The Goodbye

Long Long ago, in the Summer of 2007 to be precise, four little mice had boarded a ship. The docks were silent, the night was still and the moon played hide and seek behind the clouds. The ship set sail into the unknown and before one knew, the stars above realigned and the four little mice saw each other. Each different from the rest but they soon realized they were all the same in being different from the rest of the animals on the ship. But that is a story everyone knows!

The mice charted different courses within the ship till one day one of them set sail, then another and finally even the third. The last remaining mouse looked on as their boats sailed further and further away.

The airwaves carried their squeaks to him, faint and yet conveying the different emotions that swept over them. Trepidation, anger, joy, love, hatred, frustration, fear, ecstasy and sometimes even indifference. The world was unforgiving, sometimes all it let the mice have were memories of a life less complicated.

The last mouse remains. And he hopes and prays for Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy to be true. Let the mice indeed be the most intelligent species on Earth. For each have made their choices and some day each will need to say goodbye.

To Hug or Not to Hug!!!

Being a global citizen, at least considering oneself to be a global citizen can be tricky. The nuances of how you interact with people around the world change every time you meet someone.

Having grown up at a boy’s school – we knew only four ways to express ourselves. A succinct nod, a firm handshake, a pat on the back and then if the occasion really demanded it – a manly hug. (e.g. a lovely drubbing given in a college fest to Calcutta Boys, Xavier’s, La Marts et al)

Now the hug is a great gesture. It shows warmth, personal camaraderie and bonhomie. Maybe at times, it’s a complete invasion of private space but then a hug is a hug and we boys did hug, but as I said only when occasion demanded it. The hugs I received when the infamous IIT results of 2001 came out were more than any words of consolation that my crestfallen teachers could offer me.

When I went to college, suddenly there were the better half of our species all around and the seniors loved to hug. While I did try to protest saying it was unwarranted physical contact; often that would be followed by squeals of laughter and a second hug. After sometime I realized resistance was futile.

I slowly realized that hugs can be wonderful. When you are in the receiving end, it comforts you and allows you to collect yourself together. Hugs and I became friends and friends got hugs. Now the hugs were of course not for everyone. You had to be in the circle of trust! The hugs would never be allowed to wander about. That would be profligate! Bangalore had a mixed crowd – those who hugged and those who didn’t. We were still a small batch trying to learn ‘Business’ so you knew very soon who to hug and who not to hug.

When I started working, of course hugs took a back seat. In India, hugging someone might send a signal that you are about to get married and I was no longer in the wonderful wonderland of Pilani with no one to frown upon such things.

To hug or not to hug became an important question and the answer soon became a firm no! In India you never hug anyone. Period. The firm handshake and the nod came back. Hugs took a backseat. Friends started getting married. So it was of course the right thing to not go around hugging them!

But then I started working with a lot of professionals from across the world. And the hug came back. And what a return it was! And I walked in with trepidation into the new found world. And the hugs changed. The Filipino hug accompanied by the laughter, the big warm Latin American one, the cautious European ones (is it one cheek, two or three?), the surprisingly warm Russian and Turkish ones, the non-existent British ones and so many others.

And then the confusion was of a more pleasing nature – not whether hugs would be frowned upon as a workplace gesture but whether it was acceptable to hug as long as the two in question agreed to it. As they say, the hugs were back!

Most important thing however in the question of hugging is your spouse. If you are with someone who is a strong crusader of personal space and a big naysayer to hugs, then you must step carefully my friend!

Then all you are allowed is an approved Hugs list!

The 4 PM Friends

When I was studying in Bangalore and lots of my closest friends were working, I had come to realize the importance of the 2:00 am friends. In the dark nights when only students who had assignments to submit were awake, I used to call up friends who always stood by me. And those were the times the legend of the 2:00 am friends grew. Every single one of them has stood by me through thick and thin and there was always someone to reach out to. The sanctity of the 2:00 am timeslot varied however as people dispersed across the world. But the point was at 2:00 am there was always a friend when you needed one.

Slowly most of us settled down from our bohemian bachelorhood and things started to change. You would think twice about calling someone from deep slumber not because you would hate disturbing them (Oh No! You had the rights still to do so) but because of concern for the unsuspecting spouse. And the 2:00 am calls became rarer and rarer.

A BFF became a dad in Kolkata, another started schooling again with his daughter in Bangalore, a friend started taking baby steps towards getting the Noble Prize, quite a few, almost everyone, refused to name their daughters and sons and nephews and nieces after me even after much plodding and convincing them of the beauty and unisexuality of my name. In essence we all were growing up and climbing the so called ladder in our day to day work.

Then one sudden rainy afternoon in July, after a particularly bad morning at work, the phone would not stop ringing. That afternoon, friends from around the world wanted to discuss something or the other, inane and important. And while struggling to keep a straight face and be focussed on work, and thinking twice over before picking up a call, I just realized the paradigm shift that had happened.

We no longer need to just be a 2:00 am friend. We all probably are in deep slumber after work. The true test of friendship today is in being a 4:00 pm friend.

To All the Girls

A large part of my growing up post the Calcutta years have been because of the amazing women I have met on my journey of life, and I am completely leaving out my sisters here. They have moulded my childhood, but the women I met post 2001 influenced who I turn out to be as an adult.

They taught me the meaning of friendship. They taught me even in this age, how difficult it is to be a woman. And they showed me how they can take the world on singlehandedly. Their lives today are a testimony to their achievement and how easily they can give it all up for family.

I can write a lot. And I have three hours to kill in the airport lounge. But as much as I love O.R.Tambo airport or the fact it's one of those last moments of self introspection, I realize that what I want to say can't be expressed in words. At least not in words of my own.


Gratitude often can't be. 


But probably this song by Julio says it better than anything else. As life passes on from one stage to another as per as the codes of Manu, “Ladies, it has been an honour knowing you all.”

To all the girls I've loved before

Who travelled in and out my door

I'm glad they came along

I dedicate this song

To all the girls I've loved before

To all the girls I once caressed

And may I say I've held the best

For helping me to grow

I owe a lot I know

To all the girls I've loved before

The winds of change are always blowing

And every time I try to stay

The winds of change continue blowing

And they just carry me away

To all the girls who cared for me

Who filled my nights with ecstasy

They live within my heart

I'll always be a part

Of all the girls I've loved before

You did make me who I am today. And thanks for being there – always.

Of Cats and Dogs but Mostly Cats

The question has been troubling me for a long long time. Am I a cat or a dog person? Well, for no apparent reason but for the fact that more often than not this is a question which was asked in almost all random tests in Quizilla. I wonder if the site even exists anymore! Also, genetically I was confused. My dad will shudder to have animals prowling around and my mom is the self professed saviour of cats, dogs, crows, sparrows, almost every living creature near our house.

Somewhere last year, I figured out my answer – thanks to Sheila and Munni. Of course, their slave prefers to address them in more anglicized names of Tiu and Whiskey. Now when Sheila came to stay in our house, we had all thought it was temporary. She had been abandoned, would have died if left behind and my friend, who perhaps will not bother to come to Cal to meet me, suddenly had this epiphany and got Sheila home.

And I loved him for it. Behind the hard, tough exterior was always the man I knew he was and it took a kitten to bring it out. The conversation had gone as follows:

He: “Dude I am bringing home a kitten.”

Me: “Niceeeeeeeeeee.... you want me to leave the house?”

“nahhhhh. Why should you?”

“Dudeeeeeeeeeeeeee... Won’t you need some privacy?”

“Mehhhhhhh”

“Niceeeee..........you and your kitten”

“yeah. Just found her”

“Dude!!! Are you serious? How long you’ve known her? It’s not safe you know.”

“I know. Have to figure out the vaccination bit.”

“Hang on!!! What??? You mean kitten as in some babe you are seeing right?”

“What!!!”

Well I should have known better.

And then after few days Munni followed as he studied and figured out, a cat needs a friend beyond him.

So while I shared my house with Sheila and Munni, I realized I was not a cat person even though they are fascinating creatures. They like their own private space. If you are the one who is feeding them, you should feel grateful that she is allowing you to. Cats are royalty. And it shows. Animals who move in packs, like wolves and dogs, can’t claim to be so. The way a cat arches her back and gets ready to spring is ergonomically beautiful and if you press their paws open, you see the claws come out. It’s scary. The feline species are amongst the most gorgeous in the animal kingdom and not without reason.

They don’t love you. They tolerate you. They own every minute of your existence. You must be at their beck and call, not like a dog who you can train to fetch. You can never be the master of a cat. Their cleanliness is legendary. I still remember, V had to show Sheila where to poop just once on the night he got her home and a kitten barely a few days old never once missed. Way smarter than human babies!

Sheila slowly dominated the household. She was the undisputed queen of our lives. Munni was reduced to being a chambermaid for her Royal Highness. And Sheila realized very early that I am scared of her. So while my room was out of bounds, Sheila like the Queen she is, never once tried to get in while I was at home. But Munni, the little lost chambermaid would always try to snoop in. She epitomized the story of the curious cat.

I love Sheila and Munni. They stayed with us only for a little while before they went to stay with V’s parents. But while they were here, they made our lives a little more humane in Mumbai than just going to office and coming back. Swati Didi loved them too and did not ever once complain. And that’s a big thing.

But because I myself fall amongst the proletariat, handling royalty becomes a challenge for me.

So I guess, it’s Bow Wow for me. Get Pluto home next to figure out!

The Decade

Suddenly over the last few days everyone from the 2001 batch has been getting psenti over facebook on how a decade has passed since we all went to Pilani and I guess it does deserve a post. 10 years is a long time but somehow I have a feeling in my heart that perhaps it’s not just about the fact that we went to a place which has shaped our lives, but it is about who we met, who we fought with, who we loved; brotherly and not so brotherly; who left us along the way and who we remember even today.

10 years makes sense only when you have comrades who have made a difference to your lives as you walked. Why else would 3 grown up men, one of them now a father, block tickets in advance to watch another movie about 3 men going off to Spain. They might not have made the road trip, but they never left each other’s sides. Coming to never leaving sides, you might just want to reconsider staying by your friend’s side when she decides to showcase her driving skills while trying to get it up on a ramp, 10 years and closest bro or not.

10 years at times makes you realize the worth of a friend, (with whom you have behaved in a sulking childlike fashion and tried to hide those tears of joy at her wedding) who calls you up the night before another coming of age movie releases and you suddenly realize that you owe her your last Book Quiz trophy and also your initiation into Hogwarts.

10 years is that interesting time when you leave a friend in need and yet shamefully carry off her book as your only reading companion in a new world and a book which beautifully captures the history of your nation. And then you message her making it her fault that you never met.

10 years can do a lot of crazy things. Friends go off to the B schools in the US and you know it might be a long time since you can have a Bisibelle bhath or perhaps finally get to taste those amazing recipes that another claims to have picked up from in laws in Jharkhand.

It makes the first chap I met on the rickety bus ride to Pilani come back from his extremely tough job on the oil rigs and all of us drink our lemonades to the fact that his risk profile is now doubled. While monetarily it might be exciting, the question remains what does it do to his profile on mallumatrimony? And everyone shakes their head and promises to double our search efforts.

The journey that began in Shankar continues, but somehow the Vyas New block facing mess which later became the revered Budhfront seems to have stayed true to one another. That wing was one of its kind – extremely non regionalistic/departmentist in nature, which was pretty rare in those days, with GPAs ranging of near 6 to near 10, half the cultural association office bearers of the batch giving away free grub coupons, clubs, departments, future politicians (Jai Maharashtra) even Department of Spectator and Audience or DOSA as we called it and a possible future Noble Laureate. Sigh that’s probably not me, but I am hoping in the memoirs I am mentioned as the guy who the Nobel Laureate chased with a broom across Budhfront.

Batch of 2001, it has been an honour. Happy Friendship Day. This post had to wait till today.

Here's to perhaps the only thing we learnt in common - a new language. Courtesy - someone in FB :)

ID - 2001*, PR No., Timetable, FDs, Refli, Centli, ID Mom/Pop, IPC, pine, IC, Audi, Grubs, Lachcha, Niteout, Vetti, Guss, Tests, Compre, Tut, Sup-T, Av+2, CT, Zuk, Makeup, RAF, Stubs, Common Hour, Bhavans, Gate Call, ThermoD, CP, GenB, SPM, MuP, APOGEE, BOSM, OASIS, Razzmataz, FashP, Juke Box, Depts, Clubs, MAMO, BOB, Redis, SamChat, Jamun Rabdi, ANC, Cnot, PPW, SKY, SAC, ShivG, DW, PS, Senti-sem, Writeups

Triangulation

Recently in SNDU, everyone is triangulating. It’s the new buzz word. If you are not triangulating, you are not doing your job correctly. Last I checked, we used to call it connecting the dots. Anyway, the way work permeates my existence, I suddenly realized another form of triangulation just happened in my life, as if by Magic.

Somewhere in Class 12, I came across this play called Priyo Bondhu (Dear Friend). Heart warming, poignant and beautifully integrated into the heart of the city of my birth, it left a mark behind. In fact, so much so that I insisted all my friends have an audio cassette of it. I think I made it travel to almost all states of India and somewhere in some forgotten corner of teenage rooms there is a Priyo Bondhu left behind.

I read about the play putting the BITS internet and Google to good use and I realized that there were 2 more. The original was Love Story and its Hindi Adaptation was Tumhari Amrita. Being in Pilani and Bangalore did not help much as it would be an anomaly if suddenly out of nowhere Farooq Sheikh and Shabana Azmi appeared in Pilani. Even the Karnataka topper and her SPICMACAY could not have pulled it off.

The basis of the story was friendship in its purest form spread over decades. Two friends, separated by time, space and ego find their solace in each other through their letters.

Anyway, as soon as I came to Mumbai and my theatre bug hit me hard, I was on the lookout. I am one of the biggest fans of Rage Productions and somehow when I watched the real theatre in Bombay, I felt convinced that my selection of the BITS Hindi Drama Club as the more talented over the English Drama Club was correct. Anyway coming back to the second point of the triangle, Love story as the original was fantastic. Set in distant lands, it could have been a story about friends in Mumbai. And Rajit Kapur was out of this world.

But the triangle was not been completed. Tumhari Amrita was a rare screening and my nomadic life seemed to ensure I was never in the city when it played. But then as I was leaving Mumbai; a fact then known to very few people; I got a call to watch Tumhari Amrita from an old friend. It did not disappoint as a truly Indianized adaptation of a relationship that had redefined my idea of friendship way back in college.

The triangle was finally complete and the version from Calcutta stood tall. What made it unique was the fact that the two friends never met again unlike the others and that elevated the story and its beauty to a whole new dimension.

Here’s to the most tumultuous friendship. Here’s to Life.

Making Up

M was furious. He felt cheated. In fact, they had cheated. They knew he hated running between the wickets and loved the big shots. And they had deliberately got the non striker to run. There was a mix up and he was panting as he took stance for the next ball. And immediately, they gave him a leg before. He was furious.

Not at them, but as S. After all S was his best friend. How could he stand and be a party to this gross treachery? M was devastated. S just continued playing with them. I mean, where was the Bro Code?

Whole day, he didn’t speak to S. Next day was no better. In fact, he decided that he would distance himself from S as much as possible. And then one day, they just sat opposite each other and shared their tiffin. Till date they remain the best of friends.

This is a story I have seen being played out in my own life. And every time I feel sad I remember it. Every single moment of that day remains painted in my memory. It’s just that life was so simple back then. No sorrys no thank yous :) Karan Johar knew his stuff.

Today I think as we have grown up, we just have lost the simple art of making up. Ego has taken over. We stick to our guns and refuse to budge from our stand points. And so it is always important for the other person to call up.

If only if we weren’t so egoistic, world perhaps might be a better place to live in. It doesn’t always work for the chasm might be too great. But then, it’s worth making the effort. If it does not work, maybe it was just not meant to be.

“See, you're the only star

In the film I never made

Would you rewind it all the time

Rewind it all the time

Do we make it to the sequel

Second chance for our survival

Oh we all need a hallmark ending

And a change of heart”

It’s still January, so why don’t you just pick up the phone and make that call that you have been too headstrong to make in 2010?

Guardian Angels

The concept of guardian angels is not new to human imagination. We believe they watch over us, holding us as we fall, never judging us if we forget them in our momentary ecstasies. As the decade passed on to the next, I needed them to look after me.

A friend was leaving Mumbai on the last day of the year, 2010 was a mad race, 2011 looked confusing to say the very least, the future had never looked so complicated with a promise of getting worse with every passing year. The life that we lived seemed to follow a strange pattern; the enlightened ones called it Maya. It took the form of a cycle - of joy and sadness, of hope and despair. And we were entangled. It made us look up from the abyss with a renewed hope and made us forget what life can become when we rode the waves.

Maya, the enchantress seemed to rule everyone’s lives. She made us fall in love, often more so as an answer to our inner loneliness than for love itself; she made us forgo our inner radiance for the neon lights in the maximum city; she told us tomorrow would be a better day and we believed her because Pandora’s folly had left us with just hope.

It’s unbelievable how every aorta of Indian spirituality lets man find the meaning for himself, if he so chooses. I love the fact that Hinduism allows me to believe I am God Himself – “aham brahmāsmi”. While people take refuge in the concept of karma and therefore extend it to fate, believing in the inner God in us makes us feel stronger. But sometimes, the strength begins to flicker - the moment before the final assault in Rohan, when Strider looks to the east and remembers Gandalf’s words – imagine his mind which wonders whether deliverance will arrive as the sun rises.

And since the morning of the 31^st, they called, the gtalked, they texted, they let me know that they were there watching over me - from Bangalore while buying mutton for a nice afternoon lunch, from Coimbatore while watching the stars, from Canada while negotiating the first ever time zone difference between us on a new year, from the US while wondering why is it so cold, from Calcutta after waking up from a night of frenzied partying. So on the quietest New Year’s Eve in my life, I felt safe and comforted as I held my cup of hot chocolate in my hand as calls came from Delhi.

That’s the beauty of the angels. They come in when you need them the most.

As I write, I feel the temperature rising in my body as Mumbai snuggles up to one more cosy night. It’s one of those nights when I can’t make myself read what I have just typed out, but it doesn’t matter…

…For my angels watch over me.

The Calcutta Derby

Few weeks ago, my friends on social networking sites had become Spanish. All through the day I got status updates which spoke about El Classico. It was slightly funny. As if all of them lived their lives in Madrid. It’s ok to follow any football league; it’s another to put up status messages about some random match in some random country. I had anyway given up on fat ManU fans and skinny arsenal warriors. The EPL I understand can have a socio cultural reason; the Brits taught us the game! But come on, The Spanish League?

And that day I decided to write a post, a post about an idiot, a staunch supporter of a football club I hate, my oldest friend, my partner from the gang of the last remaining North Calcuttans.

When we were in school, the only football we discussed apart from the World Cup were the Calcutta Legaue, IFA Shield, Durand Cup, Fed Cup and a few other tournaments which we followed with our radios and newspapers. I still remembered in the early 90s, when Mohun Bagan signed Chima as the first foreigner, I was really really upset. Then when we whisked away Krishanu De and Bikash Panji from under their noses during the transfer season, I had done a little jig in the Tiffin Break while he refused to speak to me for a week. As if I had betrayed him.

The Calcutta Derby is perhaps the slowest game of football that is being played today. When I watch it on TV, I can see the reason why any other football league is preferred by my friends. But still some of the bongs never fail to turn up in Yuvabharati carrying their Hilsa or the Lobster depending on whom they support. But things have changed.

The Barettos, Muritala and Chidi dominate the teams; we have not only lost our football but our footballers too. Even the coaches, Naim or Diamond Dutta are no longer the toast of the Calcutta giants.

The passion has definitely come down. Goa and Kerala have perhaps got out even better football teams in the recent years than Calcutta. We have lost Md. Sporting and Tollygunj Agragami and have just added Chirag. But then Indian Football has lost Mahindras. All in all, we are not hep and happening any more. It’s like Jatras of Bengal. If a kid can watch Tron, why will he watch “patir punne satir punno”? (In the good deeds of the husband is the good deed of the devout wife)

So the main reason I am writing this is because I have lost the passion myself. It doesn’t matter to me anymore if the news channel reports that Bagan has held Dempo to a draw and not the other way round but if the Calcutta Derby comes up, I never miss a chance to call up and claim that this time we will give them a 5-0 drubbing. But he has remained true. He follows the team, ensures he is at the matches and celebrates the wins, whenever that happens.

But I think one day we will get back our football and then we will continue to fight over who wins the Calcutta Derby but with more pride than El Classico!

Bro-Vorce

So G left a while ago. The room’s completely empty after almost 2 years. I thought it would be ok. But in reality it’s pretty horrible and painful. As I watched his packed bags in the morning, I somehow felt like a person who is going through a divorce or a mutual separation and I knew I would be writing tonight. But there are two ways you can look at things – you can really feel bad about someone leaving or you can just imagine all the great times you have had and be happy that they happened.

And I know it’s not like a divorce, and I might be trivializing it with this comparison but then it can always be called a Bro-vorce, Bros moving to different cities, diverting their tracks.

The worst part is that I have never felt it before. Till this day, every time I have parted with a friend, it has been a firm handshake as life took us on different tracks. We had parted like men do –

Dude have no tears,

Here’s a red bull and a beer.

Sometime back Russian Princess told me, actually taught me, that it’s ok to accept goodbyes with a smile. And that’s what I intend to do. So here’s to what we did over the last couple of years.

We took coffee breaks at every coffee machine in the office. We ensured that there was not a single coffee machine that we had not drunk from. And then we made the chaiwala at the crossing rich.

We skipped lunch for work and then rushed to the sandwich joint outside KC College to stuff ourselves with grilled sandwiches, less butter no cheese. We made Oxford Bookstore turn profitable as we indulged in the food and the ‘Sau mil ki chai’ there and then engaged in the sweetest sin of all - impulse purchase of books which we would read after six odd months.

We went to Geoffreys together and he would order a Bloody Mary just so that we get the free nachos. And then we would get a taxi and sleep off.

We walked all across Bandra, late into the nights as the world slept around us. We would return home from work, eat at Subway, drink coffee and then walk till we were done with our cribbing on life and all that mattered. In other words, Hum Bandra ke Badnaam Galiyon ke Betaaj Baadshah the.

We bought all our electronics together, mostly from Alfa :) after spending a complete Saturday morning searching for the lowest rate.

We went to Bachulal Cycle Shop together to buy our cycles and discussed with Mr. Bachulal how we had only Rs. 30 with us apart from our debit cards.

If anyone has ever sold anything edible in Bandra, we have eaten there, whether we could afford it or not.

We have entertained complete strangers just because they were the other person’s friend and have become friends with them.

We have searched extensively in the matrimony sites for one of our closest friends, 600 less than devil, and have returned heartbroken with only 11 possible matches.

And the list goes on.

G’s been a good friend to A, V and me. He has been the guy who you could depend on anytime. In fact, even the otherwise not visibly emotional tall gentleman says, “It feels like the end of an era.” Tomorrow as I leave Mumbai for another whirlwind trip across the country, I feel nice writing this post. It has been fun and it shall always be there. But it’s not like it’s the end. We knew it would happen. It just happened, too fast, too soon. I guess that’s ok.

You know what’s the best part? I was always the lone wolf in the prairies howling at the moon as I danced through the mountains. Having a friend taking care of you when you are sick, when you are mentally drained following certain meetings sometimes makes you pretty domesticated. I am back to being the lone wolf in the prairies. Growl :)

There’s suddenly too much space in my room.