The Magic that is Disney

I don’t know about you. I can view my life through the moments that flash before my eyes. I see life as many collections of moments. For example, the other day I stepped into an outlet of “Fruit Shop”. The music, the ambience and watching a young couple hold hands and lock eyes took me back to my first love. We , as a couple , used to do that. Stop by the neighborhood Dhabba Express, order the same butter naan, paneer butter masala and for kicks, the usual starter of Salt and Pepper tossed baby corn(or whatever it was called back then) , enjoy that heavy meal and head to the Fruit Shop for the regular tall glass of Jughead Special.

Back then, I thought this was how life was going to be forever. The same girl, the same love in our eyes, our hands held forever together. That dream didn’t last long. The Jughead special drink , however did. Whilst my tale is at least 2 decades old, the drink is a wee bit older than that!!! Who could have guessed that. The shop and the menu would outlive the loved and lost story of mine.

This isn’t about that. After a lot of thinking, I opted to subscribe to Disney+ on the OTT side. I’ve been a subscriber for two days and the initial honeymoon with it is fantastic. The MCU is always a pleasure to watch and re-watch. The classics like “Rescue Rangers” brought back memories of my childhood. That was the age of VHS tapes and I’d hit the Video shop to rent out a tape. It was almost a casual and a routine affair. 10 bucks a tape and depending upon the demand, one could hold on to that tape for days without being hounded by the shop.

And so decades later, I stepped out for my morning jog. The streets empty, the shops closed, I stood still watching. I could almost imagine a time lapse video of sorts, with me standing stagnant in the middle and the world around me moving. If only. That ain’t the truth and I’m not the one to crib about the nature of my life. I’ve lived and continue to live a full on life. I played it wild and I’m still a maverick. I’ve believed in living the moment as it were larger than life. The perfect slow-mo money shots that entice and excite the audience in the movie halls. I do that shit in real life. Walk tall, announce my presence, feel my presence in the room and politely command attention. Been there, done that, sobered up and moved on. These days, I walk in, enjoy the sights, enjoy quiet conversations and observe the mad world rush by me.

The thing is, I’ve changed through the years too. Along with the world, even I’ve moved. Sometimes forward, sometimes backwards. Sometimes, I’ve stood still. Laughed and cried at the progress made and not made. Learnt new tricks along the way and unlearnt a few trades that I’ve been carrying with me for ages. Through the moments, I’ve not felt cheated by time and by my earned experiences. I am because I was and I will be because I am. Had the boy from Dhabba Express won that day, I wouldn’t exist today, in all my worldly wisdom and hard earned and celebrated vices.

The more I think of it, the more life amuses me. We probably are one of the few rarest of rare species in the universe that laments over the time spent and frets and fears the time to come and totally ignores the time that’s in our grasp to dispose of. The pointlessness of it all amuses me. We run away from life and express our desire to have one. The irony is baffling. Maybe it’s the fear of expressing that courage to accept life and move is something that keeps us locked.

For what it’s worth, @ 1500 bucks a year, Disney is here to stay and one wouldn’t feel too jaded by it. Just like us, Disney has had a long life in the industry. Disney has been creating those fantastic lovely moments across the many decades of its existence.

What’s life without a little Magic huh?

The slow and painful death of Entertainment

Yes, the title is a tad bit dramatic. I’ve always and still continue to lead a dramatic life. 

I was thinking about entertainment through the weekend and realised the simple fact that entertainment is dead. It died and passed the torch to Distraction, its spiritual successor. 

I’ve been a funny man all my life and being funny is not a funny business. It takes an effort to be funny. A sense of the current affairs, an ability to think about the world as how it was , how it is and how things are shaping up. Find things to joke about and at the same time, open up minds to sow new seeds of thoughts. I use humour as a means to break ice, break down barriers, collaborate and deliver. The process usually provides entertainment to those who participate and indulge. 

Entertainment these days is a skinny reflection of an era forgotten. The things that pass as entertainment these days is absolutely ridiculous. People eat and millions stare at them eating. Blokes with cameras haunting just about anyone who cooks. Then there are the boxers, who box things up. Then come the unboxers who unbox things. To throw in a little element of mystery, we have the mystery box unboxers. 

Then come the really special bunch. The reaction folks. Their job is to watch , react and record the way they react. 

I miss the good old time when the phrase ‘Art of entertainment’ was still in use. We’ve managed to kill the art out of the entertainment. Don’t get me wrong, there are still a lot of artists who entertain. The painters still paint, the singers still sing. In fact, singers are a dime a dozen. You’d find them everywhere. That’s beside the point though. 

I guess we have forgotten what it means to be entertained. We are now in the age of distraction. Distraction, yes, we have that in abundance. The 5 second clips, the 10 second clips, those are neither artsy nor entertaining. I distinctly remember this one person on the local train in Beijing. My stop was two minutes away and in that span of two minutes, she had flipped through a hundred photos on something similar to Instagram. I’ve noted folks who mindlessly swipe in a given direction. Either left to right or bottom to top. Within a second, the frame rate is anywhere from 2- 5. I can’t even fathom what gets registered in the mind or how such images/content ever manage to inspire the artist in us. 

The consequences of such a distracted world are even more serious. I remember writing about the fast food , life fast burn out faster way of life. The kind where everybody wants an instantaneous gratification for everything they’ve done. Instant recognition, instant elevation, instant reward, instant growth. All instants later, one is left directionless and in dissent. The age of distraction fuels it to a great extent. With an insignificant attention span, we aren’t reading enough or soaking in the information. Quick to read and quicker to conclude, our ability to assimilate and process information is a clear and an alarming write-off. Given that nature, translate that skill into workplace and we have a disaster waiting to explode on our faces. Short attention span, perpetual state of staying distracted, inability or rather the lost skill to process information leads to junk in and junk out. With such active restlessness, one does find life to be boring and mundane. 

A society gets what it deserves. If this is what we have reduced ourselves to, maybe we do deserve to be miserable. Who is to blame?! Aren’t we the ones who like share and subscribe? 

What do you think? What do you make of all the distraction around you? Do you enjoy the distraction or do you feel entertained?

A man, two women and a virus

Things couldn’t get any more simpler than that. This is exactly, well almost exactly like the title reads. The tale starts with the virus, like all good tales do. Covid in full effect and the panic surrounding it that had gripped my immediate society, human interactions were reduced to a bare minimum. In London, that translates to absolute Zero.

Even on a given normal day, without a pandemic looming around our heads, Londoners are a friendly bunch. We stick to the digital comforts of mindlessly swiping left or right, smashing that like button and giggling over funny memes and feed on our preferred social vice.

The first few months were the hardest for me to sit through. Fresh into the viral ecosystem and absolutely without a job at hand, I had to find alternate ways of killing time.

I initially took a fancy to cooking and then the cooking fancied my general sanity. It wasn’t a match made in perfect heaven. I tried cooking and cooking tried my digestive system. One of the evils won and left me bored and hurt.

The complex where I live has ample space to walk and with all my neighbours sitting home in perpetual fear, I was left free to prance around the property. In a confined space, when nobody is around, it’s absolutely safe to loiter and Loiter I did. The halls would echo from the tapping of my shoes. Tip, tap, tip , tap the sounds formed a steady rhythm. In that state of isolated, musically harmonic moment, I cast my glance upon a window.

There she stood in pink. Instinctively , I offered the brightest of my smile. I got ignored in return. I shrugged my shoulder. Your loss, I gently muttered and carried my routine of wandering about. A day of loiter and smiling became a routine. Only now, I had two windows and a similar proposition to manage.

Whilst the windows were different, the women different, their response was the same. Smile and ignored in return. I took my chances and opted to wave. I got ignored nonetheless. I had nothing to lose. They had nothing to lose. The game of cat and mouse was upon us. A friendly gesture offered and a friendly ignore returned.

One fine morning, all that changed. They must have gotten used to a strange bloke waving the arm around. They decided to reciprocate. A smile and a wave offered and a wave returned. That was a start. It was a good enough start. At least there was a human, or at least two to communicate with. In a way, it restored a sense of sanity in me. It gave me a purpose. I had an audience to entertain. I had people around to wave to. People were waiting for me to wave at them.

It must have taken a leap of faith from the other side. I mean when you are five years old, you aren’t really open to strangers waving at you. The two kids by the window took a week to realise that I wasn’t a harmful influence. They saw a funny dude walking around and smiling and waving. They took their own time to judge the situation and choose their course of action. Kids are funny that way. With their parents nudging them to wave back, they did refuse for the longest while. Once they had made their mind up, they played along.

Then work caught on. I’d walk around but less frequently. I’d take my calls on the walk and in all honesty, the work wasn’t the most smile inducing kind. So the other day, when I walked I noticed that the kids saw me and started to smile and wave. I could see in their sweet faces that they felt a bit let down by the fact that I was neither smiling nor waving at them.

I realised the nice things in life that I was missing out on while I was busy solving all the world’s enormous problems.

“Hold on a sec”, I announced on my call.

I took a deep breath, pushed the stress from my system. It felt fresh. I smiled at the sweet little angels and waved them a hi. Their faces lit up. Life has a way of telling us to breathe, take things slow from time to time.

If only we paid attention to it. Covid has been a good teacher that way. It’s taught me the art of patience, the much needed courage to not let my mind wander into the forest of fears from uncertainty. It taught me to cook. It taught me to smile and help spread a little sunshine around. Sometimes, all it takes is a little smile to set in the right perspectives.

“Hello, you there” the voice boomed back. Life had offered a break and now it wanted me back. BAU i guess.

Karthik

Saturday night cabin fever

“Thanks Love. Stay Safe” , I smile most mornings as I part Tesco at 6:15 on most mornings.

I live by myself. Imagine the movie, Home alone, and that the burglars forget to come visiting you. That’s precisely an apt description of the life that I’ve been living through the lock down. Preparing everyday against the burglar that I keep constantly at bay. Live alone is very different from living lonely. During a lock down, the thin line that separates the two is long gone blurred. I seldom get to talk to people. The only comforting voices that I get to hear are from the few neighbours that I meet from a far away healthy distance, the banter of my team over telephone/ conferences, and the daily BAU calls that I make back home. It’s radio silence otherwise.

The initial days were alright. The new excitement of sitting trapped. The fun and games had began. The social trolling, an abundance of humour, the joys of waking up early and not having to go anywhere. The games soon ceased and left behind a grim reality of isolation and ushered a new game of sustaining sanity and survival.

Right from moment one, I didn’t panic about hoarding toilet rolls and food. I know what I consume and I could live by very little each day. My first stock lasted a week. I maintain a steady supply of dairy and produce. I regularly cook. Food was never going to be a problem. I ate carrorts when carrots were the only thing on sale. I moved to tossed vegetables when they were the few of the left overs. The mad rush had phased out and the tesco near me now maintains a steady supply.

Having a routine helps. Get up early no matter what. A slow lazy start kills the enthusiasm of the day. Regardless of travelling a million miles to desk or 3 steps to your lapop, getting up early did make a difference. The only problem was that I couldn’t put a cap limit on early. 6 became 5 and 5 became 4. There is only so much a bloke can do at 4 in the morning.

I’d wait for the Tesco days eagerly. Step into the shop early before a crowd gathers. Step out early. Clean in and clear out. I still operate on that principle. I avoid all crowds. I walk around the private park that’s open only to the residents of my building. I pick my times to avoid the gathering of the herd. Yes, folks have started singing disney songs. Folks have started holding hands. Boredom has pushed folks to ignore the eminent risk at play. Between boredom and Covid, folks have decided to address boredom first.

I maintain a very healthy paraniod distance. I smile and converse. My voice carries. I politely refuse the daily offer of the drink of the day. Staying sober is very crucial. I’d love to be in control of my faculties even on a normal day. These aren’t normal times. I’d rather be vigil and alert than having a gala good time partying through a pandemic.

So far so good. But that’s not the case on most days. There are days when fear sinks in. What ifs. All the regrets of the past come crashing in. All the unanswered , ignored, suppressed what ifs start to manifest. They walk hand in hand with fears of both yesterdays and today. I sit worried about the future that is to come. On happy days, I know it is a simple question of mind over matter. I command my mind to think away from the trap. I steer it through the land of rainbows and unicorns. Then there are those days when the mind is fatigued. I don’t wrestle with it. I don’t pamper it either. The days when the mind runs a mutiny, I find it easier to hit the shower, distract the mind with the mundane tasks of the day and call the day off early. A good rest and a rampant nightmare is very effective in resetting the tone. These are the days when I fear that I have it all, the worst hand of poker dealt, in the history of all histories of everything bad and worse that escalated to worst rapidly. A little chill, Covid. A little cough, Covid + Cancer. I console myself, MPD. I calm myself, manic skitzo. I grow angry and frustrated and I feel helpless and yet positive that this will pass. Extremely Polar. It just feels like I was born to be injected with all the known diseases to mankind.

The next day is a brand new battle for which I’m prepared. I conquer.

Living alone has given me a fantastic opportunity to test the strength of my endurance. I’m a blogger. I’m a musician. I’m an IT bloke. Above all, I’m a Fighter. I pick my battles wisely. I win a lot, I lose a few. I bounce back strong. I accept the state of mind that I am in. I also accept and acknowledge that having a routine restores some sanity and balance to daily living. I respect the fact that I will break my self laid plans and protocols and also stay amused at the fact that I love breaking rules. I see myself for what I am. I finally rest my faith on myself. I’ll pull through this.

SO WILL YOU. You aren’t alone in any of this. Feeling paranoid. Dont worry. Deep down, everybody is scared. It’s ok to be scared. Feeling restless. Welcome to Covid Lock down. Everybody is restless. What ever that you are going through, it is very very likely that most of us are going through the same or a very similar cycle. During times like this, dont let your ego come in the way. Reach out to all those friends whom you have missed , ignored, or de-prioritiesed. I’m sure they’ll understand. They are going through the same cycle.

If you’ve made it this far, stay assured, all of us are going to make it there. Together.

Life is like a box of chocolates. Some taste lovely and sweet. Some , the idea is one day you’d look back and smile. The game is to keep going through the box and discovering the million surprises that are awaiting us around the corner.

Karthik

A chamomile friday

So much is changing around me. In fact, I’m changing so much in parallel too. I’ve had my house changed. Brexit happened. Covid evolved from being a viral meme to a serious virus that’s now viral. And these days, the streets have fewer faces to be seen.

London’s been gloomy as always. The cloudy skies that leave small traces of bright blue behind. An ever so shy and timid sun. It’s out there and you still wouldn’t believe in it to deliver its share of promised warmth. It’s almost the time to discard the thick jackets of the winter and embrace loose summer shirts. The city isn’t there yet. Neither am I.

The virus now being taken seriously has prompted a lot of us to work within the confines of our homes. For many, it’s a blessing in disguise. Time to finally spend with the family. For mavericks like me, that’s more in-time in prison than anything else. Us extroverts are finally living the introvert dream. All the time in the world and absolutely no where to go.

My day starts rather early. 5 am phone calls. The clock struck 10 today. I unlocked my phone to see an empty slot for an hour. “Fantastic”, I mumbled. I reached out to my favorite Red coffee mug. I filled it to the brim with water and microwaved it away till purgatory. I reached out to a fresh new box of Chamomile + honey something and pulled a pouch of weird smelling bag of tea. I dunked the bag and a minute later, I had reached a park. Oh yes, I’ve lived in this building for two years and just discovered that we had a private park. I make it a point to loiter the park and bask in the sun, whenever time permits. The park is quite isolated. It’s for the residents and not many gather there! There is no fear of a midsommer sacrifice or the burning of the village idiot. It’s a nice quiet little place.

There was one single bird in part and none worth its equivalent hidden in the bush. The bird wasn’t chirping. I guess it also enjoyed the same enthusiasm that I had this fine wonderful morning. I guess the two caged souls wanted the assurance that we weren’t the only ones trapped and strung by the world. We both shared the same rebellious gene of braving the barren skies.

I noticed another bloke seated in a distant corner. I took a sip from my lukewarm cup.

“How’s the Friday treating you”, I called out.

I had yanked my stranger neighbor from an intense trail of thought.

“I guess I’ll know when I get there” he said. “It’s still Thursday”, he proclaimed. He passed a judgmental look. He probably thought I was one of those carefree hippies who get high early in the morning and end the day on the same high note.

“No it isn’t. It’s Friday”, I argued.

“Thursday, My friend” , he assured me. His confidence shook my confidence. He could be right. The days don’t make a difference to me any more. It’s the same old routine of waking up early, opening my shop and taking calls till mid day and settling down with spreadsheets all afternoon. It could be a Monday or the day the helll froze over. It wouldn’t make any difference to me. Everything was just the same.

“You sure?” , I surrendered.

“I don’t know” , he paused. We were two men. Institutionalized by this point in time. We were both creatures of a routine and felt lost and directionless without that support system of a routine. No more train times, no more bill boards, no more news papers, no more food of the day in the canteen. I walk into the nearest grocery store at 6 in the morning each day and pick up what ever is left. The right word is scavenge. Yesterday they had one loaf of bread left. Today, they had none. Yesterday, they didn’t have any canned tomatoes. Today, there was one left. I pick whatever is left. I cook and hit the shop each day hoping to find something. I didn’t bother stocking up. I know me. All the planning aside, the stock piled up in the house would expire and I’d throw it away. I didn’t want to deny the next paranoid bloke the victory of overstocking and appearing smart to his spouse. I didn’t want the next bloke to return disappointed in front of his kids. I have things that I can survive on and I’m happy to take my chances.

“It is Friday” he finally declared.

“Man, you gave me such a scare” and we giggled like a bunch of school kids. Men!!!!!

All said and done, I like the fact that I’ve slowed enough to walk into a park. I had the foresight to make a cup of tea and take it to the park. I love the simple pleasure and joy of spending a given weekday’s hour , sitting in a park and feeling silly about the way of the world. Maybe life was meant to be lived this way and somehow all of us lost the sight of it. We are always in a rush to go somewhere, be somewhere, look for the future, forget the past, live the present, work on the spreadsheet, put that power point slide to a better use.

For what it’s worth, I felt lucky to be exactly where I was. The hour due, Office 365 breaks the trail of thought to remind of places that I ought to be, to make decisions that I ought to be making and earn that pay check that I make.

Thanks China. Thanks Chamomile.. and yes, is chamomile spelt that way or is it Camomile ? Even google was uncertain about it.

Karthik

Bins and Bringham

” Dear Karthik ,”

Imagine a time , a place , an age where everything was perfect. Imagine the softest of piano music playing in your ears. Close your eyes and imagine embracing something that gives your immense warmth and peace. Imagine that memory. Imagine the tiniest of glimmer in the eyes, the gentle wrinkle that forms on the paradigm ends of the mouth when one smiles. Imagine what it meant , it felt to be blissfully happy.

It was such a time for me. The year , now a faded memory. It probably was a saturday. It had always been a saturday.

The drive back home was the same. I had decided to hit the open highway. The sun was at its warmest best. The car’s bluetooth speaker system had kept the call connected. We were busy continuing the conversation from the previous evening. The foundation of the future had started to appear. The road ahead felt like it would be a two year stint in the United Kingdom. Was I excited ? Not really. It was an escape at the best. The excitement or better still, the anxiety had come from a different direction. Like a dense thick monsoon rain in Kerala, the call had come after a draughted haitus of more than a year. It was the year when I was the most miserable that I had ever been. Now that I look back, I’ve endured worse years now. Back then, it was the worst.

The phone had rung. The nice pleasantaries had been exchanged quickly at great epic pace. The question of what’s new hopped over the horizon. UK.

” Always remember “

The conversation around the UK had spilled over to the next day. The previous evening I had a good laugh over her reference to ‘BringHam’. It was the magical land of chocolates and even then I knew Bringham didn’t exist. Birmingham does, Bring ham is verb and an object. I didn’t see a point to correct her. I enjoyed the folly. It was a rare oddity to catch her blunder. I remember the moment to be sweet. She spoke at great lengths about the chocolate factory. She walked me through her desire of being plagued by diabetes. She’d risk it all for chocolate. She went on about she didn’t care about the effects of such a massive sugar high on her system. None of that mattered.

The day came to a dawn. The call had died. The thoughts had come alive. I had two more days to go before I left behind the past. Or so I thought. There little voice of hope squeaked. If hope was a person, that person would have been seriously and gravely damaged from all the beating and bruising endured. I had grown wiser and smarter. I had learnt to respect reality. Things just didn’t Happen. I had managed to suppress hope and steer ahead with a poker face. Two more days and we could continue being strangers. Two more days and we’d no longer exist in one another’s universe. Two more days.

” That I “

The music turned back on, the car sang a lovely soothing lullaby. With hope dying a very slow dramatic death, with pragmatic mind sitting depressed in another corner, with life singing a tune of an optimistic new tomorrow, the music abruptly stopped. A call had interrupted the sound of music.

I can’t do this anymore, She declared. I’m seeing someone else.

It felt like an eternity had passed while I was trying to soak in the words that I had heard. I believe she must have walked me through how the bloke was, where they had met, how their innocent casual flirtations had blossomed into something tangible and something serious. I don’t know. I was hearing the words. I wasn’t listening. I couldn’t comprehend. Grief had took over. Pain had conquered once again. Tears had swelled up. I parked the car. I knew it wasn’t the time to pick a fight. It was the time to be an adult and accept.

Why are you telling me this dude? I asked

I can’t talk to you Karthik. Talking to you makes me feel guilty. It feels like I’m cheating on him.

Imagine all the peace in the world that you read in the begining. Now imagine HULK smashing it all to a million tiny bits and pieces. I wanted to lash out. I wanted to beast out. I wanted the comfort of screaming at another human. I wanted the peace of dehumanising myself for a moment again.

Remember, I said. The last time we fought, you said all that you were left with was the ugliness of the fights. I wanted to part away from your life with a few happy memories. I wanted to separate from you with you smiling. If you want my blessings for the new relationship, you have it. Best of luck. I really do wish that when you turn back time and look into the past, all you remember are these two days.

These two days we’ve smiled. We realised that we were good friends who enjoyed each other’s company. We realised how nice it felt to be together. Like all nice things come to an end, I’ll just call this the end. It would have lasted for two more days anyways. Thanks for being a part of my life.

Karthik….. I heard her say one last time. I had cut the call. The phone never rang that way ever again.

“Smile my best”

It’s been a decade now. I had the fortune of bumping into her at a mall back in chennai. She wasn’t my girl anymore. She was a wonderful mum of a bright young lad. Words weren’t spoken. Glances were averted. The silver lining, I finally got to meet her mother. She had a nice smile. It runs in the family.

All the regrets and pains of the past, I wouldn’t change a thing. There is the merit to have tried and lost than never having knowing what it meant to feel an emotion. Winning and losing are an outcome. The journey of experiencing emotions, the cycle of tears and smiles makes me a human. Acknowledging that fragile existence is so enlightening. Each failure of the past feels insignificant when we stack up all the failures in a chronological order. Every new day, we do something bigger, something newer. Each new defeat is first met with a worthy battle of a challenging fight.

One such new challenge was moving houses. I’ve never moved homes. I had to pack, unpack, sort and unsort things. My eyes fell over this battered piece of envelop. The envelop was handed to me. I was instructed to get home and read it. There wasn’t a point to ripping it open immediately and gorging through the sublime mundane words that might have been etched in ink on a common piece of writing paper. For years, through life’s many storms and broken dreams, I had kept it protected and cherised.

” When you are around.. Yours…………….. “

I picked it up. For a brief moment I had travelled backward and forward across that span of the decade. Enjoying the memories, burdened by them, pained and saddened, smling at the simplest romantic jester that I had been. I didn’t want that anymore. I gave it a read one last time.

” Dear Karthik

Always remember, I smile my best when you are around.

Yours…..

“

Bringham didn’t exist back then, I didn’t see a point in giving it an extended new life. I reached out to the black bag and binned the letter.

And just like that, a part of me that I had kept alive for the better part of the last decade Died. No tears were shed. A silent insignificant death without a soul to witness the departure.

There is no changing the past. There is no changing the future. There is no point in lamenting in the present. I had bigger challenges to overcome. Bags to pack, house to vacate and a new home to step into.

Karthik

Katz, Coffee, Business

Katz, Coffee, Business. A moment of sanity passes by and then the words repeat themselves. Katz, Coffee, Business.. 

I wish i knew where I was. If I did, I could explain the words flowing in that sequence. I suspect that I’m already catatonic. Lost within myself. Shut off by shutting down well within the mind. The unconscious forced reboot leaves me with no cognizance of the state of the shut down. 

Katz, Karthik, Katz, Karthik.. the many names iterate. The faces calling them are both familiar and strange. Familiar because the commonality is that I don’t recognise any of them and strange because oddly I think I know them all. The names being called out, I keep smiling perpetually. I’m either smiling to acknowledge or smiling because I dont know what else to do. As I said, wish I could explain. If only I knew what was going on. 

The meeting rooms all over the world are same. Bright, well lit, speaker phones echoing and trying to compete with a Pink Floyd concert. The white board is littered with information that I think holds a significant meaning. If it did that, hope and wish that I had jotted it down. My concentration is shattered by the friendly meeting room attendant who periodically walks in and polls for the number of coffees, teas and other combinations of coffees and teas that people might want? Coffee , a pause later a few hands go up. I take a good look around. I realise my hands are not up. Funny, I think to myself. I’ve swapped sides and apparently I’m a tea junkie these days. Tea, the poll opens up again. My hands are still not up. Oh good lord, I’ve shifted to black tea. 

Katz, Coffee, Business.. the words continue to repeat. 

Coffee, I boldly declare. 

Excuse me, a puzzled voice looks up. Obviously, the bloke behind that counter is more annoyed that I could ever be. Why are you here?

And I’m pondering on that question now. 

Katz, Coffee, Business.

Why am I here? Karma. Cycle of birth and death. For I have sinned and I must repent. For I have atoned and I must walk forward. For I still am, one must perish. One doesn’t know why one is geographically tied to one place. That is not in the nature of the one. But quite reasonably, the other one is not interested in this view of the answer. 

Business. I reply.

A violent thud, the sound of a stamp bashing the passport jolts me up. I realised that I had dozed off and shut down. I wake up to find myself in a strange place. Nobody cares that I am there. Nobody knows me here. Lots of tables are around and empty chairs keeping the empty tables company. I laugh at the irony. Even emptiness yearns for a company. 

Apparently I’m in a canteen of sorts. Having woken from my slumber, I stumble my way to the nearest meeting room. I check the time. It’s almost time. 

Oh, I thought it was the coffee guy, the meeting room’s facilitator calls out a joke. The audience smiles. I remind myself to pretend a smile. I’ve laughed at poorer jokes than that. Ah well, all in a day’s work. I close the door and instruct the attendant to serve coffees in the meeting room. 

Sir, aap kya loge? What will you have sir, he asks. I smile at him and thank him for his generosity in offering me a drink. 

That’s a whole sentence of casual conversation that I’ve had in months. Lemon tea. I respond. 

I sit myself down. There is no time to reflect. I boot up the laptop and ……………………………

Karthik

A wish upon a star

I laughed it out loud. I knew that the universe had many a constants. This constant was timeless, dogmatic and right about now, Ridiculous. 
I placed the coffee mug neatly back on the coaster and sank back into the chair. I was waiting. It had been a wait that had taken almost 40 years in the making now. I was way beyond fears, apprehension and anxiety. When you are pushing your 70’s, You are expected to have lived a full life. There aren’t many fears loitering in the mind. There is the big D but It wasn’t a bother yet. I hoped I still had time to sort that out , when the time came around. Presently, I had better things to do. Like Wait. 

The cup was gracefully picked up from the table and it made its way back to the kitchen sink. No new incidents there. In the meantime, I had ample time to ponder about the constants of life. 

Give or take 40 years, and so 40 years ago, there I was. Sitting on a similar chair. Only this time around, I wasn’t as relaxed as I currently was. I was a twenty year old and nervous. The edge of the chair felt like it was the edge of the world. I had every reason to feel scared. I knew I had everything to lose and given my odds, that failure seemed all but imminent. I was accelerating towards a brick wall. It was a moment of push coming to shove and shove it did. 

It was one of the biggest interviews of my life back then. The house was a house like any other. A very typical middle class house. The hall housed a sofa, a few chairs, a stand that had a television set. The TV was tuned to the news when I had walked in. It rested on mute for a while and I don’t know who had the sense to switch it off, but it was apparently switched off at some point in time. I hadn’t made a mental note of that event. There was another event that was unwinding. 

The usual coffee was served. Under normal circumstances, I’d joke about the special ‘reserved for guests’ ceramic cup in which the coffee was served. None of that nonsense today. The agenda had been set. There weren’t any surprises there. The coffee was served in the usual , sober, ever-silver tumbler. Nothing fancy. It was a piping hot cup. I tried a sip and respectfully placed it on the coffee table. There weren’t any coasters on the table. Not that it mattered anyway. 

“Hmmm” the voice pierced through the tensed silence. 

“I know what you are asking for” the sentence started. It felt like a sentence that had followed through an extended period of deep contemplation. 

“Yes Uncle”, I stopped myself right then and there. It was a hard stop. “Yes, Sir” I corrected myself. Sensing defeat and seizing hope, I mustered the audacity and courage to steer the course of the conversation. 
“And……” I paused. 

Unlike me, He hadn’t rested his cup of filter kaapi. He had held it all the while. I’m sure that the hot cup would have left behind an uncomfortable blister. He was prepared to endure it. He had. He took a quick sip. A decision had been made. A decision was to be conveyed. He finally rest the cup on the table. What came next, left me in decades of emotional toil and unrest. 

“illa pa. It’s not going to work out”. Never before had sentences managed to shatter dreams in this effect. Two sentences and a combined word count of eight had sealed my fate. Ah Houston, we have a problem. Crash and burn. Epic Burn. 

There wasn’t arguing or delivering a heart rendering closing statement that would overturn that decision. What had been decided was spoken and what went spoken, there wasn’t a way to undo them. What was said was said. 

“I understand Sir” I acknowledged , both my defeat and tears. 

I got up to leave. 

“And please understand, I don’t want you coming here anymore. You know how these things are right. It might..” 

before he could complete the sentence, I offered to complete it. “I get it uncle. I also have a sister.”

It was an amicable separation of sorts. There wasn’t a big drama to it. There would be one later though.

And so there we were in our usual coffee shop. The usual order made. 
“Come on, I don’t give a damnn. Between the two of us, we are 50 years old. I think we are old enough to make our own decisions” 

The protest went on deaf ears. Ours wasn’t going to be that kind of a story. We weren’t meant to be two folks against the whole wide world.

She returned from the kitchen. Sat on the chair beside and smiled. “What am I going to tell my family da?” she asked. 

“Between the two of us, we have 140 years now. I don’t care what anyone has to say. Besides what family are you talking about? Your kids are in the USA. You meet them through Skype. What else is holding you back? The words of your long departed dad? The society that is waiting for you to die? The kids who text you wishes for functions and every year promise to take you home and break them quicker than the time it takes to make them?”

The point made, I held on to my peace and promised myself to neither make a fuss nor push hard for a decision. A few hours later , I reached home. I didnt know what the future held. 

Two months later, I stood where I had stood 20 years ago. I had wished upon a star, wished upon the river Rhine. I had flicked a heavy coin and made a wish. I dived deep into my pocket to pull a similar coin. The long wait now over, I handed a coin to her. 

“Some say that when you put your heart to a wish and toss the coin into the river, the universe conspires to make that wish come true.” I said.

“Ah come on. Don’t be so cheesy!!!! Do you expect me to believe that pile of make-a-believe?” she smiled as she accepted that coin.

“Well, we are both here, right now, this moment aren’t we?” 

She smiled. Her eyes twinkled like how they’ve always had. She closed her eyes and made a wish. 

The River had one more wish to fulfil. 

The two held hands supporting one another and continued walking into the vast beauty that Switzerland was. 

Karthik 

Project SPA

There is an adventure in there somewhere. There always is. SPA or as I’m now terming it, expands to Single Parent Adventures. Running this SPA is nothing short of running a huge wide project. A programme even, if one may. 

Being a single parent is a hard business. The kids, here the number being 2, always manage to ask all the pertinent questions that I’ve overlooked all my life. Is this the same ‘Waterloo’ that challenged Napoleon. Blimey, I didn’t know and the worst of it all, having lived in London for quite a number of years, I hadn’t bothered to correlate the two. Waterloo was BFI IMAX for me. I hadn’t realised the wider connotation to it. 

Then the plethora of statues. Many of known names and faces. Many that I hadn’t bothered knowing. They were all the same to me. All stereotyped to nothing. It took me an adventure ride to realise that most statues came with a verbose description of why they were in the place they were. I hadn’t read them. 

These days, I’m a proud single parent of two. My mum and my dad. Every time we step out of the house to catch a glimpse of this city, the three of us embark upon an adventure. The walk to the station inspires the many questions that my dad has for me. Where does this road lead to? Did you know that there is flight coming into the Heathrow every two minutes? How many runways do you think it has? I think it’s 5, one for each terminal. Why don’t they have many runways for each terminal. I think they must.

Are we taking the district line or is it only the picadilly line this time? Which one is quicker, and importantly, Why? 

To be honest, years ago, I’d not have had the patience to sit through the plethora of questions. In time I had changed. Growing up and looking back, I know the kind of nightmare that I was. I’ve always asked a million questions. I still do. I remember this one time when our family was travelling and the chatter box that I was , I went on and on. One of my relatives did ask me to shut up for peace’s sake. I remained quiet. For a whole few minutes and then started again. 

These days , I know that I don’t have any of the answers to the questions that my dad asks. I hear it out though. Some, I answer. Most, I make up the answers, just to toy around. We share a giggle over it. The topics change. Things go forgotten, but etched forever in my memory. I’m learning to cherish the precious moments that I’m going through. 

Recently we were at the Museum of Natural history. With the arrogance of having learnt how the world worked, I felt a bit jaded by a lot that was on display. My mum was in a world of her own. She enjoyed the way the volcanoes have shaped up the modern age. She went on and tried all the exhibits that encouraged user participation. Touch that, push that, pull this, roll that cylinder. She did it all. She read through the contents. Dad would enrich the experience with the things that he had experienced. The conversations around the fault lines that wrecked havoc in the Andamans, where he was the chief engineer at that time. The violence of the planet that was so sweetly remembered. We came upon an exhibit that replicated the earthquake experience. We stepped in and walked out excited as kids. 

The planet’s precious minerals were displayed. Gems and crystals. One more beautiful than the other. Each, spell binding in their own right. Each mesmerising. Each reminding me of my state of poverty and how I couldn’t afford many, or even any of them. None of that nonsense ran through my mom. She just loved the opportunity of seeing those gems. The many diamonds ‘Gifted’ from India left us laughing our the course of human history. 

The day coming to a close, I felt proud of being a Londoner. It’s kind of odd to associate a nativity to London. It’s not the place that I took that pride in. It was the people. No matter how crowded the trains got, there were always and I mean ALWAYS folks volunteering their seats to get my folks seated. Gentle hands ushering them to their seats. For that brief instance, my parents had a hundred kids. Each doing their best to keep the parents comfortable and safe. I do feel proud of them. Of us. 

I’ve never experienced that in India. That’s not a reflection of the attitude of the folks. Back in India, I’d drive them to their destinations. When I wasn’t around, there was always that sweet kid (of varying ages) who had helped them have a safe and a comfortable journey. Right from the railway’s friendly porter, who’d walk slow, keep them company and talk to them and get them seated on the train to strangers on the flight who did their best to help them climb the stairs and navigate through the wild that is the airport. Some days I believe in the fact that the goodness that I express, gets rewarded by introducing the good and wonderful people of the world to my parents. These good Samaritans of the world occupy that role of a single parent in my absence. A parent substitute of sorts. One good deed deserves another and that’s my motivation in wanting and trying to help at each step. Yes, I am selfish that way. It’s just that hope that if I’m good enough, someone else will not be a villain on the street. 

The other day, as the evening got dark, my folks were walking back from a temple. They were approached by a bloke. Fear gripped them but soon changed. The bloke had approached them to tell them that they were the sweetest oldest couple that he had ever seen. He wanted to tell them that and expected nothing in return. 

Ain’t that an adventure of sorts? Don’t believe in the news that you read which speaks only of the devil and destruction. There are a billion folks out there who aren’t selfish. These are the unspoken daily heroes who go beyond their call of duty in being and staying human. Irrespective of what walk of life they hail from, these are the nice folks who make an effort to keep this world a better place. I used to think that this kindness, this goodness is a product of culture. I was wrong. It’s the fabric of being a human. Humans , by default, express that goodness and help others. That message does not come out. We’ve grown too skeptic from the abundant and constant flow of destructive information. Yes, granted that some of us are capable of evil deeds. Yes. But that’s not the general reflection of the world. 

Being such a single parent, each day is an adventure. You worry about the wellbeing of the kids. You worry if the world’s cruelty will affect them inversely. You also get to experience the innocent bliss that they experience. You get to see the innocence of the world that they see. Such a wonderful adventure that rejuvenates your faith in people. May it last. 

At this juncture, I am perplexed by a dilemma. How does evil exist in such a beautiful world? Or the alternative, In such a vile land, how does this goodness survive , endure and manifest itself. Something is not right. No wonder the battle between the good and the evil is an eternal one. By the looks of it, Good does have the upper hand. It always will. I hope and wish it does. 

Karthik 

The house of walls

Light.

The tiny streaks of light that managed to dodge the thick drapes that covered the windows were bright enough to illuminate the room. The luminance was soft and subtle without a glare that could strain the eye. There were days when I liked the house to be that way. She preferred a well lit house. Our separation started on that simplest taste over light. 

The bed looked made. It was empty. I couldn’t remember why I had walked in, but I was there nonetheless. This happens a lot to me. I walk into places without a faintest idea of why I got there. I shrugged my shoulder and patted the made bed. I was careful enough to not leave behind a crease. I turned around towards the dresser. Our anniversary photograph stood there, framed and neat. I examined it close to find no trace of dust resting on it. Typical, I thought to myself.

I left the room and made it towards the hall and occupied my usual recliner. I felt fatigued and I wasn’t sure if it was the age that was catching up or the fact that I couldn’t remember if I had any breakfast that morning, that made me feel tired. I sat wondering how my life turned out the way it did. 

Dark. 

Typical, she wondered. Her husband liked to leave the drapes closed, even on bright mornings like the day. He was her perfect opposite in many ways. She liked the house airy and bright. He liked it cold and dark. She had enjoyed cleaning and sorting things into their proper place while he had lived a hobo’s dream of untidiness and grime. Her lips twitched as she found herself lost in thoughts about how they had managed to endure the years together. 

She made the bed and walked towards the kitchen. She filled the water in the kettle and tried to switch it on. It just wouldn’t start. She wanted to call out to her husband. She knew there wouldn’t be an answer. She sighed and gave up on the notion of making tea. She glanced towards the hall to see if he was lazing around his chair. The hall was as empty as most of their life had been. Typical. He had this uncanny ability to never be around when she needed him. Had had never been around when she had needed him the most. Annoyed, in general about everything, she walked to the porch to find solace in the world around. Her chair on the porch had been her trusty support system. She had spent numerous hours sitting there and watching the world go by. The view wasn’t bad. She could spectate her neighbourhood in peace. The pointless business of the world comforted her. Deep down, she felt that the world shared her isolation. Nobody outside seemed to speak to anybody else. There wasn’t a casual chatter to be enviously spy upon. The transactions of the world were just that. Mere transactions. No soul in them. No life in them. To her, everybody seemed to be dead. At least on the inside. 

Shadows.

I heard the door creak. The sudden sound jolted me. I could feel my heart pounding. I knew I was being silly. I presumed it could have been the wind that was playing games on my otherwise dulled mind. Just to be safe and simply out of curious compulsion, I scanned the room to see if there was anybody around. I knew there weren’t. I felt silly over spooking myself over. It was a ridiculous thought. I knew fear had no place, at least not anymore. The worst was already in the past. There wasn’t any place for fears in the present or even the future. Things didn’t work that way. I shook my head in disappointment. The noise had left me unsettled and restless. I couldn’t bring myself to sit anymore. I decided to hit the porch. 

The porch had been a wonderful place of sorts. It held many memories. She had always usually been there. Looking at the world. Smiling at the world. The best of her was when she was outside. I knew the many promises that we had made together , sitting on that porch. I knew the many promises that I broke, that we broke, when we argued on that porch. The porch had become a world of its own ,to us. No one bothered us there. It always felt that we were the only ones , trapped in a wide vast world. 

I stood by the porch. The day had gradually dimmed its glory. It had become a gloomy day. The glum gloominess had somehow seeped away from the house and corrupted the world around. The metal railing felt cold. I stared far into the land, not wanting to focus on anything in particular. My eyes strained towards her unoccupied chair. It pained me to find that empty. The searing pain kept growing. The weight upon my heart felt heavier till I couldn’t bear the burden. I felt ambushed by the overwhelming grief that suddenly found me. I couldn’t explain where all the grief was coming from. The confusion left me dazed till I couldn’t hold on to a thought. Any thought for that matter. Everything started to black out. 

And then I saw a streak of light. 

She sat on her chair and her thoughts lost upon the world in front of her. Thoughts became tears. She couldn’t tell where the stream of tears started from. Was it that time when he screamed at her? It seemed unlikely. It must have been something grave that would have germinated that anger that led to a furious hate. The hate that left her with resentment. The resentment that fuelled her wrath. The blinding wrath had rendered her helpless. She broke down within the chain that bound her. She had endured the cycles of anger and hate till she couldn’t tell the two apart. In her state of misery, she blamed herself for what that had transpired and her guilt and denial alienated her from him. He wasn’t there anymore. He wasn’t there when she needed him the most. He just wasn’t. They weren’t a couple any longer. He was emotionally dead to her till.

The thoughts overwhelmed her. The anger flamed and hate burnt bright. She burned in her anguish. There was only that anger and hate that consumed and kept consuming till there was nothingness. The nothingness led to the dark. She blanked out, lost in thoughts, lost to self, Lost. She shut her eyes tight to cope up with the overwhelming strain. When she finally opened her eyes, all that she could see was the dark. 

The world of real

The door creaked wide open. The house was sparkling clean and tidy. It smelt fresh and unused. The barren house echoed the silence to a reverberating boom. The sound of footsteps amplified as it reflected from one wall to another. 

“This”, the lady proclaimed with a marketable smile, “is fresh in the market. A fantastic two bedroom house. Single owners. No kids. The house is in a fantastic condition and is selling under the market value.” , she concluded her practised pitch. 

She walked the guests through the house. The drapes were drawn and she opened them up to let the natural light spread through the room. The mild chillness of the house vaporised and the house started feeling warm again.

The viewing done, the prospective buyer couldn’t resist the temptation of asking why such a beautiful house was selling cheap.

The realtor paused. She knew the question was inevitable. People usually found out sooner than later. There wasn’t an easy way around it. 

“Sentiment, I presume” she started. “Tragedy struck the previous family. The wife had a long history with depression. You know. Things happen. She took the easy way out. The husband couldn’t cope up with the loss. One evening he went out for a walk and a car ran him over. The case was closed as a suicide. The street’s CCTV footage clearly showed that the guy jumped in. Lousy way to go but it’s still a romantic tale of sorts. The couple couldn’t stay separated. People blame the house!”

Within the Light and the Dark, amongst the shadows, the couple continue to struggle to reconcile and reclaim the life that they once shared. 

Karthik