Memoir

Day 1

I rushed to the cell-phone to call him up, but as I opened the flap of its cover, “11.55” glared at me on the face. Bloody Blundaleomite, what now!?

George – my childhood buddy and my best friend – We were always there for each other. He would do absolutely anything for me even at the darkest hour of night, and I had no shame in exploiting that right. Yesterday too I called him up at 11.30 pm to ask if he had read any review of “Happy New Year” and we ended up conducting a 2 hour virtual convention of the history of “SRK Cinema – How it fares against the rest of Bollywood”, accompanied by guest lectures on “How to succeed even if you have no talent” and “Why you fail even when you are bloody talented!” Yeah, the talk was a vulgar waste of time – But! the point is that I can use him like how an Iphone owner uses Siri. Well, the consequences did follow today morning.

My class starts at 6 am. I woke up at 6.10.

I remember very little of what happened today morning, just a few fragments of memory. Like, I remembering running outside my house and slapping my forehead when I reached the main-road – only then did I realise that I hadn’t brushed my teeth that morning. I also remember jumping, Literally Jumping into the first auto rickshaw that came my way, shouting “Mylapore! Quick! Take whatever you want!” Trust me, the most stupid thing you want to tell an auto-rickshaw driver in Chennai.

But from the second I reached class, each memory is as clear as crystal – unmarred by even the lightest finger-print. I stood outside the door peaking inside to know where I could find place to sit. Classes are usually full by 5.55 itself – Translation, “I was DOOMED!” I tenderly walked inside the classroom, squeezing myself between the desks, looking for the slightest gap in farthest corner and finding absolutely no luck. Within 4 minutes I had completely run the teaching faculty off his patience. A shockwave passed through my body as I heard, “Aye! YOU!”

Slowly, helplessly, I turned to face my guru – not such a good sight. But he was a nice man, before I could come up with a story he shouted, “What do you think you are doing disturbing the class and spoiling my lecture! Settle down!” As if I didn’t want to. I looked around frantically, Somebody? Anybody? Help?

“Aye! Come…” Oh no! “Come and sit here.” He directed me to the chair that was literally under his nose. A drop of tear ran down my cheeks… the last time I cried before that was when Dad refused to buy me a water-gun. And if sitting in the front bench, in front of the entire class that stared at me continuously for 5 minutes as I walked to the front and settled down, wasn’t bad enough, I also had to listen to a lecture – not the normal ones, but the really Angry ones, the ones you don’t want to hear. A lecture that ran for one full hour about being “On Time”. I felt a thousand fingers point at me for each word he said.

Today morning I had learnt, the hard way, that I cannot afford to stay up a minute after midnight and swore to repeat it never again. Until the clock ticked to 11.55 pm. I had to make the call…

I stared are the cell for 4 minutes. I had my classes, I had a promise to keep, a reputation to hold, an embarrassment to wash away – there was no way I could be late again.

But… but… the clock struck 12, and I made the call…

To be continued…

Love

Renaissance is coming...

Flowers! The walls adorned by it all around, the stage curtained by it all around, the floor carpeted by it all around. Decorations that were truly unmatched. The feast for the eyes was indeed unending as guests kept pouring into the wedding function, all carrying an exquisite aura of beauty with them. Designer sarees (sometimes too flashy), glamorous jewellery (sometimes too heavy), modern salwars (sometimes too light) and just the right amount of make-up (no comments). But no amount of sarcasm could steal the ambience, for if the make-up irritated you, the magnetic rhythm of wedding music gave you a smile, the non-stop supply of snacks made you giggle and the splash of children all around made you laugh.

The more poetic version of myself would have added that - the entire idea of two souls coming together to share a life-time was in itself such a bliss. The opportunity to be part of such an event, to soak in yourself some of that air that couldn’t be filled with more love – that itself was equal to a hundred thousand reasons to be merry. The delicate romance that added so much beauty to the flowers; it was enough to make the moments I spent at the wedding worth cherishing.

However, that poetic version of Aravind, your humble narrator, will never surface because of one atrocious, ridiculous, cruel and merciless aspect of such functions – socializing. Every time my parents spotted me, they would call me over to get the blessing of some grey head whom my grand-parents held in great regard. Or to say “Hi” to some aunty and uncle who had last seen me when I could barely walk.

Just as another bunch of draconian possibilities passed through my head I felt a pat on my left shoulder. “Thank God you are here already. I was wondering what I would do all alone over here.” I turned around and saw the only reason why I didn’t say an outright “No” whenever my parents called me to attend such functions – my first cousin and my best friend – Pooja.

“Hello Uncle! Hi Aunty!” I greeted her parents. “Hello Aravind! How are you, where is your father?” Pooja’s dad asked in single sentence. I directed them to my parents and Pooja joined my to the safe spot I had identified, a place where my parents couldn’t see me.

“Had you been late by 2 more minutes and I would have slit your throat – “

“Sorry, sorry”, Pooja cut me. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Not much, just 5 minutes… I was starting to suffocate!”

“And what were you planning to do?”

“I knew you would come soon”, I sat down and pulled my cell-phone out of my jeans. “Would have listened to some songs till then.” But that wasn’t required. Pooja had come to my rescue!

I don’t know how it happens, but my cousin and I, without the slightest effort, can manage to weave a conversation that can last for an entire day. Much more if you ask me, but we have never given it a shot.

 

“A real loss man. Almost cried when India missed it by 3 runs yesterday”, our conversation began over lunch this way. Wait! Now the narrator is confused, should I tell you about the conversation first or the lunch? Obviously lunch!

Having such a heavy meal was another part of marriages that I abhorred as a child. But 3 years of CA Articleship coupled with bachelor life has taught me to make the best out of a meal – Especially when it is a free meal.

The leaf was place on the table and 11 colourful dishes were served in quick succession and in bright contrast to the green leaf. I managed to eat up the lion’s share of the side dishes even before rice was served, so the waiters had to bring me another round of those 11 side dishes. Sambar was poured and before I was done with it I had taken in 3 pappadams and one glass of payasam. As rasam was served, I requested for another round of curries and one more pappadam and at one point of time I found waiters standing guard for me for 5 whole minutes. I even recall Pooja saying that she noticed the event manager direct his men to depute someone exclusively for my service. I was unperturbed by any of those developments – as a matter of fact I would be indifferent even if the CA Final results had been announced at that very moment, as long was curd was served on demand.

“I don’t know why that useless captain waits till the last over. Why does he want to slog it till the end?” The sentence was followed by swears for Dhoni. Pooja gets extremely frustrated when a match is lost, and she ensures that every single thought inside her head is outside her mouth then and there.

“Look at that! He loses one match and all of a sudden the nation turns against him!” I made the more reasonable comment and my cousin concurred.

“But the point is, nobody is a Dhoni fan. We are all fans of team India! We rejoice when India wins. And we are upset when India loses. The people responsible for it will be blamed, no matter whom.”

“That is a contentious comment Pooja. I guess we do adore the players more than the team.  Sachin, Yuvraj – Big names! It is them that we love.”

“Maybe, may not be. And I don’t care about the rest of the world”, Pooja began. “I am a girl who cried when my history teacher explained the story of Jallianwallah Bagh. I am a girl who jumped up in joy as I was taught about the Quit India Movement. And I am sure you would not differ with me over here either would you? We had resolved selfless commitment to the service of our nation in second standard; remember?” I nodded with a smile.

“The sense of patriotism is rooted within us too deeply. And little has changed over time as far as I am concerned. Mera Bharat Mahan”

 

The bride and groom were seated on a swing and their relatives were engaged in a musical concert that timed with the swinging couple.

“Do you remember that APJ Abdul Kalam had said that a revolution is going to come in our country? That India will become a developed nation by 2020?” Pooja asked. I hushed her before some of the elders would turn around to give us a glare.

And that is how Pooja is! Absolutely unaware of what goes on around her, what others think of her, how others perceive her. As a matter of fact she could be the only girl who had come to the marriage with absolutely no make-up on. No extra jewellery. The most simple dress one could wear at a wedding. Simple yet elegant. She says whatever comes to her mind with the least sense of regret. Once when we were in 9^th grade, the teacher said, “Get out of class if anybody is not interested!” This girl stood up to give the teacher a 5 minute lecture about how boring the class was… And the look of innocence on her face after the lecture was over – Unbelievable! She simply did not understand what wrong she had committed. The entire class was entertained by Pooja’s tirade against our teacher, but the expression on her face at the end was truly the highlight of the century.

“Yes, I remember!” I whispered back to her question.

“Do you think we need a revolution?”

“Well…” I did not pause to think. This was one question that had come to mind over a million times. “We are not in a situation like Egypt or Syria”, I began. “We are a developing nation, there is a lot of development in our country and we are growing at a steady pace. We have a strong political system, stable government, efficient military and all that.

“But India was once the golden bird of the world. The country of peace and harmony. The nation of riches and happiness. The state of glory! The place where poverty did not exist, where crime did not exist, history is witness to an era where India was utopia! And I feel…

“And I feel that a revolution must come… A revolution will come… A revolution that will take us there!”

 

Our conversation about a revolution went on and on and reached the conclusion of the wedding. Few of the close relative of the bride and groom had stood up to speak a few words about the young couple and bless them.

“Religion continues to split us”, I spoke and Pooja nodded. She was full of spirit and spoke vehemently.

“You are right. It would be so much better if everybody was one. If all the religions merged! Maybe… maybe… Like through marriages!” She exclaimed

“I think we have heard enough speeches from the previous generation”, the bride’s father announced from the dais. “Now why don’t we hear what the next generation has to say about this wedding. Would any youngster over here like to speak a few words please?”

Pooja turned around and raised her hand – and I slapped my head as hard as I could. This could only mean trouble. “Pooja DON’T!” I shouted, but she had already stood up and the bride’s father announced. “Yes, Pooja! My daughter’s childhood friend, so many memories you would have to share… Please come on stage and speak a few words.”

“I would like to wish my dear, dearest friend Keerthana, and her loving husband Dev, a very happy, prosperous, joyful and wonderful life ahead!” She began. I crossed my fingers and prayed that she would end it with that.

“I have been a friend of Keerthana for such a long time, maybe as long as I can remember. And we have been together in every step of our life. I was right there with her even when her parents had posted an ad in the matrimonial website!” She said with a smile and I knew that the volcano was starting to erupt. It was all over.

“And as I looked into the website to see her ad, I was amused! I was amused at the way the website was built and how her ad was posted. ‘Tamil Brahmin Girl from Kerala!’ And the website allowed people to choose a bride from their same caste and even sub-caste.

“Since school days I have been taught that it is this worm that is destroying our society and culture. Caste and religion. For the past 70 years it is dividing the nation again and again and again, in various forms. The greatest impediment to a dream called ‘A United India’

“How to unite people? How to convince the world that we are all one? One and the same! How to bring everybody together?” She paused for a second and uttered the one word I kept praying she wouldn’t say, “Marriages! Youngsters should come forward and be brave to marry someone from another religion. Parents should be broad minded and try to choose an alliance from another religion. To create a new World!”

Just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, “Once again I wish this couple a Happy Married Life! And I also wish every couple to come in the future, from whichever religion, from whichever caste – A Very Prosperous Life!” She bowed and walked from the stage. I saw the elders seated in front turn red. Old ladies mumbled amongst themselves, and as Pooja neared me, the buzz of gossip chat had turned intense. Pooja and I received notorious glares from all around. Pooja’s father quickly rushed to us, “Let’s go!” and walked away with his wife, his head bowed down, her mother’s face covered in shame.

 

“I have seen you give a lot of stupid speeches in life but this was beyond all limits!?” I shouted at her over the phone that night.

“What did I say wrong?” Pooja asked me over a sob.

“Pooja... what were you trying to do? Create a revolution? HOW CAN YOU BE STUPID?” The anger in my voice reached a fever pitch. At the other end I could hear only a mumbled sob. As if she was trying to say something but the tears gushed out and choked her voice.

“Pooja…” I regretted my anger. I tried to console her but she broke down. I could hear her cry breathlessly.

“Pooja, I am sorry… It’s ok, it’s ok, don’t worry…”

“I… I wasn’t trying to create a revolution…” She spoke over her tears. After a pause, she brushed away her running nose, steadied her voice and continued slowly, “Aravind… you are wrong. This was not a revolution!”

Pausing after each word, taking deep breathes, she spoke slowly, “Maybe I thought I could have created a revolution. I still think I can create a revolution. The revolution that you spoke about. But what happened today… That was not Revolution…

“It was Renaissance… I said what I had to… and I earned the curse of 400 people sitting there. I can hear it, each and every person present at the marriage is cursing me right now. But I am sure Aravind…” Pooja’s voice turned deep. The sobbing was replaced by conviction, a very strong sense of purpose. I could feel it seep into my body, the intensity in her voice! “I am sure, that one youngster sitting there would have agreed to my speech! Maybe a hundred would have laughed at me, but one of them agreed with me. I can feel it Aravind, and I know that she will concur in action. She will marry someone outside her religion and one day she will give a speech! And her words won’t be chided like mine!

“Her words will be heard by a hundred. And those hundred will inspire a thousand.

“All of us have ideas… thoughts, imaginations, ambitions, passion, solutions, dreams… This generation is special! And this generation has the fire. Spread the ideas, speak out your dreams…. This generation is going to sow the seeds… Aravind –

“Renaissance is coming…”

Love

The Water Bottle

            Probably the most abominable character in a human being is the attitude of looking at nothing but the fault in another. And in most of us the attitude is so developed that it has evolved into a skill. By sharpening your focus on ‘him’ and ‘her’ one turns a blind eye to their own flaws. And if your senses are not so sharp, no worries; by having gained knowledge of the wrongdoings of every other soul in the society, you are fully justified in saying, “He does worse things. When compared to that, there is absolutely nothing wrong in what I am doing…”

            Probably this is what makes preachers take austere measures. “Do not resort to violence”, says him. “Then why does our country have an army? Then why do we have weapons?” Now what kind of answer do you have for such idiotic questions? Yes, questions of equivalent idiocy are being raised in the attempt of defending or covering up a crime. A crime - including anything from watching a pirated movie to littering the streets. Add on to that the shameless dialogue, “When is our country going to become like Singapore or UK? Any idea how neat thing are in the US”.

            Such is the irony that lies ahead of our nation. All of us are hell bent on demanding our rights and pointing fingers. Politicians are the front runners in the game as the incumbent party blames the opposition and vice-versa. But wait, there are scenes more hilarious than that. When you want to see it, just look at yourselves blaming the politicians for everything that is wrong in the nation! Look at yourselves blaming those in power for blaming each other and not doing their job. Look at yourselves making claims over the hard earned tax-payers’ money, as we go about doing just about anything to get our hands on first opportunity of a tax break. “NO! Never!” you say? So you will say a no if I offer a 50K worth mobile for 40K. The ones without a guarantee or a bill…

            Such is the idiocy that has infected the nation that even your humble blogger has taken so much time and effort in making a shamelessly hypocritical jibe at his fellow citizens. I feel embarrassed.

            I am guilty of pointing fingers. I am also guilty of committing every other crime as aforementioned. But this voice does not merely scream in an attempt to pass on the blame. This is the voice that represents the hope of those who want to change the nation. I am not talking about those few hundreds who are desperate to create a revolution, but I speak to that part of the heart of every youngster in this nation of a billion who aspires for a revolution!

First they ignore you

Then they laugh at you

Then they fight you

And then you win

            So if you ever intend to drive a message to the world, a blog like this will never suffice. Neither will a thousand speeches or sermons or prayers or any of that. Go on a fast for a week and then people take notice, that is, they no longer ignore you and start laughing at you. Go a step further and they might fight you. What must you do to win? I don’t know… the question is wide open. But as a first step, you can stop pointing fingers.

            Oh, and by the way, why such a title you ask me? My friend tossed a water bottle into the river. And when I chided him for that he was quick to respond, “You were the one who bought the plastic bottle in the first place. Buying it bad enough, I just disposed it. You are at fault!”

P.S. Many Many Birthday Wishes to the person who made me as I am today. To the person who made me, literally actually! And not to mention, the person behind the signature of each blog, I have been reserving it in this post for the right moment, and here it is. "Bloody Blundaleomite" - Happy Birthday DAD!!!

        And a thousand wishes to that person to whom a part of my heart has been given on permanent lease and the monthly rentals couldn't be more irregular. Anyways, don't ever tell me you didn't get a birthday gift, this one is exclusive! Birthday Wishes Machaane!

Love

Rated 10 on 10

MANY MANY HAPPY RETURNS OF THE DAY TO MY MOST BEAUTIFUL SISTER WHO CELEBRATES HER BIRTHDAY TOMORROW! Normally birthday wishes occupy the post-scripts in my blog but for the person, who might be the only one who has read all my blogs and continues to read each and every one of them the day they are updated - sis, without you Writer's World might not have survived. Thank You! Here is a little story with a special dedication to you.

"It's the Best", "Never seen anything like it", "DUDE! You are an idiot for not seeing it yet!", "You shouldn't be living in this world for not watching the movie!", "That movie.... that is the meaning of true love. You CANNOT miss it man!"

ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! Ughh.... Do any of you know that feeling? Of being the only person who hasn't seen a movie and that happens to be the best movie ever!? Have you been through that trauma where literally everyone - no exceptions, no ifs or buts, no conditions at all - Everyone gives the movie a 10 on 10 rating! And you haven't seen it yet.

And what's worse, I am an out and out movie buff! I am the kind of guy who makes it a point to catch every movie, and that too on the date of release itself. I am the kind of guy who enjoys any kind of cinema irrespective of the amount of masala smothered over it or the level of dehydration it has suffered under the excuse of "Art". Notwithstanding all the sarcasm, I enjoy and appreciate and love all the movies, even the ones hated by all. Yes, hated by all! I come out of the theatre, emerging from a crowd which is almost suicidal for having been through the kind of agony the film had to offer and still walk around with a smile - There is no "bad movie" in my dictionary. And now this movie comes out... Which is LOVED by all, loved my meters and measures that drive me nuts and I HAVEN'T SEEN IT YET!

And what's worser? It is a love story. Alright, why this little piece of information makes me excited is another story - a little flashback. There is this girl in class.... whom I really like... and.... don't get irritated guys, there are certain things that even a writer struggles to say. Anyways, I really like her and want to propose. But ofcourse, the worstest disaster struck me. She put her arms around me, pecked my cheek and said, "I love you so much. You are like a big brother to me!" I got BRO-ZONED!

Yes, you are right. It is officially the worst thing that can happen to a guy, much ahead of polio, cancer and even AIDS. Jokes apart (a crude one - sorry), I really really like her and I feel that the romantic content of this movie can change her mind. *What an idea sirji!?*

Alas! God and his cruel jokes! Why o why? Why is the world so mean? What ‘mean’ you ask? Day 1 - Booked the ticket. But mom wanted me to go to the temple with her and it was a command I couldn't disobey. Day 2 - Booked the ticket. Minutes before college disbursed, our professor announces the last date of project submission and arghhh.... Movie Concelled. Day 3 - Booked the ticket. Her mom wants her to go to the temple and apparently it was a command she couldn't disobey. The saga continued till day 11! You feel angry reading this blog? Imagine the plight of the writer who had to LIVE this!

Now all this might seem bad, cruel, unjust, unfortunate and all that. But when it comes to The Destiny tournament, do you know what the most atrocious rule of the game is - Good luck strikes only when you hit rock bottom! Only when you have exhausted every swear word in and out of the dictionary does college declare a strike and my love "happens" meet a generous friend who gives her two tickets to this movie. I mean seriously God, you could have saved yourself from so many curses had my love met her friend a couple of days back. And you would have saved me from all this guilt! Sometimes I wonder who even made God in charge of everything?

Yeah, yeah, I am not complaining. Moving on... 

After 60 days I walk into the air-conditioned comfort of Escape, staring at the big screen playing up-coming trailers which freeze me instantaneously. I hold her hand and watch the trailer a couple of times till she pulls me into the theatre. I make a small detour and pull her towards the... what do you call it? The food section or whatever... and gape at over-priced french fries, over-prices soft-drinks, over-priced icecreams and over priced water and order one of each. She says, "No need of all that!" but I insist. Our first date after-all.

Gutka Suresh does his job (For those of you who don’t know Gutka Suresh, he is that guy who appears in a No-Smoking ad before every movie), the lights are turned off, the AC is soothing, her hand is next to me and the screen turns on the magic. There is music, an intro-scene followed by the credits that is accompanied by the same music – enthralling. The entire theatre is glued to the screen, watching with unwavering eyes, capturing every micro-second with such rapt attention that it makes me wonder – with half this concentration in class you can so easily clear CA.

*Umph* I hear a groan behind me. *Ugh*Ugh* I hear a very peculiar sound, it kind of sounds like laughter but there was something odd about the noise. I swear at the unknown source of the weird noise and focus on the movie. The male and female protagonists had just been introduced, the story was moving at an increasing pace, totally gripping. I held on to the seats, anxious about every next scene, hilarious comedy, heart-breaking tragedy, all of it had been wrapped up into such a fine mixture, so delicate in its composure that it pierces into your heart like the thinnest of knives and leaves a scar which one can carry forever. The movie didn’t have an interval (for a change), the heroine were just about to – “Arghhh!!!” Bloody Blundaleomite, I heard that voice again. I is it creating disturbance at such a crucial moment. My necks snaps backward showing a face flushed with and see a boy sitting with a girl… talking to each other… in signs.

For a moment my eyes flicker between the screen and the couple. I notice the hero dive into a building that’s on fire to save the girl stuck in the 17^th floor and I look at the young man narrating the story to his deaf friend. As the hero burnt himself, the deaf girl cried in shock, and as the girl in the movie screamed for her man, the deaf girl bore a glow in her face. And her friend tirelessly narrated each and every word uttered, each and every sound that came out of the movie. I tap my friend's hand and show her the ‘side-track of the movie’.

“The hero is waiting for his lover’s call. He is mumbling something under his breath, cursing his girlfriend for not calling her until finally he hears a ring in the phone. He pounces at the cell to pick it up, only to find that he was shortlisted for a very exciting post-paid offer from customer care”, the boy explains a scene in the movie to his friend. And the girl reacts…. Priceless! My friend and I watch the scene in awe. Not on the screen, but the one being narrated by the boy. The reactions of the girl who cannot hear anything what’s happening in the theatre, who is oblivious to everything but the signs shown by her friend, and the joy she derives from watching a movie through his hands… let me just tell you, the joy I derived out of watching her reactions was simply out of this world.

“They are many a times. Life – so much more fun around us that on the screen!” My friend tells me and leans on my shoulder. The movie gets over, everybody gets up to applaud the cinema and my head is still turned around looking at the young couple. I see the young girl, so childish in her cheers, and her boy-friend, so mature in his efforts. They hold hands and walk out of the theatre.

Love

Leap of Faith

Beware! Whatever I am going to tell you know is an extremely exaggerated, dramatically extrapolated and maliciously manipulated metaphor of what really happened. Read on:

I have always loved heroes and always picturised myself as one. A brave, cool, charismatic, macho, rough and tough, don’t-you-mess-with-me “Don” kind of hero whose legacy and fame would make dames flutter their eyelids. The kind of hero who is happiest only when faced by a challenge, whose excitement knows no bounds when an adventure knocks the door, the guy whose heart-beat no threat can falter, addicted to the adrenaline rush and unaffected by any amount of the same. This guy is a figment of my imagination, this is the hero I want to be, but he is not someone you haven’t met. He is the Dark Knight, the Super-Saiyan, the Don, the Vampire Hunter, the ever-observant mystery solver, sometimes the joker and the Captain Pirate too. Smooth, Suave, Sophisticated and most important of all – Fearless!

I am him. I am the fearless, the undefeated, the never-give-up, hungry-for-more challenger, and I am faced by my biggest challenge.

The battle field was set - it was a dark maze inside a medieval castle, hundreds of doors and windows, flights of stairs that seemed to be endless, windows that showed you nothing but flashes of lightning and let in nothing but bats and splashes of rain, silence that was deafening and the dramatic aura of imminent death was literally tangible. I had not memory of how reached there and had no intention of finding that out as a much bigger question lay ahead - how do I get out?

But the showdown didn’t wait for the silence and darkness to blanket me completely – the roof above me burst open and a dagger flew straight past me, missing my ear only by the width of a hair. No! Fear cannot touch me, nothing can surprise me, nothing can weaken me, for I am him. I only smile at the face of danger. I only welcome the challenge with open arms. I am cool, level headed and instead of saying my prayers for having my life, I am pull myself together and set after the arms behind the dagger.

All the walls break down and reveal armed brawlers racing towards me. “These are not your everyday ordinary brawlers”, Anne Hathaway says. “Neither am I”, say I and pick them out one by one. Hey, don’t look at me like that, I have never been in a real fight in my entire life so if u expect me to put together an original action thriller you should also bring me a profession stunt master and a choreographer; preferably the brains behind the game-play of Prince of Persia because I am going to use the exact same moves against these villains. And for those of you unfamiliar with Prince of Persia let me make a weak attempt and describing it to you.

I kick on the pillar and throw myself at the mercenary nearest to me, knocking him off with one hand and grabbing his weapon with the other. I somersault on the floor to reach for another one’s foot with my weapon, kick a second guy on the chin making him fall over his colleague (even brawlers have dignity man!) and rising to my feet to block the slash of a fourth dude. I throw my weapon at him, smack another one on the neck to stun him, pick his armour and knock down another couple to stand triumphant in a room full of corpses. TADAAAA!!! (you can quote your favourite hero over here now. My second choice would be, “Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahi….. Namumkin Hai!”

*Gasp!* I am being choked by a giant of a man who strangles me with both hands. Now (we are very near the climax now). The villain enters the scene (I would prefer the masked man from the Dark Knight rises, but over here the villain is Mogambo from Mr. India). This master villain is probably ten times stronger than me, flanked by ten of his loyal goons, each of whom is as strong as me. And as all of them close in on me, I realize that my end has come.

“Now let us move on to the next topic – Derivatives!” The teacher announces and the entire classroom of 800 students starts to turn its pages while I stare at the man standing on the podium, behind the mike; my head filled with his voice, “Add the profits of 5 years”. His words repeat in my head again and again and every time he says that, my voice intercedes, “Why don’t we consider time value of money?” I look around and find some of my classmates sleeping, the others focusing on the teacher and some others doing some other unspeakable things.

Alright, alright… If you are still confused let me explain the metaphor. I am faced by a challenge called ‘a doubt’. But I cannot overcome that challenge because on one hand I am being choked by the fear of asking a stupid question and making a fool of myself and these 10 henchmen are closing in on me, representing my classmates who will laugh at me if I am ignored by the teacher. And there is this Mogambo, the thought of, “What will he or she think?” and these are challenges that the super-hero within me cannot overcome. He fails! Nope, it cannot happen. All the great warriors in the universe put-together cannot surpass this fear, this nervousness – the villain is too strong.

Now, in this scenario, I, the real narrator of the story, can very well let the student go ahead and swallow his doubt as it is and live with his fears and prejudices. I have no sympathies for him, let the Bloody Blundaleomite do what he wants. But! The super-hero’s defeat? Un-imaginable! That simply cannot happen. But wait, the super-hero is nothing but a shadow of the student himself. Bloody Blundaleomite now I have to twist the story such that the student over-comes his fear and asks his doubt. Only then will the super-hero have succeeded. Alright, follow me very closely as I bring success to the stories of this spectacular super-hero and this lousy duffer of a student:

Mogambo is very close to me now, his breath falls on my face – and its burns my skin. My butt is lifted from the bench as I stand up to ask my doubt, but I cannot straighten my back. I simply cannot gather the strength to raise my head and ask my doubt.

The brawler chokes me, I cannot breathe. The henchmen have their swords touching my neck, I start to bleed. The guys sitting on my bench have started asking me what I am doing. One of them even makes fun of the way my butt is raised. Some other from the front row turn around to look at me.

“Captain Planet – Give me the Power!” I cry out loud and wriggle my way out of his arms, but his hold is too strong. “Not anymore!” I shout as I grab the stinking giant by his back and throw him over my head at the other goons around me. “Stare wherever you want, you jobless hooligans!” I shout in my head and stand up with my right arm raised.

Mogambo stares me down. I stare back at him. He launches a punch at me and puts me on a fork. “Turn around and run? Or throw a punch back at him?”. The sir looks at me and says, “Don’t make any disturbance. Please be seated.” Maybe it is a stupid doubt after all. I mean, how is it possible that I am the only one who has thought of this? I must have missed out something. I will just pretend I was adjusting my pants and sit down.

Hah! Run away? This super-hero is too powerful for that. Scars are nothing but designs on my skin. I know no fear, I am least bothered about defeat. But if I am going down, I am definitely throwing one last heck of punch before I go. “Sir! Why haven’t we considered time value of money in the previous problem?” Leap of Faith. Some also call it the Leap before you think theory! I don’t care if he scolds me for making a mess, for creating confusion, for troubling the entire class or whatever. But I am not going down! Atleast in my dreams I am a super-hero. Have to do justice to that guy.

Bam! Mogambo falls flat on the ground! Sir smiles at me and responds. A few henchmen try to attack again. A few students threaten me for making sir go into another long lecture. But once again – the hero has won.

And you know what the funny part of the story is. This hero who saves the universe on a daily basis at night, doesn’t manage to fight of some simple villains during the day such as “the will power to not click the snooze button in the morning", stay up to study another one hour at night, say “Love you” to his dearest on valentines day and all that. To all the readers out there, who, I am DAMN sure, have authored this little super-hero somewhere, sometime in your life, show the world how good an author you are.

The narrator is shamelessly guilty of hypocrisy and has exercised every right bestowed upon a preacher under the “It’s easy to preach” Act.

Love

Who Are You To Judge Me?

Who gave ICAI the right to judge me? No metaphors, no introduction, no digression, no reluctance to rely on clichés, no attempt to be diplomatic, no guilt of injuring emotions and absolutely to fear of saying things that would earn me the fury of all – this is the reality, the truth, the bare facts that glimmer before my eyes and I can take no more of this Atrocity. I have no clue how you are going to take this but as a blogger I feel obliged to write this article, duty bound to express my views and guilty of not having shared my thoughts on the matter so far.

The Institute of Chartered Accountants of India (ICAI) announced the CA Final Exam results a week back and that of CA IPCE just two days back revealing shocking figures. The pass percentage has dropped to a decade low of 3.11% from 10% last year. The grapevine informs that this is an attempt by the Institute to improve the quality of CAs. Others agree that by having reduced output the demand has increased. Apparently CAs are being offered better pay scale and all that hungama.

Let the institute do whatever it wants. ICAI is an independent organization with an undisputable and enviable reputation which flaunts to the world some of the finest members of the profession. It has its policy to implement, reasons to draft those policies and the rights to so. Period. No questions raised and no fingers pointed. But what irritates me is, and I tender no apologies for what I say or how I say it, WHY ARE WE BOTHERED ABOUT IT? I see brilliant people – Accountants, tax specialists, auditors who weave magic, experts in finance and Business management, people who have a flair for numbers and the charisma to lead, people who have earned deep-rooted respect from the clients they serve and people without whom the Engagement partner is helpless – I see these people struggle to earn a tag of two letters – C.A… and I ask – WHY?

Never give up! Success will be yours. One day you will achieve. Not now, but soon.  Failure is the stepping stone to success. Victory comes only to those who…. Blah blah blah…. Proverbs flood my Facebook wall during the months of January and July (that’s when the results are announced). To all those who shared the posts I reiterate the same with one addition – Choose your battles carefully.

Brilliant extra-ordinary, etc, etc, I have used those words to describe some of my friends who did not clear the exam. I shall use the same words to describe some of my CA friends too - some really inspiring dudes. I will also say that there are absolute duffers who didn’t crack the exam. And there are those, around each and every one of us, we have all seen them, some characters who make us wonder, “How in the name of Bloody Blundaleomite did this fellow clear his 8^th standard?” Look at me in the face and tell me it is not true? Tell me you haven’t met people and thought the exact same words only to have the shock for the day - “He is a Chartered Accountant!?”

Live examples of CAs reporting to non-CAs are aplenty. And even more are CAs who slog until they earn the tag. Devdas’ who yearn for their lost love and drown themselves in the ocean of “Never give up’s” and “Next time’s”. What is stopping a professional from going up the corporate ladder, or as a matter of fact, any organization? One needn’t “qualify”, to qualify as a professional. If you disagree, I lament – “O corporate jungle, Please lend your ears. Show some maturity and don’t bother who clears”.

There is a charisma. A charismatic curse that draws students towards it and behaves like a Venus flytrap. Once in, never out! Yes, yes, go ahead and say it, “You won’t understand!”, “It’s easy to preach”, “Say the same thing when your results come, kk?” True, emotions are overwhelming, defeat is tragic and repeating the effort is frustrating. But the fact remains that we are somehow stuck in the unhealthy chase for “C”. “A". The fact remains that this exam – or any exam for that matter, is only a test of your skill. A test. A test. One of the tests. One of the thousands of ways to find out if you are worth a job, worth a promotion. There are 999 others ways to show the world that we have the skill set but this truth is forgotten in the rat race. “Why should I qualify?” the question is never asked.

The irrelevance of exams, the flaws in our educational system, those are words too big for me to use I dare not venture there. But I have faith in the world. Economically speaking – The market knows the fair value of an asset. Don’t take this for a motivational session – it is not! I am not trying to motivate anyone and I am least bothered about how long shed your tears after the heartbreak of results. This is a social awareness… thingy.... kind of article. A playback of whatever Amir Khan said in 3 idiots. A blind hunger for an unworthy certificate. Yes, unworthy in the hands of a real Chartered Accountant, for he doesn’t need one to prove his worth. And yeah, a Chartered Accountant is an amazing human being – trust me, I see… Every day.

Wrapping up this article for the moment. Have loads more to write but since my exam due in another year I have tons to study. Notes to copy, problems to read, books to finish!

Love

P.S. Many Many Happy Returns of the day to my dear sister who celebrates her birthday on Feb 3 (tomorrow)! Love you ma!

P.P.S Advance Birthday Wishes to our dearest Super-manager who celebrates her birthday on Feb 3 (yes, tomorrow)! Love you too…