You and I

I recall our past and I predict our future
My imaginations are clearer than my memories
Perhaps our future resembles a sad song
Their lyrics are easier to remember than the lines of a happy song..
Who were you and I?
Who will we be?
I was a leaking fountain pen smiling at you, my half-filled ink bottle
I will be an overused toothbrush longing for you, my flattened out toothpaste
I was a half-bitten eraser caring for you, my uneven pencil stroke
I will be a broken lock looking out for you, my lost key
I was a punctured tire kissing you, my empty dead-end road
I will be an ineffective malware multiplying for you, my uninstalled antivirus
I was an unwilling raindrop falling for you, my hole-filled umbrella
I will be a damaged brain aching for you, my obsolete X-ray machine
I was a forced smile showing up for you, my silent single teardrop
I will be a friendless childhood waiting for you, my loveless adulthood
Who were you and I?
Who will we be?
We were always meant to be together
Not for our purposes, only for our affection
But we are yet to be understood
Like a comedian's pain, like a celebrity's loneliness
Let us wait for our time
Let us wait for my predicted future
I see it clearer than our past
I will become a slow suicide uniting with you, my premature birth.

Understanding old age - II

After the visit of any family friend or relative to my home, a sweet box would rest at the center of the dining table as a token of their love. My mom and I would stand waiting for the disappearance of the guest beyond the main gate of the apartment after which, we would immediately pounce upon the sweet box. Irrespective of the kind of the sweet, there would always be a fight. And the fights only worsened if the sweets were either rasgullas or kaju katlis.
"You are a mother! You should sacrifice for your son - not snatch from him" I would shout. "I am a mother who has raised her son to be independent. So get your own sweet" she would retort and hurriedly stuff a sweet in her mouth.
A cold-war atmosphere would prevail at home till the sweet box turned empty. The sweets would go decreasing in number but either of us would not know when the other person ate the sweets in question. The most important mission would always be the final sweet - Achieving victory would mean fooling the other person with a closed-and-intact empty sweet box.

During my visit to home last weekend, I noticed a sweet box, filled with assorted milk sweets, resting on the dining table. The day progressed but I did not find the sweets go missing. 
Tea time arrived. I opened the sweet box declaring direct war. My mom responded with a smile and walked to the kitchen, returning with a plastic container. She sat down with her tea cup and opened the container. Out came a Vita Marie Gold biscuit packet. I threw a nasty look at her. Noticing my look, she explained, "The doctor has advised me against having sweets". 
I threw a nastier look and pushed the sweet box towards her. She refused. 
For what maybe the first time in my life, I could not finish the sweet I was eating and placed the rest of the sweet in the sweet box and closed it. "Don't try to act emotional. Just go ahead and have that sweet", my mom teased me. I threw the nastiest look possible and snatched a biscuit from her hand. 
The half-eaten sweet did not matter anymore because it had never been about the sweet.

I had always fought with my mom over a sweet or a chocolate without foreseeing that a day would come when our food habits would start differing.
No matter how close a friend a mother stays, time always has the knack of hitting you on your head and making you realize that she is eventually a mother.

The actionless thoughts

The event described below happened two weeks ago. The delay in putting it into words is another example of the title of this post.

One late night, my friend and I were roaming the streets of Bangalore, discussing about life in general and our future lives in particular. Many security guards, having arrived for their night shifts, were brimming with enthusiasm. Maybe some of them expected some action in the form of a masked robber and maybe some of them just wanted another peaceful night. The cars and trucks were speeding on the roads, racing against time and themselves, to reach their destinations faster. 

One such car, in its pursuit of an invisible racing trophy, ran over a dog before our eyes. And the car continued ahead, after its deathly punch, not caring to stop for a second. The dog could have very well been a polythene cover.

Unlike policemen or justice-seeking-citizens, my friend and I did not care about the perpetrator of the crime. We were a part of the family-loving, peace-filled-community-seeking common man crowd and hence, our concern was directed only towards the victim.

We ran towards the dog with no clear plan-of-action in our minds. As soon as we reached it, we noticed that blood had started oozing out of its mouth. The sight of the slow formation of a blood pool behind the dog’s face drastically weakened our wills.

“We cannot let the dog lie here - in the middle of the road” my friend told me. I nodded and looked at the dog again. I could no more see a dog. I could only see an object lying over a pool of blood. I looked at my friend, wanting to absorb courage from him but I noticed that he was also being tormented by the blood.

“Let us ask for help” I told my friend and started looking around for someone more courageous than the two of us. There were a few security guards visible at a distance but they seemed uninterested. A few minutes later, a man came walking in our direction but we realized that he was too drunk to understand the situation.

As my friend and I stood by the pavement, unable to take an action, we saw a truck speeding towards the dead dog. My heart skipped a beat realizing the possible outcome and I was about to signal the truck driver that a dog lay on the road. But the driver realized it himself and steered the truck so as to ensure that the dog did not come under its wheels. And the truck continued ahead. I could not believe it. Did the truck driver not care about the dog that lay there bleeding?

Soon, car after car and truck after truck passed the dog, ensuring that it was not run over by them, but not a single person cared to stop.

“I will try calling the Blue Cross” my friend said and dialed the toll free number. No success. He tried again. No success.

The two of us stood there looking at each other. We did not want to let the dog lie in the middle of the road but we did not have the strength to lift it from its pool of blood.

“We cannot do anything. Let’s walk away before we see another vehicle destroying the dog” I told my friend. “But we cannot just let it lie there” my friend shouted. “Do you think you will be able to lift it?” I asked him. He could not answer. “Then let’s just go” I told him. “This is so wrong…” my friend declared, kicking the ground beneath him. He then started walking towards the direction of my flat. I silently followed him.

An hour later, as I lay on my bed with darkness surrounding me, I could imagine the bleeding dog getting run over by other vehicles. 

“You could have at least placed stones around the dog, letting them act like barriers” told a voice inside me. “All you had to do was to lift the dog and place it on the pavement – just 5 seconds of courage” told another voice. “Stop beating yourself up. You tried your best. You were better than many others who did not even care” told another voice. I agreed with the third voice before feeling ashamed of it.

Are thoughts enough to express one’s compassion? Are thoughts enough to make the society or this world a better place? If it had been so, the countless prayers all over the world should have already made it a paradise.

Noble thoughts suffice only for the self-affirmation of one’s goodness but without their transformation into actions, they do not bring about a difference.

Wishing well for a victim inside an ambulance is definitely selfless but what difference would it make if I stood stationary on the side lines as the ambulance got stuck amidst impatient vehicles?

Dropping a ten rupee note inside a NGO’s ‘donation box’ placed at a supermarket's bill counter is commendable but what difference would it make if the son of my maid servant is left longing for education?

Wanting to help a dog die with dignity is great but what difference would it make if I could not muster up enough courage to perform the act and gave up on it blaming a selfish society?

As I pondered upon these questions, I was reminded of an earlier post. It hurt me to realize that the writer had improved but not the human being.

I badly wished it had been the other way. 

And I also realized that just wishing made no difference.

Relationships and their plane of existence

"The other day, I was spending time with a special someone, and found myself questioning why our interaction is not more intimate."

My brother shared this quote with me from an article he had read. And he tossed off a piece of advice.
"... it seems always better to relish a companionship on a different plane than the one we wish for. In fact, sometimes, that plane could be much more efficient and less susceptible to the human melodrama that comes along with the other plane of relationships."

"If only my heart was as obedient as I was during my schooling!" I wanted to reply.
At times, I wonder if my heart is on a mission to complicate every relationship that it registers. I wonder if it maintains a tracker, wherein, if it sees a relationship sailing smoothly, it decides to spice things up for itself. I wonder if it simply likes to make itself heavier, just so it could remind me that it always surpasses the brain in my life.

I try to let my brain take the upper hand for a brief period, in the hope that understanding would lessen the impact of feeling.
I try to find meaning in my 'Data Analytics' occupation and plot my most cherished relationships in a graph. 

The plotting of my relationships shows me two things:

• My visualization skills need considerable improvement
• My generosity, based on the scores for the levels of intimacy, would make me the favorite of quite a few students if I were to become a teacher

But the graph also makes me realize something else.

The life of every average person consists of a series of peaks and plateaus through his/her timeline.

• The peak hit with parents followed by a plateau*
• The peak hit with siblings followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with school friends followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with college friends followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with a romantic patner followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with colleagues followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with a wife/husband followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with sons/daughters followed by a plateau
• The peak hit with grandchildren followed by a plateau

(*Agreed that every relationship is more than just a peak and a plateau. Such a timeline is presented only for easier understanding)

Through this timeline, one can observe that more often than not, as one relationship hits a plateau, another climbs towards a peak. For instance, when relationships with school friends seem to be following a straight line, the relationships with college friends start reaching a peak. And when the same straight line happens to occur with the college friends, a romantic partner might lead to a new peak.

This shows the constant urge humans express to hit new peaks in their relationships.

Humans, being a social species, their urge to hit new peaks is understandable. But what about the urge to strive for a higher peak in existing relationships? Why the aching to aim for a new high without the contentment for the plateau?

Maybe the most logical step to use the investment of time and efforts in an existing relationship to build upon it and take it to a higher plane? Maybe just the thrill to explore new places instead of settling for the normalcy? Maybe the fear to leave the vacancy in a specific relationship to time/universe/God and instead, try to add the extra burden upon an existing one?

For sometime, I try to imagine a world where people carry with them a graph of their relationships.

How much pain would be spared by suppressing unwanted expectations? How much gratitude would be shared by learning about unexpressed love?

But perhaps, the mysteries need to exist. What would life be without surprises and shocks and pain and unrequited love?

I request my brain to rest and turn towards my heart. It responds with a gleeful smile, starting to get heavier.

Who would this writer be without this heart?

Nameless

"What about that guy in the blue shirt?" he asked her
She concentrated hard, on the guy and his cigarette
The lines forming on her forehead reminded him
Of his cursive writing practices and his childhood poems
"He should be a Mahesh" she finally announced
Immediately, he disagreed
Not because he wanted to but simply because he liked to
Theirs had been a bonding built upon arguments
"Absolutely not. He, clearly, is an Arjun" he said
She threw him a stare that made him wonder
If it was the same stare she threw her mirror every morning
Examining that sleep had not turned her into a different person
He opened his mouth to continue the game
But she placed her index finger to latch his lips
"It is a beautiful night" she said
He shut up, letting silence seep in the small space between their shoulders.

The breeze blowing on their faces seemed introverted
There was more intent than what was expressed
A streak of red was visible across the sky
Maybe from the taillights of all the vehicles lined up in traffic to reach home
The people around seemed busier than usual
Like they always do when we live through our favorite moments
"Why should everything have a name?" she asked
Her questions were always abstract, deep and sudden
Like the questions of most little kids
And he always found it impossible to conceal his amazement
Like the immediate reactions of most proud fathers
"Not everything has a name. Look at the stars. Look at the plants..." he replied
Her face immediately lit up in its usual way
Her eyes closing like the leaves of a touch-me-not plant
Her smile growing like a crescent moon
"... or for a simpler answer, just look at us" he finished
Her widespread smile lessened to a grateful one
A thin layer of water appeared over eyes, making them shiny
He loved the layer for it always showed him what she did not share
She slowly bent her head down, registering the moment in her mind
Their shoulders touched, like the ends of unobserved earphones meet
The breeze blew harder, letting a hair strand from her head
Encircle itself over his fingers
He looked at her lowered head
Her hair strands and her stories seemed infinite
Similar was the warmth blooming inside him
He had previously felt it in his mother's womb.

The hero called Jackie Chan

On February 26 2017, as he stood beside the other 'Academy Honorary Award' recipients at the Dolby Theater, dressed in black, bespectacled, with a controlled-yet-expanding smile on his face, I punched my fist in the air. I wanted to scream 'Jackie!' at the top of my voice but I did not want to add to the Monday-morning-chaos building up in my neighboring houses and vented out my jubilation in my head.

I knew I was three months behind in my celebration - Jackie had been honored with the award in November 2016. But seeing Jackie bow humbly to an Oscar-night-applause meant more.

After the emotions settled, I was reminded of Jackie's amazing acceptance speech and how Sylvester Stallone had recorded it with his iPhone. The memory gently birthed another - Stallone's win under the 'Best Supporting Actor' category in the 2016 Golden Globe Awards for his role in Creed. 

One of my childhood heroes had been recognized last year. Another childhood hero, this year. I wondered if the next year would bring in a recognition for Arnold Schwarzenegger and complete the crowning process of my childhood-hero-trio. 

****

I remember vividly the Sunday mornings and the summer vacation afternoons when I would spread out a mattress and lie down before a on-life-support BPL television. The excitement to watch Jackie thrash the bad guys and save the day is still unparalleled. 

The Tamil dubbing would ensure that Jackie remained a closer-to-home hero. My movie watching experience would reach its peak as Jackie would break into any of the contemporary Tamil movie songs like 'Appidi podu podu..' in the middle of his fights. The love for the Tamil speaking Jackie was so intense that the first time I caught Jackie speaking English, it made me angry that Jackie had betrayed me by playing out to another language speaking audience. 

Thinking about it now, Jackie is an amazing hero to adore in one's childhood. 

In a good majority of his movies, Jackie's opponents would be taller and stronger than him and Jackie would not mind putting out in the open his fear, before a fight. Jackie is one of the few popular action heroes who shows it is not wrong to be scared of a stronger adversary.

Jackie also shows that it is okay to feel shy when approached by a member of the opposite gender. Though I admit that kids should be raised by being taught that gender should never be a barrier for communication, I also feel they should know that it is not wrong to experience shyness. Fear or shyness, after all, are emotions to be overcome, not emotions to be ashamed of.

Jackie, through many of his fights, is also one of the best teachers of resourcefulness. Any location could become his battleground and any object, his weapon. Jackie's creativity in the application of a tool is an important lesson for every kid growing up in these times, when a new gadget is designed for every minor task.

Finally, Jackie, through the bloopers at the end of his movies, shows the importance of mistakes for one's growth and the higher importance of having the courage to admit them. This is another important lesson for every kid growing up in these times, when many parents try to cover up the mistakes of their kids.

****

Jackie's recognition by the Academy triggered the rare union of the child and the film buff in me. 

The joy was unbounded seeing Jackie being a part of the same prestigious community as Satyajit Ray and Akira Kurosawa.

I wishfully think of a Goopy gyne Bagha byne starring Jackie or a Yojimbo starring Jackie.

And that is the power of great artists - They take us on an artistic journey even through the art they never expressed.

Home

This happened last weekend when my mom had come to Bangalore for a short stay. 

I was standing in front of the mirror, trying to comb my hair in spite of the knowledge that the hair strands would go dancing in their own directions once I stepped out of the flat. 
For some reason, my attention shifted to the bottom corner of the mirror and I noticed a small, circular maroon-colored bindi stuck there. 
I slowly moved my fingers over it. I was reminded of the untiring efforts I had put in as a child to stand on my toes and reach up to the bindis adorning the mirror. I was also reminded of how I had learnt about the solar system using the maroon dots. 
As memories flooded my mind, I looked at the mirror. My reflection was staring back at me from my bedroom in Chennai. He seemed at home.
And then it hit me.
Home is not the place where reminders of a family are stacked up in shelves. Home is not the place where you age along with the neighboring kid, the maidservant, the security guard and the seesaw of the apartment playground. Home is also not the place where the owner of the grocery store at the end of your street has seen your favorite drink evolve from Milo to Boost to Coffee. 
Home is just the place where your most loved ones surround you. 

Maybe, in a sense, we can all strive to be snails for a major part of our lives.