Morose

It's 3AM and I'm at work, halfway through an eight-hour shift that runs from 10.30PM to 6.30AM.I'm feeling unusually hungry today.But somehow I just don't feel like stepping outside the team area to go to the canteen and eat.First of all, I really can't bring myself to like the canteen food.Secondly, going out now would mean seeing the darkness outside albeit through thick glass windows.For some reason, thats not a sight I want to see now.

The mall that houses my office is all shut down and dark as well.Darkness somehow reminds me that while I'm here, my loved ones are all fast asleep at home, secure in their respective slumbers.Here I am at this obscure time of the night fighting all the anxiety that's knotted in my chest.How I wish I could go back home and crawl into bed and under the covers.It's funny how much I love my bed considering that it's actually a 'diwan' on which two very old foam mattresses have been placed.Infact I think the mattresses are more than a decade old.

A meeting is supposed to happen tomorrow.Not the official kind.I might have preferred the official kind.It's got the significance of being a step towards "building my life" as my mum calls it.And now at the very last hour,I find myself wringing my hands in sheer restless apprehension.Some unexpected regressions in what Fred and I planned are sending us down the road to hysterics.

Also I'm fast approaching a deadline and I've made hardly any progress and I'm really disappointed with what I've managed to do so far.Not like I'm able to make any difference to that either.

Baba once jokingly called Amama "Mrs Vepralam" which literally translates to mean Mrs Anxiety.Looks like that trait has been generously passed down the lineage.

I'm tempted to call the rainrider just to talk.But slumber is such an essential requirement.Especially when one's stressed out and upset.I don't have the heart to wake him.

Also toyed with the idea of calling Amma.That would alarm her.Given the way her BP has been fluctuating like India's performance in international cricket, I'm pretty sure she'll freak out.Especially if I tell her that I called to say I'm feeling kinda lonely.

So I've decided to stick to my desk and chair in the corner and count the minutes.

Highway of sadness...

I travel to work by the same route every afternoon.Yes,afternoon.I've been on the afternoon shift all this month and that gave me the chance to do a lot more people-watching on the way to work.In the morning shifts,it wasn't really possible considering that there aren't too many people out on the streets at that unearthly hour.Also I'd spend that 20-minute ride pulling my eyelids apart at regular intervals.But now,however, the city is halfway through it's day by the time I start mine.

There are two sights I come across everyday.A female beggar with a bad leg is one of them.I'm not quite sure what is wrong but her left leg is always in a cast-like covering,from the knee all the way down to the ankle.And she moves around with a crutch.A cynic's impulse would be to consider her a fraud who begs from sympathetic people.But somehow I can't really bring myself to think of her that way.It will be apparent why,when one takes a look at her face.Her eyes are always dull and she constantly wears a look of misery.She also contorts her face in pain frequently.

The other is a beggar on the pavement just outside my offfice.He looks like he has serious malnutrition issues.He is painfully scrawny and his back is badly bent.I've never found the courage to look at his face or his limbs to see what state they are in.He has a stainless steel container that he uses to catch the attention on passers-by by knocking on the pavement.

Yesterday it rained hard in the afternoon.As soon as I woke from my 'power nap', the storm clouds gathered in a jiffy and within five minutes it was pouring.The rain God must be one heck of a cheeky blighter.After gathering my anti-downpour weapons (namely my brother's windcheater and Amma's embarrassing John's koda) I set off to work.

I saw her first.She sat under the Egmore bridge, seeking shelter from the rain.She wore her miserable expression and massaged her bad leg.I couldn't figure out if the droplets running down her face were the raindrops or her tears.

I looked around for the man with the bad back when I got close to the office.He wasn't there.The puddle water from the road kept spilling onto the pavement in murky brown waves.I wondered where he was taking refuge.

He was back today again at his usual place, knocking his container on the ground with an alarming clunk clunk.People stopped by sometimes to drop a coin into his container with a loud clatter.The others just walked on either out of indifference or out of a sense of helplessness that their meagre change was not a permanent solutions to this man's strife.A sense of helplessness that I can identify with.People give him change out of pity.But how much is that rupee or two really going to help him or others like him?If only there was something one could do to really lend them a helping hand that galvanizes them on their way past poverty.

This reminds me of an argument I once had with a friend.A heated argument with Abhishek whether "whatever happens is for the good" or not.Being the self-righteous bum that I was back then,I told him that I agreed with the cliched phrase.He reacted in apparent anger and said "what about the plight of the millions who are suffering around the world?" I managed to provide some weak,ineffective replies then but now the argument is vivid in my memory.

No,life isn't fair and I guess it wasn't meant to be that way.But as long as the scales are tipping in your favour,I suppose you might as well be grateful.

:(

I've a nagging suspicion that I've lost the ability to write.I haven't written any poems for AGES.
And when I do brace myself and sit down to write a couple of verses,all that happens is a few lines of immmature trash end up at the top of the page after which the paper is hastily crumpled and thrown away.Who'd want to treasure a reminder that screams "you can't write for nuts!!!".

I happened to read my last few posts and felt that each one was more mundane than the other.Caught up in the daily grind like the author.Also noticed with a broken heart that visits or comments to my blog have become a well rounded zero.PR has never been my forte so I'm not going to bother with the publicising.

Kinda reminds me of what Tim Allen said in an interview.When asked if humour was a gift or a talent anyone could develop, he said its a gift and he's always afraid that it'd disappear one day and he wouldn't know what to do.I know what he means.My 'gift' seems to have disappeared.

Solitude

Yesterday after a long hiatus, I ate a meal all by myself in a public place.

Though the new job and current set of colleagues are nice and likeable, I can't say the same for the office canteen.The food is uninspiringly boring and doesn't carry any traces of anything such as delicacy. Also a couple of us have the morbid fear that it's prepared in quite unhygenic conditions as well. Amma doesn't always find the time or good health to pack me dinner so I have to eat from work. However, the likelihood of me eating anything from the office canteen anymore is extremely low.

Thanks to T's habit of turning up at dinner to spend time with me, I've been eating food from either one of the food courts in Spencer's plaza. One has plenty of choice as far as food is concerned in the plaza but then again, continuous indulgence in the same might just have your pocket moaning after a bit. Together T and I sampled stuff from Pizza Hut, Pathankot, some north Indian place I can't remember the name of and our very own Saravana Bhavan, that God sent blessing to mankind - especially the kind from Chennai.

So yesterday I went back to Saravana Bhavan to eat dinner.And while I silently waited for the food to arrive, I had the opportunity to indulge in the long forgotten pastime of mine - people watching.

The mall was crowded. All kinds of people hung around in every nook and cranny possible. Large families of 18 or 20 members just stood in the middle of corridors blocking everyone's way.When they did eventually move, they moved as if they were underwater and to the unfortunate one stuck behind them, it took truck loads of patience and fervent praying before they shifted and stood in front of someone else in a hurry.Where there are large crowds, one can also expect the lewd and the lecherous.They made pathetic attempts to "impress" every female who passed by irrespective of her age.With such loafers, even little girls aren't safe.Some of them stood at strategic spots and gaped open-mouthed, saliva beginning to dribble down the corner of their mouths. And when one shot them a contemptuous look, the assholes would think they're being 'checked out'.Profound idiocy as never before.

The restaurant was crowded. I sat in a section that was a narrow corridor off the main area. The walls were tiled, giving one the overall feeling of sitting in a bathroom rather than a restaurant. As part of Independence Day celebrations, they had artists painting 'patriotic' tattoos on willing bodies. Couple of kids ran around the restaurant, absolutely gleeful about the flags they got painted on their faces. One fat little one waddled along and stopped short when he bumped into a waiter.The kid's nose was in contact with the man's stomach.He then slowly looked up into the man's face and got a kindly smile.The kid glowered at him, shoved the man aside and resumed waddling behind the other brats who were too fast for him anyway.

Just before dinnner arrived, I ran into a friend from school who I haven't seen in years.I got the "you've lost so much weight" dialogue again much to my pleasure.Two minutes later friend disappeared into the crowd and food appeared.In the course of dinner, I messaged Uncle and was thrilled when he actually messaged back and was indignant on my behalf that I was working on Independence Day.After some more quiet masticating and mulling over thoughts of the Rainrider in my head, I was finally through with my dinner.When asked for the bill, it was brought four times faster than the food itself.The change however was another story altogether.

On my way back up the stairs to work, I thought about how not very long ago I used to sit by myself at one of the popular cafes in the city day after day, reading or writing. I missed that solitude at that moment.The feeling of being part of a crowd,yet lost in private thoughts in my head.Maybe I should do that sometime again considering that I've found better places than that cafe to write in peacefully.....

"Oh where,oh where can my baby be...?"

Today feels like a disaster. It feels like the continuation of yesterday with a solid headache thrown in for good measure. The biological clock is amazingly resilient considering the fluctuating routines it’s going through at the moment. Of course, it’s not in such great shape, but hey I ain’t complaining. At least it’s still functional.

The Son and his Daddy are off on a holiday. Daddy needs a break from the daily 13-hour nonsense. So Daddy, who had a scruffy beard and longer-than-usual hair, got the Son all fit and handsome and both of them rode off.

Mommy on the other hand is wondering what to do with all the silence. She can’t call Daddy to say good morning, can’t message him frequently, can’t call at mealtimes, or talk to him at night. Mommy tries to fill her time by talking to other people and updating Grandpa about Daddy’s whereabouts but she can’t shake off the feeling of loneliness. It just hangs around her, catching her unaware and making her mouth droop.

This is the first time she has been away from them. She thought she’d make it through fairly easily. She thought they all needed a change. She knows now that she couldn’t have been more wrong. She throws herself into work but to no avail. There’s nobody to come home to and share gossip with. No one to pamper or speak to in Baby-Talk. Nobody to make fun of or fight with. Nobody to wrestle with playfully.

Her meals are solitary and perfunctory. She doesn’t really notice what she’s eating. The vegetables lie uneaten in her plate since there isn’t anyone to chide her into finishing them. She looks at the last bite sadly, wondering what Daddy is eating and remembering all the times he’s insisted on taking the last sip or bite out of whatever she’s been drinking or eating.

Everyone who even remotely resembles Son or Daddy catch Mommy’s eye now. Few more days, she tells herself. When she talks to her parents and Daddy is mentioned, she smiles wistfully in fond remembrance. Every time she puts her footwear on she remembers that she’d forgotten to give him the extra cushioning for his trekking shoes. She wonders how he’s getting by without them.

All through the day, she wishes she had gone with them instead of staying back. And at night before she falls asleep, she sends a silent prayer to keep them both safe and to pray that the rest of the wait is through in the blink of an eye.

Moojik and moi

Its 9:30pm on Thursday the 2nd of August,2007.No no this is not a bit of my life that is being recorded because it is of any historical importance.Its just that I'm hungry,bored and longing for the weekend.Dinner's not until 10pm and even then I've no clue if it'll be worth the wait.However, since I've got this far on a growling tummy, I might as well stick it out until 10.

I realized today that I've been listening to very minimal amount of music.And I hate that fact.Whatever little I listen to is courtesy rainrider's birthday gift to moi- a Transcend mp3 player with fm radio built in.The icing however was that it came with the rainrider's collection of classic rock.God bless the man.So whenever mum and dad think I'm doing something of earth-shattering importance inside my room, you can dead certain that Transcend is infusing life into me and preparing me to keep going for yet another day.

My love affair with music has been very humble.It isn't the dazzling,passionate kind.More like the quiet, life sustaining, undeniably essential kind.Don't get fooled into thinking that I come from a family of musicians though.The only person in my family who's learned in that aspect is my mum.She underwent vocal training in carnatic music for about 6 or 8 years and as a consequence she's the only one in the household who can croon without making other living beings in the vicinity wince.Dad's singing is used strictly as a tool for torture while bro's attempts can provide a good laugh every now and then.Then there's your's truly.I like to pretend that Amma's gift was passed down to me but the truth is far from that.And there are witnesses to prove it.

As far as vocal talent goes there have been the odd flukes when I didn't make people feel like they were being tortured for classified information.Then again there have also been the other instances.Here I recount all my embarrassing moments onstage in front of a microphone.

Instance number 1: Independence day celebrations in school.I was supposed to sing "Ae mere watan ke logon" whoch was originally sung by Lata Mangeshkar.I had a girl playing the keyboard for accompaniment.The practices went really well and all the hunky seniors said I sang "really great".Come the day of the performance.The chief guest talked till my mouth went dry and chose to let me sing just when I was all disoriented and grumpy with his speech.So I began.I couldn't hear the keyboard and the keyboardist couldn't hear me so we followed two completely different pitches.Musical chaos ensued.Except that there wasn't anything remotely musical about it.All the rude little brats in the first row stuck their fingers in their ears and screwed up their little faces.Princie winced every now and then and the chief guest maintained a stony face and nodded stiffly every couple of seconds.

Two minutes later I howled to a teacher vowing I'd never sing again while some more little brats sniggered behind me.

Instance number 2 : I was supposed to compere a show and sing a bit (I think). All went well except for the closing.I ended the show with a bang.And a crash.The mike stand was then declared to be hopelessly beyond repair.

Instance number 3 : Music auditions in college.I planned to sing "The way you are" by Shania Twain.Simple song.But when my turn came I did something weird in between, stopped, gulped and looked at D sheepishly.She very understandingly let me continue.Also made the mistake of shortlisting me.They then tried making me sing "My immortal" by Evanescence.Disaster and more pained and screwed up faces is what ensued.Thankfully that was in the practice sessions and I chickened outta singing it onstage.

Many more goofups are etched on my mind but if I list them all,this would be a post of epic proportions.

Then there was my dalliance with musical instruments.

Piano in Calcutta under Ms Anitha and Mrs Francis.They complained that I played too stiffly.But they couldn't see that it was because Tommy sat at my feet always and I could hardly breathe for fear of moving.

Keyboard in Chennai.Gave it up.Got bored with all the politics and all that.

Guitar from 11th grade.Hung around till I learnt the major chords (which took 3 months.The instructor was "throrough" types) and then quit.Since then once in a while when I'm bored or lonely I experiment on the guitar.I haven't gotten anywhere in terms of learning but I rather like the experimenting.

From what you read above,you would surely have realised what a bumbling disaster I am when it comes to music.But that thankfully doesn't diminsh my love for it.I need it to be a part of my everyday existence.I don't care what genre it is.I've adopted a "has notes,will listen" attitude.The lack of it now is like a huge crater in my soul that makes me irate and snappy.If only my 'aapees' would let us listen to moojiks while working (long sigh).

Morbid monstrosity

Its been awhile.And I'm recieving instructions from various sources to update my blog.

The only reason I've been avoiding it is because I can't seem to find something to blog about.Or rather too many things have been going on and I can't pick just one and blog about it extensively.I dont' want my blog to turn into a "Dear diary..." entry either.Hmmm....

One thing I 've been absolutely horrified about is the steep incline of crime rate against innocent children.The baby with 26 stab wounds, the kids being tortured at school with corporal punishment, the female foetuses found in wells and garbage bins, the mother who tried to drown her little children...I mean what really is the world coming to?!?

I cannot even begin to comprehend what kind of twisted fiend would stab a little, vulnerable, innocent baby boy.What was the moron thinking???Was it his/her idea of some recreation or some sort of outlet to psychotic thoughts???Whatever the answer, the incident shocked,disgusted and sickened me all at once.

It was quite disturbing to know that prejudice against female offspring still looms large all over the country.How can one engineer the gender of one's unborn child to make it suitable to one's whims and fancies?And why should the hapless and helpless child have to pay with her life for what is clearly the best example of society's idiocy?The standard response to why people shun baby girls is "a girl means added burden of saving up for her dowry.Besides she could get pregnant and bring shame to the family.Why have a liability when we can have a son who'll earn and bring the bread home?"To all of you who say that, where are you going to go when there'll be no women left to give birth to your 'precious sons'?This issue infact was excellently brought out in a movie called Maathrubhoomi.It was gory and almost repulsive but it conveyed the message with unforgettable strength.

Then there's the abandon-your-baby spree thats been going on in full swing these days.Reasons why the infants are abandoned generally prejudice against the baby's gender, lack of funds to raise the child, shame at bringing an illegitimate child into the world, anger at the child's father or mother(!!!) etc. In a hypocritical, narrow minded country like ours I think there's no remedy to gender prejudices.Its just bloody pointless.All the protests and movements that are planned make only a meagre change,if any.However lack of funds to raise a child stumps me as a reason to abandon one's own flesh and blood.If you can't afford children,why procreate?My father's answer to that was "sex is the only recreation poor people can afford".Right.There are products called contraceptives in the market, some of which have been made affordable even to the lower strata of society.Lets suppose the people in question can't afford those either, in that case, shouldn't they be looking for means to survive rather than throwing themselves at the first person who comes across?Its just irresponsibility at its worst.I'm probably being too harsh but why subject a child to a lifetime of misery just to get one night's worth of fun?

These sort of things anger me more than anything else.

Oh and other bizarre incidents include either one of the parents killing the kids because of "family feud".

Mankind's sensibility seems to have gone absconding permanently.