Kindness: marveling at the faculty of nature ..

To the most divine experience of my life,

Today, I’m going to tell you a story about a man’s nicety that changed the way I look at life, incalculably. This experience left me marveling at the faculty of nature that brings some of the most powerful stories without sensationalizing the overture.

***

At one point of time, I doubted my boss – Danny’s kindness, thinking that none can be so kind in a time and system we are in. It is strange, but we many a times become suspicious towards kindness beyond certain limits. Here is an example; if I ask a person a favor and if the person ends up giving two, instead of appreciating the gesture of a person, I start suspecting the intentions. If someone in a short span of time starts treating us lovingly, we become overcautious about the affection. Life is weird; it doesn’t know how to deal with goodness, especially when it comes in abundance. Desdemona was apparently killed by Othello by faltering on her fidelity on the same lines.

A day before I met Danny’s parents during my last visit to U.S., I and Danny were part of a program where we were supposed to share our life stories that shaped us and one of the senior executives while telling his life story shared ‘..I’m a good manager primarily because I’m a good father….’ This story had a lasting impact on me so much so that all the way from Santa Cruz till San Francisco I kept wondering as to what makes my manager, a good guy, a contemplation that almost detached me from the picturesque drive all along the valley. By the time we reached Danny’s house, it was almost eight in the night. A majestic looking Irish woman mostly in her early sixties, draped in a black sweater and a black trouser looked at me with her wide and beautiful blue eyes while she opened the door for us. It was Danny’s mother - who looked just like him ... very humble and simple. I went inside, sat next to her and spoke on sundry things. While I was busy explaining her as to how great boss her son is, I observed that Danny was busy talking to a man who just entered the house. I could hear a jovial rattle mixed with loud conversation and intermittent laughter that only two close buddies could have produced. I took no time to realize that it was his dad. Both were talking to each other as though they have been away for months while Danny was not home, for just one night. I was introduced to Danny’s father who for sure looked 15 years younger to his age because of his visible composure and contentedness.  We talked about Ireland’s buoyancy; England’s dynasty and India’s prosperity and tried connecting three different countries through European thread in a completely disconnected land called America.  Californian wine and the Tandoori chicken on the dining table were next points of contrasts. What was memorable on that evening was a delightful display of affection of Danny’s parents, to each other, to their son and definitely towards me. They complimented and treated each other like college going - teenage couple. Truly speaking, Mrs. Ryan was big little girl and Mr. Ryan was a dashing old young man and Danny of course, appeared like an innocent Montessori going kid. They were special parents; so was their son.

Danny would talk several office related topics that would make no sense to his old parents; Danny would explain every small little thing with great details and pain. Danny had abundant patience in explaining many complicated things. His parents had great enthusiasm in knowing things that they did not need to know. I was amazed to see how so called ‘bland’ things in their life occupied so much meaning. The affection, amusement, the appreciation, attention, animation admiration – their life looked picture perfect reminding me Mae West’s quote; you only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough!

***

That night, Danny’s father joined us to drive me back to hotel and on the way I told him with a pause ‘… You know ..I always wondered as to why your son is such a nice person. I think, I got an answer today. Yesterday one manager told the secret behind his goodness. Today I discovered it. Had I not met you today, I would have just compounded my confusion over your son by perpetuating my shallowness. Your son is the best boss that ever happened to me.  Even if I emulate his 10% of niceness and yet fail, I would at least succeed as a good human being…’

To my comment, Mr.Ryan wore just a big smile of gratitude that created an endless ripple with no complicated meaning. For the next few seconds, silence did encroach the gratitude but the feelings were loud.

Back in the hotel, I struggled to get a quick sleep as I laid down on the bed, thinking about simple gestures of Ryan & Family and wondered about my own attitude of complicating things. I was a changed man. I called up Uma back home and said ‘.. you wanted to buy a new dining table, right? I have just deposited some money into your account. Go buy the best one.’

‘Nice…what’s the matter  ... you are a little strange today?’  She responded curtly from India.

I explained her, with every details as to how I was deeply influenced by what happened to me and said ‘ Uma .. we are short of a one table to be a good family’. She laughed, incessantly.

‘I’m serious; a table would connect us to talk a few things that we don’t need to necessarily talk. I can talk Authentic Leadership to you and kids can talk Sheep in the Big City to me. It is a deal’ I concluded.  

I knew, she was grossly confused, but in that confusion she was seeing a picture of a husband on tenterhooks  who was set to return in a new avatar as well as a buyout father who was writing off kids stuff without being one, himself. Life changing events more often come in our lives like rains in a desert; they are evidences of a small wonders.

***

Here I’m … appreciating and supporting the reason to be nice. 
Life gives us many chances to be kind more often than what we think it does, we just turn our back to the call, mostly because of our baggage or an unfounded self-image. Best thing today I realize is that I don’t need to make an effort to be different and kind; I must seek to be natural because being kind is such an innate, effortless but an endearing hallmark of mankind. Kindness doesn't need a second take. 

Thanks Danny .. for holding a mirror and showing me two choices in life; one to live and another to exist.

I have understood life through your music Jagjit.. Thank you!

To the melody behind a song called life,


This seems to be the season of bad news!

Today, yet another icon Jagjit Singh has finished his job on earth; he breathed his last this morning, inflicting an endless eclipse in the realm of meaningful music.

I bought his first music in 1992 without knowing who he was, honestly.

A sole reason to do this crazy thing probably was to boast before my friends about my fetish towards an elite art which turned out be the best thing I have ever done.

While I listened to ‘Apne hoton pe sajana chahta hoon..’ for the first time - melody, literature, music and spirituality collectively stimulated my music taste by turning me out into his ardent admirer.

A naïve and a native South Indian lad who didn’t even had basic Hindi knowledge was suddenly placed before Mirza Ghalib, Firaq Gorakhpuri, Qateel Shifai, and Nida Fazli's rich Urdu and Persian verses - soaked in life, love and regrets.
Good music recognizes no language but connects directly to God. And I was suddenly conversing with the beloved, the god.

I saw him performing live, in 1998.

His rendition that evening began with Garaj baras pyasi dharathi ko.. which literally brought rains and thunders to the lawns, making organizers quickly shift the venue to an auditorium where I got front row seat, because of the rearrangement.
See.. how you connect!  

Short, short tempered but a very dashing Jagjit entertained us with a variety of poetry, that night.

He effortlessly strummed the strings of our pain and pleasure, all at once.

His voice had depth.

Only he could happily sing, a melancholy.

Only he could convey silence, through words.

While the event was over, life was closer to me than ever before.

From then on, Jagjit has been such an inseparable part of my life.  

When the markets tumbled, when a politician swindled, when the hopes dwindled, his one Jeevan kya hai was enough! In my good and bad times, his Ghazals have been my constant companions helping me either to consign hope on future and face it or bring the past and relive it.

Nandini.. the golden voice is gone.
This silence hurts, you know.

Join me one more time, in writing yet another obituary message…

Dear Jigjit Singh,

Feel like real music died its death today.

Amidst the bustle, your Ghazals render us the required stillness, retard the speed with which we run this rat race.  You get a credit for creating over million admirers who maintain their class and preferances without surrendering to Sheela or Munni, just because you are not here.

With you gone, your playlist has actually gone long.

There is so much clutter here Jagjit… go....hold some concerts in the heaven and remind those careless Gods to modulate the volume here or mute it. Make them understand as to why melody is a much needed attribute on earth.

I have understood life through your music Jagjit.. Thank you!

One life to live..

Nandini…

My cousin Sunita, has had a disastrous birthday of her life as she lost her husband Prakash a week before she turned 43. Hale and hearty man, who had no single serious health issues for 46 years of his life, was advised bed rest because of Typhoid in the first week of September. Within 3 days, jaundice compounded his condition and he was then admitted to the hospital. What happened in the remaining 3 days was simply ridiculous; he was diagnosed with septicemia and died of multi organ failure. The guy who tweeted on Sep 5 was gone on Sep 9 - elucidating a fact that few things in life can happen just with a snap of a finger, including death.

Prakash was an ambitious politician but a virtuous husband, a loving father – more importantly a finest friend. He loved life and lived every bit of it till the last moment.

Till he was given a sedative before he was put on the ventilator, he shouted at the attending nurse ‘ .. you got me here to kill me....isn’t it...’

Poor guy, never realized that he would be right in what he said, in the next 6 hours.

Destiny sometimes cherry picks people and stall their play.

Prakash is an irreversible story today; while we mourn his untimely death, we celebrate the life that he lived.

But I’m more saddened about Sunita.

An amusingly pretty woman who has been known for her exuberance, attire and jewelries would merely be an inert warm body in the family occasions of the near future.

She is brave but she is ignorant.

She knows the assets Prakash owned, money he made and the loans he borrowed.

She would soon set the house in order.

But what she doesn’t know is the life she will have to live without Prakash around and that I’m sure, would scare and haunt her for quite some time.

One of the hardest things that I never thought I would do to Sunita one day has been write a condolence message; Sunita.. may god bless and comfort you at this bad time of your life and help you move from grief to reality of life.

***

4 days before this incident, Vinay (Sunita’s brother- my cousin obviously ) and I went to Belgaum Club for a drink.

An ophthalmologist by profession and an optimist by design, Vinay seemed profoundly pensive, that night. I was rather pleasantly surprised to meet a realist in him who was on a single mission to put expiry date on every objects that existed in this universe. 

‘…what if you are not there to enjoy your earnings..’ he started abruptly.

‘..what if you set up an alarm to wake up next morning and that morning never comes..? ‘ he continued, teasingly.

‘I won’t regret…’ I said, firmly.

‘I would have a joy of living a gratifying life for myself and securing a good life to my wife and my children who would remain thankful to me for what I have done for them....’ I concluded.

‘Ummmm.. you think you would be remembered for that?’

Vinay looked deep into my eyes and asked. This time, even the wry smile was missing.

‘I don’t know.. I don’t care.. ’ I said laughingly.

‘Something happened this morning and you should know it.. ’ he brought a logic in the conversation, without an effort.

Vinay continued.. ‘this morning when my father was praying before his late parents’ photographs, I asked my daughter if she ever knew those people in the photographs who she watched her grandpa offering prayers, everyday. And guess what happened.. my daughter said precisely what you said just now. I don’t know.. I don’t care..’

Vinay picked up the glass and went for a big gulp.

There was a grim silence and I could track my own loud sigh, thinning through the fierce wind that brought along a round of swift rains on the thirsty lawns of the club.

We turned to the rains, closed our eyes, and experienced the rains for a while in silence.

‘None will remember you Raja.. none will keep in mind that you  preferred buying an used car and used those savings to  pay  your son’s fees. Your son may, but don’t expect his son to even bother about you who would eventually inherit all your money as the sole legal heir. Your life is meant for you - not for your grandson who does not exist, today. Here is an occasion.. do not waste it by idealizing it.”  

Vinay looked, thoroughly animated.

I said, ‘ummm..  you have a point but I partially agree with it. I know where you are coming from. I know I have made some compromises. That said, I enjoyed my life and continue to do so ...but by being little responsible.’ 
My conditional agreement did not convince him.

He looked at me and said ‘ you have one life to live.. go find out as to what do you want to do with it before you lose it..’

A brat who loved fast cars, expensive watches and world’s finest scotches, for a moment seemed like a Monk who sold his Ferrari.

I nodded in unison and concluded that night, with 3 large!

Simple looking encounters some time would leave a profound influence over us; this evening being one of those, would be remembered for a very long time.

***

There is no sufficient evidence that, in life - idealists fail and realists succeed. Or vis-à-vis.

Life is a result of the paths we chose, the decisions we make.

Our experiences and perceptions often cause illusions, assigning a new meaning to life that has merely a situational significance. Deducing a new sense to life based on its temporary appearance could be incorrect. Equally incorrect way of living it, could be assuming life as though everything is alright with it.

Life gives us two options.

One, live it as if it would be over tomorrow.

Two, live it with a hope that life is not ending tomorrow.

In the first case, the experience can be risky.

In the second case, one presupposes an extension of life, saves and spends for his pleasure as well as for others.

I belong to the second category, without an iota of a doubt.

At this stage of my life I only realize one thing. I’m living a good life; best is yet to come.

If it doesn’t, I won’t die of regret, anyways.

Reminding myself that I’m still alive and living it with an unfounded reassurance that there is a little more time left over for me as well as for others, makes me relook at people and things with a certain degree of importance.

Nandini… amidst the confusion between ideal and real, my pursuit with you however remains unclassified.  

Change, cravings and Nirvana

To the fountain of an eternal youth,

Once upon a time, there lived a boy who had no money to buy an extra plate of bread & rice and he could not afford even the cheapest public transportation.

After a few decades, this boy grew as a man and his life has changed.

Just to illustrate the degree of change, here is the sequence of events that happened to him in the last week which contrasts his rundown past.

In just 8 days, he hopped 5 international airports, flew 4 different airlines, stayed at 3 luxury hotels in 3 different destinations. His bath tub had aroma- therapeutic crystals and his quilt was custom-made; he was selective about the limousine he sat into as much as the expensive red wine he preferred to sip.

No, this is not a typical life of an affluent business tycoon but a reality about occasional events that occur in my life, just the way they happen in myriad men who struggled and stepped forward to experience things that they rarely or never did.

***

Please read between the lines; the above experiences do not characterize my real life.

It is true that I starved once, but what is not true is that I bathe in Jacuzzi, frequently.

While starving experience lives with me for the rest of my life, the extravagance would soon be forgotten. Infrequent experiences can only render us a temporary ovation, but not a permanent reminiscence.

What happened to me then was an incident that brought me closer to the reality of life.

What is happening now is an uncommon phenomenon, and I call them fantasies.

Fantasies are good, some times.

Here is a silly metaphor. Life often puts us in a spot, by making us appear like a bunch of men peeing in the urinals; none knows what to look at and look for.

Pleasant distractions in junctures like these are always welcome.

My last week’s experience was one such shift the gear actualization.

But here is the reality.

That is not me when I’m sitting in a swanky saloon sipping a sparkling wine.

That’s not me when I’m changing planes like the way I change my pants.

That’s not me when I’m living someone else’s life.

Having peddled bicycles for decades, why would ever bother about Audi’s RS5 launch in India?

Having written these letters by hand, why I would register for the RSS feeds for the 65004^th apps release? Why would I ever have an Omega watch after having two basic and inexpensive watches that do precisely what they are designed to do, without making a statement? 

That’s not me when I’m living someone else’s life.

***

Am I resigned to the glory of life?

Or, am I too cynical and old fashioned?

I don’t know …but here is my justification.

25 years back I questioned myself; what do I need, ultimately?

From then, the question remained the same but answers kept changing, preserving the imprecision and intuition with which I led and lived my life, all the way.

Not that the question has had a weak intellect; but answers apparently lacked resoluteness and consistency. I have realized that mind and heart with the changing time change their characteristics and this syndrome greatly influences the answers.

They bend to the extreme, after each goal is accomplished, after each desire is fulfilled.

For example, if I had asked myself a question 20 years back as to ‘who is the most beautiful woman I should make love to’ the answers would have no relevance in today’s situation.

Now do you know what I mean, when I say question remains the same and answers vary?

Isn’t it amazing to see the same old question yielding new possibilities? If you notice, the variance is not because of the oldness of the questions we ask; it is the newness that we seek in the answers.

And the whole equation changes!

Continuing my arguable cynicism, I compare life to a sine wave; a property that describes a smooth repetitive oscillations. The wave has a crest and it also has a trough. Both are caused by a periodic disturbance in space and time which happens primarily because of energy transfer. If you take the trigonometric lenses out and see this phenomenon through a simple prism of life, what you see is that the sine wave has a great bearing on some of the incidents of our lives. While the oscillation of life is controlled by time and space, our choices would affect the energy and thus the oscillation.

What happened to me in the last 25 years is the occurrence of similar marvel encompassing space, time and energy that kept me vigilant all the way; to look and to re-look at life’s limited opportunities and unlimited dreams.

***

So my next question was; do our cravings ever end?

I honestly did not get the correct answer.

But my honest impression is that Nirvana in some or other form, comes in everyone’s life.

For a few, Nirvana hits while life is beckoning and for many, it hits while life is dimming.

You hear these mid aged men who suddenly begin talking about satsanga, vipasana, kundalini dhayna…  etc?  Let these premature aberrations not be mistaken as Nirvana attributes.

I’m not eligible to talk about Nirvana though, but for sure I know that Nirvana is beyond transcendental knowledge and renunciation.

You may wonder why I’m sounding renounced.

Reason is simple; I saw my own life coming to a full circle.

Interestingly, the one I cherish the most till today is the first half of my life.

It is here when I walked miles without a penny in a pocket. I think I did some miraculous jobs like speaking to trees and stars.

There was no price tag on the pond that I swam, farm that I stole mangoes from and the food that I ate at those temples.

Nandini .. what more there was no price tag on your tight hugs and wet kisses.

The best things in life are free and all the free things stopped in my second half of life.

The second half snatched a carefree child within me and gave a greedy man who is lost, resigned and renounced.

Can you once more come and hug me before I walk the road that Buddha did?

***

Best man wins. I ‘m yet in the game.

To the most refreshing flower of my garden,

It’s over three months, since I wrote to you for the last time.

You must be little curious to know as to how I have been doing?

Even if that is not the case, I don’t mind.

There is no comfort in complaining on things that you cannot do much about.

Not all the stories I tell need to be heard by people. Isn’t it?

I have a hilarious story to tell you anyways, to begin with.

‘Are you married’ Dr.Updhyaya, a coach who came to conduct a training session for us last month asked me.

‘ Yes .. for the last 10 years’ I said.

‘ Vowww..you look young; what’s your age?’ he seemed surprised.

“Difference could be just 2 years by which either I’m younger to you or older to you” I answered with greatest composure.

‘What do you mean, I’m 45..’ he softly bit his lower lips with his upper teeth, overtly shrunk his eyes and kind of interrogated - as though I was playing a comical ploy.

‘Come January, I’ll be hitting 40’ I answered, unperturbedly.

‘Man.. I thought you are some 28-30’ he smilingly responded.

I defended, ‘…it is just that some people won’t easily accept their defeat and fight an untiring battle to surprise themselves ’

****

I’m posting my latest photograph to show you as to how do I look, these days.

Trust me; there is no makeover, except the sepia effect that a friend of mine who clicked this photograph has treated the snap with.

Tricks of the time seem to have left a little bearing on my looks as much as they have done over my attitude towards life.

I’m nearing forty but not old.

Years have been getting added to life; not age.

Age after all is mind over matter and I won’t mind things that do not matter to me.

Ten odd grey strands of hair besides giving me a mature look offer me an academic reason to claim that I too have grey cells.

Although, I’m losing hair but I’m not bald.

I no more live to earn; perhaps earn to live in categorical denial with the Maslow’s hierarchies.

I haven’t gained the world’s best riches though, but I have nothing left with me to lose. Or, I have not gained anything that I would lose and repent.

Life runs an undeclared nemesis by giving me many unsolicited things by blocking the things that I ask for. And I realize that just I happen to be one amongst the six and an odd billion deprived folks, in this world.

I do not know whether I’m walking or running, but life is in motion.

I no more yearn for long lonely moon nights, but prefer dark nights that assure me a sound sleep.

Amidst many statements that by far are my expressions in doubt, there is one thing that is firm; my endless connection with you.

***

Am I writing this letter to congratulate myself?

No, not really.

I’m truly not in a plight to earn a decorous distinction to my personality that I seem to be getting to know less, as I walk past, year after year.

By no wild stretch of imagination, would I ever call myself even ‘a remotely a perfect man’.

Lack of perfection doesn’t however mean that, the man is bad.

I also want to dare other men, at this moment.

I’m more than convinced that no man was born and died as a gentleman.

Thank god, we saved this world by not letting it to become yet another heaven.

What a misery would it have been to live in a perfect and a pious world with angels clung onto harp?

***

That said, what is the darkest secret and deepest urge yet alive with me?

I think, a saree clad old woman with her well shaped heavy breasts still in place, perfectly covered by a veil slightly revealing her whitish but flat belly as well as her clean and a shiny back, can still drive me nuts. And that’s my dark secret!

Alas.. is there one, meeting the above standards?

I may sound harsh, but many of the Indian women have a desire to have a perfectly toned but a stapled body with rarely visible flab, but have no discipline to have one. One in thousand is the standard.

Thank lord; the high standards in a way, have deprived me of my most investigational crush.

Let me get, a little serious, candid and contemplative.

Actually, what stopped me from being bold is the love and respect I have developed towards Uma, over these years. Take a heed over these two categorical words: love and respect.

Love -because she waited till I returned - to be and to become her husband, sharply defending her belief in an institution called ‘Hindustani Marriage’.

Respect - because she created not one but two lives through her delicate womb and brought them into this tough world. How can any man be so stupid and unappreciative to not to acknowledge such a stirring miracle that many woman create on earth?

Man is no more the same man, once he sees his woman transforming into a mother, less as an object of recreation and reproduction. This thought, seemed to have redefined my standpoint on a woman, generally.

Uma helps me see a different but a simple world and I see the same world, often with complexity.

This difference makes two of us; distinct poles of a battery unaffectedly placed apart, yet united.

The very contrast and the design keep us charged.

She has accepted me just the way I’m.

Though she desires some changes in me, but makes no fuss about the unchanging irregularities. Like all the women, she too has something about her husband rather she wishes away. But she knows that her man like many (any) is a man of few mistakes. She has no qualms over it for she knows that life is like a white space with couple of black spots. When people mark the white spaces with a black marker and ask ‘what do you see’, the immediate response is ‘a black mark’.

Alas, such a wide-open-white space gets ignored!!

Must you have a black mark, at all?

Answer is no.

Because you have one or two marks, do you become characterless?

Answer is no.

The true respect in the relationship surfaces, the moment when the two people in a relationship accept each other not because of similarities in the way they expect, but irregularities in the way they conduct.

Best thing is, she doesn’t have a single benchmarked man, to tally me with.

None truly exist, and she is aware of it. And she has no intention to worship me as a god on earth.

Though she saw me dropping off many of the bad evils and not pick-up new one, the only unsolved mystery remains between us is, your existence.

While she understands that my obsession over you is more literary and not a literal one, what she doesn’t understand is the rationale behind the attraction.

She often wonders whether you exist in real terms as one of my past flings or you are just there in my mind as an illusionary character that I have concocted.

My attempt to convince the objective meaning behind my obsession over you only compounds the confusion. Uma, I and you form an interesting triangle like many bollywood potboiler; let its glory be manifested through its complexity for few more days, not by its relative rudiments.

None should stand before an ocean to count the waves, after all.

With spurts of intellect and abundant stupidity, with dimming mischief and the strengthening obedience, I today am a repackaged item, set to pen few more letters and dedicate them to you.

What makes my pen write is not the pain of my mistake with you, but abundant pleasure that I have had while making mistakes with you.

Am I making one more by writing to you? I do not know and I do not want to know.

I have enough wrongs by my side, but not a single sin.

Best man wins. I ‘m yet in the game,

Un-tired and thriving to play and perfect the game.

A Capitalist Brigade

To my flowing river,

I have two of my experiences to write in this letter to you.

One is about my recent walk on Brigade Road and the observations I have made there and the other one is about the movie - ‘Pursuit of Happyness‘

Here is an attempt to connect two distinct links; the oriental fare of Brigade road with Chris Gardner's memoir depicted in ‘Pursuit of Happyness‘.

Surprised? I have learnt the art of making a line out of dots from you.

Melancholy of not having you & still merriment of not missing you - have taught me to make straight lines out of spaghetti.

This is kind of an extension of my previous letter to you.

After reading this, you may write off my observations as irregular irritations of an aging man.

That’s okay; I have no points to prove but a truth to tell about the evil of a free market that has deranged a social structure by creating an acute economical divide in the society we live.

***

I was walking on the Brigade Road, a fortnight back.

A third of the global poor residing in India appears as a paradox when you walk here.

This road is strictly meant to entertain the rich and the rich only. World has made thousands of spots and streets for rich people to enjoy and interestingly, not a single spot for the deprived ones.

Represented by multitude of diverse sellers together, business on these posh roads is weird; some sell goods to make their lives whereas some sell their lives to others to buy goods for themselves.

But fairly every seller succeeds here; it’s is just that who buys what!

I observed as many as six interesting facets of people on Brigades, this time.

The first set was represented by a band of rich, demure, gracious and courteous people. Though in small numbers, they seemed humble, concerned and a happy lot. Second set of people as small as the first lot, were those who again were rich but seemed less concerned about their very richness as well as the poverty of the rest. Unlike the first set of people they neither offered nor sought courtesy. To me, they appeared to me as an indifferent, unduly impersonal and a self-interested lot. Little more in numbers than the first two sets were the third set of people who mostly made it to riches by a fluke. Their big head, their attire and their body language made things obvious to me that some people just do not know how to deal with money when it comes in plenty. There was also an interesting set of people whose identity was not easily recognized. I would call them a ‘smart’ lot but consider them as ‘a riddled’ one.

One more interesting crowd mostly represented by hundreds of hungry men looked indulging into profane fetish over all the passing by females. Smell of scented women, their mysterious attraction, unintended but complimentary body brushes and lastly but mainly the inviting glimpses of their shiny cleavages; there were enough attributes to put this lot of men into constant carnal calculus.

Interesting thing about this lot is that they neither shop nor eat – they are there mostly to peek at women’s breasts as though they are the faces. No matter what happens on Brigades, well rounded and covered breasts of women continue to be the sole stimulants that pull this crowd down here.

The last and the most easily identifiable lot was represented by a huge numbers -who had more inefficiencies to camouflage and less virtues to flaunt upon.

Hallmarks were - an obscene display of money, youth, fashion, glamour and beauty.

Noshed by imprudent affluence and an inadequate intelligence, this is mostly a young crowd that doesn’t earn money; it just gets money.

Premature arrival of money in many young pockets besides providing them a brash high- has offered an access to all the meaningless luxuries that their plastic money can buy. Pubs unlike western countries are not cheap public bars here; they lend an expensive experiences for vividly tattooed men and melon whiffed women for their invariable ‘hanging around’ encounters.

Meet them at late night; you would come across an astonishing parade of gel haired soulless zombies that speak good English.

Insecure in their relations, insensitive in their behaviors, insincere in their commitments – this crowd is all over Page 3 next morning with the same miserable poses; an intimate hand in hand snap of a hyper rich man with his hip hop woman either with a pint bear bottle or a wine glass in hands.

By this current mannerism and attitude they appear to me as a strange crowd obsessed with the fleeting pleasures with no genuine respect for millions of pitiable lives that live in an abject poverty.

The state of little more grown up and responsible men and women is still worst.

Read this real time news item published on the recent Page 3 of the ‘most read daily newspaper’…. it read like this

“It was a rainy night that April Showers, the annual fund raiser for charity organized by ABC was held. First there was a fashion show, interspersed with dance sequences. Later it was time for everyone to mingle and have good times. DJ XYZ played a smashing set, which ensured that everyone stayed on their feet”

Welcome to all new trips of philanthropy - more the poverty, better the celebration; higher the pain, heavier the delirium.

Imagine what must be happening in such events?

An Armani clad gentleman would present a theme on undernourished and uneducated children.

Few ladies wiping off their oily noses and few gentlemen fixing their tie knots would display situational leadership and suddenly speak like learned epidemiologists pledged to restore environmental justice.

Aristocracy, autocracy, plutocracy, hypocrisy.. people would talk everything until cocktails are ready.

Once the bar is open, the priorities shift to prettiest face, wealthiest man, oldest scotch, tastiest snack, latest releases, largest profit bookings.. and the literature pertaining to undernourished and uneducated children starts experiencing wet bottoms of whisky glasses and the people drinking it.

I have no complaints on the rich people who offer charities this way; they need none’s regulation to give donations, either. They think that they are doing it right and it may be true.

The alchemy of richness after all should yield more money and reach many and I see it, happening.

My contention is only on the way things are done.

Using poverty as a means to parade a capitalist anarchy is not okay.

Pleasure and philanthropy cannot be combined; just the way sins and virtues cannot be combined.

What are they celebrating; their richness or other’s poverty?

Imagine this twist...

What if the prayers are DJ mixed? What if neon glows replace candles?

What if the priest uses abusive words while giving holy water?

Certain things have to be performed in certain ways.

Generosity is an unannounced qualification; one doesn’t seek an aid from Page 3 to validate the virtues.

Generosity is sacred, shown to delight someone secretly.

It is like saying prayers, chanting hymns – done in serenity with utmost sincerity. No pride and prejudice, no words and whispers – just a silent engagement and simple emotional connection.

One must offer a respect to the poverty before one offers charity.

The night when these rich people starve to feed someone, the day when they cook to serve the hungry – the philanthropy would have a new dimension; a new definition.

There is no sense in giving impression to us that the wealthy life adapts richer means for cheaper gimmicks. Time to wake up and smell the coffee –by doing something inversely proportional to what otherwise the majority of richest people do.

***

By the time I returned home it was late in the evening.

I sat and watched ‘Pursuit of Happyness’

I was easily and immediately enlivened by the theme of the movie as soon as saw a struggling man living a tough life of poverty to pursue happiness. This is an inspirational tale of Chris Gardner (performed by Will Smith) and his struggle to live in today's capitalist society. The lightest movie with a darkest music made out of warm acoustic textures, gentle percussions, rhythmic strings and xylophones takes the viewer through a melodic journey filled with struggle and despair. I could evocatively relate to every cadence that the main character of ‘pursuit’ undergoes; the struggle, the failure, the chase, the frustration, the stupidity and some tepid successes that make no meaning in a wholly screwed up life.

After I finished watching the movie I sat in silence for a while and did some serious thinking over the pain that the elites of Brigades may have missed by rendering themselves a formulaic life that knows nothing about the sweetness of success which comes after pain of failure.

I sometimes feel that a life lived in dissonance of hard realities and simple pleasures – is equal to a scientist who gets a Nobel Prize without entering a laboratory.

***

Here is the summary.. Nandini.

Millions of people leave their status quo with a hope to challenge the new paradigm to better their lives. Many fail and very few succeed. Life is all about one big chance and its encashment in the right time. A slightest mismatch between the chances versus encashment can either drop us on an all new terrain filled with excitement and anticipation or bring us back to square one through one more round of anxieties and struggle.

Repeated deprival would only dampen the intuitive instincts over a period of time turning most nice guys into a set of hopelessly pessimistic people filled with a perpetual angst over successful and rich people. These are the guys who do not need charity; but a chance. Or some well defined choices.

They do not like invitation to wine and cheese parties; they like interview calls.

Charity can help them live a day; Chances and choices would help them live a life.

A struggled life offered with a late success is much like supplying water to a dying plant; one stroke of nourishment, one mug of water and one pinch of compost is adequate for a plant to have a dare dream of being and becoming a big tree.

***

I realize that many a times life gives us more than what we ask for. It is just that we don’t realize when to stop asking and thus destiny never gets its full blown shape.

My desire on you just contradicts my belief; and I simply hum MJ’s song ‘man in the mirror …’