The Moral of the Story !!

Now this one is true!! 

This was recounted to me by a friend of mine, who incidentally has just shifted base from Chennai to here. At Chennai he was sharing a flat with 3 other people, one of whom was a person,  about which this incident is.

Now this friend of mine was pulling of night shifts, so his weekend quite did not begin at Friday night, rather Saturday early morning. Many times he would walk in only to see, that there were just a few minutes to sunrise. Starved of human tendencies he would catch some tiny winks and wake up early, welcoming the early morning sun with a cup of tea with his roommates.

Now one Saturday morning, he was late by his usual standards and that meant it was quite the morning he walked into the room. He was greeted by the sight of one person, all disheveled, sweaty in the kitchen surrounded by a variety of pans and pots. Evidently something big was in progress

.

“Hey good morning”, my friend was greeted by (let’s call him K) “here have some kheer , I just made it”.

Kheer in the morning, on a weekend, something was definitely amiss. All they normally used to have was a late lunch, a heavy one though and then doze off again.

Anyways he took the steaming plate and sat down to enjoy it.

Soon other also woke up, and all were subjected to early morning greetings and plates of delicious kheer.

My friend raised a quizzical brow at others wondering why the sudden affection came from him , K  however was oblivious to the effect he was creating.

A couple of hours later, the kitchen was clean again (they had a rule as those who dirty the pots should clean them!), but we still needed lunch. Something was found that was edible and my friend decided to cook for all of them. He asked K “hey you in for lunch right?”

K said “ no no I have plans”.

“Cool”, my friend remarks, something told him that the early morning kheer was connected to his afternoon plans.

All dressed spruced, and dosed with a liberal helping of cologne, aftershave and perfume, K made his way outside. Couple of minutes later he ran back and asked.

“I left a box on the kitchen table, can you wrap it up and give it to me, please use the black polythene”.

Ok, so now this K has apparently cooked a gift for someone. I suddenly knew where this was heading to and I interrupted my friend and asked “A female birth canal expulsion date right”

Shhhhh…wait for the coup de grace, Rajan I was chided.

So now my friend cooks lunch for the remaining of the roommates.

“Finish it all off, only we three are there. I had measured some rice for K too but he had some plans”, remarked my friend.

“I know those plans. It is S birthday, today and he has gone there”, added R wryly.

Bingo I said to my friend. I knew it.My friend raised a finger threateningly and I immediately clamped shut

“That’s good right, it is really nice of him to take that kind of gift, beats a bunch of flowers any day”, my friend remarks to R

R nodded, somewhat absently

Lunch done, my friend makes his way to the kitchen to scrape off the pans, suddenly K reappears, all sweaty and huffing.

“You back so soon, it is just been a couple of hours, you had lunch”? , Asked my friend.

K ignores him and makes his way to the cooker; some rice was still there and he immediately scoops it off, dumps it into a plate and begins to eat.

A few gulps later, he said” no lunch yaar, there were some change of plans”. His tone indicated no malice, just a matter of fact tone.

My friends cell phone rings up at precisely that point, It was S(R was right!!), “hey it’s my birthday today, I am sure you would have forgotten.”

“Happy birthday”, my friend remarks the clichéd statement.

“Anyways It is dinner tonight on me, please come to XYZ at say 8PM”, says S.

My friend nods and then looks at K.

Someone makes the effort of cooking up a dish with limited resources on a weekend morning for somebody and they don’t even have the time or courtesy to ask him for lunch.  What kind of person could that be? More importantly what kind of a person is K? , my friend winds off with a rather frightening intensity.

Aila this has turned a bit garam, !! 

In order to lighten the mood, I say” So the moral of the story is that use you big head to do the thinking, not the little one”?

I get a back thump and sudden guffaws, from my friend, “Yea I guess that is the moral of the story.”

The Answer to Everything

Any guesses on what it could be?

Well, I am going to take the circuitous route to give the answer and it is something I can identify with and I am darn sure most you would too.

It is Wednesday morning, and it is not a holiday. Contrary to popular belief I look forward to Monday mornings, but the suffering or rather the ennui reaches its peak by Wednesday.

There is mountain of mails, and the digital post-it seems small for the updates, so I create a word document. Once I have the music created for the day, my role of a music director commences, waving the baton in front of a symphony.

Keep your ego aside, is what I have learnt. My education is of no consequence, my knowledge however a little bit maybe (assuming zero correlation between the two, or rather negative is the way I have often seen it to be).

When I sit down for my first cup of tea, I am stuck by it .

What is the purpose of it all, the divine reason for existence?? 

(नहीं.......... मैं गीता उपदेश का इचुक नहीं हूँ !!  )

A little bit more thought, and another point comes. If I have to figure out one word, a sentence, a phrase or a gesture that would be the answer to this question or rather any question what would be it?

Any guesses ?

Well it is “This too, my friend shall pass” 

(This is from a dog eared compilation of writing by Osho, picked from some alley in Bangalore. No, I am not going “Hare Krishna”, route but there is no denying the power and intellect of Osho).

For all ye people like me, figuring out their reason for existence. We lose ourselves in something or the other, in the hope that it might be permanent or everlasting and that is the eventual cause of sorrow.

That’s the power of transience and that sentence is my friend is the answer to it all. 

Sorrow or happiness, love or hate, pain or ecstasy, all these are transient, they eventually pass, reach an end.

बहुत ज्ञान हो गया, मैं आज के लिए होता हूँ .......  transient.Goodbye ---I think.

Vroom Vrooooooom !!

I had just finished my lunch at my standard hotel, the standard fare, and was pondering on options ahead. Someone mentioned Nandi hills and its resemblance to a modest hill station and its existence some 60 kms, in the adjacent tables.

My dame had just clocked 209 kms, and now putting an additional 120 odd on it?

To zap or…….. to not……..? …….The eternal question.

“No”, decided the better part of me, “Yes” decided the not so better part of me, and I j...............just sat there and ordered another rava dosa.

“Sir you look like Surya from Singham,”, the dyed in madras waiter from the hotel interrupted my dense thoughts.

Ahh the moustache, I thought and retorted back in Tamil, dallied with him for some time with a smile on my face.

Way out I drove leisurely to my room and parked my bike outside the gate which was locked. I got down and went inside to unlock it. There is a building being constructed adjacent to mine and there are a lot of construction workers and their families in temporary makeshift huts nearby.

One kid had another half her size perched on the hip. She was staring at the smooth finish of the bike with an indefinable expression on her face. She did not see me as I was well hidden by the parking gate wall. Slowly she took her finger and traced it smoothly on the fuel tank, blowing her warm breath on it and tracing her finger simultaneously.

I suddenly interrupted her flow and walked towards my bike with a determined stride. My countenance seemed to inspire detestation in her, and she stepped back slightly. I ignored her and saw what she had scribbled.

She had traced a perfect “pulsar” in a similar manner to the metal plate, which was fast vanishing against the cool breeze.

I looked at her and felt a sudden twinge of sadness. 

What was the difference between me and her, a couple of feet, some additional kilos and miscellaneous resources?

“Coming for a ride?” I asked her in Tamil. She did not understand …

Meanwhile a woman came briskly from the huts, with a menacing expression on her face, directed towards the kid.

I told her “I am taking these kids for a ride”, mimicking riding expressions.

The woman was puzzled. I did not really look like the street kid lover part of the image. I mimicked road distance and said I wouldn’t go far. She nodded, so I guess I did not quite look the street kid grabber image too. I hoisted the girl on the pillion who was then relived of the younger one by her mother. She clutched my ample midriff, (no corrections these are love handles!!) and I took off.

One spin around and I came back.

The girl jumped off and walked away. No thanks ……..no acknowledgment

I was disappointed, I expected, a nod or at least a smile from her.

Anyways, this little episode over me parked the beast, made to my room, and promptly dozed off. When I woke up it was evening, I decide to mall out.

I walked down, and was greeted with a gleaming bike. It was no superficial cleaning, I looked at the kick and the rear mud guards, and they were sparkling too.

The security guard seeing my self gave a thin whistle. I looked up and he pointed his finger towards the hut and said softly, “She just went back“.

Ahh, so that’s her way of saying thanks. She wanted to mean it, not just say it. She was a rare breed of a street child, a rare one indeed.

In a sudden burst of inspiration I kneeled down and blew my breath against the fuel tank. In a manner that could be termed as artistic, (stretching the term wee bit far), I traced a “thanks”. As I straightened up the “thanks” was fast vanishing too, however I believed that my point was well conveyed.

Blackout

Last evening I got off early. And now courtesy wheels, my commute time is barely 5 minutes.

I reached my room, and voila, it was dark.

“No electricity sir, it was not there the whole day!!”  , said the security guard.

Wow this just about does it, back from office and nothing to do. I am sick of coffee days, pizza huts and malls. All were barely a couple of minutes drive away, but I wanted none of it. And I am now sliding down the utility curve of the sight of an idiot box, so there is nothing much to do.

Into my room, and I wanted some music. I switched my laptop on, and it gave a feeble try and blinked off. No battery. My cell phone took inspiration from the Lithium ion in the laptop and blinked off too, so much for smart phones.

I stripped down to my underwear and lay comatose on the bed, opened a bag of ruffles lays extra large and Saint pure grape juice for company. 

“Crunch” and “slurp” sounded loud in the stillness of the surroundings, almost disturbing. I pushed it aside and just lied down, savoring the stillness.

It soon turned very dark, and my abode being a remote place, absence of light was kind of magnified. I struck a match and lit a candle, (I had a box just in case). 

Woohooo the breeze blew eerily outside. The flame flickered, but did not give up. It was like a game between the breeze and the flame, and somehow I was rooting for the flame to win, possibly because it was tangible, and visible.

Staring at the flickering candle flame, I thought,” When was the last time I stuck a candle apart from the purpose of adorning “happy birthday to you cakes”?

The realization hit me. It was during my days at Noida, when blackouts were common and kind of looked forward to. This was the time when you could play hide and seek in the night apart from the stipulated hours and that kind of made it exciting.

No phone…… no songs…….. No sound…….. No food and ……… nobody around.

The winds blowing…… ……… eerily dark surroundings ………….. The slightly damp night…….A railway crossing just about a 100 meters away. 

This was all the stuff horror or let’s says non-love movies were made of. 

However it was not horror I was reminded off, it was Harry Potter.

Almost on cue “ Woohoo” ,  the breeze had turned to a wind intensity. I felt it moving over my lips like it was kissing me.

Dementors …it is the night of the Dementors.

Stop it Rajan, this is the stuff imagination is made off, I reminded myself sternly.

Déjà vu though. I still couldn’t shake the Dementors off me.

Chocolate, yea chocolate is the cure; I had some with me at that instant.

I broke of a piece and slipped on my tongue, it was Bourneveille, rich cocoa.

The piece had become all soggy, and squashed and immediately dissolved. The feel was good, and as a self serving bias, I imagined warmth in my body, mocking the chilly winds, like the flame was mocking it.

“ मुन्नी बदनाम हुई ”, screamed as the room was illuminated , suddenly.

The spell was broken; the Dementors I believe were scared of मुन्नी  ....... but chocolate…well it had its day!!