Gods must be crazy

Imagine five days of hectic work , followed by a clean relaxing coffee or tea which ever is your poison...

A lot of us now have such typical weekends.
Feels good is it not.

But Imagine , a hectic work load for 24 hours a day, 365 days a year without coffee breaks or joyful vacations.
Sounds dull drab and boring.
Does it not.

But who has such a job.
Well in India , every God has such a job.But it is nothing dull or boring.

Each day when the clock strikes 5 or 6, the God (when I refer to God here , I mean both Male and the female form ) is woken up and invoked in hundreds of temples, they sound of singing , the sound of the drums and bells tolling. Imagine that you have had a tough day and just managed to grab some sleep  and then suddenly you are woken up, lights near your eyes, holy water on your head.

Imagine again, to be available in all places, at the same time, standing on two legs for the entire duration, having the lights brought so near you, flames of the sacred fire too.
Would you like such a job ?

No friends who visit you, no lets chill at the bar,
No pyjama parties,
No gym, no nothing.

Just standing there and listening to everyone ranting, blabbering, devotionally immersed in praying.

The brother wants more money, the sister wants a job so that she may not marry young, the guy across her wants is saying , woah, she looks cute, "dear God, can you create that spark between us?".
His mom is wanting her son to marry the girl from her home town.
So many wishes , desires, checklists , algorithms and what not.

If god was a software program then it is one hell of a program,
If God were a project now that is a whole new dynamic after all.

Just imagine , answering queries, solving issues, creating happiness, giving away blessings.

God does not even get time to breathe, or even fart in peace. Every where he goes there are people.

And then the lovely aroma of all the cooking , comes to his abode but guess what God cannot consume any of it . Such luck eh ?

And then there are no holidays, not even festival holidays. Beat that . It is precisely when God is working at full speed. Full potential.

Now coming to potential, imagine how God's yearly appraisal meeting would be .
"33 crore wishes answered in one day...!"

Wait how would God's resume look like,

Would there be an application process there  too ?

It gets really complicated when the wishes are not granted, some of them not even possible,
Especially during exam season.

Sometimes the death algorithm , fate algorithm takes over but at times God needs to be the all smiling person we all want to be.
Expectations you see , bother the Gods too.

At times there is no sick leave, no planned sick leave, It's India Vs Pakistan cricket match leave or just plain old bored of this work leave.

It is God's role to protect and serve us,
Like some people who like to say the "puppet show".

But is that because the Gods are bored that they need entertainment ?
They have enough on their minds already.

It really needs to be appreciated though that even after so many centuries, the Gods are awake every single day and night listening to an endless barrage of prayers, listing them, sorting them , identifying them and finally tagging them. And finally taking into consideration the varying Karma index , help them lead a happy life and at long last maintain their database at the time of their return.

Then take the blame, for not Saving some one, for creating rains and for not creating rains, for blessing relationships and cursing them.

And now I almost forgot, to be called into every function and marriage to attend and bless the couple, bless the baby, take back the dead .

Such tremendous work.

Phew ! That is some serious work . Insane indeed.

Yet loved so much , revered so much and being thought of so much has its own perks.

Where else can you get all of this.

Maybe this is the Ultimate Job. Running everything and nothing.
Being the enigma,
The protagonist behind many stories, being written about in folklore, celebrated as heroes, legends and not forgotten for centuries to come...

The Gods are truly one great topic of interest...

If Gods had gossip, had social media, had smart phones and selfie sticks, had likes, dislikes and thumbsdowns ....

Just imagine , for once how would it be....

This is purely a work of random thought, not intented to belittle any feelings towards the God you worship, this is not against religion or pro religion.
It is but just another tale spun out of interesting questions.

#friyay#happyweekend

"Have a happy weekend !" He shouted across the empty office parking lot at 11 in the night , as I chugged my way to find my vehicle to head home. He was heading to the most happening pub in town to grab a beer and chill.

Happy weekend. This word stuck in my head and ignited a standard protocol of thoughts that raced along with me jogging and then running at full steam.

Happy, what exactly is happy ?
Why do we wish people happy weekend only, why not happy Mondays , Tuesday and each day of the week.
And also do we really mean the happy weekend, when we say so ? Do we really care that the other man has has a happy weekend or are we just doing it because everyone does it.

Why say happy ?
Why not interesting weekend ,
Satisfyinging weekend,
Meaningful weekend.

Are we heading towards a point where we need momentary happiness, thrills and chills but we do not seek meaning to this life.

We want a happy life, let all others go to hell . I want a happy life.
I want to party, I want to show my pictures on social media, tell the world I am happy , I am truly and magnificently happy.

We meet people solely now to take selfies and make memories. We are unsure of finding happiness packets later in life.
We find taking photos of food and posting it online to be more happening than eating it in the first place.
Meeting a celebrity is not about the person but you having met him and taken a selfie.

We are steam rolling towards a happy nation of happy weekends and happy people. Happiness is overflowing and flooding us in all corners of life.

As yourself this, are you happy ?
Or let me put it this way,
Momentary happiness Vs satisfactory meaning in life?
What would you choose ?

Our happy weekend normally involves sitting at home, eating good food and sleeping.
Or partying at a place. And posting it on social media as Friyay . ( That is the right spelling)

After all this ranting and babbling ,the only question that I asked myself is , do I want happy weekend Vs meaningful weekend ?

Do I rather have happy weekends Vs normal week or a happy week.

Does my happiness involve drinking binges, #friyay, partying Vs having a deep meaningful conversation with people, watering my garden and watching the sunset, or being with my family and simply chit chatting.

Where in lies happiness?

And thus I reached home.
Safe sound and oddly happy that I had ranted it all out.

The last fruit

Sometimes I get late to my office owing to waking up late, but on other days I am early or on time to catch the lonely bus to school.

On days that I come in early, I am always greeted by the pomerian dog on its early morning walk that pulls along the elderly gentleman on a daliy excercise ritual. The bells of the temple nearby ring in perfect replay each day like clock work. The voice of the flower and vegetable vendors are faint and hoarse from all the shouting in the early morning.

Then there is always my favourite passtime; just behind the bus stop there is a house , painted red and in one corner there is a small Gasgase tree.

The branches are over hanging and fall out of the house with a small pocket of canopy towards the road.And they bear fruit , little red berries that are sweet to taste and an absolute delight. When the branches are loaded with these fruits they hang lower. I am tempted to pluck a few and enjoy the free treat that mother nature gives us.

But there is just one problem. The house and the tree belongs to a very elderly gentleman who finds all his excercise in shooing away the men and women who pluck the fruits from his beloved tree.

To anyone who cares to listen, he explains in his grave tone; " I water the tree everyday, I nurture it with manure but everyone just plucks it off like it is their father's free gift."

At times I have tried to outsmart him and find myself a nice berry, all red and sweet, but like the sour grapes story I teach children at school it never happens.

When ever I almost have the prize in my hands, the old man comes in like a "berry hound" and gives me that stare akin to "Dare you to touch my tree". I am forced to move away with a sheepish expression on my face.
But the thrill of stealing a berry from under his nose is unparalleled.

It was another such random day when I was early to the bus stop. I had already made up my mind to have a field day today and make the most of the berries overhanging ; teasing me from ten days.

I got caught. The elderly man always had a scowl on his face. Today was no different. And he asked me ; " What do you want ?".
It was almost an accusation , but I could not help myself and I blurted out " I love the taste of these berries, i was just about to pluck a few ". I readied myself for the inevitable backlash.
But he looked back into the house and called reinforcements. I called all the gods and was about to encash my good grace when he called me in to the house and said, "take all the berries you want, this will be the last day you enjoy this opportunity."

There was a sense of acute sadness on his face. I had seen this person since ten years but I had never talked to him. Two men came and handed me around a hundred berries;all ripe and fruity smelling.

But his sense of sadness pulled me away and I looked at him and said thank you.

"It has been forty years in this locality. My sons and grandsons grew up in this house. We are moving away to an apartment that my son has brought. " Just then we heard the thuds from inside the house. "We havent even left the house yet but they have already started demolishing our house. This tree too shall be cut down. I have nurtured this tree for years but this tree will no longer be mine.Take all the berries you want. "

"So will you be moving I with your sons?" I quizzed.

He grew graver, " No no, they are all settled in the states and they need some one here to watch over their new apartment on the twenty third floor. There are no trees with overhanging branches he remarked.We are very much likely the free watchmen for the house.
We move tomorrow to my son's flat".

The berries though tasted wonderful. But it was the last time I saw the tree again. It was gone the next day.
The gentleman , the house, the tree, the berries.

We dont talk anymore

And then one day you start doing things that make you happy. The kind of things that you never knew that would bring so much happiness and calm to you and your inner self. A sense of "Inhalation and Exhalation "that feels so much pure and without the threads of modern day pulls.

But this new idea, this new change is something that is new and like all new things it posts a warning sign to who ever is near and dear. Then you have ' Q n A' sessions with them and start being analysed why this new hobby appeals to you.

There is no time for a correct and we'll rehearsed answer, so you   just say "I don't know". Before long there are versions and commentaries on why this "new me is the not the best me ", the idea seems alien that I am in a position to move from one hobby to another , one affiliation to another and seek the blessings of all those near and dear ones.

Yet these very near and dear ones are embarking and embracing their own drugs and needs to make sense of their lives, following their own methods of madness, getting high on weed, smoking their lungs out and drinking like baboons.

Then they meet my wall. I cut them off from all modes of communication. I am being selfish here. Aren't I ?

I cut them off like old appendages and move ahead ,steam rolling my way towards my own madness.

I make them meet my wall, greet them like they want to be greeted and smile their smile for a few more times. And then I let the silence sink and cut the umbilical cord.

We dont talk anymore, like we used to do.

I have been given titles, called names and been forgotten altogether.The happy opportunity of watching me, dissecting my actions, discrening my decisions, predicting my moves is all yours.

Go on catergorise me, and put me in any general formula, but do remember that shall be the end of it all...

Typical Temple - errr Not so typical

It was yet another random days when I was struck with the idea of visting a temple.

Typically I am not the temple kind of a person although I do like to visit the same sometimes. It was just one of those times, I decided on a Sunday to visit a Lakshmi  Venkateswara temple nearby.

It was almost the end of the month when that Sunday did come. As expected my purse was thin and I was reminded solely of god. There is a saying "Sankata Bandaga  VenkataRamana" which translates to "The abode of God during distress".After a spending spree on hotels, treats and cinemas I sought the abode of the Almighty for help with my finances and "in general well being of the masses".

I entered the temple with my head bowed low and was struck in awe at the tall Gopura and the amazingly detailed intricate designs that adorned it all along. It truly is a sight to behold.

The Garbha Gudi or the Sanctum Sanctorium houses the main diety of the temple. There is also a single structure of rock that stands on the ground strecthing up to the sky called the Garudagamba which also comes with intricate designs and the images of gods neatly sculputured. The Dwarapalakas Jaya and Vijaya welcomed me into the humble abode of the Laksmi Venkateswara temple.

The large serene atmosphere takes you on a spiritual quest, suddenly you are in a place of calm, the Aum resonting in the background, the mantras and the pujaris and the Aarathis take you on a celestial journey.

Sure enough I too went into a deeply contemplative mood, the faint ringing sound of Aum seemed to be everywhere. The temple bells had begun to ring and I was too engrossed to notice much more.

But out of the corner of my eye I could see people clicking photos in the main GarbhaGudi , a fact that seemed to surprise me entirely and this seemed to break me free from a trance. I now tried to recollect the sign boards near the entrance , near the chappal stand , but I couldn't place any sign that read, "Photography and Videography prohibited inside the temple premises ". This was somewhat different to the conventional "Typical temple".

There is a lot of empty space around this big Temple and the stone benches around the temple had attracted my attention when I had made my way in. There was a strange square structure that was etched on the GarudaGamba that seemed to be done in fine detail. Although the temple is quite an old one it has had some renovations and still maintains an old school charm about it. The people were keen on photographing the same weird sculpture that had been done even inside the temple at various places.

' Nowadays people are more concerned with photos and selfies than pretty much everything else' I thought to myself.
I wanted to relish the calmness of this place to its entirety and so had conveniently kept my cellular phone at home. I proceeded to do the 'Darshana' of the god and the goddess, decked in jewels and shining in divine glory, the light from the 'Aarthi' falling on the idols was a treat to watch. And soon the temple priest came in with his Tab, to collect some donation for the new 'Bhojanalaya' that would feed all the needy everyday. I was here in the premises of the Godesss of wealth to pray for a little more dosage of wealth, and soon enough , after the 'teerthaprasada' was given; I made my way to the silent temple surroundings. There was a faint sound of temple bells that could be heard from where I sat. But surprisingly this temple had no bells that I had observed. Before I could dwell on this further, I saw a Bharatnathyam performance in full flow in one of the Pranganas of the temple. I proceeded to spend my time immersed in the artform when the temple bells rang again.
Here too the same square structure had been etched.I had expected the Shanka Chakra etching everywhere but this was somewhat different. The Typical temple had a few more surprises.

I walked along and found this 'Aachar' seated next to a board that read "Prasadam". There was no queue and I approached him with reverence and asked him,
"swamy, where do I find the place to recieve the prasadam ?"

He smiled at me and retorted "Son , you have come to the right place".

I enquired, " But I do not see any prasadam here except the small bag of coloured sheets here next to you".

He then went on to explain. "Off late most pilgrims here come to offer their prayers to God but they have a problem with donations, the new 2000 notes have proven to be a problem, we are always running for the right change to give back. Hence we have introduced the Tab where we ask for donations, the symbol you see on most place, the square structure is a QR code of the temple Hundi account. Everyone can donate their offerings to God there itself, and they can do so at anytime. It saves us a lot of hassle. We can concentrate on our spiritual journey."
Frankly I was taken aback by this and I asked him about my prime concern "How about the prasadam then ?".

"Well, my son the prasadam was being wasted by a lot of them, most times dirtying the sanctity of the temple and it was difficult to carry it home. So we give you this Prasadam voucher for you to encash at the Hotel nearby. We only prepare little that we use for the "Neividya" and the rest is given to hotels and this can be taken by the devotees anytime just by submitting this voucher.
Interesting is it not ?".

His answer struck me in the very elements, there was no Hundi here to put my humble offerings to God , no prasadam too , the symbolism of the Almighty's blessings. The Bhojanalaya was under construction , I had nowhere to go except home. Happy to have had the pleasure of the having the Darshan with utmost peace.

The typical temple bells rang once again, even before I could ask this man about the mystery my mom woke me up.

"It's Monday , the time is seven, wake up and stop sleeping. You have office today. Remember.
Your alarm is on snooze."

And thus the typical temple experience came to an end.
I was happy that I did atleast have a great Darshana in my dream.

But the question remained, what if our Typical temples, would become like this one day...

Read the original piece here :

https://sampada.net/%E0%B2%9F%E0%B2%BF%E0%B2%AA%E0%B2%BF%E0%B2%95%E0%B2%B2%E0%B3%8D-%E0%B2%9F%E0%B3%86%E0%B2%82%E0%B2%AA%E0%B2%B2%E0%B3%8D/47346

Story of dreams -Part 1

In a fit of rage he picked up his bag and went off into the night.
Slowly making his way through the streets that still slept, the light polses that flickered and the dogs that slept peacefully.This was his every day ritual.

His anger was caused by his cab driver who had called him and informed him at the last instant, of a change in travel routes for that day. In all his clumsy madness he had forgotten to lock his room that was housed amongst a colony of other paying guest accomadations.

The entire road to this new pick up point is through an open drainage arena where the "shit" of yesterday finds itself on the brinks of tomorrow. As he made his way through the not so populated roads he found himself wondering...

Back to his mediocre life. He had always been the average guy. Not too brilliant to land himself a dream job , not too crappy an educational degree to propel him further into other more lucrative ventures. He had stuck with the sheep herd and done his rather unsuccessful engineering successfully.

And like many others like him , not found campus placements. He had loitered around cigarette shops, training institutes and much more to finally land himself a job at the call centre.

It paid for his education loan, it kept his family safe and happy and he had much more money for himself than ever before but the only downside was that he had to work the night shift. It was all too good , this new experience of corporate work stations, laptops , smart phones , free WiFi and perennially available coffee.

He had met a few friends and had really hit it off. They were a cool bunch of guys and girls. The thrill of the new found friendship had pretty much propelled him on , for the first half year of work.

By then he had bought a new phone, a new laptop , a fridge ,a washing machine and a 23 inch 3D LED TV.

Wait!

Everything had been on EMI and taken with great fanfare on discount sales that sprung up two a dozen every month.

By the tenth of every month his salary would be running on the very fumes of cigarettes he consumed to make it through the day.

It had been a year and a half since he broke up with his girlfriend. And to add to it , she had called him a few days back wanting to meet up and very cheerfully informed him about her marriage to this big shot guy in the USA.

The car already had three other people in it and they were fast asleep already !

A lot of his friends were in the States and a lot of his friends were getting married too. And he was there at the cliff hanger.  The monotone of the night shift had not changed even after a year and a half and his year end reviews had been the first hit of hard reality.

The night offered him some peace. The soft breeze pulled him back to the present.

Another call came to him from his driver and the horn of the Tata Sumo reminded him again of the office.

He got in and closed the door and smiled to himself, atleast there were three more like him. But that was when his unrest came back to him , haunting him and tearing at his senses.

And the train of thoughts found their resonance, he remembered his old dreams ,as a kid . Growing up he had discarded everything to study and pass the exams. He had little knowledge of what hit him after first semester of engineering. He had lost his way and was lost in the labyrinths of reality. He remembered the promises he had made his parents about quitting cigarettes, drinking and being responsible. The romance of his first ever love story and all the things they had planned. It hit him really hard, like potholes on the railway track , his inability to overcome all this.

He wanted to go back again to sleep, to the last days of school , to his mother's lap and his father's farm and his grandfather's cycle.

Sure enough he came to office and found tons of mails and calls to attend. And as easily as he had slid into depression he went out of the same into his chores.

No coffee breaks, no gossip breaks and no internet. His day at work had begun. He began answering his call of duty.

But he had forgotten all about the key and the door he had left ajar.

Pungidasa - 5 years of writing

It has been so many days since I started writing. More than 2500 days.Not that numbers are any thing that matters.

And that is a journey in itself.From really bad formulation of words, to absolutely raw expression of feelings this path has taken me places.

From Messages to Whatsapp pings, Facebook posts and Instagram shares.

From feedback messages to spamming broadcast lists, from ”Nice 😊" , "Stop sending shit poems".

From I really don't understand your poems, too much of " high english " to simple outstanding word usage.

From "you are amazing , you have brought tears to my eyes" to great attempts at writing.

This journey has been more about the inner journey to learn and appreciate the small nuances of life. To give wings to thoughts and to take you on a journey through words, frames on a moving instant, caught in time and presented to you to savour, appreciate and find joy.

Not all times are as rosy as this. When the feedback is just Nice, or it is too harsh that you revisit your works again to really check your sanity. And my words have not reached you in the way I intended.

These are the times of learning. Learning to draw equal status to the relative pleasing feedback and the really gut wrenching raw feedback.

Not all the works are of greatness.
The world has grown to want perfectness so much that it has forgotten the lesser great or mediocre ones. And I am at times in a position to tell you a " Sorry " for sending such mediocre poems to extra ordinary people.

But the most amazing part of the night, is when the words start flowing , one word to a sentence , one sentence to a paragraph. And then to a poem or a story.
And then I am blessed when the thought has been put as a seed in your mind and then it starts its own story in your mind.

And making you smile, cry and revolt into action has a thrill that is uniquely satisfying.

The journey has also been about you, it has been about you. Through words, I have been able to connect to you in a way that only years of friendship can . Heard stories of yours that even bottles of wine couldn't​ have brought out.

A connection that has made us more than acquaintances, more than friends and most importantly has connected us  without boundaries.

I have been spamming you, been asking you for opinions and feedback .

Truth is 99.9 percent of the time you may not see my works, it may be deleted after reading or without being opened. But it that portal of connection that opens everyday to .1 percent of people that makes this excercise worthwhile.

Close to 1000  people over 5 years have been a part of this ritual of being Pungidasa.

a sincere thank you to you for all the help, feedback.

And after so much spamming , if you still have saved my number, it must be a miracle in itself.

To grammar Nazis, the anti spam squad, the "shit poem" enthusiasts , this post is inspired by you !

I am Pungidasa, the word without a definition.
Feel free to define me in your words.

A selfie with God

A selfie with God !!!!

If you are an Indian , then you most definitely have met God.

We all are spiritually inclined , it is something that has some up as a way of life. Since day one , I was told that I was god's gift.

So I wondered if all those who gifted me on my birthday were God sent messengers, because by then I knew God could never be fellow humans. That is the wisdom that has come through the ages.

By the time I was mad , I had developed a sense of distinction between spiritual and the religious, ritual and tradition.

But to the outer world I am still a Legendary follower of faith. Because they assume that it I am so.So I keep it that way.

And everytime I see the world in my green eyes, I am amazed at how people are pulled to the idea of the "fear of God" and sometimes how blind their faith following is.

And then I met this herd of people who came to the temple, stood in line for considerable time and then finally when the doors of sanctum sanctorium opened

They opened their fancy phones and started to take in the essence of the divine, by taking a selfie with God. And then the others who had not the luxury of Selfie camera took God's profile picture in their phones with such Bhakthi that I had to bow my head in reverence.

And a lot of times , my mother tells me that these observations of mine correspond to the hot blood syndrome.

But then I have found solace in my definition of god. In helping people in need.
But when the extent of modern bhakthi comes to the fore I tend to forget all manners and put my purple tongue out and start my rants of sarcasm.

And then they decide to post the divine selfie.

And my hashtags be like :

#god #observations #divine #selfie #hotbloodsyndrome #blessings #checkin #moderndays

And their hashtags be like:

#selfieboss #feelingblessed #selfiewiththeboss #godisgreat

Say your prayers that someday, we will have God on Facebook, Instagram and other social media ....

And you can tag , comment and share your way to glory.

Sorry

There are somethings that stay with you for a long time.

It was a picturesque day that brought pilgrims from everywhere to visit the sanctum sanctorium and seek the blessings of the Almighty.

I was there on along of my grandparents, doing a little grandson work for the pair of love birds. Who says love needs youth. They still held hands when they dipped their hands and legs in the river.
My hawk eyes were zoomed in on their heroics and they safely negotiated the water , the steps and then the safety of my temple.

It was my turn and they got to repeat all the words, instructions and warnings that I had just minutes before told them.

And then I treaded carefully along the steps. There was so much of activity everywhere, prayers being told , men dipping themselves in the holy water of the river , women too joining in the religious rituals, the bells of the temple going off in the distance and the faint fragrance of bhakthi that stayed in the air like a mist.

I happened to find a small spot alongside a family of four.They too were immersed in their acts of purification. The man of the family dipped himself into the river and came out unfazed.
The wife had the little one in her arms, the kid seemed absorbed with his own musings.

This is when it happened. The lady decided to spray the holy water onto her son and slipped.

The collective gasp of everyone standing was heard , the shouts of panic were heard everywhere. The lady was sinking into the river, but miraculously she kept her hands above the water and held the symbol of her motherhood high in the air, just high enough to keep the baby safe.

She gasped for air once , then went in again and bobbed her head twice; all the while desperately holding her kid in the air.

The man jumped into the river and grabbed the kid and reached the safety of the steps and handed over the kid to the grandmother.

He jumped again , this time he returned with her.
They ran to her kid and she hugged her child. He hugged her and the I could clearly hear her say.

"Sorry."

And then the grandma said something.

The man stepped in and said something that silenced the scene, they moved away content that God had saved them that day.

But that sorry had so many layers.
Her voice shook with so many emotions.

She blamed herself,
Her stupidity.
Her ability to forget her own life and keep her flesh and blood afloat.
Her husband's​ nerves of steel,
The faint gratitude that the family was still intact.
Then the realisation of the events that could have occured and the shudder of her shoulders.

It was all carried in that Sorry.

Thank you Friend

It is always like that. Sometimes you lose friends. Sometime you know you were never friends.
Sometimes you tend to extend someone a little more time and space because they are friends.

What you see as betrayal , attitude can mean entirely different, when you see it from their perspective. (That
Is if they let you be in their shoes ).

I have this notorious habit that follows me everywhere I  go.I tend to make friends with friends and their friends and their friends and thier friends' friends.

It so happened that I was a very fiercely guarded man when it came to my emotions , very few ever got to know me in complete mental detail as this random person who I met at a friend's bday celebration.

It was then still Orkut time. no facebook , no selfies, no whatsapp but only infused with the power of scrapbooks ,mutual friends and at times messages on the phone I really hit it off.

I had found a friend, with whom I could talk all random non sense and get away with. She was an amazing listener. I had just about opened up like a Pandora box.

Talking to her had a very real vibe, a genuine sense of connect.we had become really good friends. At least that's what i thought.

We had our exams coming and during exams she was excommunicado from the whole world.

It was one of those most important phases of educational life and the next day was my math CET. I had prepared well and was almost asleep at ten.

That's almost when the call came, she sounded hysterical, she was in panic mode. She was in tears, telling me that she would flunk the exams, her math was weak, her scores would plummet and she would miss her dream college.

And I woke up, I don't like people calling me at 12 to wish on my bday. I like my beauty sleep.

But I took this call, from 10.30 to 1.00 .

It took a lot of convincing, hearing things out and a few tricks exchanged to really understand. After almost three hours , phone currencies exhausted , hand held device charge depleted, she had almost calmed down from the hysteria and the panic.

It felt good that out of all friends , she had called me.
It just escalated our bonding to another level.

We met a few times and I was sure that we would be friends for life.

I loved food, she prepared amazing food. I liked to talk and she liked to listen.

And then as suddenly as our friendship had blossomed it hit a dead end.
We joined our separate colleges, separate branches ,made new friends. And poof , like Houdini our friendship vanished.

No traces of the old charm was left, I was left thinking , what did I do wrong?.

And then after some years , we met on social media, there was Facebook , WhatsApp . But even there that spark of excitement was missing.
After ten days there would be a reply to a hi.
Twenty days later, a wassup.
All the while the news feed had selfies , group photos and luncheons with new friends.

And somewhere out there in the wilderness of Facebook history I let go of the last strands of friendship and memories.

I don't know why. It just happened.
And I let things be.

After all friends need to give space , friends are to be understanding.
Maybe I was too dumb then, and she was simply responding to my initial texts because of pity, she heard my stories due to boredom. I don't think it was the case though but
I really don't know why .
Not that it matters now.

But I want Thank you for an experience, you were there at a time when I was expanding my thought horizon as a young kid. You heard me out and let me be.

And then you found new friends and so did I. In the prospect of the universe there is no loss , there is no gain.

We will continue to be friends on Whatsapp, facebook, instagram and other social media jargon.

I have always wanted to thank you, for being there as a friend and being a dynamic in influencing how I see people today.

It was then that I learnt that everyone has their reasons to why they do ,what they do.(They don't have to tell it to anyone).

And sometimes you have to see from another perspective and respect other decisions and move on with life.

Forgiving the past

While deleting photos of the virtual world my eyes caught upon this photograph,that transported me back to a place long buried in my past.

Time has healed me,but I am still scarred. Guess that's a souvenir I will have to carry with me until it gets washed away into the tombs of time.

I guess, The story started on a random day. Five to six people in their separate destinies had chosen to select the same college to chase their dreams.

But among them was someone who had chosen to chase after someone she had seen before and had been consumed by his thoughts ever since.

And it so happened that all roads lead to Rome.
Their destinies met.

Their eyes talked, hands danced and the rest of the world found them soulmates, bridged through seven lifetimes.

The princess and the frog prince did not have their fairytale perfect, they had to kill a few good men along the way.

In every love story, there comes a villain before, "The End", but in here I became the villain after the "Happy Ending".

Inadvertently, I was friends with both of them and the bridge between two beating hearts. And very fast I had begun trusting both with bits of information that a stoic like me had buried deep inside my emotional spectrum.

My childhood stories, stories of my victory, stories of my first crush. They reciprocated in kind and the bonding had become thick.

For a stoic like me, this was all new.

What was to come was even newer.

And then she popped the question, he said No.

I was too far influenced into the friendship to take either side.
And then like all love stories in Bollywood it happened.

February 14 , they updated their relationship statuses.

And i was still lost in my own little world, until the visits became about them, the talks were cooey cooey, soon I had become the Kebab mein haddi.

It was then, the roughest part of the transition from stoic to normal. There was a fight.

Friendship vs Love.
My male best friend chose love.
The female best friend chose him.

I was the injured seal in a swirling sea filled with blood hungry sharks.

And the cold wars had begun.

All the happy memories were now turned to memoirs of another time. And I had become the man who tried to poison friendship.

By then the threads of friendship had grown into many other ships, but no one knew the real story.

It was this time, that I evolved as a person. Life in all its true rawness hit me with such amazing force that I was stunned for a long time.

An erosion of trust had sent a unfeeling stoic into a mad man trapped in between the old and the new.

And slowly and slowly, time healed everything​. And I decided to let go of all the negativity surrounding life and became " The Shiva of the Kailasa Parvata".

To forgive them , to forgive myself and to learn from incidents and circumstances.

That last remaining photograph, the last reminder of a long bygone era of friendship took me back a couple of years;
I decided not to delete it and let it stay as a reminder of life and it's ways of teaching you all you need to learn.

madness reloaded

This is an on the spot blog post.
All grammatical errors have to be ignored and taken with a pinch of salt, or lemon or whatever you take it with.

Time flies fast , really fast. And all the experiences that it brings are like trophies that we hang on the wall or keep in the non dusted almirahs that get cleaned once in ten years.

This is like a drunken binge of words, there is not a sense of control, just the rawness of it all.

Right now I have no stories to tell.
A sort of void blankness that is trying to compete with the thought flood in the brain, literally confusing me, when my ears are perched up to hear something that my mom seems to be saying. There is no response that I can formulate at this moment.

And then i break this dance and say "What?".
And I am switched off again.

The train of thoughts, starts with the dinner table.

Today the table looks so clean.
I have to clean my table of books and find the elusive sheet of paper on which the monthly calculation of expense is done.
I am old school , I have no excel sheets.
I still prefer public transport or walking rather than catching an auto.

Walking is good for health. Nowadays the only walking I do is walking to the wash room and coming back to desk. I have not seen a sunset in almost 3 months.

In Three months, my best friend is getting married, to the love of his life. Why is that I have no such fairy tale. Fairy tales are for the gods , I am a demon.
Hahahaha.
Jokes apart, I follow no rules of the gods. In fact i do not believe in it. But yet out of sheer ritual i so a salutation every time I visit the place of worship.

The only reason i go there is to find good food and interesting stories.

I do not like going to pubs and drinking either. It is a place that gives me the creeps. Socialise is the word my friends have for it. I do not see any fun in going to a place and paying for bad food, no heart to heart conversations and splitting heavy bills.

And the high you say, the drink gives you, I can as well get the high by drinking Filter coffee.

Filter coffee is my poison, if I am to go to a place with a coffee vending machine that spews out bad coffee then I am a dead man.

Death is omnipresent, a very real prospect for every being. We are causing deaths of hundreds of trees in the name of development. There will be a reckoning someday.

Today is March 19, Sunday. It is just another day in the long list of days that have come. The work I said I would do is still remaining in the to-do list.

I am without doubt a lazy person, I want to binge watch this new TV series, the bills to be paid is still on the desk that needs to be cleaned.

My bank account has been cleaned up.
Ten days to go for the next salary.
Ten days is a long time in the life of a IT employee, that is almost 7 meetings with the boss ,asking a status update.

Facebook,I had banned Facebook usage in my phone for 120 days but looks like the government has raised the ban.

I have banned the newspaper at my place, also the Tv channels that spread panic 24*7.

And in this thought train 5 minutes were up and my mother came at me with vengeance and shouted at me for not answering her initial question.

And thus this thought train had come ti an end.

Falling in Crush

Twelve years ago I had my first love story.

Now do not go back and try to determine my age. A lot of things have changed since then but a few things remain unchanged.

That was the very first year of high school and the classes were reshuffled. There were classmates from my older classes but most of them were new.

I was then a timid shy young fellow. I had a fierce interest in Gandhian principles, I loved to read books and make new friends and ask a lot of questions.

Classes began early and ended late. And then it happened, the onset of puberty. Until then girls and boys sat together and shared their lunch dabbas, good handwritten notes and not to mention we had no problems with each other.

It all changed instantly and I as usual was very late in adopting to it.

Classes were always interesting, Chemistry Biology, trigonometry and what not. Also interesting was this particular person of interest. She was just like anyone else to the common observer. But to me she sent the first thrills of an infatuation.

She was tall, not too tall, fair complexioned, average in studies, had long hands and even longer nails.A nose that flared every time she laughed and she always polished her shoe. A voice that always drove me crazy.

All in all i had "Fallen in Crush with her".

It became more acute this need to look at her during class and talk to her and hear her voice again.
And with a lot of effort the place next to her was secured. It was a small chair that had been placed adjacent to her.
The class had a large attendance and this make shift stream of chairs served as a perfect way to get to know her.

And the first tests came, our scores were all the same but in that doldrums of trying to figure out who got the better score a few names stood out and I was not one of them.

And each day the closeness with her grew, exchanging notes, dabbas that we got for lunch , scale eraser and what not.

Without any help the seeds of romance had grown. But the hurricane was yet to come.

We enjoyed each others company, it was a thrilling phase, we both used to come early and chat about things, I'd help her with the last day's home work.

Little did I know that this breeze of romance would eventually turn out to be a hurricane in my life.

Others in our class had already begun gossiping amongst themselves and started to call us as one. Although l liked this I did not want this to hamper this lovely friendship.

It was over a Truth or dare session that things went horribly wrong.
And among three women caught in a fire, if I had to kill someone, save one and marry the other, three options and I chose her name to marry.

And this brought a shift in the way she conducted herself in the next few weeks.

And my scores hit rock bottom.
The exams in the half yearly were a disaster.

And this distance she maintained rubbed salt to injury. There was a new player in town who had set his eyes upon her.

Our friendship was never really the same thereafter. The corner seat was gone taken away by swift politics.

I was playing the catching up game now, she never waved at me when i waved a hi. She dare not smile at my jokes.

I was obsessed now to win her back. Damn those bloody movies that came during that time. The hero always got his lady in the end. I tried every trick in the trade to win her trust back.

And then exams came.

I had "Fallen in Exams "

The next year of schooling had brought its own brand of experiences to cherish and learn by.

There was a huge fight amongst us two.

The seating arrangement was gone. A new class, heavier bag and a heavy heart.

This Falling in love thing was not something i could discuss in the dinner table.

The distance kept on growing, i wanted to tell her sorry. I did not know why but i wanted to tell her the same.

I did say that to her.
And she relented a little, but then she already had another band of followers wooing her.

And my cracked bridge of friendship had one nail in the coffin left to be punched.

There was a trip that the school organised , and she had an ipod, and the songs were of the latest hindi film hit. I sung along to the same tone having secured a place just behind her.

I think thinking back twelve years ago. I acted like a fool then. I did not ever consider her side of the story. And I did not even know then the difference between being interested and being obsessed.

I did everything in the book that could tick me off in her mind.

Now back to the story.
When things had become increasingly tense between us , I made another blunder.

There was a huge fight. The pride of lions on her side and only one friend on my side.

Things were never the same again.

I had "Failed in Crush".

It was here I learnt my first lessons of the real world.

Even now, twelve years down the lane I regret to being the person I was then.

Now, If I had met her in this stage of my life, we could have had a very long lasting friendship.

Valentine

She was dark skinned and with a voice that could scare the living daylights out of you.

She was like the crow, feared but never understood and always looked down upon.

She never made much friends even though here  mom made the most delicious of curries.
She had long curly hair and every one called her as Kawkaw.

She was always seated in a discrete corner of the bench, writing the notes which the class teacher dictated.

I only got to know her one day when i came to class early to write answers on my desk to secure the passing marks for this exam.

She too had come and i set about my task with a devilish intensity. And very much later did i know that she was crying, her sobs had gotten louder.

Someone had played a prank on her. They had called her names and filled crow feathers in her bag yesterday.

I really did not know what to do, so I asked her to stop crying and gave her my handkerchief.

That was the first time I saw her smile, and she looked damn beautiful. I think she saw me look at her and blushed too.It was the first spark that ignited a intense passion.

I flunked the exam, she too did the same.We had to reappear the next year. And this ritual had started, she would get her dabbis full of my favorite curries and we would start discussing subjects, she always had a look of satisfaction on her face when I finished her dabbis.
We talked about god, about life , love and movies. Long days seemed to vanish around our discussions and arguments.

I was fond of her in a fondish way,But she was fond of me in a different sort of a way.
I got a letter dipped in red ink that read:

I think i am in love with you.
No one in my life has ever seen me as a person. They have almost always looked at me with an intense disgust. My black skin has always been the joke, my voice has always been ridiculous and I always felt unbeautiful.

Until you came to me and in a gesture that was unknown to me, friendship.

I think I am in love with you.
I laugh when you are around, I blush when look into my eyes and question my glance.
I don't feel like staying in class when you are not around.
With you around I just dont remember that the rest of them still see me as a joke.
I look at myself very differently now, thanks to you...

And as I read the letter, I realised it had not been written in red ink, it was something else.

It sent shivers down my spine, the ones that get you all spooky.
There was a part of me that was happy, a part of me that was terrified and a part of me that was still in shock.

I had to read it again and again, and every time I read it, I felt a strange sense of emotion, tears welled up in my eyes as I read her thoughts.

I called her and broke the news to her.

I could hear her crying even long after the call had been cut and the night had fallen.

And for the first time in her life there was a fairy tale.

Then and now.

Switch back a decade, I was still in school.
I used to visit my grandmother s house.
Maybe a few weeks prior itself the festivities would have begun. Me and my granny would visit the local market and buy the first dosage of jaggery, kobbri and sugarcane.

Sugarcane, that was the best. Afternoons were not in any way boring. I was always waiting for afternoon.
The faint smell of melting sugar tickled me out of sleep, only to find my granny in the kitchen making the Sakkare achu. Just when the instant was right I would swoop in or be called for to hold the wooden framework to make this sugary delight.
And the one that broke while carefully pulling away the mould was reserved for me.

This was a habit that gave me great joy, and at times I simply devoured a tasty treat without my granny noticing.

Also at my command was the lines and lines of sugarcane stacked against the wall, tall juicy and vibrant , inviting me to bite into their sugary richness.
And so we did like elephants drawn to sugarcane, tearing away the tough skin with our bare teeth and then competing with each other as to who made the tallest mound of sugarcane fibres.

It was a childhood delight i miss most these days.

Then i would be given chores like cutting the jaggery into small refined pieces and then mixing them with previously fried groundnut.

Then a lot of people from the locality would come over and simply talk on random things. These people brought along with them an assortment of young kids to play with.

And thus the festival was a ritual, a celebration of sorts that had a charm to it that nothing could beat.

Nowadays there is hardly a flicker of excitement for festivals, preferring already ready made ingredients instead of the home made, stereotyped wishes over a small little conversation...

I think with technology we have grown and Sankranthi is happy !

Images rather than wishes. I hardly can say, the motive behind the wishes have in any way diminished but the personal feel has definitely taken a hit.
Forward messages sent in hordes of 100s and images have taken courtesy wishes to a whole new level of artistry.

Well then that's that.
World is changing, so should our rituals.

But then old school has a charm of its own...

Happy Sankranthi.
(Irrespective , Sankranthi will be happy)
But it should bring a smile on your face and others around you plus fun and excitement in the day , then it has truly been a happy day of this festival for you...

Until the next festival over and out.

Best Regards,
Pungi

First book blues

This first book has tested my patience a little.

I had one definite thought in mind, This was going to be difficult. Infact it has always been difficult. And that's why it took me five long years to compile , sort and find answers to all the questions of how , why and what to do ?

Frankly  i don't have all the answers.
Its still a discovery in progress.

And every time there is a review comment, a comma missing , a lack of rhythm, no title and maybe no proper indentation, i feel like i am that dude who realised he is in love with the girl after she got married.

Well that's life.
Everything needs to be perfect. Atleast that's what everyone tells.

It hits hard when reviews are not about the content but about the presentation.

This is one thing i had considered.
But it hit really hard.
As hard as the fair and lovely advertisement and the fogg body spray when compared to the reality of it all.

There was another question that seemed  to catch me off guard.

Why should i read your book ?
No why ?

What makes me different  from all the books out there.

For me, its my brainchild.
No one is bothered about my brainchild. They have their own.

Phew. So much to digest in so little time.

And the journey has just begun.