Easy Mice and Men

The meeting got over at 6 in the evening. Precisely 6 minutes before Iftar. I had virtually no chance of finding a taxi. I tried my luck by calling the taxi service, hoping to find a Hindu Mallu taxi driver but no luck.

Thought I'll be better off in my quest to find a taxi driven by a Hindu Mallu on the road. No luck. A Pathan stopped but his face told me the expected story when I told him that it was Sharjah I wanted to go to. He was apologetic but I told him that it wasn't a problem and that he should put his meals first.

The good thing about it being Iftar time was the fact that I could smoke in the open. I pulled out my packet of cigarettes only to find none in it. Funny things these cigarettes, how perfectly they wedge themselves in between my lips. An object with a purpose. Much unlike me. Fortunately Spinneys was just across the road.

I walked into the Macgrudy's Bookshop inside Spinney's and browsed around, hoping to find something that could keep me occupied. How I missed a good book. One that kept me occupied, also murmur to myself, "My thoughts exactly” or painted a new picture or gave me a road map just me gave joy....you know what I mean.

Like with the Taxi and the empty packet of cigarettes no luck here as well. I was aghast. A man who cannot find a book to read in even a modest bookshop (and this outlet was just a notch above modest) has nothing to look forward to. Random thoughts raced across my mind. None of them any good.

I bought a pack of cigarettes and on the way out fortunately found a cab driven by a Pakistani, who must have finished his meals.

The disturbing random thoughts still prevailed even when I got home. I thought I'll listen to some of my music. Some thing that I had not done in quite a while. I got the CD that Mukul had cut for me of all the songs that I had on the hard drive in Bombay. All my favourites. I skipped 145 songs and still couldn't find one that I wanted to listen to. One that gave me the 'joy' that I was seeking. I began to like a few but then realised after sometime that I was only pretending.

The songs just played and I kind of half listened to them. I picked up a book randomly from the bookshelf.

John Steinbeck's, Of Mice and Men. Parul had recently bought this along with a few other books. I had one copy in Bombay also but never got around to reading it. It was lent to me in Mudra by Rhitwik Bhattathiri, a Lab scientist turned client servicing boy from Cochin. We shared a Taxi at times. We spoke mostly about music and books and he spoke a lot about this book and then one day he got it for me. I promised to promptly return the book to him after reading it. Needless to say, the book was lying unread when I packed up my bags to come to this part of the world. At that time I even made a mental note of couriering the book to him to his new office but just didn't get around to doing it.

I got past the first page and the second. Hope stirred. The continuously approaching guitar riffs in the background were music to my years. Song 188 and Mike Patton cried out, 'I'm easy like a Sunday morning'.

I look forward to the week.

Must Do Scotland

History of WI cricket greats - Cricket

A video of WI greats shown during the WI tour of Aus

Ranting About

Should I change the template of my blog?
Perhaps buy myself another shirt
Maybe a pair of shoes
Dig into that succulent kabab
Watch Lord of War for the 12th time
Grow a mustache
Play a game of scrabble online
Wrestle with work through the week
Spend another thursday night drinking Whiskey and pretending to have fun
Why don't any of the statements have fullstops?
Why does this one, the one above and the first one deserve the questionmark?
?????
Sucks in case you didnt get it.

Points to ponder

I come across a lot of people, and I myself am no exception who often complain of work related stress, discontentment, lack of a purpose, being made for a better cause etc etc.

Though all are different issues, they become scrambled in our minds (Sorry to digress but on that thought what a yummy bheja masala would our minds make).

Bheja masala apart the point to ponder here is that work is perhaps the only thing that we know how to do and do it reasonable well so why would that cause any stress. I have a feeling that the answer to this question lies elsewhere.

On a simliar topic, some more points to ponder

1. Is a man what he does?
2. Is a man how he does it?
3. Is a man just what he is? If yes then what is he?

I googled for the above but sadly could not find the answer. Maybe the question was not coherent enough.

Third time lucky

The chinki eyed garhwali waiter presented me with a bill totaling to 78 AED for my Chinese meal along with a Chinese Fortune cookie. Closer inspection of the wrapper told me that the cookie was actually made in Great Britain. What the Chinese are doing to the West, the West is doing to China at least with regards to Fortune Cookies.

Anyway I tore open the wrapper and broke the cookie, but there was no fortune inside. That seemed logical, considering my life.

I told the waiter and he hurried back and got me another. I repeated the process with the same results. I was a bit perturbed I must admit. This occurrence has tremendous implications; you see a man who gets no fortune in his fortune cookie has nothing to look forward to.

By now the staff was quite intrigued. The Chinese waiters were actually murmuring in Chinese. "Beware of the man with no fortune", they seemed to be saying.

It was manager this time, who got me not one but the entire basket of Fortune Cookies and said with a flourish, "This time, you choose sir".

I picked up a cookie and struggled with the wrapper. The manager told me to hold it from both sides on the top and pull. I was a wee bit irritated. Here I was being not only proven to be unfortunate or fortuneless but also an imbecile who could not even tear open a cookie wrapper.

After a little struggle, I succeeded in tearing open the wrapper. The waiters and the manager stood around me waiting to see what the future held in store for me. I broke open the cookie and carefully removed the pieces and there at last after two unsuccessful attempts was a tiny piece of paper. One of the waiters actually clapped, a Chinese hostess beamed at me as I unfolded it. The manager was a bit disappointed as I read it keeping it close to my chest instead of reading it aloud.

'A current project will soon bring you great distinction'. Just the words I wanted to read.

But the reliability of fortune cookies in telling the future apart, the only thing that this incident can conclusively prove is that the goras fuck up. Or maybe it was just their Pakistani employees.

Motivation

One can do things out of the fear of not being able to do it right. Or one can do things for the pleasure of doing it right. I think the later works a lot better.

One mans bane is a snails paradise

It seemed to the snails that the humans were there to entertain them and did everything from that point of view.

The wizened old snails would tell stories of how the humans rearranged the plants and the flowers in an organized manner for the snails to enjoy; How they made the bright, orange, hot thing that would sparkle and crackle and leave the surrounding earth pleasantly hot but of all the things that humans did the grandest thing ever was grunge drone music.

The elders considered it to be a little violent but the youngsters were quite crazy about it. The music was made by these towering musical instruments which were operated by humans, they made a constant rumbling noise and as the music played, giant arms would violently hit the ground and remove a chunk of earth. This sort of music was referred to as earth banging. At times the musical instruments would bang against the rock and break chunks of them, it of course was the famous Rock music.

Lepto, the young restless snail paced around in the bushes, listening to grunge drone all day long. He wanted to make a name for himself amongst the snails. And he was particularly impressed with the developmental work that Magius had undertaken at the bottom end of the hill, next to the sewer.

The sewer was of great interest to Lepto and his friend Redding. Both would be awake at the crack of dawn and used to hop away to the lower parts of the hill to the Triplex. This area was the equivalent of going to a circus carnival. Magius had called this area the Triplex and had prospered to such a great extent that he stayed in the top most penthouse of the hill, just below the human colony, complete with its own swimming pool puddle.

Once Lepto and Redding had clambered on top of Magius penthouse wall to witness what must have been the grandest party ever with beautiful female snails frolicking around in the swimming puddle with Magius and his chosen guests. Little Lepto thought to himself that when he grew up he would make the biggest Triplex ever and be even richer than Magius.

The Triplex as the name suggests offered three types of entertainment options, which one could indulge in at all points of time. The Triplex boasted of a racing track, where human vehicles zoomed past. In reality the vehicles were literally moving at snails pace but the snails registered it as quite the contrary since their eyes can see just about as fast as their feet can take them. Quite a magnificent spectacle, the cars did make for the snails. The track was the largest track in the snail world, all of 50 meters long.

Another human activity that the snails really enjoyed took place at the bottom of the hill just next to the racing track. Here humans would come and squat and stay for a little while and when they stood up they left behind strange shapes of a gooey mixture. At times the dropping of the mixture was preceded by strange trumpeting sounds. The snails quite enjoyed watching this ritual, they just could not get enough of it. The round part of the human anatomy, the dropping of the mixture and the sounds, Lepto could watch it all day long.

Combined with these two human activities, Magius the magnificent had started a huge multi-cuisine restaurant. In the upper tier (in the lower reaches of the hill but just above the sewer), one could feast on a variety of fungus and insects, in the upper sewer section a snail could get flies of a myriad variety and in the sewer section, which was open in the morning and then in the evening only, one could get fresh human gooey droppings, this Magius had branded as Sushi and this was extremely popular with the fashionable snails.

What a grand experience this was for the snails. Delicacies to savor, fast paced entertainment, human clowns performing, along with the strains of grunge drone. Magnificent, thought Lepto and said to himself, “Magius, you truly are a genius”.

So the next time, you are stuck in traffic just after Thakur Complex and are trying not to look at all those defecating by the side of the road, leaving behind turds of all shapes and sizes, think of Lepto and his wide eyed amazement and Magius, the doyen of snail enterprise and rest assured that you moving at snails pace is all for a good cause.

Right Side Up

This picture adorned the walls of many of the houses that I lived in. Never quite understood which way it was to be put up. Now why would anyone play the guitar the way this gentleman is . I even hung it horizontally for a very long time because that seemed more right than its actual orientation.
I once asked Anna why she bought this painting which seemingly made no sense. Disappointed she said, "So that you could try and make sense of it". That made sense to me immediately.

Gandalf and the Balrog

The Gandalf impersonator woke up unusually early. The mystic princess was still asleep.

He was seized by the pangs of an empty void in the middle zone and a pulsating tsunami in the higher lands, caused by the golden concoction brewed specially for the celebration the previous night by the famed wizards, Justrini and Brooks (popularly known as J&B).

He knew that the crystal waters would soothe the violent sensations that engulfed him. It was time for the wizened 33 year old Gandalf impersonator to make his way to the Kitchen Cave.

As he trudged from the cool comfort of the corner cabins to the still airs of the cave, he failed to notice the seemingly innocuous stirring caused by the Balrog.

It was only when he reached the edge of the kitchen cave that he became aware of its presence. It as then that he recalled the words of the Mystic Princess, "Beware of the Balrog. If it manages to reach the Kitchen Cave, it is capable of creating havoc of such magnitude that will take eons (in mosquito years) to correct. Be extremely careful wise one, under no circumstances let this happen."

The flashback in his mind over, Gandalf turned around and the still airs resounded with his hoarse voice as he uttered the words, "You shaaalll not Pass."

The Balrog looked up at him and uttered the words "ku ku" and pitter pottered ahead of him into the kitchen cave.

Mind you

The mind is the enemy.
No mind, perfect harmony and peace.

Red Bull

Played tennis for 2 hours today. Was dripping in sweat after 5 minutes. There is some virtue in getting your clothes drenched in sweat. Gives one a sense of white collar accomplishment. Foolishly accepted a Red Bull from a colleague. And here I am at 2:30 in the morning wide awake like a bat.

Checkers meets Dash

Checkers Kishore

Grey Skies, Cold Showers and Stereotypical Metaphors

The sky is a melancholy Grey. Not because of clouds laden with moisture (that's straight out of my 7th class geography text book) but instead due to a dust storm that's covering the upper echelons of Troposphere. The sun irrespective of how potent and powerful it maybe has not been able to penetrate this layer.

Down below it's a sauna. Those who are in Bombay might be able to relate to this to some extent. Imagine that its been raining over night and then a merciless sun comes out. Only the sun is not out here.

The one thing that I miss the most these days is a cold shower. That morning alarm that send jolts down your spine the moment it touches your hair and face and shakes up your mind and body from a state of weary lethargy and makes you alert and energetic like a tiger who has just sensed the presence of prey. The one moment in a persons day when he is perhaps in the present and the cacophonous rumble in your mind comes to a halt.

The above feeling is restricted to a fraction of a second for me as the water in the shower is always just a little hotter than lukewarm. The kind does not scald and feels pleasant. It might be nice but not quite what I am looking for.

Luck

Unfortunately you cannot choose when or what you will be lucky with.

The week that went by

Had a very tough week. Tough like not in quite a while. Endlessly long meetings with deliveries and a lot of external and self induced pressure. The mind just didnt know when to stop. Got very little sleep. At 7 pm this evening could feel it having shrunk into the size of a golf ball. The weeekend is here but still no signs of sleep.

Statistical Probabilities

Ananth has a gift for insight.

The other day as he commented that "A goal is nothing but a statistical probability".

Remarkable observation.

One needs to dwell on this for a moment cause it would be very easy to jump to the conclusion that all effort is pointless. Afterall, the instinct to be lethargic is the most dominant instict in most individuals (sorry for the generalisation, whats true for me need not be true to you though I have a feeling that you do agree with me).

Moral of the story, one can be nothing but a trier. The harder you try, the better your chances of success which incidentally is not guaranteed. After 80 minutes of trying hard, Ronaldo manages to pass one to Figo who heads it over the goal post. Two of the highest paid football players in the world. Highest paid because they try the hardest amongst the best.

Lukman - the heart broken Pathan

My mother used to tell me that I was named after Hakim Lukman. As the title suggests he was a medicine man, an exceptionally gifted one at that. It seems that he would roam in the forests and the herbs and the plants would talk to him and tell him about the uses that they could be put to.

Unlike my brothers and cousins I was small built. My mother hoped that like my namesake I would one day become a famous doctor. I too harbored the same illusions and when I was young I used to walk in the small stretches of shrubs that dotted the vast barren, arid vastness that surrounds my hometown - Dara Adam Khail in Peshawar.

I would listen hard to the shrubs but they never talked to me. I concluded that the shrubs were not of any use and that’s why they had nothing to say. At times I imagined that they would talk to me. And my mind would convince me that it was indeed the shrubs that were talking, so I would pluck a few leaves and dutifully administer them to my younger sister who would often complain of stomach aches or to my dim witted neighbor, Majid who often got beaten up my the village bullies.

My father put an end to my medical aspirations one day when my sister started to vomit after I had fed her my magic potion. The entire village cracked up laughing at me when Majid earnestly volunteered to put my medicine on my back side to heal it. The mockery of the villagers and the beating given to me by my father squashed all my desires to heal any of them. They simply did not deserve it.

Dara Adam Khail lies in FATA (Federally Administered Tribal Areas). Federally administered means that there is no one to administer. My village comprises mostly of my relatives. All of us lived in a cluster of mud houses that was surrounded by a wall made of clay and brick. The design was such that the entire village could be sealed off by just locking the front doors of two houses. One large Afridi family we were, all living and quarrelling together.

The only thing that brought us together was our frequent fights with the neighboring clans. And that we did often. Once my uncle thought that a Pathan from a neighboring village had stolen his slippers so he decided to take him to task and started off a blood feud that continues to this day.

No reason was small enough to start a fight. It would usually start with individuals and before sun set would engulf the entire clan. The elders would pack their guns and were off to ravage the enemy. And any one old enough to hold a locally made rifle was considered an elder. 4 of my elder brothers, 13 cousins and 6 uncles died by the time I fought my first battle aged 11.

Since the area was so arid that it could not even support subsistence level agriculture, the primary occupation of most tribes is gun making and gun running. An occupation that has been relevant historically and contemporarily in the region. Being a region that gives very little, we are used to having and making do with very little. This makes us Pathans well suited to hard work.

A region that provides its young with very no options other than war mongering, those who have a peaceful nature have no option but to look for a livelihood elsewhere. That was my predicament by the time I was 18.

My distant uncle was working as a construction worker in Dubai and he offered to get me a job in his company. In exchange my father had to agree to marry off my younger brother to his not so pretty daughter without any dowry. I have since made it up to my brother. He was the first person in the entire village to own a mobile phone with a camera. Just one of the gifts that I gave to him and to my ugly sister in law the last time I went there.

I felt sad at leaving but at the same time was excited at the thought of going to a foreign land. My entire family came to bid me farewell at the airport. The plane lady showed me my seat. After sometime I could hear a voice but did not know where it came from. I thought that it must be someone talking on a wireless as it sounded similar to that.

The plane started and the passenger next to me did something to the belt that was in his chair. The plane lady went around looking at everyone’s crotches. Why was she doing that? She came to me and I stiffened. She pointed to the belt and gestured something with her hands. I could not figure out what she was saying. So I just sat still and looked straight ahead. She bent down and tried to do something to my stomach and my crotch. I jumped up with a start and shouted, "Don't you have any shame, touching me like that".

The fellow in the seat next to mine told me that she was trying to tie my belt and showed me how to do it. I felt my face gleaming with embarrassment as I said, "Sorry madam".

I felt sad looking at the mountains as the plane took off from Peshawar airport. But then I realized that I had 9 glasses of Coca Cola. The most I have ever had at a stretch, beating my record of 7 that I had at my cousin Ismails wedding. I felt the urge to relieve myself but I was scared to ask the plane lady to open the door so I could do so. How could I bring myself to tell her what I needed to do? Also what if I fell down.

I looked out of the window realized that the skies above the clouds was just a vast stretch of blue, quite uniform and arid like the vast rubble stretches of my home land. From time to time I could hear a voice but did not know where it was coming from. After some time I could feel the plane going down. My heart sank. But then I looked out of the window and realized that the descent was gradual. I realized that I was about to reach my destination. Soon I could see the ground and what I saw and felt I cannot forget to this day. Barren, vast stretches of sand. My home was also dry and barren but the mountains were beautiful. And here I was about to land in a dead desert.

daily resolves

Everyday I resolve that will start writing the any one of the few essays/ stories that I have in mind. Everyday I end up doing everything other than that.
I am quite bemused by the idotic grin that I have on my face as I watch reruns of The 70's Show or Just Shoot Me or something like that.
This evening was similar. I packed my laptop with the resolve that I have not been living up to. Went and saw Omen instead. Was disappointing to say the least.