On Her Deafness

When John Milton wrote, On His Blindness, arguably one of his most revered works, he was almost completely blind.

Inversely, as I write this, I am almost completely not-deaf. Finally, in my senses. Somewhat. It’s great to get back to ‘normal’—if there’s any such thing—or is it?

Two weeks ago, I had lost the ability to hear. Thanks to an annoying rendezvous with a cold that liked me so much that it overstayed its welcome. It infected my right ear and made thoughts, words, sounds, noise—sometimes my own—alien. It felt like people were talking to me lightyears away. Like I was talking to myself lightyears away.

I realized, how oblivious I was to my ears, and every little thing I heard. Whether it mattered or didn’t. Whether it was worth it or not. But when you lose the ability to hear, you have to double the effort to use the little ability that’s left to hear. This also means you tend to listen to even trivial, ignorable, slight things that you couldn’t care less about.

And because of your lack of hearing prowess, you tend to strain to hear which sometimes appears like you are taking interim interest in petty things. Like the color of the new Rs 2,000 note and how it has ‘nano-technology GPS’, which is absolute bullshit. Nano-technology and GPS are as compatible as demonetization and a migrant worker. They don’t work well together because one has nothing to do with the other. Severe lack of logic gets me worked up. With my half-ear, I gave them an earful.

In that list of trifles, there’s another wedding in the family. Alright, that isn’t petty but weddings are over-rated. And the more weddings I attend, in whatever capacity, the less and less I want to hear more of it. Ah! Hear. And because I couldn’t hear, I thought I’d be spared. But no mercy for the disabled. Not even from your own family.

What to sing, what to dance, what to wear, how to look, I am asked, like I am the Google of weddings. They send me songs that I can’t hear, they sing to me when I can’t appreciate, they show me clothes that I am not thrilled about, and they share choreographed sangeet performances that make me want to pop my antibiotics—even when I don’t need them.

Worse, you can’t even say their demands fell on my deaf ears or like they say I can’t even do ek kaan se suno, dusre se nikaal do. The right ear is blocked. No outlet, bro!

I should have broken a few bones or lost my memory or something. The sorry fact that I was hard of hearing, sadly didn’t qualify as an excusable disability.

But there’s always a silver lining. I am glad I was able to lend an ear, thankfully the one that was working, to a friend who needed it the most. I had to not merely just hear what she was saying, I had to listen. Sometimes, you don’t need ears to listen. Okay, at least not both. You only need to listen. Just that.

The first time I read On His Blindness was over ten years ago. But it has stayed with me to this day. And I don’t know why. I don’t even like it that much.

Not like William Wordsworth’s Daffodils. That, I truly love. It’s such a happy poem, such a happy place:

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

As long as you can feel that, who needs ears?

When Reason Met HIM

-->

HE said: It’s November 8,

We must no longer wait.

Time to throw a surprise.

Let’s demonetise.

A shocked Reason stepped in.
It said: 86 percent in the bin?
HE said: Don’t question my ‘advice!’

I am NaMo, and NaMo is wise.

Let’s demonetise.

Reason looked aghast.
It said: The economy won’t last.

HE said: Oh that’s bound to reprise.

Let’s demonetise.

Reason let out a cry.
It said: People will fry, ATMs will dry!
HE said: That’s a small price,

‘The greater good’ will realize.

 Let’s demonetise.

Reason tried again

It said: For the poor, too much pain.

Farmers, maids, daily wagers: What do they gain?
HE said: Oh can’t you see?

It’s not about the money!

For the greater good, they must rise.

Let’s demonetise.

Reason walked up to leave
It said: Black money will end, you believe?

HE said: It’s a gamble and I rolled the dice,

I am NaMo and NaMo is wise.

Let’s demonetise.

And since then, Reason’s lost.

In long queues, in a fake survey,

And a famished daily wager’s cost.

But NaMo and his followers apprise,

Don’t cry over Reason’s demise.

It’s a small inconvenience, not a vice.

Let’s demonetise.

Pause for Effect

Sometimes the world is moving too fast for me.

I stare at that flyover outside my workplace. Between the blinds of those large windows, I see open blue skies, a few lonely trees swaying so lightly in the half-hearted breeze. I see cars, buses, trucks, and bikes rushing past. Like someone’s holding a remote and fast forwarding life.

It’s probably a sense of purpose that’s pushing the pedal. Something that needs to be done. Destinations to be reached, goals to be achieved, dreams to be fulfilled. And then what?

I have always wondered where people are going, what’s their story, why they are, the way they are. Sometimes I make up stories on behalf of all these people I see.

An old lady who drapes her saree in a strange, messy way that it always ends a few inches above her ankle—she never gets a seat in the metro—she’s probably a janitor at one of those commercial establishments that make the once green MG road dull as dust. She has three sons, and a drunkard for a husband. All useless. Or she just wants to be independent.

That god-fearing, youngish chap, orange dots on his forehead, pushes mankind to get a seat. He reads his Hanuman Chalisa off his cellphone, and doesn’t think giving up his place for that old lady, who can barely stand, is serving God. He’s probably an only child, only looking out for himself. Or he has always been the nice guy and is tired of finishing last.

That couple that’s always fighting. The girl’s always shouting. Bickering, mostly. And the guy, he doesn’t want to be there but he’s stuck. She is probably a nag, a controlling bitch. The guy, a repeat offender. Couldn’t care less. Why are they together? Because at the end of the day, love is blind. Bullshit. The need to be in a relationship. Even if it’s this half-ass.

That girl who’s always well-dressed, reading a Murakami or a Dan Brown or Amish Tripathi or anything that you must read to be respected. Just returned from a trip to the US, her Bath and Body Works sanitizer, hanging perilously from her handbag, gives it away. Her husband probably drops her to the bus stop and picks her up.  She is very polite to him—always. She is shy, doesn’t like people much. Or maybe she goes all crazy a few drinks down.

All of these people are part of that mad rush. They travel in those cars, buses, bikes that zoom past. Everyday. They are all moving.

I feel like I am static and the world is in motion. Like I am looking at all of these people going about their lives but I am...still. Not stagnant, but just not moving.

What’s the tearing hurry? Can we slow down? Stop and smell the roses, listen to the birds, hum that song, dream a little. Snatch the remote from that someone and pause for effect. Just be.

Frailty of Life

When a little dice rolls,

The mighty fall.

A mere speck of dust,

We are, that's all.

Like strings on a puppet,

Pulled up to dance.

When the curtain drops,

There's no second chance.

Why fight, why feud?

For what this mindless strife?

Many would kill

To live our small life.

Ashes don't speak,

Their stories are told.

In the past tense,

For generations to hold.

At the end of the road,

Everything loses meaning.

Like slipping sands of time,

You've left us yearning. 

How do we let go?

In us, your memories are rife.

Hanging on to its shards,

Such is the frailty of life.

--For Periamma

Quit Quitting

Over 10 years ago, when I wrote my first ever post, I was a naive and hopeful idealist. I was hyper--in a good way, I hope--but very driven. I was a college kid, unaware or oblivious to the big bad world. I used to think everybody makes too much of a deal of 'you don't know how it is in the real world'. I used to believe, like everything else, I will figure it out. 

My writing was what you would call childish, dreamy-eyed and filled with exaggerated exclamations, loud and colorful. That's not always a good thing. I quit being yuppie.

But 10 years hence, I am alert, aware and not living in the bubble of idealism. That bubble burst as soon as I realized that journalism, the kind I was getting into, is a business. And it was heartbreaking. My blinders were off and I did not like what I saw. I quit being an idealist.

Of all the things that I could have chosen, I picked something that did not come naturally to me. In fact, it was on the other side of the spectrum of what I could do: Technology. I didn't know what I was getting into but I knew if I took the plunge, I would at least discover something new, if nothing else. I gave myself the benefit of doubt. I quit being a naysayer.

Sometimes at work, as in life, you have to do things you don't believe in. Like writing for customers not readers, like glorifying something that's as dull as dust, like learning grammar from people who can't spell their own names. You have to shift your principles to another part of your brain where a small voice says, 'it's just a job, don't take it so seriously'. Grudgingly, you learn to do that. It takes a while but you get there. I quit being stubborn.

In spite of quitting everything that defined me, when I didn't get what I deserved, when ideas were thrown out of the window, when beliefs were banished and when your efforts didn't make a difference, you know that its time to hang your boots. I quit quitting. 


  

Would to Will

My fingers caress a lonesome flute,
would a soulful note they play?

Those pretty, bright, shiny dancing shoes,
on my dainty feet would they sway?

A mighty sword in my gentle hands
would it swish down to slay?

A drab canvas on a starry night,
would my strokes see the light of day?

When the carpet rolls and the curtains raise,
would I know what I need to say?

When I wish to write an ode to life,
would my muse give my words away?

Between a could and a should
and a vulnerable would
I will, I hope and pray.

Some Random Crap 3

I should make this a habit instead of a one-off. There was a time when my thoughts and the corridor that leads to my laptop used to coincide. I used to think just to write. My blog meant introspection in words. I used to update it like people update their Facebooks and Twitters. 


But today as I sit and type this out I feel strange. Because I haven't been blogging or writing enough for that matter, it seems like meeting someone I have ignored for years. I feel reluctant, weirdly shy and at a loss of words.


But my random crap by design--to use a very collegey phrase--is crying out loud for randomness. 


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Kolaveri di. True, I heard it only after the whole world had downloaded it, made a million versions and moved on to other temptations. I quite like it. It's super peppy and I love humming it. But is it worth the hype? I don't think so. But people who know me will say that  I don't think anything is worth the hype.  


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Did I want to do journalism cos I wanted to change the world--I really thought I could, really--or because I liked writing? I dont know, but I think it was because I dont know how to do anything else! I feel a little lost between what I want to do and what I am doing. And then I suddenly want to be somewhere else doing something else instead of fighting deadlines and getting stuck in a time warp. 


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I've learnt that no matter where you work there'll be some madness. And a world of shit. It depends on how much shit you can take. And have the guts to let go of something you have created. Because after a point of time, cribbing about things that are not going to change wont help a fly.


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I went to Kashmir. :) It deserves a post, wont waste words here. But this needs to be said: It'll blow your mind away. And all those problems of the world that burden your tiny shoulders feel irrelevant. 


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I have traveled quite a bit in a year. But haven't had the time to blog about it. And that's a pity. Dubai, Hampi, Coorg, Lepakshi and a million stories between them. Wish I could write about them all.


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I had written half of this post many moons ago. In all its randomness, it needs to see the light of the day.

Tying the NOT

I am quite disturbed. And I know only one place to rant: Here. I dont want to get married. I will, when I feel like it. Simple? Not really.

My family seems to think its their duty to get me married off. It's my right to choose who and when I want to marry. I dont live in Afghanistan.

There's a ceremony going on in my house as I write this. Primarily to get me a groom, because apparently I am not getting any. Luck isn't on my side or I am not fortunate enough which is why marriage-god has been evading me. So I was asked to hold some flowers--and say stuff like "Please find a boy for me quickly," or "may I get married soon " --offer it to the nine planets to get me married off quickly.

Every situation, every gathering, every outing is based on this one thing: When am I getting married? When I am tying the knot? Its none of anybody's business. But mine.

 I am not able to digest being treated like I have a disease. Is my not wanting to marry such a big problem?

Every morning I have to garland Lord Ganesha--I have been doing this for the last two days. I dont mind doing it just like that, but I was asked to do it for 45 days to get a groom quickly. Am I nothing if I am not married? What the hell has age got to do with marriage? Yes, I am in my late 20s but that doesn't mean I should get married just because I am getting old.

We prostrate after and during every big ceremony. It's respecting elders. But the elders are biased. When my cousin and I prostrated they said "Get married soon!" but when my brother did they blessed him thus, "Do well at work, may you get promoted!"

Well, I need a promotion too!! I want to do well at work too.

There's too much anger inside me right now. I am tired of this marriage business like its the only thing that defines my existence. There are other people in my family, like my cousin in Mumbai, who's two months older. Nobody is bothered about her marriage, why? The don't have an answer.

I decide when I want to share my life with someone, let someone enter my private space. I love myself too much to give up this freedom to choose just because the world wants me married.

Some more marriage talk and more jokes about it, and I'll lose it.

This post is going to hurt my family but their actions are hurting me.Each passing day.

Out Patient Department

So here we go again. I've clicked on the new post tab millions of times in the past, not knowing what to write. But today I know what to write. And that comes after paying a flying visit to a few inspirational blogs. And a hospital.

I hate hospitals. They are depressing places. People hope to get back healthier, less wealthier and none the wiser. But it does teach you a few lessons:

1. Don't take anyone or anything for granted.

My paatima has been with me since I was a minute old. I am on the wrong side of the 20s and she is about 60 years older. She is always there when I get back home from wherever. It feels like home only when I see her. Yet, sometimes, I and the rest of my family--knowingly or unknowingly--have ignored her existence.

Until she had 8 large stones in her gall bladder. She had jaundice, UTI and all of life's complications. But she got past them all. And we got past them all too.

2. Money isn't everything. But sometimes it is.

The Doc said, "We need to mover her to the ICU. Your costs will shoot up like anything." Nothing moves without showing the greenbacks. Hospitals and the medical profession, like everything else, is a business. And profit is the bottom line. Somehow, unfairly, we expect docs to just do their jobs and not expect anything in return. But the doc we had was the best that come. He was honest and seemed like he knew what he was doing. And he did know. When I looked at the bill, which had put a price against oxygen (nebulizer) I realized, even breathing doesn't come free.

3. You've got to fight. For what you feel is right.

For hospitals, every patient is just another broken piece that needs fixing. Your time is of no consequence. There is absolutely no mercy for inefficient people who think they are doing a favor but forget we are paying them to do their jobs. On the day of discharge, billing took three hours and the junior doc came at EOD to give patient summary, That should have happened at 1 o clock when discharge orders were given. I waited for two hours, lost patience, gave them a piece of my mind and it all happened in half an hour. Just because they are the hospital, they don't have they have no authority to announce my time of death.

4. Family Counts. And your loved one.

You might be of no use but when everyone is together it makes a world of difference. I realized that the pain and the burden reduces to a dot. When family and extended family forget their feuds and stand together, even the silence, helps. And to have a loved one caring for you, it seems like everything will be alright. I never acknowledged it as much before.

5. Small pleasures are big.

Every small improvement in paatima's reports was equal to getting an unexpected hike (which I actually did). The laughs and joys we share in times of crisis stay for the rest of our lives. Cos they are so rare that you cherish them.

Hospitals are depressing places but everybody--including the patient--who steps out of the OPD is never the same again.

Not a Penny More

The guy came rolling our LPG in and thumped the bill in my hands. He was short, a little stout with a thick moustache, and doubly arrogant. I said aloud, " 360". He said "375". I was a little confused now. I looked at the bill in every angle possible, upside down, the behind, the front, up, down, everywhere. But there was no sign of the mighty 375.

I said, "The bill says Rs 360.55. Where is the 15 Rs you are talking about?" (Did they just attach VAT for cooking gas in the budget?) What was I missing?

The guy by now was getting irritated with me, he said, "Bill is 360, my money is 375." It was my turn to get miffed. "Doesn't the agency pay you? I am gonna give you 360 and nothing more. You came in your gas van, used the lift to haul yourself up. And there are wheels under our LPG holder. Nothing was any cause of inconvenience," I said, with all the control I could muster.

He got irritated again. "Its delivery charges."

"Says who? The bill doesn't say delivery charges: Rs 15."

He laughed, probably the first time in a million years. "Madam, 375 beku."

I walked to my room, got my wallet out. No cash. I checked my jeans I had 400 and some change. Gave him Rs 360.55, signed the bill. He was really miffed.

I said,"I am not giving you anything more. Please leave."

And he did.

This happened just twenty minutes back and I am so angry that I am shaking. When I told my dad he wanted extra, he said, "Don't fight with these people, what if they don't come? Thats' how its done, give them the money and be done with it."

Why? Isn't that corruption?

I refuse to pay. I refuse to pay auto guys one penny more than the meter and all my friends know that. They, and now B, say, "Its ok, lets go, otherwise they wont come. I'll pay the extra.."

Why? Isn't that corruption?

The point is, we are scared. Scared that we wont get an auto, we wont get a gas connection, we wont get admission, we wont get our passports, we wont get a phone connection, we wont get this, we wont get that. If we don't give, we wont get.

That's how it is. This is how the system works. Really? Who made the system?

So what do we do? Don't go down without a fight. Simple.

If you think it isn't, consider this: The people of Egypt ousted 30 years of terror in two weeks. For them, Mubarak has been around forever. They could have said, "It's all over the Middle East. This is how the system is, there's nothing you can do about it."

But they didn't. Because they decided to fight.

Giving the money is the easy way out. Of course, it happens everywhere. But that doesn't make it right. We need an Egypt against the auto guy, the gas fellow, Raja, petrol prices, food prices, inflation, government and everything that's wrong.

I just mailed Lok Ayukta. I am not giving a penny more.

I am Outdated

I don't like change. Yeah, I know it's the only thing constant and all that. I still don't like it. And I have changed this first line almost three times already! The contradiction that I am.

That's what happens when you become a visitor to your own blog (or you forget that you are a writer first and then an editor). This space was getting rusted like my template. I was getting outdated.

Speaking of changes, blogspot has a lot of cool new things, new for me atleast. But so much hasn't changed. Not on blogspot, in me. Take this post for example, it still isn't going anywhere!

I was thinking about nonsense yesterday and I figured that my resistance to change has made me someone stuck in the medieval era. My perspective about a world of things is still stuck in history. So are my likes and the undesirables.

Take cricket for example. (for timeliness sake, this). I used to be crazy about the game. A loyalist to the levels of fanaticism. But after Dravid and Ganguly exited and a new line cropped up, I lost interest. Appa watched India win the '83 World Cup. It's 2011 and he is still a follower.

I just cant watch the game anymore. The IPL ruined it for me. I still don't like the idea of players on auction, like talent on sale! Who the hell thinks like that?

So, I am not interested in the world cup. So much for fanaticism and loyalty.

Nonsense thought number 2 came to me when I was looking at the calendar and wondering how useless my writers at work are. They are all young and have absolutely no respect for deadlines. Or us. They do have a lot of time to log on to Facebook and change their profile pic.

And that really really gets me. I am sorry, but there is a difference between office and a cyber cafe. I fail to understand how you can chat merrily and watch deadlines fly past.

I know everyone is on Facebook, (my mother is the queen of online and if social media was a revolution, she would be it's Gandhi)

I know social media is a big deal, I know it's addictive. And I seriously believe that it should be banned at the workplace.

And I know I am not even on Facebook. Why? I like e-mail more. I mail to keep in touch.

See? Who the hell thinks like that?

I need treatment. Do you think?

Of 5 Ws and The H

"Virtualization?" I said.

The auto guy looked at me and blinked. He had every reason to faint, but this one belonged to Bangalore, nothing can ever shake them.

Not even my tech jargon. Reading a story late at night, I was all ready to edit it and give it a cool headline and stuff, basically I was just doing my job, but I was way too involved that when I went down looking for an auto, I told the guy to take me to 'Virtualization' and not Richmond Circle -- my 'real' destination.

Work, sometimes can get to you.

And other things like backache! My back is just killing me, which is another reason why I couldn't get my ass down here to post. My apologies.

I've been watching a lot of news these days, yes I know, its my job and I should be in-the-know.. and I also found how interested I was to know. Which I think is a great thing because it just makes our lives so interesting and because there are so many interestingly weird people out there, making a fool of themselves. Its a relief to know that I am not alone.

With the elections frenzy catching up, and jaago re campaigns doing the rounds, and everybody standing for elections from Mallika Sarabhai to Capt. Gopinath, this is gonna be fun.

And its also wonderful to see people wanting to get rid of the bullshit around them. I want to too.

But I am confused. I wanna vote, but not for Congress, nor for the BJP. Somewhere in me I wanna vote for Capt. Gopinath. He contested the Lok Sabha elections in '94 on a BJP ticket and lost. Now he is standing as an independent. I wanna vote for him.

And I think there are a few people like me, especially first-time voters, who are as confused as I am. We wanna vote, we want change, but its so important to select the right guy. How do we know when you don't trust anyone? By giving them a chance maybe?

I was watching an NDTV show the other day, it had Sachin Pilot who was eye-candy, of course, and very articulate. I liked the way he answered questions from the audience. He was quite confident of all that he said, the uncomfortable bit too. He is Congress! Why cant we make him the Prime Minister?

Are we narrow minded in judging people by the party they belong to and not as individuals? Because they carry their party's ideology?

And what about the majority of the 'janta' that lives below the poverty line? Shouldnt the Jaago Re campaign go rural? And what about those who live in skyscrapers, blissfully unaware of ground realities? Well, the Taj attacks should have woken them up. Hopefully.

I really dont know what I am so angry about! Politics, people or just me. I think I am just another confused, frustrated, angry Indian. But someone who wants to vote.

And someone who's glad to be on the other side -- asking questions.

Sometimes, way too many... maybe I should go back to virtualization.

So where was I?

Watch This Space

Every day. Everyday I would think I have to write, I tell myself life is so interesting, I should talk about it.

And thats all I do -- just talk to myself about it. When I used to be a 'frequent' blogger or should I say 'avid', words would just pour out of nowhere, like there was a part of me just made to write.

Tap, tap, tap on the keyboard, distinguished letters strung together making a meaningful sentence. I would read my old posts and smile. because that was me.

Now, when I go back in time, I feel like those stories were written by someone else. Like these were experiences weirdly mine, but not really. And I am dying to go back to the person I knew.

Have I changed? I don't know. I still want to tell a story, share an experience, write about stuff that makes sense, and more importantly, stuff that doesn't.

I WANT TO WRITE.

And I want to write well. Its something I've always enjoyed. I am so stupid to let go of it. I just stopped caring about something I love so much. Something that's second to none.

I WILL WRITE.

At least, one post every week. Yes, I will.

Like the ads in my magazine say: Watch this space! ;)

Few More Pages Left

Its weird. I have been wanting to write for so long, I know this is my oft-repeated phrase in almost every post, but this time it's not because of a lack of ideas for a great lead, but because this is weird.

What provoked me to write was not the usual bad mood or the unusual happiness. It was something I thought I had lost touch with. And once I lose touch I don't go back to it. Good or bad, thats me. This is quite surprising.

Now that I am hoping you want to know what it is that I am yapping about, I somehow seem to have lost track of what I actually wanted to begin with. I digress..(this is what happens when you don't blog and read your old posts and wonder if you actually wrote them).

Cricket. I want to talk cricket. I was flipping through the pages of The Week, getting stuck at the US presidential debate, wondering whether I wanted McCain or Obama and then when the author said Hillary is a great debator, I told myself I was never one.

Then I struggled past Kamal Nath's interview and then two pages of Godhra and the Nanavati report. And finally I came to the cover story: Kangaroo Catcher -- Sachin has a target, so do the Aussies. I know I could have directly gone to the cover story if I so wanted to read it, but I wanted to build the excitement for myself.

I read and I read and I read some more. I am not one of Sachin's greatest fans. Everyone loves him and thats one reason I don't. I admire him, I respect his talent, he is great no doubt, but while I was reading the article, one thought that crossed my mind was that I have read the same thing about him several times over. SEVERAL TIMES OVER. So much so that these reports are as predictable as a wrong umpiring decision!

Such is his greatness and what he has given to the game. The report had one full para on Dravid and what is expected of him. No I am not gonna talk about him. I want to talk about someone who will be covered 'exclusively' on every news channel, in every newspaper for the next few days, weeks and months.

About someone who I have rarely spoken about but I greatly adore. Saurav Ganguly.

And because I am part of the media, I will talk about him on my post. More importantly, cos he pushed me to write.

He is retiring. And so am I. Cricket without him is like Billy Bowden without his weirdness. (I know I am trying too hard) And now I cant write anymore.

Saurav is going and I will miss him. Period.

The off-side is never gonna be the same.

Fewer run-outs are depressing.

That dynamism and energy on the field, that magnetic effect that makes you want to want more of him: I wish.

The aggression that made a so-called timid Indian team realize its potential.

His stance: his stylish stance. Two legs, slightly outside the crease, and the bat comes down. He doesn't defend.

The attacker that gave birth to the killer instinct.

Shall be missed..

Few more pages left to be read..........