High Funda

Woh kaam kyun karein, jisse moh nahi
Waqt ki zayari hai, jismein humein jazba nahi

Moh toh in panktiyon se hai, jinka koi kusoor nahi
Kasoor toh hai is paapi dil ka, lekin ispar bhi koi zor nahi

A tempo, a kutiya and something more...

"Since when have you been at this kind of work?" I asked Raju, as he offloaded the last of the wooden planks from his tempo. He was extremely slow and moved with a laziness that I had not seen in any other tempo-wala. As if he was sick, or worse! As if he was doing me a favor by offloading the wood!

"I have not been doing this since forever, sir. I just started this." Raju wiped the sweat of his forehead with a thin towel that he had wrapped around his head. He sat down under the shade of the tree in my compound.

"Ohh... that's why you are still rusty. Well, don't worry about it. You'll learn it quickly, it is not a hard job." I said, slightly callously. The callousness that middle class offers generously to the blue collared workers forming the unorganized workforce.

He did not seem to take offense from my remark and continued wiping the sweat from his chest and back. He was wearing only an undershirt and loose pajama. "Can I get some water? It's too hot!"

Raju was middle-aged, I observed. He had some grey hair sprouting from his copious head. They had the characteristic of having recently lost the color they were used too, and lay awkwardly on his disheveled head. His beard of more than a month, made it hard to see his facial features but he was slightly chubby. I was sure I wouldn't have been able to locate a cheekbone there. He had a paunch and his arms were swollen too. I was worried if he would be able to do the job, and I had asked him the question above.

I asked the maid to get him a glass of water. He gulped it down quickly and continued to wipe of the sweat. When a smile broke from his face.

"No matter how hard you wipe, it keeps pouring. I haven't sweated like this in ages it seems!" He continued smiling. It disturbed me. Sweating is nothing to be proud of! It's... disgusting!

"That's true. It's always this hot in Delhi though. But it seems like it is getting hotter every year. When did you move to Delhi?" I asked him, assuming he must have come recently from colder climes.

"I was born here, sir. I have been here all my life."

"Why did you say you haven't sweated like this before then? If you were here last year, you surely would have experienced this heat."

"I did, but from the air conditioned rooms, it didn't seem so bad. I could always bear it. It was not a challenge."

"But you must have stepped out of the office into the heat once in a while?" I  asked him, assuming he must have worked at some air conditioned office before. "How about when you got home?"

He just stood there and smiled. He stood to his full height and was at least 4 inches taller than me. He shook his head and said, "Let it be sir, why are you getting so serious about this trivial matter?"

It hit me that he might have been rich, or rich enough to afford an air-conditioner which I had gotten myself only last summer and that was not always as poor as he was now. I was hooked to his story now. I asked him to sit in my verandah a little longer and I asked the maid to get cold juice for the both of us.

"Tell me your story, please."

Raju laughed. "If I had a penny for every time someone asked me that! You think because I was rich once, some tragedy must have befallen me! It makes for good masala, right? Learning about how a king became a pauper or vice-versa has always interested us!"

I felt small and was thinking of asking him to leave when the maid came out with  two glasses of juice. He picked up his glass and took a sip, "Alright. I'll tell you..."

He took another long sip and set his glass down on the table. "I was born to a tempo driver in old Delhi. We were poor and he died of tuberculosis when I was 7. I started driving the tempo then, to feed my mother and myself. I had nothing then apart from a tempo, a kutiya in old Delhi and the love of my mother. I was happy and content. But everyone who heard about me thought I was extremely unfortunate. The way you think of me now.

"I started thinking that I was missing out on something in life. I wanted to get out. I wanted more.
I worked hard with the tempo and managed to make some money to be able to attend school through correspondence as well. I was a good student and went to college. I had to take a loan. I studied hard there, got a good job and worked with the company for several years.

"I drove in Merc S-Class, which has air-conditioner by the way, which I continued to call my tempo. I had a villa in the heart of Delhi - Lodhi Colony - which I called my kutiya. I was happily married and loved and was loved by my wife. I should have been happy, I had everything that should have mattered, no?

"I was happy for a very long time. Or I was in a state that I perceived to be happy. People, much smarter than myself, had told me through books, movies, media etc. etc. that when one has all those things that I had, one could be happy. I assumed that what I was going through was happiness. It had to be right, the whole world cannot be wrong. Can it?

"It was only a couple of months ago that I realized that happiness and joy is not an emotion that you are supposed to feel. In the Himalayas, where I spent the last year, I discovered that happiness is an emotion you experience. You can call that emotion anything, but what I call joy does not come from being rich and being able to afford the luxuries. It comes from knowing what you need, and what is greed. You can be satisfied and content with what you need. I had enough saved for my needs and I realized that I can do whatever I want. I won't starve, I will always have a roof over my head. I decided to small things, something new everyday. Something that makes me appreciate life and appreciate others.

"Today is the first day of the new life I chose for myself. Revisiting my old life, I thought, could serve as an anchor."

Raju gulped down the rest of juice and left, without another word. His words echoed in my head and tried to reach to my heart. I was hesitant. I resisted them from getting there, fearing how they could affect my life. But slowly, I lost the tussle as the wall of resistance broke down and acceptance stood at the gates, welcoming the idea to my heart.

Choose Your Poison

Someone mentioned today, for the nth time, that sugar is poison. I had to respond. 

1. Life is poison - It's an engine that ignites every morning, no problems most of the time. Gradually it loses shine and sheen and one day, it just refuses to work. Some people prolong the life of the human vehicle by replacing batteries or getting a new ignition spark etc etc, but the quality of life is never the same again. And then, one day, no matter how hard you fight it, it just refuses to turn back on. No one argues this hypothesis so there is no open research on it. But it would do you well to keep this in mind. No matter how long you get to live - Life Is Short. QED.

2. Time is poison - Well, it is killing you slowly with every passing second, isn't it? QED.

3. The air we breathe is poison - I don't hear arguments here either. QED.

4. The food is poison - Pesticides, artificial drug pumped vegetables and animals. Damn, who can argue that. Plenty of research here. .

5. Lack of love is poison - Lack of love, makes the quality of life so bad that I would refuse to call it a life. It's at best a poor simulation of life. So lack of love is poison.

6. Love is poison - Talk to the incurable romantics, who have killed themselves in the name of love. There are others among us, who die every minute in the name of love. Either missing someone makes us miss a heart beat, or watching them come home after a long time makes us miss it. Sometimes it is both. Only those you love have the keys to your happiness. They make you laugh to the point of hysteria - which damages heart and other bodily functions and they make you cry into depression cutting life short by days and months as time goes by. Poison.

The list goes on. Everything kills you. What doesn't kill you is a little bit of happiness, from the small things. And even if they do kill you, they are worth indulging in, worth savoring. At the end of all things, nothing really matters, but your memories, made of small cups of tea (with sugar) that make you happy...

A Quote

"There is nothing wrong in theorizing and hypothesizing; a writer is not an escapist, he creates a world he would love to be in. A world he would rather be in."

- Kartik Sharma

Javier - Who loved to live, to live on love

This is the story of our friend Javier, who was not like us. He had a zeal for life, unlike the rest of us. We were all tired, fatigued and always viewed life with an iota, or more, of distrust. We never could understand what life brings and what is in store for us but our lives, the part which had happened by the time we reached where we were, had taught us to be used to the rude shocks that inevitably come along to bring us down from a state of happiness or neutrality. We slept with one eye open, to catch life sneaking around in the shadows at night watching us. Waiting to strike, to deal its hand. But Javier, was a whole another being.

He loved to live, as we have already established. He was happiest when he was awake, and regretted when he was too tired to stay up. He wanted to embrace life and as many moments as he could. He said that what he'll be left with are memories, at the end of it all and he did not want to spend any time sleeping, which was the time he added nothing to his bag of memories. He traveled the world, refusing to work like the rest of us. Refusing to be brought down by life.

We all believed he could afford to do so because he was never hungry. Not, at least, in the way rest of us were. He never ate a solid meal, he didn't have to. For the longest time we wondered, how did he manage to stay alive and then one day over lunch, well when we were all having lunch and he was just sitting with us, we decided to ask him, and this is what he told us.

I live on love. I know you would find it hard to believe, but when I see love around it nourishes me, the way carbohydrates, proteins, fats, vitamins, minerals work for you. It's my food, Javier told us as normally as he one would talk about a game of cricket last night. Nonchalant, yes that's the word that describes it. Matter-of-factly.

But how is it possible? we asked him, hoping to wrench the truth out of him or to catch if he was pulling a fast one, as the tweeting kids today say, on us. Well that's just how it is, I got no say in all this because my parents or whoever created me did not ask my opinion on how things should be, Javier told us. Well you have a point there, we told him not able to refute the plain and sound logic in his argument. But do you ever feel hunger? Yes, I do, all the time, Love is not that easy to find, you see. That is why I must keep traveling, in search of love, Javier was solemn, Does this love have to be directed towards you? Or does it work if you just see people sharing love, we had so many questions but we tried to do it as lovingly as possible so that, we could finally feel, as if he was also having lunch with us.

It works better, or should I say tastes better maybe?, when the love is directed towards me, but it works well when I see it between other people, between animals, in nature, It feeds me and I feel healthy and bright I fill out and my mater says it makes me look handsome, at least as handsome as one can look within the constraints defined by the creator, you see. We saw, we were beginning to understand. But there was no way the questions were going to end with beginning of understanding, this is usually the moment when the biggest and most pertinent questions start coming, So what happens when you don't find love, when someone hurts you or you see hatred around?

Well, the changes are slow and subtle in the beginning, like a gradual delta decline that is hard to notice in the beginning, but when it becomes too much the changes are noticeable, I start shriveling up, or at least that's how pater put it when he finally understood what was happening. The shine in my eyes starts to recede, the glow in my skin goes away, and that is what gives me that 'shriveled up' look that we discussed a moment ago. It weighs on my shoulders, as if I were carrying a physical burden, as if I was having a hard time lifting myself up, I slouch, much to maters dismay, And what I hate the worst is that I am unable to smile, it hurts me to try and laugh or smile, I feel like someone normal would feel if they were starving, yes, that's right, I think I starve for love.

None of us spoke a whole lot after that, we were all silent, thinking about what our special friend had just told us, wondering if were very different from him. Love, through its presence or absence, has always been felt by us in the same way, hasn't it? It's love that buoys us, and the lack of it that makes us triste, that takes away the shine from our eyes and smiles from our faces. With love, for love we can do anything, Javier's life seemed to be telling us. But without it, we shrivel up, as Javier's papa told him.

Javier died on December 16, 2012. Doctors said he died of starvation. When all the love was sucked up from the world and clouds covered the sky, so that we don't see that even the sun refuses to rise and shine. We were all engulfed with darkness that will stay with us forever, until we change and learn to love. We all love to live, well most of us do and Javier did love that more than anything else, but from Javier we need to learn that we live on love, that we depend on it, more than anything else.

On Fiction

“Truth is often vastly more stranger than fiction” – EV Lucas, Face on the Wall

I read the story as a kid and this sentence has stuck in my head ever since. Again today I found myself wondering on similar lines. I am a fiction writer. I like telling stories. I like making up things – people and situation. Today, I was wondering does a fiction writer lie for fun?

I have never lied in my life. I don’t like to. A subjective view, of course. I believe it serves no higher purpose. I don’t conceal anything about me either. So, as you would imagine, I am an open book sort of a person. People just need to ask me anything, and I have always told them the truth. Lying does not agree with me. The lengths I would have to go to protect that lie make it absolutely unviable, for me, to lie.

Being secretive is not my thing either. It just makes people suspicious, I believe and they become more nosy than I like. So I just go ahead and tell people what they want to know. I have nothing to hide. Or so I thought up until today.

I realized I am probably more of a liar than anyone of my friends and acquaintances. I lie for fun. I lie when I write. I make up characters, place and people. I write with the authority of a seasoned journalist about life after death, about things that will happen in the future and about spirituality, religion and philosophy. 

I have often said and still maintain that even while narrating incidents to friends and family, I embellish, exaggerate. I try and keep the central idea the same. That is why I never tire from repeating. Every time I narrate I take the liberty to tweak some little detail. Add more light to some other. It keeps me and the listeners engaged. It give me joy to entertain with trinkets of my imagination.

 

I got to wondering how and when did I start making things up. It seemed like we all have a need for a little bit of excitement, a little bit of drama in our lives. Some people get addicted to that and become compulsive liars. There are others like yours truly who become compulsive writers. We all need a dose of drama in our lives. It’s a perfect foil for the drudgery, mundane and monotonous nature of our lives. There are people who steal, cheat just for that bit of adrenalin. It keeps us going.

I'll close with a quote from self - "All good stories need embellishment."

Soul Fried Fish

It's a Sunday afternoon. I am lying in the center of a large dining hall in a five star restaurant. I suddenly realize that I am warm, in spite of the air conditioning. Too warm. My insides are burning. Seems like my soul just got fried.

Let me try and be polite, like you five star people. I am John. I know it's a common name. Could be yours, or yours, or yours perhaps? No? Well that's odd, I never thought there won't be a John in such a big gathering. But I guess, people are not named John out here in your country. I see you agree.

I get that you are interested in my story, since I am not from around here. You think I have a unique story to tell, from where I am? That my life would have been really different from yours seems interesting to you, doesn't it? I really don't think it is that different. We all take the same route in our lives, broadly speaking. It's how we observe it, how we analyze it and how we internalize that defines us. That is what makes us different from each other, doesn't it?

No, I hear you say. You still want to hear it? Well, I'll tell you then. But let me warn you, you have heard it a thousand times before. You'll all get up from your chairs at the end of it thinking "Oh, same old, John!" and I will remind again you at the end that I told ya.

I was born, like everyone has to be - to become everyone. Alright, alright I'll swear, if that is what you all want. No more attempts at that sorta' humor. As I was saying, I was really close to my parents back in the days and I remember how much they loved me. Among my earliest memories is with my parents at our home when my dad and mom would come home after a day of just loafing around with his friends. Yes, that's true they didn't work, like you guys now. There was no concept of working for 'em. They just wandered around, enjoying the fruits of mother nature. Hippies, I hear you say. It wasn't quite like that, I hope you'll realize that as I tell you more. Try not to judge.

Which brings me to an interesting theory I have had for some time now. You people are very uncomfortable with not being able to understand or comprehend something. In your mind, as any information gets processed, your head starts throwing labels. You start attaching these labels as you collect more information. Think about your friends, your brother or sister, what comes to your mind. Adjectives, that define them? To you, everyone you've met is a collection of labels. For things that you understand, you try and break it down into components on which you can attach the labels. That is the only way you wrap your head around anything new. I am not saying, it is good or bad. I am just wondering if it is the only way? It does seem rather limiting, doesn't it?

Coming back to my story. Growing up, I learned the same way of life. What to eat, how to survive. But I was always hungry. Always wanted more. My parents couldn't understand my hunger. They tried to understand me. When they couldn't they tried to counsel me. They were scared for me. Afraid that this unique trait in my personality, would land me in trouble. However, My need to do more than just hang around, eating the same food every day. Doing the same things over and over again. At one point I was convinced that there is more to life than just that. My parents' inability to understand me made me Angry.

One day, while wondering about these thing, I wandered quite far away from home. That had become very usual for me. But this day was different. I saw around me and I saw the vegetation change. I found a new fruit - that's what my parents called what we ate. I ate a stomach full. Imagine the sweetest, juiciest fruit you have ever had ever had. It was better than that. It was the first thing that I had tasted, that was different from the other things we ate. I carried as many as I could back home. My parents had never seen that fruit either, neither had my friends. They called it a Miracle. 

I knew there was more. I knew it was not just a miracle. I had believed in it. I had believed that there was more, and it had materialized in our lives, enriching all of us. I became a dreamer that day. Always looking out for more. Where my friends and family were convinced that it was a rare miracle, to me it was just another brick in the wall. Just another Brick.

I started going further and further away from home each day in search of new fruits. I was exploring a lot, but I returned home empty handed each day. I was overwhelmed with a passion to discover more riches, and it became an obsession with me. As I returned home all worn out each day, I could see my neighbors looking at me and shacking their heads. They called me an Idiot.

And one day, just like that, my perseverance paid off. I found yet another new fruit. I was overjoyed, but this  time I kept it to myself. I did not share my discovery with anyone, because I believed they were not worthy of it. They had not shown the one thing that mattered the most to me then. The one thing I needed because I felt like I was doing something different. Trust.

I stumbled upon a lot of different varieties of fruits in the days that followed, not one of which I shared with them. I did not feel the need to prove to anyone that I was, in fact, much more Intelligent.

I just needed to go on and on and On.

"I am better than those Neanderthals."

AMBITION. That is what got me here. Let me tell you the final part of the story so that you can see how it all fits together.

After having made several discoveries, as one would expect I was tired. And satisfied, mistake me not, with the progress I had managed. I was, I truly was. There was nothing more I really wanted. So one day I put up a grand exhibition of all my discoveries and invited everyone. They were all awed into shock. They tasted all the fruits, and loved all of them. It added color to their bland lives, some of them told me. They thanked me for having struggled so hard for the greater good. They said, I have taken the race forward.

I was filled with joy, as is predictable. But there was a nagging feeling in my head. If all the fruits were so great, I needed to find the most delicious of them all. Wasn't that I started out in the first place? This is where my need became a greed. I left home that day, determined to find the best fruit there ever was. 

After travelling for several days, I finally saw a single fruit hanging. There was nothing around it, no other fruits or vegetation. My eyes widened. I was convinced that this was the one. I hurried and reached the fruit. Circled around it and ascertained it was nothing like what I had seen before. It was only after I had been admiring it for quite some time, I saw there was something attached to it. A string.

I had to make a choice then. But my choice was made, even before I knew whether I would have to make it.   To hell with caution, said I as I went for the fruit. The string suddenly became taut and that was that. It pierced my cheek and I was pulled out of the water.

And that is how I am here today. And it is only today that I realized that I am no different from any of you. I am just another Soul Fried Fish.

Umm... Told ya?

Ambition is a dangerous recipe and it is overrated. It is important, but it is not what defines me. It is not what I make of myself, materialistically, that matters when I think about the end. It is a sum of the moments of joy that I have spent in this lifetime. The memories of all the places I have been and the people I have loved, each day more than I thought was possible. The strong emotions I have felt and recorded in my mind forever. These are the things I will miss leaving behind. To me, it is these little things that matter. And for that, ambition needs to be moderated with satisfaction. Today, I know, I am satisfied. And this post shall be a reminder of that.