The Best Things in Life...

02:43 am:
"Dude...wake me up at 7:45. Gotta movie to catch at E-Square. "
"....Huh?...Hmmm..."
"Abe haan ya naa bol na"
"...Zzzzzz..."

Roomies in a hostel are nothing less than family. Mine is however always bed-ridden. It's like we three applied for the same course in the same college but somehow got enrolled in disjoint time zones. How much of his sheet is on the floor and how much of it is struggling to cover whatever it can...tells me how long my roomie has been asleep. Lets not get into how it is when I reach really late!

Now that I had no one to wake me up, the whole responsibility of getting me up in time to catch the bus to city was on my trusted partner for the last one year. Always with me. In class. In bed. In loo...everywhere. The mobile. So I carefully scheduled 3 alarms in a span of 15mts around the time I was to wake up and dozed off.

"Yawn...yawn...Bruce Lee's cry...another yawn" "Ohhh...shit" It was 11:17 am, the exact time when the movie I was planning to catch would be having its interval. I AGAIN overslept. I stared at my mobile. Trying to get an explanation out of him...of why did it let me down. Then something occured to me and I fogave the poor chap. See...what the mobile makers never mention but is a major cause of alarm failure is that the poor thing fails to work if during your nocturnal voyage all over the bed, the tiny instrument finds itself burried under your not-so-featherweight form. Hence, the final verdict: The mobile is honourably exonerated of all charges!

Now here I am. Bored to death on a rare free day at the college. Strolling around the place like a pensioner on a morning walk I stumbled upon a notice in the cafeteria. "SPIC-MACAY Presents Rajasthani Folk Group. Venue: Auditorium. Time: 6:30 pm" That was still 4 hours away but now I had something "non-academic" to look forward to.

Finally, the show started. Simple people dressed in traditional folk dresses that are so typical of Rajasthan and they doled out enchanting performances one after the other. By the end of the 2hrs I was in a different zone all together. I hadn't had so much fun in a very long time. The fact that it was past the 20th of the month and I didn't have to pay anything for the show made the whole deal nothing short of a complete steal! How many times do you get the opportunity to see such a rich cultural performance? It's almost "un-cool" to go by a week without catching the lastest Hollywood flick. But today my ROI was unbeatable...(Really felt like using some accrued MBA jargon)

I guess it's true...The best things in life are infact free!

"...I had to go see about a gal..."

Anyone whose Dad was or is still serving in the military would tell you the importance of true bonding amongst all ranks of the unit. However, there is very little that a group of hundred or so men can do to keep the feeling of camaraderie going than to...drink together. "Rum Punch" is the name given to this monthly "official" affair in the military. A stag night where the liquor flows and the one with the dirtiest joke wins the day...errr...night!

That is one night when you don't want to argue with your Dad when he comes back from the party. Even if he is convinced that he should talk to Sachin Tendulkar personally to help him with his form. You just nod. If he says he can help Sachin...he can. Period. The discussion is either closed or you are in it for a good part of the night, trying to convince him that Sachin is asleep right now plus you somehow accidently deleted his number from the phone book and can't get through to him. Hence, we must call on him tomorrow.

One such "Rum Punch" night, a couple of years ago, my Dad asked me about the career move I had decided to make. Mom was at her parents place for a marriage in the family for which I and my Dad couldn't get leave from work. I could clearly hear traces of Mr. Johnny Walker in his voice. Protocol said. Just nod. Don't argue!

It wasn't easy for him, a simple military man, to understand the move I was making by leaving a cushy job and taking up an MBA. Starting all over again. He still hadn't quite got over the fact that I didn't even appear for the armed forces entrance examinations. I simply had no intrest. I could no way have ended up doing something where I don't even have the freedom to say "I quit" and just leave. Signing a 20 year bond for full commission and a minimum 5 year thing for the short service was just not acceptable to me.

I can't help but talk about one of my all time favorites here, Good Will Hunting. In one scene Robin Williams tells Matt Damon that one time, though he had the tickets to the best game in the history of major league base ball, he chose to stay away and chat up with a girl who he later married. He did that, just because he wanted to. No rocket science. No nurological patterns but just the desire to to do something else or be some place else and the balls to go ahead and do it. It has a cost...but what the hell! Everything does! That's the freedom I am looking for...being able to do what I want to, when I want to. Not be bound by anything. That may mean not being "successful" the conventional way but look at it this way. There is only one person I need to convince about what I wanna do. Myself.

After all, I can only imagine what it must've felt for Matt Damon's character to have bunked a $250,000 job interview simply because he had to meet his girlfriend. That was something more important to him than anything else at that point in life. He excused himself with a note saying...

"...I had to go see about a gal..." Simple. Ain't it?

"...bass ek cutting chai"

...(Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!) (Yaaaaawwwwn...) (Shit!)

For the nth time I have managed to miss the "Managment Accounting" class. I knew it before I joined this college. I can't...I won't...I don't want to pass the accounts paper COME WHAT MAY! But I hate oversleeping. What was that "noise" I could hear in a distance? Lemme get closer to the door...Hmmmm? Still no clue. Closer...Nothing. Should I open the door? Ok. Just a little.

("...Chik pak chik raile...$##@#$%$%.....chik pak chik $%#@@$%.....") (Bang!)

Everything was under control. I guess my neighbours at the hostel downloaded the latest Telegu pop song and felt obliged to share the melodious cacophony with the entire floor! Theek hai bhai...three cheers to national integration! Now what? I am awake. It's raining outside. Nothing new in that. Pune has become synonymous with rains and all the jazz comes with it. I mean the slush on the roads...the rust on your bike...weeks that your laundry takes to get dry etc. etc. Anyway...all this was not my problem. It was something much more serious. Something that concerned my very reason to be. I was HUNGRY!

So I ran to the cafe. Then taste buds kind of replayed all that I could have there and one by one the entire menu was dismissed. Now what? I thought of trying the services Mr. Shivaji Rao Ganpat Rao Waghmole. Our local "vada pao / chai" vendor. As I reached him I suddenly became aware of a change in the way busines was traditionally done, something that came about thousands or years ago. The use of currency! I realised I did not have my wallet with me! (Shit!...Shit!...Shit!) Is there anyone nearby from the college I haven't borrowed money from yet? Nope.

Then I remembered something that Levis introduced in their jeans long back. Something revolutionary. The watch pocket! I fished into it with great hopes. I looked at my find. Harder. And after a deep sigh handed it over to Mr. Waghmole and muttered...

"...bass ek cutting chai"

"Hello Gorgeous..." ......"Excuse Me?"

"Hi...I could'nt help but notice how gorgeous you look in that red dress of yours!" A synopsis of what follows is given below.

Ever wondered how our brain functions? The way it constantly evaluates events, sitiuations and above all...people? From your worst sworn enemy to our girl/boy-friend to our parents to the guy standing in front of you in the bus, every one is under the magnigying class. Being weighed, evaluated, formed an opinion of and often sentenced to a particular typecast till kingdom come! Once "sentenced" by our brain, the person would have to do something so different from his "usual" path that the possibility of being re-slotted is next to NIL! He/she is BRANDED for life.

The way I see it, the whole deal is quite unfortunate. Why does one have to prove him/her self over and over again? Why can't, for once people be taken for what they are at that moment, free of any masks or labels that we assign them? Or is the baggage an evil that we have come to live with? I can understand the need have our guard up and all. The need to make sure we are not harmed physically/emotionally by anyone. It is so common and we are so used to it that we have started doing it instinctively. Awareness is one thing but scrutinizing everyone and trying to see through non-existant layers of lie and deciet is something we can all do without.

There is so much of distrust and the desire to look-between-the-lines in whatever meets the eye that we have lost the once simple joy of walking up to someone and giving a geniuine compliment. Our actions will most certainly be amounted to one or the other ulterior evil intentions. "Why did he/she say that?" "Is he/she stalking me?" "Am I safe around him/her?" "Is he/she going to harm me?" These and many other questions from the same pedigree follow. The person is given a strange "What's your problem?" plus "Leave me alone!" look and we just walk on. Because he/she forgot that he/she was in a witness stand all this while, waiting for the judgement that just has been delivered with that look of suspicion mixed with a generous helping of utter disdain. The chapter is heartlessly closed. The verdict is out and the accused has been hanged at the very start of the hearing.

All rise. The proceedings of the court are over for the day.

"Who's Line is it Anyway ?"

Enough of originality. This one time I have decided to put down what is not mine but are words that make so much sense to me. Well some are plain and simple whacky...but then what's a good dessert without a few nuts, right?!?! Because of the nature of this post, this shall always be open to updates.

"There are different ways people approach a problem. Some turn up their noses, some turn up their sleeves and then there are some...who don't turn up at all!" - Anonymous

"The pain I feel may last for an hour, a day or even for a whole month but sooner or later it will go away and something else will take it's place. But if I quit, the pain shall last forever." - Lance Armstrong

"If everything is under control then you are not going fast enough!" - Anonymous

"Eveything is always good in the end. If it's not good...it's not the end" - Anonymous

"Impotence is GOD's way of saying...No hard feelings!" - Hmmmm...

"I dream. Therefore I am" - Wish it was me!

"Shit happens." - Forest Gump

...more to follow. Obviously!

Job: Livelyhood or Life!

Funny...ain't it?!?! You start as wanting to be a pilot or a famous painter or the fastest bowler in the whole wide world but then one day, actually there are many such "one days", when you find your self doing something ENTIRELY different. That's an understatement. I mean bloody damn totally opposite of what you would have ever imagined to be. Of course, there is a very practised why of it but then who are we trying to fool?

I grew up seeing my dad leave for work at 7:00 AM and he'd be back by lunch. Then there was a curfew in the house (zero decibel zone) between 3:00 pm - 6:00pm. We all would then do something in the evening. It was fun. We never had the "best money could buy" stuff but we had enough and the time to enjoy it. Simple.

Today, as I am almost at the altar of starting my own professional life, I wonder if the choices that I made were right. There are plenty of questions to answer. Do I go for money or do I go for a job profile? Do I lay emphasis on the place of posting or do I consider the world to be my playground? Do I look at the culture or sell my soul to the highest bidder?

One thing is clear. A job to me is just that. A Job. A means for me to do what I want from my life...outside of work. Can't put it better than my boss at my B-School, "The 8 hours of work are only meant for earning enough to support what I desire to do with the rest 16hrs of my day."

Fair? Isn't it?

In The End

At 10:00 AM this morning I received an SMS from my aunt in Delhi that one of my relatives is admitted to a hostpital in the city where I am doing my MBA from. She asked me if I could just go and spend some time with him. The relative is my late grandmother's cousin and is really old. The last time we met was when he had come to my "mundan", a Hindu ceremony where the newborn's hair are shaven off after 6-8 months of the birth. That is something like 24 years ago!

It being a Sunday and a relatively free day at college, I thought that it won't hurt much to just say a quick "Hello" while I go for a coffee or a movie in the evening. I was told that one of my distant cousin, the admitted relative's grandson was staying with him in the hospital. Another relative I had no idea of ever having met in my life! So I started for the hospital early in the evening with a funny feeling of what am I going to say to someone who in all probability would not even remember who I was because of his old age.

I knocked on the door lightly. No response. Again. No response. I tried pushing it gently and found it open. I walked quietely not wanting the old man to wake up in case he was asleep. He wasn't. He gave me an enquiring look. I got close to him and greeted him with a customary, "Namaste Dada ji" (Hello Grandpa). Then I told him who I was, trying hard not to mess up the whole thing.

Suddenly he opened his arms and held me close to his chest for what seemed like a very long time. All this while, apart from his heavy breathing I could hear the old man crying. I didn't move. Then he eased his grip and pushed me at a distance and gave me a long approving look from head to toe. As if to admire a fine purchase! He was so happy to see me that words failed him. He narrated the exact events on the day he last saw me. That was 24 years ago! He told me how my Grandpa and he argued over what name I should get and how the final consensus was achieved when I smiled at being called by one of the options. I could not believe that someone could be so warm to someone he met so long ago. He asked me what I was doing and where all I have been all this while. We talked as if we were old pensioners sitting on a park bench and chatting away to pass time. It was amazing. I rpeatedly cut call on my mobile from friends who were waiting for me at the theatre for a movie. Finally, I told them to sell off my ticket. I simply couldn't leave my new-found Grandpa!

I discussed with him my career plans and he had some very nice things to say about them. Some of them made so much sense that I wondered if he was a big shot in the corporate world in his prime. He gave a long list of dos and don'ts. Places I should most definitely visit and things I should never compromise on for any amount of wealth on. It was all so surreal for me. It is hard to keep me listening to the same person for too long and here I was glued to my seat imprinting each word he said as if it's going to lead me to some fabled El Dorado! The fact that I lost my Grandpa when I was only 7 was also a reason why I didn't want to leave that wrinkled old hand on my shoulder.

On my way back I looked back at the evening and a warm feeling overcame me. I had done many things which would be considered nice over the past many weeks but nothing had given me so much happiness like what happened today. I searched for the visiting card that he gave me when I was leaving. On them were printed in bold, "Retd. Chief Income Tax Commissoner, Mumbai". I was shocked. A man who at one point of time had heads of companies waiting outside his office was lying on a bed, helpless. The only thing that this once powerful man now wanted was for someone to sit by his side and just be there. The words come back to me...just be there.

Then against address I read a familiar word, "Sarlangana". Where did I see this word? Then it struck me! Eversince I could remember I have been receiving birthday cards from people I have only heard about and the "From" read "Sarlangana". They had sent me a birthday greeting card all these years, despite the 14 transfers of location my Dad had in his job. Their card was always there. Some might argue that it's nothing great. It's just a card. But right then it meant that they always at least remembered me once everywhere since the day I was born. That was enough for me.

In the end it's the simple things that matter. I am glad I was there today by his side for those hours.