Tuesday, December 13, 2011

still i bleed red



The drubbing at Old Trafford by Mancini's crew, riding on oil barrels and the Champions League exit at the group stages, went much un-noticed by me. For one reason or the other, my weekend football and champions league mid-week nights, have not been working for me. I slept through the Manchester United - Arsenal, game !! 8 - 2, the score read !!

Old Trafford is all about bleeding red and being on the top again. Three of the last four Champions League  finals and one cup home. Admit, Barcelona have been more effluent in Europe, but then everyone else too is clueless about the life that seizes the ball while it is in the legs of the Catalan's. It will be mastered and the Red Devils would always loom around in the top of club football.

The treble in 1998-1999, that was the first year I started watching English football. I started watching, because the young me thought it was 'cool' to have a favorite team and to identify the players. I was never the best of a football player, someone who ran a lot and seemed to get to kick the ball, in school. College was not much different. I couldn't ever master the moves.

It takes much more than a champions league exit at the hands of Basel to end my fascination for the club, it is not just about the football shrouded in the Red's locker, it is about the Theater of Dreams, the history, the passion, the fierceness that the Manchester United FC brings in.

BAR-attender chronicles

After about a month, getting indulged in my practice at the Bar, I am back to the world of blogs. Fever and a very bad tonsil, made sure I don't venture trying to please my new found love today. The tales from practice is something I have been wanting everyday to write, but a list, growing with each day. Themis has me, all to her, something I have been immensely enjoying at the moment. A brand new Audi A8, right next to another brother, the Audi A6, both to get the States seal on its forehead, made me contemplate the intimacy the owners shared with the Goddess of justice, and my long road there. Not to the Audi A8, but to be her most favorite lover, and wouldn't mind the Audi A8 if I would get it as a gift, from her folks Gia and Ouranus. Selfish, greedy me! Guess you could imagine my eyes twinkle and the sign of indian ruppaya on the pupil !

Lawyers I see everyday, wearing the black robe, moving around in circles, from a court room to the next. Some commanding her attention, some bent at the knees and praying for her ear, some laughing their way into her heart and 'just' flows about. Please don't ask me about 'just' being multifaceted, I am clueless just like you. Reading the file of my Seniors, I have realized, there exists a thin line between the prosecution and defense case, which is the shred of truth. They cover it with layers of facts, making the truth submerge in background, while some prefer to interpret the law and its procedure, making the truth irrelevant. But beyond all the grey sketches, there still exists the truth. Who would be the more honest lawyer? The story teller or the interpreter, I am clueless again. One is wise in the ways of the world, while the other is wise about the 'lex'.

Themis has  her own blemishes, she imposes a ban on some acts and then she restores the object received through the act. To cite one everyday occurrence, themis prohibits dowry, for she believes that woman is the wealth, which I find no fault in. But then making a gift of my own property is something which would fall under the ambit of 'right to life', if it be expanded any further. Gifts still gets showered during marriages; from the pauper to the king, everyone is so very generous when it gets to showering the new son-in-law with gifts. Then as the saying goes, "shit happen" and themis helps in restoration of the gift, if there is anything left of the bounty. Dowry takes the guise of gift, themis can't place a ban on the generosity of human kind and then atleast she helps in its restoration, that is all I can fathom, speaking in defense of my new found love.

With all the blemishes, I find her intriguing, with the dark secrets behind punctuation and the art of interpreting her. 

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

"Mulaperiyaar" - the damn dam

The damn dam has been around someplace at least once every month on my daily news paper, from the time I care to remember. Maybe familiarity of the words, always made me think, I knew the picture and never fill the vacuum, with intelligence. I never gave it a thought, never cared to check; it was a far off prediction, never bound to happen. Even now I am not quite sure that the dam would break, something to say about the goodness of the predecessors of democracy.

My state went on hartal today, as it always does, when the air whiffs of catastrophe. This being said, the last time my state  went on hartal was against the increased fuel price, about 2 weeks back and something sillier the time before that. One may call it the expression of life under the fundamental rights in a democracy, but then the 'benevolent king lover' in me can see only a bastard child crying, while his mom don't care. The pessimist could then always say, maybe someday the mom would get tired of cries and heed. Mulaperiyaar Dam and the division of the State of Kerala right by the center are reasons big enough !!

I wasn't at liberty to sit on my bean bag and join the hartal, becoming one with the voice of the multitude, resting the tired limbs and perhaps helping the steady growth of the revenue for Kerala Beverages Corporation. Themis wasn't inclined to join the protest, she believed in dispensing justice and contributing to the cause. Two days back, when the Asianet News reporter screamed through the mic, for a moment I wished Tunisia and Egypt was about to happen. The damn dam would present me the dream civil war, but then that a wish too huge to make true, at least till about the time I cease to exist.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Equality !!

Equality, the one thing every one talks about. The son to father, the wife to husband, the convict to the girl who got raped, and in all other spheres and lattices of human existence, we crib about equality. I find no pleasure in a world where everything is equal, the respect, the wealth, the cars, the food...to even responsibility. The only image of a city when men supposedly had equal wealth is of Communist Russia and the Big Brother listening, with the Secretariat and the PB living like kings in the land of equal though. I absolutely feel despise towards such an existence, where my neighbor has the same shaped house I live in, drives around in the same kind of car I drive about, goes for holidays to the same places I go, and invariably have the same menu for dinner!! 

Before God, I do not fathom a notion that all men are equals, the Bible says about the heaven and hell and purgatorial. So does every other religion, about the men who obeyed the commandments and the ones who failed to, the rewards to be reaped and the stones to be collected. If the world of dead, from all the wisdom in all the religions, couldn't create equality 'down there' or 'up there' as one would want to call it, I find no reason to believe he envisaged men equals.

In the words of Thomas Jefferson from Uncle Sams land, "all men are created equals". I got lost in my research to find out what truly Mr. Jefferson meant with those exact words. The best and easiest one I followed was by Harper Lee in his "To Kill a Mocking Bird". He talks about Jeffersons equality through the words of Atticus, the protagonists father, a lawyer by profession and a very noble one at that. Defending a negro who is alleged to have raped a white girl, back in the 1930's with the coloured segregation still very much in existence, he goes quite brilliant and describes to a jury, "some people are smarter than others, some people have more opportunity because they are born with it, some men make more money than others, some ladies bake better cakes than others...but there is one human institution that makes a pauper the equal of a Rockefeller, the stupid man the equal of an Einstein. The institution Gentlemen is the Court...and in our Courts all men are created equal." Probably equality before the law is all what Mr. Jefferson might have meant, as suggested by Atticus.

Themis is supposedly blind to both the prosecution and defence and 'just' wins the day or maybe she is blind to the 'just' and not the other way round. But then, who am I to say, a tiny weeny infant, who has just started to suckle from her bosom and do not yet comprehend the magnanimity. Mr. Balakrishna Pillai could get a special pardon, while some poor folks who stole copper wire from the electric post, do undergo the full term of imprisonment. Mr. Jayarajan had the money to appeal before the Supreme Court to suspend his sentence and listen to him all over again about the contempt he been charged with, while some poor party worker who committed a murder by mistake following the orders of the Party find his life being wasted within the four walls of a prison cell.

Equality, I fail to fathom a world where there truly existed this innuendo !!

Monday, November 21, 2011

graffiti on the loo-walls !!


My ever upset tummy, every time I am away from home have made sure, I have seen a good number of public toilets. In moving trains, dorm rooms, to the crowded bazaars in old Delhi. At the worst of places and, boy some  nightmares, I always wanted to forget. The graffiti on the wall, I have always seen, but never really bothered. Train toilets were the ones, wherein I found the most illustrative ones, or maybe I had more time to check out, the time I did my act of dispensing every morning, on my overnight journeys.

porn sketches, miserable scribblings and more than once messages spreading the word of God too. I aint kidding, I have read "Praise Jesus and I love Jesus", scribbled over some porn drawing in more than one toilets around. I am sorry, I shouldn't be surprised, because I live in a land, where writing on everything that they get their hands to, is the ideal way of being a little illustrative of the emotion.

I wouldn't want to be an hypocrite. I have done it myself once. In a train's loo, and I was in 11th standard. It was a challenge, a friend dared me and another friend to do, we did it. I wrote some lines from the ticklish pages in Harold Robbins, made into my way of talking. And my friend, wrote a rhyme, like lines similar to some of the songs 'Eminem' sings. It was an act of cockiness of the teenage, for a challenge and there was no pleasure in the act of writing, but the thing we were to win. I do not regret, but do think about it as stupid to have done, for a silly challenge.

The biggest of surprises I had, after my share of 18 months in the corporate marbled world and its shinier stink free loo, did wait for me. The walls of the loos in The High Court at Ernakulam. Boy some very good artists do exist, and I don't believe the litigant world would ever have the heart to do it. Maybe some of my fellow lawyers or maybe the staffs in the Court. But yeah, they do adorn the walls. The higher you go, the sketches grow scarce. There exists a healthy war between, the artist and the zestful social fighter. 



Some other photos I took on my phone, would probably get me arrested for my admission in the blog, for putting up pornography and contempt, all in one go. I am in no mood to get behind the bars, after getting to see the loos over this side :) But then I did want you all to have a share of Mr Artist and Mr Dump.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

"Counsel, what do you have to say? "


I have been making good progress, understanding the labyrinths of the legal system for the last one month, since I have taken up advocacy and being a member of the BAR. My progress in terms of reality would amount to identifying the Judges on the Bench and having a little know-how of what subject comes before whom. And sure I am familiar with some interesting facts, out of which cases have been spun out, from the files of my Seniors. The law involved, many a time, I fail to comprehend, but the stories, I remember.

I made the walk to the High Court, with my head held high, amidst all the chaos and rush caused by the Red-Volunteers and the Khaki Enforcement personnel , in protest to the 6 months imprisonment of the CPIM leader, whose foul mouth didn't find much admirers on the Bench and Contempt of themis, the Bench observed he committed. I had a fool-proof brief, I was familiar with the facts, the law involved and all that was required was the answer to my statements made on Thursday by the opposite counsel. I believed he didn't have much grounds to argue and then the agencies of State was on my side, on Thursday while I presented my case.

I made the walk to the front of the Court-room majestically, mentioned about the party for whom I am appearing and the other Counsels did their part of introduction. The Judge looked at me and said, Counsel, proceed. I didn't understand, what the Judge meant by 'proceed'. Was it to proceed from where I left of last time or was it to proceed from the beginning? I had seen the Judge take down notes last time I spoke, so he must be familiar with the things and from where I spoke last time, there was no place else to proceed. I fumbled, not understanding the path to proceed and stood like an idiot, talking mumbo-jumbo about the case, nowhere as nearly as good as what I spoke on last Thursday. The opposition counsel, just kept idle, with a faint smile on the corner of his lips and the only thought inside me was, it was your day to talk about your side of the case and yet you sit leisurely, watching the mess I am in and having the nerve to smile as well. Judge must have been disappointed, because I saw the welcome smile give way to more of a frown and later ridicule.

Then the least expected of all happened, the counsel for the State agencies, who was as verbal as me on Thursday  bragging about my client's inalienable rights and the error apparent on the face of records, did a somersault and said some-things which made him a big good liar in-front of me. Technically he never lied, because on Thursday it was his junior who had appeared and it was the junior who raised arms with me and fought the battle side by side. A new day, a new battle and the allies have been  arrayed differently and I was caught alone, not knowing that members of the Bar would so easily step back from some statements made, because it was never made by them personally.

That was the killer blow and I stood bleeding, with my face turned red, out of surprise and the pain in realizing some truths first hand of the integrity of the Bar. I guess the Judge, took pity and in his order, which was all against what I prayed for,  gave me a piece of wet rag to put over my wounds and try make it heal. I staggered down from the front, dejected than I have felt any time in almost all of my existence, gathering my files and wanting no pity from the spectators nor help. I stepped out from the court-room, silently swearing, and the Junior who joined arms with me on Thursday, who helped me in instilling the wounds, stood waiting just outside and he had the nerve to say - "dude, what where you doing? You had a perfect case, and you messed it." There was nothing about the contradictions in what he spoke the last time and what his Senior enlightened the Court today, definitely not after making a whooping discovery over the weekend about the state of facts. There was no mentioning about anything else, just the killer-punch, giving the final blow to my wounded pride !!

For a moment, I wanted to throw down the robes and ask him to 'Fuck off', because there was definitely an imminent lack of integrity I expect in humans, in a good number of the lovers of themis, but I didn't, I made the long walk to the other Court Room, seeking bail for another one of my Senior's client.

Monday, October 31, 2011

on God


I tell Amma, "that is bull-shit. If God exist, and he possess all the powers you so truly believe in, then he is the world's biggest fraud or else the biggest pervert". If he exist and he was truly the good as you believe, then why the misery in man's life. Why the poverty, why the famine, why the earthquake and why on earth rape, murder and pedophiles?

Man is just a form of life on earth. A planet, revolving around the Sun, in not all that the biggest of galaxies called Milky Way. Every night, when you look up to the stars, you are looking back into the time, when even your forefathers wouldn't have existed. The light that you see shining, must have had began its travel from its source, even before you breathed the first time. How could you ever be sure, life doesn't exist, any place else.

 How can you believe, in the existence of such a form as the Bible says, with all the goodness and not a single bad and yet find it hard to accommodate the 6.97 living with all this space around. If God was the wisest of all and perhaps the shrewdest, like our blue form of almighty as the Mahabharata sketches, couldn't he in all his wisdom, reined the 6.97 to happiness. Oh, I am sorry, at this context we are dealing with Gods more selfish than humans. And now, if Quran is to be believed, it existed ever since universe existed and why this failure from almighty, to use all that experience in wiping away the tears from human faces. Religion and religious books, both are just a farce. And God, the biggest of all.

Amma couldn't stand more blasphemy on a single go, straight after her Sunday mass, while fixing up the breakfast for her son. She was stuck for words and she knew, any line by her and I would grip on to it and cause more blasphemy to emerge from her extended kitchen, which haven't been heard for almost two years now. Guess, she felt it to much of a curse to invite on a Sunday morning and the her only words were, "get the tray with coffee mugs to the dining table, I will get the plates."

Breakfast gave way to more coffee and a sumptuous lunch. For the afternoon siesta, I walk down to Granpas place, couple of hundred meters away. Lie on his easy chair and listening to him speak about childhood and his curious inquiries on my one week with themis. He sits up-straight, as if he remembered  something serious and in all possibilities, I thought must be to call up some old lawyer friend of his and get me acquainted, he says, "We need to go see Ammachi, not now, couple of hours later. The candle we burn for her has made a mess and we have to clean it. It is all souls day, day after tomorrow. She would prefer her things to be clean and not just illuminated every evening."

Lost for words, all I manage to tell him back, "I will pick you at 5 and we will attend the mass as well." Stephen Hawkins and universe and logic and reason, nothing comes to my rescue, nor does God.

Saturday, October 29, 2011

standing in line to be a lover of themis!!

A week is over since I became a lover of Themis, adorning the black robe, lying for my chance to try feel her. There are other lovers about, a lot many of them. A good number much well versed in pleasing her, forget about feeling, but even gets to make love with her. That is a long way to go!!

7 days, it only took, God almighty to make the world from nothing and also catch up a nap. 7 days, lying in wait, feeling more confused than I have ever felt before. In 7 days boards have come up, courtesy of Appa, days have become longer and nights shorter. Lips never had time to think about spirits, and the first night, my first day into the profession, celebrated with just a beer by friends, and I was not the one drinking !!

I been trying my share, wanting to understand the rhythm her heart beats, read and then re-read, because, every thing seems to be her weak spots. A long plunge, and here I am wikipying 'themis'. She seems as divergent as the names of 'lady justice' in the Wikipedia link. Wow, boy now that is quite a list !!

The first client, I haven't yet met. The first pay I received!! Who did ever say, being an Advocate doesn't pay you when you are a tiny weeny baby? Honest friends, who know each others strengths and weaknesses, you could definitely live. People call it a rare breed to friend!! But then, I guess I am blessed in that way.

Themis do have the shadows, patches which lacks charm. Quoting what went to my scribble-pad more than not just a couple of time, will make me the fastest lawyer to get punished for contempt of court!!, But that is one thing I will be blogging about soon, irrespective of contempt of court.

Monday, October 17, 2011

'er up to... nothing "

I sat, facing the backwater, couple of nights back when the moon sure looked whole, near to the High Court of Kerala, Kochi. I am on a visit to the High Court, the third time this week. Not during the day, wearing a lawyers gown, but at night, when almost the whole of Kochi goes to sleep. And boy my city sure sleeps early, 10 PM and everyone would be locked inside their homes. Even the three police constables, in front of the High Court looked sleepy, locked inside their glass chamber at the gate.

I have been living quite well these past few days at home. Though 'gyaan' to my little cousin sister, the plates after dinner, utility bill payments and some reading, made sure I never got time to make a visit like all lawyers, during the day-light. I had wanted to have a look again at many a place, I remember from the nights around here. Meet the friends, eat the chips and throw the dart! The smell of whiskey has been around on all three nights, but I don't care about drinking, nor 'not drinking' is bothering me. Have a life to design and wanted the start to be crystal and not slurred.

My biological clock still feels, it is a sin to quit by 12 and wake up early. The time, almost everyone sleeps in my city, I drive about. Wishing not to wake up 'tired' yet again, when it is noon the next day. But, then I would prefer the street lights and a lungs full of the air from outside, than tossing and rolling about on the bed. Awaiting sleep. There is a bridge to be built with the IST and the biological clock, a lot of things to begin and a few to end. But then right now, I feel lazy and would happily answer back to the question, 'what you up to in life?' with  'er up to nothing', with a shy grin  :)

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

3 boxes and 3 bags


My days at "B2, Nehru Residency, Post Office Lane, Cyberabad 500081", long 18 months of them, were labelled and marked, in 3 boxes and 3 bags. This was all what was accompanying me back home with the bike, on a Volvo 9400.

There was the initial bliss in my own Platinum Debit Card and an eventual much denied Credit Card; which made sure, I got back home, not with an extra penny than for my immediate relocation needs here in Cochin. Now then, what is Appa and Amma for? Live in the home, they made. Eat the food, that they worked for. Wear things for which they paid !! 

The boxes are yet to be thrown out after arranging the contents, to the satisfaction of my obsessive disorder with cleanliness. The 3 boxes and bags are still against the wall, beside my old chair. And I sat imparting gyaan to my little cousin sister, "Never bring home, any dirt, in the form of substance and people !!" She nods her head, but her face says, "yeah yeah, see who is speaking."

I tell her, I did keep the substance and people away, baring when the substance was inside me and I knew, I would behave and not embarrass myself. The couple of times, I have been let down, has been cause of some friend and never myself, at home. Her stare lingered an extra while, and asked the question, "what about the time, couple of months back, when you got drunk alone on a whole bottle and took a leak on the settee in the common room, in the middle of night, with uncle and aunty watching the whole scene, because they were not yet done with their prayers!! I heard they did not interrupt and let you go back to sleep after the act, but did ask you to clean it yourself in the morning?"

Boy wow, I sure need to unpack the 3 boxes and 3 bags from Hyderabad !!

((NB: The picture posted was after the wild 48 hours in Hyderabad, with rum and rum and rum. I couldn't stand up to move from the frame, when Visakh wanted to take a picture of me ready to leave. This was the only picture, I have got of my bags and boxes. And the little one in the front, the orange one, was my 'tool-kit', with the chillums and the cork openers and many a brother of theirs. It didn't make its way back home with me. And yup, you could ignore the 'me' wearing the glasses, because of blood shot eyes, with a clueless smile in the picture ))

Sunday, October 9, 2011

Emancipation - naah not at all



Friday night watching me browse through the sports news at leisure, my room mate proclaimed removing his shoes at the door, "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty I'm Free at last!" (Martin Luther King, the famous head behind the lines, courtesy of my room mates frenzy for  wiki and google). For a moment I thought he was talking something about his life, and the quote was repeated again, looking at me. I smiled, shrugged it and went back to my television browsing.

It was after the last day in office and I was sitting jobless, literally, happy and mesmerised in the world of television. I would have gotten embarrassed, if someone had thrown a farewell thing for me, swiftly and efficiently I vanished after the formalities of handling over Firm provided gadgets. By the time anyone had any cue about my plans, I walked out. I couldn't stand another one of those days, when people speak about me, good and I stand in the centre turning pink with all the attention. Tongue tied because of the false goodness people would be forced to speak, to be politically correct.The truth is so very different, because I know my 15 months with the firm.

The Firm did try its best to keep me on the payroll, was supportive of many a thing. It shut its eyes to the nonsense I bring about, because they did think about me as a good resource. It was the mongrel, who kept barking to be unleashed and stray into the streets, because I was bored of the crumbs. It was not the Firm, nor the people what made me decide, but more the work and the city. I couldn't imagine myself, bald in another 10 years time, sitting with the lap top and pretending to be important. I feel the need to take a bigger bite of the world and that is how it went.

Luther's "Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty I'm Free at last!" had everything different about it.

I am just going back home today, from a vacation for the lack of a better word. Start with life, for a bigger share of it. The one and half years in Hyderabad, wrapped in 3 boxes and 3 bags, labeled and addressed, set to travel with me in the bus, thanks to Telangana. I know that is one thing, I preferred to keep silent for the fear of hurting fellow beings sensitive areas. Lack of sense, the gift of good education, which I found missing from a huge number here and the emotional un-stability, which helped in making this big new circus in town, where the TRS and Congress and everyone else is performing at.

The list 'to do' is waiting at home, on the dining table, under the mug of black coffee that I know Amma will leave for me on almost all days. From paying the vehicle insurance premium online, to speak with my cousins faculty in her college, the list wouldn't end, but I guess the black advocates board that Appa and Amma have put up on the gate, the day I said my bags are packed, is definitely worth doing the 'to do list' for Amma.

Guess, Visakh was right in saying Luther's line to me - ""Free at last, Free at last, Thank God Almighty I'm Free at last!"

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

the choices of October

The 'dry day' in respect to Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi's birth anniversary on October 2nd have ensured in the recent past years that I wish my Amma on her birthday not slurred with spirits, but bright eyed and fully conscious. I didn't call her in the middle of the night, messaged her and went in search for a midnight buffet, when Gandhi's birthday got over and my Amma's started, the greys of Telangana soaps hanging about in every other corner.

The sober October wind on my face, and I thought about the gifts I have never managed to give her on the birthday. When it gets to gifts, it usually never  is the occasion, but the need which determines the time. But then, I have managed to always get done something, she likes, on her day, though the news not always shared with her. 

It was on an October 3rd that I decided not to adorn my lips with the spirit for 2 years to come. My lips sure never tasted the spirits for well over 2 years. A not so great functioning lever couldn't make me do it, but yeah a decision while taking shower in the morning on her birthday, ensured the much needed break. It was never a resolution, it was a decision, a choice as I prefer to say. I chose not to have the golden liquid make its way down my throat for the next two years.

It is the same day I said adieu to my last serious romance exactly one year ago, showing her the exit door from my life. She cramped me and it felt suffocating, the ideas she had about life, I couldn't stand it any longer and the exit door was shown, mercilessly amidst feminine arsenal of tears, which makes not the single difference to me. I think about women as equals, responsible just as much as a man, for every act and deed. If I hadn't shown the door to the romance, she would have been a part of my family, burdening the most loved people in my life with her tantrums. Some people are not worthy, cause for them, family is where you go for the vacations and parents are just beings who gets your material requisites for you. You love them cause they are the only people you have who wouldn't ask to repay back for the things they have given. I don't get back to my family for the vacation, but life, because it surely is with them that I truly live. That was another choice made on the same day and probably the wisest choice of last year :)
 
Yesterday night, a talk with some important people in office brought about  the biggest smile I had this whole year. I am being let off with a 'no hire back' clause, either this Friday or the next !! The resignation mail, which was the first mail I typed and saved in drafts, on the same day I joined, which underwent many a revision in these past 15 months, was finally mailed to the important people who matters. I didn't care about being politically correct in my mail, but to be honest. Burning the bridge, making sure no one bothers to be in touch with me other than the ones I feel worthy. Probably the bluntness upfront on my resignation mail made sure the firm decided to get done with the notice period and see my back asap, as they say it over here. The excitement for it to be the Friday, the day I pack my belongings in a box and walk out to a little more meaningful life than just credit card bills made sure I was over the phone sharing it with Amma just before the clock stuck 12. A choice she been waiting to hear :)

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

the plunge


The Barpole river seemed filling with every passing minute, the showers on the coffee plantations in Coorg were miraculously finding its way through creeks into the river every few hundred yards. Moisture in the air, with the shining sun and a tormenting rain, which I was made to believe to be the occasion when foxes get married, as a child, made sure the colors were vibrant in the horizon. I was trying my stint with rafting at Coorg, had read many an article about the rafting circuits emerging from the Himalayas, with the awesome rapids and couldn't resist the temptation to try it in the Wetsern Ghat region, when I stumbled across it on the internet.

Equipped with a plastic paddle and safety jacket , which a co-rafter observed as tighter than a sports brassiere, 5 of us along with an instructor set of into the river. He showed us the basic maneuvering skills on a raft, made us repeat the rowing techniques and finally said, "lets go, but before that, anyone wants to take a swim", and then he looked at me, as if I will be interested to.

My experience with water has always been the calm temple ponds and the blue tiled swimming pools, where I swam never like a fish, but laboriously . The one time I ventured swimming in water with a good current, I got tired midway and it took 4 of my friends to drag me back to the shore, in a beautiful canal in Allepey. I am not sure of the thought that went through me at that time, sitting at the front of the raft with my feet tucked tightly into the foot hold in the raft and the paddle held like a club, half a seconds pause, and I swung my legs over to the other side of raft. Dropped the paddle to the floor and dropped myself to the other side, into the depths of the Barpole river.

I didn't know how good the safety jacket was, in fact I haven't ever worn one before. I didn't know the depth, nor the currents nor anything about the river or swimming in a river, but I took the plunge. Like a dead weight, I cut through the layers of water on ma way to the bottom, didn't know how to swim wearing a safety jacket and my efforts in swimming made sure I found depths which I wouldn't have found if I hadn't tried swimming. There was a rush inside to fight with the water and see day light, and then a calmness settled, an icy calm which made me let go the vain fight with the water, which I wasn't gaining. Miraculously I was almost thrown back to the surface from the depths, the river was chivalry personified, making peace with people who didn't fight back. The few moments when the river tried embrace me to its bosom, the calmness and peace and the true sense of solitude I felt, gave way to chaos with the day light falling on my head again.

Monday, September 26, 2011

September !!

September 16
20 Years back, on the hospital bed, with my leg plastered, the first time I broke my bone, in a series, which is still on the climb, pain is all I remember. I had tried my biking skills as a seven year old on the Priest's old bike. The bike fell on ma leg and ended severing couple of veins and bones on left feet. Blood and pain, my thoughts from childhood about my birthday. Maybe, the womb was much safer a place than earth as if birth in itself was a painful experience, I still hold it against my birthday.
 
My hands were shaking, ran a good fever and I knew I had to get home, cause if I fall sick in Hyderabad, I would probably be sent in for a bone density test, just like my roomie for shivering hands during a fever. I hold no high esteem of the practitioners of Hippocratic Oath here in Hyderabad. Ran I, towards home, shaky, cold and in pain. I turned 27!!

September 22
7 Years back, a morning when it drizzled, as it always does in the 'God's Own Country', I boarded down from a bus at the Convent Junction Bus Stop in Cochin. There was my backpack with a bottle of water and a notebook and an excitement of not knowing what lies ahead. The tales I have heard were not comforting, but what fun will life be, if it was all comforts. It was my first walk of a series during 10 semesters of magnanimous life, learning law and what-not !!

My health wasn't at its peachiest form, but then I couldn't stop the craving to appear before a court-room, to speak. There were friends from those 10 semesters wearing the black gown of justice, squeaking, squealing, meowing, growling and some even commanding and one such close friend gave me the chance to present his case, a 'Revision Petition' at the High Court. In normal language, it means, I have to ask for a revision of the judgement of the court with a lower jurisdiction, from the High Court. 10 sentences between me and the Judge, and 4 dictations from the Judge to the stenographer and it was over. There was no adrenalin rush, there was nothing exciting about it, but then I could sense the smart mongrel lying inside me, lying in wait for the next question from the Judge, to answer it the way he wants to hear it. And I made the Court and the Judge laugh, by making him repeat the Order again, "your lordship, pardon me, but I couldn't hear you !" and they laughed at my moot-court manners. Thanks to autobiographies, it was a piece I picked about someone big in a court room and it came helpful. Make the  Court Laugh, I scored !!

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

"to a life, which is reason unto itself"



The blueness of the sky was giving way to a shade of fire, the Omnipotent taking a corner beyond the green visual horizon my eyes had on the west. After a long day, blessing the mundane two legged creatures on one side of earth with 'light', he was making a travel to the other side around the corner and gift them with what Prometheus went seeking, 'fire'. The Omnipotence's son, was waking his head up, on top of the skyline of Hyderabad, with huge towering buildings and shams, the Nizam's and the Vijayanagara Empire's, citizens.

It was getting cold, but not with the wind, but with a stillness, and the fire suddenly in a moment changed to shades of black. I was hungry, the beast within, rising the head when the Omnipotent went over the other side. Hungry for food, the mind and the intellect and the flesh and the stomach was hungry, starving to be precise. My hunger of the mind and intellect, I did have access to things to curb them. The stomach's hunger, as long as my Mom and sisters are about, I know I would have means to satisfy. The hunger of the flesh is when, I have reached a stage where I can't stand any more softness, which gets melted, like the gelatos.

The moments after the climax, when the ears are nibbled or maybe burrowing in the bosom or do anything the soft feminine form prefers, is the time I so very hate the copulation that occurred moments back. There is nothing left for me with the girl, she doesn't have the answers for the other three hungers of the beast. She pretends she is naive, she fails to grow up and believes she is the weakling and needs to be carried on my shoulder. The climaxes goes forgotten and mostly a repulsion to the whole act seeks in and I go for a long shower with a pack of cigarets and a book at the first possible chance.

My moments in the bathroom, I crave for Kira, the 18 year old girl who was woman enough to know to satisfy her hunger of the flesh, for the simple reason, "to a life, which is a reason unto itself." A girl would pretend, to be doing it for a thousand reason, but not that, it is to celebrate life. The big magnanimous life. She isn't woman enough to celebrate life, but just a soft form which gets scarred, with the act. A woman would have had seen the ups and downs of the life and loin. A woman knows that life in itself is reason to celebrate, each moment the best possible, for she had seen life. She would be like Kira, who celebrated "to a life, which is reason unto itself"

Thursday, August 11, 2011

the MARCH of a proletarian



From the time he cared to remember, his desires had always been hidden, because there were no ways of attaining them at the moment he desired. What fun is in the fulfillment of a desire, when the desire itself cease to exist or had been forgotten?

Growing up, things weren't favorable in the village he lived. Water, rain, food, good clothes, almost everything was scarce and not to mention a english uschool, as he used to pronounce it back then. Watching the kids from the far away city on a picnic converse gayly in a language, he couldn't follow, he knew the limitations he faced growing up. But, then the english uschool became true and he knew, this was his march, the march of a proletarian, to leave of the poverty struck, dusty-dirty village and make true the gayness he found on the faces of the kids from the city. He planned his march, though not blessed with the acutest brain around, he fared good on the score-card, not near the top, but sure good enough to further his years and get to the next level, in the hierarchic educational system Macaulay introduced.

The moment he set his eyes on the white maruti, driving which the head-master's son came from the city, another thing was added to his 'to own' list. He didn't sit in vain, but gathered all his wits and went ahead and asked the head-master's son, how to get in possession of a maruti and he was given the advice, to keep studying, even if it didn't make sense or even if he didn't understand half the thing nor did it matter to him. Be a post graduate, get a job in some city and that is the way to maruti.

Years went by, our protagonist had always been on the march, towards his dreams. The post graduation he sure did, that too on the smartest selling cake in the market - "business administration" from a discreet, hidden around the corner B school. And thankfully as promised at the time of interview, by the time he completed the two years learning how to administer a business, the B school management was successful in convincing a bunch of companies to recruit from their freshly baked cakes. The stars shined on him bright for a week and the special prayers in the village temple worked finally. He got selected for a job in a big company in the city and he remembered his old head master's son and the line "get to a job in city after post graduation..that is the way to maruti." The old maruti 800, which was an inspiration behind his march till now was now not being sold to city inhabitants, but sure that car didn't fancy him as much as it had first kindled his heart. He thought to himself, "a maruti swift diesel would be a good choice", and the '800' got replaced by 'swift', but the tag 'maruti' left uchanged.

He embraced the job, as if it was his long lost twin. This was the march to reach the gayness on the faces of those kids from school, whom he had seen as a child. Also, this march was to own a white maruti and drive to his village, like the head-master's son. All these desires defined him and nobody could have been at fault, if they felt he was licking instead of kissing his bosse's ass. Drawing the first month's salary he knew the awfully long distance still left to the maruti, he was disappointed, but gathered all his nerve and went on a spree not eating and saving money and stabbing everyone whom he felt might pose a threat to his march, at the back. An year went by, the money saved still didn't look good for the maruti. He sighed because he knew it would be many more years before he could actually go home driving his own maruti.

The green bills passing through his hand, while counting for the 12th time, the few ten thousands he had managed to save, not eating, not ever picking the tab and fooling a firang with his business idea and relieving him of some valuable foreign exchange; he understood, what his school head master's son had really intended. It was not to save the green bills earned from his sweat and try own a maruti, because that would be a long route in vain. The shortest and the cheapest route is to get married and own the maruti along with the village landlord's daughter.

He was the only post graduate in business administration in the village he hailed from and all these years of learning the language the Britishers and Americans speak and being able to stammer on it with a heavy accented tone, he felt confident about the alliance. The urge to make true the desire ensured he caught the next train home and his parents happiness knew no bounds when he suggested about the alliance to the landlords daughter. They knew, it would mean an elevation of social status, redemption from poverty and debt and the icing on the cherry, the maruti car as dowry for their beloved post graduate, employed in a city son. Things went ahead fast, the proposal was made and the landlord agreed. The price negotiations over, he boarded the next evening train. The march of a proletarian to make true his desires was coming to an end.

((NB: I feel disgusted, watching some acquaintances doing this city employment, as a part of the proletarian's strategical march to a car and riches. If ever they invite me over and let me in on the details of the exchange, I promise to spoil it at least momentary. You marry because you choose to marry and share your life with someone. You marry, not because you choose to own a car through the shortest route nor because you choose to share the girl's dad's wealth.))

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

"orgasmic-marina" again after 6 years



I am a Malayalee who was born in Madras, because of the profession Appa and Amma practiced to feed themselves and that explains my fondness for Madras ((i still am not yet in terms with the term Chennai)). The last time I have been to Madras, was back in 2005 and I had written about my travel there 'Travelogue - To Amma's Land!'. There were my friends Praneeth and Rohit, back then as side-kicks and even now I went to spend the weekend with them in Madras.

6 years have gone by, the last time we went, we were the 2nd semester students and now we were all out from the College, we took refuge in. Time have gone by, the pint of rum, we consumed on the rainy night, gave way to MORPHEUS, my friend's latest like. The drink wasn't bad, but then we had all seasoned. The freshness of the face have started giving way to lines, not that I and my friends are growing old and dying, but then things were different. We were different, we grew in stature, we grew more complete and life had always been kind on us and our relationship. ((Every time I say, 'we', I am meaning not just the three of us, but the whole group of 14-16 guys I hung out with in College and with whom I went on my travels during College.))

Last time, the rides were to places that amuses everyone. But then we did it different this time on the Sunday. Me and Rohit went exploring the slums near to the Marina beach area. Drove around, watched the dirt and the dirt that was happening all around. Some experiences are worthy and sure this was one such, because being from Kerala, my encounters with the slums is almost nil and I wanted to have a feel and Rohit helped. Some real scary places, some real scary people, scarier tales and an eerie feeling. I am sure, I don't ever want to be on that turf alone unarmed.

Drunk on MORPHEUS, I boarded the train, surprisingly there was no bad feeling for having left two close friends behind and traveling out alone. I knew, we surely were gonna meet again and get drunk again, so guess my brain never found a reason to feel sad about having left them. There was the sadness of the weekend coming to an end, but sure then these orgasmic weekends, climaxing on the epitome of friendship could be relived again and again.

Friday, August 5, 2011

frozen moments

I started from my apartment to office almost minutes after the rooster announced the arrival of dawn to the world. I find it amazing that, in the concrete jungle I am living, there still exists a rooster and it fancies the announcement. Then, apart from me and the rooster, I knew the entire concrete around me was asleep and I felt weary about waking it. Started out in the drizzle on my bike and the rain drops took away the leftover sleep, that the shower couldn't wipe out. My old bike croaked under me in protest at the speed I was going, but then neither me nor my three week old infected sinus was enjoying the drizzle and the speedometer read a 90. It was the full throttle and there was no more up to go though I would have preferred to, knowing for sure that on the wet road with the treadles back tire, I was inviting trouble, as the mallus call it, on the way to make a 'PADAVAN'.

Turning a corner, on a very acute angle with the road, I see this car dead in the middle of the road; I knew I was headed straight on to it, unless I step on the brake, trying to get the bike back on to a perpendicular position, all at the same time and risking a fall. The brain screamed, "the fall is definitely safer than crashing on to the car". I braked, tilting the bike a little back to a straighter position, the back tire gave out; skidding on the wet tarmac, making a trail like a snake. Everything went blank, two seconds when, the hands of time froze and made it seem like an eternity. I had a flash of Appa and then things started back on with the normal pace. The bike didn't fall and the grip-less back tire held it good when it mattered. The blankness left, like a curtain have been lifted, but leaving my heart pounding very slower than I have ever felt.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

dotted, flavored or ribbed ??


A week back, the status message on a friends profile in facebook read, "the government should change its emblem from the  Ashoka Chakra to a condom, because it more accurately reflects the government’s political stance…! A condom allows for inflation ,halts production, protects  a  bunch  of  dicks  and gives a sense of security while you are actually being screwed", it was said to have been from Amartya Sen's blog. I found the quote hilarious and couldn't help make sounds similar to that of a hyena in office, attracting curious glares.

Call it the twist of destiny and I had another condom incident in the evening, when I went to get pills to kill the three week old virus fiddling with my sinus. A couple they seemed to me, she had the splash of vermilion on forehead and mehendi  on hands and he looked groomed, licked and cleaned and laundered, an appearance men generally seem to possess at the very initial days in a matrimony. They were standing right at the counter the contraceptives were kept, but since it was locked, they didn't want to call the pharmacist and open it. It was close to midnight and I felt they did really want it, but felt embarrassed to ask. The guy looked at me and he knew, I knew what they wanted and he had his eyes out, asking me to open the drawer for him.

The time, the bill was being made, I said, "please get me a packet of condoms." I said it loud, for the couple to hear and the contraceptive counter was opened, the pharmacist looked indifferently at me and asked, "dotted, flavored or ribbed?" It didn't really matter and I just got the cheapest rubber around. Thankfully, the guy picked the cue and he asked for it as well and pharmacist gave him his rubber. Standing at the counter, the guy had a smile on his face, a thanks in his eyes and I walked out from the pharmacy.

Ten foots into the cold night and the heavens opened up, and I traced back my steps. It was a good half kilometer to my apartment and I was sure to get wet, if I ventured out, but then the rain didn't seem to stop. I tore the aluminum wrapper of the condom, took my mobile and rolled the condom over my phone and knotted the end.

I didn't want my phone to get wet, and the little ghat travel experience I have and my trysts with rain has taught me, condom actually is a travelers best friend. Not because, they could go on a sex odyssey, but because, if there are some things you didn't want to get wet, like the mobile phone or the wallet or anything about 5 inches in diameter and about 10 inches in length could be kept protected in the latex.

I slipped the phone back into my boxers and started jogging, thinking about my trysts with the latex. Yeah I have always almost carried it, ever since reading the Harold Robins book "a stone for danny fisher", when 15. Though the condoms were put to their 'real purpose of manufacture', as the mba grads with whom I work might prefer call it, at a very later stage in life, I always felt it very handy after I opened one and checked it. I had bought it hidden in the huge list of groceries and supplies I bought from a retail store.

Time has flown by, the shades of black  has some grays appearing, the huge supplies list is no longer there, I bought a packet of condoms, to make it easier for somebody else to ask for it. I felt like a good Samaritan!! Condoms and a good Samaritan, weird patterns of thoughts, I know.Hope the church is not going to excommunicate me, crying blasphemy.

Opening the door to my apartment, I shouted aloud to myself "dotted, flavored or ribbed??" I wish, if only people spoke about contraceptives, sex and everything under the stars, like the way the pharmacist said, crisp and clear, so many uncanny beasts could have been kept at bay. Alas, but yet we all prefer the comfort of  silence and feed the beasts with the chunkiest piece of our days.

Monday, August 1, 2011

a movie alone at last

I am a late entrant to the world of cinema. My Appa, with his qualities and chivalry, as what he believes is to be true, never actually took us out for a movie, for the sake of entertainment. Educational purposes, I have had my share of Jurassic Park and some more. I do have memories of going for very few Malayalam movies of the early 1990's, but then it always required a lot of cajoling and convincing.

Later in life, when I turned 14, I started going out for movies alone with my classmates (I was in love much before going for a movie alone in life. Weird patterns of growth?).I loved the cinema and I always kept going for more ever since. I loved the feel of being in a cinema hall with people around and still feeling alone and watching a story unravel on screen. But then, on most times I was always accompanied by friends, and the fun of losing oneself in the crowd, I never leveraged again during my college in a cinema hall.

I went for an early morning show of a Malayalam movie, being screened here in Hyderabad, yesterday. It was a group of twenty people from office, 20 Mallus, as we are normally referred, who went for the movie. This time with some twisted fate of luck, I had my seats alone in the last row, at the corner and there were none I knew sitting close by.  My colleagues were sitting away and I was lost in the unknown Keralite crowd, sitting in a multiplex in Hyderabad, watching 'Salt and Pepper'.

The sounds of laugh I heard from my sides, were not familiar, but yeah it had the tune of a Malayalam accent to it. In some weird way it felt nice, being in a cinema hall filled with Malayalis, in a far of land.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Phil-nomics ??

"There wouldn't be no philosophy on an empty stomach", I remember my flat mate reading this line aloud to me once. What I don't remember the book from which my flat mate was reading. Was it Marx? I am not sure. But then, my tryst with Marx says otherwise. Whoever be the great mind who coined the phrase, have to admit, it holds good completely. I can't make a statement for the entire human race, but sure can say about myself.

The rain beat tormentingly on the big umbrella I was holding, I was getting wet, but not all that much, a constant heavenly spray, which wasn't enough to make a person soaking. The air-conditioned building awaits me and a cup of coffee from the pantry, my discomfort was definitely short lived and I strode wondering more about the relation of philosophy and economics.

She was wearing a polythene, yellow colored rain coat and standing at the gate, checking identity cards. There was no umbrella, but a rain coat with a hood, making her look like a saint with a halo, from a catholic church. A female saint, standing at the gate, in the rain, checking the identity cards of all those who walked past her into the warmth of the building, people like me. Drops rolled down the plastic hood, onto her face and traced a trail down someplace into her bosom, forming a puddle of coldness, very near to her heart. She was wet and cold, but couldn't complain nor think about warmth, there were hours to go before she could have it. There was no seeker in her, there were no pondering questions about life in her, rather an exclamation about the bitch, life has turned to be for her, struggling hard to make a living.

I cant help but repeat it after my realization that, it is so very true, no philosopher existed on an empty stomach. The pangs of hunger and man's quest for greater meanings in life are inversely proportional. The less the hunger and more the comfort, more man's desire to seek answers.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Driftwood


I feel the wind on ma face, its cold but dusty. My spectacles are being no good, but I actually don't care. I ride happily, there was no actual place to be at a specified time. No family awaits me with dinner, nor there a wife steaming up the dinner in fridge or maybe the bed, no friend waiting with a bottle of beer at a distance, just me, myself and the road.

I didn't turn an orphan, just that relations have progressed, the underlying sense of understanding has grown with the ones I care about. There aren't many, but the few, because they are "MINE" do know about my care and that makes things so much beautiful, our whole relation. It has given me a sense of independence, a sense of bliss from the social etiquette of calling up everyday and checking on mundane stuff like, "had lunch" questions. It has its own charm, never undermining the importance of "had lunch.." calls, but some times the solitude too has its own charm.

As a friend said, I do not care about almost everyone else, their happiness or sadness, not because someone hurt me and I developed it. But rather because, it do not matter at all, both the people and their emotions, to me. None of them are "mine". The experience of bliss feeling the wind on the face, listening to the rhythm the bikes piston composing with the road, that is when I have actually felt at ease. No human expectations, no phone calls required, no informing the latitude required, suddenly the starry nights starts looking all the more decorated, with my thoughts getting a hit from the knowledge that no body had a clue, where exactly I was.

From shore to shore, riding the waves, I feel I might be touching a lot many lands.  Why would the driftwood ever want to be made into a furniture and settle in the drawing room of a house, when it can ride the waves and see all around? It never would want to be a furniture,  riding the waves is when its at its melancholy best. The next 30 odd more years, why would I ever want to settle down with one profession, one city, one wife and maybe one kid? While I could choose to have 30 women, 30 professions, 30 cities.. haa haa that would be a heck of 30 years to live ;)

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Career oooouuuch !!

I had this talk with a friend in office, over some coffee, about 'career' of all things. Out of blue, he asked me when I would put in my papers and I quite honestly told him my thoughts on that. His reason for asking, he knew I was not felt important enough in a giant corporation. There was nothing here he knew which I thought I will like here and he understood me as this guy who does what he likes. But, then doing something not all that important to support just a life style for the moment.

Haa haa he had me bulls eye. The life style support part is true, but financially I was much better of in my dad's hand. I could almost charge everything to his account but not the booze. Yeah then money was never a big hindrance in the small town of Cochin, where you practically knew half the people your age. It definitely was not like now, when I have to  call my sisters at the end of every single month. But still, there was loads of truth in what he said.

He asked me about what I plan to do as a career. I didn't know. I told him, I feel I am a misfit in the corporate lattice and his explanation was you are not trying to fit into the lattice. Even that is true, but then I am not sure, I ever want to fit in. I am unsure about myself, about what I want to do with my life. Whether it is just a thing I want to do or try doing different things for a very long time to come.

I actually still am unsure what a career means? I find it no different from the actual life I am leading. If I am happy doing a thing, I will do it till I am happy and if that brings the money for the bread. Do I seek growth in it? I don't want the burden a better label will fetch me. I am the last one who wants to be promoted, but I definitely need the biggest pay raise, because that supports a life style as my friend suggested, without having to burden my siblings. I am not sure of the meaning, my description gives to the concept 'career', but then that is the best I am able to define. The eluding definitions !!

And then the killer question, what is PLAN B? The backup plan.. haa haa I actually didn' have a Plan A, forget the Plan B. All I knew was I will quit, when I am not sure. The end of next month or maybe the next year, but then what after that, I haven't thought about. I am sure about the eventual farming, but then do I stick to just supporting a life style and jump straight to farming, when I get bored of this life style. Or should I travel about, maybe volunteer in Sudan or volunteer to fight the whale pirates in North Atlantic, not as a lawyer, but for any task they have to offer. The deck boy to the Major's boot-polisher, anything suits me, as long as it gives me a chance to see new places and do new things, live a different life style. But, then that is not a plan. It is just a wish and I am yet unsure, I want to  yet leave this life style.

Ooouuuucch I really haven't given a thought about life up ahead, there are things I want to do, places I want to be at, but the dates and faces to it is not attached. Should I ever try put faces and dates to the things I want to and places I want to be at, that will be so unlike me. Or maybe I plan and live a life in sync with others, but then the vibes hardly ever matches. Money important to me? Bloody well yes, to support a life style I am liking at a particular moment. The Vodka nights need a giant corporate paymaster, then the traveler can afford to actually go as a deck boy, the whiskey drinking, Sabbath observing Nazarani can easily be lived being a farmer and so much more many life styles I would like to live, before I eventually quit.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Ousu and the Art of Toilet Maintenance


Ever since reading “Zen & the Art of …” and trying very hard and yet still pondering with the words of Robert M. Prisig, I been craving to analyze a hobby I do regularly, in which I am actually really good at.

I ride bikes, been around, but I have no clue about the mechanics of a bike. A broken clutch cable, would cause me trouble, because I never bother to carry an extra cable or a puncture kit for that, nor learned to change one. Bike has always been the preferred object to travel. And I do take good care of the bike, not me actually. But the mechanics near my home. The chances of trying to do a biopsy of my motorcycle experiences would be very bad. I actually have very few, half a dozen punctures, couple of minor problems while starting, a broken clutch; these are the only things that have happened to make the bike immobile when I was riding over the last 10 years. It is another matter that there been incidents, where I was immobile and the bike was got back home by a friend. But it is not about me, about my relation with the motor bike, so as to be Phadreus.

Taking a shower, I observed the stain on the tiles, a shade of brown, stained from water, because I have been scrubbing on it meticulously for once a week, for the last 15 months. I have been missing my last weapon, in my toilet maintenance strategy. I am sorry, I actually had a strategy for toilet cleaning, it is my hobby, and I think about it at times. I was missing acid, I didn’t know where to get it and I have been looking around.

Out from the shower, I went ahead to ask again for acid. I asked a random shop nearby, which I have been ignoring because of its negligible size and they had it. They actually had it. With a feeling of triumph I buy not one, not two, but three bottles of acid. Came running back home and changed ma dress, got armed and poured acid all over the washroom. The smell was pungent, I held my breath for the longest possible time I ever had, but at the end, three liters of acid poured all over the floor.

My flat mate woke up coughing and we settled for sometime in the kitchen. An hour later, I am inside, scrubbing with a brush, it is white, a white as clear as the milk of cow. Every inch of it is that color and I actually felt happy pouring water and watch the stains go away down the drain. Then there is an inch still reluctant, I use the back side of my floor brush, it is my gun in the maintenance program and the back side the ultimate precision weapon. Reluctantly it gives away, after 7 minutes, I wear my watch, to check the time, that is how important, my toilet maintenance strategy is for me.

After having accomplished to give my flat mate a surprise with the whiteness of the tiles, I actually know, while Prisig was about Motorcycle maintenance in the search of the answers, I have just reached the toilet maintenance stage.

((NB: The Zen thinker and the toilet strategist and the one who is actually writing this, all are me and they exist together in harmony. That is the miracles which make me feel awed and seek answers. The wonder called human mind, something worthwhile to take the plunge??))
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