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…

A Fairy Tale

They saw the flames creep towards them from a distance and knew that it was the end. The other signs - the heat, the smell of fire, the voices of escapes, agony and pain, the cries of loss - all of them followed as the animals made their way out of the jungle. And all those signs, only that could have slowed them down. Birds flying towards the fire to save their nest, protect their eggs, arboreals scaling greater heights with a futile hope that the fire won't reach them and some reptiles taking shelter in the homes - they say that animals have instincts that can help them out of anything, but nobody knew the danger that lay ahead because the foe that threatened them was the deadliest of all.

Chaos and madness multiplied as humans attacked from all directions. The animals raced across the forest in diametrically opposite directions, madness chasing them away, fearing gripping their lungs, glazing in their eyes. They ran, flew, climbed - desperate and helpless. The greenery which they knew down to the last leaf - every creeper that twined itself on the tree bark, every root that popped itself from the ground, the flowers that killed and the caves that hid monsters - each cell inside them knew these 'deadly green secrets', but what they faced now was worse that all of that put together. And ironically, the 'deadly green secrets' teamed up with them at the crucial hour, caves opened up, roots bowed down and creepers popped out of nowhere to stop the humans. They all turned nocturnal that night. They had to... for survival.

Many died. Many were killed. A lot was destroyed, for reasons that were nothing less that devilish. But all that could be done was to say prayers of gratitude for the new life they had been gifted. For the new home.

And how was the new home? Beautiful? Wonderful? Or was it the hell on earth? I am not going to be judgemental, I am not going to pass a verdict. My job has been restricted to that of a journalist - a reporter who simply captures his sights and reproduces it for the viewers. And this is what I saw at the foot of the hill that they had made their new home.

Some of the nocturnals claimed to have seen humans lurking in the night. And this observation spread through the forest like with exaggerated exclamations. Sceptics however ignored this fact stating that Humans only hunt by the day. However, this observation (true or untrue), split the forest right down the middle into two. Those who began packing right away and were ready to run for their lives, and the other half that cherished their newly found home. The runners accused them of being complacent and the slackers accused the others of being over-reactive.

Levels of preparation varied from species to species. There were those who barely slept or ate, with the toes on the ready and ready to fire. There were those who wanted to get ready, but the luxury that came with their new habitat had the effect of accelerated gravity on them. The flowing river and lush forest pulled them in, put them to sleep, fed them and made them fat. The fanatics and the lazy butts. The lazy butts blurred the line between runners and slackers.

The fanatics who although were united in their opinion about the impending danger, had very little to cheer about and even their unity in opinion couldn't bring togetherness as they vehemently practiced solitude and cared for nothing more - redefining the idea of a dog-eat-dog world. The slackers took up the other extreme by sucking in every last drop of the fruits of nature, as if there were no tomorrow. The sorrow of loss still pained them and the hearts refused to even imagine a recurrence of the tragedy. "No! Nothing bad can happen anymore", their cups could not be emptied. "And if we are attacked tomorrow, we will handle it then. I seriously cannot go on a fast just to get ready to run. Such a beautiful home is hard to find, and we already think of running? Bloody Blundaleomite!"

No judgement is being passed. No assessment is being made. Just stating the facts, that's all. You know very well what are the odds of humans cutting down a forest along which a river flows. And you also know how beautiful a forest at the foot of a hill could be. Nothing more being said

Love 

The MCP's Confessions

     The MCP returns - your very dear Macho Charismatic Playboy is back! Yeah, yeah I know.... you have read my story before and you very well know this is not what MCP means; the beans was spilled by my dear wife and all this hungama is just going to make you laugh even harder. So no more of all that non-sense, I am going to be plain and simple, and this time around I am going to do justice to my story. New year might be all about resolutions and promises for most of you out there, but I am going to celebrate it with confessions. Let me tell you the story of how this bratty hooligan of a guy, the pompous, haughty, annoying Bloody Blundaleomite, who didn't have the last trace of self-respect within him, came to his senses. How this sexist "creature" transformed into the model husband - a description that Priya, my wife, will vouch for. Read and Enjoy.

     I had the epiphany during my last year at college. Things weren't going so well for me, Blanket girl and pizza girl had messed it up Big Time and now I had become the official "Gay dude" of the college. Let me make the extent of the gossip more clear to you - my friends stopped talking to me, girls pass crude comments at me and I used to receive love letters on a daily basis... none of them seemed to have a girl's hand-writing. The declaration was official and life had become hell. The funny part of the story is that I realize the intensity of all this, the magnitude of the tragedy of the situation, only now. 9 years after college and 4 years into marital life, only now have I understood what a fool I had made out of myself during those days. I was obviously too full of myself and oblivious to everything going on around me... until....
     Until that unforgettable... wait, what is a better word for unforgettable? It was not just unforgettable, it was... wait, let me just Google it up, a better word for unforgettable... Indelible! Fair enough. I didn't have the aforementioned epiphany until that indelible day. The week after S7 exams - Tiruchendur Temple Visit.
     Such a beautiful place to be when the day is young. The sun bobs on the surface of the Bay of Bengal and slowly floats up towards the sky turning the heaven above into the magnificent blue that you can never stop looking at. The clouds decorating your roof with impeccable designs, something no sculpture ever dared to re-create, one of those sights which makes you truly believe in God. Not just the sky, everything in and around the temple makes one believe in God. This little incident did a remarkable job at that.
     We had finished circumnavigating the temple, 3 friends and me, collecting blessings from every deity in the stone carved wonder and every priest with vibhoothi in his hand. Well, I guess Vibhoothi is the most tangible form of the blessings you receive from the lord. And we did make sure the blessings were genuine, no piracy in all these matters you see - we dropped a coin anywhere and everywhere possible! And as I was saying, we prayed inside and came out to wet our feet in the beach that adjoins the temple (which was not a very smart strategy because now our feet were wet and the mud was sticky and our floaters became dirty. Thank god my feet didn't itch after that!)
     Yes, and we are right outside the temple, wearing our dirty floaters and wondering whom to ask where Mani Iyer's hotel is? (Apparently the hotel is the reason some people visit the place, than the temple) The four of us, staring aimlessly in four different directions (we were utterly jobless after exams right?) made an easy prey for the con.... no accusation here, she may have been genuine, she may have been a trickster, let your faith save you, I am going to call her what she calls herself - A Fortune Teller.
     "Show me your hand child. Let me tell you your future." Now if you have been in Chennai, you will have most certainly acquired a much needed skill - How to ignore. Woman lying on the street with a naked child, man with no fingers, boy with scars all over, no matter what it is, all of them reaching out for you... yeah, sometimes it tears your heart apart, but eventually you learn to focus on the more important things in life - "Did Hansika break-up with Simbu?", "What does Modi think about Obama's healthcare policy?", and all that. And obviously my friends turned their head away, no amount of pleas or "Such a bright face you have child, you are one of a kind. Let me see your hand and tell you more", could dissuade them. Now, don't judge me, I have no idea what went through me, I showed her my hands. And she could see it in my face, a dash of insecurity (back then and even now let me tell you, I have no idea whether it was actual insecurity or curiosity masked as insecurity or the sun was just too bright... whatever)
     "You are tense my boy? Very tense. So much sorrow, so much pain and anguish in your heart. Yes, lots of pain in the heart. Your heart is in pain. Very dear pain!" And everything that happened during the past couple of years flashed before my eyes. Memories raced through my head, of trying to harass girls, of the contempt I had for them, and how they had struck back. Scenes of all the agony and pain that had been inflicted upon me at college, at the insensitivity of my classmates, of the remarks and comments passed at me, of how I had been reduced into insignificance... heyy, don't roll your eyes at me, the fortune teller was really convincing... "Take this little twig and rub it all over your body", and she handed me a little twig which she pulled out of her bag (which made a very convincing prop for a fortune teller), and I obeyed her. No, no, no, I was not under her spell or anything, she had pissed me off already.... I just wanted be very courteous to the person who was trying to make a baffoon out of me. "Not, like that, rub it very well. All over your body. Your legs too... yes, like that! Now spit on it and throw it away." I got rid of it.
     "How much would that be?"
     "500" BLOODY BLUNDALEOMITE! 500 Rs. for palmistry? She seemed to read my mind and quickly responded, "100 for the palmistry and 400 for the twig." Another funny twist. I didn't have any money on me. LOL at the look on my friend's face who had to pay on my behalf. At that moment I realised that the pain in my heart would very soon spread throughout my body. My friend was a strong guy.
   
     That is the story of how a fortune teller looted my off 500 Rs. and my honour. But on a more serious note, her voice did do something to me. The scenes that flashed before my eyes, the memories I had recollected at that moment; they touched me deeply. Those memories grew into thoughts - thoughts of what I had put others through, of what I had done in school, in college, of all the girls that have been around me, and the irony of how eventually a woman came around to make me spit at myself (you see, I was holding the twig in my hand, and I had to spit at the twig, so...) Little things can change the world. It's a laughable story, a hysterical one, but it did change my world. Two years later I went to the same temple, met the same woman. I had grown up, my face was more confident, energetic and wore a rather decent smile, with no traces of guilt in or around me. "You will get the woman of your dreams my child!" She said and charged me 50 Rs. And let me tell you, that came true.

Wish you all a Happy New Year!

Love

P.S. Here's the link to the prequel for this story - The MCP's Love Affairs http://positiveram.blogspot.in/2013/03/the-mcps-love-affair.html
Read and Enjoy
     

Alone in the Dark

I am afraid of the dark. There, I have said it, shamelessly. But add that this particular fear of mine is normally not something I would say in the first line of the first paragraph of my story. I am a CA student, I am a daughter, a sister, a friend, a patriot, a feminist and many more things that I am proud of, that I wear like a badge and flaunt like a star. And let me also tell you that this particular fear is not something that has escalated to a phobia. Maybe it's because of the precautionary measures I have taken - like the use of a night bulb, carrying a mobile torch with me all the time, persuading my dad to by an automatic inverter battery which gives back up the second power goes off and to top it off a well crafted inward-outward strategy. That is, my movement in and out of each room in the house will be such that either it will be broad daylight, or I will have company or there will be someone in the room already. In short, most of the time I am not even aware of such a fear. But I shouldn't have taken my brain for granted. Nope, not at all, because the human brain thinks for itself too. Even if I don't know it, the fear exists. And it is bound to surface... Eventually!

I love the night. Ironical as it may sound, the night has so many things that make me excited - like the air-conditioner which is invariably set at 17 degree celsius, the beautiful 8 hour sleep (which even my CA life was not able to shorten by even a second) under my very precious blanket which is silky on the downside and furry on the up (took me 3 whole days to select it) and the sight of the moon from my bed. On full moon nights I turn off the night bulb to enjoy the full moon, it soothes me, dispels my fears and, let me poetically add, that the moonlight is a cold blanket for me. Irresistable!

*SLAP* that was me slapping against my own cheek. Why did I do that? I don't remember. But now my cheek is itching. As I touch my cheek I also realise that I am sweating! My whole body is sweating. "Sweat at 17 degree celsius? Am I crazy?" As the heat builds up under my blanket I slowly wake up to my senses, "The AC is switched off, Must be a power-cut and the inverter must have died". My assessment continues, "Wonder what mom and dad are doing? Have the mosquitoes teamed up with the sweat glands to wake them up too. Let me have a look." I open my eyes and suddenly the heart beat doubles and triples, the lap-dap becomes thud-thud. No nightlight, no moonlight - absolute darkness. I hold my breath and stare into space - Frozen.

As darkness engulfs me, adrenaline is pumped into my blood, I writhe under my blanket, but its simply too hard to make an actual movement. My eyes are wide open, I don't whether it was trying to find some trace of light in space or the fear took over all my muscles, it was difficult to control myself. "Light, light, where is the light", the obvious took too long to strike me, "Mobile torch-light!" I stretched my arms outside the blanket and ran my fingers over the table next to my bed, where I normally keep my cell phone. 

Now, it is very much possible that I may have knocked something over, it might be possible that I was so tensed at that moment that I pushed everything out of the table or... I don't know. But in that darkness which consumed me every second, as my heart-beat grew faster after every pulse, as my eyes nearly popped out thirsty for some light I heard a deafening bang - as if every item of kitchen crockery had fallen on the ground in my room. And the noise didn't stop; it pierced through my ears, echoing again and again and again.

I tightly tucked myself under the blanket, braving the heat and the sweat, hugging my knees and my eyes firmly shut. The noise was still in my ears, my entire body was shivering in fright, I couldn't think, it was as if my brain was switched off. I struggled to find air, my lungs refused to take in any oxygen and there was nothing I could do, absolutely nothing. 

The clanging voice finally stopped, only to get replaced by an even more deafening silence. And the absolute stillness seemed to take physical form. It was touching me, its hand reached for my shoulder and pulled me above. I tucked myself even harder under the blanket and hugged the pillow as tightly as possible. But it wasn't helping, the darkness somehow seeped into the blanket and began to taunt me. I was being bullied, tortured, horrified. The invisible presence hovering above my head fed my diabolic imagination, my brain presumed the invisibilty to acquire dangerous forms and I was thoroughly convinced of an impending disaster. Logic was washed away, I was under the spell of my fear - Frozen.

 

In the final moment, much like the dramatic climax of any thriller movie, as the darkness was about to take me away, the rescuer roared into life in the form of my air-conditioner along with its loyal side-kick, the night-bulb. Brightness was restored, sight had comeback and silence was thwarted away! Like a real super-hero, electricity had shooed away the villains and restored peace. But I didn't have much time to look into the poetic or romantic aspect of that rescue, because the minute my room returned to 17 degree celsius, I had slipped into the avalanche of DEEP SLEEP.

Love

It's Cool!

It's the end of the year again, the month of Christmas, the month of introspection and a cooool month. And I know when it gets cold (trust me), I have been in Riyadh, the city where summer touches 50 and winter drops down to 5 degree celsius, without any warning at all. I remember the time when the swimming pool, that happened to be the play place for 6 months straight - a two hour bath everyday, gets sickeningly cold during the last week of September, left unattended, unclean for a while and is finally drained out in the first week of October. I remember walking into the school to find everyone in navy blue jackets, vapour puffing out of their mouths as they exhale, and find the entire landscape painted grey. The tarred football ground under the grey sky, children covered in sweaters and ear muffins (or whatever you call them) and gloves and 3 layers of socks, Air-conditioners turned up to maximum heat and on a positive note, no stench of sweat, no complaints about the blazing sun or the scorching desert heat - It is a month with a lot of nostalgia, December indeed. And truly - winter rocks! The shivers of Chennai however, came to me as a surprise.

As I wake up everyday at 5 in the morning and let the shower water pour on me, as I step out of my house before even the has set out, as I sit under the cruel air-conditioners of my classroom, as I look at the puddles of water that the Chennai roads are blessed with..... the shivers are not just a collection of nostalgic moments or an escape from a hateful summer. Winter, just as poetic as it sounds, portrays its different forms to me these days. And I don't know whether it's me being too romantic, or whether it simply is that way, but I perceive these forms as different stories.

Until 3 weeks back I used to sleep at 11 pm at night and have never woken up before the clock struck 9. And then all of a sudden my C.A. classes begin and I have to wake up at 5! The half an hour journey is preceded by a cold bath and includes a 15 minute walk on an empty stomach, and not to mention the mental workout that happens at classes. And all through this transaction, what gives me company is the goosebumps on my skin. The coldness tells the story of a challenge in the morning, one that I surpass (except on two occasions where I slept in), with a lot of pride and a sense of achievement. As the wind blows against my face I can hear a buzz in my ear - Go back, get some rest, have a nice sleep. The fan over my head pushes me down every morning, the alarm clock fades off in the backdrop and winter gifts me a beautiful sleep (sometimes I hear the voice of rain splashing against the window... nobody can wake up from such moments!) My story is a cakewalk, but there are those who have to travel thrice as long, bathe in water twice as cold and surpass a hundred times as many puddles as I had to in the morning. And behind all that there is a nasty winter villain, the diabolical mastermind. Can you beat it?

I walked down the subway, folding my umbrella for the moment, enjoying the dryness inside. I looked outside to see the entire pavement drenched, the roads almost flooding and finally turned around and stepped down, where another voice caught my attention. It was a monotonous wail, the voice of a little child, and the child was saying something, again and again and again. Bravely (because I had watched conjuring only a few weeks previously) I reached the foot of the staircase and saw in the middle of the subway a woman sitting on the floor with a naked child on her lap. And the skinny child, she wasn't crying or screaming, she was just saying the same thing over and over again. Just one word that I couldn't comprehend, one word that I don't remember, but I will never forget the voice, that tone. Can you beat that? I walked away from the scene without batting a eyelid, without sparing a coin, drenched in guilt and disgust. The cold that was a challenger, or more like a motivator and an inspirer to some had taken the brutal shape of a killer to someone else. Devoid of food, clothing or shelter, they sat inside the subway for god knows how long. I spare a tear for thousands of others who suffer such a fate, I spend a minute in prayer, hoping that nobody will have to wail like that in the future.

It's the middle of the night and even facebook seems to have slept off, the number of green dots is almost zero (almost). The fan is spinning over my head, which itself is spinning owing to the sleep deprived, mentally exhausted situation I am in. But some blogs cannot be left unwritten, somethings cannot be left incomplete, and the romantic tale of winter is one such story.

The coldness has always brought people together, sometimes physically and if not, mentally. The coldness has brought hearts together, new friendships forged, old ones tightened and the warmth is shared as widely as possible. And sometimes this coldness itself sets off the spark in a friendship, the spark that ignites a blazing fire. This is not fantasy land, this is not hogwarts; this is a story that is happening around us and even within us. The winter bears witness as so many of us slip on the ice and fall in love. Don't be shy now, that fall is just another reason to celebrate.

Love

The Best Revenge

Varun

"Saar... kass kudunga saar!!!" Just as my feet reached the pavement without losing the rest of my body (well, you know how the buses are in Chennai, and you very well know that you have to say your prayers of gratitude if u have managed to get off the bus in one piece) just as I turned around to take in the view of my majestic Marina, I heard that! Four huge hermaphrodites cornered my like a mouse, swaying their hips in tune with their outstretched arms and begging for alms (hey, I almost rhymed there), they, whom I sympathize with 'theoretically' for all their sufferings and tragedies, those outcastes upon whom the world cast its worst curse (pun, repetition and alliteration - I am on a poetic fire!) - but when it comes to facing them in the real world and meeting their horrific demands, I am a merciless coward. Doing justice to the aforementioned adjective of myself, I fled the scene in a flash.

Lata

Finally he gathered the courage to ask me out. We have hung out, probably a million times, but that was just in and around our very own school compound (Woah! I rhymed too). Embarassed by so many accusing eyes, tired of telling them, "Go fuck yourselves and just let us be!", we had to share love amidst chaos. But now finally, my boyfriend got his driving license and he is taking me on our first date to the majestic Marina beach. My hero, in his hero (pun burn!) drifts past cars and rickshaws and scooters and other bikes, and me, ignorant of all that, lean on his back and cherish the wind.

Varun

These days, any monkey with a DSLR is a photographer and I am a nasty monkey king (they don't have a poetic device for that but I matched the last syllable for those two words there. Kind of like, backward alliteration). Almost half the group was already wetting its feet and I marked my entry by almost drowning one of the petite girls of the group. And then the always enjoyable routine of beach time fun began - we splashed water at each other, sank our feet in the mud, captured a hundred photos, some of our own group and some of the festivities at the beautiful Marina, again tried to push the girls into the water and ran for our lives when they threw their tantrums and, obviously, looked around for pretty girls too. Soon Aswathi joined me in the exercise and we started rating them. 

"That one's gorgeous", said Ash and I responded with, "She looks like a stick wearing a dress" and also added, "wonder why you girls are so obsessed with size zero? It's pathetic"

"I am not obsessed with size zero, it's just that you boys never look at a girl's face." I couldn't rebut that. Who can?

I asked the others to come over to Marina sandwich and when they declined, I decided to continue with Aswathi. And the hunt for "the prettiest of them all" ended with a mini-heart-attack. My eyes fell on Lata, holding hands with another boy.

Lata

Usually I give him lessons on romance, whenever we hang out. But for our first date he was like a prince. And he walked me to the beach like a princess, putting his right arm around my shoulder and holding me tight, gripping my left arm with his left, incessantly talking to me about this or that and whenever he stopped, he looked at me and smiled. It was a good thing he was holding me, otherwise I would have fallen unconscious in his eyes.

Amit was just a couple of inches taller than me and I wouldn't rate him as the most muscular among boys. When I first met him, he would barely talk and even when we started talking he was shy for words. He would blush whenever I walked across him and stutter whenever he talked to me - and I fell for all of that. We talked for hours and hours ever since and today as he grips me firmly, I feel proud! It is not as if I have changed him into someone I like him to be. But he has grown up to become someone I love him to be. We reached the beach and as I raised my face to look at him... Arghhh!!! everything was supposed to be romantically perfect! That was supposed to be our first kiss, but alas! my eyes fell on Varun - my ex-boyfriend, walking towards me.

Varun

We were madly in love. I still am in love! How could she run away from a relationship that lasted... Flourished! For three brilliant months, as if three awesome springs! How we met, how we talked, how we fell in love, all that is a cliche. But how we broke-up was legendary. College got over and we never saw each other, ever again. That was unbelievable on so many counts - no facebook message, no text message, no phone-call, not even a missed call, as if we lived in the 15th century. A little of it was my fault too, I let my ego get the better of me decided to wait for her call. And till now she hasn't.

Well, nothing to complain about, with a heavy heart and teary eyes, I accept that she has found another man, or another boy who is barely half my height and would suit Aswathi's idea of beauty - skin and bones! But the urge that has always attracted me towards her, persists to do so even today. No, I cannot ignore her, we have to end this properly. I need a goodbye from her. A decent break-up. And a reason, why she ran away.

Lata

"Hey, Lata! Been a really long time, huh? How are you?" He asked me wearing an idiotic smile. He was sweating and visibly nervous and I was expressionlessly shocked. A number of emotions gurgled within me and culminated into anger. Anger at the person who ignored me for so long, anger at the person who put ego above his love, anger at the person who refused to forgive and forget and ultimately, at the person who ruined my heavenly moments. And at that instant, I gave him the worst punishment I could come with, "Sorry, I don't think we have met before." I said with half a smile. Amit had turned around to look at my ex and he too was now smiling. Varun stood frozen for a second and withdrew without saying a word. "Strange, he knew your name too", said Amit. But he didn't press the matter any further, so sweet of him. I fell back into his arms.

Varun

She ditched me, she ignored me, she chose another guy; all that is forgivable, for we are all humans after all. But to look into my eyes, the man she loved, the man who loved her with every cell of his heart, and blurt such an atrocious lie.... with a straight face? And a stupid smile? Inhuman! Unforgivable! God, wish I could drown her in this water. For what? Only the sea would get polluted! Look at her snugging her all new BF. That son of a Blundaleomite. Ughh... now I can't sleep unless I pour hell on those love birds. And so shall I do, upon the couple I shall cast, the best revenge atlast - Idea!

My eyes darted towards the bus stop only to find what I was looking for. Ignoring Aswathy's "Hey, where are you going?" I blasted to the bus stop at the same speed with which I had run to the beach, approached the four hermaphrodites who had scared me off and offered them two notes of hundred rupees. "Make sure those two don't touch each other. As a matter of fact, make sure they don't even see each other The Whole Day!" My gundas happily took up the job and I gave the world a diabolic HAKUNA MATATA smile. 

I rejoined my friends and continued rating women with Aswathi. And through one corner of my eyes I enjoyed the fun (The new boyfriend nearly pissed in his pants when he saw my missiles and ran for his life. Two of my gundas chased him and the other two cornered Chandrika incarnate - and to those who don't know who Chandrika is, she is a character in a romantic poem who is famous for ditching her boyfriend. When they got paid by the couple, they left the scene for a couple of minutes and again rebounded. The games continued till our group left the beach. And I dedicate this revenge story to every guy, well, why be so sexist, to every person who ever got ditched. Don't roll your eyes, I haven't been ditched... not just yet)

Love