A few good men

( Blogadda Spicy Saturday Pick winner )

Thanks to the scams and scandals that fill our daily news, you won't read this story in any newpaper.

It happened a week ago in Coimbatore.
A medical conference was taking place. Amongst many others that day, a senior doctor was giving a speech on atherosclerosis. After the speeches were done, the doctors all took a break for tea. As is always the case, medical opinions slowly gave way to friendly banter. In the midst of all this, as various doctors spoke of their families and how they were studying in various continents of the world, one of them asked this doctor about his family.
The doctor gave a wry smile and said 'My son is more into games. He plays cricket.'
Residents who were there later confirmed the thought that crossed all their minds simultaneously : That the kid was some brash guy who was living off his dad's name and earnings, playing in local leagues.
One of the residents asked : 'Does he play for Ranji league ?'
Again a sheepish grin. 'Well, he used to a while back, but not so much these days.'
Seeing the man trying to cover the embarrassment of his obviously spoilt brat, some of the doctors felt sad for the distinguished doctor. It was then that a resident picked up on the clues in front of him and asked the mild mannered doctor who had travelled all the way from Hyderabad to teach his junior colleagues. 'Sir. What is your son's name ?'
The man looked at him and said in that familiar unassuming soft voice that he had passed on to his son "Venkata Sai."

Better known to you and me as VVS Laxman.

It is less than 4 weeks since V.V.S. Laxman, with a bad back and incapable of running, did the impossible and won the game at Mohali against the Aussies. At a time when the Rs 70,000 crore Commonwealth Games had begun, it was his face that dominated the front page of every newspaper the next day and pawned a very enjoyable set of "Laxman-rekha" SMS and Twitter jokes.



But this is no isolated incident. There is no list of the top 10 Test innings which does not feature his 281 against Waugh's men in Eden Gardens all those years ago which many still call 'the best test match ever'.
Mind you, this is not a post to discuss his cricketing skills and start comparisons with the likes of Tendulkar, Bradman, Hadlee or myself ( Cough Cough Wheeze Cough.) This is a post on culture and the kind of behaviour worth emulating.

Nowadays, whenever I read the word 'Indian culture', I cringe inwardly because invariably it is being mouthed off by a bunch of fanatics or religious fossils who use the term as an excuse to either hide their own sins or hurt and blackmail us into submission. And the attitude seeps down across generations obviously, as was visible earlier this month when a 20 year old 'son of the soil' announced his arrival into his Grandpa's Tiger gang by forcing the Mumbai University to remove a novel (which ironically is 19 years old itself ) from the Mumbai University syllabus midterm simply because 'he didn't like it.'

On the other hand, you have the soft spoken gentleman, who rather than resting on his son's laurels, still comes to give talks on health issues to junior residents and prefers not to go around showing off, even though his son is the toast of the nation's cricketing fans this month. It reflects too, in his son's behaviour, because even the Aussies who he has tormented for over a decade now, admit they have never met a nicer, more soft spoken gentleman than V.V.S.Laxman. It is an apt example of not letting success go to their heads.

Both the above families are a part of who we are as Indians : The wild tiger and the serene poet. Both achieve success and adulation through different means. But is success everything ?

Whenever people come complaining to me about being ill-treated by people in a more senior position than themselves, I tell them this :
"People can demand your fear. But they cannot demand your respect. That can only be earned."
There maybe a 1000 articles, celebrating VVS Laxman. But this post is not one of them. This was written with just one aim : to pay respect to a father who taught his son well. Sir, we are proud of the way you've raised your son. We have enough stars in cricket to look up to for every shot in the book, but very few good men whose character we would wish our kids to emulate.
The Australians may fear him but everyone respects him for who he is... and that's more than we can say for some of the next generation cubs of India.

I'm in the dustbin !!

That's about it really. The title says it all.
I'm in the dustbin... (Ok. If you insist, I'll rearrange the dots.)
I'm in the d.ustb.in.
You don't believe me ?
Fine...Go take a look in the d.ustb.in.

P.S. Tell me what you think.

The letter

“Till we meet again, Let my heart rest content in this knowledge

I will love you, always and forever.”

The first time I read those words, they felt so corny and filmy. I used to find it so peculiar, the way you always ended your letters with those lines. I think I even teased you about it once. I’m glad you didn’t stop writing those words. Because I realised the beauty in those simple words gradually.

It seems like we’ve always been writing letters to each other, hasn’t it ? Even when were growing up together, you always used to send me little written messages in class and I always used to reply to them. I was amazed to see that you had saved them all from so many years ago. Did you always know we were destined to end up together?

Marrying you is the best thing I have ever done. Being in the army teaches you to love your nation, but nothing compares to the whole hearted, unconditional love that one feels for an individual. In you, I find a reason to be alive, to continue when all seems lost, to believe in angels when faced with the threat of devils.

I love you. You know that by now. When I look back through all that life has thrown at me, the best moments are the ones I shared with you. It is in the happiness of coming back to you. It is in the joy of seeing you smile. It is in the kisses unseen and secrets unspoken that we alone share. It is in wanting to be a better person for your sake.

I always wonder about the future : what our kids would look like, where we will go for our next holiday together, how you will look as you age and whether you will still love me when I grow fat and have white hairs.

I’m not a fool. I know there’s no point in thinking of all this. It’s been a year since you’ve gone. Every day I suffer through the memory all over again. The call from your parents. The irony of it all – being away to defend the country’s borders only to lose the most precious person in my life to some random moment of madness of people unknown , looking to support their corrupt political leader by causing riots. None of it mattered, of course. You are a faceless victim to them all. That man is still free and running the city while we are separated for life.

There are a lot of young folk where I serve presently. Whenever they talk about home, I tell them not to neglect the ones they love. I tell them not to be afraid to tell the ones they love how they feel and not worry how it may make them dependent and vulnerable. Because that feeling of dependence on the one you love is no crutch – it is a loving shoulder on which they can rest their head when they feel they can’t carry on. The way being with you made all my worries disappear. 

I see the pity in their eyes. I wish I could make it more clear to them. I wish they would look beyond the pity and pain and see the one thing that gets drowned when my eyes start to tear up – the truth in my words.

Friends still set me up with new girls. They tell me it’s time to move on. Move on from where, I wonder ? How can you move on when your reason to be alive no longer exists ? They do set me up at functions... rich girls, talkative girls, sweet girls, beautiful girls, modern girls... all kinds of girls. They’re all that... but as you used to say whenever you caught me staring at anyone else, “they’re not you.”

I’m scared. What if I was destined to be with you and I lost my chance forever? What if I never find someone else like you? How can I trust my heart to try to feel for someone else the way I felt for you? And how can I expect her to love me inspite of my flaws... the way you did – the way you’d place your head under the pillow to drown out my snores? Or the way you hated my 5 o’clock shadow but still kissed me anyway ? Or the way you’d readily give up the Tv remote and your favourite serials so that I could watch the match? ( It was much later that I realised that you would watch the reruns the next morning so you never really missed anything – to think of all the dishes you made me wash in return!! )

The truth is I’m lost. I’m still finding myself and what I am without you. I’m steadily realising that I may never be as great a person as I felt when you were beside me. I’m sitting alone at my desk – our desk and writing this, just as you probably sat here many nights writing to me while I was away. There are so many more things to say to you, but they mean nothing unless you are right beside me.

I grew up with you. I grew in love with you. 

I wish every day I could have grown old with you.

“Till we meet again, Let my heart rest content in this knowledge

I will love you, always and forever.”

R.

Author’s note :  I loved to write letters when I was younger. Even in this blog, I still get the random comment years later from people who loved the letter “To the Stranger I love”. I always wondered what would be a good reason to write a letter again . I finally figured I’d go for the exact opposite of the first post : where earlier, it was a letter from a guy to a girl he hasn’t met yet who he promises to love, I wanted this to be from a guy who has been touched by love and having lost it, fears he may never get it again. 

The arranged marriage.

One thing I love about Punjabis... They know how to enjoy life. They're never hoity-toity about being made the butt of jokes and appreciate a good laugh, even if it is at their own expense ... In that matter, they remind me a lot of us Mallus, I guess.
The following is a true story that happened a few months ago and was narrated to us by Raj himself.

The main characters in this incident :
a) Two Punjab da puttur docs Prem and Raj (names altered ). Identical twins too, incidentally, though that's not relevant.

b) One Punjab di kudi - Simran ( her real name - it just adds to the charm of the story, having a girl whose name is synonymous with Kajol's from DDLJ. Remember the movie ? The sweet girl dancing in the rain, the girl who begged her father for one last chance to see the world before marriage, who is horrified of what she may have done while drunk, who is scared to express her feelings till it is almost too late... )

Anyway, the paths of these three would cross primarily via a marriage proposal.. Simran's parents wanted her to meet one of the twins, Raj. Now since the guy couldn't leave Pune to go see her in Chandigarh, she decided not to wait and flew down to meet the guy.

That evening, as she landed, the twins were there to pick her up. In the vehicle, she asked if they could stop for dinner as she was famished.
"Sure", said Raj "I know a lovely place in town."
Along the way, they got around to asking each other the basic details... small talk really. Raj told he didn't drink or smoke ( unlike his brother ), that he was doing his post graduation presently and that his brother Prem had just recently got married. Simran had a younger sister, was doing well in college and loved sports.

Anyway, they ended up at one of Pune's most famous pubs/ lounges - Thousand Oaks. Prem went on to order a beer along with some snacks while Simran, after studying the menu, chose a pitcher of mocktail for herself and Raj.
As they continued chatting, Raj found himself having a great time. He was soon laughing animatedly and cracking p.j's as only he can. He must have wondered himself how he could be so free with a girl he'd just met and wondered if this was love at first sight.
Wellllll...the fact of the matter was, it wasn't actually love. It was more a mix of white rum, vodka, gin, beer and breezers.
You see, Simran had ordered the restaurant's most famous drink - the Barman's pitcher. This was a mix of all the above mentioned which had a much sweeter taste than most alcohols and gave a relatively mild high... unless you're drinking for the first time in your life.
His brother, Prem, had known all along what the drink was and had happily sat back sipping his beer while watching Raj get drunk. It was only when Raj started feeling 'woozy' after 2 glasses that Raj and Simran had a good laugh and revealed to him the reason behind his light-headedness.

Of course, all this led to the most hilarious grand finale - Prem refused to drive while drunk and Raj couldn't drive because he was seeing two of everything ( which is ironic, considering he's a twin and usually, we're the ones seeing two of him. ) That left Simran, newly arrived in Pune, taking the wheel of the Tavera and driving the guys home as they sat in the backseat singing, with their heads out the vehicle at midnight, what I and my ex-co Pg call the Punjabi national anthem - Jee Karda Bhai Jee Karda.

Sadly, Simran and Raj were not meant to be, in this case. The next morning, when the boys had sobered up,  she revealed to them that she already had a guy back home and had just come down at her parents insistence, so as not to appear rude... oh, and also to enjoy Pune for a few days. The three of them had a gala time that weekend, going for movies, shopping and hanging out and parted on great terms.

Times have certainly changed since the days when an arranged meeting between a boy and a girl would include the girl all decked up and serving tea while fielding questions about her college degree and how well she could  stitch and cook, while being scrutinized by the guy's side and goaded on by her mother to sing for them. As for our protagonists, well...
Simran is getting married next year to her guy. Her parents were very supportive, once she admitted she was in love with a guy.
Prem and Raj are still searching for the girl who will sing "Singh is King" to Raj. He hasn't drank alcohol since that day.

Raj and Simran still keep in touch over Facebook.


Author's note : I personally wish they had got married. I couldn't have counted the years fast enough till their kids were grown up so that I could drive all the way to Punjab and sit in the yellow poppy fields where Kajol ran into Shah Rukh's arms , while telling those kids the tale of how Mommy got Daddy drunk on their first date and had to drive him home.