White Sheets

Anticipation, could that be an emotion? Whatever, it ate in to my heart, liver, kidneys etc for the past four days when I was lying in the hospital bed. I was not really anticipating to be spared the bed or go out and breath the fresh air. I was rather anticipating at six hour intervals to be injected a dose of painful nerve crunching penicillin, whose pain though was momentary, was still dreaded. Never before was my life segmented to four equally likely divided quanta of time round the clock.

Whats it like, well you get waken up at six in the morning by the gentle (gentle till the moment I realize whats up to happen) murmur of the white polythene bag. The nurses kept the medicines in the polythene bag and carried it to the room of the patients as and when required. They get in to action in no time. Tearing of the wrap from the disposable syringe, drawing out the saline solution mixing it with the penicillin ampule and drawing it out in three four syringes. The three four minutes they take to get ready always felt like a lifetime to me. I could pick out the seconds from those four minutes one by one. The tension would be so palpable in the air I can cut it with a blunt knife. Of course yes all this is evident to me and only me. A train of emotions would pass through my mind. A consistent train, consistent because the same set of thoughts passed through me every time.

The first thought that ever come across would be to break of from the bed and go away. I always believed lack of fresh air is contravening my recuperation efforts and even the slightest exposure will set me all right. Incidentally since I was sensible enough to at least guess if not fully phantom the complete implications and intricacies of the medical science, and have somehow conceived the notation that life may not be as easier I think with a malfunctioning kidney and inflated liver, I would just comply. Doctors have done a good job educating me on whats wrong with my body.

The other thought is of absolute determination in which I decide I would lay still and let the nurse do her job whatever the pain involved is. Hardly two seconds in to the injection my resolution will disappear in to thin air. I'll gasp, wallow and convolute with pain, but with the best effort of hide it from the nurse at work. In pain at the mercy of a woman? I just cease to be a misogynist.

Not sure if they have seen me wither me in the bed. I had no qualms about hiding it inadvertently making my misery more visible.Heavily built guy getting anxious of and fretting about just an injection. Their professional decorum should have stopped them short of mocking me.

deja vu

Ages since I have been here. Not a healthy sign. I happened to do an analysis of my craze for prize winning movies and books. At some point of time those were my only bench marks for works of art. Was I a victim of ignorance or was I seeking a shortcut to the helm of literary circles. These were the questions troubling me when I dared for a retrospect. As well known both situations are embarrassing, the latter the more. The outcome was quite surprising.

Its been quite some time since i started involving with books. The first occasion i which i started interacting with mature books dates back to the time when i was serving period in St Thomas. Fortunate i should say, i had a channel for books to reach me. This i think was the turning point which many people never had. Though i was not right away absorbed in to concepts of fiction, realism, meta fiction, neoclassicism, modernism, post modernism, cubism etc ( About most of them I still don't have a clue. Just added for the sake of space), as the channel intended, i developed a method. And this method was the key. The essence of the audience which i am today, is a polished , refined, battered, shrunk form of this method, which has evolved over time.

Pages which keep me away from reality, take me to another world (i know its an over used phrase) was what i always looked for. I am not sure, my ego is not.......yes it is permitting me to admit the fact that i had a preference for racy pages. And the first of the few which falls in the two categories as mentioned were The English Patient and Disgrace. The Patient was not quite transparent to me but a mystic charm hooked me to it. Though i happened to see the movie at a later point of time, even now if i go through the pages of that book i exactly recreate the notation of story and its characters which i once developed, and held. This fortunately is drastically different from any body's interpretation of the book. Disgrace give me a different perspective of the art. It provoked me to think or imagine myself in other peoples shoes. Was a terrific experience, but loved it. I integrated these two (create, imagine) to my mental faculty before i went ahead. There has been achievements, disappointment's, additions and deletions to this instrument of my mind as i went ahead. But fundamentally it remains the same.

The road ahead was relatively easy. But not without bumps. I lacked conviction and personal choice. Thats when tags of appreciation the work holds attracted me. Believe me though there were disappointments, the method never failed me. Till date tagged contemporary works of fiction ( my domain of interest) beacons quality. The faith developed in to appreciation and then adoration. The tags where reliable is only one part of the story. I enjoyed the reading process is what really mattered. The primary discussion in this post ends here.

Circumstances made me better. I resorted to diverge. Poetry, philosophy, Shakespeare, drama... all were disasters. The sight of a feminine charm in the counter of the library forced me to read something sitting on the table across. Fortunately it was a table meant for reading magazines and i started browsing through magazines, and came across The Economist. ( I remember that something similar have happened to the mankind long back. My history books says while prehistoric men ate meat gathering round a bonfire, somebody missed the aim when he threw the meat for someone else to eat and that piece of meat fell to the fire. Assuming that there was a lack of meat, either the person who threw it or the person for whom it was destined was forced to eat it. And that introduced the mankind to cooked meat. Funny, huh?) I have remained faithful to that magazine since then. The Hindu editorials which i happened to read in ICH and only in ICH was one another successful experiment.

ICH was the corner stone for my progress in outlook. What rather started as miming the Khadi clad, Beedi smoking maybe/intellectuals and photographers evolved to an obsession. The habit also seconded as a avenue to cater my escapism from mainstream activities. The healthy outcome was that i practiced and mastered patience. The hours i spent in the smoking section of the hotel, staring at people , viewing the setting sun, viewing the building next, reading paper ultimately did something good to me. Sitting idle was anyway a better option than being in the lecture hall and listen to some exceptional stupidity.

The desperate need of a place like ICH landed me in Odyssey. Though its no comparison to ICH it was better of the lot. No thinking took place in there. But I had real close encounters with the second kind (from a distance). The fact i learnt, second kind is a gone case once its mouth is open. I kept on eluding them for years on end....and may be for years to come.

Don't know why, i am not complete with this piece. But i feel desperate to get it on the blog. May be sometime back i'll come back and edit it. (including this sentence)

requiem

Its for me. Ohh yeah, I mean it. I have lost my significant other lately. Bad thing to happen, huh. The pity is it has been hardly two years since I discovered her. True she made a premature exit, that's her substance anyway. Continuous assault on her ego, with my stupid choices, demonic nature, premature conclusions and compromises had finally taken the toll.

It would turn out pretty bad if I try to convey what someone has already mentioned. Hence the original......

"Uhh, yeah
Another one of those - this is for my nigga Q - down to earth joints
Rest in peace baby, you're not for me dawg

They don't knooow, who we beee
They don't knooow, who we beee

That's how many that don't know, they knew I could do it!
This goes out to my nigga Q - rest in peace baby
They still ain't ready...

What they don't know is!
The bullshit, the drama (uhh), the guns, the armour (what?)
The city, the farmer, the babies, the mama (what?!)
The projects, the drugs (uhh!), the children, the thugs
(uhh!) The tears, the hugs, the love, the slugs (c'mon!)
The funerals, the wakes, the churches, the coffins (uhh!)
The heartbroken mothers, it happens, too often (why?!)
The problems, the things, we use, to solve 'em (what?!)
Yonkers, the Bronx (uhh!), Brooklyn, Harlem (c'mon!)
The hurt, the pain, the dirt, the rain (uhh!)
The jerk, the fame, the work, the game (uhh!)
The friends, the foes, the Benz, the hoes (what?!)
The studios, the shows, comes, and it goes (c'mon!)
The jealousy, the envy, the phony, the friendly (uh-huh!)
The one that gave 'em the slugs, the one that put 'em in me
(whoo!) The snakes, the grass, too long, to see (uhh, uhh!)
The lawnmower, sittin, right next, to the tree (c'mon!)

What we seeing is!
The streets, the cops, the system, harrassment (uh-huh)
The options, get shot, go to jail, or getcha ass kicked
(aight) The lawyers, the part, they are, of the puzzle (uh-huh)
The release, the warning, "Try not, to get in trouble" (damn!)
The snitches, the odds (uhh), probation, parole (what?!)
The new charge, the bail, the warrant, the hole (damn!)
The cell, the bus, the ride, up North (uh-huh)
The greens, the boots, the yard, these hearts (uhh!)
The fightin, the stabbin, the pullin, the grabbin (what?!)
The riot squad with the captain, nobody knows what happened
(what?!) The two years in a box, revenge, the plots (uhh!)
The twenty-three hours that's locked, the one hour that's not
(uhh!) The silence, the dark, the mind, so fragile (aight!)
The wish, that the streets, would have took you, when they had you
(damn) The days, the months, the years, dispair
One night on my knees, here it comes, the prayer

This here is all about!
My wife, my kids (uh-huh), the life that I live (uh-huh)
Through the night, I was his (uh-huh), it was right, but I did
(uh-huh) My ups, and downs (uhh), my slips, my falls (uhh)
My trials and tribulations (uhh), my heart, my balls (uhh)
My mother, my father, I love 'em, I hate 'em (uhh!)
Wish God, I didn't have 'em, but I'm glad that he made 'em
(uhh!) The roaches, the rats, the strays, the cats (what, what?!)
The guns, knives and bats, everytime we scrap
The hustlin, the dealin, the robbin, the stealin (uhh!)
The shit, hit the ceilin, little boy, with no feelin's
(damn) The frustration, rage, trapped inside a cage
Got beatin's 'til the age, I carried a twelve gauge
(aight!) Somebody stop me (please!), somebody come and get me
(what?!) Little did I know, that the Lord was ridin with me
The dark, the light (uhh), my heart (uhh), the fight (uhh)
The wrong (uhh!), the right (uhh!), it's gone (uhh!), aight?

Man listen
These motherfuckers don't know, who we are!
They don't know
They couldn't possibly fuckin know dawg
That's from the heart
"
*Courtesy DMX(Who we be)

It started an year back with a series of failed attempts to make sure the quintessential me remains. A futile but earnest effort it was. Set backs on every front, had to backfoot many a times. Now, that was the mistake....a compromise. Was beyond her code of conduct. Yes I did try to patch it up with my significant efforts to soothe the blow with a lot of charm. Charm in its true sense. And sure she did get carried away for a lull. Or rather she ravished in the charm. She still does. And I entered a phase where I rather wished to confine her to the pleasures of charm, tranquillised, oblivious of mother earth and her fucking realistic doctrine.

It was suicidal, lol.....did live up to the very word. Intersection. Life is calling, where am I? High time mortals...enough of this nonsense. I have grown numb to every damn blow. Refueling the reactor core. Apocalypse?....too young for that....lol.

Charm of the charms, my weakness, quintessential me, significant other, thou belong where thou belong. Thou can't elope me for ever. Thy fate is sealed, and so be it. The fucking system can't simply malfunction.

rain

Pulse.....Suffocating rooms.....gloomy atmosphere.....stuffed rooms....sleeping....van....country roads....sand...the mini backwater-coconut farm in front of the school....dads bro....being on his cycle....singing with him in the evenings.....at the back of the house...Omelets....his elder bro....evening prayer...standing in the sun, at the school on sand just after washin the hands staring at the hands.....taps by the side of the building.

St. Joseph's....the commotion of vehicles, people, students outside the school on the road.....spacious but gloomy rooms....that long wait for the dad to pick me up......being the last one to be picked up....dance classes....a set of crayon pencils with the picture of a plane on the cover....red water bottle.....drama event with me as a dog.....the mask my dad made with paper and cotton....its brown colour...its eyes and ears.....the event itself.....walking away from the event with the family......having a long range view of the stage.....christmas celebrations.....the big christmas tree.....gift....the small plastic santa......the scholarship.....certificate....rains...dad in a big blue raincoat with a cap....teachers....i don't remember.....the peep hole to the adjoining workshop....layer of workbooks.

St. Paul's....the long ground....the line of taps by the wall....the netted fish tank by its side....trees with awful smelling fruits....leaves....elder lady students....Annie teacher....start of the onam vacation, waiting for my parents.....my broken slippers.....the cartoon magzines....my bro in the nursery nearby.....fetching him every evening.....his teacher.....Rukma.....the innocent and my only wink.....jumping from the slide to the sand.....kintergarden playground.....pigs.....pond.....croc's in the pond.....religious studies class.....
school magzine.....cactus garden.....rabbits.....Chapel.....monotonous boring masses.....fairly stupid speeches from nuns.....christmas day celebrations.....picnic to the zoo/park.....birthday celebrations of the stupid fucking Sister N.....assembly.....national anthem.....basket full of chewing gum.....gift from dad red pencil......second std.....wax candles.....the stupid loving teacher who changed the spelling of my name(she fucking took the grace of my name).....i hate her for ever for that.....nuns washing their plates.....Simi.....the fights.....Vivek....the hard ball.....the friendship.....computer classes.....bus shed.....school day celebrations....turning globe.....John.....sweets.....wooden dumbbells.....Pt master.....his stories.....cousin.....
farm outside the Chapel.....numbers.....the brinjal chart.....
Rosemary.....Rakesh forgetting his exam dates......swapping his papers......workexperience.....drawing....Ann....the skelton.....rains.....flash floods.....umbrella....being late...slap from dad.....van.....kuttapan.....the staffroom in the corridor.....magic show.....the waste bin.....basketball court.....the history text book.....view out of the window......the pregnant teacher.....Saritha....sweets.....english speaking crowd.....progress reports.....out

St Joseph's.....the negotiations.....Vishalakshan Master....hindi.....stories.....cult....dothi.....Sandeep.....Thattil Master.....instrument box.....the paper cow.....malayalam second......the staff room.....cycle....tile roof.....stones.....marbles.....sticks.....tops.....cricket.....football......assembly.....church.....ground.....
sports....youthfestival.....Exams.....lilliput.....KP....science exhibition....muffan.....coimbatore......Calicut.....Delhi.....rains.....arrogant clerk....computer teachers.....pt masters.....mass pt.....the tombs.....the school next.....hump in the ground.....schoolbus/van.....confessions......Taha.....schooldays.....fishtanks.....office.....canteen.....
ALE....candico.....diary sign.....Babul.....Melvin....Lino....Foster.....Jinu.....Fobby.....Ullas.....Lilba.....Laju....am cracking......
ooty....Jimmy Master.....Rajkumar.....Thankamma Teacher.....Vishalakshan revisited.....no dothi....no slippers.....pants......not many stories left.....old Vishalakshan in a new bottle..Ramanathan....Linda....Aithra....Sivan......Vineeta...Boney...Remya.....ML....Stupidity...School Leader.....ending prayer.....Head Priest.....Poly Brother.....Sister Stenya .....Sister Gonsalus.....Condessa.....an arry of awfully stupid and arrogant teachers.....the effort....results.....sweets.....

St Thomas ....PC....work....gopi....milkbar.....work.....cycle.....early morning rides.....physics....chemistry......maths.....flowers....trees....work.....23:00 pms.....my table....attendence.....strikes......election.....campagin.....red.....blue......orange......library.....books.....
english patient.....one hundred years of solitude....IIT classes.....tests.....work....abuse.....tests.....work.....movies......Catholic Sirian canteen.....roti....green peas.....Boney.....Christmas.....tests.....paper.....out...study.....201.....crossroad.

Sand

At times I really get fascinated by the creativity of people. Long back, when I had a lot of time to spare, when I worked for humane hours, I once ventured in to a cultural museum. In a crowd which consisted of families and couples, it was pretty odd to walk around as a stag. I had my freedom though. I was literally delighted at the serenity of that huge landscape in spite of of being in the middle of a happening city.

My curiosity guided me to remote but inviting nooks of the museum. Now am not going to be that dramatic and say that 'the crowded woods give way to a clearing with sunshine streaming though the branches, and a stream flowing near by'..... But I was in the middle of a different environment even before I could realize. I would rather say I didn't realize that until I turned back.

They have named it as "natural rock garden". Indeed there were some rocks here and there, meticulously named. Spend some time reading the names. I felt none of the rocks deserved to be there until I came across the "Two Sisters Chatting". It consisted of two rocks one, long, lying down with a slight bend in the end ( should be her head). The other next to it shorter, thicker, as if sitting beside the other. I never saw two women sit like that and talk. I have to admit their postures were graceful. Simple. "Two Sisters Chatting" the artist should have been at a high when he named that, I bet. Felt that it would have been an easy task. The feeling evaporated when I started to think what would the sisters be chatting about. A guess was beyond my limits. And I am sure anybodies guess will be misplaced by the artist, because nothing atleast I know will suite the situation, posture or name of the rocks. Should be something celestial.....

Hats off for the artist. Need to appreciate his imagination to bring two different pieces of rock together and give it a worthy name.

Madame Thinker

The memories of "Naked Came I" is fading from my memory. But the series of events Auguste Rodin went through when he was creating thinker is fresh and alive. Got a chance oflate to rekindle my memories.

There was nothing wrong in expecting her as it was a French movie to be screened that day. Have spotted her many a times, but never with out her friends. Her friends were more sophisticated than what she was, apparel not being the only reason. Not sure why the trend is being followed, I have seen the prime seats in the theater being left vacant for the foreigners to occupy. Though my ego could never accept that, I liked it that way since I always knew where to look for her.

There I sit, waiting for the last remaining light to go off and the movie to begin. I always relished the first scene in the screen when the reel starts. The dots, scratches, count down, parallel colours, anything which came first belonged to me. I don't think anybody ever owned it. May be two more minutes to go...She walked in visibly disappointed. Graceful I would describe the scene, clubbed with the first frames of the reel falling on the scene, incandescent lamp yet to go off. She sat down two rows ahead of me on the large sofa. She was the only one on the sofa. Good god I never accepted that neck is an adornment for ladies, though I have read about it many a times. Thanks for my eye sight, could even spot a mole or two on her neck.

Movie was absorbing enough. I forgot her. Was interrupted when my phone started squirming in my pocket. Ah.....I should thank my sick service provider. The moment of truth was not far behind, I saw her sitting alone, with her legs folded and her hands around her legs. Head slightly but visibly held down. Her cheeks should be touching her knees. Eyes staring upwards. If I ever saw a tranquil women, it has to be her. Wish I knew her name. I still don't know why she was wearing a "salwar kameez". But that had devastating implications on my fragile xenophobia. Still not sure why I want to link the sight to "thinker", may be I never saw a woman thinking. "Thinker" is definitely a sculpture where people can perceive a creature thinking. Though chances of she thinking about anything at all while watching the movie was pretty slim, that posture of hers definitely belonged to a lady who have abandoned herself in the thought process.

I started wondering how long this debacle of mine would last. She didn't fail me. It continued moments before I could find the indication that movie was coming to an end. She should have seen it before. I could have stayed back and savoured that lingering moment. I walked out before her. Never had; still don't have any apparent reason to have done so.

Smokers Inc.

God is absolutely humane, for having denied me the smoking instinct in my brain. But the game doesn't end there, my ever lasting admiration to cigarettes and smokers continue strong as ever. This is a tribute to all the smokers I have come across and the eternal memories of seeing them in action they have left in my mind.

The first time I realized smoking is very much a reality among people we are in touch was when one of my fathers colleagues came to stay over in my house for a night. Good god, the commotion my mother made over the instance once he left was far more lethal than the smoke he exhaled. I bet, she would have taken the massacre of 10 people next door(if it ever happened) lightly. Well, I wasn't curious. I was a family-law abiding kid (regrets).

The next dose of my experience came a few years later, in a movie. But the cigarette from the hero's mouth faded away from my memory owing to beauty of the shot and the actor. Face to face with cigarettes, that did happen when I was in for graduation. Couldn't believe my roomie smoked. Shouted to him to wait for me, when he said he was going to smoke. Then I watched him smoke with another friend of mine in the balcony, in utter bewilderment . Half way down the cigarette both collapsed on the bed, commenting that it was bliss. I was intelligent enough to make out they were not veterans in the business.

Did try it, not long after, at the height of the excitement of having made through an exam which I thought will never happen, gave me enough courage. Disaster. Somehow I liked the smell of tobacco. Then came the habit of holding used cigarette butts between my fingers, and smelling the fingers after that. I would ask to reserve the butt for me the moment someone lights. Lucky me, no one ever challenged me with a TBM for that.

In due course I dropped out the habit of holding the cigarette butts, finding it unhygienic. ( Butts hardly reached me before kissing atleast 5 guys lips) Invented something new to quench my desire for the smell, smelling the cigarette packs. Have struck to the habit till date. But owing to the raising eye brows of smokers, always kept it as a low key affair, out of public eyes.

Off all the brands I have come across I have never smelled a cigarette better then "Wills Navy Cut". Never seen such a sexy cigarette either. Some body remarked a"navy cut" is called so because the original cigarette was shortened to fit in to the pockets of US Navy. I wonder if guys in US Navy ever saw a "Wills Navy Cut".

Can't keep laughing at what people do in students hostels for cigarettes. Irrespective of being rich or poor, beginner or expert all of them followed the rules below.

• Never keep cigarettes where someone can easily spot it. Make your best effort to hide them better than your porn magazine.
• If some one is spotted smoking make sure you walk up to him and get a share.
• Don't throw away the cigarette butts, accumulate it in a common place. You never know when you have to smoke them again. Common places of accumulation : unused buckets, corner of the room, balcony and once in a while, ashtray. The use of an ashtray complicates the recovery process, as you will have to spread the whole contents out to search for a potentially reusable piece. Open spaces avoid this trouble.
• Never keep a match box with you if you are a smoker. Try to wake up the guy who have studied for the whole night and ask for a match box, aware of the fact that he neither smokes nor does any pooja.
• People who does poojas are the most hunted for people in the hustles for lights. Have seen them contributing tons on match boxes and match sticks for safe keeping of smoking communities. Morons.
• Your lighter never works when you want to smoke.
• If you don't have cigarettes carry a match box, you have good chances of getting a smoke.

I grew fascinated by the habit more and and more as time passed by. But never had the nerve or conviction to take it up. Got used to passive smoking. You don't have much choices when you are in a drinking party with other 5-10 guys in a 7*10 feet room with doors and windows closed. You can actually witness fumes escaping from the room when ever you open the door to let someone in or out. At some point of time during that period I learnt how to make ash trays out of small metallic cans. Did that more as a tactic to save the room from knee deep ashes than as a hobby. It was not long before I realized that the 150 ml Deo cans are not enough to hold my roomies one day's smoking effort. Thought of getting an unused tar drum for him, dropped the plan owing to lack of space.

Saw a new breed of smokers in the cubicle world. This category smoked as if that is what they are paid for. Still have the feeling that the company policies ( not supposed to smoke in the premises) were made by an unrealistic retrograde man. If somebody is idle for 5 mins he will gather 5 guys and go out for a smoke. Any smoking session is a 30 mins affair. Once the protagonist is back, someone else would be waiting for him in his cube to go out for a smoke. See the impact it has on the productivity. It wouldn't be a bad idea to move the cubes and machines of critical resources outside the campus. Let me tell you Smoking zone is the most happening place in the company. More active than the board rooms. Its the cradle of gossips. You will get the inside dope about who slept with whom, who is new in HR, which team sucks more, who got the new car, what a great job we are doing to boost country's economy, who has quit, his new package, which company has cigarette vending machines ( you just need to swipe your access cards), which company is catered by Taj group, who is going to buy our company, how the guy next cube got a promotion, who is getting fired next, reason to sack the last one, next eras technology, where you spotted her in a compromising situation, with whom, .....What not. Cigarette is a esprit de corps I bet. You have a reason to come to office and you a have a method to spend your time. A time when foreign cigarette packs as given as performance incentives instead of peanuts is not far.

Smokers you are the essence of any Corp. Any place devoid of you is as good as a desert without sand. How I tried to get in to the habit despite all odds. Some times I feel I am a failure. Wish I could start smoking some day. Thus goes the vision of me smoking.

Clad in blue denim jeans, lighting up the cigarette with my lighter, the butt at the start of my fingers, fingers wide spread (Well, I dream of John), never bothering to dust away the ashes, lone, deep inhalation, hardly taking the cigarette out of my mouth......lol.....Can't help laughing.