Of splits and vainness!

Andhra, Telangana, Rayalaseema - split!
Vidharba, Konkan, Maharashtra - split!
Others too follow suit!
No useful work, only split and loot.
Tear away our togetherness!
Who cares India, we only make mess!

http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/city/hyderabad/Telangana-protest-hits-Hyderabad/articleshow/5307169.cms

War and Piss

This is an old poem, written in about 2005/06. It is here because I was reminiscing the days when we attended various fests/events at different colleges.
This one was written as my entry to the poetry contest at IIM Bangalore at their Management fest. There were various odd/vague sounding topics given. I chose "War and Piss", and it goes as follows:

War and Piss

Riding, on my way to IIM Bangalore,
I saw a need to construct toilets galore!
        The infernal, unholy stink,
        led me to think,
“Two words used with or without link
talk about World Health, if or if not pink.”
        Between ‘war’ and ‘piss’
        Consider these similarities.
Whatever may happen,
Both need a weapon.
        One is solely for mass destruction.
        Other can be used for mass production.
Former weapon spreads evil helter skelter.
Anyway, latter is no better.
        Humans wage war for oppression.
        Dogs piss to show domination.
War is across national borders.
Piss is across streets, much against government orders.
        Fight against evil is also called ‘warfare’.
        Relieving oneself is good, as it makes one feel light as air.
Wage a ‘war’ against illegal piss.
Inspire ‘opposites’ into blowing you a kiss.
        Fellows and brothers, PLEASE stop these wars!
        Lets not leave our Earth, ugly with scars!

Getting to know someone

May be everyone knows this but I feel it is one of those things that are present in the subconscious, not obvious, just like every creature knows that jumping from a height could either injure or kill it.

Many applications on Facebook these days are quizzes which are supposed to reveal how much one person knows another person. Essentially it is fact-based. Knowing facts about a person is a major 'fact'or in knowing a person. Agreed! However, I realized that you could just know a person or feel that you can know a person without actually being able to quote their favorite color, dish, brand or pastime. In fact these may change from time to time.

So if you want to know a person, you should know how their tastes may vary or how they react to events and why. You could perhaps say you know a person well if you can think what the other person is thinking. You'll know the chain of thoughts. Maybe why he/she thought of that thought even! Everything. And yet, you may not be able to tell something specific like the other person's dog's name.

With my new found discovery (having brought it from subconscious to main working sheet of the mind) I plan to set out trying to know people. My emphasis will be on extrapolation of person's behavior to judge (Oh everyone judges everyone at every instant of time!<--- I just did once again!) the person and predict the person's reactions at another time. The joy you get when you realize that you can almost predict what a person would do in a situation and then see that the prediction becomes true is un-word-able! :)

I have some friends who can tell what my reaction would be and why. We often don't even need words to communicate with each other. (This comes to the fore when you're playing games like Dumb Charades and Taboo.) It is mutual. I am now discovering/adding more people in that list.

PS: Maybe the idea behind knowing facts is to know what happened in the past and what was the response of that person. That knowledge may help in predictions. Any which way, it is not just the facts...

Dad on Facebook?

Woke up in the death of the night!

Saw a sleep-blowing sight!

Checking to see the new mails I got,

there was one - made me feel I was high on pot!

Happy or nervous, should I feel?

Lips or fingers, should I seal?

All careless flirting may be under scrutiny,

and any reckless word may lead to a mutiny!

"As you're going down, you're taking us with you",

say my friends, "What did you do?"

I invited him in an impulsive moment.

He accepted it. Now I can't lament!

"What's all this midnight poetry about", you say?

"My dad's on Facebook!" Here, my case I lay!

*Written at 4:00 am!!!

A High

Sitting in office, struck by blanking of mind, is horrible. You know you're being paid for being in office and coding an application (for ex) but all that is happening is the former without the latter. "Aaahhh! Coffee! My best medicine..." This is dangerous! I noticed that my coffee consumption goes high when in office and that doesn't always give me a high. All that goes high is the acidity in my stomach.

Worse still is when I do this without breakfast/lunch/brunch.

On one such droning day when the world seems to be hibernating and you wonder if the Earth stopped rotating, I came across a very stimulating status message. It claimed "Religion is a socio-political system/setup invented by the opportunist to control the majority population by exploiting their emotions and weaknesses."

I gawked at the message. In some moments, I was smiling! In the next few moments, my fingers joyfully tapped the keys of my keyboard! This chain of climactic events was because my thoughts resonated with that person's.

I buzzed him and what followed was a stimulating chat. Mutually both were extremely happy. It was as though God or some such thing (both are agnostic) gave us a play toy called stimulating thoughts! We played. We played and had to cut short our game because of lack of time. I promised Harish to write about this. I went on to join him, Suraj and Vivek to perform in a college event (IGSA Freshers' Night 2009).

Harish Naik's blog is http://hnaik.blogspot.com/

In this post I enumerate the people who are my mental coffee: Rahul Ranade, Rajagopal V (confusedmartian.blogspot.com), Harish Naik.

Rahul Ranade is one who can follow anything from any simple rot that I utter to a high-ly pun/vague/sarcastic thing I say. Our verbal wars have produced many a happy time for the two of us and if I am right, I should see a pugnacious and bilious remark, which at the least harmful level is merely sarcastic!

A compilation of regrets

A passing by reader will be very tempted to generalize and say, "This blog is only about attempts at philosophy or wanting to be serious and talking about what I miss." I'd beg those readers to sympathize with me.

My recent talks with many of my friends and acquaintances revealed that everyone is in the same boat. Perhaps living in another country and not just another city makes people think deep and hard about everything. Thoughts become intense. There is a general wistfulness and longingness about anything! All this in the middle

of fun trips and vacations!

So when I was driving about in Tennessee and on our way back to Chicago, I had solitary moments when all my friends were asleep. I was driving with special focus on the road (I drove between 5am and 8am). In the screen of my mind played a movie!

This movie showed different me-s.

Anything but my present self...

So I was:

1) Drummer in a rock band (Professional/Amateur)

2) Flautist

3) Singer

4) Cricketer

and some more characters which didn't get enough time to form. They were vague.

These are my regrets. I love my life. I know that what I am is because of all that has happened to me and how I reacted to them. (The harshest self critic and the humblest acceptor of the criticism surely does well in life, I believe!)

But it was interesting to picture how life would have been if I were anything but what I am now. Somewhere deep in my heart, I still have one regret. I don't know what exactly it was that made me so strongly inclined to it but everytime my mom suggested that I should be an Engineer when I grew up, I pictured a happy-go-lucky train driver who sounded the whistle of the train ever so often!

Mom! Yeah I became an engineer, but perhaps there was a miscommunication! Where is my train?

Spoilsport became Opportunity

When could a rained out (Cricket match cancelled due to rain) be tolerated?

When you get interesting company... You sit and chat over a wide range of topics... That's when!

"You know what I learnt from someone? The difference between a smart guy and a not-smart guy...", said Moshi bhai!

"Go on! What is it?" I said, always the one to enjoy Moshi's company.

"A smart guy needn't be experienced, but can understand exactly (Almost empathize with) what the other person who is more experienced is saying and use that to act wisely. Given a set of inputs and circumstances, not just you, but I would take the same decision."

I almost agree. With a bit of difference based on the natural attitude of the person, more often than not everyone would end up taking the same decision. So Moshi made me feel not-such-a-loser-as-I-decided-I-was after a discussion with my friends and roommates made me believe I was the biggest loser, deciding to quit work and come here to the US!

And now when I think, I wonder if that natural attitude of a person (The traits of being optimistic or not, risk-taking or not) depends on the circumstances around him/her all life... If some friend of mine and I were baby swapped, then he'd have been like me now and I'd have been like him now. Yeah the genes may count too, but that's far too complex to judge. Then again, if you trace back, the gene differences came because of diverse circumstances that all of us lived under.

After a 2 hour chat on various things with him, (who is Pakistani by birth) that make you feel homesick or at home, I realized that the same things that used to irritate me at home (India) will be more tolerable for me.

I miss the crowd.

I miss the chaos.

I miss the roads (or at places, the lack of it).

I miss the people.

I miss the food.

I now am thankful that I came here to study. I now know what I missed when I was in it! In the thick of the things!

Most of all, perhaps, my mom reminding me "Do you have your wallet with you? Does your wallet have money? Do you have your cellphone?" And I'd stop her halfway and grumble that she thinks I'm an irresposible kid.

Only to come back in 5 min, sheepishly smiling and admitting, "I forgot my bike keys!"

More on related things in my forthcoming posts. I'm thinking these now because it's been 1 year since I left home (India) and I was so mentally prepared that I didn't even let the thought of homesickness mention itself... Now, it's hard to stop these thoughts!

Shower to Flower

Amidst accusations of cliche I maintain, it is not my choice, but a result of chance!

So here he meets her in a party - this time a sober one, (though last time's one was not un-sober, it couldn't be proved) - and his initial reaction was a bland one. "Don't care!"

Maybe there was mist in his eyes. The more he saw her, the beats got more irregular! Hmmmpppfhfhfhfh! "You fall for everyone and anyone!" his 'wise' friends say.

He still maintains that that is not true. For things to get to heart-beat-irregularizing level, there has to be something.

This time he did things differently though! He didn't speak to her until he found that that was the only option. All through the cake cutting, the snacking, the friendly violence he caught glimpses of specimens of most innocent, angelic smiles! That is his weakness! The sweet smile...

And to top it, the eyes looked intoxicated. He so envied the boldness with which (or the sheer chance because of which) his junior spoke to her. All he did was talk to people he knew. Else they'd think they knew him and start the above mentioned cliche that his 'wise' friends use.

Flower Power!

Rain Shower!

The God for showers toils,

to get Flowers all smiles!

"Here's a toast to our acquaintance O Flower,

and may it blossom into more", says God of Shower!

Nandan of our nation

About 7 to 8 years back it was Dr A P J Abdul Kalam that I wanted to be like. Now it surely has to Nandan Nilekani. There shouldn't be any comparison between the two but a news item I read today has cheered me. It has given me a reason to 'live'.

I was an ambitious man looking up to influential people, as a kid, only to degenerate into just another creature who resigns to the statement, "it is all very easy to say big things, but not easy to do them. We can't do anything in this messed up political garbage!" From someone who wanted to be an Aerospace Engineer I became just another Electronics Engineer.

This too had phases.

1- Ambitous Electronics Engineer who saw many opportunities to do big things.

2- "Ahhh! Economy! Let me get a job first."

Being in the USA at this time gives such less-than-normal attitude to most people. What really lifted my dying spirits with a breath of life is the post about Nandan Nilekani. My survival will develop into living for sure. Here is a man whose knowledge, work and attitude earned political respect from a government I lost hope on. Apart from Dr MS (Our Prime Minister) and former Finance Minister PC, I didn't see more avenues for development and positive strides. Railway Minister and his respect from IIMs drew attention and my awe.

Now with this induction of Nilekani, there is a new wave of hope. Indeed men with bright ideas will be appeciated. Today, it is at the highest level. I pray that tomorrow, the level of an organization where a person can get recognized moves down and so on. When this happens, India will be in another universe. India 2020 won't be far away! And it won't be only in patriotic songs that India sounds great in!

My upward looking eyes are a result of news items I read. To name them are:

A- India exports milk to New Zealand (Dr Kurien's dream comes true)!

B- Nilekani's appointment as the head of (National) Unique ID agency!

C- Mumbai's Worli-Bandra sea link's status and now Worli-Haji Ali's proposals!

D- Vishakhapatnam's development!

E- Andhra Pradesh's e-governance actually being real and not just dummy web pages doing nothing!

F- Dedicated Freight Corridor project (railways)! (More railway projects related news on this wordpress link)

Today I feel my satisfied best because I turned from an apathetic person towards goings-on-around-me to a delighted and proud man looking to do my bit.

For all fellow Indians, let's take a cue from this incident and let us do our bit soon! For a start, it'll be a great thing if everyone decides to hokd back the urge to throw trash on the roads or any place other than the garbage bin. If I were you, I'd keep the empty packet with me till I find a bin. It is not very difficult.

I wish to mention my friend who is already doing his bit while the rest of us friends are still trying to either find excuses like lack of time/energy or some such thing or are still planning for those days when 'we will do something'!

Meet Vinod. He is presently working with Aricent Technologies in Bengaluru. Always the one to dirty his hands, put in the effort, plan and execute things, he has started a Charitable trust with a group of like minded people. Their trust mostly funds poor children's education. Personally I am looking forward to be a part of their trust. I strongly recommend you (reader) to get in touch with him if you want to do your bit.

You could mail him at 4uvinod@gmail.com

Here are other friends who harbor such itch to do something - Viraj Patil, Arun V T and Harsh Mankad. There are other friends in my close circle whom I haven't mentioned because they may not take initiative, but I know they'll participate.

@Vinod - I see a lot of scope for us to dirty our hands now.

A walk in the rain

Mind was clouded;

frustration enshrouded!

Hoped for a clearer mind.

Brightness it should find!

Not happy, was I, with any work.

Backstabbers! Every corner they lurk.

"I have no achievement!"

To myself I lament.

No opportunity to prove myself.

No earnings to stock my shelf.

All, around me, in their strides, have spring.

Alas! I'm tied down; depression the string!

For others' sake, I go out of my way.

For their hassles, soul and spirit I lay!

To up my mood, no one cares!

A friendly time no one spares...

In mind, I want to get rid of darkness.

Outside, I don't mind the cloudy mess.

"Oh bring some peace! Bring some calm!"

I begged! Begged with outstretched palm.

On my way back home, raining it was!

My regular way would be by bus.

But today I chose to ease my pain.

So I walked. Like a kid I walked in rain!

*Dedicated to all those souls who are going through tough times! Hope that brought a smile...

Rasam powder's importance

What is the value of Rasam in Varun's life?

Zilch.

Ok, that's a very rude thing to say about Rasam because it is great to have it and some people love it. Most people live because of it. Every Tamilian survives on it. Teluguites have a bit of it on most days as appetizers and call it "Chaaru". Kannadigas and Malayalees have it too with their own variations. The rest of India would not much know the difference between a Sambaar and Rasam but do like it when they have it.

Rasam, with its ingredients, can not only be an appetizer but also give relief from cold and flu. "It makes you want to live another day..." says my dad, when he gives his pro-Rasam talk.

I never eat it with rice. For me it is a mere nutrition-less food. I'd rather have as much as my appetite normally permits than increase my appetite and find that Rasam anyway filled that newly increased appetite.

Let's refine the question a bit.

What's the value of Rasam in Varun's life in India? Zilch.

What's the value of Rasam in Varun's life in USA? Increasing...

Mr Innovator (one of my faces) made Rasam flavored Pasta. I'll call it "Rasamy Pasta". I'll take suggestions for a better name. I was tired of eating outside. I wanted to make something and realized that we were out of rice. "Ummmm!!! Varun, what do we do now?"

"Ummmm!!! How about making pasta?"

"Yeah! Will save money for tonight and I'll get to make it to suit my taste buds..."

So I religiously start cleaning 2 utensils, boil pasta and sautee vegetables. I'm not your emergency cook but a Chef-i-have-time-give-me-something-new-yet-tasty cook! I realized it and people did praise me for my food. The only flaw so far has been that potatoes in my dishes often aren't completely cooked. So let's say I am a Honest-chef-I-have-time!-Give-me-something-new-yet-tasty cook. I wanted my taste buds to get a tingle of red chilly powder. I have been having really bland food for long without whining.

Indians need spices and chilly powder in particular. More so, people from Andhra Pradesh. We are people who just make a pickle of everything. Most them vary in degrees of spice - (with '!' symbol to be read as the spice level)

Most spicy, !!!!! + !

Moster spicy, !!!!! + !!

Mostest Spicy and !!!!! + !!!

Call-the-fire-brigade spicy !!!!! + !!!!!

Now as I finish this post, I can't say anything more than, "Call me home, and let me dish out a Varun special, anytime when you're at leisure!"

For now, Chef Varun (CV) signs off, having satisfied his belly and taste buds.

I'm just wondering if it should have read: Honest-Chef-I-have-time!-Give-me-something-new-yet-tasty!-Remind-me-of-my-mom cook!

Play!!!

"Time to play gentlemen!" I didn't hear that actually but I finally played cricket. Raingod was merciful towards Raingod and others in the team. A long drive (3 hours) from Chicago to Springfield was made more sullen when we realized that the umpire decided to toss the coin without us because we were late. Our captain, Amer Khan, wasn't very happy because we had, as a visiting team, some grace time.

It didn't matter. After first two overs going very economical, our bowler Ali struck. It was a difficult catch because it was taken running backwards (a la Kapil Dev). That the ground was uneven and damp made this catch even more difficult. If I were the fielder I'd have dropped it or not reached it. As it is I was always a close in fielder, who'd do extremely well in ground fielding and inner circle catching. Never was an outfielder.

Soon it was 3 and then 5 wickets down. The batting team didn't seem to be getting anywhere. I was wondering if it indeed was possible to get a team out within 100 runs in a 40-over game. As it happened, we bowled a tight line and held our catches. Most of them were at 1st slip. 2 of them were by Moatsim Bajwa (Moshi bhai). He held one by his right hand - a quick reflex catch and the other was held low, just above the ground. He later completed a fine spell of bowling though he missed taking a hat-trick. Just for the hat-trick ball we all stood close by.

Moshi bhai looks like Waqar Younis. I said that to him. "Did anyone tell you look like Waqar?"

"Yeah some have..."

"Why don't you bowl like him too? (I was hinting at speed because he is a super bowler. Difficult to get away and has slow in-swing.)

He is a chirpy and a fun man. Just being around him gives an extremely comforting feeling.

So we got the team all down for 54 runs, the last wicket having fallen when they were attempting a second run of a brilliant fielder! (me) ;) I am really struggling with my right shoulder and I promised to take a doctor's appointment. My throws are just not as sharp and well-directed.

The batting order was decided. The openers were to play and complete the game for us. I was to go 5 down. As the batsmen were playing, I got restless. I needed to bat. I asked Moshi bhai if it would be doing too much to tolerate if I wanted to play in the nets for a bit. He said, "Suuuuuurre!" I am yet to see him discourage me for anything like this.

Kamran bowled gentle offspinners. I was lost for the 1st 4 balls. I started picking up. Ali, who looked sceptical of the idea of my going to bat in the nets, showed up and bowled a few at me. He gave me tips when I edged a few. It was nice. I was feeling very confident. Ali sledged me whenever I hit a confident stroke off him. It was fun, though he wasn't easy to handle in the nets too.

My confidence was a positive wave. I was being observed. I went back to join my team and asked Moshi bhai for feedback on my batting. "My feedback is that your batting in the nets made Amer decide that you'll go 1 wicket down if at all..."

"Thanks but I was seriously asking your feedback."

"Serious bhai! We were discussing when you were confidently playing your strokes. Launda confident lag raha hain. Isko bhejte hain!" (Guy is confident. Let's send him next.)

And so when the 1st wicket fell at 52, I had to be there to finish the game. I joined our wicket-keeper and opener, Vajid. Amer bhai asked me to be wary of the owler. He was supposed to be really deceptively good.

So I take guard, minus chest guard and thigh guard. That was supposed to worry me. I recently had injuries because of lack of protective gear. But the confidence I was in, I was looking to finish in the next few minutes.

1st ball!!! Here it was. Went forward to a left arm over, medium bowler. I got a genuine edge which was missed by the slip. I went through for the 1st run in my rekindled career. Vajid finished off the match with 2 singles (1 of the last ball and off the 1st ball of the next over). He felt bad for denying me the chance to hit the winning run. All is well. He more than made up by gifting me his chest guard.

An early finish saw us back home by 6pm. Looking forward to my next game on saturday (June 20th) at Washington Park, Chicago.

License to conquer

What is it about a Driving License that makes you feel strong; makes you feel confident?
Is it that you have been certified to drive alone? But why don't you feel the same about any other official document which gives you an identity. How about a college ID, even a reputed one, for that matter?
Perhaps the photo identity, age proof and address proof - all in one - give it the ultimate-document-to-posses status. Very bland? Not so convincing? What difference does having all these proofs in one or in 3 different documents make?
Perhaps it is license itself - license to drive - that gives one the confidence, pride and satisfaction. At subconscious level you know that you are free. Free to take on the world. Free to roam the world (or at least as far as the roads can take you). Free to feel free.
It tells you at the inner level that people have faith in you, your abilities and your reliability. It tells you (Funny that IT has to tell you):
1 - You're not suicidal.
2 - You're not a criminal or murderer who gleefully visualizes human bodies being trampled by car tires.
3 - You won't refer to your restlessness, frustrations or thoughts triggering these emotions.
4 - You're mature as your age suggests (Assuming mental age is at least close to the physical age).
4 - VERY IMPORTANTLY, even if the others in/on the vehicle sleep, you'll not prioritze your sleep over your driving!
So, in all, it is my pick as the sole document that can reform your attitude towards life. Something that even a passport can't do, to that extent!

Needle in a haystack

The following is an imaginary conversation between my friend and I...

"You seem so geed up.

You seem to be on top.

What's up? What's up?

Of joy, you're a dollop!"

"There is a joy in learning.

Ecstacy in meeting a loved one.

A pride in your earning.

Satisfaction in a great job done."

"What is this answer?

I asked a question.

Your answer filled with vigor,

has what relation?"

"A difficult needle I found,

in a dark, big haystack.

Thus, I feel joy all around.

Hope this find sits atop my prize rack."

"By golly! I get some idea.

I do see more clarity.

Tell me who! Santa Maria!!!

Do bring in some sanity!"

"Go back to my blog dated 31 May.

Of approval, I wish, I get a nod.

This find of mine gives a hope's ray.

The find being Worship, I am Raingod!"

The only reason I hate my name!

My name was carefully chosen by a man who puts detailed thought into everything. Everything! My father wanted to ensure that it was not a typical Andhra name. That his son shouldn't have a problem while filling the numerous application forms that one fills in a life time was a major factor in his choice. He wanted to name me a trendy and uncommon one by those days' standards. The limiting factor was also that no one should be able to shorten my name further. They could nickname me anything, but the name itself couldn't be shortened further. Shortening further shoudn't give any bonus to the one calling out the shortened name. All these factors culminated into my name being fixed as what it is.

People may argue that they could still shorten my name and make it "Varu" or "Var" or some such thing. But here is what I observed. The easiest for anyone to shout out or keep using frequently would be bisyllabic names (Two sounds. Most nicknames are of 2 syllables.). Names longer than those are shortened to 2 syllables for ease of use. Vikram (2.5 or 3 syllables) typically becomes Vikky. Tejaswi become Teju. Vinay could become Vinnu. Padmanabhan becomes Paddy and so on. There are some 2.5 or 3 syllable names which can't be shortened and be used easily. Say, shouting out "Varru" isn't so much of a bonus over "Varun". "Madhur" can't be shortened but in case it is shortened, "Madhu" is another valid Indian name. Also, calling out, "Mad" in a formal meeting sounds flippant.

So, Mr Ravi Kishore (my dad)! Well done. Hats off! However, there are occasions when I really hate my name, of which, I am otherwise very proud.

I remember, people used to appreciate my name in the context of monsoon rains which are crucial for Indian farmers and the economy. The name was fairly uncommon too. So I never had trouble with my name. It is also a part of the motto of Indian Navy.

I hated it most in Bengaluru. Bengaluru has the most fickle rains that a city could have. Given that it is not an island, or near a coast like say Mumbai, it is surprising where it gets rains from. It is not exaggerating to say that if the sun beats down for 4 days or say a week, the next day has to be rainy. So, when I would set out to go to college on a bright morning, it would not rain, unless I am not carrying my jacket. So let us say, it is that day when it could rain going by the rule I established above, it will rain positively if I am not carrying my jacket. If I do carry my jacket, however, it will not rain. I was stuck with this. It happened more than a dozen times. Riding a bike on a horribly wet day is an experience I will dedicate another article to. For now only those who have ever "been there done that" will know how it is a nightmare.

I think it is to do with my name because my friends didn't seem to have such a problem. Every such instance only cemented that rule for me. The last one really frustrated me. I drove my friends to a cricket match that I was playing. My roommate (Vinay) wanted to see a game in flesh, especially a game that I was playing. This excitement came to him when he saw the cricket kit that I bought. The others for some reason or the other wanted to watch it too. My main worry was, if after they came to see the match I only managed to score a duck or did badly in the game.

I didn't expect that there was something worse to fear. 10 minutes before our reaching the ground it started drizzling. 9 minutes before reaching it started lashing. And it continued to pour for at least half an hour. With every half a minute of rain, my belief that there would even be a single ball bowled in the game was buried deeper. So far every game possible got rained out. The one game that didn't get washed out was the one in which I was resting. My teammates (Most of them from Pakistan) were wondering how this year the weather seems such a spoil sport. I observed this till one day in a fit of frustration I cursed that it was my name perhaps. That I joined the league this year was enough for the God of Rain to start pouring his heart out was what I was coming to believe. In fact, this time, it is not just affecting me, but my team, and the whole league itself.

Now, with this knowledge, everytime there is a rain forecast or the match has just been called off, my senior team members teasingly ask me, "Aur kyaa chaahte ho bhaai mujhse?" (What more do want from me?) "Let us have a game, Raingod!" they say. Varun means "God of water" but then I don't think that makes a difference anyway. The sorry story continues every weekend. Every team member observed how the sun beats down brightly and how it is pleasant for the whole week just to spoil the weekend. It is as if the sun wants a break in the weekend too! I wonder why it isn't this way - the rain wanting an off on weekend! It is MY name, I guess! When I was in India, it was this way there. Now that I am in Chicago, it is this way here!

I have vowed to change my name and/or email ID (varun.raingod@gmail.com). Another thing I promised to do is to name my son "Ravi" not so much after my dad as because it means "Sun God". At least he'll get nice weather following him wherever he goes. I only hope after all this that the same rule applies to him (Name = weather).

This is the only time I hate my name; only reason I hate my name. Dad, couldn't you think of another name?

Viraj Pa'TI'l to Viraj Patil

The title of this post is, as I write, the google status message of my friend - Viraj Patil. For someone who knows that he is quitting TI (Texas Instruments) to join IIM-B (Indian Institute of Management - Bangalore), and only so much, it will seem like he is bragging his achievement, boasting, showing off or whatever.

Allow me to introduce my friend for 7 years while explaining that his status message doesn't mean to do any of the above mentioned things. A man of much fewer words than actions, he is continuing to set new high standards in our group of friends. 7 years back we all met each other in M S Ramaiah Institute of Technology, Bangalore. Through years we became fast friends and moved together as a group.

Viraj (Viru) always came across as a reticent, at times rude, fellow. This changed with the arrival of his 'steady-state' partner. He was someone who, we believed, would look in another direction if he accidentally even looked at a girl, as if saying, "Ohhh! Distraction!" As Vikram once put it, "Viru would go home and take a cold water bath if he sees a girl..." He was the butt of a lot of our jokes based on this idea. His frequent visits to the restroom (we're exaggerating here, of course) earned him a title "Attendance!"

He'd generally be in the top 5 scorers in the examinations in our class of about 70 and he'd come up to us all and exclaim "I got f***ked man!" when all he managed was mere honors (80% in VTU). If one pictured him and me standing next to each other, one wouldn't get a more academic contrast than that. The guy who almost failed in a course had no intention to apply for re-evaluation whereas the guy who missed securing 80%, instead securing 79.99% was feeling ashamed and wanted to apply for re-evaluation!

I would always believe that he was acting weird (We all believed so anyway and we still do believe that)! He'd fend off congratulatory messages by saying things like, "That was a fluke. Next time you see, I'll surely fail." And the story repeated all 8 semesters. It was just that we knew and got used to his quasi-modesty. This isn't to say he isn't modest, but when such things happened, people would get irritated.

The bottomline remained that with every semester he'd only get more determineed and focused. To complement those, he'd be methodical in his approach. There wouldn't be a single lecture he'd miss or a single notes' sheet he'd not have written down. Yet he found time to occasionally play with the rest of the group or roam places, go on trips or treks.

With time and with the reformation that the steady-state partner brought in him, he eased into a free and light-hearted man with tolerance to personal jokes or friendly banter. Academically, Viru, Vinod and myself took inspiration from our seniors at school (MSRIT) who had the urge and itch to do an extra bit. That found us participating (teaming up with Arun V.T. and Swetadrivasan) in the Honeywell - Freedom to Innovate - 2006 and ending up as the Top 5 team out of about 200 in India. Initially interested in the IIMs just as most others wanted to append an MBA to their BE to have that edge to their profile, he started developing a strong inclination towards technical qualifications (MS, MTech).

He had the audacity - if that word can be used - and the subconscious confidence in his abilities to believe that he deserved a better job than an average campus-placement job. He didn't take up the 1st few interviews/tests. He didn't take up the job he landed at CTS, instead choosing to apply online. His persistance rewarded him a job at TI as a consultant. Basis his performance, he was to be either confirmed or rejected there as a full-time employee. He would often worry. Any comfort given to him through allusions to his high pay would only evoke a reply, "It is not confirmed dude..." Need I say what finally happened in more explicit manner than just saying that he is quitting TI after 3 years of dedicated (may be overly dedicated) work? He ensured though, that he didn't miss many commitments - social, family etc.

What better event can happen to him than to get an admit at IIM-B? It only had to be this better (than the now saturating work at TI perhaps) an opportunity for him to decide to quit TI. As he is entering IIM-B, he still has not 'showed-off' in any status message that he is quitting for that reason. While each one of us in the group are trying our best to inspire each other and give each other an occasion and reason to be proud of ourselves, this surely counts as a pride-evoking achievement for us all.

On behalf of Madhur, Rahul, Shreyoshee, Shwetha, Swetadrivasan, Tejaswi, Vikram and Vinod I wish him good luck! I'll soon update this post with some pics of our group! Here is hoping that all of our dreams (including our million plans like restaurant, farming, suing and anti-suing agencies) are realized and one day we meet at the crossroads that we bade farewell to each other and join forces to inspire others and possibly generations to come!

Cheers!

Tribute to a great woman!

Everyone's mom is the best. Though mathematically it seems odd because according to mathematicians most populations of species have a distribution from worst to best. Moms however defy all laws. So let me establish that my mom is the best. Yes, your mom is the best too! Yeah his mom is the best and her mom is the best and everyone's moms is the best!

The lady that I am paying tribute to can be an inspiration to anyone. She is a personification of cheerfulness, grit, determination, duty-mindedness, humility, endearing, etc. (At this point I spent quite some time and realized that I was spending way too much time on something that has no limits and no justification despite the number and quality of words used.) The lady I am paying tribute to has no achievements, whatsoever, that the world recognizes. She doesn't even have her degree certificate (B.Com from Osmania University) to prove she is a graduate. But she has achieved a lot indeed. Read on...

Born as, Ramalakshmi Gidugu to Dr Narasimha Rao and Mrs Rajeshwari Gidugu in Nellore, she was the second child and eldest of the 5 daughters the couple had. She quickly became a favorite of one and all. She was plump and chubby to look and was very active and naughty. With every year, she was more of a tomboy. She'd beat up her elder brother's friends and bully them. She'd climb trees and steal mangoes and fruits. She'd make her own catapult and use it to pluck fruits. She'd leave home after an early breakfast, only to find herself relishing another breakfast at the neighbor's house. Then she'd leave, only to stuff more into her stomach at another neighbor's place. (It was usual for people to spot my mom on the road and be tempted to call the chubby looking girl and feed her more.) My mom wouldn't deny them that pleasure. She became the only person to have the privilege to give her piece of mind to the village head (called Munsab).

Life was all rosy for this happy-go-lucky girl who lived in the beautiful countryside of Andhra Pradesh. At school she'd dread Hindi classes and just pass the time by sitting in the back bench. By college time she retained most of her happy-go-lucky and carefree ways. She had friends around her who liked her company. She had a friend who wrote a poem on her. She was adored and admired by everyone. She never harmed anyone but was capable of seeing the possible harm that a person may do to her and was capable to fight ten words with just one effective word. She reserved her sharp tongue for those who'd, unaware of her capability, attack her verbally. It wasn't until a few months ago that I saw a picture of her college time and reformed my image of her. By the standard of those days, she was a beautiful lady. And I used to think she was plump and fairly okay to look at. This is despite the many times I saw an uncountable number of people not believing their ears when my mom would tell that she had a son as old as I am!

Let me jump to her married life.

Marrying a man who worked in a big metropolitan city - Mumbai - isn't easy. Living in Mumbai was impossible for most people. This lady didn't know Hindi - at least that would have enabled her to manage and survive daily life. Let us just say that apart from Telugu she couldn't speak another language. This was in 1983. When we left Mumbai to live in Bengaluru (2000) she had unbelievable lot of friends speaking different tongues. The amusing part was that two women speaking the same tongue trusted my mom more than the other woman. They all would come to my mom. I was amazed! It is hard to list down everything but I'll end this post here abruptly, only to continue in my future posts. Those posts will mention amusing anecdotes from her life in Mumbai.

To conclude this post, she is a magical lady, a Goddess, an inspiration to live and thrive. Mom, here's wishing you a Happy Birthday.

A story by the river...

“… we have no time to stand or stare.” We have no time or we make no time. Whatever it is, the truth remains that every one of us has a story to tell. Walk down the streets, look at people, and observe them. Some would be walking nonchalantly while others would be rushing to some place. The old man sitting on the bench in the bus stop must be eagerly waiting for the bus which would take him to his newborn granddaughter. The man standing at the corner, waiting for the bus could actually be hoping that the bus never arrives so that he doesn’t get to go back home to his troubled married life. A young girl standing in the bus stop shelter, seemingly calm while awaiting the bus, could from inside be restless to meet her friends and tell them the story of her new-found love. One should just have a little time to scratch the surface and there will be stories after stories, waiting to be told.

Everyone cannot afford time for such interesting tasks. People are more engrossed in survival, trying to improve their quality of life – merely materialistically - earn that extra buck and find happiness, though ironically they struggle throughout their life for it, thus spending many discontent and unhappy moments in their lives. For example, a family would buy an expensive home theater system, watch events (news and other events) all over the world, watch movies (mere stories told by others) or watch sports to see a fight between victory and defeat (the same old story since the beginning of the universe). How many people would know what is going on in the life of that smiling and charming new neighbor or the wrinkled widower living across the street?

I am a writer. I thank God for making my job implicitly require me to find such stories and also give me the time for it. Sometimes the purposeful observation gets to you. However one might argue, it is another regular task after all. I quickly decided that I needed a vacation. This is another luxury of my profession. I could call it a break from work to enjoy the beautiful nature. I could also use this very break to think away from the crowd and yet be working by writing something - story or a descriptive article about my trip.

On the last occasion that I made a quick decision, I found myself going to Cauvery river's jungle lodge resort. This was about a hundred kilometers away from Bengaluru, the technology capital of India. I enjoy a special rapport with the staff and the in-charge of this lodge. I called up Andrew, the in-charge of the lodge, my special friend. I gathered that he was going to be out of office for a couple of days. So the first two days of my stay for about four days was going to be without the company of my fellow philosopher with whom I shared many intellectual conversations.

Early one monday morning I kick-started my bike and, off, I set to the lodge. It was a typical pleasant Bangalore day. Cloudy, cool and gently breezy weather made riding a bike a very pleasurable activity. A cup of coffee with biscuits was to keep me going till I reached the lodges in time for a heavy breakfast. Breakfast, for the quantity, quality and variety of dishes was what I liked best about this lodge. Andrew, who is a nature-lover and who is vegetarian by choice like me, ensures that food served in the lodges is vegetarian, yet tasty. The meat-lovers never had an occasion to complain about the lack of taste that they generally have elsewhere. Stopping for photographs on the way, where the views looked breath-taking, was all that interrupted my ride.

Andrew has some creativity in his schemes, themes and work. He was instrumental in changing the interiors of the rooms and having a close-to-nature color scheme for them. The rooms were wooden and green artificial turf carpet covered the wooden floor. The curtains and lampshades were of light green shades. Upon entering any of the rooms, one would get the feeling of living in a tree house, or for a more imaginative person it would be like living on the tree. I chose Room 7, not only because I liked the number but also because that room was special for me. On occasions in the past when I was fighting states of depression or was struggling over something in life, time spent in this room triggered an improvement. This room also happens to be the one closest to the river bank. River Cauvery flows from Karnataka to Tamil Nadu. In this particular stretch, the river flows from west to east. The lodges are on the north side of the river which means that looking out from the south-side window the river would flow from the right to the left. It is surely a quarter of a kilometer wide on average and looking out of the south-side window, the opposite side of the bank is very scenic. The land quickly rises up and hardly would one see water surface level land as more imposing is the hill that sits in the background as if threatening to fall on you.

The whole bank is green. There is hardly any soil visible. The hill is covered densely by trees. It is eerie in a way because the stretch is known to be a good catchment area. Given that, it is natural to expect one of nature's fiercest and strongest predators to lurk in the waters. It is not uncommon to find carrion of deer floating by the river bank gently being tugged from underneath. In moments, the carrion would disappear. The thought of being stranded on the other side of the bank often gave me shudders. There was no place to run and escape a preying alligator there except climb a tree or the hill. The thick tree trunks surely make it difficult to climb them, especially with an alligator breathing down one's neck.

Dark nights in such forest areas are scary. It is the moonlit nights that are more terrifying. It is the partial sight of things that puts doubts in the minds. Standing at the banks of the river it gives me shudders seeing small dots glowing in the moonlight in the middle of the stream. I stop whatever I was doing and rush back towards my room when I see such things. I ordered beer for that night. A tiring day in the sun in the village area can be ended on a good note by beer. I recently tried writing when I was a little tipsy. What came out was well appreciated by people. What better than to get tipsy in room 7 to kick start a story?

As I do on occasions like these, I don't start writing until 11:00 pm, when surely all other campers retire to their rooms. That night I was going to do what I wanted to do for a long time - write a story by the river. I had enough beer to make me slightly tipsy. It was about 11:30pm. I looked outside the window. The crescent moon that night looked beautiful and the sky was studded with fine diamonds. It was only a look down at the forest that could spoil these adjectives for the night. I stood there pondering about the topics I could write about, people I could write about or just the night, to start with. I opened another bottle of beer. It looked like I had to up the level a bit to get started. I perambulated within the room for a while. It was the frustration of not being able to come up with an idea that stopped any new idea from entering. I was stuck in that rot. Strange that when some people want to tell a story they never get to tell it while others tell their stories no matter what.

When I looked out of my window this time, to the right, at a distance I spotted what looked like a carcass to me. It was flowing slowly downstream and it was only after fixating on the object for a while that I could discern it was a human body. A chill ran down my spine. When you see such things, you can hardly do better than that. Under ordinary circumstances I'd have watched it flow beyond my eyesight from where I was. Being tipsy removes fear. I opened the door and briskly walked towards the bank to catch a closer glimpse of the body. I could serve as a witness if there would be a case in future. The slowness of the drift seemed a pointer to the kind of death the person had. I could gather that it was a man. “Surely a sorry way to die, ” I thought. A feeling mixed with pity, eeriness and horror filled me. I only stared at the body and watched it drift closer to me from far. “I wonder if he drowned himself or he was killed,” I thought.

“He was killed sir!”

My heart seemed to come up to my mouth! With a sudden jerk I turned back. I wasn't alone? I surely heard a man! I saw a movement just as I turned back. My feet froze and my head became heavy. My heart was banging against my ribs. I stood there. I know that for sure. I couldn't think, let alone act. What was happening? Who was this? What was he doing here? He wasn't a person working at the lodges!

“He was my father! They killed him.”

It is horrifying when I recount it and I wonder why I didn't react. What if, instead, I spotted an alligator behind me. Would I have stood still while it preyed on me? Was it because I was tipsy or would I have been this way anyway?

He sounded more human than a spectre, the longer I stayed there. My frozen body slowly started to twitch. I started following his movements. I looked alternatively at the body and the man. He had an indignant look on his face.

All this was not making sense. What was the link between the man getting killed and his son sitting by the banks as if expecting the body to flow by at this hour of the night?

“He was innocent sir. They accused him of a abetting in a theft of money, jewels and valuables from the temple. When he threatened to reveal the truth about them, they killed him by drowning him.”

I stood there like a zombie. I was staring at him without reacting. He too joined me in following the body of the deceased.

I found words at last. “What exactly happened?'

“They say that when some people have some stories to tell, no matter what, they tell them. My father had a big truth, about them, to reveal. They killed him so as to shut him up. There were half a dozen of them who drowned him. They escaped sir. And the blot of the theft is on Nagappa – my father. I see this body every year on this day – the day of this brutal murder. It is as if he wants to tell a story. I can only sit here and cry my heart out, sir,” saying which he broke into subdued tears.

My heart went out to the man. I couldn't decide which part of the whole incident was my hallucination. How could I see a body of a man killed, by the words of the man, more than a couple of years ago? I could understand a grieving son imagining seeing his father. Why me?

“They stole the valuables from the temple for their own pockets. My father, an honest and God-fearing man, refused to let it pass. He threatened to reveal the conspiracy to the officials. But before he could do that...” the weeping intensified.

I continued in the flow of the chat which was more like that man's soliloquy so far. “Why don't you tell the officials? Surely you know it all too!”

“They won't take my word sir! I am just left with no one to believe me. My guiding light has been removed from my life!”

I didn't know what to say. What could I say? I couldn't believe it was just beer that did so much to my imagination. No! I surely heard so much. “It can't be my imagination,” I convinced myself.

I had nothing to say. I couldn't find words to say anything to the weeping man. I seemed in a vague sort of dream of my own where strange things appeared and disappeared. The story seemed clear. Though I didn't ask for a complete chain of events from the weeping son, I gathered enough to know that there was a murder and the murdered man knew things which weren't allowed to come out into the public.

I slowly walked back to my room. I hardly may have entered my room and mustered enough energy to lock the door behind me. I just couldn't take it anymore. I fell asleep. I don't think I dreamt that night. I woke up late that morning. There was a hangover. It was more from the disturbing night than from the beer, I felt.

I made my way to the police station. I was curious to find out about the incident. The officials there knew me as a regular visitor of the lodges.

“I was curious to know about some Mr Nagappa's case in conjunction with the theft at the temple some years back...” I asked inquisitively.

The name wouldn't have struck chords but when I mentioned the theft, the officer seemed to recollect quickly. “There were a few theories, but in any case he drowned himself. They say he stole the valuables and was planning to sell them in the city. He couldn't swallow the guilt and so he killed himself. Why he killed himself is not exactly known but the evidences we have point at that as a reason.”

My brows furrowed as I thought, “So what I heard from the son was correct? That he died was for sure. But it is very possible that he was killed. So indeed some people tell their stories in some way or the other.”

I was about to bring up the topic of the son, when the officer said, “And the very next day, his son committed suicide too. He had no one else but his father and he couldn't bear the accusation and the blot on his father (his only family member). He thought he'd always have to bear the wrath of the villagers. It was too much for him. Both the cases are closed.”

I don't remember what more the officer said. I was just nodding. That I was shaken is an understatement. Could I even say anything about the previous night there? Once again I couldn't tell a story. I headed back home by that evening. I wanted to write a story. But here I was. I wondered - through my painful moments in room 7 trying to think of a story to write - how some people tell stories when they have to, no matter what. Here was the example. Should I say Nagappa had a story to tell, which he told me and his son? Should I say the son had the story to tell which is why the whole incident happened? Let us just say it was a story by the river... A story by the river...

When listening obediently gave me a card of joy...

I got my Illinois State Driving License today. I'd have been surprised if I didn't. I drove a lot in India and somehow the mental driving that I did here didn't scare me much. I thought, a hands-on session before the test and I should be through. I don't know if this term was coined by anyone before but I picked it up from my dad.

[Mental driving is something that is done by anyone other than the driver of a vehicle. Mental driving is actual driving minus the physical control of the vehicle. So you are driving in your mind with exactly the same reference as the driver's, only that you may brake earlier than the driver or steer gently to the left to center the vehicle in the lane. So a good mental driver needs just 5 min to understand the vehicle because he/she knows how the traffic is and has the experience of the roads.]

I was picked up by my instructor Mrs Araceli Villa in the morning at 7 am. I am not an early morning person at all. I am worse when I am made to not only start my day early but also start without breakfast. I didn't bother because my aim for the day was to somehow get myself a Driver's License.
I had about a 30-min drive during which I instilled confidence in the instructor and, more importantly, me. She gave me and another person taking the test today useful tips about most likely instructions by an examiner. At the reception, where they give tokens, the lady greeted me, took my documents (Passport, Social Security Card and Bank Statement) for verification and looked at me and said, "Varuuuun?"
I looked half-puzzled. I didn't mean to. It was just hunger I guess. Or maybe as my friends put it, it was my regular "the perennial lost/confused/ question-mark-face look".
"Varuun! Is that how you pronounce your name?" (She must have thought I don't much follow English.)
"Yeah, that's right! Varun!"
"Ahh! I am very smart this morning, for a blonde..."
I noticed that she was a blonde. I chuckled and half shook my head as if to mean, "Naaah! Don't demean yourself..." I refrained from asking her about Monday morning blues. As it is it was raining in the morning and I don't know of many people who look forward to Monday Mornings at work.
At the counter where the processing was to be done, I walked up and submitted my documents.
"I wish to take the Driving test," I requested.
She looked blank! I wondered if the blues had something behind the look. I wore a blue t-shirt too. (I had a choice of other colors. But...) I have this irritating habit of going against my beliefs and superstitions, often. A lady spoke from behind her.
I figured that the lady from behind was training the lady at the counter. I was relieved that it wasn't anything to do with the blues. Poor lady was nervous. "Ahhhh!" I thought.
For some moments I was contemplating trying to create some fuss just to shake her up a bit. That thought hardly lasted a few microseconds!
I had a mental picture of the instructions that the examiner would give me during the test. I was confident about the test. I sat in the car and waited for the examiner to appear and take the seat next to me.
"Hi! How are you," I greeted.
Pause...
Pause... (The two pauses would sum up to a time duration of 1 second, but a greeting so cheerful should have evoked a chirpy response from anyone! If I was expecting a Driving license granted with a pat on my back, just for the cheerful greeting, I agree I was expecting too much. Surely a happy "Hi!" in return shouldn't have hurt him a lot.
He looked very austere and reticent. "Okhaye! Leth me see yourr thaw-cuments," (the thaw is a pronounciation key. To be pronounced like 'th' as in 'there') he said with a heavy accent that told me he spoke Spanish and was very likely from Mexico. Through the grim look I somehow read that he wasn't going to be mean. I saw in him a fatherly feeling waiting to hand me my license.
"Now leesen thu mee cayrrfully. I am yorr examinerr. I will give you the instrucsyons well in ath-vaans," and some more statements, the order of which I th-on't rrremember.
We moved. He asked me to turn right as we exited the venue onto the streets. I gave the indicator and was well on course. Just at the gate, I suddenly imagined that it was a "No-right turn" sign at the gate. For a moment (nanosecond) I wondered if he was trying to trick me to see my presence of mind. I quickly changed the indicator to left at the Stop sign and then realized that the road was not a one-way. So I could indeed take a right turn there. Horror!!!
Why does my imagination pitch in at wrong times? I changed to right turn again. All this happened in a span of 1 second during which I also heard him gently say, "No, rrright, rright!" I didn't dare explain my whole train of thought. (I have had people laugh at me when I tell them about my imagination. Some are bemused too.) Despite the muddle followed by a mumbling explanation that it changed to left by accident I continued confidently with my eyes opened wider. I was going straight and 'well in advance' of the expected instruction to turn left, I dind't get any instruction. Always the one to be ready for surprises (sometimes convert regularities/ non-existent surprises to surprises) I thought he was taking me on another route. At the stop sign I was to take a left, but because he didn't say anything I continued on the straight lane. And at the last moment he says, "Left here."
Horror! I crossed the dotted line from where I was to switch lane if I was to turn left. So it was not legal to take a left. I wanted to tell him that. But he almost had his hand on my steering so I realized that he wanted a left there and nothing else would do. In Chicago, if you miss a turn, you could very often turn on the next street and turn again to come back to where you originally wanted to. These theories, I told myself, didn't have a patient taker.
I looked through all my mirrors and gently crossed into the left lane. He was happy I watched the mirrors for traffic from behind. At the stop sign, it was my turn to go, but this whole thing left me fumbling a bit. I was disturbed that the examiner made me do something illegal (sort of). A lesser mortal would have broken down. I have nerves of steel (Titanium perhaps...)! What else would you expect me to have when most of my life I throw myself into trouble; I spring surprises on myself? I wanted to remove the fumble from my mind and as my dad so often taught me, "Err on the safe side", I didn't see any harm in taking a fraction of a second to settle myself before proceeding.
"Naaauuww! Move Naauwww! Ptchchch! Phhuuffff! Now wait. Watch. Mooov naauuw."
For each of those instructions, I vaguely remember my answers as, "Huh? Yes but... (interruption. This is where the Ptchch came) Errrr. But now I have to wait (I knew what I was doing, but he didn't have the confidence that I'd stop). Ok Now I'll move." At this point if I didn't move, more than the trailer (moving opposite our direction) crashing onto us, I feared my examiner's wrath!
[What happened was that in taking the extra fraction of a moment, the opposite car who was to move after I took the left was confused. But just before the examiner said, "Now wait" at just the same time as I was explaining, "But now I have to wait..." that car moved. So I stopped. Which is great, considering the confusion. However he was unhappy I didn't move when it was my turn, which in turn happened because the 'turn left' was not well in ath-vaans. I believe that was in turn because he was busy trying to look at the Radio and AC knobs and somewhere on the streets.]
After I completed the left, he was almost at the peak of his voice, "Naaaauuwwww, stop there at the rrright."
"Over there? I pointed expecting that we were just moving on and he was asking me to make an expected parking. Horror! No!
"Rrriiighghghgt naaauww. Staaaappp! Naauuww. Naaauut at yor own swweetth thime!"
I gently pulled over to the side, kinda disturbed at the way things were proceeding. "Perhaps he was trying to shake me up and see how I react," I thought. (In hindsight, I didn't think that made sense but the fuss didn't make sense either...)
After some stern words to me about how things were to be taught by my instructor and not the examiner and how, he wondered, my instructor thought I was fit enough to drive and how the examiner's job is to examine and return home to his family and not land in an emergency ward in the hospital, during which all I said was, "Sure sir, yes sir, yes sir, sir, sir, ..." (I was trying to save syllables because the additional syllables didn't have time to be heard in that supposed-to-be-monologue)
I found it sort of ridiculous. I did my best in such a short notice and I didn't panic. I stopped at the stop sign, etc. I only waited an extra fraction at the sign before making the left. He thought my basics weren't right. "How th-oo yuu stop at the Stop sign? Tell me when you have khompleted yor anser an-th I will prrocee-th!"
"Uhhhmm come to a complete halt, sir."
"Are yuu th-one with yor answer?"
"Yes sir!"
"Naauw leesen thuu me!" And he rattled an animated lesson of how to stop and proceed at the stop sign and he took out his pen and said, "Naauw luk. Thees ees yor Stop sign." His finger was our car and he showed the finger stopping at the pen and waiting 3 sekunds, "Woun (pause), Tuu (pause), Three" The pauses, I tried to time, were exactly of a second in duration!!! He explained again.
"Naauuw. How dhu yuu parrkh a khar daauwnheel weeth the rroad khurving thu the rright?"
"Road curving to the right? Ummm, pull up the Emergency brake, keep the car in parking mode and turn the wheels to the right!"
"Ghh-oo-th. Very Gh-ood."
And after a few breaths, he asked me to be careful while once again emphasizing that he wanted to reach home and not elsewhere. He asked me to proceed. I, wanting to show that I haven't lost my cool, and I am a good driver, said, "Yes sir. I'll give the indicator and proceed."
I followed his instructions carefully. There were times when he was telling me when to start turning the steering wheel. It was annoying. All he should do is to tell me to turn, not how much to turn and when to turn. To make matters worse, the regular traffic would sometimes just come onto the main road though they had the mandatory Stop sign and I had my right of way. If I just proceeded my way, we'd probably have bumped into those cars, but I would brake just a wee bit to be under "khompleet khontrrol".
"No no! They have the Stop sign, not you. You shoul-th go."
"Ughghghgh! Would you rather have us crash into them and then explain the rules to them while failing me in the test" I wanted to ask. "I am just being careful because they don't know I am driving for a test," I wanted to add.
A couple of expected exercises and he asked me to park in the parking spot. He grimly marked circles and scribbled stuff on the marking sheet. I furtively looked into the sheet to see if I could gather something. I didn't know if I was supposed to look or not.
"Naauuww! Follow me tuu the fhoto centhur inside."
"Ok!"
My instructor raised her eyebrows to ask, "Positive?" I half nodded with that 'lost look'.
It slowly struck me that having a photograph take was not for a 'wanted' list but to print on my License card. I got it all done! I didn't even have any sensation, to feel happy. "What was it all about then!"
I guess it was my obedient listening and not trying to explain things that saved my day. My first instructor, my dad, more often than not, got answers and explanations. It was his zero-tolerance approach and strictness that trained me for such an eventful day. I am surprised I didn't lose my cool for a moment.
Thanks dad!

Of Vandana and Raingod

When you get more than you expect, you're stunned. When she waved goodbye before leaving the club, that is what happened. From the impression that my friends have of me, off late, this shouldn't so much as tickle my nails. (I guess that's something that shouldn't cause any sensation. So I used that comparison.) It should be a mere pushover incident for a today-this-tomorrow-another type callous flirt!

Hang on! I was sent to dizzying heights. (May be that's why the weakness in the knees. They'd be shuddering with the thought of a fall from there.) It wasn't a pushover incident. I gathered some courage. Believe me, it took a lot of it! To turn back, take quick steps towards her, tap her shoulder to catch her attention, hope that she is receptive while she turns back to me, open my mouth, exert some energy to generate sounds and ensure that they are clear and are intelligible to the hearer in the loud noise and mean what they were to mean - all this after she waved goodbye and made her way to the exit of the club - was tougher than most questions in the exams I faced.

I first caught sight of this pretty girl in black at least an hour after we entered the club. This was in Crobar, Chicago where Anant decided to invite us to celebrate his birthday. It was difficult to say if it was crush at first sight or not because the lights were dim -though very much the way they should be in nightclubs - making it imperative to have more than a glance to capture the complete picture.

She was there, dancing on the floor with other girls and guys who seemed to be her colleagues. They seemed to be visiting USA on some official work. How did I judge that? Well, the whole group consisted of Indians and some of them looked fairly old. Such mixed age group of people all from India more often than not points to a group of onsite-ers. Anant walked up to me. We have this code to update each other, at least when we bump into each other, of the happening events or possible events in the club. I shouted in his ears (have to shout more than once to convey anything longer than 2 words) and furtively pointed in the direction where she was sitting with 2 of her friends. "The middle one... Looks nice!" I said. Anant wished me luck and set off where he wanted to before spotting me.

I now saw, much to my pleasant shock, that her 2 friends were leaving her to join their other colleagues on the dance floor. I couldn't believe it. Was this a sign from above? May be not. Maybe they'll come back and make a fuss about me troubling their friend - a lonely girl sitting by the side. Maybe they'll have me bounced out by the bouncers. It perhaps took about 5 min in this quandary. It seemed like an eon though.

I gently walked up to her. "Excuse me. Are you a student?" I asked. She couldn't hear. "Sorry?" she asked. "Are you a ..." as I was about to complete, I realized that the sounds were dying down before they could reach her ears. And the distance from my mouth to her ears could harly be a couple of inches. I took out my phone, typed a text version of my question. "No" and she shook her head too.

"Are you onsite?"

"Sort-of..." she said with a corresponding gesture.

I contorted my face as if to mean, "What does that mean?"

"Where do you work?"

"NEC!"

"What?"

"NEC!!!"

"Oh! Ok! You care to join me for a dance" I said, shaking my legs and moving my shoulders as I asked. Now the text conversion seemed to take too much time to engage her in a conversation in which she'd reply patiently.

"No, I am done," with an expression that one has when they want to say, "Sorry to disappoint you." This was kind of strange because girls normally are sterner, bordering on rude, when they refuse during such times. I was happy that she wasn't rude.

"Just a little bit? Over here?"

"No, I am done."

"Hmmm... You're looking pretty!"

"Thank you!" she replied with a smile.

"Hmmm... Okay! See you..."

I passed time around other places, joined my friends for a bit. Some wanted to leave. I felt it was way to early to leave.

I also received Anant's text "Your girl is alone by herself."

I knew it. I had done what I wanted to by then. But I thought she was still alone. So I went back to see if I could gather more about her in a casual conversation. But when I went back, there were the 2 friends who came back to join her. I understood the meaning of "sunken feeling" completely. It always works best when you learn with examples!

The rest of the time, I passed, trying to find moments when she'd be alone. The whole group now joined her. They were taking pictures. I surely think our eyes met a couple of times from a distance. I was worried she may get cautious and ask her friends to call for help! That didn't happen.

Finally they decided to call it a night. One after the other, they started walking in a half-dizzied and half-drunken manner (rather quarter dizzied, quarter dancing, quarter drunken and quarter tranced). At least 4 girls walked past me from my left side. (As I faced the DJ, the enclosure where they were sitting was on my left.) The next one was her. My heart skipped most of its regular beats. I was hoping she'd not embarass me. Half trying to catch a glimpse of her before she left and half trying to save my face I was in a mess.

Surely the Heavens felt mischievous then because the girl waved at me to say goodbye!!! That was the dizzying moment. The skipped beats and the regular ones came at once. That shock drowned me so much that I forgot to do what I'd have so easily done when in my elements - try to strike a conversation!

Just in the nick of time, when there was a pause near the exit as they were waiting for everybody to be together, I mustered enough courage and walked up to her and asked her name.

"Vandy!"

"Huh?"

"Vandana!"

"Ahhh! Varun!"

"Nice meeting you." Here I was like, "She said that? SHE said that???"

"Yeah nice meeting you too."

Itis not that I get beaten up by girls when I talk to them so I was feeling this way. It was just something about the girl. Too many pleasant shocks here and I lost courage, ironically, to ask any more of her contact details.

"You should have asked for her last name at least!" exclaimed Anant.

"You think I am so dumb to not know to do that?" I said to him, while I mumbled "It was just lack of courage," to myself shaking my head. I know there is no logic in that, I knew there was no logic in that. If I gathered courage to ask her name, why not her full name?

Here is where I remembered my friend Rahul. In many of our up-there-in-quality conversations we had we would discuss about how certain things are beyond logic. All I can do is shrug my shoulders and wait for her to bump into me and hope that logic, to the extent that I can strike useful conversation with her, prevails. When after I told Rahul this story I said, "I wish I could find her dude!", he replied "I wish too!" He paused before delivering the punch-line, "I can't bear your whining!"

He surely wants to sound insensitive but I guess he may be praying a little that that happens too. What is the logic? Don't ask me now! (I'd have been the first one to attempt to find and/or provide logic in any matter/discussion. Today, and for some time to come, I believe it won't happen.)

For now, it is a small prayer (Praarthanaa),

that Raingod (Varun) gets Worshipped (Vandana)!

Some pics uploaded by my friend Tejaswi are here.