Kandaswami, His Cycle and Its Handle

Born in a middle-class orthodox Brahmin family, Kandaswami, 13 years old, wasn't used to anything new. It doesn’t mean he was inexperienced, but was rather under-experienced. He was never offered anything new – what ever he has, belongs to his cousin Senthil Balasubramanian (he is in the US now). Everything second-hand and sometimes recycled - second-hand books, used clothes, stain-rich trousers, perforated banians and bug-filled pillows. Not even an identity of his own. No individuality at hand. Being the youngest in the family, he only got orders to obey, but never the freedom to express. Honestly, he was like a tiger in a circus.

One day he resolved that he would revolt against all and speak up, hoping justice would back him. He went to the temple and prayed for courage. He was vibrant on his way back home. He was confident. He was full of energy. He was an unsung hero at that point in time. He confronted his parents who were sitting on the sofa watching television.

Dad: (while scratching his head) What happened? Wanted to say something ?
Mom: Kanda, you look happy today, whats the reason?
Kanda furiously opens up his entire frustration. He talks about everything – including his cousin’s used clothes, smelly handkerchieves and worn-out triumph cards. But, before he could finish, a healthy slap from no where landed on his face. It took him 2 minutes to realize that his father was the owner of that slap. He couldn’t continue. He was all the more furious, but not confident. Yet, deep from his heart, he always wanted to be independent. He wanted to experiment things. Relieve his frustration. Be self-determining and self-reliant. He never got a chance. Neither did he try taking one for the fear of being called undisciplined. For him reputation matters a lot.

Bhagyam maami promised to gift him a bicycle on his fast approaching thread ceremony. He dreamt of the latest racer bikes, racing, long rides, etc. BMX was his favorite bicycle. He had every detail of the dream bike, but no one ever cared to ask him what he wanted. They gifted him the oldest existing model of Atlas cycle, thanks to the Pongal discounts at ‘Annapurna Cycles & Tyres’.. He was in tears, but everyone thought they were tears of joy. On the ceremony day, his aunt hugged him. His mom kissed him. And his dad didn’t even look at him, but said “Kanda, take care of this bicycle as we take care of you.” Kanda cursed his gods, but never complained. What made him really happy was that he alteast got something new. Perhaps his cousin Senthil never had a bicycle.

Bicycle gave him the liberty he wished for. He could ride it the way he wanted - fast or slow or medium. Sit on it, lie on it or ride on it. It allowed him to take whichever road he wished. He talked to it while riding, studied sitting on it and shared his lessons with it. It’s bell was his favourite part. It’s handle was his soul. He always maintained full pressure in its tyres and used coconut oil for its axles. He discussed everything - his happiness, sorrow, crush and even about Irfan who always bullied him in school.

The bicycle too started communicating with him.

On his 15th birthday, he promised the bicycle “I shall never part with you.”

The bicycle, with its handle in tears (read ‘eyes’) said, “Don’t make false promises, once you grow richer you would desert me, you would forget me.”

He hugged it and repeatedly vowed to never part with it. No one understood their chemistry. That bicycle was everything for him-family, friend, mentor, etc.

Kanda finished his education, got a job, got married and was blessed with a son. He bought a car. True to his word, he ordered his servant to clean the bicycle, keep it in good condition. He used to proudly show his best friend (bicycle) to his son, but never allowed him to go near it for the fear of getting hurt on the bicycle. The bicycle remained their forever. He used to inquire “Why are you unhappy?”, “You are not your usual self?” He had questions, but no time for its answers. He defended saying “I love you, that’s why I am taking care of you, what else can I do for you? You should also try understanding me..............” Nevertheless, the bicycle was not happy. The family went for a major renovation of the house & his better half got a reclining chair in exchange of the bicycle. Kandaswami was disturbed, but the logical reasoning of his wife convinced him.

He retired with a fat cheque & plans to stay with his children. His wife expired & son was busy in his career. His son ordered the servant to take proper care of Kanda. His son inquired “Why are you unhappy dad?”, “You are not your usual self?” Son had questions, but no time for dad's answers. Son defended “I love you, that’s why I am taking care of you, what else can I do for you? You should also try understanding me...”
Now, sitting alone in the A/c room, medicines & servants to take care of him, Kanda wondered what is making him unhappy. He wanted his son to spend time, talk, discuss with him & make him part of the family. Immersed in these thoughts, he understood what made the bicycle unhappy? But now he was helpless. Had it been a living being he could have hoped to meet it in hell or heaven? He was depressed & felt ashamed.

He heard a voice (bicycle's voice), the chair was now speaking. “When your wife got rid of me I prayed god to make me into a chair so that you could recline on me in your old age. Today, when deep in your heart you thought about me, you are able to hear me. You managed to live without me, but I couldn't.” Kanda couldn't speak a word, only tears flowed down begging for pardon.

Kanda was happy again and his son too was happy. One day he breathed his last sitting on the chair. Son preserved the chair for ages in memory of Kanda. He used to take care of it just like Kanda. Even Kanda’s son used coconut oil to clean the chair's linkages and screws.....

Late Kanda watched all these from heaven and smiled with a sense of satisfaction. Sometimes, he also calls the other heaven-mates (2008 batch) to show them how his chair is being taken care of by his son, down on the earth. They gave him a soft pat on his back and smiled back saying "Hey Kanda, you are the luckiest dude..". This made Kanda all the more happy.

"Really how lucky I am!" Kanda used to feel.

College days

There were times, I remember,
lasting in the heart forever,
couple of years, we spent by
filled with fun, everyday passed by
Chatting in the class, thru emails
dating the nearby females(girls read it as males),
Those frequent outings I remember,
lasting in the heart forever,

When the professors teach,
dreamt of the evenings in the beach,
they demanded discussion,
we prayed for an excursion.
We were bugged by the assignments,
taking a toll on our engagements,
They said, Late submissions will be fined,
We said, Let us postpone never mind,
Professors, not happy every time,
They warned this is the last time.
we googled all our resource,
Intentionally, never mentioned the source,
Assignments submitted that I remember,
lasting in the heart forever.

Days, months and 2 years passed by,
then came the time, to bid good-bye,
Like a tide in the ocean, all were swept,
Missing our friends, all night we wept,
Guilty I feel at the heart,
why the hell did we part,
With a promise to meet,
towards destiny moved our feet
Those tough moments, I remember,
lasting in the heart forever.

Oh god, I urge with pain,
Give us a chance to meet again,
Even if this prayer goes in vain,
sweet memories shall remain
of those times, I remember,
lasting in the heart forever.

Google Has a Sense of Humour

The other day I was googling for 'swayamwaraonline malayalam'. Google had something interesting in store for me.

Cinema Days

The movie started half an hour ago. Kunjuraman Kutty is reluctantly munching pop-corn from the same pack and taking unenthusiastic sips of ‘marinda’ from the same bottle, as did the beautiful lady sitting beside him. This beautiful young lady was named Ponnamma by her parents upon her grand papa’s insistence. (Ponnamma has done BA. She had also done typewriting course from Ayyappan typewriting & Short-hand Institute, closer to her ancestral house). Kunjuraman is about 29 years old. Ponnamma about 23 years.

One sip of marinda by Kunjuraman, next sip by Ponnamma. Ponnamma seemed very happy. She was happy infact. But Kunjuraman seemed to be soaked in agony.

They are here to watch Spiderman-3 in Kalpana talkies. Kunjuraman doesn’t seem happy at all. But, Ponnamma, his newly-wed wife is very happy. She is thoroughly enjoying the movie. She is clapping. She is beating Kunjuraman on his thigh occasionally and stomping on his foot whenever Toby executes a thrilling stunt on the screen. Neither irritated nor excited, the disappointed Kunjaraman seemed cheerless.

Sitting beside Ponnamma, Kunjuraman Kutty is deeply recollecting those cinema days with his friends Suraj, Imran, Ramana and Lallu.

Kunjuraman and his friends never bothered about the class of co-viewers to the hall. Never worried about comfort in the seats. Nor the quality of the sound. The seats might have been bug-rich and the antique ceiling fans would have been whirring from sides, they were just happy they were having fun atlast. They never even had to bother about the stench of urinals sneaking through the hall-door right into their noses. Nor worry about the filthy gutkha-intensive mouth from behind shooting in litres of gutkha-rich saliva under their seat. Often, aggressive-Suraj starts delivering expletives against the gutkha spitter. The other three joining the expletive-chain in chorus. But Kunjuraman Kutty is now a family man. Ponnamma is his wife. So, decent theatres are a must. Besides decent theatres, “decent” films are mandatory (quotes intentional). Any shortfall would trigger telecommunicative flash news into the inquisitive ears of in-laws and relatives.

Ramana taught him whistling and Kunjuraman became a good whistler after unsuccessful trials. Those days, good scenes were always acknowledged through an appreciative whistle escaping from hundreds of lips in the hall. Now, Kunjuraman Kutty is a family man. Similar other Kunjaramans and Ponnammas are around. Hence, he can’t whistle. Infact, he shouldn’t whistle. His whistling instincts are still alive, although pathetically irrepressible. Its high time Kunjuraman has chosen between ‘dignity-before-Ponnamma-and-fellow-kunjuramans-and-ponnammas’ and his ‘Whistling instincts’. Ofcourse, he has chosen ‘dignity’.

Those were days, when they had the greatest degree of consensus when it came to choosing a movie. They had the same ‘tastes’, same ‘fondness and same kind of ‘desires’ – all youth inspired. Kunjuraman is a family man now. He has to take Ponnamma to ‘family’ movies, only.

Long queues while waiting for tickets, the gossips and comments about girls passing by, the irani tea in the nearby hotel before the movie begins. Kunjuraman is missing these badly. He is now a family man. He has to book the tickets in advance for himself and Ponnamma. He has not choice. Buying tickets in black is cheap.

Kunjuraman is fond of little onion samosas, especially the ones sold in movie theatres. His friends like them too. A mere 5-rupee would fetch him handful of them. His friend Laalan used to say “Onion samosas are the Official Interval Snack for most of the bachelors ha ha ha”. But now Kunjuraman is a family man. He has to buy only ‘class’ edibles for himself and Ponnamma. He can’t even drool over those onion samosas, lest Ponnamma gives him a disgusting look.

Spiderman-3 is over. And titles scrolling up. Kunjuraman is still thinking about his good old cinema days……

The Crush - Episode 12

That day, we parted with a friendly ‘bye’ and I managed not to show any embarassments on my face. I had to feign neutrality. I wanted to introspect my condition badly, introspect myself desperately, and fix the emotionally pathetic ordeal I have been succumbing in. I prepared to write a letter to her. Next day, I saw her standing at the bus-stop wearing a white salwar kameez, which fit her waist perfectly, making her look even more gorgeous. Her shimmering bangles were reflecting the morning sun’s rays, making the day livelier and brighter. The ends of her dupatta gracefully flapping in the wind like a flowing river. She looked like an angel. But I knew, I was going to depart from her for ever. I may not even see her again. Tears rolled down my cheeks. Sun’s rays formed strange prisms in my tearful eyes and obstructed my vision. For a moment, I felt like tearing off the letter in my hand and go on with whatever I had been doing so far. But something in me stopped me from doing that. Without thinking further, I approached her with hesitant little steps and stood before her at a touching distance. She looked at me, with her eyes beaming happiness, and her lips giving out a gracious smile.

I couldn’t smile. I was looking straight into her eyes with my dripping eyes. Then, I simply handed over the letter to her. Without speaking a word, I turned away from her and took an auto to the office. She stood there calmly, perplexed at my strange demeanor. I could sense a slight feeling of confusion muddled up with an uncomfortable nervousness on her face. She hastily unfolded the letter with her tender fingers and started reading it.

To My Sweetheart…

You remember, you put my hand around me while I stood there on the footboard? That may not be an unforgettable moment for you but for me….

That’s the precise moment. That’s the precise moment when you entered my heart without its consent. I looked into your eyes, you looked into mine. It was at that point, for the first time, my virgin heart craved for a woman before me. That day, you carried - and always carry - a charismatic aura around you. I couldn’t prevent my heart more from falling in love with you. And it finally did fall in love, first off. Perhaps, my heart was so susceptible to your magnetism. Your drawing power is more powerful than gravity. Your love-inducing composure and angelic demeanor and your alluring conversations during our times in the bus made me fall flat before you. Thoughts about you makes me perspire like a candle melt. Dear, you got to forgive my heart for it had never taken any conscious pledge of celibacy. If it had, it could have certainly died of a heartache after seeing you. You are the most stunning woman I had ever touched shoulders with. You are the most elegant woman I had ever seen..in the purest sense of the words!

And one day you said you see your brother in me. To my tender heart what a powerful jolt it was. What a terrible tremor it was. So painful our story is. My mind is in splits. My heart is on thorns. That painful tragedy is making me feel shameful. I couldn’t even share this with anyone. Perhaps, this is the most awkard kind of confrontation any guy could possibly make. I cant endure these anymore. Deeply engrossed in your thoughts didn’t leave even zilch harmony within me. Not enough strength could I salvage dear..

Not enough strength…

I wish I had not stood by the bus stop. I wish I had not seen you…I had not felt you. I wish you had not touched me…you had not hugged me. I wish your hair had not brushed me gently, trailing behind the mild fragrance of your shampoo.. I now want to run away. Run away afar into unthinkable horizons. Down into the hot deserts…deep into the wild forests….to get lost into those unfathomable depths….just to keep myself away from your memories…fly off from that soap-like aroma which makes me feeble in your presence. Escape from your charisma and breath that makes me fall flat before you… But my heart is not cooperating, sweetheart…. You killed me. You hurt me. Ambrosia-like were your words then. Acid-like is what I feel now. I want to slaughter myself. I want to hide my face, for nothing is as excruciating as your memories

Before meeting you and falling in love with you, I was an energetic man with a drive to achieve something. A straightforward, honest and hardworking guy who thinks about days forward. Your ingress had changed me completely. I became a hypocrite. I behaved artificial always trying to impress you. Started talking only what you would listen to. Started saying only what pleased you. Started liking only what you liked. I was away from my true self. Too far from myself. I lost my individuality.

I was leading an undisturbed life. A life full of fun and friends and colleagues. You made me forget my friends …my people at home…my work at office…my curriculum at college. You made me forget my destiny…you made me feel so awkward…I want my good old life back. Life without tensions. Life full of ambitions. Life full of enthusiasm. A life to look forward to. A life full of peaceful sleep. A life with self-respect. A life with faultless ego. A life devoid of hypocrisy. An adventurous life with a drive to achieve something. Now if I continue craving for you further, I may not justify my existence. I only want to forget you now. I want to make my life worth living. I want to spend time with my friends. I want to spend my life happily with one and all. Out of the blue you came into my life, and created a pandemonium out of it. Not your fault either… I don’t want to think about you…nor can I think of you either. I sincerely apologise for the pseudo-feelings I had towards you…

I apologise to you in toto. Please forgive me - for the first and last time.

Yours lovingly

Swami

Dandiyas and Droolings!

Disco-dandiya has now become the Featured Official Indian Dance during Navrathris, replacing the traditional Dandiya. This period (Navrathri) usually witnesses all eligible male bachelors, individually and collectively drooling over colourfully-dressed eligible female bachelors over the dandiya turf. Needless to say, innocent and sincere participants like middle-aged north-indian maamas and maamis could also be seen in the scene, tapping their dandiya sticks tenderly against those of other maamas and maamis. All with a gentle disposition. Blushing is a typical, yet acceptable expression during such stick-tapping sessions among maamas and maamis. “We are here to honour the very religious motive behind Navrathri dance, unlike those lusty youngers out there” says a middle-aged gujarati maami, smt Ashalatha Lakhani, pointing to a group of youngsters.

Married-maamas and married-maamis is only one of the two sincere and innocent lots, justifying the objectives as laid down in the Official Indian Dandiya Gazzette. The other sincere and innocent lot is of kids ranging from 3 to 12 years; among which one would witness kids (usually shorter than the size of dandiya sticks) hitting their parents and other participants on their bottoms out of excitement produced by the deafening filmy music. A common sight on dandiya turf is of kid killing cockroaches and grasshoppers using dandiya stick and then droppig it in dad’s pocket. “Killing cockroach using dandiya stick and dropping it in my dad’s pocket or mom’s chips packet gives me more pleasure than this f****g dandiya dance” says an angry 4-year-old Ram Prasad Mishra, with a sense of pride on his face. Another kid, a 5-year-old Lalitha Chaturvedi, hurt our special correspondent by throwing a dandiya stick at his jaw.

Dandiyas are usually organised by housing societies, communities, associations, etc to provide a common platform to the youngsters to drool over. Dandiya fanatics from the vicinity get together and tap their exotic sticks against each others’ to the beats of bollywood lively, rhythmic, cabaret-like numbers produced by a 20,000-watt powerhouse.

Dandiya-induced drooling can be active or passive:

Active drooling involves drooling while simultaneously doing the ‘tapping the sticks’ exercise. An Active drooler dresses up in levi’s jeans, t-shirt and trainers or sometimes in a rented garbha costume (including the striking turban) or sometimes a kurtha-pyjama. With atleast one litre perfume under his arm-pits and 2 kgs of gel on his head, he carries himself like Salman before the actual session starts. He makes few quick walks across the dandiya turf to grab feminine attention. He would be eyeing and scanning the entire crowd for good-looking chicks and makes sure he stands beside the best of them before the cabaret-like dandiya music starts. Once the music begins, his attempts to touch her (using elbow, shoulder, etc) begins too. In case she gives him a filthy look (ie kya-tumhe-maa-bahen-nahin-hain-kya look) he sheepishly apologizes to her under the pretence of an oversight and scuttles away. After a few minutes, he could be seen dancing beside another beautiful chick keeping himself busy in the ‘touch-and-feel’ business again. Bloody Fool!

“We are here to honour Mother Goddess, and at the same time to have fun by quenching our dancing enthusiasm” says Mr. Satyanarayan Budani, an IT professional. “True, quite true, nothing else” shouted from behind Mr. Abdul Hameed, yet another IT professional.

Passive drooling involves standing on the ground (or sitting on a wall or a tree) at the perimeter of Dandiya turf. Passive drooling allows performing the drooling exercise effortlessly. Typically aged between 15 to 28, the typical passive drooler is obviously not here to watch dandiya. Neither to honour Mother Goddess. He is here to watch female cleavages, legs and if lucky enough, unhooked bras. He dresses up like a hero, makes himself available at the scene before time and sits calmly like a gentleman with loads of expectations in his eyes. His heart blows up upon the sight of a cleavage or a fleshy leg. He then whispers into his fellow-drooler’s ears and they giggle together - most relishing effort of his life. He would be the happiest person among the crowd if a female dandiya participant throws an accidental glance at him. He continues staring at the accidentally-glanced-female-participant with tons of hope in his eyes (hopes that she would call him onto the turf and give him a deep hug out of love). While staring at her, the typical passive drooler’s mouth would be wide open (displaying his tonsil) till the time his heart breaks when he finds her rubbing together with her boyfriend. Mr. Krishnan Kutty Nair, a mumbai-settled IT professional of about 25-years, refused to comment when he was caught with his mouth wide open.

(Readers can add their observations on this topic in the comments section)

The Crush - Episode 11

That implied I was caught red-handed while I was shamelessly staring at her vital organs. My embarassment had no bounds. My embarassment had no definition. Yet, it had some movement: it spread across my innocent pale face and started moving rapidly down my waist area and finally took a u-turn at the ankles. Then it started crawling up back, passed over my buttocks and finally stopped at the place where it actually started. This embarassed me further.

Ofcourse, I was not looking at her organs with lust. I was looking at them out of love. True and heartfelt love. Once you fall in love, you tend to have this strange feeling of assuming ownership over your lover’s appendages. Only true lovers understand this strange feeling.

I knew she has a husband. But, I didn’t know she has a brother too. Neither had she told me. I hate them to the extent I love her. I wanted to tell this to her, upfront. But I couldn’t muster courage. I was provisionally gutless.

“I would like to know about your husband and brother too. Infact, I would love to know about your entire family and in-laws and grand generation and beyond that. You see, I am of the reserved types. So, I didn’t really want to interfere in your personal matters ” I told her in a soft romantic voice.

“That’s like a plump pumpkin..Now can you guess what could I have brought for you from my in-laws’s place?” she asked me giving a 32-teeth smile.

Well…hmm..if my guess is something to go with, you might have brought..hmm…mm….LOTS OF LOVE FOR ME…hehehehe…” saying this I stared at her sharp love-inducing eyes, which sopped in rain a few minutes ago.

She moved a little closer to me. And I could feel her breath and sense the mild soap-like aroma from her body.

“You are getting too romantic. Any girl in my place would have definitely fallen for you. She wouldn’t have minded to give you a muscular hug once she gets encaptivated by your powerful looks through those third-rate ancient spectacles” she said romantically, and giggled naughtily.

“You naughty girl !!” said my innersense which was on a roll and was giggling vigorously.

“Now, please close your eyes” she said in a soft romantic voice, typical of a hollywood actress. “Don’t open them until I ask you to”

“Ok. As you please” I giggled..

I was standing there with loads of expectations in my closed eyes.
“Is she gonna kiss me?” – no it’s too early to expect a kiss at this stage of relationship.
‘Is she gonna hug me”- no it’s not the right place to expect a hug. (Nor do I recommend personally)
“Is she gonna hand over a gift to me” – probably yes. But not sure.
“If yes, what could be that gift”- probably an i-pod? Can’t say.
“Or is she gonna …….”

Before I proceeded further with my internal conversation, I felt her grabbing my hand and placing a feather-weighted, 6-inch gadget into my hand.

“Now open your eyes slowly” she said.

As I opened my eyes, I saw her face beaming with curiosity. I still can’t forget the curiosity in her eyes, eagerly waiting to witness my expression once I see the ‘surprise gift’ she placed in my hand.

I slowly looked at my hand to see what that surprise gift was. My heart was pounding heavily and my mind was sincerely practising the various stylish and humble ways to react if it indeed turns out to be an i-pod.

It was a plastic comb. A dirty plastic comb with missing teeths here and there and ridiculous amounts of black oily deposits at the base.

The most embarrassing moment in my life. Infact, the most irrating moment in my life.

“How dare she insult my baldness by gifting me a filthy comb, huh?
My love doesn’t come at the cost of insulting my biological deficiency, you lady!
I may be bald, but I have a fully clean heart.
I may be bald, but I have a dandruff-free scalp.
I may be bald, but I have hair-rich thighs.
How dare you insult me symbolically by giving a comb?
Are all girls like this? Is this what happens to all true lovers? Common, tell me I say?

But somewhere in the corner of my heart, I felt she had a definite purpose behind this nuissance. I had known her for the past 9 days and I definitely feel she has some good cause behind her action. I knew her pretty well. Even my innersense knew her pretty well.

She began sobbing. “Do you remember this?”

Now, what the hell does she mean by “do-you-remember-this?”

Before I opened my mouth and moved my tongue to speak out something, tears rolled down her cheeks like a baby’s piss.

"I am sure you remember this. I told you on our way back from office that day. This is my brother Pyarelal’s comb" saying this, she hugged my belly sturdily and hid her face underneath my jacket, breaking wildly into tears.

I gave an embarassing smile to the middle-aged man at the bustop who has been watching our free show for the past half-an-hour.

Not wanting to forego this opportunity, I gave her a warm romantic hug forgetting about Pyarelal and his dirty comb.

It was a bustop. And I was feeling shy.

After a few minutes of slience and one-side-romantic-other-side-pyarelal-induced hug, she took her original position of standing straight a couple of feets away.

“Today I want to tell you why I love you so much” she resolved explicitly

“Why?” I enquired in a soft romantic voice expecting her to hug me again.

“Had my brother been alive today, he would would have looked exactly like you: same height, same size, same shape, same spectacles, same caring heart, same patience while listening, same ass, same balls, same….#$#$#$#$”

While she continued with the ‘same’ list of items, I was searching for a deep well to jump into. Badluck didn’t spare me this time too.

(To be continued)

The Crush - Episode 10

It was the best relationship I could ever imagine. For the first time in my life I experienced a lust-free feeling.

Next day, she couldn’t be seen at the bus stop. Not even her shadow. Not even the soap-like aroma. The stench from the public urinal beside the bustop started dominating the bus-stop’s ambiance in her absence. That proves the power of her soap-like aroma. Everything looked gloomy. The world appeared to have switched from a Halogen bulb (normally used in weddings, especially receptions) to a zero-watt bulb (normally used in household latrines)

Help! Help! my heart was scanning around for a single indication of hers. I dont know which direction she comes from. I don’t even know where she stays. All I know is she comes to the bustop well before me. Though my bus arrived on time, I didnt board it that day. “Fruits of patience are sweeter” my inner sense whispered into my ears.

It’s been 75 mins since I heard the damn whisper. She didn’t show up yet. I don’t know her number, I don’t know her name. I don’t even know what her favourite tv-serial is. Is this what they call love?

I was upset, in a strange way. So, I took an auto to the office. I was very sad and simply staring at the rear-view mirror. I could see my face on it. Not knowing what to do, I gave a benevolent smile into the mirror. My face in the mirror smiled back at me. This gave me some degree of consolation.

It was a Saturday. Nine days have passed. I had some important work at workplace and I was waiting for the bus. I was still missing her. My feelings for her were still alive. My feelings for her were still lust-free. I was expressively down. Psychologically ridiculous. “Go to a psychologist and have it checked” my innersense advised me. I always respect my innersense. But not this time.

My heart said “Swami, all that’s happening is true. Voila! Go head!”
My mind said “ I doubt. They are pure hallucinations. Hence, a thumbs down from my side”

On my way back home it was raining heavily. I missed the direct bus and had to walk upto an intermediate bustop. None of the auto kaarans were willing to take to my place. Ha ha ha ha.. I laughed at myself. He he he he..I laughed at my horrible condition.

"Hello Bosssss How are you?". I heard a very familiar female voice behind me “Hehehee..heights of hallucination” I whispered to my innersense “What happened, why are you not responding to me” I heard the same familiar female voice again, but this time, coupled with an elephant-like jerk at my arms. There she is…

“Go ahead. Go ahead and say Hi” my heart said
“Hahaha.. you moron! It is pure hallucination..!” my mind said.

I listened to my eyes. She was indeed there. "Hi” I screamed, and continued in a low romantic voice, “How are you and where were you all these days? I was very worried about your whereabouts, you know?”

“Tchu..tchu..tchu..tchu...dont you remember I mentioned about my visit to my in-laws’ place and that I would see you only on Monday”

“mmmm..No. I don’t remember” I said with uncertainty, in the same low romantic voice. “You duffer..you teddy…you pumpkin..I told you but you might have forgotten. Since you don’t work on Saturday’s, I said I would be seeing you again on Monday. Understood?”

“Yeah..yeah…I think I remember…”

"You will not believe me if I say this. Though I was on a vacation, you were there with me all the time. I felt your presence all the time. I was enjoying your company. You are so good, I really like you. I love you so much" she let it slip….

YESS! YESS! YES! YES!

At that moment, I was floating on a cloud made up of ‘cheerfulness’. I was swimming in a virtual fluid called ‘happiness’. And the excited hands of ecstasy were molesting me left and right. Top to bottom. Front and back.

“I too love you but also hate you because you always speak about your married life” I wanted to say. But I didn’t have the courage.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. They were ‘tears of happiness’ (sandhosha kanneeru). I mustered courage, without my own knowledge. "After a very long time, someone said they love me truly. I am very happy today. I am very happy with you” I said with a gentlemanly disposition, in the same low romantic voice
She was also moved. Went senti. Tears rolled down her cheek. "Do you really feel comfortable with me" she enquired.

“Yes. I do. I feel very comfortable with you” I said quickly (without a pause) and was desperately holding my breath for her response.

"Why didnt you ask me about my brother or husband? About what they do. Where they are. You are so dumb. I just feel I am imposing this relationship on you. I always feel you just nod your head but never truly listen to me” (By this time, I already starting feeling that I ‘owned’ her. That she was mine. I already started giving secret glances at her gorgeous body, arms, neck, etc)

“Can you please look at my face while I am speaking to you?” she said in an irritated voice.

The Crush - Episode 9

Three days passed like three seconds (though this sounds like a dialogue from one of Bharathiraja’s movies, it indeed happens in real love-life too. For example, it happened with me) Only true lovers realise what I mean.

I started feeling sick. My throat felt nausea. Honestly, for me, the entire world resembled an assortment of puke-inducing components. That’s the degree of my nausea-ness. That was the extent of my sickness. Also, I would like to describe my condition at that time as a “biological outcome arising out of a psychological drive called ‘Love’”…Yes, a sacred ‘Love’..

Yet, I was damn sure about one thing: she was also enjoying my company. Second thing: She used to impatiently wait for me in the bus stop. Third thing: She is taking her time to open up. Fourth thing: She is of the reserved types.

Next day I met her at the bus stop again. We boarded the bus. I asked her “dont you do make-up, lipstick, eye wallah, lip liner?? She gave me a naughty smile and said “I am married, I need not woo someone now”(with a simple, short “ha ha ha”)

I felt irritated. I knew she didnt ridicule me and she was kidding, but that was like stabbing with a knife into my over-sized belly. Ofcourse, it was painful. Then she suddenly squeezed my hand, dragged me towards her (a gesture before blowing a secret into someone’s ears. Even T.Uma Shankari – my 9th class tuition-mate at Anjaneyalu sir’s tuition - used to tell me ‘jokes’ this way only ie pulling me closer and then whispering into my ears).

She moved her lips close to my ears. I thought she was gonna kiss me now and say “enough is enough re swami. I love you” But she didnt do either. She said "my hubby doesn't like me wearing make-ups, jeans and modern dresses, so I gave up on those superficial paraphernalia 3 years back. Last time I wore them was when he proposed me. After that, things happened pretty quickly and I have a kid now. I thank God everyday for such a wonderful life".

I was still alive.

I felt like slapping her. “Common, dhey thadi swami! dhey thadi!!” my inner sense encouraged me to slap her. But I controlled myself. Coz, I knew it was out of jealousy. More of helplessness. Or is it a common feeling out of love? I don’t know.

Ofcourse, I didn’t want to hear such good things from her. I can’t bear if she is happy with her husband. Coz, this reduces my chances. I wanted to tell her one thing upfront: “next time you are with me, I dont want you to talk about your damn hubby, damn married life and damn past”.You will talk only about how you admire me? How much you love me? How good I am?” Ofcourse, I didn’t have the courage to tell her all these.

“Does a man’s courage-quotient reduce once they fall in love?” My inner sense asked me the question. “Google it you moron” I responded angrily in return. Really, I was very angry.

I could only smile at her. Believe me, the rage in me, if let out, would have destroyed the entire bus, including the fat lady sitting to my right. Honestly, I was enjoying every moment with my sweetheart. So far the most memorable moments I lived in the company of a woman, whose name I still donno know. I have never asked her.

“Is this what we call love? Is this a common syndrome among lovers?”

Frankly, even she never asked my name. Yet, she talked to me a lot about her childhood, school life, married life and college life (she is reasonably qualified. M.Com discontinued. She also appeared for CAT last year and scored a decent 47 percentile) I don’t remember most of what she told, coz instead of listening to her, I was only staring at her eyes, nose, thick eyebrows, tender hands, smooth neck, silky hair, etc. I know for sure, she is comfortable in my company. Also, somewhere in the corner of my heart, I had hopes that given a chance she would hug me. She would not even hesitate to kiss me. I know she also loves me a lot. My inner sense also says so.

The Crush - Episode 8

CREEEK!!! (It was a sudden brake) I noticed I have over travelled. And she is not there besides me anymore. Dream? Hell! Swami doesn’t day dream. This is yet another un-swami’ly featue.
Quickly, I got up and asked the driver to stop by the side. I got down. I knew I was mentally deficient at that time. Deprived of presence of mind. Pathetically. I took a rick and reach my home. I just wanted to reach my home and sort out this matter through deep introspection.

I reached my room and there was no one in there. The friend who stays with me might have gone for his prayers to the nearby mosque. It gave me some solitude to sort out my present ethical predicament. The most awkward dilemma of my life. To my surprise, here she was in the room serving me. She was giving me a towel, keeping my shoe aside and putting my dress in the washtub. My darling was there with me in my room.

I knew it was my mind's eye. Pakka imagination. But I was helpless. My eyes were sob. Breath was abnormal (I could hear my own breath aloud, you know) And heart pounding rapidly as if it was about to explode like deebavali pataasu. I could taste something metallic in the back of my throat. I went to the wash-basin and quickly spit to confirm. Obviously, I expected some blood (as you see in indian movies). But no, I could only see some rotten phlegm in the basin now. I just turned off the tap. Switched off the lights, and covered myself from top to bottom using a thin perforated bedsheet and attempted to sleep. Just closed my eyes and was just trying to forget her. It never worked. Initially, thinking about her was an enjoyable experience, but it is now taking a toll on my heart, on each and every drop of my blood and on each and every cell of my body. I started fearing if I would make a fool of myself. Would I become mad? Will people laugh at me? I know for sure she can never be mine even if i want to. But I couldn't help it. I was lying awake for a very long time.

I knew nothing, except that I was awake for a very long time. She was there by my bed-side taking care of me. I felt ashamed at my thought process. I wanted to kill myself. It was a decisive dilemma. Here was a female who is not ready to leave me, but she is married. I cannot imagine myself wooing a married woman. I donno how long I stayed awake but definitely it was too late before I slept when my dreams were dominated by her.

Never in my life did I have such a dream of admiring a girl. Definitely it was a pure feeling. A feeling of pride. Secureness. Pure love. I just dreamt lying on her thighs (lap, I mean) and listening to her gossips like: her likeness for teddy bears, fondness of salman khan, complaints about her manager and colleagues and sundry. It was 7:30 in the morning, when I got up. I was running high temperature and my friends enquired about my well being. It was then that I realised, I left my shoes and dress scattered all over and and slept carelessly. They thought I was not well and hence didnt disturb. One of the friends even got a paracetmol for me. I knew this was not fever but something else. Something which has no cure. I thanked them, and started my daily walk to the bus-stop. I prayed to all my gods to help me forget her. Her thoughts were killing me, I knew I have much higher responsibilities: to myself, my college and my organisation.

That morning when I reached the bus stop, there she was waving at me. She started talking. I only watched her. Honestly, I dont remember a single word she uttered. The bus came and we really travelled together. Though we were not sitting beside each other, we could walk together and she bid me good bye at the same place before the same dull office building. My meeting with her that morning was as sweet as sarkarai pongal (sarkarai pongal tastes better if some elaichi is also included, I read somewhere)

The Crush - Episode 7

In the middle of the conversation, with a sorry face, she said "Swami you could have asked me to give you a company. I woudn’t have minded coz my office is also on the same way” Before I could think of a fake explanation, we were before her office building. She said “anyways, thanks for the company. Don’t think about ‘it’ too much dear. Take care and have a nice day dear”. I came to a standstill. I didn’t know what to say. I just said, "You too, bye." and she quickly disappeared into the cellar of a dull office building. She didn’t even care my ‘you too bye’ line (I still have a doubt if she heard my “you too bye” line. Was she arrogant? Who knows! This behaviour of hers reminds me of our classmate Sumalatha who thinks she is the most beautiful of all girls in the school. Infact, I would say, K. Balamani was the most beautiful girl of our school. K. Balamani also used to offer me her upma whenever Imtiyaaz used to eat away my lunch dabba).

But why am I suspecting my sweetheart’s attitude? No. Let me not think bad about her. She is an angel for me. Btw, what does she mean by ‘Don’t think about ‘it’ too much?” Does she know what is going on within me? I asked my inner-sense.

There was a pain, a pain I had never felt. This pain is common among unadulterated hearts (even my best friend Ranji told me that this pain is quite common among true lovers. Also, historical records say that Romeo, Devdas, Salim, etc all experienced this pain) I was missing her. I wanted to stop her. I wanted to ask her so many questions. I knew it wasn't coincidence. Here was a girl who had made deep inroads into my heart in a short time. Was it fascination? I am sure its not. Infatuation? Definitely not. Calf love? I am too old for it. Is my love out of lust ? My heart slapped me and my inner sense said “she is married Swami, chi chee” I felt blameworthy. A sense of guilt crept in.

I knew, I was going mad. I just hired an auto and wanted to reach my office before I make a fool of myself on the road. In the auto, only one thought killed me, “who is this girl? How is she able to read my mind? Is she really an angel? Or can people read my mind so easily? I had no clue. When i got down, the auto kaaran said “saab, interview ke liye jaare kya, tension mat lo saab, job mil jaayega.”. I gave a damn to his words. But to honour his empathy, I said, “mein idhar kaam kartha hoon. Chalo shukriya. Apna khayaal rakhna…” I paid his money and got down the auto.

Frankly, I donno what to call it (not regarding the autowala’s empathy but regarding my sweetheart)
Crush? Love? Infatuation? Cardinal desire to get her laid? Or is this stupidity?
Definitely not the last one. Ofcourse, not the second last too.

All I knew is my heart enjoyed this feeling, while my mind cursed me for dreaming about a married woman. I had a new development in my thoughts. A new being living within me. A new spirit motivating me. The Hossur girl. My chellam. My darling. My uyir. Part of my heart was against thinking about her, while the rest of it was shamelessly on a roll. This was a strange feeling to me. Yet, an un-swami’ly kind of feeling.

On the way back home, I was in her company. She was besides me in the bus, and the soap-like aroma is still alive. My darling was travelling with me in the bus back home. She was by my side. Talking to me many things which I couldn't hear. I knew she was talking about her childhood. I was wondering why the hell didn’t I meet her in childhood. I could have befriended her, played with her all those kiddy games and made love with her once we grew up.

The Crush - Episode 6

“Dude Swami, your love chapter ends here. This is the message from the heavens. You go east, she goes north, and never the twain shall meet” my inner-sense scoffed at me.

Before I could think further, “You are with Lehman Brothers, right?” a familiar voice asked me. I hoisted my head up, gradually, only to find the same woman before me. Yes, the same someone-else’s-woman. It hurts to recollect that she was once my married-in-heaven-wife, but now she is someone-else’s-woman. What a quirk of fate!

“What is she still doing here?” my inner sense asked me.
“Why should I answer you?” I asked my inner-sense in return.

Amidst these thoughts and introspection, I haven't even responded to her. After a second, I could feel a tender arm giving me a not-so-tender jerk. It was her. It was her and she was trying to draw my attention while I stand there, frozen. She wanted me to speak out. I finally spoke out. I said “sorry, can you say that again?” She said she wanted me to walk with her coz her office building is also on the way to my office. I obliged.

Although, my legs have already started following her instructions and walking with her in tandem, an unknown joy took birth in me. It seemed my heart felt a mysterious stimulus from nowhere and started jumping with joy. My spirit was running to and fro, screaming crazily within, pampering itself and hopping up and down just like my nephew Hari (presently at Hyderabad, studying in 2nd class)

I was walking with her naively. A great sense of fulfillment cracked upon me. I was enjoying every nanosecond during the walk. It was the walk of my lifetime. "Do you want to take a rickshaw?" she then asked me. “No I prefer walking. It is good for health to walk a little daily” I quipped with a sense of pride.

Her re-presence before me and her request to walk with her made me forget all those gloomy thoughts I experienced a few minutes ago. My situation has totally changed within minutes. I started feeling happy again. My condition has completely turned around. I forgot that she was married. She appeared to me as the same married-in-heaven-wife to me again. What’s this miracle? What’s this power in women called that revolutionizes a man’s condition? What’s that miracle called that transforms a man’s gloominess into delight? Are all women like this? Can all women spell the same kinda charm? I don’t think so. I really don’t know.

Our conversation went on. I was happy. We walked halfway.

In the middle of conversation, with a sorry face, she said " Swami you could have asked me to……

(To be continued…)

The Crush - Episode 5

The flow of her words was like a lullaby (the word ‘lullaby’ reminds me of the song “Laalee Laalee…” from K. Vishwanath’s Swathimuthyam, picturised on Raadhiga) I liked the sweetness in my beloved’s voice. I could also sense in her an overwhelming eagerness to talk to me. The soap-like aroma seems very durable. It kept casting its magical spell on me. I couldn’t concentrate. I didn’t fully comprehend what she said. I don’t remember what her name was. She continued talking to me. I continued listening to her. She now started her personal introduction. She is from Hossur. MARRIED. And has a 10-month old kid. She was working in Hiranandani too. She kept talking again. But I couldn’t continue listening to her again. My heart was ripped apart. My mind had a mind on its own. All my other organs were lifeless, my cells, my DNA. I was simply nodding at her with ‘umm’, ‘oh’, ‘yeah’ sounds acknowledging her sentences. She was normal, but I wasn’t normal anymore.

“Dude Swami, is this life or fun?” my inner sense asked me the influential question when the term ‘married’ passed through my mind. It was the question of the day. Infact the question of my life time. I didn’t have an answer though. I wasn’t even interested to know. I heard a female voice saying "bye". It was her. My honey. My sweetie. Didn’t even notice that our stop has come. Even I got down the bus. I was standing at the bus-stop, frozen, just like the ambedkar statue near Bajrang kirana & general stores closer to my home. She slowly walked away. She is leaving me now. Departing from me for ever.

I was dejected to the core. My dejection had no bounds.

Is this how love plays with innocent guys like me?
Why has this happenned to me?
Why me? Why only me? Common, tell me I say? I asked myself.

I expected my inner-sense to respond to these questions. But it didn’t. Don’t know why.
I was alone. Two miniature tear-drops from each of my eyes rolled down heartlessly and were hanging down the jawbone now. Was I crying? No. Never! Swami has never wept. Swami will never weep.

But now Swami is indeed weeping. Weeping with a vacant face. Weeping like a hungry orphan. Albeit, impassive. Only the two drops hanging down the jawbone will help someone know that Swami was weeping. “Swami, cool down. Please don’t feel bad. You are not only hurting me, but also hurting yourself” my inner-sense empathised with me from nowhere. I tried to gain control.

Life’s facts cannot be denied. Life’s truths cannot be ignored. Afterall, Life is not plaster of paris. You cannot mould it into shape of your own. Life just happens. Accept it. She is married. Yes, she is someone else’s wife. Thus far I had been dreaming of her as my life partner, but now it wounds my heart to imagine her as someone else’s woman. The pain is agonizing, as agonizing as piercing an infected pimple on your nose with a red hot needle. I felt ashamed to have imagined those eternal movements with her. Those morning walks down the street. Those pleasant evenings on juhu beach. And listening to those cute gossips from her while resting my head on her thighs (I mean lap). It hurts to know she is taking the other way and she is not even interested in knowing my name. Is this how all girls are? Am I right in generalizing girls this way? May be true. I don’t know.

The Crush - Episode 4

“Where are you studying?” she interrupted my thoughts. I was pleasantly surprised. I was even blushing. Though my blushing was a bonus reaction to her question, it was still apt for the situation. It was more appropriate to her question. Zillion thanks to my sweetheart. My love for her multiplied now. I recollect those heartbreaking days in class 10 when no one believed me when I said I was a student; not even my neighbourhood girl Ambigeshwari when she spoke to me for the first time. I still hate Ambigeshwari. Even though I was a genuine student, I had to prove my student status to them either through an acknowledgement from people who know me, or by showing them my school Id card. This was the only major problem I faced while schooling. Let me be honest here; I was the first from my group to be addressed as ‘uncle’ by neighbourhood kids early in class 10. May be I looked too grown up. Or else, everything else was just fine. I even used to top the class in unit tests and quarterly examinations.

My happiness was beyond measure when she asked me the question. This clearly proves that only true love sees things objectively. I am sure she is my love. That’s why she intuitively knew I was a student.

I controlled myself. I controlled my excitement. Then I explained her everything – I am an MBA student from Asian school of business, TVM. Doing my internship with Lehman Brothers. More importantly, I also told her how happy I felt when she recognised me as a student and how bad I used to feel when tinku, kalaiselvi, ponnamma and other stupid kids from my neighbourhood addressed me as ‘uncle’. I shared the entire ‘uncle’ episode with her intentionally. I expected she would smile. But she laughed. She was laughing while looking straight into my eyes. When girls laugh looking straight into your eyes, you know they are in love.

She was still smiling elegantly. When she smiles, her teeth are pleasing to the eye. She deserves to be a model for an ad of dental aesthetics. Not only her teeth, every feature of her are beyond description. This may sound exaggerated to normal people, but definitely makes sense to people who are in love. Makes sense to people who understand what love is.

While smiling, she was looking at me with the same sharp looks (which I mentioned in episode-1) I also looked at her, not so sharply but with a second-rate mediocre look through my spectacles. After a fraction of a second, I could feel her shoulders taking a 90-degree turn. I realised she was looking at me. I could see her curved lips. She was still smiling. Then she introduced herself to me. She told me about herself. About everything. Her way of introducing herself was perfect. Very womanly. Graceful. Not a single flaw. I am sure she can anytime crack the universal interview question “Please introduce yourself?” impressively, whichever company she attends. And I am really confident upon her capability.

I was happy. My inner sense was happy too.

The Crush - Episode 3

(Read Episode 1 here )
(Read Episode 2 here )

Episode - 3

Standing behind, I was staring at her silky-smooth hair which was queued up impeccably. I was also staring at her immaculate soft neck occasionally. I could also see a cute black mole on the right side of her neck, of approximately 1.2mm in diameter. (It may sound silly to you guys, but believe me, you would develop remarkable observation skills within no time once you fall in love. An unknown poet takes birth from no where) After a few seconds, she tenderly turned towards me. I could clearly see those soft romantic folds around her soft neck while she turned around. She then looked straight into my eyes giving out an impressive smile and gestured me to sit by her side. A babyish thunder flickered in my heart. A slight 0.00231-watt electricity-stroke went up my spine. My mind became numb. My heart almost stopped pumping. I didn’t know what to do.

Ofcourse, I was not confused. I knew what was going on. She stooped a little, and with a polite voice while gesturing with her tender hand, she asked me to sit beside her. I could distinctly hear the chime-like sounds made by her glass bangles. It was music to my ears. Better than Rahman’s melodies. Superior to Illayaraja’s tunes. Finer than Karthik’s humming. I couldn’t believe what’s going on. At that moment, I could partially sense the Heaven. It gave me the same degree of happiness which a pre-placement offer would give a below-average b-school student. I said "Amen, so be it". Ofcourse, not aloud, but to myself. I just wanted a place in her heart, and I already got a seat beside her. My excitement had no bounds. My hesitant nervousness had no definition. I didn’t know how to react. Like a gentleman, I nervously sat by her side. Then, with a sheepish smile I uttered "tttthankss,". She reciprocated with an elegant smile. Then she turned towards the window again. I could smell the soap-like aroma from her body. It was definitely not a perfume, nor a deodorant. What else could it be? I didn’t know. But, the fragrance had almost mesmerized me. I was sort of hypnotized by the scent.

While I sat there beside her, with a half-feet gap between us, my inner sense started speaking to me “Dude Swami, please control yourself. Have patience and stop drooling over the girl beside you. Jollu ozhugudu da, vekkam illiya?” My inner sense is also multi-lingual like me. It can speak english, tamil, hindi and malayalam too. And like me, it also hates marathi.

She suddenly looked at me and gave an intelligent and aesthetical smile as if she was listening to whatever my inner sense was saying to me. Ofcourse, this is impossible, but I wasn’t so sure. I was indeed desperate to talk to her. But my perforated ego didn’t allow me to speak a word. She has already filled my mind, heart, blood, veins, kidneys, liver and all organs with a sense of affection towards her. I would say it’s affection to the brim. (though people have the tendency to link only heart and mind to ‘love’, I feel a person in reality attaches the whole of himself to his love. He bestows himself to her in entirety. Not only mind or heart, but all his organs make him feel every moment of her. Research says every cell, tissue and DNA of a man craves for her once he falls in love. The same thing happened with me too) At that moment, she was my world. She was my heartbeat. I never felt so proud sitting beside any girl. Not even the 35-year old girl who sat beside me while I was travelling to Chennai last year (Will blog on that later.

I sometimes feel it’s my crucial age that is prompting such thoughts in me. Am I too grown up? Or Am I too nubile? Is it high time for me to browse matrimonial portals? I don’t know. Even my inner-sense didn’t respond to these questions. I am now mystified. Never did I have a crush so fast; never were my thoughts about love so rapid. I regret to say I have ridiculed my best friends who tried to explain me about love and love’s power. (Sorry Ranji, apologize me. I now get what you said). I scoffed at bollywood movies ruthlessly and their concept of 'love at first sight'. I treated this aspect only as a mere debating topic for passing time or to prove my linguistic abilities. But now, realisation dawned upon me. A profound realisation. Love is undefined. Love is not scientific. It’s not even controllable. It is manufactured within you in no time and loiters around in your heart like an orphan. Love is not a mere chemical reaction in your body. It is a mystery. Or else, what would I suffer so much on my way to office and things are happening the way, it never was earlier?

Even my inner sense was silent.

(to be continued..)

The Crush - Episode 2

(Read Episode 1 here )

Recap (Episode-1): There were too many romeo's on the steps to give her way and seek her interest and attention, just like me. Resolving not to lose the opportunity of becoming close to her, I followed her and comfortably reached the middle of the bus. I was standing behind her and I was observing every moment of her….she was so gracious...

Episode - 2

She was lovely and gorgeous. I just felt she was my girl. My darling. I felt she was my wife whom I married in Heaven, because my friends say Marriages are made in Heaven. Yes, the one I have been waiting for not since weeks or months, but for years together (to be honest, from the moment I have been yearning for a girl friend, probably in 6th class - after the quarterly exam progress reports were distributed by my teacher and I stood 1st in class - when a girl said she wants to be my friend. Will blog on this later. promise) This realisation triggered all those filmi romantic songs in my mind. Hindi. Telugu. Tamil. Malayalam too. (I don’t like Marathi). All songs racing equally to find an outlet through my dehydrated lips. But thanks to my self-control. I held my lips tight. Not that I was afraid, but just to prevent myself from humming a beautiful song through my screwed-up voice. For this very reason, I sometimes feel jealous of Kishore Kumar and Himesh Reshammiya, now-a-days Karthik too (tamil singer)

Our good old conductor approached us. My sweetheart gave him a card (I presume it’s her bus pass, which will be confirmed in the upcoming episodes about ‘our love life’). I bought my ticket to avoid hazzles and being ridiculed before my darling. Generally, I carry exact change. So, no chances for embarassments of conductor giving me dirty looks. Then a seat reserved for ladies (Mahila Saati – means 'reserved for ladies' written in Marathi on the posterior side of the seat) got vacant. I was cursing all my Gods (including Mr. Murugan) coz she would be taking the seat, leaving me behind still standing. While all this happenned, one thing that was surely making me more confident and optimistic was my ‘Intuition’. Yes, my inner sense. My inner sense was telling me “Dude Swami, she is conscious of all that’s going on in your mind”. My gladness had no bounds. She was indeed cognizant of my thoughts. I can bet on this any day. I am not sure how good I am at hiding these kinds of feelings, but this time I was caught. My feelings were sensed quite intelligently by my prospective lady. Yet, I was happy from all perspectives, not at all embarassed.

Two ladies in the Mahila-saati seat vacated. Now, my dream girl, my married-in-heaven-wife seated herself (for the sake of avoiding mundane repetition, I am not using the word ‘graciously’ here again, though her style of taking the seat was indeed gracious). Infact, everything she did was gracious. The way she uttered ‘sorry’. The way she was giving her card (I guess again: bus pass) to the conductor. The way she adjusted her dupatta before seating herself on the mahila-saati seat. I would not mind giving her the title ‘Grace Personified’. Also, I would like to call her Miss Gracy hereafter..

Then to my surprise.....(to be continued...)

Playing Marbles - An Insight

As you already know, Marbles are glass-like balls ranging from ¼ to 3 inches in diameter (if it exceeds this range, we cannot call it a marble. We shall call it a paper-weight)

Of all, I enjoyed playing marbles the most. I seriously feel the concept of ‘marbles’ has become almost absolete after the inception of gaming consoles, video games and simulation contraptions. Through my experience and expertise in this domain, I would like to try my bit to enlighten the readers on the topic Playing Marbles – An Insight

For me, on any given day, nothing is as evocative and nostalgic as ‘marbles’; not even Mallika’s thighs. The very sight of marbles reminds me of myself wearing a tight sleeveless banian, a double-pocket’ed chaddi and blue lakhani chappals and walking down the playing field (usually the backside of quarters) with a sense of determination to fill my pockets with marbles on return. For the female, a ‘marble’ is just an item of aesthetical appeal. But for the guys, it is definitely more than that. I am sure, 99.998976% of guys have played atleast one dye in their whole life (as per marbles terminology, one gaming session of marbles is called a dye)

A few vernacular versions of the term ‘Marble’:- Goli Gundu (in tamil), Goli (in malayalam), Goti (in telugu), Goti (in hindi), Goti (in urdu).

Generally speaking, the basic objective behind playing marbles is to win others’ marbles. After returning home for the day, the winners put the marbles in a dabba and the losers wash their hands. The dabbas usually used are vanaspathi dalda dabba, farex dabba, palmolive oil dabba, etc. My favourite dabba was vanaspathi dalda dabba.

Days went by, and I became badly addicted to playing marbles. After a few months, when my efficiency in the game improved, I migrated my marble storage to a big biscuit dabba (ampro glucose biscuit) to archive my marbles everyday. I could fill it up in one year because I turned out to be a Kantipeter (refer to terminology below). As it happens with any human being, when success dawned upon me, I started thinking of marbles on commercial lines - I started selling marbles to my fellow players (usually non-kantipeters). I play with them, win their marbles and sell them again. If players buy from me, a mere 10-paise could fetch them 6 new-shiny marbles or 8 old and fully-used-up marbles. While the shop-keeper nearby sold 4 new marbles per 10-paisa. Since there existed an obvious cost arbitrage for the players, I was the most preferred vendor for them. This way, I amassed adequate change for my 2/- ticket for the movie in the theatre nearby. Even my kappalandi (peanuts) for my film interval was sponsored by my marble-selling business.

As you know, every business has its flipside. So did my marble business. Sometimes, it could also be in the form of an external threat. In my case, the threat was my achan (my dad). My entire storage used to be in the backyard without my dad’s knowledge. On a not-so-fine evening, he caught me red-handed when I was unloading my day’s winning into the dabba. My furious dad rolled up his designer lungie, approached me sliently, asked me to handover the dabba to him and gestured me to quit the place. I handed over the dabba to him and quit the place. After a few minutes, I came back to the backyard to know about the whereabouts of my dabba. I could find the dabba there but not the marbles therein. I looked around with tears in my eyes. I didn’t know what has he done to them. After a few days, I launched an enquiry with my mom. I felt bad to know that dad has dumped my marbles into the sewage system.

There ended my marble business and my nexus with the whole world of marbles.

Playing Marbles - An Insight (continued...)

Marble Terminology: Few frequently used terms and common games in marbles.

Dampur – It is the ‘cue ball’ equivalent in the game of marbles. While you use the white cue ball to hit another ball in snooker, you would be using a dampur to strike another marble in any marble game. A dampur can be choosen from any of the marbles you have, or sometimes you can borrow from the opponent too. Generally I prefer unique marbles as my dampurs; viz., full blue marble, full brown marble, fully transparent marble, etc.

Bacha – A bacha is equivalent to ‘foul’ in marbles. If you are asked to strike, say marble-1, and you end up striking any other, say marble-2, then it is called a bacha. Once you do a bacha, all your marbles at stake in the game session would change ownership.

Shaadi – Shaadi is my favourite game in marbles. In this game, your opponent points to strike a marble, say marble-3. In order to win the session, you should strike any marble except the marble pointed by your opponent, ie marble-3. Perhaps, the game is called shaadi because, after marriage, you say something, and your wife does something else.

Saam & Peech – Any marble with the greatest proximity before you is called saam and the one with the least proximity is called a peech. So when your opponent says ‘saam’ it imples you should strike the most nearest marble in the game. These terms are derived from hindi – saam from ‘samney’ and peech from ‘peechey’

Chool – Chool is a kind of game wherein you should strike the marble exactly as pointed out by your opponent. If you strike any other marble, you are deemed to have done a bacha.

Kantipeter - as per marbles jargon, a champion in marbles is called a kantipeter

Fick – Fick is the term used to describe a marbles player who lost all his marbles. For example, when I ask you “Fick ho gaya kya’? I mean to ask “have you lost all your marbles hehehee”?

.

My next favourite game is Gilli Danda...(coming soon..:)

The Crush - Episode 1

We write here with no great purpose, but more often than not it’s truth, small experiences in life, which we wanna keep treasured for ourselves and at the same time share with others too. It’s a pleasant feeling that you speak about yourself incessantly and someone listens to curiously. I have a nice, sweet story to share with you guys. Keep yourselves going now…

How it all began....

This is during my internship with Lehman Brothers. It was a fine morning. I was at the bus stop, as usual late, but hoping the bus will soon show up. My mind was eventful, doing some unproductive planning for the day ahead – I had a couple (in fact more than a couple) of reports to be sent, a conference call with a company, and a need to seek few desperate clarifications from my intern guide. While I was occupied with these sequential calculations, my eyes couldn’t wait more to catch the glimpse of The 'BEST' (don’t get me wrong, you naughty guys and gals! It is the name of the Maharashtra state transport bus). Though ain’t blessed with a telescopic vision, I can manage and pretend very well with my archeological property – my spectacles.

While my mind was engrossed in these thoughts, the bus steadily progressed like a bride leaving her home reluctantly, slowly but steady. Just like a bride who gets adjusted with her new ammai-amma’s veedu (mother-in-law’s house), the bus kaaran carefully cockroach’ed his way through the traffic and fought his way into the bus stand. I know my prayers were answered for, the bus was late. With a sense of pride, I started making my way into the bus; the bus was too full to creep into. I preferred to use my hand to suspend myself on the last step, and my head hanging out nervously.

I generally become too nostalgic about this hanging business altogether. Still fresh in my memory is my first attempt to get down from a moving bus, when I rolled out of the bus like a football. When I opened my eyes, I could see myself lying on the road just before a pan-chewing-fat-smelly-angry man sitting on a bajaj chetak and throwing urdu taboo’s at me. I had 3mm of skin at both my knees neatly sliced off, elbows had bloody deep scratches, and few other parts sufferred minor cramps. No clue what went wrong. However, my friends who are experts (in falling down from the bus) told me I was supposed to be in motion after jumping down, which obviously I didn’t do (or did I forget?). One of my most ‘memorable’ days to treasure! Much later I recollected my physics class and the theory which explains the keep-in-motion-while-getting-down-a-bus-and-avoid-falling-down-shamelessly concept. Though some say it comes out of experience, I know how much strain and courage it takes before I decide to get down a moving bus (and obviously, fall down)

Like a flicker, my thoughts were disturbed by a woman, who was putting her hand around my back. I wanted to give her a look, which shall convey her “Don’t play these stupid games with me, huh? I know a lot about you girls and your intentions”. I gasped, but to my surprise I saw a beautiful woman - in simple terms my kinda girl she was… long hair, neatly groomed, romantic complexion, natural looks, no lipstick, little turmeric applied to her wheatish skin, a gold plated titan watch in one hand and a gotta (female equivalent of male kada) on the other. I guess she’s in her late twenties. At the first glance I had a very familiar feeling, as if I had known her for decades. I still don’t remember how long I was staring at her (yet I feel embarrassed thinking what the co-passengers would have thought about me). For a moment, I forgot everything, I was just immersed in thoughts of where I had seen her before. She slowly removed her hand saying "sorry" with a smile perfectly complemented with an innocent disposition. That touch wasn't accidental, I learnt it too late. Immediately, the romeo in me, with a reflex, put my hand behind her making way for her to get in and heroically yelling at other passengers "ladies steps mein hain bhai, aage bado, andar jaao bhai" giving a nasty push to the college guy standing befor me. I turned towards her and giving her a smile I said “Madam, ab aap andhar jaayiye..”

There were too many romeo's on the steps to give her way and seek her interest and attention, just like me. Resolving not to lose the opportunity of becoming close to her, I followed her and comfortably reached the middle of the bus. I was standing behind her and I was observing every moment of her….she was so gracious...

(To be continued……Keep visiting this space )

Friendship Day

I can't bury that day
Of you and me in deep fray
I can't forget that day
Of you and me in festivity sway
I can't cut out that day
Of you tending me in pain allay
I can't entomb that day
Of you showing me the way
Ha ha! What's this newborn 'friendship' day?
When all my days are numb without you anyway!

Bombay To Goa - Laughter-challenged!

(For those cinematically-challenged readers, here's some info before you proceed reading this: 'Bombay-to-Goa' is a bollywood movie which was released on 6th July)

I am an ardent fan of ‘The Great Indian Laughter Challenge (TGILC)’. I am sure most of you are, inlcuding your pet doggy at home which giggles at the sounds of dogs, dinasaurs, salman khan and other animals simulated by the mimicry artists. First things first - the heights of the artists’ creativity, the depth in their observations and their comic abilities deserve a respectful, honest and aesthetical salute from all of us (only so far as matters regarding the show are concerned. Wait, I am yet to dig into the move review part). Laughter Challenge created a revolution and inspired other channels for an emulation (rhyme unintended). Yet, someone among us believes - no, let me face it - I believe that, “Sometimes we get carried away by history so pathetically, that we end up screwing things thoroughly”

"Bombay to Goa" is an absolute paradigm of this belief of mine. What I could lap up from the movie is only a consolation that my belief turned true. Let me be modest - the movie was a lacklustre experience; as lusterless as a doctor’s postoperative blow-by-blow narrative of Saif ali khan’s appendix operation.

Lead actors: Raju Srivasthav, Ahsan Qureshi, Sunil Pal and Vijay Raaz are the lead actors.

Director: Google it.

Editor: All those who watched the movie are desperately searching for him. He couldn’t even be found on Google.

Story (due to lack of an appropriate word) Sunil wins Rs 2 lakh and aspires to set up his own business. Vijay counsels him and talks him into buying a deplorable bus to commute between Bombay to Goa and charge people for the same to make a living. That’s how the movie begins. The bus-like vehicle takes on board a variety of people who try to make you laugh, including but not limited to, the cloned indian-cricket-team (Dhoni was funny as usual)

Below is an attempt to address a few common questions from the curious and irrepressible cine-goers who are planning to watch the movie this weekend.

Do you get what you pay for?

Absolutely speaking, there are very few and countable hilarious bits therein, but then, economically speaking, if you do a cost-benefit-analysis (whatever it means) of what you pay for the movie and what you get, you would be utterly disappointed. Relatively speaking, you would be coerced to accept that Chidambaram’s immaculate white lungie has more economic value than this movie.

Any nexus with The Great Laughter challenge?

Yes there is. The conspiracy behind making this movie was to lure all the TGILC fans into the hall and make some quick bucks by playing upon their hilarious sentiments . But then, just imagine how it would be when an hemorrhoid patient tries to emulate Shakira’s waist swirl.

Any personal suggestions?

Personally, I feel, what’s more worthier is watching and giggling at the African wild elephants copulate on the african prairies. In this context, I would like to take this opportunity to sincerely acknowledge Discovery channel and Animal Planet for their commendable job.

What is that a typical cine-goer carries home with him after watching ‘Bombay to Goa’?

What’s actually carried home varies from cine-goer to cine-goer. But one common thing all these cine-goers lose is ’patience’. For some, the movie may seem as childish as a child. For the rest, it may seem as pointless as an exotic underwear"

p.s. Before winding up, my apologies for the exaggerated review. The review is just a ’frustration venting’ on behalf of still-searching-for-the-editor fraternity and sorority for having not found the editor yet. A request - do comment if you find him or if you know about his whereabouts.