Our Learning curve

In my internship days, I had to look after a ward full of old men who’d come for a cataract camp. Due to the overflow, the operations were spread out over a week. On this particular morning, I woke up late and rushed through the rounds as fast as I could as I had to go the operation theatre after that. Many of the old men were angry and pissed because their operations weren’t being done on the first day itself. I didn’t have time to deal with these tantrums and blankly ignored them as I filled the notes and left.

3 hours later, I returned from the operation theatre to the ward. I had heard the news before I arrived. The old man in Bed no 608 had got fed up of his life without sight and being dependant on everyone for his needs and jumped off the 6^th floor of the hospital.

Since that day in 2005, I’ve never been late for rounds a single day of my life. I’ve never let time again become an issue when dealing with a patient’s personal problems.'

The moral of the story is, I learned from my mistakes.

The siege in Mumbai is over. When the blood dries and the smoke dies down, the fact will remain etched in history – we lost this battle. We couldn’t anticipate the attack. We couldn’t protect our people. We couldn’t save the hostages. It took us 59 hours to end it. And , all credit to them, our soldiers did the best they could. They just weren't prepared for something of this level. We, as viewers, could do nothing but watch with growing frustration and helplessness as this tragedy reached it's gruesome climax.  

Now, it is time to learn.

It is time to stop saying Mee Marathi and all that balderdash and stand up and say ‘I’m an Indian’ first like the NSG forces that came from all over the country to fight for you while the vada-pav chomping local fanatics slinked away and hid behind closed doors. Let’s first become a country before we become a state.

It is time to ignore the barbs which will come shortly from the political parties, blaming one religion over the other and asking for ‘cleansing the nation.’ The nation is clean, except for a few anti-social elements. Unfortunately, they are called politicians and wield Godly control over the local crowd. In their words lie the venom that will turn friends to foes and breed more hatred, insecurity and eventually, local terrorists who will betray us. Let every Indian enjoy his rights – let there be no first among equals here. This is a slippery slope we’re crossing right now – we need to hold onto each other to get through it.

It is time for the government to wake up from the revolver era and equip our policemen and security forces with better ammo and training. Like it or not, we are at war here. And it ain’t over. The next bunch of crazed teenagers with Ak-47s and almonds will be coming shortly. We couldn’t welcome them properly this week. Let’s be in a better position to welcome them at the shipping dock or airport next them they touch our soil.

It is time to let the terrorists know where we stand. The rains will drain away the river of blood. The shoulders will share the tears of abandoned spouses and orphaned children. But we’re still gonna be standing tall, even in this moment of horror. There are a billion more where we came from. It’s gonna take a lot more gun totting cowards to kill us all. Maybe a whole nation of you petty minded weasels. And the sad part is, we know your gameplan now. And we’ll be ready to play the same game next time. No more negotiations. Just the way you want it.

And as a doctor who’s sworn the Hippocratic Oath, loves puppies, eats strawberry icecream, reads Danielle Steele once in a blue moon, enjoys Sex & the City and thinks Winnie Cooper from Wonder Years was the ideal girlfriend, let me with this soft heart of mine make this request on behalf of many more softies all around India to the government –

Flay the skins off the bones of the terrorists you’ve caught alive. Make it slow. Keep them alive while you do it. Tape it all. Release it on live broadcast and the Internet so that their friends all over the world at their hidden training camps can watch what’s it gonna be like when we catch them.

We’re not answerable to anybody. Not today. Not after this.

Maybe that’ll clear any doubts they have on how the Lord chooses to treat them before he greets them.

Above all, let’s be prepared. Let’s be united.

This was a learning curve, a pretty damn big one. Let's actually learn from it, for a change.

We could use some help, Mr God

Dear Mr God,

I know you’re not answering my calls or reading my letters , but I just needed to tell you a few things today... because I know you listen even if you don’t reply. You and I.. we've played this game before, after all.

A lot of people  died today. They left their homes with crappy tiffin boxes or dinner money stashed in their backpocket. They said a hurried goodbye to their wives because they were late on their way to work. They ran past their kids in their hurry. They didn’t know this was no ordinary night. Their kids didn’t know either. They didn’t know this was the day daddy becomes a hero. That this was the day daddy fights the bad guys. That this was the day daddy never comes back home ever again.

We really could have used a superhero today. I know you’re gonna laugh at that, but I’m sorry. I’m just used to seeing webcrawlers and dark knights and supermen running into blazing buildings and saving innocent people. I’m used to my favourite superheroes thwarting a hostage crisis with an unheeded warning and a witty remark, in between a flurry of fists and gadgets.

Today, we mortals had to fend for ourselves. We did the best we could. It was barely enough.

People died. Innocent people. They didn’t deserve to die.  But they did. Why ? I swear to  hell, if you say it was their karma, I’ll tell you where to shove your karma... again.

What’s with you ? Seriously ? Have you been dumped by a girl recently ? Did your Microsoft Comp go on the fritz after Y2k ? Are you having too much of the divine wine at night with your chill pills ? I mean, I swear, your work has been atrocious these last few years. Bomb blasts, beheadings, rapes, war crimes, hurricanes and tsunamis... This is your track record for the decade gone by, you realise that, right ? You’re living on your past laurels ( and I literally mean, ancient ) and it ain’t a pretty sight, man. Because there’s a lot of people down here saying grace and worshipping stone idols and crosses.. they’re keeping their faith in you, man, against all odds and better judgement. They’re waiting for you to save them.  And so far, all they’re getting is static from your help line.

Dude. You better step up to the plate and show some responsibility for your work. Or if you’re too preoccupied with whatever mid-life crisis it is you’re facing up there, could you atleast send an angel down to protect us ? Not the old man with the halo and the flowing white robe and the girly musical strings... I’m talking about the angels as we need them – God’s warriors, striking terror in the hearts of the evil, brandishing demon-killing swords and your emblem across their armour. Because the devil’s released a lot of people out here this season who’re using your name to get away with murder ... we’re doing the best we can to take them down but we're losing our best heroes and we could really use a more definitive sign than ‘ The Lord works in mysterious ways’ or ‘have faith in the Lord’ sermons.

We could use a saviour in our lives right now, Mr God. Someone to save us when we fall, someone to look forward to in our bleakest hour, someone who gives us the conviction to hang on for just that moment longer till help arrives..

I promise this time around we won’t treat him like we treated you, with scorn and ridicule, the last time you roamed the world in all your religious costumes. We’ll be nice to him.

God promise ( you know it’s been more than a decade since I’ve used that phrase. I hope you realise it’s significance too.)  

Yours sincerely,

Me.

What dreams may come

BLAAM !!!

There is a pattern to everything. A synchronicity bound to every object and being that we come across. Even in the variations , these patterns persist.

I’ve known all the ways my front door moans in acknowledgement to various people. It’s silent creaks after my late nights out, the mild thuds when my kid throws his school bag at it and runs back out to play, it’s prolonged squeak as my wife slowly enters, wondering what mayhem has taken place in her abode by her favourite men while she was gone. After all these years here, I’ve come to trust the door’s warning cries.

BLAAM is the door’s way of telling me to hide. I glance again at the window, wondering whether I can survive a fall from a 10^th storey building. I figure I could, but I’d hate to think of what would happen to anyone I landed on. I hurriedly pick up the paper and pretend to read it.. ‘Ooh. Lindsay’s getting engaged to her girlfriend, but she says she isn’t gay.. nice’

‘Stand still.’ The familiar voice surrounds me. I fell in love with that voice a long time ago.. I should have just asked for a voice recording instead of taking the whole package home. I pretend not to listen.

‘This is all your fault, you know ? You never scold him and let him do anything he wants and .. I told you to stand still !!!’

Okay. I ain’t standing yet, so who’s she talking to ? I peek through the pages... ah yes !! They’re both here. My wife and kid. From the looks of it, she’s picked him up from school. From the looks of it, he didn’t like that. From the looks of it, I’m gonna pay for it. I try to scamper back within the newspaper, but Eagle-eye Mommy’s sees me peeking.

‘Roshan. Put that paper down. We have to talk.’

I pray there’s another Roshan in the room reading a paper. I peek through my sheets again, looking to find him. Nope. Noone but us loving family members... snarling teeth mommy and grumpy junior.

Oh well. Time to face the music. I put the paper down.

‘Hi Honey. You’re home. How was my day, you ask ? Oh, the usual. A couple of deliveries, an appendix, a quickie with the nurse, another appendix..’

Silence. Not the silence of lovers beholding each other after a decade. More like the silence that precedes that Jaws tune that warns you the shark’s gonna bite in the next 60 seconds.

I decide not to continue with that line of conversation. She learned karate in her teenage years. Damn you, Dad-in-law.

‘Roshan. I’m tired of being the bad guy. You never shout at him when he makes a mistake. You act as if it’s ok and spoil him and I always end up looking bad in front of him. Now, look at what he’s done. I’m not gonna be the bad guy here. You’re gonna fix this. Do you understand ?’

‘Sheila, why don’t you relax, dear ? I can see you’re upset and whatever it is, I’ll handle it. Now why don’t you go take a nice hot showe..’

‘I AIN’T GOING ANYWHERE. THE MOMENT I LEAVE, YOU’LL GO EASY ON THIS KID OF YOURS. I’m staying, Mister.’

I find it sweet how he’s always ‘my kid’ when he’s in trouble. If he does well in school or babysits the neighbour’s child, he’s ‘her angel’. But he scribbles ‘SEX’ on the wall and all of a sudden, my genes are to blame.

‘Okay. Okay. Fine. You can stay. But no , I mean absolutely no, interruptions. You got it ?’

She hmmphs. Which means I’ll have to deal with 4 interruptions at the very least. I count that as a moral victory. Whatever. Beggars and husbands can’t be choosers. I look at her with my ‘I wear the pants in the house’ look. She glares back with her ‘I’ll tear your pants to shreds and leave you in the garbage bag’ look. Ah, romance is in the air.

I sit junior beside me. The love of my life hovers in front of us.

‘Ok, son, did something happen in school today ?’ He shakes his head.

‘Did you get into trouble with someone in your class ?’ Another shake.

‘Did you forget your homework again ?’ Nope. I wonder if I should ask for a hint at this point of time. Luckily, R volunteers.

‘Dad. I’m getting married.’

‘Cool. Is she hot ?’

“ROSHAN !!!”

“I mean, WHAT ?? You’re getting married ? “ he nods. Awright. I made him nod yes. Who da maan ? Only took 4 questions and a hint.

‘R, I don’t want to be a partypooper and all, but you know, you’re 7 years old. ‘ He looks at me quizzically. ‘What’s age got to do with it ?’ he asks me in that adorable kid voice of his. I’m butter already. I move to hug him, but a pull of my receding hairline from fingers above remind me what I’m supposed to be doing.

‘Son. I just think you’re a little young for marriage. Love too, for that matter. Besides, we didn’t even know you were in love. Tell me about this girl. What’s her name ? How long have you known her ?’

‘Shee.. her name is Teena. She’s in my classh. We’ve been in love since last Tuesday. We’ve been sharing our lunch since yesterday.’

‘Hmm.. that is a big step in a relationship, I agree. But don’t you think you’re rushing this marriage thing ?’

‘Why, daddy ? We both have the same pencil box, we both like Teletubbies and she’s got really good lunch, not like Mommy makes.’ I pray the moment will pass unnoticed. That maybe Mommy was lost for a moment in the newspaper pic of John Abraham. I pray for a lot of things that God sends to his spam mail directly.

‘Oh. Now my cooking is also not good for you. Your dad eats it daily and you don’t see him complaining !!!’

‘Daddy eats anything.’ He says simply.

‘Hey!!!’ Damn fridge door. Always gives me away. I stare at my kid. He stares back at me. We both know he’s right.

‘Ok, kid. See, getting married ain’t that easy. Where will you two stay after the wedding ? And the honeymoon ?’ A sharp pull of the hair reminds me that Sweetypie is above and doesn’t approve of the direction this conversation is taking.

‘Daddy. I and Teena will be staying in my room till we finish school and college. Then, I’ll be an astronaut and build a house on the moon and we’ll live there with our kids. Don’t worry, Dad. There’ll be a big room for you and mom too.’ Awww.. he built a room for me too. This adorable little psycho I call my son loves me.

‘And the honeymoon ?’

‘We’re going to Disneyland.’ Double Awwwww. What better way to spend private time than with a mouse with no shirt and a duck with no pants.

‘Food ?’ ‘Her mom will send us tiffins for lunch and we’ll eat from the fridge for dinner.’ Damn kid’s thought of everything.

‘You know... your mom is a pretty big believer in horoscopes..’

‘It’sh ok, daddy. Ours fits.’ Whaa ?

‘You checked your horoscopes ?’

My wife intervenes. ‘Show daddy the horoscopes.’ I look up at her. What was going on ? R rummages through his Johny Bravo schoolbag and takes out a piece of paper from his drawing book. He hands it to me.

I have to smile. Damn. This is my kid. There is no doubt about it. There is no one else who could have thought this up. Definitely not any kid of the damn milkman !!! I lower my head so that my wife can’t catch my grin. I almost don’t make it. But the phone rings and she leaves to answer it. Saved by the bell. I glance back at the picture.

He’s drawn a little crab holding a bull’s hand. I imagine my wife, after years of being with me, picking up it’s significance immediately too. My kid was drawing sunsigns. He was a Cancer, like his mom.. a crab. I know the answer but I still ask so I could hear him say it.

‘What’s Teena’s sign ?’

‘She’s a Tautus, daddy. That’s the bull one. I’m the crab one. See, both fit nicely.‘

‘Ahhhh !! I see. Did you draw this ?’ He looked at me and smiled. A smile that says he’s picked up on the pride in my voice. A smile that says he knows daddy’s on his side.

‘ROSHANN !!!’ Milady again in falsetto breaks the moment.

I turn around. She holds the cordless in her hand. Her palm’s covering the speaker end.

‘It’s Teena’s mom. Your kid and her apparently decided to tell their parents at the same time. She’s pretty angry. Saying our kid’s putting silly thoughts in her head.’

I hold out my hand for the phone. My wife looks at me beseechingly. I signal her to trust me, then take the phone.

‘Hello, Ma’am. Yes Ma’am. I understand how shocking it must be to hear this from your child. Yes, I realise this is an innocent age and you don’t wish to corrupt your child with such thoughts. Yes Ma’am. Yes, I understand.’ I doubt if she even hears a word I say. She’s a yakker. No doubt about it. The type that wants to establish herself, giving prima donna views on her status and morality. This could go on forever. Unless...

‘Mrs Bharati.. Bharati isn’t it ? Well, I understand all that you have said, but I think I must make myself clear. What’s done is done. But there is one issue that’s yet to be discussed. You see, as the father of my son, I must inform you that I demand one crayon set every year till high school as dowry for your new son-in-law. And I mean Faber-Castell ,lady. Not that cheap Camlin crap. My son doesn’t settle for cheap stuff. After all, he’s a purebred Ezhava. That’s high class blood running in him. ( Which is kinda true – I mean how much higher than a coconut climber can you get ? ) And yes, he’d like a new Pokemon toy too every month. Hello ? Hello ? Sheila. Is this phone charged ? I’m getting static. You think she hung up on me ?’

I turn around. Sheila is smiling. Again, not ‘Love of my life’ smiling. ‘Exorcist’ smiling. I wonder if maybe, I should have leaped from the 10^th storey building, when I had the chance.She doesn’t speak a lot when that smile plasters her face. I prefer it that way. God alone knows what language her inner demon speaks when she’s possessed. Heaven knows I can't reply if she starts speaking Hebrew. I can barely communicate with Malayalam. She raises her hand towards the phone. I give it to her. She walks into the bedroom. Shuts the door.

BLAAM.

She’ll be busy doing damage control with our new in-laws for the next hour. I’ll be 'dealt with later’. I guess it’s the guest room for me tonight. I look back at my son. He smiles at me. That smile. He can get away with murder. I ask the only thing that comes to my mind at that moment.

‘So what does Teena’s mom make for lunch ?’

Author’s note : This post is, regrettably , fiction. It was a flow of thought that arose from a comment a senior made a few nights back. He felt that when the time came, I’d be a strict dad. I knew he couldn’t be right. I’d make a terrible dad. I can’t imagine myself being strict. This story is just a reflection of that.. ‘What may have been’ if I were a dad today. ‘What may have been’ if I were a husband today too, I guess.

Final note :

Creeeak.

The door to the guestroom whispers annoyance at being disturbed so late into the night. I feel her move into the hollow space beside me. Those cuddly arms wrap around me from behind. Her smell is rain in an arid desert. I pretend to be asleep. I hear her breath beside my ears and then a whisper.

“I know you ain’t sleeping. I just want you to know you aren’t entirely forgiven yet. We’ll discuss your punishment in the morning. For now, go to sleep. And I swear to God, if you say one word about me being scared to sleep alone in the dark again, someone’s gonna be missing two balls in the morning.”

I let out a prolonged yawn. “I hope it’s that stupid Mr Singh in apartment 304. You seen his dhoti ? He looks like he’s hiding a dozen of them in there.”

She tries hard. She really does. But it’s tough not to laugh even at the dumbest jokes of someone you love when you’re in love. After all, that’s the rule of love. That’s the joy of loving someone. They can make dumb into funny. They can make hell into roses, darkness into daylight.

In the end, she manages to stifle it down to a bunch of coughs. I turn around and hug her back. She doesn’t resist. Neither of us won the battle today. Simply because there never was a battle in the first place. Just a never ending skit of crazytime– a madness we call our family. A madness I would never give up for anything in the world.

Not even for little Teena’s ham and mayonnaise sandwich.

Dostana - ****

I don’t remember the last time it’s happened.

No, not two mainstream stars going gay onscreen. I’m talking about the last time Bollywood has actually taken inspiration from a Hollywood film and actually done a better job of it !!!

Seriously, it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed so much, so often in a Hindi film. Going into Dostana, I was so scared the cast would screw it up somehow... because for me, this plot of two guys pretending to be gay and then falling in love with the same girl always had a lot of potential for comical moments, and yet there was the fear that somehow, the director would wash it all up with a plethora of morality and emotions.

Well, rejoice. They didn’t screw it up. Infact, they did a lot better than I imagined. Right from the introduction sequence with Shilpa telling us to ‘shut up and bounce’, this movie is just a high octane laugh-a-thon. Sequence after sequence attacks your funny bone with both guys getting ample opportunities to showcase their talents – be it John’s abs or Abhi’s histrionics. Priyanka... well, after a bad year, she’s just rocketed upwards these last two months with Fashion and now this. She looks gorgeous in this film.

Surprisingly, the romantic moments in this film are so beautifully taken, they’d have been winners in any ordinary film. In this movie, they just pass you by as the next sequence explodes on you. Even situations which could have turned emotional are nipped in the bud by this comical duo. Case in point – Abhi’s mom finding out he’s gay, her acceptance of it and even the ending is so unique. If the pace lessens slightly in the second half, it's only because the first half was such a roller coaster ride - even still the second half offers enough laughs as Bobby Deol enters into the picture as the adversary to these two for Priyanka's affetions.

The songs are awesome. I loved all of them on the big screen, though my surprise favourite is ‘Jaane Kyon.’ I'd liked 'Bounce' and 'Desi Girl' earlier, but even ‘Maa ka Laadla’ grew on me after watching it onscreen.

Bobby Deol fits his role perfectly, but is totally overshadowed by the dynamic gay duo of Abhi and John. In fact, I'd have to say this is as good a performance as Abhi has given, second only to Guru. It takes guts to take up these roles and these two hunks have done a great job at it. The amount of catcalls the girls in the theatre were releasing - you'd think there was a male stripper around. Oh wait.. there was that, too.

Personally, I don’t have any reservations about the caricatures and stereotypes here, because this movie ain’t trying to be moralistic.. it’s aimed as a comedy and in that , it succeeds.

Go on, watch it. And have a blast. If the Yash Raj banner can 'get hip with it', surely you can get over your 'inner cheeeeeecheeee mindset' and enjoy this one, right ?

 

Thank you, Orkutheroes.

Orkutheroes.com reviewed me. 

I am pleasantly surprised.

I am humbled.

I am shy.

I am grateful.

I am blushing... have you seen a brown guy blush ? Not a pretty sight.. we just go darker maroon.

I am wondering if there is a cash prize to go with this.

I am wondering if there is any way I can use this in conversation starters to get a girl to like me.. or atleast delay the usual 'leave me alone, creep or I'm calling my boyfriend Rocky' line.

I am wondering if this means I should get a new superhero outfit ( Those girly X-men's black and yellow spandex is so passe... I think I'll go for pink polka dots and green lycra ).

I am delaying giving an acceptance speech because I'm still confirming it's not April first in the planet Xargon... I have a lot of sadistic friends from planet Xargon.

Ok, speech time. Be relaxed... remember the ABC of speeches - Always Be Calm. Check.

Good. Now, remember the XYZ of speeches - Xamine Your Zipper. Check. 

Look of shocked ecstacy - how to attain that ? Oh wait.. I remember. The first time Britney's upskirts landed in your email. Kazwing !!! Check.

Doubly confirm that there isn't gonna be any nip slips this time around to avoid a repeat of my graduation day fiasco. Both boobmeisters.. cough cough wheeze.. I mean, well defined gym workout induced pectorals are within dress.. I mean, suit confines. Check.

Ok, only one thing left to do.

Thank you, Zazo. For finding me. And for doing what not many take the trouble to do today - promote someone else whom you've never even met. And I've checked the other blogs in the article too. Great choices, nice variety. You rock, man.

Thank you, family members... for not reading my blog and thus giving me the freedom to caricature our family without fear. That goes to Ruby too, who, presently, is wrapping herself around my Zodiac shirt which I just ironed. I should have got a goldfish. 

 

Thank you, everyone who reads this blog. Your comments make it all worthwhile. Horsecrap aside, I know I may never get to meet so many of you in real life, but still, it feels good to know you all are around, to follow your lives too... to call you all my friends. Of course, I'd still prefer dollars and dames,cheques and chicks but your comments are good too.

Have a great day, y'all. I know I'm having one. Just one thing is niggling at the back of my mind :

As a Orkutian superhero, should I call myself WonderButt or just He Who Shall Not Fit In A Revolving Door Man ?

The light at the end of the tunnel

117,348,309 people voted. But the world celebrated.
66% of the youth voted for change. Finally.
Dear Americans, don’t kid yourself that this Presidency was important as a change for you alone. This was important as a change for all of us globally. In our hearts, we all knew who was the right man for the job. We just weren’t sure you did. And that scared us.

It was time for a glimmer of hope. It was time for rationality. We all, from across the globe, stayed awake into the night or woke up early depending on the sun’s routine with our country just to know whether you would press the red button or the blue. We all prayed for change, just like a lot of you did.
You voted. We won. One small step for a 100 million Americans. One giant leap for mankind. 

Now it’s time touchwood for us to move forward, to aim for a better world where the only ‘preemptive strike’ involves me and a buffet table, where the colour of my skin matters only with regard to which fluorescent shirt I choose, where my accent is considered ‘unique’, not inferior.

Whether you admit it or not, you are in the crisis of a lifetime. Recession, war, your public image.. it’s all shot to hell over these last 20 months, hasn’t it ? I don’t know if Obama can be your saviour, but by God, he is your best chance for a ‘white’ knight in shining armour. Hopefully, he can live up to the people’s expectations. Our expectations.

America, my wish for you today is simple : May you once more become the land of the Free. You’ve already half accomplished that by deciding that being Kenyan and American, Muslim and Christian, black and white means nothing to you and helping Obama reach a pinnacle he richly deserves. Now you have to help him help you back. The work begins now and if he's gonna be successful, he's gonna need your shoulders beside him as he lifts you up. There really is no better way to say it than by quoting Robert Frost – 

The woods are lovely, dark and deep, 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.

You ain’t out of the tunnel by any stretch of the imagination, but you’ve atleast taken that first step. 

P.S. My sincere request on behalf of the rest of the world – He seems like a family man, but in case you find Obama in a compromising situation with an intern, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND LET IT BE. The last time your (quote ) highly set moral values ( unquote ) were compromised by a stain, you made a decision which cost the destruction of 2 countries mindlessly ( yes, mindlessly ) and innumerable deaths worldwide, not to mention the fact that it left you in economic tatters and social ruin. Let him have his intern or even the Lakers cheerleading squad if need be. 

Don’t cut your face to spite your nose this time around, please.

To be a drop of water across your smile...

Once upon a time, I fell in love with a girl on Tv. She was the girl of my dreams. As my horizons broadened, so did the number of times I fell in love...

As the years passed by, memories of infatuations passed away, replaced by newer models.

And then, I saw her again today. She still has that same sparkle in her eyes as she did when I first saw her 10 years ago. I laugh at her annoyance at being drenched, knowing fully well she's gonna win this battle. I still miss a beat when I see her naughty grin as she realises how to get the guy. And just seeing her happy at the end.. like fireworks on a cloudless night. Disney couldn't have painted it better if they tried.

And I just have one question : Ms Sushma Reddy, can I have my heart back ?
Or better yet, keep it. For ol' times sake. For reminding me of an age gone by, an age in which I rooted for you to become the best in the biz. An age in which the bonds of love and friendships enhanced all my senses.. a golden age for me, which you unwittingly and unknowingly were a part of.

So many people have no idea how their very presence can trigger off old memories in strangers. Be it that old school teacher you see at the bus stand across the street after a decade or just an old movie running on cable, each person or thing we've come across holds a part of us in them : a reminder of our past. It is our gateway back to those days we always say we can never recover when indeed we can... because we left our imprints on more than just the graffiti.. we've left our memories hidden amongst songs of that age we've jammed to, friends we've shared our deepest secrets with, crushes we've forgotten, birthday cards buried and bruised... Everything can be a portal to the past we claim we cannot get back if we want it to be.

I may have fallen in love with this ad even if you weren't there, but I definitely would have fallen in love with that smile all over again even if that ad never existed.
Just like old times.

This is my parole... and I'm loving it.

The sweet noise of a lady bitching while haggling about the price of fish, which at 250 bucks a scrawny piece, ought to be tied on a gold chain and worn around the neck for weddings.

The smell of a good roasting shawarma at every corner, with the mandatory board informing you that the 'Sharjah sheikh' costs only 15 rupees. Used to be one of my favourites in high school days... anything but that damn 'butterfruit sheikh' which tastes like leaves. And I don't mean curry leaves or marijuana. I mean icky pukey leaves.

The knowledgable astrologer informing me that my 'good time' goes on till my 38th year, 8th month and 25th day. So guys, around mid-October 2019, make sure you guys drive carefully, take care of your health and gals, use protection around January 2019. You really don't wanna end up in an operation theatre when my bad time begins. I'm a regular Laurel and Hardy even on my good days. On bad days, I could scare the pants off Mr Bean.

This is the only place where I try to describe with equal parts tension, melodrama and an  overdose of action how good I am as a doc in trying circumstances with blood flowing and guts bobbling around and my mom interrupts to go get the nail cutter and try to cut my toenails. I try to convince her that I bite my toenails regularly ( like any decent homo apean does ), but she isn't convinced with my 'toenails grow faster than fungus on a wet bread' theory. Moms. No matter how old you grow, you're still 'that kid' for them.

Oh, I almost forgot. Astroman also predicted that during my good phase from now till October 2019, there'll be 3 bad phases lasting 2.5 years each. Hmmm. That's 7 years out of the remaining 10. Gee. Can't wait for the bad times to start. Same dude who could predict my bad times down to the date though couldn't guess my marital status or any vague details on my babe-to-be..stuff like hair colour, profession, martial arts expert or not ( I hear they're very flexible... what ??? It's useful to ummm.. uh... get stuff from the kitchen cabinet ). Sigh. Where are you, you crazy lady ?

Another suicide in the hotel opposite Kannur railway station. Man, that's like the 7th suicide in the last 4 years. When they call room service and say they're checking out... trust me, they're checking out alright !! Reminds me of the Stephen King based short story / movie '1408'. Creepy. As usual, my folk say black magic and ghosts are behind it. Personally, I just think that shady room service boy with the rusted hook for an arm needs to be looked at more closely.

Travelled to Trissur to attend a good friend's sister's wedding. Along the way, I had for company, ol' pal Doc S from Mangalore. And seeing things from his eyes gave me a new perspective. Really, what advantage have we derived from regionalising our city names ? It took me a good 10 minutes to get him to change from 'Troom Troom Puram' to 'Thiruvanantapuram'. And you know what ? Troom Troom Puram sounded cooler too. What's the capital of your state ? Oh, Mine's Troom Troom Puram, what's your crappy capital name, TamBram ? 

Kozhikhode is just another example, the eariler name being Calicut. I tried teaching him that too, but had to stopped when he almost swallowed his tongue turning it inside out for the 'Kozhi' part. Sheesh. Me teaching him Malayalam... that's like going bungee jumping with the rope tied firmly around your nutsack.. it really shouldn't be attempted.

I'm addicted to the iTouch 32 Gb that's sleeping beside me as I write this. I've already filled in 2000 songs and 93 videos. While the music ranges from Metallica to Pink Floyd and the best of Himesh, the videos so far are mostly Russell Peter clips, music videos from the past ( Michael Jackson, PussyCat Dolls... man, I'm a fuddy duddy, huh ) and a couple of movies ( Transformers, Get Smart which are a real joy to watch on the Itouch. Highly recommended, guys. 

Ruby's glad to see me. She gets to have the sugar free Rasagullas and Gulab Jamun I bought from Pune. They were for my dad, but then what's in my dad's plate has always ended up in Ruby's stomach. Wanna talk picky ? She says no to the dark chocolates of Lindt bought by my brother. A dog with a taste for white and normal over dark chocolates... it's a good thing I didn't introduce her to French wine in her youth, me thinks. I'll have a Chardonney '67 with my mashed rice and fish, Mr Waiter boy from Pune. 

Bhajans rock this house from 5am to 8am. They rock this house between 5.30 pm to 7 pm. There are bhajans for Lord Krishna, bhajans for Lord Ganesha.. you know the rest of the list. Basically all the main trio and their immediate families. What was enlightening was listening to the bhajans sung by the foreigners... with their accent, it's really something else to hear them sing 'Kwishna is mai healer, yeah, Kwishna is the light, he will save me from my troubles, he will protect me, yeah !!!" 

I finally understood how we Indians must sound to all you non- Indians when we try being funky. "Yevary knighta in mai dreams, Aii see you, I fyeel you, dhat is how Aii know you go ooooooooon. Yooor heer, der's naaathing I feeer yand aai know dhat my haart veal go oooooon." ( Yes, the fact that I chose Celine Dion's Titanic number to depict funky is disturbing for me too. I guess it's gonna be another extended session with my therapist this week. )

All in all, through the fish and meat, the weddings and death, the magical beads and the highclass dog, it's turning out to be a porridge of familiar madness... a porridge that is oh! so tasty for this doc on parole.