Guys, I am moving this blog to Wordpress.
Please go to this link from now on:
http://blessongregory.wordpress.com/
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
To vote or not to vote
That is the question! And most youngsters in this country have been answering in the negative. At least the statistics on the percentage of youngsters who cast their votes, say so.
Bollywood has been trying to convince the youngsters to vote, but I am not sure if it will work.
The majority of us probably think that it is useless to vote for any of the @%$%#$ politicians who are contesting. Of the rest, I guess some are too lazy to stand in long queues in the summer heat to cast their vote, some just don't care and the others don't know what an election is.
The 'question' in question was one that I pondered over as well before I cast my first vote for the last Kerala Assembly Elections. After thinking long and hard, I realized that not voting was not even an option. It is true that most of the candidates in the fray are not worthy of representing the people of their constituency. But that does not mean that we choose to avoid our fundamental right and duty, because by voting we are keeping our end of the bargain; doing what we are supposed to do as responsible citizens.
It is not as if we have no choice while casting our vote. We could vote for an independent candidate who we think could do some good for our constituency. Or vote to keep certain ideologies/parties out of power (choose the lesser devil in a sense). If even that does not work, we could choose to cast a "NO VOTE".
Casting a "NO VOTE" (Section 49-O)
Section 49-O of the Conduct of Election Rules, 1961 gives the option to an elector to register a NO VOTE. Following is the official extract from CER 1961:
49-O. Elector deciding not to vote.-If an elector, after his electoral roll number has been duly entered in the register of voters in Form-17A and has put his signature or thumb impression thereon as required under sub-rule (1) of rule 49L, decided not to record his vote, a remark to this effect shall be made against the said entry in Form 17A by the presiding officer and the signature or thumb impression of the elector shall be obtained against such remark.
This can also be seen as a way to register a "protest vote", if an elector doesn't like any of the candidates. However, the only practical utility of exercising the right of NO VOTE is that it allows one to ensure that his / her vote is not misused by anybody else. Under no circumstances is a re-polling ordered, irrespective of how small or large the number of NO VOTES is.
Source: Jaago Re! campaign website
We might not be able to stop a candidate from being elected, but we can still protest. Let us all do at least that as the first step towards changing the way our system works. Like the Jaago Re! campaign slogan goes - Jaago, aur Jagaao!
Bollywood has been trying to convince the youngsters to vote, but I am not sure if it will work.
The majority of us probably think that it is useless to vote for any of the @%$%#$ politicians who are contesting. Of the rest, I guess some are too lazy to stand in long queues in the summer heat to cast their vote, some just don't care and the others don't know what an election is.
The 'question' in question was one that I pondered over as well before I cast my first vote for the last Kerala Assembly Elections. After thinking long and hard, I realized that not voting was not even an option. It is true that most of the candidates in the fray are not worthy of representing the people of their constituency. But that does not mean that we choose to avoid our fundamental right and duty, because by voting we are keeping our end of the bargain; doing what we are supposed to do as responsible citizens.
It is not as if we have no choice while casting our vote. We could vote for an independent candidate who we think could do some good for our constituency. Or vote to keep certain ideologies/parties out of power (choose the lesser devil in a sense). If even that does not work, we could choose to cast a "NO VOTE".
Casting a "NO VOTE" (Section 49-O)
Section 49-O of the Conduct of Election Rules, 1961 gives the option to an elector to register a NO VOTE. Following is the official extract from CER 1961:
49-O. Elector deciding not to vote.-If an elector, after his electoral roll number has been duly entered in the register of voters in Form-17A and has put his signature or thumb impression thereon as required under sub-rule (1) of rule 49L, decided not to record his vote, a remark to this effect shall be made against the said entry in Form 17A by the presiding officer and the signature or thumb impression of the elector shall be obtained against such remark.
This can also be seen as a way to register a "protest vote", if an elector doesn't like any of the candidates. However, the only practical utility of exercising the right of NO VOTE is that it allows one to ensure that his / her vote is not misused by anybody else. Under no circumstances is a re-polling ordered, irrespective of how small or large the number of NO VOTES is. Source: Jaago Re! campaign website
We might not be able to stop a candidate from being elected, but we can still protest. Let us all do at least that as the first step towards changing the way our system works. Like the Jaago Re! campaign slogan goes - Jaago, aur Jagaao!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
So much to be thankful for!
It has almost been a year since my last post! A lot of things have changed since then - I used to live in Thrissur then, but in Kochi now; I used to be an engineering student then, but a working professional now. What hasn't changed is that I am still just as lazy as I was then to post something here. :) But I am back. ;)
I just thought I would start off the new season of this blog with a nice thought. We keep complaining about so many things in our life - the summer heat, the economic slowdown, the corruption in politics, the boring work schedule.....
We seem to have complaints about anything and everything! But we just need to take a look around us to realize just how fortunate we are, just how much we all have to be thankful for. I have only recently realized how much happier you can be by just counting all the reasons why you are more fortunate than most people in this world.
I am still not back to my eloquent best and since pictures speak a thousand words, I will just let them do all the talking.
I am sure I don't need to say anything more!
I just thought I would start off the new season of this blog with a nice thought. We keep complaining about so many things in our life - the summer heat, the economic slowdown, the corruption in politics, the boring work schedule.....
We seem to have complaints about anything and everything! But we just need to take a look around us to realize just how fortunate we are, just how much we all have to be thankful for. I have only recently realized how much happier you can be by just counting all the reasons why you are more fortunate than most people in this world.
I am still not back to my eloquent best and since pictures speak a thousand words, I will just let them do all the talking.
I am sure I don't need to say anything more!
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Kick the CO2 Habit
United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) on how to "Kick the CO2 Habit"
Perhaps the only subject of importance that I studied in my four year engineering course was 'Environmental Studies'. No, I am not being sarcastic. On World Environment Day, I cannot but be worried about the attitude most people have towards the environment and its conservation.
The environment will not disappear and the rising sea levels will not drown coastal regions in our life time. But that does not mean we turn a blind eye to impending danger. We should not be shamelessly contributing to potential disaster.
I am not going to go into the details of what we need to do to preserve our environment. I am also not going to give out figures on global warming or the carbon footprint. We are being bombarded with that kind of information - on TV, in the newspapers and even in our curriculum. But most people don't care, and some even make a joke out of it.
The real danger that the world faces is not environmental degradation or unsustainable growth, but the apathy of the people towards these issues. Please, let us all show some more concern for our environment.
The often heard refrain is - what difference can one person make? As individuals, we don't need to change the world, the environment or the society. We only need to change ourselves.
Perhaps, more than doing anything, we need to realize the need to do something. It is time to "Kick the CO2 Habit".
Perhaps the only subject of importance that I studied in my four year engineering course was 'Environmental Studies'. No, I am not being sarcastic. On World Environment Day, I cannot but be worried about the attitude most people have towards the environment and its conservation.
The environment will not disappear and the rising sea levels will not drown coastal regions in our life time. But that does not mean we turn a blind eye to impending danger. We should not be shamelessly contributing to potential disaster.
I am not going to go into the details of what we need to do to preserve our environment. I am also not going to give out figures on global warming or the carbon footprint. We are being bombarded with that kind of information - on TV, in the newspapers and even in our curriculum. But most people don't care, and some even make a joke out of it.
The real danger that the world faces is not environmental degradation or unsustainable growth, but the apathy of the people towards these issues. Please, let us all show some more concern for our environment.
The often heard refrain is - what difference can one person make? As individuals, we don't need to change the world, the environment or the society. We only need to change ourselves.
Perhaps, more than doing anything, we need to realize the need to do something. It is time to "Kick the CO2 Habit".
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Thrissur Pooram = air & noise pollution + animal torture
I guess the title of the post says it all. When I changed my Orkut display name to this title yesterday, I was bombarded with responses from a lot of people. Most people were genuinely upset (I even received a good natured death threat), while a few were surprised. Hardly anyone supported my view.
Quite clearly, I have a problem with the Pooram because it pollutes the environment and involves the mistreatment of elephants. The people who responded to me (all the responses have been added at the very end of this post) were trying to justify the pollution and the mistreatment with culture, tradition and history (and in one ingenious case, even foreign exchange through tourism).
I believe nothing can justify polluting the environment or mistreating animals. We are already living in a world that is developing unsustainably. Do we need to destabilize it further in the name of culture and tradition?
The people are standing in the sun on their own free will. What about the policemen? ;)
The Thrissur Pooram flouts every single known emission norm and sound decibel level restriction. Every year, exceptions are made by the government for the sake of culture and tradition. The Supreme Court says such exceptions can be made in order to not upset 'religious and cultural sentiments'.
My grouse is not with the Pooram alone. I have a problem with every despicable act that is justified with culture and religion. People in this country are too proud of their culture, even using it at times to cover up our lack of development. I am talking of the so-what-if-the-western-world-is-more-developed-we-have-a-superior-culture rhetoric. But that must be the topic of another post.
Let me remind everyone that our culture entailed even practices like the Sati and Untouchability. Not everything that has been done over many years need be right. When will we ever learn to objectively and unemotionally judge issues? Ours is a nation with too many 'sentiments' that need protection and comforting. Sad!
The poor elephants have no choice but to bear the heat!
What kind of sadistic pleasure do people get by forcing poor elephants to stand for hours on end in the scorching summer heat? Some of these people actually claim to be elephant lovers! If you really love elephants, you would want them to be returned to the safety and protection that their natural habit has to offer them.
The Pooram also often becomes a public nuisance. The pandals constructed right in the middle of the busiest roads in the centre of Thrissur don't help at all. Why don't they set up these in the vast open spaces surrounding the Vadakkunathan temple? Why disrupt public life when you have the choice not to? And if you live in the town areas, be prepared to go without electricity for a few weeks in the run up to the D-Day. (Ask any of the shop owners in Thrissur town and they will tell you). But these are just minor grievances. I may still put up with them in the name of culture and tradition.
But not everything about Pooram is bad. The traditional music and the visual splendor on offer (the umbrellas and all the other decorative items) are quite splendid. I am personally not really a fan of either of this, though. I don't understand why people would want to wilt in the heat - however enticing the music and alluring the sight may be! But that is just my personal opinion.
These are the responses that filled up my Orkut scrapbook in the last 24 hours (in the order that I received them):
Anoop Arunkumar: "way to be optimistic abt the only thing thrissur is known for...noise, air pollution and animal torture..geez!!!!!"
Arjun T C: "poda koppe!!!..americans have deir rock concerts and crap..we have pooram..ur so called air pollution is beautiful music..its a culture we are celebrating..in true pagan hindu style"
Arjun T C (again, after some thought): “dude..u know how much tourism and freaking revenue the damn pooram brings in”
Ashwin V: "daaa....its our culture man, its in blood of each and every thrissurkaaran.....its celebration"
Anto Thomas: "samskaarathinteetyum paarambaryatinteeyum peeril oottum kollunnu jada thendikalude netti chulipikunna caption!"
Gokul V: " the pollution and animal torture things.... i hate the latter part.... but love the former....I love fire crackers..... You see they are the only pollutants i endorse...."
Sreekanth Sasi: "wat a caption dude!! u meant it seriously??? "
Roopesh M B: "Animal torture...pollution… Nine njan kollum...."
Anoop Bhatt: "What a noble thought!!!! (considering you are from thrissur)"
Quite clearly, I have a problem with the Pooram because it pollutes the environment and involves the mistreatment of elephants. The people who responded to me (all the responses have been added at the very end of this post) were trying to justify the pollution and the mistreatment with culture, tradition and history (and in one ingenious case, even foreign exchange through tourism).
I believe nothing can justify polluting the environment or mistreating animals. We are already living in a world that is developing unsustainably. Do we need to destabilize it further in the name of culture and tradition?
The people are standing in the sun on their own free will. What about the policemen? ;)The Thrissur Pooram flouts every single known emission norm and sound decibel level restriction. Every year, exceptions are made by the government for the sake of culture and tradition. The Supreme Court says such exceptions can be made in order to not upset 'religious and cultural sentiments'.
My grouse is not with the Pooram alone. I have a problem with every despicable act that is justified with culture and religion. People in this country are too proud of their culture, even using it at times to cover up our lack of development. I am talking of the so-what-if-the-western-world-is-more-developed-we-have-a-superior-culture rhetoric. But that must be the topic of another post.
Let me remind everyone that our culture entailed even practices like the Sati and Untouchability. Not everything that has been done over many years need be right. When will we ever learn to objectively and unemotionally judge issues? Ours is a nation with too many 'sentiments' that need protection and comforting. Sad!
Thrissur Pooram must be one of the most overrated events in the whole world! I don’t understand what the brouhaha is all about. Why are people so excited about Pooram? Are they celebrating the fact that the Pooram fireworks have made our atmosphere that much more polluted? Or maybe they are happy to have the resistance of their ear drums tested from such close quarters. Or perhaps they are enjoying the fact that thirty helpless elephants were forced to endure the April heat for many hours.
The poor elephants have no choice but to bear the heat!What kind of sadistic pleasure do people get by forcing poor elephants to stand for hours on end in the scorching summer heat? Some of these people actually claim to be elephant lovers! If you really love elephants, you would want them to be returned to the safety and protection that their natural habit has to offer them.
The Pooram also often becomes a public nuisance. The pandals constructed right in the middle of the busiest roads in the centre of Thrissur don't help at all. Why don't they set up these in the vast open spaces surrounding the Vadakkunathan temple? Why disrupt public life when you have the choice not to? And if you live in the town areas, be prepared to go without electricity for a few weeks in the run up to the D-Day. (Ask any of the shop owners in Thrissur town and they will tell you). But these are just minor grievances. I may still put up with them in the name of culture and tradition.
But not everything about Pooram is bad. The traditional music and the visual splendor on offer (the umbrellas and all the other decorative items) are quite splendid. I am personally not really a fan of either of this, though. I don't understand why people would want to wilt in the heat - however enticing the music and alluring the sight may be! But that is just my personal opinion.
The Thrissur Pooram fireworks. Just have a look at the smoke filling up the sky! And the noise is pretty much unbearable!
These are the responses that filled up my Orkut scrapbook in the last 24 hours (in the order that I received them):
Anoop Arunkumar: "way to be optimistic abt the only thing thrissur is known for...noise, air pollution and animal torture..geez!!!!!"
Arjun T C: "poda koppe!!!..americans have deir rock concerts and crap..we have pooram..ur so called air pollution is beautiful music..its a culture we are celebrating..in true pagan hindu style"
Arjun T C (again, after some thought): “dude..u know how much tourism and freaking revenue the damn pooram brings in”
Ashwin V: "daaa....its our culture man, its in blood of each and every thrissurkaaran.....its celebration"
Anto Thomas: "samskaarathinteetyum paarambaryatinteeyum peeril oottum kollunnu jada thendikalude netti chulipikunna caption!"
Gokul V: " the pollution and animal torture things.... i hate the latter part.... but love the former....I love fire crackers..... You see they are the only pollutants i endorse...."
Sreekanth Sasi: "wat a caption dude!! u meant it seriously??? "
Roopesh M B: "Animal torture...pollution… Nine njan kollum...."
Anoop Bhatt: "What a noble thought!!!! (considering you are from thrissur)"
The end of a search
This is a short story I had written in school (12th standard) for a short story competition. I obviously didn't remember everything I had written then. This is a recreation of that story - the basic plot and characters remain the same though I have tweaked it a little here and there.
Short Story No.4
I walked into my flat despondent. It was yet another day at office, another day of endless files, unsatisfied clients and pestering bosses. I was thankful that it was over. But I had to start all over again tomorrow. It was as if there was no escape from this mediocre and mundane life.
As I walked into my flat, I picked up the post lying next to the door. All letters were addressed to Anoop Chandy, but none were from people I knew. All were from business acquaintances. I wondered when I would ever receive a personal mail from someone. Even an email would do. But there was nothing but business correspondence in my email inbox as well.
I threw my car keys onto the table and went into the bathroom. As I threw the cold water running from the tap on my face, I realized just how lonely I was. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The hairline had started to recede prematurely. Too many hours in the office, and too stressful a life had left me looking older than my 28 years. My eyes were still the same though, but perhaps, they had lost their twinkle. A stubble was growing on my face. I had lost interest in taking care of my appearance a long time ago.
I had a car, a neatly furnished flat and a hefty pay packet to take home at the end of the month. Successful, people say. I had everything, but I felt as if I had nothing. I was still searching - for success, for a meaning to my life. A search that will perhaps never end.
A few years back, when I left college, I was doing what I thought would make me successful. I wanted to build my career, climb the corporate ladder. Nothing else seemed to be important then. I didn't want to even understand or experience anything else. I had shut everything else from my mind. I now realized that I had been wasting all these years chasing a mirage.
I flicked on the television and flipped through the channels. The evening news was on. Even the news was humdrum. I looked at my living room. The paintings on the wall had begun to fade. The windows were beginning to get dusty.
The news anchor was rambling on about the latest political fall outs of the Indo-US nuclear deal. I reflected on how different I could have made my life, only if I had made different choices. That was when I heard the voice. I knew it was familiar. I turned around to look at the TV screen and my heart skipped a beat.
I could never forget that face - bright, beady eyes, small pointed nose and soft full lips. Her long dark hair framed her oval face. Her captivating smile made her face all the more beautiful. Her intense eyes were hidden behind spectacles. I remembered that she didn't wear glasses in college. But she hadn't changed much at all from those days. She was now reporting news for a national news channel.
I kept watching her. She was evidently a little nervous. Maybe this was her first live report. She kept pushing her glasses up her nose as she delivered a report on the new proposals for education reforms.
Seeing her on TV brought back memories from college. My life was not so mundane and meaningless then. I leant back in my chair and closed my eyes. I could see my college again. I could see my old classrooms, the ground, the canteen…. And her. She was sitting in the gallery, waiting.
It was the Annual Sports Day, I remembered. I walked over to the ground. I could see my younger self doing warm ups. Anoop Chandy was pretty fit in those days, I thought. She was in the stands, to cheer Anoop when the race would begin.
I looked around and could only manage to see blurred images of everyone else. I wondered why. When Anoop finished first in the race, she punched the air, apparently very excited. He waved to her. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was attributing her excitement to the fact that she belonged to the same house team as he did. Looking at her eyes brimming with elation, I knew better now.
I opened my eyes and sat up in my chair again. The news report was just coming to an end. "Rashmi Nambiar, reporting from Chennai." She wound up the report. She was in my city right now! I could hardly believe it. I made up my mind to meet her the next day.
Maybe life wasn't so mundane after all. Amidst all the strange faces that I see daily, it was wonderful to have a familiar one too. I wondered how surprised she might be on seeing me.
Reclining in my chair, I closed my eyes once again. I was back in college, amidst all the blurred images. On stage, the debate competition was going on. Anoop was up against her. When she eventually won, she didn't seem very happy. Anoop hadn't even noticed it, perhaps. But I noticed it now.
I knew he was the better speaker, but somehow he didn't win this time. He just didn't want to beat her. He had never understood why he did that. But I understood now.
I came back to my senses again. I had to meet her tomorrow. Especially now that I knew why all the other images in my memory were blurred.
I woke up early the next day. It was raining heavily. Many more memories from college had come back to me overnight, making me even more determined to meet her that day. I called in sick at work and set out to the news channel's studio in Chennai.
When I arrived at the studio, I was almost drenched in the rain. I walked up to the reception desk and asked, "Can I meet Ms. Rashmi Nambiar? Is she here right now?"
It was my lucky day. She was in the studio right then. "Who should I say is waiting?"
"An old friend from college." I hoped that when someone asked me the next time, I would be able to give a different answer.
I sat down in one of the sofas in the reception lounge. What would be her reaction when she sees me? What will she ask me? How have you been? Where have you been? Maybe she will ask me why I hadn't called her all this while. But I knew I just had one question to ask her.
She walked into the reception area a moment later. When her eyes fell on me, she was stunned. She just kept staring for a few moments, not being able to say anything. I tried to read the emotion in her eyes – there was joy, but I felt there was some pain and anguish too. Her eyes were almost chastising me for having taken so long.
I was at a loss for words myself too. She was more beautiful than I had ever remembered her. I felt all the dreariness in my life disappearing. I was finally finding success. My mundane life was becoming meaningful.
I looked out of the window. The rain had stopped now. The clouds had cleared up and the sun was shining in through the windows.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and gave me a nervous smile. She still hadn’t said anything. She probably didn't know what to say. But her blush was unmistakable.
I didn't need her to say much. I just needed an answer to my question.
When I looked into her eyes again, I knew what the answer was going to be, even before I had asked the question. My search had ended.
Short Story No.4
I walked into my flat despondent. It was yet another day at office, another day of endless files, unsatisfied clients and pestering bosses. I was thankful that it was over. But I had to start all over again tomorrow. It was as if there was no escape from this mediocre and mundane life.
As I walked into my flat, I picked up the post lying next to the door. All letters were addressed to Anoop Chandy, but none were from people I knew. All were from business acquaintances. I wondered when I would ever receive a personal mail from someone. Even an email would do. But there was nothing but business correspondence in my email inbox as well.
I threw my car keys onto the table and went into the bathroom. As I threw the cold water running from the tap on my face, I realized just how lonely I was. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The hairline had started to recede prematurely. Too many hours in the office, and too stressful a life had left me looking older than my 28 years. My eyes were still the same though, but perhaps, they had lost their twinkle. A stubble was growing on my face. I had lost interest in taking care of my appearance a long time ago.
I had a car, a neatly furnished flat and a hefty pay packet to take home at the end of the month. Successful, people say. I had everything, but I felt as if I had nothing. I was still searching - for success, for a meaning to my life. A search that will perhaps never end.
A few years back, when I left college, I was doing what I thought would make me successful. I wanted to build my career, climb the corporate ladder. Nothing else seemed to be important then. I didn't want to even understand or experience anything else. I had shut everything else from my mind. I now realized that I had been wasting all these years chasing a mirage.
I flicked on the television and flipped through the channels. The evening news was on. Even the news was humdrum. I looked at my living room. The paintings on the wall had begun to fade. The windows were beginning to get dusty.
The news anchor was rambling on about the latest political fall outs of the Indo-US nuclear deal. I reflected on how different I could have made my life, only if I had made different choices. That was when I heard the voice. I knew it was familiar. I turned around to look at the TV screen and my heart skipped a beat.
I could never forget that face - bright, beady eyes, small pointed nose and soft full lips. Her long dark hair framed her oval face. Her captivating smile made her face all the more beautiful. Her intense eyes were hidden behind spectacles. I remembered that she didn't wear glasses in college. But she hadn't changed much at all from those days. She was now reporting news for a national news channel.
I kept watching her. She was evidently a little nervous. Maybe this was her first live report. She kept pushing her glasses up her nose as she delivered a report on the new proposals for education reforms.
Seeing her on TV brought back memories from college. My life was not so mundane and meaningless then. I leant back in my chair and closed my eyes. I could see my college again. I could see my old classrooms, the ground, the canteen…. And her. She was sitting in the gallery, waiting.
It was the Annual Sports Day, I remembered. I walked over to the ground. I could see my younger self doing warm ups. Anoop Chandy was pretty fit in those days, I thought. She was in the stands, to cheer Anoop when the race would begin.
I looked around and could only manage to see blurred images of everyone else. I wondered why. When Anoop finished first in the race, she punched the air, apparently very excited. He waved to her. I knew exactly what he was thinking. He was attributing her excitement to the fact that she belonged to the same house team as he did. Looking at her eyes brimming with elation, I knew better now.
I opened my eyes and sat up in my chair again. The news report was just coming to an end. "Rashmi Nambiar, reporting from Chennai." She wound up the report. She was in my city right now! I could hardly believe it. I made up my mind to meet her the next day.
Maybe life wasn't so mundane after all. Amidst all the strange faces that I see daily, it was wonderful to have a familiar one too. I wondered how surprised she might be on seeing me.
Reclining in my chair, I closed my eyes once again. I was back in college, amidst all the blurred images. On stage, the debate competition was going on. Anoop was up against her. When she eventually won, she didn't seem very happy. Anoop hadn't even noticed it, perhaps. But I noticed it now.
I knew he was the better speaker, but somehow he didn't win this time. He just didn't want to beat her. He had never understood why he did that. But I understood now.
I came back to my senses again. I had to meet her tomorrow. Especially now that I knew why all the other images in my memory were blurred.
I woke up early the next day. It was raining heavily. Many more memories from college had come back to me overnight, making me even more determined to meet her that day. I called in sick at work and set out to the news channel's studio in Chennai.
When I arrived at the studio, I was almost drenched in the rain. I walked up to the reception desk and asked, "Can I meet Ms. Rashmi Nambiar? Is she here right now?"
It was my lucky day. She was in the studio right then. "Who should I say is waiting?"
"An old friend from college." I hoped that when someone asked me the next time, I would be able to give a different answer.
I sat down in one of the sofas in the reception lounge. What would be her reaction when she sees me? What will she ask me? How have you been? Where have you been? Maybe she will ask me why I hadn't called her all this while. But I knew I just had one question to ask her.
She walked into the reception area a moment later. When her eyes fell on me, she was stunned. She just kept staring for a few moments, not being able to say anything. I tried to read the emotion in her eyes – there was joy, but I felt there was some pain and anguish too. Her eyes were almost chastising me for having taken so long.
I was at a loss for words myself too. She was more beautiful than I had ever remembered her. I felt all the dreariness in my life disappearing. I was finally finding success. My mundane life was becoming meaningful.
I looked out of the window. The rain had stopped now. The clouds had cleared up and the sun was shining in through the windows.
She tucked her hair behind her ears and gave me a nervous smile. She still hadn’t said anything. She probably didn't know what to say. But her blush was unmistakable.
I didn't need her to say much. I just needed an answer to my question.
When I looked into her eyes again, I knew what the answer was going to be, even before I had asked the question. My search had ended.
Sunday, March 23, 2008
The painting
Short Story No.3
The auction would begin in less than ten minutes and Ramakrishnan was stuck in the morning traffic. Being an art aficionado, Ramakrishnan (better known as RK) made it a point to attend most of the painting auctions and exhibitions. He didn't always buy, but there would time and again be some painting which he thought would be a good value addition to his collection. At 52, he was a successful businessman, and had made enough money to spend lavishly on art.
But there was a special reason why he was attending this particular auction. He was after a painting by a young promising artist, Sanjay Motwani. His trusted sources had tipped him that Sanjay Motwani could be the next big thing in the world of art, and in a few years his paintings could cost a fortune. RK could buy the painting pretty cheap now, and make a lot of money out of it. For a businessman, even appreciation of art is often a money making process.
By the time RK finally managed to weave his way through the traffic and reach the hall in which the auction was being held, he was already late. The auction was well underway. He walked down the aisle and sat down in a chair a few rows from the front. The man conducting the auction was standing on a raised podium and ranting on about a painting by an artist RK didn't recognize.
He looked around and spotted Sameer sitting in the same row. He had run into Sameer at a few auctions and art exhibitions. Sameer's knowledge of art had always impressed him. Sameer worked for a company of a friend of his, so he knew him as more than just an art enthusiast. Being 15 years younger, Sameer at times made RK conscious of his thinning hair and bulging waistline.
Sameer spotted him and smiled. RK moved over and sat next to him.
"Hey, we run into each other again. But aren’t you supposed to be attending a conference in Jamaica?" Sameer inquired.
Sameer's boss, who was also his friend, was also attending the conference. That must be how he knows, thought RK. "Yes. My flight takes off in two hours. By the way, has Sanjay Motwani's painting gone on auction yet?" That was all RK wanted to know right then.
"Oh! So you are after that painting, eh? Unfortunately, you are a little late. Sanjay's painting was the one first up for auction."
RK couldn't have been more disappointed. Why did they have to auction his painting first?
"Who bought it?"
Sameer pointed to a man sitting in the front row. "Mr. Akhilendra Mishra. Bought the painting for 4,50,000 rupees."
RK looked at the man in the front row. Mr. Mishra was about the same age as him and looked distinctly uncomfortable, fidgeting around in his chair.
RK was surprised by the price that the painting had been bought for. It was pretty high for a new artist. Maybe word was getting around that Sanjay Motwani had a lot of potential.
"I really wanted to get hold of that painting." RK lamented.
"Maybe I can help you still get that painting."
RK looked at Sameer. "Are you serious? How?"
"I know Mr. Mishra. He is not much of an art collector. It is more of a business for him. Offer him a better deal, and he might just want to sell that painting to you. Do you want me to speak to him?"
"Yes, please." RK's hopes were beginning to rise.
Sameer got up from his chair, walked to the front row and sat down next to Mr. Mishra. RK watched him talk with Mr. Mishra. Sameer seemed to know the man quite well.
After about ten minutes, Sameer returned.
"Just as I thought. He is looking to make some fast money from that painting. He is ready to sell that painting to you for 5 lakhs. You will have to pay 50,000 more than the price that he had bought it for. He was asking for more, but I convinced him that you wouldn't buy it for anything higher."
RK was delighted. "Thanks, Sameer. That is a really good deal."
Mr. Mishra must not have very good sources, RK thought. In a few years, the cost of the painting would increase many folds. He obviously didn't know about it. Why would he sell the painting for just a profit of 50,000 rupees otherwise?
"There is just one problem. He wants to be paid in cash. He was recently given a bounced cheque by someone. He has been very wary of strangers since then."
RK didn't have any cash with him. He was planning to pay for the painting by cheque. "That is okay. I am willing to pay in cash. Will have to pick up the money from home though. I hope he doesn't mind waiting till this evening."
"I am sure we can work something out. Shall we close the deal then?"
"I would like to speak to him myself."
"Sure. We will meet him outside the hall." Sameer was already walking towards the front row again.
RK walked out of the hall and waited. Soon Sameer and Mr. Mishra walked up to him. RK shook hands with Mr. Mishra. "Glad to meet you. And happy to make the deal with you."
"Yes, me too. All thanks to Sameer." Mr. Mishra responded.
"For 50,000, it is a pretty good deal for both of you." Sameer added.
"Sure." RK was only too happy to pay 50,000 rupees more for that painting. Mr. Mishra probably didn't realize that he would have paid even more if necessary.
"I have to leave for a conference in Jamaica this afternoon. I will send the money to you through Sameer and you can hand over the painting to him." With that, RK closed the deal and left the hall.
He had to catch a flight in a couple of hours. He didn't have the time to meet Mishra later in the day. But he knew he could trust Sameer. Not because he was impressed by Sameer's morals, principles or ethics. But he knew where he worked, he knew his boss at work. In fact, he knew too much about Sameer and was too influential in the business circles for Sameer to even try pulling a fast one on him. RK knew he could hand over the 5 lakhs to Sameer and expect to have the painting at his home the next day.
Mishra greeted him at the door. "Thanks for getting this deal for me! There was no way anyone would have bought that painting for that much money."
"You can always depend on me, Mr. Mishra." Sameer smiled.
"I was bidding for the painting only to make life difficult for my business rival who was also bidding for it. I thought I would just keep pushing the price up. I didn't expect that bastard to give up bidding. I had absolutely no intention of buying it myself."
"I could make out as much at the auction. Which was why I came to you with the offer."
"Why wife would have thrown me out of the house if she had gotten to know about this. I have not bought a painting my whole life. In fact, I hardly know a thing about art. Spending so much money on that damn piece of canvas would have been a huge loss. I am really glad that you managed to get such a good deal for me."
Mishra went into his study and brought the painting out. "Okay, there is your painting."
Sameer took the painting from Mishra and handed over the suitcase with the money in it. "Just as we had discussed - 4 lakhs. Just a loss of 50,000 for you."
Sameer walked out of the house with 1 lakh rupees to show for his day’s efforts.
The auction would begin in less than ten minutes and Ramakrishnan was stuck in the morning traffic. Being an art aficionado, Ramakrishnan (better known as RK) made it a point to attend most of the painting auctions and exhibitions. He didn't always buy, but there would time and again be some painting which he thought would be a good value addition to his collection. At 52, he was a successful businessman, and had made enough money to spend lavishly on art.
But there was a special reason why he was attending this particular auction. He was after a painting by a young promising artist, Sanjay Motwani. His trusted sources had tipped him that Sanjay Motwani could be the next big thing in the world of art, and in a few years his paintings could cost a fortune. RK could buy the painting pretty cheap now, and make a lot of money out of it. For a businessman, even appreciation of art is often a money making process.
By the time RK finally managed to weave his way through the traffic and reach the hall in which the auction was being held, he was already late. The auction was well underway. He walked down the aisle and sat down in a chair a few rows from the front. The man conducting the auction was standing on a raised podium and ranting on about a painting by an artist RK didn't recognize.
He looked around and spotted Sameer sitting in the same row. He had run into Sameer at a few auctions and art exhibitions. Sameer's knowledge of art had always impressed him. Sameer worked for a company of a friend of his, so he knew him as more than just an art enthusiast. Being 15 years younger, Sameer at times made RK conscious of his thinning hair and bulging waistline.
Sameer spotted him and smiled. RK moved over and sat next to him.
"Hey, we run into each other again. But aren’t you supposed to be attending a conference in Jamaica?" Sameer inquired.
Sameer's boss, who was also his friend, was also attending the conference. That must be how he knows, thought RK. "Yes. My flight takes off in two hours. By the way, has Sanjay Motwani's painting gone on auction yet?" That was all RK wanted to know right then.
"Oh! So you are after that painting, eh? Unfortunately, you are a little late. Sanjay's painting was the one first up for auction."
RK couldn't have been more disappointed. Why did they have to auction his painting first?
"Who bought it?"
Sameer pointed to a man sitting in the front row. "Mr. Akhilendra Mishra. Bought the painting for 4,50,000 rupees."
RK looked at the man in the front row. Mr. Mishra was about the same age as him and looked distinctly uncomfortable, fidgeting around in his chair.
RK was surprised by the price that the painting had been bought for. It was pretty high for a new artist. Maybe word was getting around that Sanjay Motwani had a lot of potential.
"I really wanted to get hold of that painting." RK lamented.
"Maybe I can help you still get that painting."
RK looked at Sameer. "Are you serious? How?"
"I know Mr. Mishra. He is not much of an art collector. It is more of a business for him. Offer him a better deal, and he might just want to sell that painting to you. Do you want me to speak to him?"
"Yes, please." RK's hopes were beginning to rise.
Sameer got up from his chair, walked to the front row and sat down next to Mr. Mishra. RK watched him talk with Mr. Mishra. Sameer seemed to know the man quite well.
After about ten minutes, Sameer returned.
"Just as I thought. He is looking to make some fast money from that painting. He is ready to sell that painting to you for 5 lakhs. You will have to pay 50,000 more than the price that he had bought it for. He was asking for more, but I convinced him that you wouldn't buy it for anything higher."
RK was delighted. "Thanks, Sameer. That is a really good deal."
Mr. Mishra must not have very good sources, RK thought. In a few years, the cost of the painting would increase many folds. He obviously didn't know about it. Why would he sell the painting for just a profit of 50,000 rupees otherwise?
"There is just one problem. He wants to be paid in cash. He was recently given a bounced cheque by someone. He has been very wary of strangers since then."
RK didn't have any cash with him. He was planning to pay for the painting by cheque. "That is okay. I am willing to pay in cash. Will have to pick up the money from home though. I hope he doesn't mind waiting till this evening."
"I am sure we can work something out. Shall we close the deal then?"
"I would like to speak to him myself."
"Sure. We will meet him outside the hall." Sameer was already walking towards the front row again.
RK walked out of the hall and waited. Soon Sameer and Mr. Mishra walked up to him. RK shook hands with Mr. Mishra. "Glad to meet you. And happy to make the deal with you."
"Yes, me too. All thanks to Sameer." Mr. Mishra responded.
"For 50,000, it is a pretty good deal for both of you." Sameer added.
"Sure." RK was only too happy to pay 50,000 rupees more for that painting. Mr. Mishra probably didn't realize that he would have paid even more if necessary.
"I have to leave for a conference in Jamaica this afternoon. I will send the money to you through Sameer and you can hand over the painting to him." With that, RK closed the deal and left the hall.
He had to catch a flight in a couple of hours. He didn't have the time to meet Mishra later in the day. But he knew he could trust Sameer. Not because he was impressed by Sameer's morals, principles or ethics. But he knew where he worked, he knew his boss at work. In fact, he knew too much about Sameer and was too influential in the business circles for Sameer to even try pulling a fast one on him. RK knew he could hand over the 5 lakhs to Sameer and expect to have the painting at his home the next day.
*********
Sameer went to Mishra's house in the evening with the money from RK. RK had had just about enough time to hand over the money to Sameer before rushing to the airport to catch his Jamaica bound flight.Mishra greeted him at the door. "Thanks for getting this deal for me! There was no way anyone would have bought that painting for that much money."
"You can always depend on me, Mr. Mishra." Sameer smiled.
"I was bidding for the painting only to make life difficult for my business rival who was also bidding for it. I thought I would just keep pushing the price up. I didn't expect that bastard to give up bidding. I had absolutely no intention of buying it myself."
"I could make out as much at the auction. Which was why I came to you with the offer."
"Why wife would have thrown me out of the house if she had gotten to know about this. I have not bought a painting my whole life. In fact, I hardly know a thing about art. Spending so much money on that damn piece of canvas would have been a huge loss. I am really glad that you managed to get such a good deal for me."
Mishra went into his study and brought the painting out. "Okay, there is your painting."
Sameer took the painting from Mishra and handed over the suitcase with the money in it. "Just as we had discussed - 4 lakhs. Just a loss of 50,000 for you."
Sameer walked out of the house with 1 lakh rupees to show for his day’s efforts.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
A hospital visit
My second attempt at writing a story. This one is a lot shorter, so I wouldn't be boring you for too long. :)
I dreaded hospitals. I have never had pleasant memories related to hospitals. I have always associated hospitals with pain, death and blood. I have always tried to avoid going to hospitals.
But strange are the ways of life. Often it forces you to do the thing that you dread the most. Often it takes you closer to the thing that you have the greatest aversion to. I, Rohan Srivastav, 32, was about to find out exactly how strange and painful the ways of life can be.
When I walked into the hospital that day, I knew it was a matter of life and death. My worst fear would, in all probability, be confirmed today. I clutched the reports of the tests that had been taken last week tighter in my hand. A positive result means only one thing - blood cancer. And a countdown to a certain death.
I took a look at the people all around me. The hospital staff went about their normal duties. There were others, either patients, or the dear ones of the patients, waiting patiently for their turn to consult the different specialist doctors. I wondered if any of them ever had to face the prospect of death.
I looked at my father walking alongside me. He was his normal self. Calm, composed, unmoved. I wondered how he managed to stay so calm in such a situation.
The last visit to the doctor was hardly pleasant. Dr. Swamy, the balding, bespectacled man, had told me that it could possibly be blood cancer. And that at this stage, it was going to be difficult to cure. The tests were done, the counseling sessions were held. Today, I would have the final confirmation.
We sat down in two of the chairs outside the doctor's room. I knew it was going to be a long, agonizing wait. I was waiting for the final verdict on the state of the cancer. I was waiting to find out if there was any possibility that a death could be averted.
I looked around myself again. There was a middle aged woman with slightly graying hair in a cotton sari with her little daughter. I wondered what malfunction of her bodily functions had brought her here. The little girl was playing with her mother's mobile phone. She must be only around 8 years old, I thought.
There was an old man sitting to my right. He kept fiddling with something in his shirt pocket. He was somehow not prepared to take it out. He possibly wants to smoke and is trying to decide whether he should go out and burn a cigarette, I guessed.
I wondered if any of them had to face the prospect of death. I hoped not. I stared blankly at the white walls of the room. It reminded me of the cloth that is used to wrap dead bodies. I desperately wanted to get my mind off death, and I didn't know how.
Thankfully, the door of the doctor's room opened right then, and a voice called out, "Mr. Srivastav!" The wait hadn't been long this time. It was only a matter of minutes before I would find out whether my family would have to suffer bereavement.
I walked into the doctor's room, and sat down. My father sat down next to me. Dr. Swamy smiled. Perhaps it was the smile that a doctor gave a dying man.
"So, you have the reports?" the doctor asked in his soft voice.
I handed over the reports without saying a word.
The doctor placed the reports on his table and studied them for a long time. I waited with bated breath. After what seemed like ages, he finally turned towards me and said with a tinge of sadness in his voice, "Just as we feared. It is blood cancer, at a pretty advanced stage."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. When I had walked into the hospital, I knew I would probably have to hear this. But then there was some hope. A slim chance of survival. But now it was all gone. There was no hope left. There was nothing more that anyone could do.
I turned to look at my father. He seemed to have taken the news well.
I was still in a state of shock when the doctor moved into an inner room and beckoned me to join him.
As I entered the room, he turned towards me and said, "I am sorry to tell you this, Rohan. But your father has only about a week left in this world."
I dreaded hospitals. I have never had pleasant memories related to hospitals. I have always associated hospitals with pain, death and blood. I have always tried to avoid going to hospitals.
But strange are the ways of life. Often it forces you to do the thing that you dread the most. Often it takes you closer to the thing that you have the greatest aversion to. I, Rohan Srivastav, 32, was about to find out exactly how strange and painful the ways of life can be.
When I walked into the hospital that day, I knew it was a matter of life and death. My worst fear would, in all probability, be confirmed today. I clutched the reports of the tests that had been taken last week tighter in my hand. A positive result means only one thing - blood cancer. And a countdown to a certain death.
I took a look at the people all around me. The hospital staff went about their normal duties. There were others, either patients, or the dear ones of the patients, waiting patiently for their turn to consult the different specialist doctors. I wondered if any of them ever had to face the prospect of death.
I looked at my father walking alongside me. He was his normal self. Calm, composed, unmoved. I wondered how he managed to stay so calm in such a situation.
The last visit to the doctor was hardly pleasant. Dr. Swamy, the balding, bespectacled man, had told me that it could possibly be blood cancer. And that at this stage, it was going to be difficult to cure. The tests were done, the counseling sessions were held. Today, I would have the final confirmation.
We sat down in two of the chairs outside the doctor's room. I knew it was going to be a long, agonizing wait. I was waiting for the final verdict on the state of the cancer. I was waiting to find out if there was any possibility that a death could be averted.
I looked around myself again. There was a middle aged woman with slightly graying hair in a cotton sari with her little daughter. I wondered what malfunction of her bodily functions had brought her here. The little girl was playing with her mother's mobile phone. She must be only around 8 years old, I thought.
There was an old man sitting to my right. He kept fiddling with something in his shirt pocket. He was somehow not prepared to take it out. He possibly wants to smoke and is trying to decide whether he should go out and burn a cigarette, I guessed.
I wondered if any of them had to face the prospect of death. I hoped not. I stared blankly at the white walls of the room. It reminded me of the cloth that is used to wrap dead bodies. I desperately wanted to get my mind off death, and I didn't know how.
Thankfully, the door of the doctor's room opened right then, and a voice called out, "Mr. Srivastav!" The wait hadn't been long this time. It was only a matter of minutes before I would find out whether my family would have to suffer bereavement.
I walked into the doctor's room, and sat down. My father sat down next to me. Dr. Swamy smiled. Perhaps it was the smile that a doctor gave a dying man.
"So, you have the reports?" the doctor asked in his soft voice.
I handed over the reports without saying a word.
The doctor placed the reports on his table and studied them for a long time. I waited with bated breath. After what seemed like ages, he finally turned towards me and said with a tinge of sadness in his voice, "Just as we feared. It is blood cancer, at a pretty advanced stage."
The words hit me like a sledgehammer. When I had walked into the hospital, I knew I would probably have to hear this. But then there was some hope. A slim chance of survival. But now it was all gone. There was no hope left. There was nothing more that anyone could do.
I turned to look at my father. He seemed to have taken the news well.
I was still in a state of shock when the doctor moved into an inner room and beckoned me to join him.
As I entered the room, he turned towards me and said, "I am sorry to tell you this, Rohan. But your father has only about a week left in this world."
Monday, February 11, 2008
Vijay @ InterZone
InterZone: The cultural/art fest held by the Calicut University; includes all professional and arts colleges affiliated to the university. More details here: www.interzone2008.com
Our very own Vijay B. Menon, has won the first prize in the group dance event at the InterZone, which recently concluded in our college. Congratulations, Vijay! His team had earlier won first place for the same event at DZone (district-level version of InterZone) which is what qualified him to participate.
Scan from Malayala Manorama. He is the one on the right extreme!
I managed to get a few snaps of him and his friends before the event. Have a look at these exclusive, behind-the-scene shots!
When will he ever have a real mustache like that? ;)
If you have trouble spotting Vijay, he is right at the centre!
When will he ever have a real mustache like that? ;)
If you have trouble spotting Vijay, he is right at the centre!And now for the icing on the cake. Vijay and his friends were running through their routine a few hours before the competition; in half make-up and half costume. I was around, so I got them on video. (Since it was only a trial run, they weren't exerting themselves, but you still get an idea of how the dance routine went).
Once again, Vijay, congratulations!
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Reminiscences from school days
This is actually an entry I made in the autograph book of a friend, almost four years back. I am posting it here now, because I feel it is one of the more ingenious pieces that I have written. But, more importantly, it brings back some wonderful memories.
N.B. This post will not make ANY sense to those who haven't learned the ISC Poetry textbook of the year 2004. To those who don't know, and more specifically to the ones who have forgotten, we had 15 poems to learn that year. The reason why I like this piece so much (even though I say so myself :) ), is because I managed to incorporate all 15 poem titles, and at the same time made some sense of the whole thing. (It was an entry made in the autograph book of a friend at the end of 14 years of school life, so it was basically the parting good bye!)
ISC 2004 Poetry
Sing To a Skylark and write an Ode to a Nightingale as you take a Walk by the Moonlight with your Last Duchess, many many years after 1st September 1939.
N.B. This post will not make ANY sense to those who haven't learned the ISC Poetry textbook of the year 2004. To those who don't know, and more specifically to the ones who have forgotten, we had 15 poems to learn that year. The reason why I like this piece so much (even though I say so myself :) ), is because I managed to incorporate all 15 poem titles, and at the same time made some sense of the whole thing. (It was an entry made in the autograph book of a friend at the end of 14 years of school life, so it was basically the parting good bye!)
ISC 2004 Poetry
Sing To a Skylark and write an Ode to a Nightingale as you take a Walk by the Moonlight with your Last Duchess, many many years after 1st September 1939.
Sing the Song of Myself along with the Prelude like Tithonous till your Home Burial.
And when like an Express you present the Tulips to the Blessed Damozel, singing the Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, spare some Small-Scale Reflections on how you and I used to listen to what the King Speaks to the Scribe in Jaya Miss' poetry class.
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