SURPRISE!!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMMAA!!!!!!!

Disclaimer: This Blog post is specifically meant for my my dear, sweet Amma! If anyone else happens to see this, please scroll down for my latest story and other blog updates.
Thank your
Enjoy!!

Hey Amma!!!
Happy Happy Birthday!!! So, it seems you have found your surprise gift. I assume you have searched a lot, and worked hard for this present. Well, if not, I don't mind, for all the wonderful, beautiful and spectacular things you have done for me, isn't this the least I can do!?

As a writer I have a policy, never write about my parents. Whenever I express gratitude, I don't mention my parents. Because I know that even the epitome to literature cannot express a fraction of the love I have for you. And you know very well that not a thousand poets from across the seven continents, not even the pinnacle of literary prowess can tell the world how much you have cared for me and how much you love me!

But today, I make an exception. On this birthday of yours, let me make an attempt to pen down my gratitude for you. No! Gratitude is the wrong word. Such an understatement. What is the word? Devotion? Nah, too melodramatic. Affection? Nah, too childish. You see, I am already fumbling for words! This is a tough job, you have to give me credit for that. Anyway, what is the right word? Ahhh... Love! Good enough...

Thank you Amma, for tirelessly giving me company as I said all the question and answers in Hindi. Remember correcting my poems and essays, the one's I used to write before every exam as practice. Let me ask you Amma, how much patience did it take to go through all that again and again. Correcting it, and making me write again. And more importantly, after every attempt, you used to tell me what all were the mistakes. You used to teach me how I could avoid them. You used to write with that red pen of yours, all the mistakes and make me study harder. Every mark I have earned, in my school life and in CA, it is all for you Ma!

Teaching me school work was just the tip of the ice-berg. You taught me how to be a nice boy. You taught me how to behave, you to be polite, how to be nice and how to treat everyone. Even today, when I go shopping and buy my stuff, I remember to smile at the shop-keeper. You taught me that Amma. You taught me not to hurt people. You have taught me, how wrong it is to hurt somebody, and you taught me to be careful not to offend anybody, ever. I will be careful Amma.

You taught me to make friends. I always remember you telling me, "Have a lot of Girlfriends. And a lot of boyfriends too. Everybody should be your friend!" If I have friends, it is because of your lessons. And let me tell you, I have some amazing friends.

But my best friend of course, is you only. My ultimate secret keeper. Is there anything I cannot tell you? You are just so amazing. Even on my exam eve, you pull me out of the study room to show me if there is a nice movie on TV. You let me know, even if I forget, that the cricket match is going on. You proposed to keep the TV, and the computer, and the video and what not, in my room itself! You insisted that I buy a new mobile phone. You bought me an MP3 player even when I said I didn't want one. You ordered Pizza to surprise me!

Oh my God! Amma, I can go on and on and on and on, till the end of the Universe. And I will. I will surely! Before I loose control of myself, and set off into a mega-drama-spree, let me sign off. With lots of Love! Really missing you!

Take care Amma

Love

Chennai at night...

Here's another story. Enjoy - Chennai at Night:

Ever wondered why the tree rustled in the dark. Ever wondered what that voice was. That inaudible one, but you could swear you heard it. That eeriness and spookiness that darkness gives you. Well, it's all thanks to me. Who am I? Why, I am you humble neighborhood ghost!

Don't worry. I am not in the neighborhood anymore. As a matter of fact I am just leaving my hometown; after 17 years of life and 8 months of death. Figured no village deserved more haunting than that. Not that I freaked the hell out of anyone or anything. I was a harmless fellow. But I did have my share of fun. In life I was a good boy. A diligent student, who never went after any mischief. Well, now you are dead. Whom are you going to impress? 

But not everybody has the same idea of fun. That is totally unfair. I mean when the naughty child breaks the pots in your kitchen, it is cute. When I do it? What kind of havoc you make!? And the worse part is people know it's me. They scream, "Oh! It is Akhil's ghost! We have to get rid of him! JEEM BOOM BAM!" They all knew I was a nice kid at school, then why the hell are they afraid of me? Anyways, that got totally boring in the end and I decided to flee. Find some place new to haunt. Hopefully someplace with a sense of humour. 

Didn't I tell you about the rustling in the dark. I don't know what you feel about it, but I really enjoy it! And Heaven, how many trees do you have in Kerala! Amazing! Beautiful! I have always known its beauty during day time, the lush greenery, those splendid lakes, magnificent paddy fields, grasslands speckled with cows having the fiesta and the milkman his siesta. And now I cherish its beauty at night. Swimming through the ice cold lake, brushing through the mid-night trees, listening to the songs of the nocturnal, and scaring the crap out of every Homo sapien on the way; that is Life. No! That is death.

How I died you ask? Car accident! You see, how much God has given Kerala, that much humans have managed to take away from it! Cut down trees, build roads and do whatever you want on it. Throw you garbage on it, spit on it, piss on it, and when it comes to driving, kill on it. I was one of the victims. Never went to find out who the killer was,what good would that yield? His conscience will serve his punishment. He or she might not even know what happened. You know how they mix drink with drive. Wish those nocturnal's ruled the cities instead of humans. Well, if you consider mosquitoes nocturnal, I guess they do.

Did you know, that blind people can hear better and deaf people can see better. When God takes something away, he gives you something in return. God took my life away; well, God or that stupid fellow needs to take driving lessons, but he did give me a bunch of awesome super powers in return. And he means God, just to clarify. Why so, feminists may ask. Just to annoy you actually! I don't know God's gender. You expect the dead to know all this stuff. Well, I have been too busy haunting people to find out. Hey, don't blame me! I died at the age of 17, 12th board exams just got over, I still have a LOT of fun to have!

I was talking about the super-powers God gives the dead right? Well, one of them is super-speed. Other's include invisibility, mind reading power and many more. Death kinda rocks actually. I laugh my head off when I see people crying for the dead. Only they know who much fun they are having.

And using that super-speed, in a matter of minutes, I reached Chennai. Random choice! Was a huge Rajni fan! And let me tell you, it was kind of like how Rancho and Farhan went to Raju's house in 3 idiots. All of a sudden, everything changes to black and white. Well, in the particular case, the transition is from lovely and beautiful, to horrifying and ugly. Been through the streets of Chennai at night? When all the pollution of the day settles down, and the ghosts wake up! Even I felt haunted.

"New to the city huh?" A fellow ghost asked me. I spoke too soon I guess. I don't know how he looked for ghosts don't have looks. Yes, ghosts don't have fangs, they don't drink blood, and they don't wear old shabby clothes. Although this new friend of mine seemed to satisfy all the conditions. He did creep me out.

"Yes, sir" I blurted. I was afraid he wouldn't understand English or Malayalam. But he didn't have to. Ghosts can read minds, remember.

"Sir? Well, respect always sounds nice. Anyway, what I need right now is some sleep. So GET LOST!" He sounded rough. And I got angry! But I wasn't stupid enough to shout at some strange person. And moreover, I too was pretty tired. Maybe he could find me a place to sleep. And yes, ghosts do sleep.

"Oh, okay! Well, I am new to the city and don't know the place. Could I come over to your house?"

"Oh sure. You are always welcome to my 'house'. Would you like to use the bath-tub, or maybe have a shower before you sleep? I even have a jacuzzi, would you try that out." Epitome of sarcasm. I could smell the bitterness in the old man's voice. "Dude, since as long as I could remember, I have been sleeping over here. On this road! The new prince of the city may find it hard to believe but this is how things are." And no he didn't say 'dude'. I just made it up. For effect you see. 

But even I couldn't sustain the humour. I could almost see the old man's red eyes, and tired body. His rib-cage showing, clothes shabby and torn, hair undone. I could his stench from his voice. His words stabbed my heart, as if stopping it for the second time. "You might find this ghost business difficult. You might find it hard to stay in your home-town and might have to run away. You might keep running away for the rest of eternity, not finding salvation anywhere! But I don't feel anything strange about this. I have always been dead. There was never any purpose. And there was nothing I could do! I have always been worthless. And now, so are you."

"You are wrong!" I shouted. Was it the conviction in me, or the fear that he might actually be telling the truth?  But I couldn't bear his words. 

"Get lost you quirt! Leave me alone..." He didn't have to complete his words before I dashed from the place. Vanished from his vicinity. But however fast I moved, I couldn't ignore what lay around me. Everywhere people lay on the pavement, curled up under a tattered blanket. Men and women.

There was water on the road. Gutters were open, pavements were dirty, the floor was dusty. The stink of latrine was there in every corner. And as saw each blanket, my mind raced back to voice I spoke to. Reluctantly I reached into his mind and saw glimpses of his life. How he lived in the streets all his life, the odd jobs he did, and the contempt with which everyone treated him, no matter what he did. Be it work, be it stealing or be it begging -  he was scum. And he was convinced of that. 

These thoughts troubled me. Ugh... they didn't trouble me. They tortured me. Raped me again and again. To imagine being worthless. Being unable to do anything. Was that where I was going? Pulling silly pranks and scaring village folk, was that all I could do now? Years of imagination and ambition. How I had excelled in school. What all I wanted to achieve. All of it was reduced to this? Worthless! Useless!

The wind went through me. I had stopped moving. Everything stopped moving. And I started to walk back. What was it you call it? Introspection. All of us, youngsters, chanted all the time - Nothing is Impossible! We admired challenges. We looked forward to obstacles that life threw at us, waiting to opportunities to do the unthinkable. We had always known, that we were the west wind. Nothing could outrun us! 

I flashed towards to electric train that ran across the city. It was mostly empty at that time of the night. But who I was looking for was in the train. A blind boy singing praises of the almighty God. And his mother, holding him by his elbow, bent over herself, guiding her son through the train and collecting the blessing that the benevolent passengers poured upon her. She was the wife of the voice I had met. And he, his son.

The blind boy was my same age. He walked in his father's footsteps. Worthless scum! "How are you?" I whispered in the boy's ear. "Who is that?" The boy asked back in his mind. Blind people could hear very well. 

"I am..." I stuttered a bit, but the right words rolled out, "I am your conscience"

"What is that?" The boy asked innocently.

"I guide you", I whispered into the boy's ear. And I swear on everything good and true in the world, he smiled when he heard that. "Your mom seems to be doing a decent job already. And I cannot do what she does. But I can help you out"

"My mother is tired and weak. She won't be with me for long. I want her to take rest. And fed well"

"I will guide you" I could not let him be worthless.

"I will help you" I could not let him be scum.

"You will be happy. I promise!" I entered the boy's mind and occupied a tiny corner of his brain. I became his conscience.

I had to make a few sacrifices. Just like the boy, even I lost sight. I lost all the memory of worldly knowledge, like how to use a computer, how to speak English and all that. But only as his conscience could I speak to his heart. And I spoke to his heart. Filled it with imagination and ambition. I filled his mind with colours. And he saw many colours, much more than a normal person could see. For he wasn't limited by his eyes. I inspired him. Taught him that there is more to the world. That great things could be done. I convinced him, that he could rule the world if he wanted. I forced him, to use every last drop of his potential. Everyday, every second, I encouraged him. Every time the world said he was scum, I asked him to prove them wrong. I supported his adventures. I cared for him when he suffered. I protected him, when they tried to corrupt him.

What happened from there on is an entirely different story? That is his story. The story of the blind boy, who reached greatness. I can only tell you two things; 

I did the impossible. And we both lived...

Happily Ever After

Love

A Story of Fear... of Friendship

Somethings should not be postponed. Somethings cannot be postponed. Even as my eyelids struggle to stay open, my fingers run through the laptop. Here's my story.... Enjoy!

What's worse than death? A dementor's kiss, some might say. Even Ratna thought of that answer. But such fantasies could not occupy her mind. Nothing could. Her heart was numb, her fingers trembled, tears rolled out of her eyes. She looked out of the bus and saw trees running away. A cold wind blew against her face. It hurt her eyes. Normally she would have ignored that and would even have drawn her face closer to the half open window to feel the speed in her face, letting the wind run through her lush long hair, fantasizing about everything beautiful in the world. But all she could do was stare at the trees running away. Couldn't they run faster? Can't we move faster? No, she didn't ask all that. She was too numb to think. The sky was morphing, from blue to black, showing off every colour it could adorn. Violet, red, yellow, pink. Ratna stared at the trees running away.

She had to be there in time. There was so much to say.

Fear. So much fear that every tick of the clock kills you. No, it does things to worse that that. Fear. That is what is worse than death. Fear. That was what flooded Ratna's mind. For 17 hours. Or was it 17 years? She couldn't say.

Maria's face; she pictured it in her mind. Every tiny detail of her face. Ratna formed a portrait of her beautiful face. Again and again. She held her hand tight and talked to her. Laughed with her. Again and again.

Preparations for the bus trip from Chennai to Thiruvananthapuram would start exactly 45 days in advance. The first stage, deciding to travel home. For a CA article that is a hard thing to do, for you never know what will happen tomorrow. You could be send of to some corner for the world for a whole month. No excuses. And why would you want excuses. These are things you look forward to. But Ratna had an uncanny way of seeing what lay ahead, and her plans never faltered. She would know, 45 days in advance, how long a vacation she would be having in her home town. But alas, that wasn't long enough to get you train seats. No worries, because first class air-conditioned buses are always at your disposal. Bookings open one month in advance. Ratna would undoubtedly be the first one to book a seat.

Maria's face was covered in blood. Blood had splashed all over her body. Her hips had been crushed. Her spine was broken. The thought choked Ratna.

For a person who traveled with nothing less than first-class luxury, that particular trip was unimaginable. But she didn't have to imagine traveling, like she would usually. Even as she boarded the bus, with the last ticket available, in the last bus available, and occupied the last seat in the back of the dingy bus with two men on either side, she had no clue what was going on. Her friend was breathing her last. Ratna was barely breathing.

Ratna picked up her mobile and went through her call register. Maria's name was not there in it. She searched her message inbox, hoping to find atleast one SMS. There was none. Everything had been deleted. Erased from the world.

Maria and Ratna have been friends for exactly 24 months. No, 26 months actually. Before things started breaking down. But what a relationship it was. Truly magical. And why was it so? Just two ordinary girls. Studying in an ordinary school. There was nothing that stood apart. Nothing special. Then why was everything so magical and blissful when those two were together? Probably because their relation was special. They were friends.

"He asked me out!" Maria screamed over the phone. "I am so happy for you", Ratna said shyly. Chennai life was starting to suffocate her. She needed to breathe the air of Trivandrum. She wanted the comfort of her own bedroom. 

Anyone can write an essay on friendship. You can write poems about it. About the love. About the care and affection. But friendship isn't about just that. Those minute nuances make this relationship something out of the world. Theirs was special. They talked on phone for hours at one stretch. Swore at each other when they realised, at the end of the conversation, who actually made the call. And after the mobile balance was completely drained, then only would they realise that the phone call was made not to discuss movies or boys, but to clarify some doubt regarding homework. There was little they didn't talk about. Leaning on one pillar in the balcony of the school, they would go on talking from one bell to another, stealing looks at every passing human being. What did they discuss about? Nobody knew. Not even them. But they talked, without fail. It was as if they did not know the purpose of "Lunch Break"

Ratna prepared a speech in her mind. She wanted to tell Maria everything. Every single second of her Chennai life had to be shared.

Ratna shoved off every thought that came into her mind. Shut her eyes and tried to shut her mind. It wasn't that hard. Traveling in a bus is always tiring, and that particular trip was particularly exhausting. And it was already will beyond mid-night. She adjusted her seat to the most comfortable position possible, and dozed off.

Maria always had a hard time with high heels. But however, insisted on wearing them. She walked on the footpath gingerly, but still tripped a couple of times. The fall was saved however. But the third time, she fell, on the middle of the road.

Ratna jerked awake with a scream, waking up some of the other passengers too. "She tried to crawl away, but the bus..." Ratna heard the weeping voice on the other end of the phone. By the time the call was cut, Ratna had headed towards the bus-station. She couldn't bear to think of Maria lying on the road. The red coloured bus speeding towards her. Fear. It is worse than death.

"Very Critical", read the SMS 

It had been four months since she talked to Maria. Why didn't she call? Why didn't Maria call? Those nuances of friendship, they can make you and break you. Neither of them talked about it. For they were best friends. It would be rude to complain. But they both thought about it. Nothing specific. "Why didn't you enquire about my life in Chennai?", "Why didn't you console me when i missed home so much?" They didn't say anything. They thought it over. And they never said anything ever again.

"Please God! Don't take her away!"

Ratna didn't know sleep. She was fighting herself. Fear had consumed her completely. After 17 hours, the bus stopped at its destination. Ratna rushed out of the bus to be greeted by a crowd of rickshaw drivers. "SUT Hospital!" Ratna dashed through the hospital, screaming for help and guidance. There were a lot of people outside the ICU, most faces that she recognised. She walked towards the door, but wasn't allowed in. She pushed everyone away, but wasn't allowed to see her. "She is stable now", someone said. Ratna sat down.

Hey Ratsy! No.... Rattie? Rats? No, you need something original. You are going to hear it everyday for the rest of your life my dear friend! What to call you? Ahhh... here's the perfect name

Love

Failure - Come to Daddy

Before I begin this article, rather my take on the whole concept of 'failure', I believe I should let you know about why I am writing this.

My first inspiration was something Arundhati Roy said in one of her essays in "The Algebra of Infinite Justice". Forgive me as I cannot quote her words. Forgive me if I have read her wrong. But what I made out of those few words really inspired me. She wasn't even talking about failure. The essay had something to do with Dams, or nuclear bombs or something. As a preface to her essay, she added a personal note about how her first novel became a so-called success and how she is looking forward to writing a bunch of worst-sellers  soon.

Now, God of Small things was an international best-seller which also won the Booker Prize in 1997. According to the author, it was a so-called success. "So-Called!" And as I read her words, I could hear her giggle about penning a few worst-sellers. The ease with which she blurred the line between success and failure, the freedom with which she spoke of her writing and how much she enjoyed what she was doing. That really moved me. Success meant nothing to her. She cherished failure.

A couple of weeks back, enjoying the most beautiful moments of my Chennai life - being away from Chennai, I happened to catch a few scenes from the movie 300. The story of Sparta! Ahh... lying down on the sofa of my living room, in the comfort of my home, breathing the air of my home-town, dinner being cooked by my dear Amma.... I MISS MUMMY!!! I WANT TO GO BACK TO TRIVANDRUM!!!!
Ramon - Focus!
Alright, alright, sorry to get distracted. Don't blame me! The mere thought of Trivandrum wets my eyes. As much as I enjoy this bachelor life in Chennai - Articleship, homemaking, movies, books and blogging; as much as I am celebrating my own world, celebrating the independence and the responsibility, Chennai does not stand a chance against Trivandrum. It isn't so much about which city is better. It is about being fed and nourished with every luxury imaginable against fending for yourself with limited means and no television. Do the Math!

300! 300 spartan soldiers against the world's largest army. 300 men against the world's mightiest empire. Before the battle began, one of the Spartan soldiers had a look at the monstrous Persian army he was about to face. With full knowledge that what was before him was merely the tip of the ice-berg, he smiled. He welcomed the challenge. No, it wasn't the challenge he welcomed, it was the failure. Or probably, the opportunity of failure. And for that soldier, like any other soldier, failure meant death. But he welcomed it. With a smile! Every braveheart in the Spartan army did. They laughed as it was raining arrows. When they were warned that the Persian army will, "Blot the sun with their arrows" they laughed; "Good! We will fight in the shade!" The army failed. The movie was a success.

Failure is hard. Heartbraking! What is worse is listening to a lecture about how failure is a stepping stone to success, and why you shouldn't get depressed when you face a failure. As Chaten Bhagat mentioned in one of his articles, it is perfectly natural to cry when you fail. It is just human, perfectly natural. But what I am talking about is the idea of failure.

Right now I am fumbling for words. It is hard to say what I want to say without making it sound like a philosophical lecture. And there is no way I am going to disappoint my readers by giving them a lecture. So lets forget words and go for the next best thing. Equations. Here's mine:

                                                                  Success = Failure

It is time we forget the idea of success and failure. It is time we stop equating success to happiness and failure to bitterness. It is time we understand that failure and success are just residual matter. Waste. Insignificant by-products. Does it not seem to defy logic that all the hard work and effort we put into something is finally judged by a silly little climax? Is it not stupid that our struggle, which might have been a fight that lasted for years, is being judged by someone else? In terms of Success and Failure. Has this 'somebody' seen the effort we put, the pain we have been through? After all, who is a better judge than we ourselves? Is it not enough that we satisfy our conscience? Is it necessary that we convince ourselves to every somebody and anybody? Isn't it the journey we have been through that is important?

Failure is about confidence. It is the epitome of courage. It is the symbol of struggle, and only the mighty warrior can earn it. It takes a mammoth to fight a battle. And an even bigger one to take failure head on!

Failure is about optimism. The firm belief that whatever happens in this world is for our well being. In the end, everything adds up. Failure and success and just a part of the journey. Part and parcel of the game. In the end the world becomes a better place. And failure is a part of this building process. Every failure makes us better. Improves us! Haven't you noticed that happily ever after is always preceeded by failures and disasters! A realisation that there is somebody up there. And he or she will always set things right. And since we are talking about setting things RIGHT and not screwing things up, it is most probably a HE!

Read Alchemist? Paulo Coehlo's book. Well, I did and it wasn't my favourite. And right now I don't even remember the whole story. But I do remember that it was something about omens. In the beginning of this article did I not mention why I am writing this. Well, here is one more. Because I have been getting a lot of omens. The other day there was an article about an entrepreneur who started 10 companies. Of which 6 where failures. And his favourite company, happened to be his biggest failure. And failure over here means millions of Dollars! My favourite star - SRK, revealed in one of his interviews that more than 50% of his films are flops. It was just a matter of time that I revealed my take on "Failure".

Live life and be happy. Blur the lines between success and failure and move on. It doesn't matter if the odds are stacked against you. Because when the world turns its back on you, you turn your back on the world. Realise how strong a fighter you are and give it the best shot. With pride and confidence, go for it! And when you feel you have that starting trouble, that trace of fear seems to be holding you back, you can choose from an array of punch dialogues. Aal izz well! Spartans - ATTACK! And the best of all...

Hakuna Matata

Love

The Little Kid

Wake up! Wake up! WAKE UPP!!!!! Yes, I am talking to you! No, not the one who is reading the post,I know you  are awake. You are reading this aren't you. I am asking the little kid to wake up. Don't know when it happened, or exactly how it happened; but it just happened. All of a sudden. Out of nowhere. The little kid just slept off. And never woke up.
Or was it a gradual process? Shedding its consciousness, bit-by-bit. And finally, dozing off into an eternal  slumber. Forgotten in some unseen corner. The little kid, who was once full of colours and life, is just lying in one corner. Idle. Dusty. Don't look around, I am talking to you MISTER! You put that bubbly piece of joy  to sleep!
Which kid? Still don't get it? Well, the answer to that Million Dollar question is......... YOU!
Alright alright, enough of blah-blah-blah, buk-buk-buk. I get really bored and totally annoying when I start to digress. So let's hit the point, straight-drive! I am talking about you, when you were a little kid. Remember those days? Remember the joy, the carefree wonder, the miracle believer, the dare-devil and sometimes even the touch-me-not. The original version; no moulding, no chisling, the plain and simple version. The innocent person, who didn't know the laws of the world. Where is that little fellow?
And I ask so because I really miss those people. I am frustrated whenever the little kid falls asleep. Afraid if people stare at me, or laugh at me. Am I doing things right? Will my friends approve of me? Have I impressed them? I this good enough for the society? Is it alright if I laugh now? Can I smile now? Am I supposed to be sad? Am I supposed to be afraid? Will it seem weird if I do this? ARGHHHH!!! I WOULD RATHER DO NOTHING AT ALL! What is worse then being a slave to the norms of society. A mere robot who is dictated by EVERYTHING BUT YOU!
How bad can things get? We all have a guide with us. Someone who knows for certain, right from wrong. Our dear friend, whom I call Conscience (Co-incidence, so does the English dictionary!) But today nobody listens to that. Nobody talks to their conscience anymore, because if someone looks at you, he/she will think that you are talking to yourself and might throw you is a mental asylum. We are nothing but slaves. And not just slaves, as in those who are obliged to do as their master demands. We are slaves of a worse category. We are those who have to do things out of fear!

Things seem worse? Well, seems you will have to find a new word for negativity, because that's where things are heading. Ok, let me explain. Look back, really back..... And now answer this question: What do you want to become when you grow up? What was your answer? Doctor? Police-man? Superman? Yeah, that is what you may have said out loud. But what was it that you said to yourself? "The Doctor, who cures the most deadly diseases with a flick of his finger and saves the world on a daily basis!", "The policeman, who strikes fear in the hearts of every person with the slightest trace of guilt in his heart. The legend who brought to his knees the scariest, and the most evilest criminal of all". That was what you all wanted to become! SUPERHEROES! LEGENDS! Have you ever seen a little kid say he/she wants to become an engineer?
Now it's official - It is a tragedy! Because we have put to sleep, along with the little kid, the one thing that drives us. Ambition - Our personal Nuclear Energy! Nobody wants to save the world now. Nobody even dreams of all that. Now our brains are pre-occupied with the exams up ahead, and at best - a good salary. 3 digit marks and 6 digit salary, end of story.
The little kid didn't want that to be the ending of its story. The little kid wanted an adventure. Miracles, magic, a superhero who turns the super-villain inside-out, save the princess and have one heck of an ending. It was never just happily ever after. It was tons and tons of crackers, explosion, music, applause, laughter and an eternity of celebration. Millions of people cheering for us as we wave from the top of some tower, or something. Where did that go? Our dreams have fallen asleep huh?

Well there is only one person who can save us from this crisis. Is it a bird? Is it an aeroplane? No, its THE LITTLE KID! Wake that dare-devil up, and laugh your ass off. Don't give a bird-poop for what your neighbour thinks. Live your life, be yourself and have the journey of a lifetime. Have the adventure you have always dreamt of. Give that fear in your heart piece of yourself. Rock and Roll!!!

Let me end this post of mine, with my usual personal touch. I am a little kid, and I always will be. Don't stare when you see me talking to myself, because I do that all the time! Bah - I flap my hands all crazy and fly across the seven seas! I am a super-hero who will stop at nothing but saving the world! Call me crazy, I don't care. For I am...... The Little Kid!



And once again, the Day is Saved. Thanks to "THE LITTLE KID" (A thousand points if you recognize this dialogue!!!)

Love