When death becomes a predictable event, as though it never was!

I and Uma ditch the gym many a time just to walk into unpeopled lanes that dazzle with a refreshing fragrance, emanating from a few night-blooming jasmine plants and devil trees. Before we set out for a walk last evening, I drew out a 200 rupee note from my wallet and hurriedly inserted it into the back pocket of my walking slacks so I could buy biscuits for a few stray dogs that I made friends with. I left early as Uma was busy on her phone. After a few rounds of a walk, I went to a nearby pop shop. As I laid my hand inside my pocket, I did not find the currency. It seemed I had lost it while pulling out my mobile phone from the same pocket. I had nothing but a numb smile in an offer to the two dogs who followed me to the shop that were blankly looking at me. While walking back home, I ran into Uma who extended her walk and I asked her to buy biscuits for the dogs, as I lost my currency and returned home. Uma came home after a while and handed over my lost currency. ‘This was lying on the steps of the shop you went to….’. With a mild glint in my eyes, I took the currency and placed it in the same pocket that I lost it from, earlier. While pushing this currency deep into a secured space in my pocket, I have touched a paper-like object in the pocket. I pulled it out. Whoa, it turned out to be a 200 rupee note, that I’ve never lost! Where did Uma get this currency from, if so? 

 

How does this narrative sound to you? A miracle, no matter how trivial and fictitious it may sound? What are the odds of something similar happening to us or happening with me again? Probably 0.1%? Then miracles don’t occur in 99.99% of our lives, that are conned in a quagmire designed by unknown forces.  

 

***

 

The year 2020, indeed in many ways was bad. Hearing about a few acquaintances getting infected with the Coronavirus and some dying from it, literally shook me. At a stroke, many tragedies not only overturned my impressions about life but made me comprehend the other side of the coin in a whole new light. Most of us treat life as one long marathon. With our sight, straight on the finishing line, we often forget the fact that a few of us may not make it to the winning post. And if we succeed at all, the short-lived celebration may leave us wondering as to why in the first place, were we trapped by the dogma of winning in life towards the end of it, while we had a slew of opportunities to celebrate wins throughout, no matter how small the wins were? Then, should we take out two confusing jargon from our lives from today; the perception of a long-term plan and the deception of a big bang day? Isn’t there something magical about short-term plans, short visits, short naps, short messages, small walks, small celebrations, and small joys? Shouldn’t we then let the short sprints of exuberance take over the endurance of lengthy marathons? Perhaps wisdom lies in breaking a long event into small and enjoyable moments, soaked into a series of mini joys, so when it is time to go and we retrace our steps, the journey looks refreshingly meaningful. This way we at least will avoid leaving our undone actions to the mercy of people’s posthumous regrets. Stuck in a fast-paced life amid the splendor of success and the odor of opulence, we may not realize that our most precious acquisition is set to be lost, without warning. Like a share market, life may crash without your fault and approval. In the face of it, the most complex plans for the future merely may turn into dumb designs bloated with useless numbers caught in quicksand, evaporating all your promises. What would you call a life which can disappear in an accident just because you either were one minute early on the road or you went one minute late? And the worst thing about these fateful mischances is that you don’t even know how to calibrate that one minute to save yourself from being killed. When was life separated from death? When was certainty different from uncertainty? And, when death becomes a predictable event (as though it never was), how do you want to deal with the rest of your unyielding life before it passes in a flash? Freeze each moment or write another wealthy project plan? 

 

Well, there is no perfect recipe; each one of us will have our way, depending on what matters to us. It is as simple as that.

 

***

 

Now you know, I am not sensationalizing death. I am just trying to make sense of life while it is still here so that the time between life and death is not filled with inflated illusions. Knowing that life is unpredictable is not enough. Accepting it and acting accordingly, is. Make no mistake, life doesn’t surprise you by returning the currency you have never lost. Divine events happen in people’s lives, when the creator while writing countless narratives, confuses himself with the conclusive part. And 0.1% of miracles thus get scripted just because of his carelessness. That’s how some boats reach the shore in the exact same way, as planned. Else, he is largely accurate in his plots and plans.

 

The only invaluable currency we have in our hands is now. So, spend it before the creator turns it into a fake. Smile even if the world doesn’t return it. Celebrate, even when there is no occasion. Play, while the game is still on. Live, while we are still alive. It’s here and now, reminiscing the eternity that life holds. Instead of ignoring the neglected temptations, savor its freshness by saluting the preciousness of the present, before it turns out into a stale past. Life is not a complex event meant to be perfected. It is a simple celebration meant to be completed. 

 

The split society

Hang your prejudices before you begin guessing my political affiliation; at least hang on, till you are done with this blog. This is neither my intolerant jibe against the establishments nor my agonizing grumble against a few in the civil society. This is just a satirical recollection of how divided the world appeared, during the lockdown caused by COVID-19, a bio terrorist that muted the planet. This is just an attempt to verbalize a stoical madness, co-created by two extreme school of thoughts; the left and the right. The haves and the have nots.  

*** 

Soon after the International Happiness day, we announced the lock down and stranded countless people, overnight. Later, we marked the World Poetry day by forcing destitute people to sing anthems and hymns on empty stomachs. On International Labor Day, we wished laborers that had no work in the hand. From remembrance of the victims of slavery to International Day of Conscience, we made mockeries of people that were angry and hungry. A few days into lockdown, capitalists began worrying about wealth erosion. Marketers expressed their deepest concerns over people downsizing their possessions. Industrialists talked about good and bad costs of the disease. Pharmacists debated over the vaccine wars. Innovators designed beds that converted into coffins, so patients who died in quarantined hospitals can have a respectful immolation. Astrologers predicted everything, except life. Statisticians debated the price of lives. Economists debated the importance of livelihood over life.

***

As the pandemic increased its spread, I began believing that sensibility, seasonality and immunity will be three major contributors to fight the transmission. I was wrong; I soon realized that the country also needed oodles of stupidity that many began showering, without solicitation. Premise was that, treat people as morons, tell some un-empirical narratives, provoke people’s patriotism, challenge their ideals and of course scare them that they will be sent to the neighboring country, if they appear thinking linear. Thus, there were huge attempts to turn us into bunch of idiots in the name of patriotism, so we handle the crisis better by becoming followers, dreamers, optimists and believers. The connection between corona virus and patriotism was so incompatible and inexplicable. Yet, we bought it.  Acting without a reason – speaking without wisdom after all is a well-preserved legacy, that got us where we are today.

Honestly, I have lost the count of all the dumb crusaders who put our country into a hibernate state, but the contribution from a few cannot be overlooked. First in the list are those thousands of brain dead news anchors from regional TV channels who expressed their synthetic solidarity with true strugglers who did everything to slay the virus and save our lives and homes. The media houses went about hiring idle specialists from the entertainment industry - mostly the graphic designers, screen writers, art directors and very importantly sound technicians. Such an army of idiots of course was needed to turn anchors into theoreticians, prophets and of course, seasoned epidemiologists. Given that the daily sops were off the air, the specialists came together to produce motley soap summaries, by amplifying the situation as though we will be destroyed in weeks. Ironically, less heart attack cases were reported during the lock-down, because the audience that were subjected to senseless sermons, done up with intentionally terrible music and crackling sound effects, automatically unclogged the blocked arteries. It was great to know that we were the only country where Corona had its own gender as well as a caste, since newsrooms aired insane story lines under the title of “COVID 19: Is the virus male or fem ale” and screamed over Corona’s religious lineage, by conducting some astonishingly frivolous debates. At one point of time, we were assured that it is OK to have a life, full of bullshit.

The second in the list were the patriots of the new age – the crusaders of nationalism who took all the governmental inputs dutifully and slaughtered the original spirit, stupidly. To mark the country's fight against the virus and to express our gratitude to the front-line professionals, when we were asked initially to come out of our houses to clap and ring bells, we did it with great pride. Indeed, some overenthusiastic patriots who took to the streets en masse while clanging metal vessels and blowing conch shells, ended up invoking and possessing mystical spirit that went beyond cognitive psychology. That’s when “Go Corona Go” as an alternate anthem was born to reunite the human spirit. It did not stop here. Next day, Whats App university scholars joined the movement and shared a circular as to how NASA’s office in Nagpur detected the cosmic level sound by its advanced gravitational-wave detectors. I too googled electromagnetic spectrum and watched some videos on photon energy and did not discover anything except a fact that studying science at this age is like drinking two large whiskeys in the day time; you are simply out of mind.  

In a rare moment of democracy, all the intolerant voices across the spectrum operated with the spirit of appreciation and collaboration. At the core of their functioning, even the hardcore haters silenced their squabble and sweetened their bitter rancor. This was the only day that the nation did not want to know anything as ruling and opposition parties operated with striking similarities; both were clueless. And then came a flashlight mob after 15 days. Of course, the new age loyalists were at it again. My wife wanted to light 130 candles together as someone convinced her to join a prophetic campaign to increase country’s temperature by 9 degrees to kill Corona, at 9.09 pm. Unfortunately, the shop we went to, could only give us 4 leftover candles of which one was broken. “You are just 10 minutes late. Someone came in a multi axle truck and took away all the candles’ stock. Looks like he was in a hurry. He forgot to buy a container full of match boxes that he would need to light them up” said the shop keeper. From numerology to good and bad religion, from light & heat phenomenon to radiation emitted by the chromosphere, new fascinating narratives gripped the entire nation again, just a few hours before the light show. As expected, people turned off lights in their homes and lit up lamps and candles to demonstrate their collective resolve to fight with the virus. Holy hymns, devotional songs, national anthems filled the air, similar to the previous drive. Of course, most popular ‘Go Corona Go’ was sung with commanding chorus, yet again.

Irked with two sensational tests of sound and light, the opposition parties took no time to realize that they are losing their existential significance, faster than their stored booze. To stay relevant, substantial irrelevant events began taking place. Sporadic press meets were convened. Awkward political reactions were shared. Some difficult to understand interviews with noble laureates, healthcare specialists, progressive industrialists and elite economists were suddenly aired to already puzzled nation. Egalitarians and real saviors of constitution also emerged from nowhere to condemn the new democratic norms. The liberal elites woke up to protect the mankind against the ogre of a dominant fundamentalists. Overnight, the political tone has changed, ridiculing the ruling government for inflicting democratic dictatorships. Social media jabs against the establishment dramatically increased. I began wondering, why some of these leftists, atheists and secularists are so permanently paralyzed? How and from where they borrow so much of negativity? They must be a piece of art; otherwise how can one poop through their head and claim to keep it clean?

By the way, there was another class dominated by dumb jackasses led by some disoriented celebrities that were completely numb to the chaos, the country was witnessing. Since this class cannot be classified into any sane categories, for reference purpose let me call them a “kidney class.” Since their brains were dysfunctional, this class used their kidneys to think; hence the name. While the unwaged, dehydrated and malnourished migrant workers attempted long journeys on foot and marched on high ways just to be at their homes, the kidney class treating the lock-down as a vacation got busy tagging people with some spicy hashtags on social networks and randomly posted their bedroom moments - served with spice. While the pained population nursed their bleeding toes and dressed their bruised legs, the kidney class posted fam-jam pics and shared ROFL clips from their gyms.  Along with the stories of poor families crammed into tight spaces, media also was courteous enough to cover cookery shows of celebrities who whipped lemon crème to treat the electrolyte imbalance. When stranded societies dealt with an abandonment, the kidney class painted daffodils on canvas in a small garage of their sprawling mansions. Rohatgi and Rangoli’s tweeted ceaselessly until their overpowering thoughts, broke the internet. Meera continued posting mushy pictures of her husband’s kits, Swara posted her complicated relation with her pets. Sonam posted freckle free selfies to show off her zit and of course Poonam did what she is only best at. While a few rich boys from the kidney class caught up with their lost sleep as they stayed late playing Fortnite Battle Royale, miserable migrants being tired of long walk, slept on the railway tracks and got slayed, silently. While troubled men wheeled their pregnant wives and sleepy kids using their torn trolley bags, the kidney class booked best drag motorcycles for their kids to race over the black asphalt. Ah...richness and recklessness often zoom together. A toughest lock-down besides exposing a pathetic gulf in the society, brought millions of asymptomatic infections in the hollow class, to the fore. The only solace was that, pulmonologists were freed to treat the genuine cases, while psychiatrists were spared, to deal with this class.

***

Interestingly enough, the last in the list were us; the great “working from home warriors”.

To begin with, people just did not know how to deal with the paid holiday, for months. So, for the first few days we did everything except productive working. From buying booze to hoarding the groceries from queuing up to buy masks in loads to breaking the ques to amass pregnancy kits, we bought, as though we only have money and the family.

A few days into lock-down, we slowly regained the lost rhythm, so much so that - we soon began claiming that we are more productive while working from home. Lock down flummoxed us, turning us into brazen schmucks. From running #AloneTogether campaigns to hosting digital beer parties, the dull team meetings soon began losing the steam. Dreadfully stretched silence and awkwardly muted faces, often made us check - whether the Wi-Fi dropped its speed or stopped working. Finding ways to talk to keep up an artificial camaraderie, was such a discovery. Netflix’ adding new 16M subscribers and seeing $100 jump in their stock price within 3 months, proved that we have improved our multitasking abilities by being on sites that begged our attention, even while we sat through those grueling Zoom meetings. A few of us pursued Ph.D. in pandemics from WhatsApp University, during the lockdown. From floating conspiracy theories to distributing the doctored documents, from forwarding controversial videos to sharing quick cures for COVID, we kept the community amazed on our mindlessness. A few men who were lazy enough to get out of bed, carried out their meetings from the bed in pajamas and amazed themselves that they are still creative on the bed. Convinced with our burn out, some of the companies announced an extended holiday in support of their staff. The gesture was like a complex sum from the integral calculus book; many did not understand the math behind it.

For a change, when the mythical classes were busy clashing as titans to attain supreme idiocy, there was one last set of society that was operating with an unparalleled depths and dimensions of humanity at a different level. A police constable donating his one month salary to the relief funds, a small merchant selling his agricultural fields to feed the poor, an elderly widow donating her meager pension to the authorities, the out-of-work cooks packing meals for jobless workers, kids breaking their piggy banks to buy travel tickets for destitute workers, an old woman blocking a passing police vehicle just to give a small amount of cash and thousands of such random acts of kindness were silently upholding a truth that anyone can make a difference in this unkind world. The poorest mass and a distressed class trapped in a gravest chasm was silently witnessing a humanity overflow, while many were busy with abysmal acts of awkwardness.

When history is rewritten and we wish to amend a few aching experiences, will we as a failed system and a society admit to our genuine errors and seek forgiveness from the masses that we let down? When the planet begins returning the favors that it always did, are we sure that we don’t mistreat her and take her granted, ever again? When we forget the pain of the past, do we again assume and behave like the invincible, that we never were and start scraping the healed wounds of the mother earth? Would we soon stop ill treating poor people for all the blunders that rich people have committed, including inflicting this virus on them?  When politics begins again, would politicians distribute free grains and nurse the mortal pains or simply resume the tokenism and improve their electoral gains?

***

The lock down did many things to me.

It taught me to socially distance people, especially the ones who have an incurable infection; hypocrisy. The most educated men displaying neo-liberal symbolic efforts from their manicured balconies taught me that there is no difference between the ones that cannot think and ones that do not think. I wish the list of banned non-essentials had some more people in it, especially the ones that I wrote about, right in the beginning.

2020 belonged to the nature; none else. No matter how hard, people argue that this was nature’s way of reclaiming the earth, I learnt that this was natures’ way of telling us to slow down and begin to live a cleaner and saner life by re-questioning everything that we need in life. It exposed a delicate balance between basic needs and wants and reminded me a timeless classic that said “the world is too much with us; late and soon, getting and spending, we lay waste our powers”

Not that I was unkind, but I learnt to treat kindness as a basic obligation for a respectful coexistence and fill life with small acts of kindness without seeking validations from others. It made me appreciate a somber and slow life in a locked down country yet unlocked my heart towards polemic and quick deaths that people died, being lonely in their hospital wards. It rendered me a rhythm of being alive. It made me not to miss an opportunity to savor gratitude of the mother earth and thank her for not ending my lease agreement and keeping a few of us alive.

Being alive is a biggest relief. Now I know why!

Father to son

My dear Siddhanth,

Happy birthday!!

As a growing child, you always loved going into green meadows to watch the herd of grazing cows. The harmonized sound of cow bells complemented by occasional bawls of cattle - was a rare chorus that you enjoyed. Going behind the calves and touching their tender tummies to express your love was something that you never missed on misty mornings. For some strange reasons, you believed that god lived in their wagging tails and you would often touch them respectfully to pay obeisance. Induced by your innocence, when some calves affectionately tickled you by licking your legs - you innocently laughed. You were fearless in playing with them and sometimes you accompanied them till the calves joined their mothers.

That was you - when you were 3 years old. Today you turn 17.

I realize that nothing much has changed between now and then, except the ground that you pick and play.

The meadow is replaced with a bright blue screen that radiates from your gadget’s gorilla glass. The characters of your world look weird; they are very cruel and are always contriving a counter attack. There are no mothers and fathers in the virtual world that you are a big proponent of. Indeed, the touches have become far more sophisticated but there is no sensation and no emotion in those touches; they are mere commands. And those noise silencing earphones that you wear... watch out, one day they would wear off your inner voice, leave alone your mother’s silent cry. And those endless LoLs... give me a break, I haven’t heard your muted laugh, for months. Get out of that false world.

You may wonder why your dad is sarcastic on your birthday?

You doubt whether he is fixing your life while you feel that nothing is broken.

When my father shouted at me when I was growing, I had similar doubts. Now I realize that your grandfather was always right.

Just think that this letter that has a mere musing of an old-fashioned dad has a hidden hope that you would find me right one day, exactly the way all the sons found their dads, right.

My son... meadows are rapidly disappearing from the city and cows are becoming political commodities. In a time where fearlessness is only exhibited through mindless trolls and where innocence is framed and limited to unnatural selfies, here is your dad’s plea; please return to a life that is less adventurous and less colorful because life is beautiful when it is simple and real.

Here is a wish on your birthday that you will soon choose a game that only the nicest sons pick, to become the best men in the world.

Now go, rediscover the paths to simplicity - without using Google Maps.

Your loving dad

Rajesh

Monks sell their Ferrari, but men can always delay their insurance renewal

As I got into my car to drive down to office, my cellphone beeped – with a message in my Inbox that read “Your motor insurance will expire on June 7, 2017, 11.59.59. Driving your vehicle without a renewed insurance policy is unsafe and unlawful - amounting to a crime as per the Motor Vehicle Accident Law. If you have already paid the premium, please ignore the message".This definitely was not a message that I could have afforded to ignore especially when I’ve learnt that my vehicle insurance stopped being in force, a few hours before - that day. I ignited the car engine with an inevitable but an obvious soreness of delinquency. 

On riotous roads of C V Raman Nagar that morning, I was clinically gentle and vastly precautious - like an orderly L board driver, throttling the vehicle speed mostly through mental pressure, without flogging the accelerator.

Lapsed vehicle policy toned me down so much so that suddenly I was very protective about others’ vehicles and their lives. With third party coverage gone, I was reminded by a fact that a single dent caused by me on people’s car and limb can decimate my bank deposits.

I was making a way to every speeding vehicle regardless of the direction that they were moving to or coming from.

I was generally used to receiving the middle finger gestures from others for my cocky driving actions on road otherwise, that people using a good combination of their hands, palms and fingers symbolizing grace, gratitude and admiration was a welcome change. Strangely, I was the only man in that huge traffic, who seemed highly respected - that morning.

At DRDO junction, the congestion was ridiculously abnormal.

This is an unusual spot where I get to read usual foolishness of mankind from simple lenses of anthropological imagination. I just see a pointless motion of vehicles, competing to go first.

The spirit to compete, hinges on two variables; the one, who drives the vehicle and the vehicle one drives.

Invariably, there is guaranteed problem either with the first one or the second. Simple.

The one who drives always wants to go first and wants to go fast on small roads that are over spilling by people with similar aspirations. Hence this man finds every driving action of other person crazier than him and uglier than others.

Alas, these men under-use mirrors, so much.

For these men – vehicles, pedestrians, zebra lines, humps… nothing matters, literally.

They just want to go. 

Vallish - my friend who got a supernatural skill of spotting these reckless rogues, cautions me not to come on their way. One evening when Vallish and I were driving together, a driver behind me was honking, loud. “Rajesh …. let him go; looks like his wife has called him to come home and told that sex would happen at 10.00 PM – with or without him’, said Vallish.

Whenever you are maintaining an order on a blocked road and suddenly one warrior breaks it and starts moving as though the road is supposed to be left vacant only for him, whenever someone honks behind you to make a way while you are waiting at the signal and whenever someone is excessively and unnecessarily speeding his vehicle by endangering others on the road, I just remember Vallish and save an adultery that Bangalore may witness.

***

If you have time and patience on roads, you get to spot some very interesting people, patterns and phenomena, here.  

Let us begin with foolhardy motor bikers who rule the Bangalore roads.

A few riding these bikes act as though they are highly medicated by behavioral altering drugs.

Some others imagine they ride an angry rattle snake. It is funny to see them shaking their bums by forcing their soft testicles against hard petrol tanks, depleting their sperm counts. Once they stop their vehicles and go into their workplaces or homes, they must often be going to private rooms to see if their balls are not turned into hummus.

And then you have a city transportation buses; they just need a passage to zoom in their vehicle. Once they get in, rest all is assumed to be alright. The rear body of their buses kissing others’ vehicles is just an affectionate way to say “f*** you.”

And then ‘the world famous, in India’ auto rickshaws.

No matter how horrible is the traffic throughout the city and no matter which part of Bangalore you are at, if the auto driver has accepted to give you ride to the bus station or railway station, he will definitely drop you to the destination ahead of time, dead or alive.

If there is ever a competition between politicians and rickshaws to demonstrate the ability to bend and break a rule, then the auto guys will win over anybody, hands down.

Auto rickshaws were created, when god found it difficult to go on Indian roads.

They believe that they are smaller than micro-organisms and faster than jet planes.

No, hang on ….. they are actually rockets; it is just that Auto rickshaws move horizontally and have no propellants and Auto rickshaws also have brakes that are grossly underused. Astronaut training and human spaceflight programs were secretly designed by the principles of Auto rickshaws’ velocity. I sometimes suspect that Hyperloop may face legal threat on Auto rickshaw ‘IP’ infringement.

One last thing about Auto rickshaws; their actions are conversely proportional to epic quotes, written on the back of the Auto rickshaws. One guy who appeared from nowhere (that is how they occur on roads, by the way) and was about to hit my right door, had a quote on the back of his Auto rickshaw which said “you safety is our concern.” 

It was highly confusing; nobody knew whom this statement was meant for, including the old man sitting in it, who looked apologetic towards me for the action hero’s stunt.

I finally looked at some heavy vehicles.

While diesel tractors carrying mud and trucks ferrying city trash would give a Jacuzzi sprinkle to our vehicles, HLVs and JCB earth movers constantly converted every waiting vehicles into touch me not plants.

***

In a snail paced traffic I perhaps was the slowest snail, that day.

I suddenly heard a sound of a small thud. Around 50 meters away from me, one car hit another. Windshield had a crack, left door was smashed. The fight began on an innocent mistake that Bangalore otherwise is very tolerant about. As rising tide will lift all boats in an ocean, one incident made sure that the traffic which already was worst hit, is now stalled.

Now I had more time to observe; I shifted my observations from vehicles to people.

I spotted the most respectable and tolerant set of people first; the pedestrians.

With smoky breeze caressing their bodies and cranky noise crushing their ears, their only respite perhaps was to walk fast on the vanishing footpaths of Bangalore, mocking at the trapped vehicles in the figurative messy amusement park rides that all the drivers were perennially into.

The second respectable man on that day was a middle aged traffic cop who was amused with multiple challenges he was dealing with- all at once. His hands – that were designed to do one function at a time were magically universal; on the touchscreen of his mobile phone, on his mysteriously coiled mustaches, on his groin, on his slipping pair of trousers – all at once.

Well, he was also regulating the traffic, effectively.

The third guy was funny. It was a cab driver – who came out of his window, pulled out a half-filled green pet bottle from inside – drank a bit, poured most in his hands, splattered against his face, gurgled with creepy noise, sprinkled it out, weakly.

Before he pulled himself back into the car, he looked around stoutly - as though he was one soldier who killed 10 terrorists, infiltrating into Indian Territory.

Most of us who saw this man in this action, saw each other- swiftly.

There was one common relief on everybody’s face that he did not have a bucket of water.

And then a very pretty woman riding her stylish moped, almost sneaked next to me reminding me the brio of a charming lady who led the crowning glory ads in the 80s. A perfectly curved body - almost complimenting curvaceous bike that she was riding was magnetizing both men and women around her. She looked at me (accidently) as though it was the closing scene of La La Land and I was Sebastin playing a band and she is Mia pausing to give me one warm look. You know, some people have a rare sword swiping specialty in their looks; she had it. If you are fan of Ghazals, you would realize that Ghazals often uphold three things; melancholy of life, mirages of men and magnificence of a woman. She was a live Ghazal!

I switched off my cacophonic FM channel and switched on to the USB. Then Mehdi Hassan sang “yeh meri umr mohbbat ke liye thodi hai (this life is too less to be in love with..).”

Once the road opened up for her motor bike to move, she vroomed ahead - leaving me to linger into a light hearted sin.

Her vacated space was timidly occupied by a Nano car carrying a Giga couple.

Inside the car, I saw a fat man in his early thirties - wearing an awkward floral tie that was too short, competing with his pot belly. He, every now and then would look into his mobile phone and giggle - as though he was under a severe influence of a laughing gas. He continued reacting differently every 3 seconds, reminding me of a dog that witlessly rubs its back, lazes on the ground to lessen its itch.

The lady (I assumed, it was his wife) sitting next, chomping some food, also pulled out her mobile phone, switched on the selfie mode. She spruced up her face looking into it, applied lipstick and began clicking selfies by making faces that only can be made by people who by mistake inhale highly allergic gas.

This woman who had no dressing sense was wearing an awkward T shirt that surreptitiously covered two squeezed oranges, positioned exactly on top of an inflated pumpkin.

The couple, by all means were a byproduct of etiquette massacre that are mostly spotted in Bangalore shopping malls.

‘Lucky you’ – I said in mind looking at both, wondering about the quantity of lies that they should be telling each other about their beauty and body - everyday, just to keep the marriage intact.

***

Even as I was freelancing people, I realized that I was turning out to be mean, wicked and highly opinionated. This’ what democracy does to us; it unreservedly gives us a weird entitlement to brand others with vicious opinions and contentious views. No wonder, why the name of new born baby of a celebrity and the games that politicians play around it - become national headlines, in my country.

In guilt, I looked into the side mirror which displayed my convex image and insultingly said that ‘the objects are closer than they appear’ – underlining the abundant absurdity that was hiding, within me.

The mirror hinted to me that there is a differentiated way of looking at others.

The note reminded me to tap into my own dysfunctional life before I assess others, precariously.

People honk because they are happy.

People eat because there is a greater joy in feeling hungry and eating food.

No matter how envious I am about an undeserving couple, they are not going to change their relation just because I have an opinion about them.

The cab driver who did a miracle with half bottle of water perhaps must be working very hard and he may not have had time to even go home and feel refreshed. The Auto rickshaw drivers mostly speed up so that they attend more and more passengers and make small money; they also have daughters whom they need to buy school bags for or pay for their sons’ bus passes.

Who knows?

But I knew one thing for sure; every person that I was branding was generally nice, warm and happy. They merely were creative characters in a play called halted road.

Tyranny of rapidly surfacing remorse, put me into an aching discomfort.

The traffic was a merely a symbolic time trap – making me appreciate an undeniable relation that existed between devastatingly stunning contradictions I knitted about myself in comparison with others.

The self-serving compulsions that made me ascribe a blueprint to an ideal way of dealing with life, actually seemed to be my neurotic disorder.

I was sick!

I think, I was reduced to live a life of a denizen in a detained pool of water. My zest was simply trapped under a heavy armor of turtle, confining me to a flimsy life defined by materialistic norms.

I recovered and made a pledge, never to be mean to people.

The sensation was uncommon; I was in the present and very happy.

Choosing to go slow and be patient on the road was a great incentive to discover life’s simple truths.

It reconnected me to rapidly diminishing values of life.

Technically, driving an uninsured car taught me one simple thing that life is too fast and I must slow down.

As Wordsworth in his “world is too much with us” sonnet highlighted the peril of materialistic progression as sordid boon, the forced halt reminded me that that I have been unnecessarily speeding up, when I am supposed to slow down.

New found nirvana, revealed that monks sell their Ferrari, but men can always delay their insurance renewal to understand good life. 

Joy of life co-exists with fear of death

“Where are you – you promised me that you would text me the instant you land  ... call me urgently” was a frantic message I received as I stood in a long cue at Narita Airport.

“If my plane crashes, news channels will let you know, earlier than the airport authorities” was the message I typed on my smartphone - but never sent to my sensitive wife, who always gets worried during my travels, disregarding the logistical challenges of immigration formalities.

Her nervousness on my well-being is not new; it is just that the recent mysterious disappearance of planes made her, more vulnerable. She would fear that the first officer of my plane would deliberately crash the plane. She would imagine that my plane flying either in an altered altitude or in a zone of armed conflict will have a catastrophic breakdown.

Well, these fears are understandable; what is not understandable is her desire to see her husband hale and hearty for the next several years. Some day she will be wrong and that would end this fear forever, enabling her to embrace an eternal truth. As a matter fact, no wife ever wants her husband to board even a remade Titanic ship even if it assures 99.99% passenger safety.

0.1% odds will always worry 99.99% wives, after all.

There is a tiny terror in everything that we do, almost every day.

Life runs a constant battle between time and destiny.

The hazard of death is all over. It is a tricky time bomb that silently lies in our pocket which may explode without a thud, some day. A spontaneous combustion, a prolonged indigestion, a speeding car, a livid mob, a gustiest storm, a wicked act of god or a gentle act of sex - technically, anything can claim our life with a blink of an eye. Driving down to the office without succumbing to a head-on collision, stepping out of an elevator without being sucked dangerously - are sheer providential miracles that we unmindfully live, almost every day. Even when we hear about these freaky accidents happening elsewhere, we do not ever think that this could happen to us as though we are Spiderman’s cousins. Avant-garde vigilance may escape us from dying stupidly by delaying death’s early assault but death is right behind us, following us like an inseparable dark shade. Even while you are reading this blog, just turn around – you may see it hiding, smiling wickedly at you.  

Even death has a heart, writes Markus Zusac in The Book of thief.

Millions who complete their life successfully to die peacefully are the beneficiaries of death’s good heart. If I am still alive after writing this and if you are still breathing while reading this, do not attribute your life to your leafy vegetable diet or good karma.

It is just a preprogrammed strategy governed by god’s manuscript that we are still alive.

He alone will choose the cause and he never feels necessary to inform his target, ever.

It is foolish to disregard and deny his caprice.

***

I quizzed myself today - what if I end up dying tonight; the imaginations were scary.

First thing first; I am sacred of dying - dying lonely.

Implausibly muted body slipping into total darkness into a cottage of absolute quiet and quantum emptiness - indeed is a scary thing. A sleep with no nightmare, a body with no sensation, a brain with no thoughts, a heart with no feelings, an expressionless state with no events with no distinctive fears must be a terrible experience.  

So, dying is a scary thing.

Secondly, the very thought of prematurely bereaving my young children and a loving wife would pain me – immensely.

When I am gone, I would perhaps leave behind a deep void, besides some interesting memories for my family.

Sore silence, excruciating emptiness and a plentiful pain would envelop my small house, making it unbearably bigger and unnecessarily duller.

My smiling photo hung on the wall of our drawing hall would seek a sharp attention from every visitor for the first few days.

My parents, my brother and few good friends of mine would inconsolably praise some of my deeds and the effect of those deeds. They would remember how I had a great will to live and how I left nothing to chance.

My wife would exactly know what people would mean when she repeatedly hears them giving her an abortive assurance that I am not dead but alive in everyone’s hearts.

At midnight, she would abruptly be awakened to a stirring dream that depicts that I am alive - only to be disappointed to confront with a cruel truth.

My second son, persuaded by his mother that his dad has gone to the god to get a mysterious sword for him will continue boasting about his brave dad’s heroic deeds before friends.

For my first boy, life would never be the same, again. He would dramatically turn out into a mature guy, mostly foregoing his boyhood.

He will miss his dad in social events at his schools. He would remember me in every academic success and co-curricular victories.  

Characterized by a diminished faith and a vanished joy, my kids will miss seeing their sloppily whistling dad on the driver seat of my car while my wife will miss a warm chest to caress, while lying sleeplessly on an empty bed.

The roads would look longer and so do the nights.

Sunk in the subtler shadows of subsiding grief, bored with the whispering silence – soon people would come to terms with a life minus an important person in it.

And when the sorrow exhausts them and tears dry away, grief will mature them.

There will be some recurring and relevant sadness - but the memories of the stupid tricks I played and dirty jokes I cracked, petty poems I wrote and impossible culinary I tried would slowly start bringing a brief laugh, back on their faces.

One fine morning when they would wake up to a scintillating sound of pouring rain after a good sleep and find coffee tasting better, they would suddenly learn that the numb pain is subsiding. The dull pleasantness would slowly push them out of grief and life starts tipping from despair to hope.

Some encouraging conversations, motivating text messages, mindlessly forwarded jokes, spam mails, innovative apps, new recipes, new friends… will slowly but routinely begin gaining space in Uma’s life. She would be hesitant in the beginning to accept resurfacing joy - like a sobbing child made to smile whose unfinished anger and untold complaints, holding the child back from being fully into the present - but newly gained spiritual approach would enable her embrace new life, steadily and surely.

My elder son mused with pubic hair and erection would unexpectedly start exploring his new identity while enjoying new possibilities and new relations.

My second son will learn that the mysterious sword was a cruel joke and would never dare to ask for one thereafter - fearing that his mother would also be gone forever to get one.

New occasions, new events will loosen too tightly held grip with grief.

Unavoidable newness in the air would confirm them that life is taking a turn, for good.

And then life moves on; and everyone would mechanically start walking through the blunting pain.

A delicate delight would well everybody up.

Well, they won’t miss me any less - but they would soon discover a working hypothesis for life, knowing well that they too have a good life ahead.

***

There is mysterious resistance to accept death and its harshness.

Even while I was writing about my imaginary death and the assumed harsh state of my family, there was a cognitive dissonance that was fighting death back, reminding me repeatedly that I have good chunk of an unlived life, yet ahead.

Sigmund Freud calls this marvel ‘Eros’ – a dogma that seeks both to preserve life and to create life.

It is just that I want to win life’s generosity for a little more time.

I am yet to confess some errors, I am yet to make last few errors.

I am yet to live an unlived life.

***

I went to a nearby shop other day to quickly refill my groceries and as I reached the shop, the shopkeeper pulled the shutters down.

I had plenty of money to buy the things that I wanted with enough time by my side to shop. But the shop keeper closed the shop, way ahead of time.

“You cannot do this..it is just 7.30 in the evening ” I said infuriatedly.

“But sir, it is time…” he shamelessly smiled at me and disappeared in a few seconds.

Our life’s shutter can many a times be pulled down ahead of time.

Not that I decline to die; but the very thought of dying early makes me go weak at the knees. 

Honestly, I view death as an odd relief; perhaps mankind’s only path to respite. It is a final frontier, a well-known fear. 

Interesting thing about death is that, it controls me. The very thought that someday I shall sleep - never to wake up again – renders a remarkable poise in life. It calibrates my illusions, it reconnects me to the reality, it deepens my sense of responsibility, softens my ego, and it strengthens my agility.

Recognizing the fact that the joy of life always co-exist with fear of death, I move on singing ‘abb to jo bhi ho so ho’(No matter whatever happens).

Resolve to make life, not a wasted chance.

In the next 24 days, I will turn 45.

In the next 24 hours, a new year will rise up again.

While I turn back, I look at the opportunities, I missed.

While I look ahead, I think of the possibilities I can create.

The space that exists between the past and the future largely accommodates a vortex of indistinguishable emotions, laced with a tiny amount of despair and a heavy dose of hope. Learning to deal with this space is known as ‘maturity’ – which is nothing but a wisdom arising out of all the stupid responses towards past incidents of our life. It gives us a count of all the events that shaped our life and a chance to correct ourselves. Every time we fix ourselves, we raise a count of laughs. 

With each passing year, the space shrinks as the events and thoughts in this space almost turn into déjà vu experiences. This is the biggest benefit of growing up. People hinging on this space, generally do and say things with great audacity and courage. They don’t always romanticize life. Dealing with deaths, disasters, diseases, declines, depressions, distress, deprivations.. literally any delta from the status quo  start appearing easy. Maturity takes over the modesty. Radicalism replaces romanticism. People almost treat their own life as an art cinema appreciating the darker scenes of it.

As I turn 45, I would probably show more courage in making distinctions between right and wrong.

After all, who determines what is right and what is wrong?

God the almighty, or Satan the devil?

Actually, none.

Standards for right and wrong are mere popular opinions, mostly founded by scholastic rhetorical tricks played as per the convenience of majority. One of the Sophists (bunch of Greek teachers) said “whatever things seem just and fine to each city, are just and fine for that city, so long as it thinks them so.”

Honestly?

You see, right or wrong represents nothing but the vested interests of the mighty scholars.

Let me illustrate this, seriously.

Read the word ‘gay’.

What’s on your mind, now?

A mysterious contempt? Sulk in disapproval?

Well, the literal meaning of gay is bright and happy - which was adopted by uninhibited people who were attracted to members of the same sex.

What makes us angry – the word gay or homosexuals?

Well, now that I have justified the literal meaning of gay, you scorn is reduced towards the word gay, but you continue to frown on the word ‘homosexuals’, don’t you?

What if you reason out the phenomenon behind homosexuals and get literal reasons behind their behaviors? Won’t you become more liberal about them? Should you not?

I have a friend who is a gay but he is a great man – perhaps a nicest human being I can ever think of. We never miss an occasion to greet each other on special occasions. He wrote to me before the Christmas Eve. Take a look at a part of his mail which holds a brightest mirror to the darkest truth.

"I and Collins split up after being together for 1 year. The first 6 months were life transforming and the remaining were running on flat tires, but I don't regret it and I have grown from it, and I don't miss him, but I miss his cat. Quickly after that I met San, a young Brazilian man who speaks little English. We are both learning each other’s language and in that heady atmosphere of love, life appears good and refreshing."

Two things are evident from my friend’s mail. One, he is very happy in a heady atmosphere of love and two, he is very happy in being whoever he is. Who are we to tell him what life should he lead? I don’t think my friend intentionally disregarded conventional sexual norms. Who knows why he has an enduring pattern of emotional and/or sexual attractions to men? It is a debate that American Psychological Association should better be benefitting from. But I don’t see a reason why the world should bother about my friend and other myriad men and women who have curious inclinations.

As I turn 45, I will neither view this as a clinical disarray or social delinquency. Until proven otherwise, I would respect this man, as I always did. He is not straight, that’s OK. But he is a gem of a guy, better than thousand perverts that I am aware of.

Wow … I wrote about conventional sexual norms; what..sss an oxymoron?

***

As I read my friend’s mail, I dug deep into cache of my memory and pulled out 2 more statements that otherwise were, derisive.

Here’s one artist on ‘marriage’ –

“It’s not natural; you cannot be compelled to live with someone legally. Marriage is born out of our insecurity. It hasn’t helped humanity, it has just created hell. People delude themselves that marriage is a sign of stability, but what it forces you to do is to lead a compromised life. And your children watch these two people who constantly impose views and preach what they don’t practice. So you end up living with someone for every reason apart from actually wanting to live with them.”

Here’s another on screenplay that he wrote –

“It’s written by me and I have no other person to whom, I care to dedicate, so I am dedicating it to myself. As simple as that.”

Within the prevailing societal framework, these reactions from people can be classified as contentious comments. Literally, these are cocky, cold and perhaps cruel statements. Such is the acidity of truth. Mencken has an answer for this conduct - who says “It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place”.

Limitation of life is that it is not a fiction.

And when we treat life as an event, it hinges on two variables. Courage with which we live it, and sincerity with which we express it. Hundred things about life we say are always going to be inconvenient to others. But our life’s experiences influence what we say and do. If we fail to take a note of people’s courage in these stances, then we have strong inclinations to contribute to the huge community of idiots that lives outside of mental asylums. Appreciating life’s crudest manifestation is nothing but accepting life in its natural form. When we do so, we have more expressions, less limitations. When we become real and say no sweet things about life, the awkwardness of life disappears bit by bit, bringing us closer to the life that we always wanted to live. We become less vulnerable. It appears to me that we are almost used to living life on a slogan called Horn OK Please. No one knows the origin or the meaning. But it is cool thing to live life like it. It is a fad to be in a crowd that keeps nodding head to many theories of life that are unfounded. Wisdom is not in challenging the social fabric to create anarchy or in clinging to it to create slavery. Wisdom is letting things go in order to authorize a self right to grow. Wisdom is resisting force-fed theories.   

It is this ripeness that I am staring at, while I am readying to move into my 45. It is this courage that I am trying to adopt as I add one more year to my life.

I may not indulge into acts that are of fiercely radical but I won’t be a mute participant in a universal procession of lies. I may not bare myself and say what’s on my mind every time, I will at least be tolerant about others’ controversial views. I may not cut down the color of life but I will be keen to appreciate human life in its silhouette,too.

Here I come, New Year with a resolve to make life, not just a wasted chance.