Understanding birthdays

First came the birthdays when I really did not understand what was happening around me. There would be new clothes and new toys. There would be balloons and glitter. There would be extra pinching-of-the-cheeks. There would be my recitation of the same nursery rhyme over and over and over. There would be that 10-years-elder-to-me girl angel from the neighboring flat. 

Then came the birthdays when I had to answer the very important question from my mom.

"What do you want - Coffee bite? Eclairs? Alpenliebe?"

The answer mattered a lot because the toffee had to be one that would be loved by my entire class - not to mention my favorite teacher angel, by my entire apartment, by all the neighboring kids joining me in the playground. 

During those birthdays, whenever I walked around my class to distribute chocolates during the lunch hour, I got more excited when I noticed that a classmate was not at his/her bench. It presented me an opportunity to place a couple of toffees inside the desk and offer the classmate a tiny surprise. 

Many a time, we make the mistake of assuming that only the person celebrating the birthday needs to be surprised.

Surprises never require occasions.

Then came the birthdays when the birthday dress attained gargantuan importance - Because it had to be worn to school, and more importantly, because it had to be worn before that angel seated in the corner desk of my class. 

There would be the realization that I looked awkwardly fat but there would also be the hope that my new birthday dress would make me appear as cool as Prince Adam in He-Man.

There would be a very calculated attempt to enter the classroom as late as possible. That walk, in the birthday dress, from the classroom doorway to my desk would make all the hero-introduction scenes of Tamil films shy away in shame. 

Then came the birthdays when the expectation of gifts arose, accompanied by the fear of treats. 

When a good friend forgot to wish on a birthday, the forgetfulness threw away a hint of a big surprise that lay ahead. When a good friend forgot to wish on a birthday and there turned out to be no big surprise, the ensuing fight ensured that the friendship grew stronger. 

As the friend circle grew, the number of wishes via text messages, Facebook messages and WhatsApp messages increased. But what always remained interesting was seeing how the really dear friends - the ones who had gotten so close that hearing them wish 'Happy birthday' seemed awkward - reacted to me turning a year older.

I will always cherish all their reactions.

Then came the birthday that was yesterday.

Thinking about it day before yesterday had given me a strange feeling. 

I was not going to be at school. I was not going to be at college. I was not going to be at office. I was not going to be with any group of friends. I was not going to be with my cousins. I was going to be at home with my mom and grandmother. 

I had not had the slightest of doubts regarding the affection that would be showered at home. But I had reserved doubts regarding the affection I might miss, not being in the vicinity of friends. 

And yesterday taught me a number of lessons.
Our aunts and uncles deserve to be loved more than they are - They love us more than we deserve to be.

A text message is no way lesser to a phone call. 

A friend who had called to wish and had fumbled a couple of minutes later, running out of topics, is no way lesser to a friend who, after a 30 minute call, had wanted to meet in person because there was so much left to talk. 

A friend who had called yesterday night, apologizing for the delay, holds the same amount of affection as the friend who had wished late night the day before yesterday, afraid that sleep might overcome the love. 

A friend who had forgotten to wish is still a friend one has to be grateful for - The absence of the wish only suggested that the person's love is stronger than his/her memory.

Prioritizing one's work over a loved one's birthday never meant disrespect to the latter - It just signaled survival. 

Most of us set out on a journey to find an angel, leaving behind the real angels at home.

P.S.: An extra-special lesson - Love never gives a damn about geographical distances - A friend from the United States, a friend from Tanjore and a friend from the neighboring street stood testimony to this.

Notes & thoughts from a short trip - II

On the lookout for a miracle

Whenever I travel in a bus at nighttime, I keep staring outside the window, looking out for solitary lampposts and lonely huts. Such sights offer me a feeling I experience when I discover a child's drawing on a paper used to bundle up groceries.

But last weekend, as my bus spiraled on its way to Gokarna, I was on the lookout for ghosts.

I do not know how ghosts look but I continued looking for a flickering white light, for a body-less being, for a soft whisper with a mild fragrance.
It was not a want for a cheap scare. It was just a desperate need for some sort of a miracle.

If not for ghosts, I was ready to make do even with a God. But either refused to show up and all that lay ahead was just a beautiful trip.

****

Finding a place to stay

Restroom.

That seemed the priority. The living room could be compromised with. A night's sleep held lesser importance than a day's dump.

It made me wonder about the significance given to the living rooms and bedrooms in our houses. All the fancy furniture, the wall hangings, the show pieces - To a weary traveler, all these would seem as unimportant as the stairway in a 30 storied building. 

Aren't we all weary travelers, some literally and some metaphorically, in our daily lives?

****

Eating mindfully

Lemon-ginger-honey tea and mashed potato with butter. 

Possibly, the simplest of dishes one could order on a vacation. But sitting on an old plastic chair, behind an old plastic table, in an old and tiny cafe, with the Arabian sea before me, it was the best dish I had had in a long time.

There was no deliverable waiting. There was no meeting scheduled. There was no hint of sleep trying to overcome me. Every spoonful of the mashed potato and every sip of the lemon-ginger-honey tea lived its entire life in my mouth. Their travel down my throat was in rhythm with the receding waves. 

No gobbling up. No hurried swallowing. I managed to eat, after a long time.

****

The waves

Why do we like waves?
Is it because, unlike us, they cannot be controlled?
Is it because, like a pleasant dream, they come to us voluntarily yet do not let us lock them?
Is it because, like really good friends, they keep coming back to the shore though the shore does not make an effort to hold them?

Is it because they dance so well?
Is it because, deep down, we are still the underwater micro organism that started evolution?

Is it because, like many of us, they are the creators and destroyers of their own lives?

Why do we like waves?

****

Sunset/Sunrise

My brother and I were seated on a rock formation at the Om beach. We were waiting for the sunset. The two of us sat beside each other, sharing silence. The two writers that we are, that evening, we did not find the need for words. 

The sun slowly started sinking in to the sea. I hurriedly grabbed my mobile phone and played 'Oru deivam thantha poove'. Halfway through the song, the sun disappeared. But at the very moment the bright orange ball left my sight, I realized why I loved sunsets and sunrises.

No matter how bad things are, no matter how good things are, the sunsets and the sunrises would go on. A bad day always has to end and a good day always has to start.

The next day, before the break of the dawn, I rushed to the Kudle beach and into the waves. There was no one around. I stood knee-deep amidst the waves, not knowing if I preferred darkness or light. The sun started its majestic rise. I hurriedly grabbed my mobile phone and played 'Oru deivam thantha poove'. 

A feeling of warmth started seeping in.

Sharing secrets

As I stood at the Murdeshwar beach eating cotton candy, and on my way to the temple, my focus was only on the gigantic Shiva statue, seated in penance.  

Man had built a remarkable statue of God to serve as a constant reminder of man's greatness.

But after I entered the temple, the large Nandi statue grabbed my attention. I remembered what my mom had told me in my childhood. 

"If you desperately want something to happen, whisper it in Nandi's ears like a secret. Nandi has the power to make it happen".

As I walked closer to Nandi, I realized that I did not want to share my wants. Instead, I had a bag full of secrets. I unloaded the bag and handed over the secrets to Nandi. 

It felt really good catching up with an old friend.

Can I be your O2?

I sharpened my pencil to write this poem

The lead broke and went rolling across the paper

That beautiful mole of yours - Can that go rolling too?

Your mole reminds me of the universe

Galaxies, stars and planets.. Rotations and revolutions..

Does the sun have to rise every morning?

I maintain peace with its routine for a simple reason

My favorite part of every day - Waking up before you, to see you try to wake up

Chuck your bindi. Chuck your mascara. 

That unruly hair, those un-opening eyes and that uncontrollable yawn

You are a princess all the way from the bed to the washroom.

Yesterday, during my walk, I came across a flock of birds

All pigeons but for a solitary dove

Like that single strand of grey hair on your head

Remember that day I discovered it and you broke down?

I try imagining you old and wrinkled

The affection does not diminish a bit

Reminds me of the stagnating water in our kitchen sink

To hell with all the utensils while you wash them

Why do you hold them so dearly?

To hell with the coffee mug - That beautiful ellipse is mine

Can I gift you a packet of straws instead? But wait!

To hell with the straws too. And also your toothbrush.

I have sharpened my pencil again

The pencil shavings show me an exciting version of your eyelids

Can I reroute the path to my office between your eyelashes and eyebrows? 

I have a confession - I threw away your previous pair of eyeglasses

You did not lose them at the restaurant

But the eyeglasses deserved it, spending more time with you than I do

Kindly hide away your new contact lenses

And your comb and your wristwatch and your slippers, especially your favorite pillow

I have already contacted a buyer to dispose all our furniture

I now need to worry about only one problem

How do I turn a part of myself into oxygen?

From Ring-a-Ring-a roses to Rumi

When I was a kid, rain evoked only one emotion. 
Happiness.
A waterfall outside the window. A temporary lake around the house. The possibility of a new raincoat. The freedom of wearing slippers instead of shoes to school. The frequent power shortage and holidays. 

The weekend that passed also happened to be a rainy one. Today morning, I took stock of the emotions I had experienced.
Sadness. Love. Pain. Breakdown. Hope.
A lonely, wet road. A fallen tree entangled in the wires of a transformer. The dry clothes on a terrace getting beaten up by rain repeatedly. The continuous line of water drops illuminated by a flickering lamppost. A group of street dogs cuddled up close to one another.

The more agonizing realization was that the rain had not changed a bit. All the change had been internal. 

O Captain! My Captain! - II

Last evening, I stood in the smoking area outside my organization, with my first manager who was quitting. As I stood there, I was reminded of my first day in my first project. My manager had taken me that day to the very same spot. 

That first day. That first conversation.
"I want to know more about you. Tell me about the things you are really passionate about" he asked me, lighting up his cigarette. I was surprised. A few hours earlier, I had spoken about my hobbies when I had been asked to introduce myself to the team working on my first project. 
I suspected that my manager had not paid attention when I had mentioned my interests. I started explaining him my field of passion and its reason. He listened patiently, with a tinge of wonder visible in his eyes. I expected him to interrupt me and put forward his opinion. He did not. I continued talking. He continued listening. "You should interrupt now! You should want to say something! You are a manager!" I kept thinking, as I talked on. He never interrupted me. 
I did not understand. I was a kid fresh out of college, still unsure of even his Facebook profile picture. And he was a manager with 3-and-odd years of experience in my organization. What was he doing, spending his valuable time, listening to a kid blabbering about French and Italian cinema?
My brain was burning out faster than his cigarette, in confusion.
And then he started talking. His response showed how genuinely he had listened to me. I was taken aback. I was also glad. How many employees can boast of having had their first manager as someone who knew how to listen and was genuinely invested in each and every member of the team?
That evening, after that 30-minute conversation, I seriously considered taking up smoking just so I could become his smoking-buddy.

****

After I had decided to type a post about my first manager, I was unclear as to the structure or narrative. There were memories aplenty from his beloved Microsoft mobile to the balcony-entrance of his ground-floor flat to his secret crush on 9GAG. But an all-joining thread was required. 
Strangely, before the narrative could fall in place, the title began barking at me. I tried shoo'ing it away saying that I needed the content first. But it continued barking. I then paused and listened to the title. The barking made sense.
The earlier post where I had used the title had been a piece about Robin Williams. 
My first manager is a Robin Williams in his own way.
The enthusiasm of an Adrian Cronauer of Good Morning, Vietnam or of the Genie of Aladdin. The urge to inspire of a John Keating of Dead Poets Society. The patience and care of a Sean Maguire of Good Will Hunting. 
  
Also, the words of Whitman's poem keep coming back.
..The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won..
..Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding..
My manager was never a man to stay behind for the laurels. He stepped aside after doling out enough inspiration. 
A teacher to the truest sense.

****

Last evening, I stood in the smoking area outside my organization, with my first manager who was quitting. In the brief moments of silence that lingered amidst reminiscing the old days, I remembered the effort he had put in to make this shy, silent, introverted kid get comfortable with his team. That had made all the difference between me loving/hating a job I had accepted not because of my want, but because of my need.

As it was time to finally part, I shook my manager's hand and said, "All the best".
My final words to him have been troubling me since then.
I should have said "Thank you". 
He deserved it. And a lot more.

Demonetization and a dear friend

It was November 9. Around 10:30 PM.
A very dear friend of mine called me. "Are you still at office?", he asked. I had left office early that day and I told him the same. He used a few curse words hearing that. "I reached home just now", he replied, as an explanation to his curse words. I couldn't help let out a chuckle.
I did not have to ask him the reason for his late home-coming that day. The previous day, the Indian Prime Minister had made an unexpected declaration of demonetizing 500 and 1000 rupee notes. And I knew that the bank employees were going to take the worst hit. One of whom was my dear friend.

"You should have seen every person's face as he/she placed the 500 and 1000 rupee notes on top of my counter. Some had mud over them. Some had rice dust. It felt like being in a Shankar movie", my friend narrated his story excitedly. I felt happy for him.
"As I sat down to tally the day's collection by evening, though I was extremely tired, I also felt mildly proud. Who would have thought I would be entrusted with such responsibilities?", he asked, triumphantly, before ending the call. "Really good for you!" I told him.
"You have no idea how proud I feel of you", I wanted to tell him but I did not.

Some friendships do not require you to tell everything. The things that you leave unsaid carry deeper meaning.

****

I remember vividly the last month of the last semester at my college.
Slam books were passed around. Apologies were thrown around. A few late realizations. A few not-so-late proposals. Selfies with favorite professors. Selfies with favorite buildings.
In the midst of such happenings, one late evening, my dear friend and I were seated on a stone bench.
"How do you foresee our futures, 5-10 years down the lane?" my friend asked me, expecting something philosophical. "I do not know", I replied, being my most philosophical.
It irritated him.
"Do you suppose we should have chosen easier fields of interest?" he asked me, smiling. 

Maybe. Maybe not. I did not know. 

I had fallen in love with cinema. He, with the Indian army. I badly wanted him to become a soldier and he wished with all his heart that I become a filmmaker some day. But both of us knew that long and dusty roads lay before us. We were also aware of our prior dreams and their success ratio. 

"Even now, it isn't late to change our fields of interest. But imagine this - What if we fail even in those easier ones?" I asked him. He let out a chuckle.

An awkward silence followed.

"Do you know what angers me the most?", my friend questioned and continued, "I see a lot many people who very easily get what they want. And most of them are no way closer to being as good-hearted, as helpful as me or you."  

I looked at him helplessly.

"They keep mentioning karma. They keep telling that good things happen to good people. But I rarely see these sayings come true. Can you recall something in your life that you had wanted very badly and it had turned out the exact way that you had wanted?" he asked me. I had no answer. 

The awkward silence prevailed again. 

"I guess that is how life is meant to be. If things had happened according to my plan and want, I would have never joined this college and we would have never had this conversation" I broke the silence. 

My friend did not find my answer good enough.

"Do you fear that we are going to fail in the pursuit of our passions?" I asked him finally. He chose not to reply. 

"Well, I do not know about you. But I am pretty sure that I am getting an Oscar" I told him. He gave me a puzzled look and in a few seconds, we started laughing.

"And I am pretty sure that you would succeed before me" I wanted to tell him, after the laughter, but I did not.

Some friendships do not require you to tell everything. The things that you leave unsaid carry deeper meaning. 

****

It was November 19. Around 01:00 AM.

I was on my way to Chennai in a government bus. Lonely huts and lonelier lampposts kept passing my window as Rahman's music kept me awake. My mobile screen suddenly flashed to indicate the arrival of a new mail. It was from my dear friend.

He had written how his banking life had been turned upside down after the demonetizing order and how his pride had increased by being a part of a movement that would reform India. 

I felt really happy for him. Also, a bit envious. 

Though he had not been positioned at the country's borders, though he had not been armed with rifles, though he had not been fighting for his life day after day, he had marched closer to his dream. In the end, it had always been about serving the nation.

"Karma exists. Good things happen to good people. Thanks for making me believe" - I wanted to send him a reply but I did not.

Some friendships do not require you to tell everything. The things that you leave unsaid carry deeper meaning. 

But then, there is also no harm in putting it all out once in a while. 

The Umbrella seller

I will be your umbrella seller
Do you want the majestic black one?
Or the bee-deceiving flowered one?
Or the Newton's-disk resembling rainbow-designed one?
I will be your umbrella seller
And I will sell you an umbrella free of cost
But make me a promise and stick to it
Never open my umbrella when it rains.. Never..
My umbrellas are not designed for showers
It should blossom like an inverted flower
Only when tears flow down your cheeks
My umbrellas are designed only for your tears.