Who am I?

far is the near if it can't give no comfort
black is the white if it can't give no light
blasphemous is the faith if it is not heart felt
lie is the truth if said without conviction
hate is the love if shown out of compulsion
fiend is the friend if he is not truthful
blind is the eye if it sees atrocity
nude is the soul if it has no values
poor is the rich if it doesn't help the one in need
coward is the soldier if he can't stand up for his right
demon is the human if he has no compassion
orthodox is the liberal if he has no tolerance
pity is the love if it doesn't wet your eye
black is the blood if it bleeds for the other side
Them is I if I don't speak my mind.

un bref conte (a short story)

First it was a flicker and then it was a constant bobbing in the dark and finally it revealed itself as a tiny sparkling drop of tear. He had been standing beneath the streetlight, which was acting, funny and scary to add to the special effect to the thunderous roar and the pain in his heart. Seven months. This was the number of months he had been living in pain. This was the number of months he had lived in anticipation. This was the number of months he had nurtured a hope. And today he was free. Free of pain, free of anticipation and free of hope. And he started walking aimlessly on the sidewalk in the dead of the night. He reached the far end of Yamuna and slowly rested his torso by the railing and then he let himself fall. Free fall. “The baby is crying, why don’t you go and check on him,” said Nirjala, frail and short in height, she was sitting in the middle of the courtyard with her hands smeared in cow dung. Jagdish, the father of the two months old child was squatting besides the parapet pulling lazily at his hookah. He got up and went inside the rickety house and walked out with Sukumar, the name they had thought for the baby. Sukumar was quiet now and was sucking at Jagdish’s neck. Life was normal if not good for this couple living in Unnao, a remote village in the eastern province of Uttar Pradesh. Jagdish had attended school till class five and could write his name effortlessly. Nirjala was from Barabanki, a neighboring town and was illiterate. After bribing the local officials in the postal department, Jagdish’s father, Hukum Prasad had managed to get his son in the postal department as an orderly and in turn had solicited the hand of the beautiful Nirjala for his Jagdish. Hukum Prasad had died just six months after their marriage due to an unknown ailment, which the local vaid was not able to diagnose. They were doting parents, Jagdish and Nirjala. They had brought up Sukumar with all the love and caring that they possibly could shower on their little prince. Soon Sukumar turned into a handsome young man with sharp features and an aquiline semblance to his father who at the age of forty still had a straight posture. After attending the local one room school in the village, Sukumar showed an urge to continue his studies after he had completed the class five. Nirjala and Jagdish pondered over this request of Sukumar while they were sitting in the courtyard late in the evening. This had become a custom for them. Their day would start quite early. Nirjala would get up even before dawn and would check on the cows in the shed. Then she would quickly take a shower in the make shift thatch that they had erected besides the boundary wall of their home. By the time Nirjala had completed her bath and was chanting mantras around the tulsi in the center of the courtyard, Jagdish would saunter out squinting his eyes and would carry on with his daily morning chores in a systematic, timely and programmed way. After this Nirjala would serve Jagdish his breakfast of sattu parathas and sweet tea, after which he would quietly leave for his postal duties. Sukumar would get up after Jagdish had left and would leave too after having the sattu breakfast. Jagdish would attend the village council meetings after his duty at postal department was done and would return home late in the evening. By the time Jagdish returned, Sukumar would be sitting all by himself on the terrace and Nirjala would be busy in some household chore. They all would have dinner together and then Nirjala and Jagdish would quietly sit in the courtyard and feel the quite breeze of the calm village and then slowly drift away to sleep. “I think it will cost a lot of money,” said Nirjala. “But he has so much interest and he would be the first one in the family to study beyond class five,” said Jagdish. So it was decided that if Sukumar wants to study then he should study. Next day Jagdish took one of the six cows they had and sold it for a bicycle for Sukumar so that he could commute to the nearby city of Lucknow. Sukumar was ecstatic after seeing the fine piece of machinery, his bicycle. Sukumar studied hard and completed his high school with a distinction. By this time he had made up his mind to pursue medical sciences and become a doctor. But the state of the family was getting worse from bad. He needed money for his studies but their was no source to get it from. He used to set off from his house early in the mornings and would wander for the whole day on the outskirts of the village. He would sit at some rock and would see the traffic on the highway for hours. He wanted to find a way out but this deadlock, this twist of face had him in a corner and he was feeling lost and wasted. When he could take this blind swirl of black waves blinding him out of his senses, no more he left his village. He had packed all his belongings and all the books in a gunnysack and left quietly in the dead of the night. He walked all the night and in the morning reached the Lucknow station. He had five hundred rupees with him out of which he had stole three hundred from Nirjala’s closet. He spent all day at the station with the newspaper he had bought. He had already read it twice including all the property advertisements and all the matrimonial ads. He had bought the general class ticket for Delhi in Lucknow Mail. He reached Delhi at six in the morning. He bathed at the station lavatory and after having some tea at the nearby tea stall; he caught a local blue line bus and reached the All India Institute Of Medical Science. He wanted to meet the director of the institute but looking at him, the peon had frisked him off. He slept in the underground parking lot and after two days of monitoring he finally got hold of the Toyota corolla in which the Director used to travel. In the evening at around seven thirty he waited for the Director. As soon as the Director of the institute reached his car, he sprang towards the car and intercepted the old man just before he was entering the car. In a breathless tone he narrated his story of how he would like to study at this institute and how he had come all the way from his village and had no money. By this time the institute’s security had already surrounded Sukumar and were jostling with him. The director looked at him and then quietly sat in his car and left without saying anything. The security guards took Sukumar outside the institute’s premises and threatened him to stay away. Heart broken he sat outside and with his ragged sack. For the past two days he had eaten only two meals and had slept only intermittently throughout. He lifted his jaded soul and started walking towards the institute’s gate. The guards saw him coming and alerted each other. Now there was a wall of seven to eight guards. Sukumar maintained his gait and as soon as he reached the guards, there was a lull. His face was stone cold and the guards were now smiling at this lunatic. There is a saying, “The most dangerous man is the one who has got an aim and is willing to go to any extent to achieve it.” The guards started shoving him back and then they all started thrashing him. He just stood there in the beginning and afterwards he lay still on the entrance gate and took all the beating without any resistance. When it was all done they picked him up and threw him on an empty plot of land besides the premises. When he got up it was already morning and the crust of blood that had formed on his face cracked as he squinted at the sunlight. He washed his face and again went to the main entrance of the institute gate. The guards were confused. They again beat him up and again threw his unconscious body at the same spot but he was back again in the evening for getting beaten up and thrown in the dirt like before. When he returned in the morning he was in a bad shape. One of the security guards took him in their check post and made him sit down. He then took out the first aid kit and applied ointment on his bruises after washing him up. He gave him tea and bread and asked his story. The name of the guard was Hashim Azmi and he was from Meerut. He was an old man in his fifties and was impressed with this young rebellious boy. He took him to his kholi in Paharganj where he stayed alone. His wife had died of cancer and his sons had left him alone. He preferred not to talk about them and so Sukumar did not pester him with any more questions. Sukumar called him “Sir “ and Hashim used to smile at this strange salutation but nonetheless enjoyed it. They ate rice and fish curry and slept on the carpet on the floor. In the morning, Hashim took Sukumar with him to the institute and arranged for a meeting with the Director, Mr. Harish Wardhan. Harish himself was an astute academician and had himself come from a very poor family in Kerala. He looked at Sukumar who looked much better in his clean white shirt nicely tucked in his blue cotton trousers. “I can’t promise you anything as of now. We have very high quality standards and only the meritious are selected after a rigorous selection process.” Said Harish. Sukumar was quietly sitting and listening very attentively at each and every syllable that Harish spoke. “ I can arrange for some books for you and can get you the entrance form, if you get selected we can arrange for the loan. This is all I can do for you.” “ I will be more than happy and obliged for this gesture of yours, Sir,” said Sukumar. After three days Hashim brought Sukumar the books that Harish had sent him. The date of the entrance was only two months away. For the next two months Sukumar did not come outside the kholi. He studied, studied and then studied some more. On the day of the exam he got up early and went to the nearby temple. After this he took a local bus and sat at the corner seat with his hall ticket nicely folded in his hand. He was very calm and was looking at the early morning calmness of the Delhi streets on a Sunday morning. Suddenly there was light everywhere and this blinding light numbed him and he slept off. Suddenly after all these months of hard work he was in a dreamland. There was his father in his crisp white dhoti sitting in the courtyard puffing at his hooka; his mother Nirjala was at the stove making parathas of sattu. The sweet cadence of trinkets from the bullock carts, the rickety one room school, the rock from where he could still see the highway traffic. It was all like a movie. He was lost in time and space. When he opened his eyes, everything around him was blurred. He opened his eyes and with a very confused look scanned his surroundings. Harish was standing near him and so was Hashim. He smiled at them but they were all very sad. Suddenly he realized that he was in the hospital. The bus he was traveling in had a bomb planted in it by some terrorist outfit and all the twenty passengers had died on the spot. Sukumar was the only one who could make it to the hospital. His limbs were badly mutilated and they had to amputate both his hands so as to save his life. He was listening to the same heavy tone of Harish’s voice as he narrated him what had happened. Sukumar felt nothing. He had no expression. He was not crying. Now both Harish and Hashim were saying something but he was not able to understand what they were saying. It was like a distant murmur. Sukumar was released from the hospital after fifteen days. Now he had crutches fitted to his sides and he slowly found his way outside with the help of Hashim.

Strongest dad in the world

Found this while surfing Sports Illustrated. Article "Strongest Dad In The World-Rick Reilly" I try to be a good father. Give my kids mulligans. Work nights to pay for their text messaging. Take them to swimsuit shoots. But compared with Dick Hoyt, I suck. Eighty-five times he's pushed his disabled son, Rick, 26.2 miles in marathons. Eight times he's not only pushed him 26.2 miles in a wheelchair but also towed him 2.4 miles in a dinghy while swimming and pedaled him 112 miles in a seat on the handlebars--all in the same day. Dick's also pulled him cross-country skiing, taken him on his back mountain climbing and once hauled him across the U.S. on a bike. Makes taking your son bowling look a little lame, right? And what has Rick done for his father? Not much--except save his life. This love story began in Winchester, Mass., 43 years ago, when Rick was strangled by the umbilical cord during birth, leaving him brain-damaged and unable to control his limbs. "He'll be a vegetable the rest of his life;" Dick says doctors told him and his wife, Judy, when Rick was nine months old. "Put him in an institution." But the Hoyts weren't buying it. They noticed the way Rick's eyes followed them around the room. When Rick was 11 they took him to the engineering department at Tufts University and asked if there was anything to help the boy communicate. ``No way,'' Dick says he was told. "There's nothing going on in his brain." "Tell him a joke," Dick countered. They did. Rick laughed. Turns out a lot was going on in his brain. Rigged up with a computer that allowed him to control the cursor by touching a switch with the side of his head, Rick was finally able to communicate. First words? "Go Bruins!" And after a high school classmate was paralyzed in an accident and the school organized a charity run for him, Rick pecked out, "Dad, I want to do that. " Yeah, right. How was Dick, a self-described "porker" who never ran more than a mile at a time, going to push his son five miles? Still, he tried. "Then it was me who was handicapped," Dick says. "I was sore for two weeks." That day changed Rick's life. "Dad," he typed, "when we were running, it felt like I wasn't disabled anymore!" And that sentence changed Dick's life. He became obsessed with giving Rick that feeling as often as he could. He got into such hard-belly shape that he and Rick were ready to try the 1979 Boston Marathon. "No way," Dick was told by a race official. The Hoyts weren't quite a single runner, and they weren't quite a wheelchair competitor. For a few years Dick and Rick just joined the massive field and ran anyway, then they found a way to get into the race officially: In 1983 they ran another marathon so fast they made the qualifying time for Boston the following year. Then somebody said, "Hey, Dick, why not a triathlon?" How's a guy who never learned to swim and hadn't ridden a bike since he was six going to haul his 110-pound kid through a triathlon? Still, Dick tried. Now they've done 212 triathlons, including four grueling 15-hour Ironmans in Hawaii. It must be a buzzkill to be a 25-year-old stud getting passed by an old guy towing a grown man in a dinghy, don't you think? Hey, Dick, why not see how you'd do on your own? "No way," he says. Dick does it purely for "the awesome feeling" he gets seeing Rick with a cantaloupe smile as they run, swim and ride together. This year, at ages 65 and 43, Dick and Rick finished their 24th Boston Marathon, in 5,083rd place out of more than 20,000 starters. Their best time'? Two hours, 40 minutes in 1992--only 35 minutes off the world record, which, in case you don't keep track of these things, happens to be held by a guy who was not pushing another man in a wheelchair at the time. "No question about it," Rick types. "My dad is the Father of the Century." And Dick got something else out of all this too. Two years ago he had a mild heart attack during a race. Doctors found that one of his arteries was 95% clogged. "If you hadn't been in such great shape," one doctor told him, "you probably would've died 15 years ago." So, in a way, Dick and Rick saved each other's life. Rick, who has his own apartment (he gets home care) and works in Boston, and Dick, retired from the military and living in Holland, Mass., always find ways to be together. They give speeches around the country and compete in some backbreaking race every weekend, including this Father's Day. That night, Rick will buy his dad dinner, but the thing he really wants to give him is a gift he can never buy. "The thing I'd most like," Rick types, "is that my dad sit in the chair and I push him once."

Bloody mountain peaks

Dressed in valor
Braving the chill
He stands there on the peak
Bated breath so still
Comrades in row
Guns in their hands
Orders on their mind
Ego's to shine
Their conciliatory pretentions
Our ignominious belief
Everyone knows
This play of creeps
It’s all about the land
It’s all about the pride
Years have he stood
Over the pernicious peaks
Painting white of the mountains
With red of his veins
Laying his life down
Or was it in vain
He’s got a wife;
He’s got a girl
He’s got a doting mother
He’s got an old man
In the village yonder
Ducked in the bunker
Mortars flying by
His mind stands still
His eyes can’t cry
Yesterday he died
His body in the snow
Bullets in his chest
Dreams gone dour
No one will win this war of pride
This charade of patriotism
Behind the veil of lies.

Have a good day

I was in my black suit
She was also in black
I was carrying a big voluminous book and a sheaf of sheets in my bosom
She was also shifting something in her bosom
I was looking forward to the new day
And so was she
I didn’t like the sun blazing so strongly so early
She was also squinting at the scorching rays
I looked at her
She looked at me
Her black piece of rag on the parched pavement
Her month old baby fast asleep on her lap
Hopes of the alms that she might get
Complaining to the sun in a soft murmur coz her baby might get up
She looked at me
And I read in her eyes
And we both wished each other,

a good day.

Richard Shannon Hoon

Sitting alone in the comfortable chair, I was looking at the beast. Stuffed with wool, it still had a ferocious look on its visage. Its fangs were gleaming underneath the blue sparkle from the overhead tube. To my right was a king size John Lennon stark naked huddled besides Yoko Ono in what appeared to be a schmaltz display of passionate love. It’s sad that the guy was shot very soon after this photo shoot. Its considered to be a very emotional photograph by the guy who did the photo shoot. With my sprained neck, I have to make sure that I do not involve my neck into any sudden involuntary movement. So after a deliberate attempt at getting some attention from the waiter, I walked up to the bar man and got myself a light. The feeling of a bar in the early afternoon of a Sunday morning is very peaceful to me. You can literally spend some quality time thinking about the world (I jest). But on a serious note, its like walking bare feet in the mansion of your head, studying the mess the guests from yesterday had made, smiling at the corner yonder, where you sat and just falling in love with the morning emptiness of your otherwise crowded house. Being fairly acquainted at a bar has its own benefits, like every one knows what drink you will have, when you need a refill, how many cigarettes you smoke, at what rate you smoke (and with the previous two trivia info they can make a rough back of the envelope calculation as to when you would be needing a light) etcetera. So all the waiters, like well crafted players in a well documented play, appear only when its bare necessary and with the same agility they disappear thereby leaving the protagonist the way he prefers, unfettered solitude. As soon as I felt the sweet tinge of nicotine flirting languidly with the remnants of the American yeast, I started swaying with the grunge vocals of Richard Shannon Hoon (lead vocalist Blind Melon). The name Blind Melon is a term for hippies from Mississippi. As per the general trivia the guys were sitting together after a Jam session and were figuring out a name for their band. Just then Brad Smith (bassist) walked in and said, “ What’s up, blind melons.” And so the name stayed. It was a term coined by Brad's dad. It’s sad though that Shannon OD ed on Oct 21st, 1995 in New Orleans, when he had so many musical arrows unfired in his quiver. Their song “Change” is my all time favorites although the “Bee girl”, No Rain is one of their more popular songs. Richard Shannon knew Axl Rose who was a friend of Shannon’s sister. Shannon used to hang around during GNR’s jamming sessions and started giving back up vocals for many of their songs. In case you have noticed his voice in the song Don’t Cry by GNR. In 1990 Shannon teamed up with Roger Stevens (guitar & Piano), Brad Smith (Bass & Flute), Glen Graham (Drums & Percussions) and Christopher Thorn (Guitar, mandolin & Harmonica) and came out with their self-named debut album produced by Rick Parashar (the Pearl Jam guy). Their single No Rain was a smash hit. In 94, Blind Melon opened for Joe Crocker in Woodstock. Backstage, Shannon asked Joe to sign his guitar. Apparently Joe turned around the guitar and signed it all the way across. Shannon said, “If this music thing doesn’t work out, I have my rent paid up with this autograph.” By 1995, Shannon’s drug abuse was getting out of control. He used to get violent onstage and once during a live show threw the Congo in the audience. During his way in the patrol car he smashed the window glass, bit the duty officer, spat on his face and trashed the telephone at the station. After being in and out of Detox, Shannon seemed to be stable and the band looked fit, but deep down inside Roger Stevens (guitarist) knew that as long as Shannon doesn’t get his act together and quits crack and cocaine, they would crash and burn any day. During their last concert together, the band checked into Le Meridian at 07:00 am, Roger and Shannon rode the elevator together. All the band members checked into their rooms and around 08:30 am Shannon called up his girlfriend and they spoke for 45 minutes. Somehow during that conversation he was able to disguise how messed up he was at that time. Afterwards Shannon took the elevator down, stopped to invite the doorman to their evening concert and then he walked out of the hotel. He reached LA Smoothie and ordered a smoothie for himself where the girl taking his order said that he apparently dialed one of those 1-900 numbers and spoke to a psychic. After spending around an hour reading newspaper and talking on the phone Shannon walked back to the crew’s van. He took off all his clothes, folded them neatly into a pile and laid down in Christopher Thorn’s bed and never woke up. At one in the afternoon the band members saw Shannon’s feet sticking out of the bus. When he did not responded to their tickle on his feet they soon realized the gravity of the situation. They gave him CPR and rushed him to the hospital where he was declared, “brought dead”. His death shocked the whole community. I personally feel he could have done better with his stay on earth, but as they say, death got better of him. His mother was quoted as saying on his burial, “ He will probably sing to the angels now. They also need a good singer like him up there.” The band tried a lot many times to get back together, they placed ads in local newspapers for lead vocalist, but the void of Shannon was not be filled again. They released an album named, NICO after Shannon’s daughter, which had their unreleased songs. The profits from this album went to an organization, which helped musicians who wanted to come clean of drug and alcohol abuse. The band officially disbanded on March 4th, 1999. Ironically during their last tour, Roger walked up to Shannon who was sitting with his stash of cocaine and said, “ I have your eulogy ready with me. Do you wanna hear what I am gonna say at your burial.” Quite ironic, don’t you think? Shannon’s epitaph: “ I KNOW WE CAN’T ALL STAY HERE FOREVER SO I WANT TO WRITE MY WORDS ON THE FACE OF TODAY AND THEY’LL PAINT IT” from their single Change. Note: I have taken some quotes and dates from the bands official website blindmelon(dot)org.

Cello rock

As soon as they started playing, I closed my eyes and was travelling in a different space and time. Slowly the cellos started coming from the background, they were all at a different plane but still all were approaching the same oasis. Like the gallops of a nightrider in the far horizon, I could sense what was coming. And then they all reached together, in tandem. Now I could feel the resonance, I could feel the rhythm, I could read the melancholy. Apocalyptica had arrived. This genre of “Cello Rock” simply transported me into a hitherto unknown plateau. Hearing them play Sepultra, Pantera, Rammstein and Faith No More is simply great. I mean the last thing you would expect from a bunch of students from Sibelius Academy in Helsinki, one of the best classical schools, is to get up on stage in dark leather outfits with their cellos and play heavy metal. I mean it’s a strange genre. What if I told you, "Hey, you know what, I play Gothic Country." Seems strange, doesn't it. That’s what I thought when I heard about this band who plays hard metal on cellos. But I was ripped out of my senses as soon as I heard Bittersweet. The song starts with a nice intro and then you have HIM's Ville Valo and The Rasmus' Lauri Ylönen's vocal duel. Any leading vocalist would consider it to be an honor, singing with Apocalyptica. They started their career by doing covers for metallica. They did their first gig at the Teatro Heavy Metal Club, where they played Metallica covers. It was just a word of mouth publicity for these strange classical rockers and soon Mettalica’s record label, Mercury recognized the raw potential in this genre and offered worldwide distribution for their first recorded CD, “ Apocalyptica Plays Metallica By Four cellos”. For a debut album, one million CD’s sold till date is terrific by any standards. The band consists of Eicca Toppinen on cello, Paavo Lotjonen on Cello, Perttu Kivilaakso on cello and Mikko Siren on Drums. My favs: Bittersweet (both Acoustic and instrumental Fight Fire with Fire (Metallica Cover) Delusion (From Reflections Revised) Driven (From Best of Apocalyptica)

Scarborough Fair

Are you goin to scarborough fair?
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there,
she once was a true love of mine
Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Without no seams nor needlework,
then shell be a true love of mine
Tell her to find me an acre of land,
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Between the salt water and the sea strand,
then shell be a true love of mine
Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather,
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
And to gather it all in a bunch of heather,
then shell be a true love of mine
Are you goin to scarborough fair?
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there,
she once was a true love of mine

-Simon and Garfunkal(OST The graduate)

An old movie and an old song

I am having my “emotional periods”. Yes, I am a guy and I do get em every month and if I don’t get em then I get a little nervous. Not getting them means I am not NORMAL. My “emotional periods” cleanse me of my emotional toxins. Today was again one of those days when I was DOWN. So what do I do. I watch my favourite movie and I listen to my “emotional anthem”. This song has been a constant booster for me since the summer of 2000. The song I am talking about is “SUNSCREEN” by Baz Luhrman. In case anyone has not listened to this song, kindly treat your ears with this beautiful song. I am posting the lyrics of the song here: “Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of 97...Wear sunscreen If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it. The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience. I will dispense this advice now. Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years youll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you cant grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked...Youre not as fat as you imagine. Dont worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday. Do one thing everyday that scares you Sing Dont be reckless with other peoples hearts, dont put up with people who are reckless with yours. Floss Dont waste your time on jealousy; sometimes youre ahead, sometimes youre behind...the race is long, and in the end its only with yourself. Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; if you succeed in doing this, tell me how. Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements. Stretch Dont feel guilty if you dont know what to do with your life...the most interesting people I know didnt know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still dont. Get plenty of calcium Be kind to your knees, youll miss them when theyre gone. Maybe youll marry, maybe you wont, maybe youll have children, maybe you wont, maybe youll divorce at 40, maybe youll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary...what ever you do, dont congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either - your choices are half chance, so are everybody elses. Enjoy your body, use it every way you can...dont be afraid of it, or what other people think of it, its the greatest instrument youll ever own. Dance...even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room. Read the directions, even if you dont follow them. Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly. Get to know your parents, youll never know when theyll be gone for good. Be nice to your siblings; they are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future. Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on. Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography in lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young. Live in New York City once, but leave before it makes you hard; live in Northern California once, but leave before it makes you soft. Travel. Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will philander, you too will get old, and when you do youll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders. Respect your elders. Dont expect anyone else to support you. Maybe you have a trust fund, maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out. Dont mess too much with your hair, or by the time its 40, it will look 85. Be careful who advice you buy, but be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than its worth. But trust me on the sunscreen...” I also saw “To Kill a Mocking Bird”. Again, one of my all time favorites. There’s this line in the movie, “There are some men who are born to do our unpleasant things for us.” For those who have not seen the movie or read the book, the story is all about two kids, Jem Finch and Scout Finch growing up in the Southern America(Maycomb county) with their dad Atticus Finch. Atticus is an attorney and fighting the case of a coloured man, Tom Robinson and the whole white community is against it. Its one of the greatest movies and went on to win couple of awards and the book won the Pulitzer. Great watch and yes the message is damn clear, “ Never kill or harm a mocking bird.” So very true.

Get up stand up

Today in the morning a scar from the past brought back some memories from days gone by. I asked him, “You sure you don’t want to do this.” Staring on the rough ground and broken parched up tarmac he nodded, which I took for a yes. He started walking briskly towards the bike that was lying beneath the lanky tree. After settling himself on the metal horse he drew out a cigarette and lit a match which he threw in a careless but calculated manner. He puffed the smoke and I thought he would smile and change his mind. He kept on staring at the speedometer with his head hanging as if he was in a deep thought process. With the cigarette still dangling from his lower lip he drew a long breath and glanced at me. I smiled back at him and we drove off. It was wee hours in the morning and it was just an hour or so for the twilight. It had been a long night and a lot had happened during the course of the night. So much had happened in the bosom of the night that our lives had changed radically. Too tired to go over the chain of events I took out a crumpled cheroot and lit it after settling myself on the stairs of the sophomore’s hostel. I sat lost in my reverie when a gradual change in the sitting posture made me realize that I myself had a gash winking at me underneath my shirt. I got up and went to my room and stripped myself naked and finally noticed the many cuts that I had endured in the brawl, although brawl would be a euphemism for what we had been through. I went to the common shower area and stood there underneath the shower for a good half an hour. As I gazed at the brown of the mud mix with the red of the blood go down the cesspool, I felt light and clean in my head. So many times we let the bullies have their way. The “bullies”, if you notice are everywhere. They can be found right from the kinder garden to pre-school, high school, engineering college, medical schools, B schools, office place, jogging parks, swimming pools ad nauseam. It’s just that at some point of time we just stop getting bullied. I also made such a decision, though not for myself but for a close friend. It was summer of '99 and I had just entered my room when Sid came breathing heavily. He said, some guys from our batch had gone violent during an innocuous ragging session and a first year guy had sustained serious injuries. Upon inquiring about the injured guy, he said the guy’s name was Prashant. My eyes popped out of my socket, as Prashant was one of my closest friends kid brother. Prashant had requested me not to divulge that he was my acquaintance, as he wanted to sort his things on his own. I regretted on giving in to a kid’s whim and fancies, after all they are just kids and we grown ups are supposed to know better. I quickly rushed to the college hospital and saw him plastered up on his bed. His right leg was suspended at forty-five degrees from the hip and his nose was heavily bandaged. He looked at me and tried to smile though the pain from the effort made him go back to previous state of sporting a straight face. I said a few comforting words as I couldn’t get any more information from him at that point of time. I went outside and got him fresh juices and some automobile magazines. The kid was an auto-fanatic. After two days he was discharged and I in turn had utilized the time to investigate the whole incident. But to my chagrin I seemed to be going in circles. It was a cul-de-sac. No one was saying for sure the name of the guy responsible. During these two days I had in turn followed up my case for the kid to stay with me in the second year hostel as I said he would be safe. The college authorities hushed the whole case unless it caught some local media’s attention. As soon as the kid shifted with me I started pestering him to name the guy who did this to him. But the kid was just not letting it out. After a lot of persuasion from my end he finally said, “ Ramie did it.” The name was enough. It explained just fine, why no one was pointing him out. Ramie was the son of the IG of that area and was known for using his dad’s position to have his way around. Prashant was a smart kid and he did not deserved what happened to him. Day by day I was getting restless. Every day as I saw Ramie in the hostel mess it stabbed me in my heart. All I wanted was an apology. I spoke to the dean and he said,” Until unless you don’t have a witness besides Prashant, we can’t do anything.” One fine evening in the month of October, Prashant and me were sitting in the college lawn, both of us engrossed in our books. Hearing footsteps I raised my brow to see Ramie with his gang closing in on us. “ I heard you had high tea with Mr. Dean.” Said Ramie. “ Its none of your god damn business.” I said. “ Hey, we also went through the same shit when we were first years, so why don’t we just close the chapter now and here.” he said. “ You need to apologize in front of the whole first year.” I replied. He smiled and walked off. I had a group task that evening so after deciding to have dinner with the kid, once I come back from the project, I left for the lab. I came back around 2200 hrs and yelled Prashant from downstairs. After five minutes I went upstairs and saw the room locked. I started sweating. I rushed to Ramie’s room and it was closed too. I checked all the rooms of his fellow mates and none of them were there. I came outside and started to think where might they all be? There were a million landmines going off in my head at that point of time. I took off o my bike and set off for hunting my kid brother. I rushed out off the college premises and started searching all the roadside dhabas. After driving in the city for around two hours I finally thought that it would be better for me to go back. As I was rushing back I saw them all. I could see them just off the highway road in a damp. It was dark and the light from the traveling vehicles on the highway was the only light that highlighted the group. I threw the bike and ran towards them. When I was very close, someone saw me coming and they all started dispersing. As soon as they scattered, I saw Prashant on all fours on the grass. I picked him up but he was not able to stand up. I picked up a nearby log of wood and dashed for the nearby guy. I hit him on the head with all my might. The guy gave a shrieking wail and his fellow mates turned around. They were five of them. They rushed forward and caught me but not before I welcomed them with some mighty sucker punches thrown in their face and another couple free kicks in their groin. After they had pinned me down on the ground, Ramie started punching me in my face and chest. After sustaining a couple of sharp jabs I closed my eyes and curled so as to protect my face. Suddenly the blows stopped. I opened my eyes and saw that the kid had hit Ramie on his head and he rolled sideways on the ground. This blow was enough to weaken the remaining ones who stood stoned and looked down at Ramie to see if he was dead or alive. I got hold of a rod and banged one of them in the leg which was returned by a rain of blows from every where, but some how I was not scared and I could sense it that they all were scared. The rule of any fight: Never show you are scared. Their blows weakened and Prashant and I in turn broke two legs and some noses. Now all of them were down and we stood at a safe distance ready for the next round. They all picked up Ramie and scuttled. After they all had left, Kid hugged me and cried. It was strange two guys smiling and laughing in the dead of night embracing each other standing in a damp. I asked kid, “ Do you wanna report them to the police” He said” No.” I asked, " You sure." After that day things were just fine for the kid. Though I heard that Ramie had to stay in the hospital for a month. Sometimes you just need to put your foot down. That’s what we did and the kid walked with his head held high ever after. Though this was a closely guarded secret between Prashant and me, I am breaking the promise and I hope he doesn’t mind. (A few events are fictional and bear no resemblance to any person or place)

Scary

It was totally dark. As I inched my way further into nowhere I could feel my heart thumping against my rib cage like a wild stallion that has been set free on a serene prairie against the backdrop of the ravines. I could feel the drops of sweat dangling on the edges of my eyelids and then with each blink they would ease off on the soft bed of my eyes before gliding through the edges of my visage. I was not crying, it was just the stupid sweat, which was not valiant enough to hold its ground and would hide in my eyes and ease off through the crevices along the edges. I was so sure that I was dead; I was feeling so very uneasy. I was falling off the tallest buildings, I was stepping on live bombs which would rip off my torso, I was drowning in dark murky black waters, I was getting stabbed in my jaw and I was looking with a puzzled look at my assailants in whose eyes there was not even a tiny speck of mercy. All of them were not clearly visible and I could just make out distorted silhouettes against a faint light, which seemed to be coming along with a moaning sound from a far off place. They were all writhing with mad anger. Just when it was getting really scary I spasmodically banged my palm against the wall and woke up with this excruciating pain. It was a scary dream and I didn't like it.