THE HOME-COMING PRINCE

He walked the streets, feeling at home...at last. The moon slowly slid out from behind the dark clouds and cast streaks of light on his battered face. Bags under his heavy eyes, a scar down his cheek and a very prominent vein throbbing in his fore-head, he looked ahead. His weary eyes have a glad gleam. For perhaps the first time in ages, he feels safe. The ravines of the past show in his movement as he shuffled through the street, protecting his exposed skin from the harsh winter wind. He was literally dragging his feet, tired, in a painfully obvious way.

As he shuffled down the street, he passed a rolled up mass of wool and cotton, dirty and stinking, basking in the heat from an almost non-existent flame. The local begger eyed him with pure suspicion and spite. It could have only be the dress he was wearing, drapes hanging from every inch possible, crumpled beyond recognition, that caused the begger to eye him with suspicion for a rival. But he is not flattered by another man's jealousy. He shuffled on. The dogs in the street, catching his scent from a mile away, look up from inside the dumpster and snarl at him as he passes. They sure took him for their a scavenger after their dump. He lauged at the dogs and said "I got better stuff...U guyz eat". He kept shuffling down the streets.

He paused at a coffee shop on the way. He called for a coffee and added the magic word "PLEASE". This immediately raised the shopkeeper's eyebrows. He suddenly demanded to be paid before he made the coffee. He smiled slightly and drew out a 10 rupee note from one of his many pockets and waited for his change while the shopkeeper checked every inch of the note for its validity. The coffee came in a steel glass and he gladly extended his gnarled palms to pick it up. The shopkeeper put the glass on a plate, not wanting to put his hands anywhere near him. The heat from the glass was not felt on his thick palms. He slowly rolled his fingers, painfully slowly, around the glass. It did not help him find the heat. He noticed that the cuts in his palms and fingers were not stinging anymore. It was an improvement. The back of his palm was almost filled with cuts and bruises. He sure has been toiling. He held the glass close to his chest, in an attempt to gather the heat, from the coffee, to his chest. It was not worth it. He preferred a hot coffee to a cold one. So he just started sipping at the glass. The heat of the watery coffee, instantly making him feel better.

He left the shop with the change from the transaction, jingling in his pockets as he shuffled on. He heaved a sigh of relief as he found the door he had been watching out for. He was tired, hungry and had not exposed himself socially in over 3 months now. He was worried he might not be so welcome. It was too early in the winter morning for anyone to be up. He was used to it by now, both the winter and not being welcome. He had stooped lower than this before for food and water, so, this was going to be cake walk. Just wake up a house of 3 and shove himself on them and watch them squirm in sheer loathing.

He rang the bell next to the safely locked door. There was no movement on the other side of the door. He waited out another 5 minutes, shifting his weight from one leg to another. Still no movement. He tried his luck at knocking the door. He gave up after 10 minutes of constant banging. Was he not wanted? He did not care. He set his aching body down on the steps and rested his throbbing head on the door. The handle came in his way and he shifted. He clutched his clothes closer, hoping to feel less colder than he was. His eyes started rolling up into their sockets. They were more tired than he was. He started slipping in and out of slumber. He kept touching his pockets to feel the money. A habit he had recently picked. Soon he was asleep on the steps.

Well, it was an hour later, at 5.30 in the morning, that he was awakened by a voice that carried thro the cold air. "Why cant he plan his trips earlier? Its 5.30 and still no sign of him. Why does he never think we might be worried?". Now he is worried he might be discovered. He picks himself up and tries the bell again. This time he is rewarded by the appearance of a middle aged balding man. A smile on his face. He is not perturbed by the dress r the stench. "How was your trip?", he asks. He just smiles and waits for his dad to open the door. Glad to be home, for the first time in 3 months since he started living alone, 500 kilometers away.

FEAR

For once, I thought I would let people know what I am writing about, before hand, without them having to throw up of call me in consolation. The subject is simple, straight forward and completely common.

Fear is what drives man through his life. Because he is afraid to die, he lives. And when he is afraid to live, he dies.

Fear guides us to success. Because we are afraid to experiment, we stick to what we do the best. Whats the point in showing you are good at what you do best???

Fear instills in us, the two things that we all lack...FAITH and HOPE...There will be no temples if every one felt safe. Do we call these people religious??? I call them chickens.

Fear of fear itself is what causes some to instill fear in other for the mere pleasure of watching them wither. Terrorists are not all guts. They are all afraid of fear.

To me, fear is a motivator. Its more like a carrot to a donkey. I absolutely love fear for its immense control over me. I love calling myself the dare devil. I love fear for the adrenaline it pumps thro' my veins. Its fear that make me what I am. I ride a 185kg bike at nothing less than 50 on the streets just coz I am afraid to do it. I never studied for my exams coz I loved the fear it instilled in me. Simply, I love facing fear.

Facing fear is what makes you different. Decisions are difficult and challenging. Times are trying and tiring. But choosing the rough path makes success sweeter than it usually is. But most of all, it makes the easy path look worthless.

Fear has kept me alive. Not coz I am afraid to die. But more coz I am afraid I'd die without seeing the wonders of this world.

So for those who still wonder why I am so, please, I am no hero. I am just scared, and happy to be.

HUDDLE FOR THE NIGHT

Well, this other night, I was thundering down my street to get home at the earliest. I had not eaten in ages and I was dying to sink my teeth into something hot and spicy. Trouble, it was 9.30 in the night. I was early from office today thanks to one of our vendors who agreed to meet me at the corner of my street. I was blessed to get out of office this early. It was just like any other day in Coimbatore. There was, however, one small change in the whole city. The city now had, to its pride, a proud owner of a brand new bullet tearing down its streets, kicking up at the gravel from the already worn out roads. If you cant place the lucky bugger, let me give you a clue....

Its ME....

But like any other normal night in coimbatore, the night was cold. The wind was stinging my skin. I had my eyes leaking from the chill in the air. There was a steady stream of tear running from the corner of my eyes all the way into the hair on the back of my hair. I was late for the meeting with my vendor. I had to drive from office. I did not mind the drive thanks to the beast I was riding. The bike was such a wonder that I did not realize I had taken twice the time I usually take to drive from work. No regrets.

Like I said, the air was cold. The wind was hard and my knuckles were white form the weather. I would not have felt any colder if I was naked. I finished my transaction with my vendor and turned to get home. Its difficult to notice anything when you are riding a bullet. But this just caught my attention so much.

There was a pink grilled landing jutting into the pavement from the front of one of the side shops. The pink grills held the cutest things I've noticed driving my BULLET. In the corner of the small landing, there were at least 15 of the cutest and smallest puppies I've ever laid my eyes on. They must have just opened their eyes coz they looked at me like the way I see things on a late Sunday morning. All but 2 of the pups had heaped themselves up into a pile, protecting themselves from the harsh chill in the strong winds. I stuck my hand into the heap and realized just how warm it was in there. It was a group huddle. A group of Scotties, Labs and Poms.






































How can dogs, at this stage of their lives take to one another for their mutual benefit when, us, MEN, cant so much as put up with one another?

I am sorry that people cant hold each others hands even to relieve themselves from the cold.