I need a marriage man! Its late already. I have already started holding my head high in crowds, to save people from seeing into my extended fore-head. Its getting too late. You know how efficient I am at both work and home. Please, I need you to vouch for me. My expectations are not too high. At this point of time, any girl is fine by me. Just for my parent's sake, make sure she has a solid background in bot the religious and the financial front.

I wondered at this statement, if this bugger is yearning for company, I should be too. But then again, I am not him, am I? So i took it upon myself to get this fool a suitable mate to hold hands and soothingly say in his ears, "No, honey!!! You are not even close to being bald!". My first experience as a mediator. I was marching in tune to the orders that ran down from up high in his family. As a personal friend and a friendly boss to him, I had been with him for over 2 decades. We were not exactly the thickest of friends, but we were friends, nevertheless. I was mentally making a list of a few eligible candidates. Ones that were equally desperate, were more for the picking. At least I had a start. The first person I went to was an aunt and like all aunts, a directory of worldly wisdom and truly a goddess if what you need is matrimonial salvation. Pick and choose was going to difficult with the options she threw. I had enough sense in absolutely avoiding any possible relations to my family tree as, in matrimony, you tend to step into virgin waters without realizing that all that blue is whale shit.

The hunt was feverish. Photos of the bride and the groom were exchanged faster than blows in a pub. Initially a lot of the eligible candidates were rejected. I have to mention here that I was not the sole provider of bread here. I was part of the heard that was clearing weed and pooping manure for the will of one man! Not only were girls being rejected left and right, but this bugger, that was now my incurably insomniac, junior at work, was steadily being subjected to the "THE GROOM LOOKS OLDER THAN MY FATHER" treatment. Until I saw his bio-data, I was under the impression that it was his looks that bore deep into the women's decisions, for, in point number 34, under section c, this moron had written, I smoke one cigarette a day and involve myself in occasional social drinking. The blatant truth took me by surprise, though I can't fathom how I got to that part of the Iliad. I was impressed and slightly dejected that I did not propose any of the palatable candidates from my family. One fine weekend, his parents call me home. It had been decided that a "WHEATISH-22 YEAR OLD-VADAGALAI-BHARATHWAJA GOTHRAM-COMPUTER ENGINEER-WORKING IN BANGALORE-8lpa-AFFLUENT FAMILY" bride-to-be, had been decided upon and I was invited to judge her. The photograph was absolutely brilliant. But the girl would have been better in the background. I abridged my judgement to "she is good looking".

Don't kid me!!!She is not pretty. I accept it. But you have to know that she lost her parents young and had to be raised by her grandparents.

I was looking at a person I missed from making my best friend. He was outspoken, something, among a lot of other aspects of him, I had apparently been missing at work. I was going to take him into my wing from now on, I vouched. I was going to observe him better at work! She is going to be lucky, this dark puny thing, somewhere in the photograph.

All that I missed in him before, I realized he was a cleaner person than the environment personified him to be. I was spending more time with him. Giving him tips to pick himself up. Encouraging slaps on the butt and stuff of that sort. He was changing the person I assumed him to be. I liked him doing the change himself.

With the betrothal done and barely 10 days from the D-day, he took off from work and I was not bothered about the slip in the application for leave. I did him a favor and filled his online forms for until a week after the wedding. 3 days into his leave and not so much as a peep from him, I called on his house to find the door locked. The scene suggested unuse. After some tongue wagging with a neighbor and a cigarette with another, it turned out that the family had vacated the house after he was remanded with a few others, charged for abetting prostitution.

This post is not about me or any friend of mine!Its a post from sheer exasperation and a simple fact that judgments can be wrong. So please judge me all you want!, I don't care, but just don't bother me with it! I am tired of why you think I do what I do!!!


Change is good!!

Monotony...This is a fairly simple term to begin with, but a disgrace to the human race!!

I remember the day I switched from Backstreet boys to Aerosmith. The day I left school to join College. Change has been good. The day I rode the Bullet instead of The Max 100R. Change was excellent. There are so many examples that can be cited here. I am sure I can vouch for the change that came to replace Bush. A change that got the whole world to exhale. Most of my friends who are now working, are thankful for the work they are in, a change from college. Cyclic changes also feel good. For instance, the Tamilnadu Govt., Chief Minister Karunanidi to C.M. J.J., to C.M. Karunanidhi to C.M.J.J. A jump in the digits of bank balance in the beginning of the month to the negative signs before the mobile balance, all is for good. The death of a cast of some Mega serial in Tamil, to his re-introduction as his own evil twin. Horrendous humidity an heat to mystifying rains and sensuous breeze. The incessant nag of a stupid elder sister to her first salary, man this is an awesome change. Changes that are personal are all the more welcome. I remember how I got transferred from being the solution giver to all the petty issues in all the projects, to being the Designer. Change is a warm welcome. It is the only thing that can break the heavy shackles of monotony. Change is expected to bring good. Its never always for the better. I can't forget the second girl that I went out with, for all the wrong reasons. Any change here would have been good. She made me laugh every time I thought about it. There is always some thing good even if the change in itself is not too good. Mom, can you remember when we shifted from Madurai to Coimbatore, it was a very good change. Change is good......

Phew....!!!!I am sure I am justified for wanting a change....Off on a week long holiday!!!!!!!!!!



Well, as the usual saying goes, “Hats off to you!!!!”. I am proof for the fact that you have accomplished a feat and none the less, reached acme. You are beyond the goal that you intended reaching and I sure feel its time to slow things down. Well recent events are still smoldering and I can see your hand in all of what’s happened. Quick, responsive and hitting where it hurts the most. I saw you stain the show with your mark. A gift you have developed and honed since the day you took to speaking aloud. Well, I can sympathize with you at this juncture. I know first hand, how it feels to not feed a restless mind. And I can imagine the gravity of the situation when the relentless energy you possess is not channelized. I am reminded of the saying, “An idle mind is the Devil’s workshop”. But, bless God, you are here, proof for the fact that this is, but a myth. I am sure your surreal activity is quite contrary to anything that is even slightly synonymous with idle. I am in full appreciation for the legacy behind you. The legacy that was sermonized, almost worshipped, by legends, as the alleviation to the sores of the modern society. You stood by them, during their hour of darkness, casting upon them, a ray of hope. They took to you as they were aware that you, unlike us, are not bound by the shackles of time. Not even dimensions. Your very existence, today, is proof for the dreams of the ancient founders of the modern today. Trust was what they laid in you, more as an example to the world, than as your foundation. You were to uphold their ideals for life. I see you today, tainted by a plague of sorts. A shadow, in place of the halo, that was to lead the society. Recent history has seen your omnipresence more as a nuisance than the intended source of confidence. Smile fades when I see the fear you spread. I visualize a sadistic smile of pleasant victory wrinkle the skin on your face. I am disgusted!!!

The latest pull has been the best one yet! It has taken you not more than a couple of days, marathon sessions of arguments, debates and un-necessary advocation, to get a whole nation to scramble on to their feet, mask their faces, clearly not masking their fear, and cry out in frustration at the lack of specialization in the Nation, against Swine flu. I doubt if the flu will spread half as fast as the fear you spread!!!! Is this why we created the media? I can’t see what has plagued the media!!! I am forced to believe it is TIME itself.

Please let the girl rest in peace. I am sure her parents know what to do!!!



Living in a Muslim area has exposed me to the strangest of sights and smells. Sundays being the worst. Its like the skies opened up and the clouds decided to fart on the world. The stench can be so appalling that suicide can not be eliminated for an option. Not being a fan of either the Onion or the Garlic does not help the situation a bit. Times can be hard. Sundays are the only days I tend to sleep in. Waking up in the wee hours of the afternoon, you can’t decide who the winner of the battle is - your moldy breath or the next door’s “Bai Kadai Aattu Kaal Biriyani” with “Meen Kolambu” to go with it. Its like a fawn’s first day. The moment you fall on your fee you have to scramble to safety. Shut all the windows and seal all possible crevices till the holocaust has died down. Sometimes, like today, the stench is so strong that its like the whole country is cooking the same damn thing. Run to the window and slam it shut. Double check all the handles and re-shut the door. Valiantly walk back to the bed for your afternoon siesta. Some routine. When this does not work, its time for one of the two things. Either believe God does not need Agarbathis for the next week and light them all together or look the stench in the face and battle it with the strong aroma of the infamous Vathakozambu with Manathakkali Vathal. I have found from experience that option 2 is so much better that option one for
1. With all the doors and windows closed, the Agarbathis lost track of their purpose in killing only the stench and almost killed me in the process. Bloody insane sticks.
2. There’s just absolutely nothing to beat the good old Vathakozhambu.
So clearly, seeing no point in lighting the incense sticks, I got up, brushed and bathed and set out to fight the damn stench. It was amazing how you can stand without pukin’ when the air smells like a freshly filled sewer. The stench wading into your nose and hits your brains straight. I was moved. I had to act fast before I was killed. I light up the stove and put the frying pan on. The aroma from the frying spices is just a step shy of heaven. More spices. More ghee. Ah!!!!! Slowly the stench was being ousted from the room. My brain, though refused to see the two smells apart. Now it smelt like someone had flushed an amazing pot of really good Vathakozhambu. I was so frustrated I took off to give my neighbors a piece of my mind. I was phrasing the most sarcastic words to slit their tongues with. Well, sometimes you just have to be stern and tell others that the world is to live in. Teach them that you only fart after you eat and you do not eat what you fart!!! I ripped my door open and caught sight of something sickeningly grey in the corner. I had stepped into muck from the sewer the previous night and there was nothing secular about the smell from my shoe and sock.



Well, when you work for 13 hours a day on an average weekday and depend on the Saturday night for all the lost sleep, it is hard to comprehend what goes on around you. My life is chocking-filled with my work and I rely on the Saturdays for all my free time. This week end, however, I was feeling different. Having been as close to home as a martian stuck on Earth, I was not feeling too great about the situation. Too much pressure form all my friends, boasting about the great times they had during the weekend. And here I am, sleeping till 12 on Sunday, a straight 15 hour sleep, no breakfast, little lunch and only Counter-Strike to keep me engaged from 3 until 7 in the night, eat and hit the sack again. Well, I thought this was a little lame. I decided to gather what was left of my college friends and freak out for the night. I had it all planned.
1) A buy one get one free at SUBWAY. My friends buy one for each and I get the other one free.
2) An awesome movie (Angels and Daemons had just released) - preferably at a theater.
3) Crash in my friend's room with his air-conditioner blasting over my head and the fan freezing the moisture in the room.
4) Wake up late in the morning, eat and leave for my room to crash again.

What I as not thinking then was that, we were a gang of 4, my puny frame counted for a FULL-ONE, and I was the only one who had any interest in the A&D movie. The rest fell out the moment I let the cat out of the bag that there were not going to be any "scenes" in the movie. So it was decided. The new hit in the golden screen of Tamil Cinema had to be the movie of the day (or nigh, in this situation). I tried to talk them out of the ruddy idea. Any Tamil movie that has a single syllable for a title had to be 100% reasoned before even contemplating on the idea of watching it. I had to give in. One of my friends had a really cute cousin who vouched for the credibility of the movie. I now realize I missed the drool on the side of his mouth when he wanted to watch no other movie. I had managed to entice in their Tamil brains (its really hard to alter the minds of a tamilian) that SUBWAY was the way to eat on a Saturday night. I managed to get them to drive to the theater next to one of the city's SUBWAY outlets. The movie was at 10. We reached the theater at 9.25. We were ready with the tickets by 9.45. No time for a SUB. "THORANAI" starring Vishal and Shreya (Droooooooooooool). We walked in to a blind trap. The movie was the best thing that happened all night, for my sub had already been traded for a "thattu-kadai" dosai. The story line was simple. Hero-Villain1-Villain2-Heroine. Villain1 and Villain2 are arch enemies. Hero finds out from his permanently-crying, god-fearing mother that his Elder brother ran from home, never to return. And what do you know, Villain2 is the elder brother. Villain1 and hero fight. Villain1 and Villain2 fight. Hero wins. Mother happy. Hey...wait a minute...I haven't made any space for the heroine or the comedian. But to write about 15 songs (if you can call them that) in two minute intervals, that would not sound out of tune if played end-to-end and a few side-line same-old-sickening comedy, would take unwanted time. Well, at this point of time I had got my plans for the weekend all confused. I started off on a part of point 3 half way thro' the movie. Man it was easier to sleep than to follow the damn story. But in the end, I realized I had not missed a damn thing, after all. The best part of the whole expedition was that we stopped the car on the top of one of the bridges and caught up on old times, at 2 in the night. I woke up at 8.00 on Sunday. No where near my "wake up late" plans.

To start off with, this was Plan - B. I wish I had picked Plan - A and made it to Bangalore and actually freaked out. Darn my work!!!


IT CAN"T BE!!!!!!!

I write in pain today.
It happened so quick that I wasn’t aware it had begun. I am ashamed I didn’t see it coming, for I have been with it all through its life. I should have seen it coming. I am so damn flustered at myself. Looking back, I see the how everything fell so well in place. How it had to happen this way and how completely inadequate and diffused the finale was. Its grandeur should have winded me. I was so involved. I remember how I would come back from college to find it waiting for me. I would spend precious moments cherishing all it had to throw at me. Sometimes I as so happy with it that I would talk about nothing else for a long time to come. It was on my lips till it got on my friend’s nerves. Now I am going to miss it!!!
I still can’t believe this was coming. I thought it was another silly complication aimed at drawing my attention to it. I was clearly not giving in and I would have missed it all if I had showed lesser interest. I am at least glad I was there when it happened. But I can’t see what I have to look forward to, anymore. But I still can’t believe this was the best exit. But I am so darn angry it’s the end. I haven’t had enough of Prison Break yet. I thought Killerman’s entry was an annoying complication aimed at extending the show. But then, in the word’s of late Michel, you can’t trust anyone. I still believe it was unnecessary to kill Michael. Man am I going to miss Prison break. I hope they bring in something better with the next wanna-be Prison Break.
Long Live Michael’s legend.



“It’s just that I feel weak, a lot, now days. I feel sleepy and I never want to wake up. I get giddy when I look a anything that moves and when I climb stairs. I have never felt this way, Doctor, and I am now a little worried.”
For the past month, till date, I have been working from roughly 7.30 in the morning till 10 in the night. My sole company, through the day, being my pangs of hunger, my occasional head spins and the inconsistent but persistent gnarl shoved at me from my superiors.
One sweep from head to toe and the doc is ready with his differential. He was careful in laying the facts in front of me. Something of my stature must have emanated the radiance of a man 10 seconds away from choosing his path between Heaven and Hell. I have no idea what gave him the idea that this 21 year old, hard working, biker could not handle a spot of shock. Something told me he wanted to make sure I was out of his office when I received the details of his analysis, should I fall stiff on my back from shock and hold him responsible for my condition. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and waited to be ushered out of his office by the secretary he summoned by the push of an old fashioned “twist” bell. I was waiting for the voice of the young and hopefully cute secretary to call me into the ante-office to collect the details of my condition. I was instead a little taken aback by the approaching figure. It was the lady I had taken pity on, outside the clinic. I had dropped a couple of coins next to her on my way in. I was praying to God she was a patient here. Well, no good deed goes unpunished. I left the clinic with a printed sheet with close to a dozen tests on them. I was directed to a Lab down the road by the “secretary”. There was no trace of emotion on her face. I was now assured she did not have a refreshing tea from the money I so graciously donated her.
I took the list and rode down to the Lab. I am still worried I was sent to this Lab on purpose. I would have taken a week with a detective’s magnifying glass to find this place. It was neatly sheltered under the sanctuary of a dilapidated 2 storey mansion’s rickety stairwell. I was supposed to get my blood tested in here. I was rightfully scared beyond reason when I was approached by a young chap wearing a faded, checked, "lungi" that was neatly raised to seemingly reveal the “patta-patti” underwear, underneath and to my concern, he was holding a syringe in his hands. I had made my mind up, for I believed this was an act of God, in retaliation to the tea-tip. I entrusted the safety of my throbbing vein to the man in the veil. The vein was throbbing on its own accord, from fear for safety, no doubt. He was happy to poke the metal into my very obvious vein and draw a sample of my blood for the tests. I was convinced he was no good at small talk when he ventured to ease my nerves by saying it had taken him 7 jabs and 25 minutes to locate the previous “patient’s” vein. I gave up in horror. I was ready to leave when I saw him approach, this time, holding a white plastic cup. I was going to curse God again, linking to the tea-tip, when I realized the cup was empty. I was mildly relieved and was eager to leave. He stopped me with a sharp whistle and a careless wave of the cup. I was amused. But that was just for a fleeting moment, for the next second, he handed me the cup and pointed to a dark corner of the hole they called the Lab. I understood. I had to get out of this place at the earliest. I filled the cup up and left for the nearest hotel to wash myself up. Not wanting to go there a second time, I directed the men to have all the reports mailed to the doctor and the bills also with it. I would settle it there. He was not happy, but agreed. I ran home and drank water till I was leaking from my nose. I wanted no nightmares when I slept that night.
“Did you receive my reports Doctor? They have charged me quite a bit for these tests. I hope they were helpful.”
“Well, they are helpful, but if you say your giddiness is too much to bear, we will have to scan your head.”
“No, thanks Doc. I feel quite safe and I am sure I do not require a head scan.” I was not going to put myself through another series of torture.
“Your blood and urine look normal. If you want a source for all your problems, I am sure you’ll find it in you. You are too weak. That is why you feel tired. Can you describe your daily intake?”
The rest of the conversation was completely useless as I was down right blown away. I got off work early to come see a doctor and I go through a load of completely de-moralizing incidents, I pay a good-for-nothing lab a small fortune to receive a completely useless report and all I get from this is a lousy “You feel tired because you are weak.” I clearly remember that this was exactly what I told the doctor. Man if I had not tipped the secretary, I might have at least landed up in Lab, instead of a rat hole and I would not have felt bad burning a hole in my pocket.



It’s the thirteenth of May’09. It’s a local holiday here, thanks to the elections and it’s a holiday for me to decide. It’s not always that I get this chance to decide and I don’t want to let this moment pass. I am sure that if I do not decide now, I am not going to be able to “decide”, for some time to come. I have a list of at least 13 possible decisions I can make. I needed help here. It’s not so easy when it’s your decision that matters. I turned to the veterans for help.
First, I asked my mom. Well, I don’t know why I keep doing this, coz I am completely aware that to every one of my issues, my mother’s sole responsibility to help will be in her listing out all possible outcomes of every decision possible. In the end, you are left with not just 10 more options since you started off with, but you are now morally responsible for any decision you make. Darn mothers! I was looking for a way out and ended up with a road block and a dozen SWAT teams pointing their laser beam at me! She now has my list of 13, double itself. I am amazed at the options I had not even bothered to consider. She goes on to suggest I take the help of her friends in Coimbatore. No, thanks, they are ALL mothers too. I can’t risk loosing my list of options among the files of options they might come up with.
I turn to Dad. Dad is the more subtle version of me. I usually take the most insane route out of a problem and then laugh at it. My dad is the kind of guy who takes the most insane route out of a problem and stops at every step to swear at me for following him on this fool’s errand! He narrowed down my options. He gave all his reasons for ruling out half of my options and said he did not know what made me choose the other half for options! I scored out all the options he picked. I was getting somewhere. You cannot take my dads decisions at face value. You have to process them. Dad is careful with decisions. He analyzes decisions so deep that by the time he decides, his turn is over.
Armed with the renewed and shortened list, I picked the phone to call my Gramps. Gramps loves it when someone needs a spot of help. Always glad to help and no strings attached. Sometimes it’s so darn supportive that he is spontaneous with suggestions and sometimes it’s just out of the blue. I knew I had to approach him with caution coz I know how his decisions are driven. It’s never just about him. He is cautious of the repercussions of his decisions. So, when you go to him, you never ask for his decisions. You give him your decision and get his ideas on possible repercussions. I did not need this right now. It can wait. I still have not made my mind up.
Well, I don’t usually go to my friends straight. I know for a fact that they think exactly as I do and they will not be much of a help when you are confused, they are bound to be confused to be confused too. I was right. My friend here, was not much of a help in saying, “what do you want to do?”. Dude, I asked you just about the same thing. We ought to have been twins. I called up my uncle (first time in my life I’m calling him my uncle) to find out what he would do. He’s in Bangalore. We talked for 25 minutes over the internet, gave up thanks to the lousy connection and took to the good ‘ol expensive mobile conference. Chatted for another 10 minutes. I still have no idea why our conversation included nothing but the bullets we owned and the trips we were planning. My colleagues were no help whatsoever. They were all seeping on the paid holiday.
I gave up trying to score off the options from my list of possible homes and hotels to lunch on the holiday and ended up cooking at home!



I saw it!!! They were walking down the street, holding hands. Then they stopped at the corner before his college and kissed!!! I swear!!! I saw it!!!

It’s difficult to have a love life with a little sis in the house. But the scenario was a lot different and the heat was quickly spreading. Now the whole family was around the siblings. Mom, Dad, Gramps and the worst part was, Mom had called in her sis to help her “morally”. Aunt was definitely not the sign of peace or truce. She was Mom’s conscience. She filled in whenever Mom lacked the courage to whack the siblings, and this was not rare.

Dad : Is what she saying, true? Do you realize this is not the simplest of issues?

Mom : We never should have shifted to America. We’ve spoilt our children raw!!! (Sob!!! Sob!!!)

Sis : I don’t kiss any one!!! I don’t even kiss Dad!!! Am I a good child?

Bro : Yeah, a good brat!!!

Dad : It’d not funny! You shame me! And Mom, who asked you to call the entire family in here? I am sure this is not something I want the entire world knowing. (turning to Aunt), get Kanchana out of here. I don't want her tainted by whats going on in here!

Aunt : I am only here to support her through all this! This is most shocking, even for me! So if you don’t like me here, put up with it! (She’s now holding Mom through her wheezing sobs).

Dad : Son, I asked you a question. Are you denying it? You can! It’ll save me a lot of face.

Mom : Please tell me it never happened and I’ll only be glad.

Sis : I promise! I saw them at it! Beli…

She was cut in by the harsh sobs of Mom and the ferocious glare in Dad’s eye. She is saved by Aunt, who ushers her into the bedroom and secures the door behind her.

Dad : So. I assume you don’t deny it!

Bro : Well, I guess there is nothing for me to say in this! What do you want me to say?

Shock!!! Mom stops sobbing, as if hell froze over! Dad was simply stumped. Aunt was smiling at the failure Bro had turned out to be. Her son will now be the pride of Gramps eye. But it was most unfortunate that gramps was almost completely deaf to hear what was going on. Gramps was also disoriented and completely disconnected from what was happening.

Dad : You worthless brat!!! How did you even get the guts to do such a thing?

Bro : Kissing someone is not like killing someone. I am not ashamed! I am actually in love! We are even planning to marry! We won’t let anyone het between the two of us!

Mom is now positively shrieking and Aunt is glaring at Bro. Dad swings at Bro and catches him right in the face. Gramps, who was, until now, unaware of the plot around which people were reacting, looks up at the enraged father-son duo and mildly approaches,

Gramps : No matter what he’s done, its never a reason to hit him. Love heals everything. Talk through all this and I am sure you will all come to a smooth conclusion.

Bro : Exactly my thoughts!!!

Dad shoots a hot glare at gramps and then returns his bloodshot eyes to his son.

Bro : Like I said, we are in love and we want to get married.

Mom : How can this be? It is not in our culture to do this? Are they at least Hindus?

Dad : Are you insane? You talk like you don’t mind him getting married!

Bro, decisively ignoring Dad’s comments : Ma, they are not only Hindus, they are also Iyengars. Just like us, Vadakalai.

Dad : Oh, shut up you brat! No one is asking for you to open your mouth.

Gramps : Its too late now, Kesava. It will be easier for us to marry the two of them off. And they are Iyengars too. It won’t cause a lot of issues in the family and we can adjust. Please call the parents and talk to them.

Dad : Appa, please!!!! You don’t understand the situation. I am not going to tolerate this. Please!!!

Mom : If this is the only way my son is going to be happy, I don’t mind it.

Dad : Oh, shut up!!!

Gramps : Kesava, call up the parents and talk to them and then we will all decide together.

Dad : Appa, understand Pa. How can I talk to them? What will I tell them? “I am the father of Sudharshan. I have come to ask the hand of your son, Raman, in marriage to my son”. Imagine the shame!!!

Gramps (a little confused) : What did you say????

Aunt (he lips curling in a vicious smile) : Sudharshan wants to marry a boy!

Dad turns away and mom starts a fresh bout of crying. Gramps was clearly shocked and there was a distant look that had creped into his eye. Dad was now positively shocked. He did not know which was worse! His son wanting to marry another boy, or his father slowly transcending into a state of shock.

Dad : Get out of my sight you lousy brat. Look at what you’ve done! At least call 911.

Gramps (managing to breathe a few words out) : Please don’t shout at him. At least it’s an Iyengar boy. Talk to the boy’s family and try convincing them that Sudharshan will be the one tying the Maangalyam.

Sis (peering from an open window) : Does this mean I am getting a Priamma?

Aunt : No. You are getting a Periappa.

Dad : Oh shut up, all of you! What is happening here, I cannot allow a boy to enter my home as my daughter-in-law.

Aunt : Well, he can even be your Son-in-law. Its really up to you to decide. (She was clearly enjoying this).

Gramps : Kesava, don't let them talk you into being the bride's father. Show them what you are made of, or else we will have to pay for the wedding! But remember, if necessary, Sudharshan can have all of Padhmini's jewelery. She wanted her Grandson's wife to have them, but under these circumstances, she would have been more than happy to see her Grandson, himself, wear them.

Dad : Oh please, everyone quiet down. I give up!



How do you manage to do it??? You are definitely not normal...How do you manage to convince so many people that you are an innocent Iyengar boy???

People refer to my unwarranted, irrational decisions that usually sets me apart from the blanket term "normal". I shrug at their responses with "I am just spontaneous!!!". I am sure they don't buy it. The main cause for their worry is how free I am with what I do. And how little constrains I lead my life with. My family (except for my parents who have given up on me) can't believe I have the guts to ride my bike alone on several occasions, on treacherously long rides. It has been my passion to ride bikes at top speeds and the open roads are always inviting. I love the way my baggy pants flop around in the gushing winds and how the wind feels in my hair. Its amazing!!!! It took me 20 minutes to decide I was not going to take the train or the bus to my native. I took off on my bike after work.

How dare you??? We trusted you!!! You scare us with whatever you do!!!! Your mother was dead with fear for you!!!! Why did you not inform her??? Is one phone call too much to ask???

You would think my dad was taking out his frustration, but this was my aunt speaking her mind out in my face while the entire family was assembled around me, ogling at the feat I had just accomplished. Through all this, my mother stood meekly at the back, unable to give up on her son and unable to stand what the others were putting him through. However, all that my dad had to say was, how were the roads???

I recently took a fall on my bike and had my back stitched at 6 places. I had don a good job of keeping it a complete secret from everyone I knew. Except of course my parents. My dad had to say I was running temperature, to come from Chennai, to help me from the hospital. Well, when I had to take off my shirt to get my head shaved at Tirupathi, I left a scar on the person my family thought I was.

You think you are so smart!!!! I told you a bullet is no bike for you!!! You never listen!!! Is there someone you respect enough to obey??? I am so sorry for your wife!!!

I had to remind my aunt I was not yet married. I managed to calm her down saying this was from making fun of my mother. SMART!!!

Then there is the ever changing hair style. I am not even sure what style I am following. There is one comment I am now dying from. Vechha kudumi, saracha mottai.

I've always wondered who I took after in all this... I was wondering until today...

I JUST thought of this... We leave late tonight, reach Guruvayoor n the early morning and return by afternoon tomorrow, giving you enough time to rest. Can you ride the bullet through the trip???

My dad announced his plans to ride on my bike all the way to Guruvayoor and back, 10 minutes from landing in Coimbatore.

Now I have someone to blame for all that's not normal in me!!! Thanks pa...



The silence of the night was tormenting. The pitch black sky, the moon struggling to show its presence from behind the thickness of the clouds. The house was breathing hot air down the neck. Sleep was torture. The fan was doing its best to bring the cool of the outside past the unnaturally stifling, irritating warmth of the walls, failing miserably. The occasional feel of the air moved onto the sweating skin was soothingly cool. The recently shaved head was radiating enough heat to bake breads. The short and spiky hair growth was annoyingly getting stuck to the pillow like Velcro. The open window was serving the only purpose of removing any last remnants of privacy that the room seemed to offer. His sleep was so disturbed he w able to recognize every strike of the bell in the church across the street. The biting ants were soothing company.

Lack of sleep can be very tiresome. Feet drag, shoulders sag and heads droop at any time possible.


A meek response, "I am sorry you feel that way sir, but I did all I could. I got both the department's managers to deal with the issue at the same table. They decided. I did not. The failure is not mine."


Another meek response, "Sir, the tool is not ready. I have done all that I can to make sure the concerned people are aware of the critical nature of the situation. The issue is being looked into. I am not responsible for the delay."


A sigh...unmindful of the spit the flew from the enraged mouth.
There is no point is fighting back. Give in....Give up!!!! Its useless... You can run, but you cannot hide.
Hide... My skin has turned into hide from all that I have put up with...There's no point in fighting anymore...Please Quit!!!its for your own good. Do not waste your time proving your innocence...Its no big deal. You still have your bullet to rely on.
Man wind in my hair, tearing down the neighborhood, the beat of my bullet resonating through the empty streets of the night. Head lights glaring, speeds nearing 60...Living the biker's life... Aerosmith rocking in the background...Aahaaa Aahaaa...Dude looks like a lady...


Man where does this guy come from??? Get him off me!!!

Phone blaring in the background...

A startle...Wah???When???Who???

Ahhhh!!!Screw this!!!!!!Why do I have to have nightmares of my work when I face the same thing each day???

Its still 3.30 man...get back to bed...Julia Roberts...My Bullet...Now that's a dream!!!!!


AWWWW...God save me!!!



Like most of my posts claim, I am an avid biker. I ride for the thrill of it. I ride while I still can. My latest conquest was my trip down to my native. I was born in a village called Mannargudi, an hour's drive from Thanjavur. It was our annual Sadhas. This when we have every possible pandit associated with our annual sadhas, meet up in our village. We host the show and cover every one's expenses and livelihood for a span of 3 days. It's an event to behold. I've never missed it in the past couple of years. This time was special. I had company. Usually its a bunch of octogenarians trying to pass for middle-aged men completely in control of the situation. This time, I was going to help them out. i was going to help them keep their wits. My plan, surprise my thatha and his siblings with my latest conquest. I decided to ride down to Mannargudi. A mere 300 km one way. I now have a 600 km trip under my belt. But lets not completely stray from the title. This blog is dedicated to the cause my Thatha is married to (apart from my patti). This is about what I realized I have been missing through all these trips to Mannargudi. Thnajavur and its surrounding villages constitute the delta region. The triangular reigon of land where the river Cauery deposits all its rich alluvial soil before uniting with the sea at Nagapattinam. The whole belt is considered to be the best suited region for paddy cultivation. The reasons being

1. The abundant water that the Cauvery brings
2. The copious rains during the South-west monsoon
3. The strength of the uninhibited sun
4. Soil so rich, it is rumored to revive a dead plant

But the truth is, the whole livelihood of the delta region is completely dependent on the river. the sun is more a nuisance than a support. And the rains are almost always the cause for the farmer's misery. There is almost nothing there for a farmer to do in the delta when there is no water. Droughts hit them hard. Floods never drown their miseries. They are often and they just drown the crops. The water is the farmer's life and it it is his death. A field if either not irrigated at the right time, or over irrigated at any point of time, will have irrevocable damage on both the crops and the farmer.

The river is the backbone of the entire belt - the soil for all the nutrients and water for irrigation. The Cauvery happens to flow through Karnataka where the flow of the river is interrupted at 12 places with "anicuts" or dams (damns) for irrigation.

Now back to my ride. My route was probably the most picturesque. The moment I leave Karur, I am greeted by the vast expanse of the "Ahanda"(Wide) Cauvery near Petavaithalai. All the way from Karur to Trichy, the Cauvery guides me. If I can't see her from beyond all the greenery she has helped sprout, I can hear her flow through a series of twists and turns and cascades. She is a wonder. The scene is wonderful, but I can't enjoy it. My senses are high on the watch for the million lorries that ply down that way. For a road that small and a city that that does not do a lot of construction, there is an awful lot of lorry traffic. At one point of time, just before Trichy, I had counted 259 lorries. I had crossed each one of them with the ease of a heart surgeon at work. I felt they kicked up a lot of dirt. I was confused. The road certainly did not have so much dirt. But half way to Trichy, I had enough dirt on me to make me feel 10 kilos heavier.

As most of us are aware, there is a long term tiff between Tamilnadu and Karnataka over the "sharing" of the Cauvery water. Karnataka wants the water for its own "purposes". Tamilnadu needs the water to save the livelihood of over 40,00,000 people, who are completely dependent on Cauvery. Water from the Cauvery is what will keep them from committing suicide. This is how important the river is to the people in the delta.

When I shook the dirt off me, I realized it was not dirt. It was sand. Sand from the bed of the river. The 259 lorries I had counted were looting the sand from the river bed for "corporate constructions". This is a large scale commercial scam that "legally" allows a license holder to extract a specified quantity of sand from the river for "construction". What these people so "legally" avoid is that from Karnataka to about a few miles before the sand quarry, the river bed is, for example, 5 feet from the road level. In the sand quarry region, for a stretch of at least 30 kilometers, the river bed is, again for example, 15 feet from the road-the bed has been robbed of the soil the river brings with it. Again, beyond the quarry, the level of the bed rises. A deep turf has been caved on the river bed. Water that is released from Karnataka has to reach the delta in time for irrigation. If the water is released 2 days in advance, it takes 4 days for the water to reach the delta as it collects in the hole the moles have dug. The water that is logged in the dug out trench is lost for ever. It is stagnant and evaporates. There is so much that can be done with a little water in the delta.

The lorries take turns in getting filled with the sand from the bed. I counted 6 lorries on the river bed. This was the tail that was visible outside the thick growth of coconut trees that hid the rest of the lorries from view. Some lorries lay wait for a minimum of a fortnight in queue for their chance to dig the grave for the next farmer's family. The demand for sand is so. This is all but a large scale commercial scam. If you hear any politician promising the farmers anything, remember, there is nothing but a scam in everything they promise. We do not have an enemy outside the state. It takes close to 100 years for a boulder to become cultivable soil. We now remove it in less than 15 minutes. When there is not enough sand depth, water does not percolate into the underground rivers. Ground water level does not improve. No more water for irrigation when the Cauvery is dry.

Help the farmers...Support their cause...Oppose sand quarrying...Oppose politicians who know nothing beyond their stomachs!!!!! GOD SAVE THE WORLD!!!!!!!!!



I used to have hair that rivaled my mother's. My hair was so long I was always mistaken for a hot girl from the back and a scary mule from the front. Well, that was just to kick the fact in that my hair was longer than all boys in college, and for that fact, most girls too. I took real great care it. Washed it each day. Combed it clean back so that none of it fell into my eyes when I rode my bike. I was passionate. Long hair meant huge problems. Trouble for my parents. My dad was always afraid to show me in public, mostly because I told everyone I was growing my hair coz I was soon going to inherit my father's crisis. My mother was afraid to show her friends my room. My room was worse than a barber's shop. Hair fell like crazy. I was loosing hair by the second. My mother would sweep the house once every two days and sweep my room every two hours. My dad hated my hair for the fact that if I forgot to close the door to my room, it would look like the food had grown hair. And the wind never helped the situation. That was how bad my hair fall situation was.

This was in college. I kept my hair until I finished college. Then there was the second phase of my like that required me to be "groomed". My mother saw to it that my hair was gone. I was no longer allowed to wear jeans. My privilege to be wild was gone. I was to be tamed to fit into the society. to follow the line like every one else did. But the fact was that I could not get my job with cargo pants with 15 pockets, baggy T-shirts with bleeding sculls on them and specially no shoulder length hair. Well, I was glad my hair fall situation was going to fall dramatically with the shorter hair. I obliged. I cut my hair so low that I swear I could see my brains when I looked closer. I saw a silver lining in the clouds. I looked positive and I got my job. Now I was looking for my hair fall situation to tame. Well, it was just like me. It seemed to be taming on the outside. But, soon, my room was covered with hair as small as my nasal hair. I realized the Scofield hair do was not helping the situation. I took to chemical solutions. I bought myself a top-brand "serum" aimed at strengthening the roots of my hair. I wasn't sure whether I bought it for the reasons they gave for why their product was 5x better or for the girl on the bottle. It did not occur to me that the brand left out the benchmark for their improvement. 5x better than what???Competitors???more likely, 5x better than plain water!!!!

Anyway, I was now a faithful customer of one of the top brands in the Hair-Care industry. I stuck to the product for over 6 months. I was giving the product time to get accustomed to the filth my hair goes thro'. Six months, there is more hair on my towel than there is in my beard or my mustache. Hair fall is the same as it used to be in the day. But now my hair was 5x shorter than it used to be and the fall should have been at least 2x lesser. Man, i was getting frustrated. Sometimes I felt I was loosing more hair than before. I was difficult to comprehend the situation. I could not fathom how or why this was happening. It was a mystery. I did not have enough time. I was soon going to share my father's hair style. Well, with the hair he has left, there not much style left ether and the thought was giving me the creeps. I had to solve the problem at the earliest. If a product that is proven to be 5x better (I still do not know better than what) has not helped save a single hair, I was not sure what options I had left. I decided to take the matter up with the hair-care company.

My hair is now at least 5x times shorter than the last time I called you. How come my hair fall is no lesser??? Have you been putting me through a wild goose chase??? D you have an answer???

Sir. Are you using our Hair-care product???

Well, is that not obvious why I called you??

Have you been following the instructions on the back of the product???

Shit!!!!Who the hell knew there were instructions on how to apply shampoo on your hair. I told her I was getting another call and I went to read the instructions better (for the first time). This is when I noticed something in small green letters on the green bottle, below the huge name of the company. Since I read it, Ive changed my brand. What I read made me realise how naive' we all are. The bottle had 3 words that made it clear to me that these people were 5x better at advertising. It read

" *********

revitalizing serum that
helps hair fall"
Now does it mean they help hair in falling or help hair from falling???? I called the people again to find out. Well, there is no point in calling someone who slams the phone down on you.

Now-a-days, I've made it a point to read every line on a product before I buy them.



A week had passed. I can't say how bad a shape I am in now. I've been folded, smoothed out, roughed and ultimately used like there is no tomorrow. I have two friends who don't have as much work as I have, but are just as worked out as I am. They work under me. All they do is stand on the Heel till they are relieved.We never work together. They never see light during the day unless its completely unavoidable. I, on the other hand, keep moving in and out. I am drenched every now and then. Work is never too little for me. Its even harder when there is an out break of flu. Well, as luck usually has it, it was the hottest week ever and there was a running nose around every corner, meaning, work was twice as difficult, twice as gruesome. I never falter. I have a heart the size of this universe, though my body might not seem so. I trudged on through the week. There is no saying how bad things can get when the heat makes every pore on the skin to reeks out with so much sweat that you have to drink more water just to sweat more. But throw in a nose that leaks like a cracked dam, you have the perfect recipe for a social reject. That's how this week made me feel. The dust on the roads seemed to have no where to go. They seemed magically attracted by the sweat. Well, just adds to the glory of the reject. By mid week, after perhaps million swipes or so at the filthy sweat, I realized I was slowly loosing my color. It was not happy. The flu was going no where. Alternate swipes at the sweat and the goo just made me feel worse. I was loosing track of my duties. My friends were not doing so well themselves. You can't blame them. They had the worst place of work ever. The only time they were allowed to see the out side was when the day was over, sometimes at 10 and sometimes even at 12 in the night. We had started out fair at the beginning of the week and now I was slowly turning into a color that was a mixture of Dark Grey (sweat + Dust), Light Grey (from the nasal GOO) and a strange shade of Yellow (only God knows from where). I can't even imagine what my friends looked like. They sure were not happy. The made sure they announced their agony with all the foulness in the world. It was luckily a Sunday tomorrow, no need to worry about the sweat, the goo or the _oo. It was going to be over anytime now. I can breathe easy now on. I was not going to hide my joy. I was certainly doing a good job of showing off my true color of White and Pale Blue as I lay there, basking in the sun with my friends by my side. Clearly we had to have turned a lot of heads through the week, to have been washed at 12 in the night.



'Are you cold?', the father asked his son, after putting his son in the bus that was taking us to Madras. The kid looked like he had grown up in a hurry. He was slightly taller than I was (well, my hair tickled his chin when I stood up to let him in). He looked at least a couple of months from puberty. Every thing about him oozed out shyness. Even his facial hair. He refused to see anyone in the eye.
He responded to the bald mans question with a grim nod (the bus was artificially converted into a mobile freezer box). The man, with a clear sign of concern on his face, literally ran out of the bus to the car he had parked diagonally in front of the bus, concerned they might leave the hulk of his son, behind. He returned, panting and gripping a silvery shawl to protect the kid from freezing over. He slowly started to stretch the huge frame of his son across 2 seats, making sure he was as comfortable as can get. All this was happening while the rest of us were glowering at the duo. The bus had started 1 hour late, waiting for these buggers. We had managed to convince the driver into rolling the bus out of the city and into the bypass, and now here we were again, stopped in our tracks by a mad man who chased our bus and parked his car in front of us, and was now pampering a big boned teenager.
'OYE DRIVER!!!!', he had the audacity to scream, from inside the sound proof seating area of the bus, to the driver who sat on the other side of the flexi. Seeing that his voice did not manage to pierce thro' the 6" thick glass, he smartly started ramming the back of his hand on the glass till the TV behind the glass stated to wobble in protest. He did not stop till the driver and cleaner, afraid the TV might fall on their heads, ran into the seating area for cover. 'Yena???Unga vandila porvai tharamatieengala???Nanga konduvandhutom, paavam, mathavanga enna pannuvaanga???',(in a politer tone, Don't you people have blankets for your passengers? I brought one, what about the rest of them there) he rambled, shaking his head in the direction of where I lay, clearly shivering. He was protesting, in our support, or so it seemed, until he snatched 2 more shawls from the cleaner's cabinet, picking the best there were. 'Intha saamii', (here you go sir) he said, laying one shawl after another on the prostrate frame of the kid. Tucking him with all possible care. He was taking his sweet ass time in making sure every inch of the boy's outgrown skin was covered. When he was done, after a nerve rattling 15 minutes of our time, he was satisfied with himself. He had left a small opening for his son to see him leave and another small vent for a stray molecule of oxygen to pass through to the mummy's nostrils. When he was ready to leave, the mummy managed to wiggle a couple of fingers form under the sheaths of silk, to make the bald devil leak from the eyes. I was convinced he was only crying for fear for his son's life. The door shut on us. The lights turned out. The bus didn't move a flicker. Looking through the screen, I found the crazy man directing the driver to stop at the kid's school and cross the over grown beanstalk across the street to the school. The school was supposedly on the by-pass road leading to madras. The father then shook hands with the driver, neatly managing to slip in a couple of notes into the drivers hands.

Now that the ordeal with the crazy father was over, we moved on. the bus was careering through the nigh traffic. It looked like the driver was making up for the lost eons by trying to extinguish the human race. One man who I had kept eying for the strange likeness he shared with a maddened grizzly, suddenly let out a sickening belch and threw up on the poor weasel of a man who was sharing half his seat with the grizzly. Sudden movements, puke bags being passed to the grizzly, pardons exchanged, seats shifted. And through all of this, the mummy lay unaware.

The bus kept rolling away at the same break-neck speed. I couldn't sleep from nervousness. The guy next to me was shifting uneasily and I was expecting him to burst from every orifice, anytime. Just when the roads seemed to clear and the drivers speed was setting into everyone, out of the blue, a rare deer, swiftly and gracefully jumped in front of the bus and as quickly as it had jumped in front, it had scampered back into the bushes, or so the driver claimed (in the driver's words, oru dearinga, vandikku munnala dunggunnu dunggunnu kuthicchi vanthicchi. Onnume panna mudiyala). Well, whether it was a deer or something that rhymes with it, the driver stamped on the breaks (air brakes, meant to stop the bus in its tracks at any speed), the ABS kept the bus from slamming into the stream of cars in the next lane and the thick growth of mangoes on the side. Well, this is when I should have been flustered and angry with the driver for making up an utterly insane alibi or at least thankful I was still alive to be doing what I was doing. But I was not, because I was delirious with laughter, tears streaming down my eyes, the sides of my stomach aching from spasms. I was chocking on my own laughter. The mummy had slipped clean from his seat and had somehow gotten itself wedged between his seat and the one in front of him. The shawls his loving dad had wrapped around his seemingly healthy body, were binding him like a strait jacket. He was struggling to free his hands. Half way through the struggle he lost track of where his hands were and was blindly shaking his shoulders. I was going to die soon if I did not stop laughing now. I laughed at this thought coz I was sure the poor kid was going to die if he kept struggling against the straight jacket. Suddenly, at God's will, his hands popped out from no where. Now I was consumed by a fresh bout of laughter from watching the kid trying to figure out where one shawl ended and where the other began. But he did not have to figure that out until the next day as me and the grizzly pulled the kid, wit his drapes, onto the seat and there he lay, no longer stretching across his seat, but curled up against the window. I was too tired from laughing that I had no time to feel sorry for him. We reached Madras the next day, just half an hour later than our scheduled arrival.



Hart was a loner by day and alone by night. he nearly always kept to himself. Never ventured to share his pains with another. Never tried to make friends. But was careful not to loose the ones he had. His only companion were his books. He read like he breathed. He ploughed through books all day with spy and war novels and rocked himself to sleep with old classics. His only other passion was his ride. A rugged monolith of a bike that was the apple of his eye.

Being the loner he was, he had a 'spot' that he felt was his. It was a lonely shade under a lonely tree in the middle of what can be described in ease as 'no where'. He felt the spot. He felt himself in this spot. This where he escaped from the rustic life of his. This is where he consoled himself for all the mistakes. This is where he did it all, collect and arrange his thoughts. But he liked best to read under the shade of this tree, with the breeze helping him turn his pages. The scent the breeze carried from the surrounding wilderness was a song of its own. He nearly forgot himself in his spot, lying on his bike, feet dangling carelessly over the back and his head rested fimly between the bars in front.

He loved being lonley here. He never feared solitude and appriciated it for its uniqueness. His friends always made fun of his habits. they never knew where he went or what he did. They knew it had to do something with his bike and his nauseating number of books. He never cared, for he was a loner. He frequented this place a lot. Atleast one every 3 days. Most days with his books and if he ran out of books, he came there to doze on his bike.

This was just like any other day. he was dozing on his bike, having just finished his second book fr that week. He felt a prickling feeling down his spine. Like someone was watching him. He turned around and through the bushes noticed saw the breeze blow a flock of dark hair into his sight. It was followed by a pleasent pink skirt that flowed with the breeze till it got tangled in the bushes. Unable to tolerate something so elegant get caught in the bushes, he involuntarily reched out from where he was, hoping he could relieve the flowing dress. He then noticed the prettiest pair of pale brown eyes accetuated by the best pair of eyebrows. They, along with the tear drop shaped mouth, made her face look like the prettiest thing he ever saw.

She saw that he noticed her presence and came towards him. "I've seen you here a lot", she sang melodiously. "Ya. This is MY spot", he retorted, not meaning to hurt her. She turned and tried to flee, just as he responded with "Sorry, but I did not expect you here. I am Hart". "Lavender", she sang back, thrustng her fragile palm towards his. "You read a lot", she said rhetorically and tried to catch the name of the book he was using to shield the stray ray of sun that was disturbing his slumber. "Battle Cry by Leon Uris", he said anyway and showed her the book. "Its the best I've read so far. Its about a .........".

Thus it all started. Hart and Vee, as he called her, met whenever he rode there. Howmuch ever he tried, she would not come back to the city with him. He would read to her from his most recent books. They would listen to songs together. As the the days ran into weeks, the found each others company more pleasurable. He never bothered to ask her why she came to that lonely spot. He was merely thankful. It did not take him long to realize he was missing her more than ever. When he had the guts to, and because he was never used to confiding in others, he confronted her with his feelings and asked if she felt it too. "Do you think I would come out into the jungle if I did not?", she responded, elating his thumping heart. "I am taking you to dinner with me today". It was not a suggestion. She firmly declined and elegantly sidestepped any reasons that might have roused suspicion.

Now that he did not have to take his friends into confidence, he told them about her and how they met, slyly missing out on the major details, like how long they were in the dark. He was the happiest man. Vee, the happiest man's girl. He needed to celebrate. He rode his bike, humming the tunes of his favorite songs and drumming his fingers on the trottle in beat. He decided on a cold coffee wishing he could have brought her. If only he had been a little more stubborn. He ordered the costliest drink there and had it topped with all the toppings available, it was his first time there. "Make it sweet as hell", the waiter smiled at the statement. He smiled through the entire coffee and tipped the waiter heavily. Just before he left, he overheard a mischievously sweet voice of a girl talking to an entire bunch of giggling girls. "And every other day I make him read out from his book and he reads to me like he is an enthusiastic four year old who's just learned to read!!!!". The cackle that followed sure drowned the splicing sound that his heart made when it tore.

this is just a story...i kindly ask everyone to please not draw any conclusions...i was just bored when i wrote this...i know the bike and the solitude are catchy phrases all pointing in my direction...but you should know better...



They had to part. It was unforeseen, but they decided it was best for the future. Neither of them liked the thought of parting each other. He did not know how long it was going to be before he saw her again. It hurt him to think about it.

They decided on the time. Both of them were hurt pretty bad and were sure they would not see each other part. He had his friend for support, she only had him. The thought tore his heart right out. He had to decide fast. The best thing to do was to have her moved to some place safe where she can lay back and relax, recover and get back to him, rejuvenated.

He missed the mornings when they spent atleast 15 minutes in getting each other going for the day. He missed the way she was stubborn in letting him leave and how she made him want to take her to work, keep her by him all day long.

She knew she was the love of his life and made sure she kept her toe within the line in flirting with his short fuse on his rage. And he was thankful for this. They both tried each others patience, but love doing so.

He would take her out, wherever he went. She knew all his friends and loved the way he was possessive of her when they were around. He was keen in sensing her "ikki" feeling, around some of his friends and he made sure they never to set eyes on her.

He protected her, though she was pretty tough on her own. He defended her when others made fun of the two of them. Everyone said they were not made for each other. He did not care, but made sure she knew he thought they were wrong.

Life was pretty lively and active untill that dreadful day. He still remembers all the details. Every minute that passed that day and how they felt like an hour. How his decision to let her go for just that day had brought them to this juncture. How he felt he was only helping her, but got her in this state.

She, on the other hand, was anxious that he not blame himself for their state. She suggested a break from their tightly twisted lives, to breathe, to recuperate.

He blamed himself, not for them being in this state, but for making the fateful decision to part for a rest. It was for her good, he re-assured his now completely broken heart. He set her up at an all-expences-paid recoup centre. He did not tell her whre she was going. It took some planning and some string-pulling to get her a spot in the centre.

His work had been so demanding all the week that he did not have any time to pine. He only missed the times they had together in the morning and the evening.

The week ended, it was saturday. The day they would forget themselves and just wander around. He still did not completely fell her absense. He was however, torn up with the misery he caused her, later that very day.

After nearly a week's seperation, the first sign of life from her. She had sent him her bill. It ran to Rs. 5186/-. He sent across a cheque, happy he was goning to see her soon enough, fresh, completely renewed and fitted with


He cant wait to see her again and he cant wait to reaquaint with the renewed half of his heart.



I went back to work on the 10th, right after my little fiasco. I was too damn bored at home for my own good. Work is dull with all the global recession and people resorting to stimulate the economy for growth and stuff. My project, being under the direct supervision of the president of the company, is always hot and ready to dish. I work 12 to 13 hours a day, non-stop (I don't even have time to pee).

But that's me. And this is my project. Mine is not the only project in my company.

One of the other teams has 3 people. One designer, one program man and a team leader. This is the team that is the envy of every other team in the module. Not coz its got one person over the usual number or coz the leader is the most experienced of us all. But more coz there are 3 people tending to one non-existent product. They waltz in at 8.35 in the morning. Leave for lunch 2 minutes before the siren goes (I've never seen the canteen at 12.30. I am the one who breezes in at 12.50 and leaves at 1). They leave the company premises at 5 (save one, who tends to stay back till around 6. Hold on...He isn't around working...He's just here to workout...Company GYM). They spend their time doing everything one has to do at work. They dedicate a major chunk of their time to wish everyone in the morning. The rest of their scarce time is eaten away by mid-morning coffee, post-coffee chat, mid-afternoon tea and post-tea chat. Oh...They also sit in front of their monitors refreshing their mailboxes in hopes of finding another "This is my last day at work..." mail.

Recently, I was so amazed at how much spare time they had apart from their usually tight schedule (refer above paragraph for 'usually tight schedule') , that I was sorry for them. They did not know what to do. With the recent advent of a couple of orders from strange corners, most of the module was either busy, or was detached as part of a value-engineering program. They were out of people to nag to death with useless jargon. Man, a real plight indeed.

Time was, however, on their side. Within an eye's blink, the fourteenth of February was here. The day people were dying to see. It did not occur to me , why, they were unusually early for work today. I did not realize it was valentines day (my girl friend failed to remind me through the course of our hour long tirade). They looked like they had a mission. I was happy for them. I thought they finally had an order to work towards. My happiness was as short lived as a rat's fart. Their wait and patience, I realized moments later, was for the arrival of our GM. It wasn't 2 seconds after he had arrived, when one of them, beating the others to it, reached him, shook his hand and in the cutest way I've ever seen, handed him a Valentine's day gift, wrapped in pink.

I wasn't sure who was more embarrassed, me or my GM.



She was late to start from her home. She left only at 7.15.

She usually wakes up by 5.30 in the morning, when I lay oblivious to the hair raising siren my phone emits for an alarm. She was tired the previous night after a delay at the ice cream parlor. She slept 25 minutes later than she normally does. This is why she had to wake up with a start at 6.15, 45 minutes later than usual.

Her father, who usually wakes up at 4.30 for his usual morning walk for paper and milk, was not around the house when she was frustrated with herself. If he had been back, 10 minuets earlier, he would not have been held up in the bathroom, tending to his morning dooties and would definitely have woken her up, at least 10 minutes earlier.

They normally buy the milk that's got 2.5% fat. Today, however, they were forced to buy the one with 5% fat. This delayed the boiling time by 5 minuted than what it normally is. Her breakfast had to wait as she was habitual of drinking her milk before she touched a morsel of food in the morning.

The father, being late as he was, sat down with the morning paper, forgetting the bread that was toasting on the grill. It was too late when he realized that the smell was not of his daughter's usual cologne.

Her breakfast had to wait as he milk was late by 5 minuets. Now that her bread was ruined, she was delayed by another 5 minutes.

She throttled her bike with all he might to make up for the last time. Her effective speed with her daily duties had only delayed her 15 minutes from her usual start for work.

Her friend had, the previous day, a flat tire and could not ride to work and requested her to pick her up as well. She obliged as they lived just a few blocks from each other.

As they zoomed together on the bike, down the deserted main road, they realized that the signal that usually did not work, started functioning. They were inching closer to their dead line for time.

The blazed through the signal, not minding the steady whistle from the cop who was never there usually. They braked to see what the problem was about. Another 5 minute delay.

They realized the main road was not their way to go and turned into one of the less conspicuous side roads that ran parallel to the main road.

The obvious shrink in the size of the road did not stop them form hitting what can only be described as BREAK NECK SPEED.

Leave out all the reasons above, if only I had not done 60 km/h (or was it mph) on my bike, I would not have been sitting at home on a working day, with cops ramming my door and the bleeding slit on my back ruining the pleasure of seating my swollen legs (that's where my bike landed on the road when the, then late, girls crashed into my bike).

P.S.: The word LATE does not mean the girls are dead and the post is no way a representative of what acually happed at the scene of their crime.



Please...this is no dark, shady and repulsive post...its just a script on the latest book I ploughed through...A book called THE LAST DON, by Mario Puzo. A Puzo book that I have had the guts to read, after the Godfather. The book was an amazing read from the start to the end. Just the right quantity of everything you might imagine, for each of your senses.

Like the book's title reads, its about an Italian mafia family settled in the United States of America, using every loop-hole in the country's law to survive and flourish. Unlike normal gangster books and movies, this is a slightly different read. Its about an aging Mafioso King-pin, who controls all the drug dealing and the gambling in the nation. But that's all there is common with the other books along similar lines. Here, however, the Don uses all his experience and cunning to dilute the roots of his family into the so-called legal society of America. He is aging and sees himself a a protector of his kind.

The story is centered around the Don's grandson who turns coat against the family and the son of the Don's Nephew, who struggles to relieve himself from any ties he has remaining with the Family.

Like any old plot should be, this book also has a lot of cold bloodshed, cleverly planned murders, loss of a close one and revenge. The twist in the book is that, here, the Family is running INTO the society, instead of running away from it.

Just the right amount of suspense, intertwined with the best explained kill-plots and just the right amount of flesh. Also, these are timed in perfect unison to compliment each other. The scenes are also set out in a careful haphazard manner to provide enough temptation. Best of all, you never get bored of pages and the lines.

A wing of the family tries to run away into the movie business, opening a whole new avenue for the readers to know all the ACTUAL "behind the scene", in a movie business. The harsh truth can sometimes be a little unnerving, but thrilling to read.

If there was a better book along the same storyline, I would definitely love to read it for comparison.