“Learning to slow down” – A short story

I’m Santosh. My colleagues call me Sandy. I like being called Sandy; it has a nice foreign ring to it. It makes me feel accepted among the Firangs.

I came to New York 4 summers ago. I’m a consultant with a large bank. I like my job. I wear a blue tie on Mondays. I have a very important 10 am meeting with clients today. I take the subway to work every day. Today is no different. Today is like every day.

As I sat down, I observed a man of African origin stare at me. He was sitting two seats to the left of the one opposite to mine. He had a salt and pepper stubble and looked shabby. He wore a black leather jacket over a white t-shirt. The t-shirt had some stains on it. I don’t like stains. Stains make me nervous. Poor homeless Bastard! I usually avoid eye contact in the train. But, today is unusual.

Today isn’t like every day.

I pretend to ignore his gaze and continue reading the paper. I pretend the news in the paper is important. I’ve been pretending a lot lately. Pretending has become such an intricate part of my life that I’ve to pretend that I’m not pretending.

“Father, Daughter found dead in Hotel room”- The headline caught my attention.

I have a very short attention span. Few things hold my attention these days. I closed the paper and checked my blackberry for new mails. None! I checked my twitter account. What!? No tweets? How boring! I changed my status to “On my way to work! What a nice day!” Gosh! I’m such a faker.I returned my blackberry to its leather pouch. “Everything in its place and a place for everything” my mom used to say. But something was out of place today.

Today isn’t like every day.

Something's bothering me. What is it? Oh yes! The bearded homeless bum. I quickly glanced to my left. Oh hell!! I cursed in my mind! Cursing is bad. “Gentlemen don’t curse” my mom used to say. But what was I to do? IT was staring at my shoes. I knew it was judging me. “You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes, his hair and his handshake” I heard my mom say. I retracted my legs hastily. I hadn’t polished my shoes today. I polish them while listening to the morning news. But yesterday, I was out partying with friends till late, so i woke up late. But how dare it judge me? Surely, this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Ha! A pun! I must remember to tweet this. I’m so funny and smart. I feel better now.

“Police say a man and a girl found dead in the Montenegro South state hotel on the weekend were father and daughter.

The bodies of Alex Pay, 46, and Dandy Pay, 6, were found by a cleaning woman on Sunday afternoon.

Police said Mr. Pay checked into room 106 at the hotel on Friday. Investigators are calling the deaths "suspicious" and are waiting for autopsy results to determine the cause of death.”

Uff! How boring! News isn’t what it used to be. I flipped over to the sports section.

“FedeEx meets Rafa AGAIN!”

I want Fed to win. He is such a gentleman. Rafa looks like one of those burly laborers back home. I hate how macho he looks with his rippling biceps and triceps. I used to hit the gym. I wanted to look big, strong and macho too. But, I was never really regular. I had to study hard. Who wants muscles anyway? “It’s his thoughts that maketh the man” I remember reading in some blog.
I took out my Gold plated Parker to solve the daily Sudoku. Sudoku makes me happy. It fills me with purpose. I love decoding the patterns and visualizing the numbers filling in. Just Like Russel Crowe in A Beautiful Mind. I feel so smart. But, I couldn’t concentrate like every day.

Today isn’t like every day.

The bum was getting up. Ha! I see a torn sole. Another pun! I must definitely tweet this.
A pair of black shades fell from his pocket. He was groping for them on the floor.

Oh My God! I'm blind!

A co-passenger handed him the shades. He thanked the kind soul, wore his shades and stretched his folded cane. As he stepped onto the station, tapping his way forward, he didn’t notice a smartly dressed Indian stare at him.

He didn’t know we shared the same destination. He didn’t notice the I didn't get off the train. He didn’t know that I'll be late for my meeting. He didn’t know that my shoes weren't polished.

At the station, Wallace stopped walking.

"I'm getting older" he thought, "but the lord is kind to me. Thank GOD for thy mercy, for you handed me my glasses. Thank you lord, for all the times thou helped me. Today,” he told himself, “is a beautiful day!”

The Bus Ride

Recently, I was involved in an Olympic sport. Its not official yet, but it should be. Alert Chennai readers may have guessed - Yes! I successfully boarded a PTC bus. More importantly, thanks to the planetary alignment and all, I didn’t encounter any pickpockets or sexual predators. It was a major miracle that I got out with my wallet and dignity intact.

What a humbling experience it was folks. Like Akon says, this *beep* is one of those *beeps* that you gotta *beep* experience to know what the *beep* I’m talking about.

I can’t believe that there are people who enjoy and look forward to this stuff-EVERYDAY! Chennai auto-wallahs may strip you off your money, but the buses are where the real stripping happens - Literally.

I decided to ride a bus back home, on a beautiful Monday morning, when veteran commuters - with the charms of a wild rhinoceros - were steadily flowing into the bus stop, ready for a fight. Ok, that isn’t really true – some of them were looking to commit murder!

Usually, I’m very adventurous and prefer the death defying, life insurance justifying, making mother and sister one style rides (hint: ask a northie!) in the Chennai auto-rickshaws. Especially the negotiations regarding the fare – you should try it - it’s the icing on the cake, the mysore in the mysore-paa(k?), the rass in the rass-malai, the masala in the masala dosa..err..you get the idea, right?

Sample this:

Me: “anna, besant nagar pollama? Yevallo”

Rickshaw driver (sizing my branded clothes and wheatish complexion up): “250 saaar”

ME: (wanting to scream the name for the male reproductive organ in 3 Indian languages, but manage to say): “yenna? 250yaa!! Ithu autova illae Kingfisher airwaysaaah?”

The meter rate is close to 80Rs, but meters in Chennai autos are merely an ornament. A la appendix, Or something to that effect, but I digress. So, as I mentioned earlier, I was feeling less adventurous. So, I thought of taking the safer option – the bus.

Lesson #1: Don’t bring a gun to battle a tank.

I approached the nearest bus stop, armed like the Mumbai police constables with their museum worthy rifles, ready to take on terrorists. Didn’t get it? Let me explain. Long ago, when the body was much suppler and the mind sharper, I enjoyed the bus rides. But now, employed as a consultant, I hardly get to exercise any faculties. The result - Brain and brawn have rusted beyond repair.

Soon, my bus arrived, and I was able to witness some vigorous, no holds barred, muay thai style fights between some regulars. It was pathetic. All this for a measly seat! Pah! Hailing from a highly educated family with strong socio-cultural values, I promptly joined them. What followed was a brief but valiant battle:

*grab collar* *poke the eye* *bite* *jab to the kidneys* *kick* *bite* *kick* *crash* *thud*. Ouch!

I was on the ground and on my butt.

What seemed like eternity was in fact 5 seconds on the watch. Both ego and butt needed an oil massage. In between sobs and sulks, I silently prepared for the next battle.

Lesson #2: That, which doesn’t kill you, makes you weirder.

My advice to rookie commuters is: if you are from a non martial arts background, but need to board a bus in Chennai – buy a gun.it might help.

I never thought watching Tony-Jaa movies could help me one day. As the next bus came, there was much screaming, gnashing of teeth, clashing of elbows, and twisting of bodies before I finally got my head in. Thanks to the mighty shove by one pot bellied uncle, I was finally catapulted in.

Lesson #3: When the going gets tough and their branded trousers get torn, the tough get pissed off!

Shrugging off the vicious assaults on my t-shirt, trouser, body, mind and soul, I quickly scanned the bus for empty seats, or ones that might soon get empty. I located one such prospective seat and fenced it in. Fencing the seats is the canine equivalent of spraying the lampposts. You let them know, this one’s taken.

The seat for 2 was occupied by 3 - an energetic junior of 5 or 6, his miserable father who looked like he regretted not wearing a contraceptive, and a peaceful old man who was reading a thick Tamil book. The junior was sitting on his father’s lap and asking random questions on random topics. Strangely, this reminded me of my MBA classes, where class participations were graded. I was witness to some feisty classroom discussions on hazzar random topics. Like my professors, the kid’s father was contemplating suicide.

Kiddo (pointing his index finger at a huge cutout outside): “Appa, who is that?”

Father: “That’s our chief minister da”

K: “Why have they made a cutout of him?”

SF: “He might be taking this route to attend some function da”

K: “But why?”

F (loud): “keep quiet! You talk too much”

K: (louder) “Tell me, why does he have a cutout??”

F: (loudest) “Because he is important! If you don’t keep quiet now, somebody is going to fly out of this bus!”

Meanwhile, the serene old man, unable to read, took interest in the adjacent screaming competition.

K: (meekly) “Appa, am I important?”

F: (with a remorseful look on his face) “You are the most important person in my life da kanna”

K: (louder than loudest) “Then I want a cutout!”

The elderly gentleman looked at the flustered father and smiled. Radiating kindness, he looked at the kid and said “paapa, cutouts don’t make people important, your thoughts do. Think worthy thoughts and you will be important! Do you understand? Here, eat this toffee“

The kid was quiet. The father was relieved. I was stunned.

As I sun-bathed in the rays of the old man’s wisdom, the bus reached Adyar and I got out. Many moons have passed since that bus ride, but sometimes, when I’m alone and in a reflective mood, I wonder “what exactly do sexual predators do on a crowded city bus? “

Amit Varma's Debut Novel Launch @ Landmardk, Chennai

I met Amit Varma, India’s most famous blogger on 18th May at the nungambakkam landmark. It was the chennai launch of Amit’s debut novel - My Friend Sancho. For the utterly butterly uninitiated, Amit is the author of India Uncut, nominated to India’s 50 most powerful people - 2009 by Businessweek. YUP! In the virtual world called blogosphere, he’s awesomeness personified.

News of LTTE chief Prabhakaran’s death made my employer close an hour earlier. So, my brother and I could comfortably attend the event, at 6:30pm. My brother, who recently graduated from “educational” magazines to serious books, was genuinely interested to interact with the free snacks.

As we entered the basement bookstore, a section near the entrance had been cleared to hold about 25 blue plastic chairs, a maroon carpeted dais, couple of flyers of MFS’s cover with the famous lizard (see pic above) mouthing the book’s title and 2 giant speakers capable of imparting hearing to the deaf.

We spotted Amit, dressed smartly in a blue denim shirt and matching jeans interacting with one of the smart ladies from Hachette-India. As all the seats excepting the front rows were occupied by 6.35pm, Amit, accompanied by the casually (or was it carefully?) dressed Sharanya Manivannan stepped onto the dais.A brief introduction about the publiser, the author and the interviewer was delivered by a coordinator from Hachette, during which Amit’s recent nomination to Businessweek’s power list was mentioned and on cue, Amit sucked in his paunch in a comic display of strength. It was funny. But, Sigh! The things one has to do to sell books these days!

As the introduction concluded, Amit unwrapped a copy of his book and remarked jocularly, quote “I hope it’s the right book. If not, I’ll read from whatever is packed”. The audience clapped softly as he unveiled the right book and posed for photographs with the book in his hands and a suitably somber expression on his face.

All this while, the lizard on the poster eyed Sharanya lewdly.

Amit then introduced Abir Ganguly, the protagonist of the novel and read excerpts from the first chapter of the book. As yours truly had already read the book, I was all smiles as Amit casually read out loud “I masturbate 11 times a day”. Some of the women folk in the audience suppressed a well deserved appreciative chuckle. Sorry Amit! Chennai’s like this only!

As soon as he finished, Sharanya, till then a mute accomplice to the media drama, erupted into a warm smile, and started making advances towards him. No, I’m kidding! She just asked Amit few well rehearsed questions. Reader alert: I wasn’t carrying any mp3 recorder and I was in no mood to take notes, so what follows is the crux. The threadbare details recollected from memory. Read at your own peril.

***

Sharanya: Tell us Amit, how many times do YOU masturbate?
Amit: I told you, 11.

S: I thought that was Abir.
A: He is a journo, I was a journo, put 2 and 2 together..

S: You get 11?
A: Yesssss….

S: (rolling eyes) Wow!

At this instant, an aunty in the audience threw a BATA slipper at Amit and all the lizards on the cover of his books jumped to life and ran for cover.

***

ok, OK. That was disgusting. Nothing of that sort happened.Although, early on, Amit did break the ice by requesting the audience to throw a shoe at him, thereby making the event a grand success and catapulting him to instant celebrity.

Given below is the real crux of Amit’s response - in no particular order.

Amit is a creature of the night. He usually writes through the night, eating breakfast at 7:30am like most adult bats and dozes off till 4pm. Upon waking, he gulps down 3 cups of black coffee in bid to find himself and connect to the world of mortals. After catching up with his wife in the evening, He dozes off again at 9pm, wakes up at 11pm and transforms into a novel writing Dracula with black coffee replacing blood in his veins. When asked, “why the odd hours”, he cited a quiet and serene atmosphere (while all those credit card tele-sales persons are resting I suppose) as the primary reason.

He finished MFS between March and June of 2008, when he was finally, quote “done procrastinating”. Upon incessant prodding by Sharanya on tips to budding authors, he simply dissuaded the greenhorns from chasing the glamour of writing.He warned that sashaying down the glamor ramp would lead to certain discontentment and disillusionment. As an example, he compared the top 100 bankers in India to the top 100 writers, and explained that while the 100th banker would still be stinking rich, the 100th writer pales in comparison and would be making, quote "NOTHING!". I hope that is not the case, and sincerely wish that they are at least making love.

Amit assured the audience that if one is fuelled by the passion to write and not merely chasing a lucrative career, then one should flex their, quote "writing muscle" by dedicating time to write at least 2000 words everyday. Citing his own experience, Amit, rather humbly attributed his refinement in writing to his journey as blogger since 2004.

On the challenges of getting published, Amit again humbly claimed to be at the right place at the right time and considered being long-listed for the Man Asian Literary Prize 2008 as the decisive factor. Thanks to the long-list, Amit found himself in the unenviable position of actually cherry picking Hachette from a pool of 4 publishers. Quite a feat for a debutant novelist.

After answering Sharanya's first round of questions, Amit, now completely at ease with the audience, kept the promise he made on his blog! He, I kid you not, screamed in orgasmic pleasure, recreating the feat Meg ryan had performed in “When Harry Met Sally”, as he read out loud from mid sections of the book about a particularly wicked plate of pasta! It was hilarious!

The lizard loved every minute of it!

After recovering from the shock, the orthodox Chennai audience, with a wary eye on the snacks table enquired about Amit’s inspiration to write, his favorite authors, about MFS being a clever rearrangement of FSM, etc. An elderly gentleman asked something about sanchi(??) and chuckled to himself rather cutely. A shrill voiced junior asked him if Abir was an imagined character??(you have a long way to go buddy!). All the while, Amit , with a serene Buddha like smile, patiently replied “Yes Yes, the snacks are free!”.

After closing the Q&A session, Amit signed copies of the book, and I got an opportunity to discuss some of the sections of the book. I hope Amit wasn’t offended by my weird interpretations and profound cheekiness.

This pic below is my treasured possession:


All in all, it was a well attended function. I was thrilled to finally meet the force behind IndiaUncut and Guys, the force is really strong with this one. Amit’s eloquence, calm disposition and infinite patience won him many more admirers at Landmark that day. Amit, You Rock Dude!

Now, I eagerly await my other blogging hero – Sidin Vadukut’s book and earnestly hope that he too will have a snack session...err.. book unveiling session at Chennai!

Ps: Quizzing trivia: This is the first book launched in India (the word??) with a colored bar code! Check out the cover!

Pps: There is a nice anecdote on why the protagonist of the novel is called Abir. hehe.. ask Amit! ;)

Ppps: Daily-humor author Rohan was also present at the venue, but unfortunately I didn't recognize him :( What a lost opportunity! You can read his narrative here.

Ala re ala..

The number of trees felled – if anybody’s counting- to describe his batting genius would easily outnumber our test cricket victories abroad (if you must know: its 12). Aussie spin wizard Shane Warne - a bowler termed unplayable by most batsmen – admitted to having nightmares about him during the Australian tour of India in 1998.

“Peru kettale.. summa athirudhille?*” is a line that Sachin Ramesh Tendukar can easily pull, push or drive firmly into any respectable bowler’s mind.

Quick Cricketing question:

Q: Do Indian cricket fans believe Sachin Tendulkar to be an incarnation of lord Shiva? The God of death - descended upon earth to dance – the Thandava - down the pitch on erring bowlers?

A: What Gibberish! How can you say that?Could be Lord Vishnu too!

Being an ardent cricket fan, I should have celebrated the headlines “Dhoni’s men end 33-year drought” - on The Hindu dated March 22^nd 2009. I did nothing of that sort. Why should I? My eyes were red from reading the ball by ball update on the internet - the trustworthy source of information on everything outside my cubicle. But all hell broke loose as I read Dhoni’s comment, “If we can win the series, that will be the best gift the team gives to Sachin [Tendulkar] and Rahul [Dravid]”. I squirmed in my seat, sensing the empty despair you feel when you run out of toilet paper after an energetic performance.

As captain of the Cricket team, Dhoni has access to all sorts of privileged information. But why does he mention only Sachin and Rahul? Almost immediately, another question hit me with the fury of a tsunami leaving in its wake a cold, drenched and trembling cricket fan. The question was “Is Sachin retiring after the current NZ tour?”Deafening silence! The kind that engulfed Filmfare awards when Kareena groped to strap her blouse back on.

God doesn’t retire, right?

We’ve built ostentatious temples, sung prayers in praise, appointed holy men to ensure that our prayers reach his inbox, declared national holidays, donated money, clothes, milk, hair, money, coconuts, did I mention money? Etc, etc ..all in a bid to appease GOD. So, God can’t abandon us! Not after all those bribes! Correct? Correct! God won’t retire, as GOD is a concept - a very powerful and positive thought - and thoughts –like women after 39 – don’t age.

Men do.

On the cricket field, Sachin manages to transform himself into a cricketing mutant – an unstoppable wolverine with heavy titanium bats surgically built into his wrists. Off the field, he is and will be only human. As you would have noticed, with every waking second we humans grow older and eventually retire. That’s the law. Unless you are Elizabeth Taylor or closer home, Dev Anand.

I despise research that messes with mother nature, but just this once, I caught myself wishing for an age reversal pill. Don’t get me wrong, It’s not that I’m a compulsive cricket fanatic oblivious to life outside the sport – I’m well acquainted with beer and women. It’s just that I understand, even with my awfully limited intelligence, what Sachin Tendulkar means to the masses of India.

From die hard fanatics who remember his 43 ODI centuries - ball by ball - as if remembering his exploits could pay their bills or provide a better education to their children, to raving loonies who burn cardboard pictures and take out mock funeral processions!

Kids in India – especially those from working class families – revere him as an inspiration. Not just as a phenomenal cricketer, but also as a career role model. An anomaly in a world filled with engineers pursuing IT jobs or doctors dodging their satanic seniors.At a time when most parents in India fed their children pizzas stuffed with secure lifestyles, burgers containing IIT / IIM patties and pastas seasoned with US/UK visas , Sachin’s life stands out as a terrific inspiration to follow your own desi vada-pav dreams.

When Sachin steps out to bat, for the briefest of moments, the invisible communal differences that separate – Northies and Southies, Manoos and Bhaiyyas, Tam brams in Mylapore and Tam brams in Mississippi, Nairs and Naidus, Politicians and Honest citizens – melt away, reducing hostile adults into highly opinionated cricketing experts. Every fan in India KNOWS why Sehwag shouldn’t bat one down, why VVS shouldn’t play ODIs and how Mandira Bedi is an expert udge of swinging balls.

Given such an electric ambiance, I’m scared metaphor-less just thinking about the idleness that would descend upon cricketing minds in India – practically everyone – when Sachin retires.

What would we do with all the extra time?

Who will distract us from our routine problems?

Would the sports section in newspapers cease to exist?

Can Dhoni step up to the task and make UnHoni - Honi?

As I was wrestling with these complex thoughts, an article in the sports section caught my attention.Sachin won his “First MOM award abroad” for the unbeaten 160 against the black caps! God bless him!

So, up until the day he retires, join me as I sing ..Ala re, ala, Sachin ala! Ala re ala..

* Tamil phrase uttered by his superstarness, Rajini sir , meaning "Name simply induces goosebumps, no?". Please correct me if i'm wrong. I could never undersood what he wanted to say..

Pyar Ke Unusual Side Effects..

I’m sure many you of are aware, directly or indirectly, Viagra - the wonder drug has lifted many sagging spirits from depths of desperation. So, as a medicine it’s no doubt a stupendous success. However, this article suggests that as a social phenomenon (??come again??) it leaves many questions unanswered.

Reading the article triggered the dormant explorer in me . What exactly is a social phenomenon? And how many of those leave questions unanswered? I challenged some of my uber intelligent investment banking buddies to come up with few such social phenomena.
(What appears below is a highly sanitized version of their response)

Social phenomenon No.1: Can Pfizer make a Viagra chewing gum? Tag line: The longer you chew the harder it gets! (It is unclear from the above statement what exactly needs to get harder. I presume it’s not the chewing gum.)

SP No2: Do Chinese men use Viagra to avoid peeing on their shoes?

SP No3: Do African brothers use Viagra to pole vault across walls?

SP No4: Did Santa Singh use Viagra to get a raise in his appraisal meeting?

Ahem! Ahem! These I.Bankers i tell you.. punny fellows..

The report also claims that Viagra caused death of 109 patrons. You believe that? I think it’s a conspiracy to undermine Viagra sales. Why would any respectable multinational, with profit motive as raison d'etre, kill their unsuspecting customers? I know ciggie makers are doing just that and getting away with it, but they are rich and powerful, so it's ok. Hush. But if you think about it, if one does die minutes after consuming Viagra, it’ll be a serious challenge to close the coffin lid.

Meanwhile, younger folks have a different tale to report. The article above states that more than 1000 cases were filed on as many as 1500 side effects. what? One desired effect produces 1500 side effects? Apparently, Yes! Some of the less bizarre ones are – hold your breath - Color blindness.

Call me naïve and ruffle my hair all you want, but my question is, how did the patient notice that he was Color Blind? Was he trying to use his joystick as a brush? Or did he swallow the pill and try to paint the erection??

Another interesting side effect is Priapism. Priapism, like many other complicated medical terms, IMHO, was invented to make some insecure medical practitioners feel important. Translated in layman terms, Priapism is a condition where the patient is unable to close his zipper for upto 4 hours.

I will cite an armed forces analogy to make things clearer:

General: At ease soldier! Put your Johnson down!

Private: Negative Sir. Unable to take affirmative action for the next 0400 hours.

Army Physician: (after a through checkup of the bizarre projection) Roger that sir! This man is as stiff as Sunny Deol’s dancing.

An apt title for a movie based on this action thriller (or intense emotional drama) could be: Saving Ryan’s Private. No? How about Pole Harborer? Or maybe The Eagle will be landed??

Ok, I've digressed. Focusing our faculties back on the wonder drug's side effects, I present to you the freakiest of them all - Peyronies. A medical condition named after the French surgeon

François Gigot de la Peyronie (Meaning: “Francois got a Pyronie Weenie! Na NANA NA NA..”) which is colloquially known as (I kid you not!) “Bent nail syndrome”.

Patients diagnosed with Peyronie can observe their organs - over a period of time - take the shape of a “U-bend”. If the bend were to incline downwards it could add some freaky realism to the phrase “Go F@uck Yourself”. As I looked at the picture in this article (CAUTION: Explicit nudity involved. DO NOT open in office, unless you are serving notice period!), I remembered my science teacher saying “A picture can say what 1000 words can’t”.

So, dear readers, if you ever get desperate to raise your sagging spirits and have to chose “lifelong misery” or “An amazing 4 hours with Viagra”, I say, go for the pill buddy!

Apparently, lifelong misery comes free with the latter!

Our Deepest Fear

Stumbled upon a inspiring poem by Marianne Williamson:

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear
is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness,
that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?
Actually who are we not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn't serve the world.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking
so that other people
won't feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine as children do.
We were born to make manifest
the glory of God that is within us.

It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone.
And when we let our own light shine,
we unconsciously give other people
permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others.

Blown away? Tell me about it!

The poem is used thoughtfully in the 2005 Hollywood movie Coach Carter. A movie worth watching atleast a couple of times, if not more.

So, now you know what you truly fear in the depth of your spirit, right? Wrong!! It's Arachnophobia!!