd that has consciously locked the conscience in a cupboard?
Why try being a good person in a society where being good causes nothing but hurt? 
The video below shows what happens when you try removing a barrier in order to make way for an ambulance. 

Why try being good when it causes so much hurt?

Can you keep your conscience and yourself happy at the same time? One has to give way to the other. So, which one would it be?

When I started typing this post, I had decided to end it with the previous question. But my mind seems to have undergone a change. After watching the above video again.

Yes. Being good hurts. But if I decided against it, I would have nothing to believe in. Not even humanity. Which scares me.
I do not want to go back to worshiping a higher power though it would make my life easier. 
I choose pain instead. I choose humans.
How bad a situation can being good get me in?
Extreme hurt and death is a possibility. Or worse, another post like this.
Frankly, I am scared only of the latter.

Being a Diwali hero..

When your aunt hands you a sweet and tells you, “Please accompany your cousin and take care that he bursts the crackers safely” with concern for her 9 year old son, you feel happy. Happy that you are being trusted as someone who can be relied upon for the safety of a kid.

When you accompany your cousin outside the apartment and see a group of kids already bursting crackers, you feel happier. What gives more joy than a group of playful kids?  

When one of the kids looks at you in awe and exclaims, “Whoa! You are really tall!”, you feel proud. The same way you feel when you board a crowded bus and notice that all the heads of the seat-less passengers are below you.

When your cousin looks at you and says, “Go ahead! You start with an atom bomb!”, suddenly you go numb. What did you just hear?!

When one of the kids from the group rushes towards you and says gleefully, “Do you hold the atom bomb as you light it? My elder brother always does that”, you feel anger. Anger towards all the overtly courageous guys who perform such acts and make life difficult for a normal guy.

When another kid immediately shouts, “We should never light crackers while holding them in our hands. My father has warned me”, you let out a sigh. Whosoever the father, let him have a long and happy life!

When you are guided by the kids to the spot where they have been bursting crackers till then, you see the infinite torn pieces of paper and get scared. Scared the same way when you are about to give a presentation on ‘How to treat a patient?’ in the presence of Gregory House.

When a kid places an atom bomb on a small stone slab and another kid quickly adds in a second atom bomb and says, “Hey! He’s very elder to us. He can easily burst two bombs at a time”, you wonder. Wonder if such guys later go on to become the friends who spoil a guy’s mental peace by provoking him that a particular girl has a liking for him.

When you are handed over a very small incense stick and you experience a disturbing feeling in your stomach, you get confused. Confused if the feeling is out of fear or if it is a result of all the sweets and savories that reside in your stomach, thanks to all your neighbors.

When you start running as stylishly as possible after having set fire to the 2 bombs and a kid shouts out to you, “Hello! You did not light them properly”, you stop frustrated. Frustrated the same way when you have packed all your dresses in all the available bags to their maximum capacity, before vacating your hostel, and the laundry-guy comes smiling, carrying 3 shirts and a pant to say, “Sir! See how clean your clothes are!”

When you finally – really – set fire to the bombs and start running again, your mind goes berserk. 

What if one of the bombs flies to hit you on the back of your head and you lose your memory? Why has your neighbor still not properly learned to prepare Mysore pa? Would the review of Thoongavanam be out by now? Why did the Chinese have to invent crackers? How difficult a job would it be for the Municipality sweepers tomorrow with all these cracker-papers? Why are you still running when the other kids have stopped? Why hasn’t the cracker still….Boooommm!!

-------------------------------------------------------ooooooooooooooiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnn------------

When you turn slowly to see a smoke arising from the spot where you performed your heroic (!) act, your hearing returns to normalcy and you hear the jubilant screams of the kids. What gives more joy than a group of playful kids?

When your cousin hands you two more atom bombs and the other kids step aside to make you a wider way to the cracker-bursting spot, you decide to drop your heroic mask. You then suddenly notice a pretty girl watching the happenings from the balcony of an adjacent apartment and you get angry. Angry at all the courageous guys who make life tough for a normal guy.

Who said being a woman is difficult?!

Try being a man. At least during Diwali.

It literally hurts.

In the mood for love...

Rain evokes a gamut of emotions within me – joy, melancholy, pride, anger, fear. The very same concoction the remembrance of my college romance evokes.

The building up of the grey rain clouds. The first time I noticed her writing something on her note book, holding the pen in her left hand – just like my mother. The slow, gentle drizzle. All the class hours I spent looking in the direction of her bench rather than at the black board. The heavy downpour with the occasional thunder. The late midnight hours I spent resting on my hostel corridor, contemplating a lot of ‘What if’s. The water drops dripping from an old, battered asbestos sheet. The very few words I spoke directly to her face. The glassy appearance that the drenched leaves put up for an hour or two after the rain. The evening hours in my third year of college when I started digging up my buried love for writing, to capture the most beautiful phase of my life on paper. The pale grey sky that appears after all this drama ends. The lonely walks I gift myself wondering how my life would have changed if I had not fallen in love.

I step outside my home to observe the aftermath of the rain. Most of the emotions take leave as joy and sadness linger around. Joy, due to the birth of the new life around me. Sadness, due to the end of something enchanting. I feel glad that a rainy day serves as a metaphor for my romance.

I look at the tiny puddles. I remember all the tears. They would dry up soon.

As I see my reflection in a puddle, I ask myself – Do I want the rain to start again? Or do I want the sun to come out?

I do not have an answer. After all, I love both equally. The rain helps me appreciate a bright, sunny day. The sun’s warmth helps me recall how adorable rain was. How can I choose? Or perhaps, I do have an option. A rainbow.

I look around at the aftermath of the rain. The water dripping. The glassy appearances. I notice a caterpillar slowly wriggling over a leaf. I smile. Everyone seems to be in the mood for love.

Wrapped thoughts...

I still remember the image my eyes captured one day at a bus stand. I badly wanted to capture the image with a camera/my phone but I was a bit afraid. 

A girl of about 25 years - Let's call her X. She was wearing a sleeveless top and a mini skirt. Sunglasses covered her eyes. Behind her were standing two Muslim women. They were clad in the traditional burqa outfit. And one of the women's eyes fell on X. The women did not just glance at X and turn away. Her gaze continued like it did not have an end. 

What was the woman thinking as she saw X?!

I wanted to know desperately. 

When an average man looks at an under-dressed woman, the man's thoughts could be brought down to a very limited set of possibilities. 

But what does an average woman think/feel when she sees an under-dressed woman?!

Does she experience a longing? Does she feel disgust? Does jealousy take birth? Does she feel sad that her body is not built in such a way so as to be exposed? Does she feel happy that her body is built in such a way that she could never ever get an intent of under-dressing? What would be a woman's definition of under-dressing? 

I wanted to know desperately the thought process that was running inside the Muslim woman's head as she looked at X. 

But I was afraid to ask. 

And I let the thoughts of the Muslim woman - whatever they were - to remain safely locked away in her eyes. The way many thoughts of most humans stay.

****

Why have we become a society that treats the clothing of a person as the most important indicator of the person's qualities/principles?

I do not want to comment on if such an approach is right or wrong. 

But think about the following situation.

It is about 11:30 PM. You are walking alone on a deserted road. As you keep walking, you see a man coming from the opposite direction. Now, from the two given options below, when would you feel more relaxed:

• The man is attired in formal wear
• The man is clothed in a very loose, slightly shabby outfit

If you are a person who says that the second option makes you more relaxed, I must admit that I really respect you. But if you feel that you would be comfortable with the man in the formal wear, I want to extend you my hand (sadly) and let you know that you have a friend. 

Now that our friendship has been established, let's think about this. 

We do not know that the man attired in formal wear is a really good human being. Similarly, we are very vague about the intentions of a man in a loose, shabby outfit. But what makes us feel more secure in the company of a properly dressed person? 

Is it the knowledge that a man in a formal wear is well educated and hence, harmless? 

Which brings me to my next question - Is it right to judge the knowledge of a person from his clothing? Is it right to judge the moral and ethical values of a person from his attire?

One of my colleagues told me this story some time back. 

He had been travelling in a crowded train in Tamil Nadu. Next to him had been standing a man, about 40 years old, holding onto a huge carton inside which lay a new desktop monitor for his son. His outfit - a loose and a slightly shabby one. And nearby the man had been standing a guy about 30 years old - Let's call him Y. Y had been in a professional outfit. The 40 year old man, unable to hold onto the heavy carton, had requested Y to move his feet so that he could rest the carton down. He had even explained Y what lay inside the carton and why it was important for him to protect it. But Y had refused (Who knows what problem he faced at his organization that day?). The man had requested Y again. Y had slightly moved his feet. The man had thanked him and placed the carton  down, vertically, near his feet. Owing to the train's motion, the carton had fallen on Y's feet and Y, frustrated, had pushed the carton aside. The 40 year old man, angered by this, had asked Y why he had pushed the carton. Y, angered beyond control, had started shouting at the man and in a couple of minutes, the fight had become so big that all the passengers of their coach had gotten into stopping the fight. And a couple of minutes later, as the train approached a station, the passengers had forced one of the two men to get down. 

Any guesses on who that person was?!

The 40 year old man and his carton containing the desktop monitor had been penalized for a simple mistake of the man. 

He had not been in a professional attire. 

If he had been in one, I doubt that he would have been forced to get down at the next station with his carton. 

We belong to a race that believes that a book must not be judged by its cover. 

Doesn't the same apply to a person's clothing?!

Why have we transformed something that started out as a means of protection from adverse climate into something that has become a basis for judgement of character?!

In the film Batman Begins, there is a line which is one of my favorites.

It is not who you are underneath, it's what you do that defines you.

I feel bad that in today's scenario, the term 'do' can very easily be replaced with the term 'wear'.

Mars, Maths and Matt...

The following is a list of random thoughts that took birth in my head as I watched the recently released 'The Martian'. 

• How does a person feel when he realizes he is the only human being on an entire planet? I imagined how I would feel. The imagination turned scary with the planet being Mars. But I tried to imagine a similar scenario on Earth - in its present civilization filled state - with breathable air and cultivable land available.  The thought was interesting. I could sit down and paint in the middle of a highway. I could cross the borders and walk into any country. I could rest in a palace one night and in a hut the next. I would be the king and I would be the servant. But then a fear started seeping in. How long would I make it without another person? Being alone feels good but what would happen if there was not a human contact for more than a month or two? I like listening to myself but if I was the only speaker and the only listener, then I doubt that my sanity would last beyond a few months. Which actually makes it more interesting - What would an insane man do with the entire world for himself?

• You show a man walking from point A to point B on the screen. Which would be the better technique - using a steadicam or using a handheld camera? When using a steadicam, the viewer gets to watch the person walking from a stationary point and also take in the elements present in the surrounding. But when a handheld camera is employed - when you let the camera move up and down and accompany the person in his walk - the shaky scene that results makes the viewer feel the effort put into the person's walk, especially when the walk is a lonely, exhausted, space walk. The handheld camera is also effective when showing a child walk, or when showing a very old woman walk, or when showing a one-legged person walk. The scene might be a bit more harsher and disturbing than a scene shot on steadicam but then, does life behave in a soft and gentle way to every person?

• Why do these things always happen to Matt Damon? 'Saving Private Ryan' came to my mind. A group of 8 soldiers led by Captain Miller overcome personal/military obstacles in order to save the last surviving son in an American family. The last surviving son - Matt Damon. 'Interstellar' came to my mind. After having realized that there is enough fuel to visit only one planet (out of 2) that shows potential for life, Cooper and his team visit a planet they believe would provide answers to their questions. The lone inhabitant of that planet - Matt Damon. And my mind returned to 'The Martian'. The tale of a man stranded on Mars waiting to be rescued. The stranded man - Matt Damon. Why do these things always happen to Matt Damon? 

• You have very less food left. You have 4 more years to wait till help arrives. How do you keep yourself alive? You start growing food. And that is what the protagonist in 'The Martian' does (the protagonist being a botanist only makes his task easier). He also burns up the hydrazine from his rocket fuel to create water. He then creates a small farm and plants potatoes hoping that his efforts would not go in vain. And they do not. There is a beautiful scene in which the protagonist observes a very tiny shoot and the new plant gives birth to a new hope in him. As I watched the scene, I recalled a few lines from 'Interstellar' - "...Well, right now we don't need more engineers. We didn't run out of television screens and planes. We ran out of food. The world needs farmers." I wished that I could screen portions of 'The Martian' and 'Interstellar' to every single Indian farmer and make him realize that he was going to be the hero of the future.

• 'I need food. What do I do?'. 'I need water to grow food. What do I do?'. 'I need to contact NASA. What do I do?'. 'I need to lift myself off Mars? What do I do?'. - This is how the protagonist in 'The Martian' goes about solving his problems. He takes the problems one by one and follows a simple approach to solve them. He lays down the problem. He does the math. He reaches a solution. And I couldn't help smiling as I thought about this. I was being trained to do the very same thing in my organization. 'When this approach works in Mars, it should only get a lot more easier here' I assured myself. It was time to put on the astronaut suit and march to office.

• Space films seem to fascinate me. The starry, black images seem to give me goosebumps. Why, I wondered? Perhaps I had fallen in love with space. Due to its silence. Due to its unknown and unexplored elements, due to its mystery. Like people generally fall in love with God. 

Huff. Puff. Fat. Fit.

From the day I properly understood all the tasks that my body could perform, I had never paid serious attention to my fitness. 
Except for a brief phase during my 4 year stay at college - the phase was one where my primary ambition in life was to impress a girl. A phase which when thought about now, makes me laugh more than I would for an episode of The Big Bang Theory.

I have never been a huge fan of any sport. I have had favorite sports personalities but I have liked them for reasons beyond their playing abilities. 
I have always liked watching a game being played rather than being a participant in it. 
Seeing a bowler deliver a short-pitched ball to a batsman coming forward has given me joy. Seeing a football midfielder fake a sprint in one direction before passing the ball in the opposite direction to the forward and assisting in a goal has given me joy. Getting involved in the processes hasn't. 
The sweat and the loss of breath and the bruises are as unwelcome to my body as the distant relatives who visit my home on the very day I and my mom plan to visit a place we had been wanting to go for a long time.

My head is my body. To put it down in simple words. 

And I have always been happy with this approach of mine. 
Or at least I was till last week when a kindergarten kid and a rubber ball shook the very foundations of this approach.

I prefer walking to my office in the morning. 
A bus ride from my flat would cost me only 5 minutes as opposed to the 30 minutes my walk takes up. But I prefer walking. 
Walking lets me think. Walking lets me notice. Walking takes me past a residential area where I get to enjoy the sight of kindergarten kids start to their schools.
A girl with a small fountain of hair bursting from an elastic band in the middle of her head, a boy seated on top of the petrol tank of his father's two-wheeler wearing his father's helmet, a girl whom I have always noticed to be asleep on her mother's shoulder - All these visuals help me through the rest of the day at office as I sit analyzing data and exceptions. 
Or at least they did till last week when a kindergarten kid and a rubber ball shook me apart.

It was like any other normal morning in Bangalore. The sun was out and bright but not hurting. A continuous cool breeze kept moving ahead on the roads irrespective of the stationary vehicles lined up for miles. 
I accompanied the breeze as I walked, thinking about a photo series that I had come across on Parisian floor designs. The thought process made me want to look down at the road I walked up on. With every step of mine, a new portion of the gravel road came under observation. After stretch after stretch of gray rocks, suddenly came rolling a tiny red colored rubber ball in my frame of sight. 
I stopped the ball with my right leg and picked it up. 
Looking ahead, I saw its owner - a small kindergarten kid struggling to escape from his mother's grasp in order to run towards me and fetch his ball. I quickened my steps to reach him and hand over his ball. As he took the ball from my hand, the kid smiled and then a moment later, added, "Thanks uncle!".

My world stopped.
Parisian floors and gravel roads vanished in a moment.
UNCLE???!
In the 21 years I have walked this planet, I have been called a lot of names by my family members and my close friends (many of which have been curse words!).
But never once have I been addressed by that term.
UNCLE!!!
It felt like I was being told on my college graduation day that the entire 4 years I had spent learning engineering had all been a dream and I had another 4 years of engineering ahead of me.
UNCLE!!

It took me an extra 20 minutes to reach my office that day. After I reached my bay at office, I placed my bag at a corner and rushed to the restroom. I positioned myself in front of the huge mirror that had witnessed the sleepless faces of many of my colleagues. 
The coffee-brown colored wall of our restroom with me at the center - This was what the mirror showed. 
I moved closer to the mirror. I scanned my reflection from head to toe. It would have probably been because of the tummy. I then turned sideways to observe how bad the protrusion of my tummy was. It's actually not that bad! It's nearly flat. What then could have been the reason? Still standing sideways, I moved few steps further to the mirror. A significant portion of the hair on the right side of my head had turned gray. So it should have been the gray hair! Yes! It definitely should have been the hair! I turned again to see the reflection of my entire body. I scanned again from head to toe. I concentrated on my face. I slowly removed my spectacles. A slightly blurred reflection of myself became visible. Do I look younger without the specs? I waited for a few seconds before putting back the spectacles on my face. And I suddenly noticed the beard. Oh! It should have been the beard! Definitely the beard! I slowly massaged the one-week-old beard. And then slowly I turned sideways. It would have probably been because of the tummy.

I decided that I had to change my lifestyle. 
Only green vegetables and fruits - nothing else. 50 sit-ups and 50 push-ups every day. 
I left the restroom a determined man.
"Let me begin today", I thought and locked myself in one of the empty discussion rooms in my office.   
1. 2. 3. 4. 5. Huff. 6. Puff. 7. 8. Huff. 9. 10. Puff. 11. 12... 
And by 10 minutes, I had completed 50 sit-ups. I was already feeling younger. I then proceeded to my office cafeteria to buy a bowl of sprouts. 
The change had begun.

And I experienced the complete impact of the change the very next morning.
With every step I kept forward from my bedroom to my restroom, I felt the pierce of a knife through my thigh.
It took me 5 minutes to climb down the stairs from my flat on the first floor. 
It took me an extra 20 minutes to reach my office than it had taken the earlier day. And with the piercing pain I proceeded to my office cafeteria. 
I avoided the shop selling fruits and vegetables and proceeded to a North-Indian eatery and ordered a plate of poori. 

No more sprouts. No more sit-ups.
No more change.
I was fine with 'uncle'.