Girl prettier than Spring

You let down your hair over your right shoulder.
You walked by me often but never could I get bolder!
The Spring outside? Naah! Your gorgeous dress!
Your magnetic smile made me forget my stress.
Fresh, flowing, floral dress! Oh and your ringing voice...
Man! You have charmed how many boys?
Mustard in my salad! I thank it, because you see...
because it brought your smile to me.
I hope this poem impresses you!
I'd love to see you with me at a dinner table, too!

Cricketer me

In my blog article - A compilation of regrets - I wrote about how I pictured myself as being someone other than who I am. I quit playing cricket in high school, disheartened by how hard work and discipline was not rewarded by my coach, thus realizing that my mom's words about sports not being the thing for our family.

Yet, my love for the game meant I tried to keep playing some form of the game or the other. In what was completely unforeseen by me (when I quit in school) I got a chance to play professional/club cricket here in the US. I played for Chicago Giants in 2009 and then Cricket Club of Illinois (CCI) in 2010, 2011 and 2012 - in 2012 as a captain of the team!

I always wondered how I look when I play. Not that I am a great or even a good player. (I am, now, beginning to get rid of the rust around my game. Every practice effort I put in gives me more confidence.) Yet the curiosity of how I look when I play shots, or when I take my stance, or when I run , or simply standing at the pitch with my head under a helmet appealed to me.

Finally, that fire was doused when Brian Stauffer photographed our match against Springfield Cricket Club. He took a  few hundred pictures, surely! He was nice to send me 2 of my photographs taken from the boundary. And here is what I look like...

He also captured a shot when I got hit on my back. I was trying to let the ball go down the leg side for a wide but it was closer than I expected and the ball was also quicker.

The greater man

It some times can be unnerving, and even depressing, to learn about yourself through unexpected quarters. To take a peek at yourself through someone... Esp when that someone is supposedly more evil than you are...

The shaking of foundations, that happens during this discovery, can be very depressing!

I spoke with Majid, an inmate of the Danville prison, a student of EJP, a man who made an impression on me the first time I heard and spoke to him. I was going around striking conversations with the students asking them what they were up to. I had occasions to synch up with my regular friends - Malik, Jojo, Bartosz and others. Majid, I hadn't spoken to much, since the EJP Open House.

He was, at that time, typing up his chronology of incarceration. My first impression of it was that it was going to be his resume when he was released. He had an earnest list of all the things that he learned, worked on, built while he was imprisoned. It was an impressive list. That list consisted of those things that could match or better the skills of an Engineer like me. Suddenly, all the impressed faces, when I would mention that I am a Computer/Software Engineer, seemed like taunts. Electrical wiring, plumbing, accountancy, sociology etc were boast-worthy indeed!

I asked him why he wouldn't prepare a resume instead. Or make the chronology of incarceration read from the latest event first. He said the purpose of the two things were different and that he already had prepared his resume. I was hoping he would get a steady income job once he was released. (It is only recently that I understood the social stigma about prisoners and their families. Having interacted with both inmates and their families, this time as a volunteer, not as a documentary-viewer or movie-watcher, I saw the other side of things. Placing myself in their shoes is so hard that I don't attempt to do that much these days.) His getting a job where his employer trusts him is as probable as the US governments employing terrorist organizations in defense organizations. Only this is much more brushed under the carpet and made to look like there is no discrimination.

He said that every employer will ask him tons of questions about his crime, the nature of it, the reason, the graveness, etc. "They will not care to ask even one question on what I did and learned all these years, and instead focus on that one incident!" I had a lump in my throat. I wanted to point out that there was nothing wrong in the employer wanting to know about the crime. After all, he did commit it and he can't run away from it. I didn't need to. He himself pointed out that he was not denying the crime but instead of looking to generalize his whole life based on one incident he should be viewed as another individual who made a mistake and is repenting so much that he not only is mellow and not committing more crimes but also has done useful things with and in his life. He has made use of every little chance he got to improve himself.

He told me that he was appealing for parole. He was due for release in 1982 but learned right around his release that the law was amended and instead of 63% paroles there would only be 2%. My heart sank when I thought how I'd have felt. Just 2 months before I was to be released, happily dreaming about my reunion with my family and SLAP! No release for another 20 years!

 He was in the prison for a homicide. Murder of 2 people...

"What do they (Jury/General public/Prospective employers) get by mentioning that one incident over and over again. It is not like I enjoyed it. It was an accident. I didn't run away from it but I have shown every sign of remorse by putting my life to good use. Here are the reports." Saying so he drew out a psychologist's report. He had a file of all documents that he could put together to appeal for a parole sooner than later.

I read through the summary of the crime glancing at him through the corner of my eye in between. I half wanted to picture how he may have been on that dreadful night of the murders. It was hard for me to imagine a fierce and gruesome expression on this man at all! Let alone on that night! I felt like a special friend at that moment. (We are told not to  talk about their crimes. Understandably they don't want to relive those horrifying events that brought them there and many more sad stories revolving around their families.) And then for Majid to show me his whole report... made me feel like that special friend who has been confided to. It made me respect him. When you look back at the times when it was difficult for you to confess your mistakes/shortcomings this candid conversation with Majid only made him admirable! How many of us have the guts to admit the flaws in us? How many of us can go to our loved ones now and tell them the actual truth?

Here was a man showing remorse. He didn't intend to kill those 2 people. All the same he doesn't deny that that doesn't make him a murderer deserving punishment. He only urges us all to see and acknowledge that he is a human being who earnestly tries every moment to keep improving. I looked at his resume again. I recollected his discussion on Civil Rights in the first meeting that I mentioned. I gasped!

Suddenly I realized that I was in the presence of a man far greater than I am. Have you ever felt a sinking feeling when you realize that what you believed about yourself was not true? To the society I am supposed to be the better individual right? He is supposed to be the evil of the society right? And yet when I saw what he made of the little that life offered him, I couldn't look at myself with the same pride any more.

Thank you, Majid, for showing me who the greater man was. You are a prisoner. Yet you dwarfed me hands down!

Leap to Life!

Pictures say a 1000 words!

A 1000 pictures say million words!

So here it is...

Leap to Life

Love in Ethiopia and its 'pullatlu'

I was excited about the new cuisine. So when Vinay suggested that we go to an Ethiopian place for his Birthday dinner I could barely hold myself from tearing my seat belts and jumping onto the Interstate and spreading my joy to the others. (I heard of the suggestion when I was still driving on I-94)

Ras Daschen was where we went. It is on 6846 N Broadway Av in Chicago. I reached there about 20 min earlier than the others. That gave me a chance to listen to some really fascinating and rejuvenating music by a live band.

I was engrossed in the music when I had a lady (waitress/manager) walk up to me and ask me if I wanted to sit down while I was waiting for my friends. And that is when I noticed another beautiful aspect of the restaurant (music being the first). That lady was beautiful and the first thing I thought to myself was that she was a direct descendent of Cleopatra. And then it didn't surprise me that Caesar had his second family there. If I am presented with a chance, I will have 100 families in Egypt, Ethiopia, Morocco etc. Her curly hair, typical of Africans, were bewitching. And her eyes... They were magic! Black magic! Only in this case the victim would love being one! And when the other waitress came up to me and inquired how I was and spoke a few things I was floored. I rued not being able to speak Ethiopian just to impress her. I was surprised that she even chuckled at some silly jokes that one attempts during pleasantries. And when that happened the music in the background played a wonderful catalyst to her movements. The beats on the African drums were so well timed that every beat met with her sashay as though they were trained in the military.

I had a good mind of begging her to break the step a bit, or else my heart would collapse from the hard pounding! My 20 min felt like 2 min when my friends arrived and I was hoping to be served by this soft killer. We weren't but the one who served us was charming too. A good 15 min into researching the menu and what each thing could mean, we were coming up with some suggestions for orders. We all sipped on tasteful, delectable, lip smacking Ethiopian beer, (selected by Venkat and me) first. Pavan seemed to start liking beer which was, to me, as pleasing as the sight of a baby's first steps to its mother.

Our orders consisted of some meat portions which Pavan and I didn't eat of course. We ordered vegetarian delicacies, the best of which, I thought, was Shirro! Injeras, the base item like Indian roti or rice, were strikingly similar in taste and appearance to an Andhra Pradesh delicacy (Pulla atlu/ Pullatlu - meaning sour crepes). Although I probably never had authentic pulla attu (singular for pulla atlu) Pavan's agreement to my claim gave me the confidence to put it in writing.

Once all the food arrived, we all were merry and gorging on the salivary-gland-tingling food! I let me eyes steal away to the next table where the swaying sashaying waitress was serving. "Those lucky ^&$((&*#", I thought! Our table was almost at the other end of the restaurant so that we couldn't have heard so much as an elephant trumpet, let alone a light strum of the live band's guitar. We asked that some music be played for us and they obliged. Pavan, again, seemed to be really fascinated by the music as were others. So I took my chance and gestured to that pretty woman. She came beaming all over. Was I stupid enough to just ask her to change the music to something that was played 5 min back? No!I was clever enough to use that chance to ask her questions about the music and get prolong her presence at our table. I was in a daze. It was either my heart or my words or just my imagination, but surely one of these was floating about in air like a happy feather. God! Why wasn't I an Ethiopian?

By the end of our meal we had plenty of food and music. Personally I could have done with more conversation with the above mentioned descendant of Helen of Troy and Cleopatra! Sadly I had to leave quickly lest my waiting friends curse me. Vinay would already be telling his sister - Deepti - (who would have probably asked her brother, "Why on Earth is he taking so long to come out?") that I was doing some gimmicks and chatting someone up. I had an occasion to chat with the owners of the restaurant and I paid my compliment to the very well presented restaurant, food and music.

Secretly I was also complimenting the other beautiful thing. I also told them how the injeras was very similar to pulla atlu and was hoping they'd tell me that Ethiopians and South Indians (Andhra Pradesh people particularly) were of one blood. In which case I was already making plans of calling up my parents with a view to suggest an alliance!

On my way out I showered praises to the musicians who were happy to point me to the website I mentioned above. My opinions are not biased because of the beautiful waitress but I would recommend Ras Daschen to everyone who love the delicious cuisine, rejuvenating music and the beautiful things in life. (On a similar note, I also understand that I could believe the stock analysts who write a disclaimer saying that they do not hold any stocks of the analyzed company.) I am certainly going there on my next trip to Chicago.

And if you go there you'll love it anyway, but I'd recommend you to go with your chums like I did. It would only make for one of the best memories you've had in life.

If cricket is my religion I am a blasphemer

Given the content that is to follow, I find it comfortable to put this disclaimer right at the beginning than at the end, which may not even be reached by many, if not most.
Disclaimer: I am agnostic and generally allow for a lot of questioning. I take good answers but also play devil's advocate often, just to get people to think hard. This article is not my way of imposing my uniqueness or rebellious attitude or an attempt to gain attention from such a popular topic. So if you are about to leave a comment, please feel free to do so but remember what I said above.

For an aspiring Indian cricket fan perhaps there were 2 good times to start following the game - 1) just before 1983 and 2) just around 1991. The former marking not only significant as India's first World Cup win but also as minnows beating giants and the first time a non West Indian team won a world cup.
The latter marking the increasing popularity and rising number of gasps and utterances of a name as a big talent - Sachin Tendulkar.

I remember beginning to follow cricket from 1993 (Hero Cup) and vague memories of India thrashing England in a home test series under Azharuddin. I remember cheering 2 players more than anyone else -Sachin and Azhar. Nothing would have excited me to watch a game of test cricket more than the sight of the 2 of them playing together. I even remember the days when they'd move the camera from the wicket keeper to the slips and you'd see the following order (always) - Azhar, Sachin and Kapil. Something about that gave a very secure feeling (not to the opposition) to a fan.

Come 1996 World Cup, a storm of enthusiasm was brewing about India's chances to win the cup. It was a home tournament and we didn't really start badly. Never mind the Semi final now. In fact both the games against Sri Lanka started with Jayasuriya and Kaluwitharana back in the pavilion in the first over. And yet we lost. In any case the (now) apple of our eyes - Sachin - was the man of the series and he seemed to be talking only centuries through his bat.

From then to now, nothing changed. Through thick and thin, through rough patches and great form, through all scandals around him, he maintained his superiority. Not just in the team but elsewhere. Around 1998 bowlers bowling to him were all converted to insomniacs. He was a terror, although all of it was through his bat. Never was he aggressive. Never did he show dissent against umpires ghastly errors. The some times he did do that was more of cursing his own fate than the umpire. No child could have learned from him and become a bad sportsman.

He went on to break records before creating some of his own. These, currently look so unachievable by anyone else for eons to come, that they deserve a separate adjective than Bradmanesque. For all of the 90s it would be fair to him to say he carried the team on his shoulders. For a country that seemed to stop producing Superheroes since the mythological times (Krishna, Rama etc) Sachin was a proud creation/possession. He was our answer to Spiderman, Superman, etc. When he took off his helmet, raised his bat and looked up it meant India was going to win (more often than not). When even his centuries couldn't help gain victories (Test match against Pakistan, Sharjah tournament, World cup '96 group match against Sri Lanka, etc) the fans stopped expecting India to win. Instead they found a new event to look forward to - Sachin scoring centuries. It soon became a ritual which had lost its meaning through generations. Fans started celebrating the fact that he was a terror to bowlers from other countries. "Well! No one can take that from us!" they'd say to themselves in schools, offices, dhabas, outside television showrooms or any shop that had a television showing a cricket match.

With the arrival of Sourav Ganguly, the team not only got rid of its bugbear (match-fixing) but also shed its skin to be seen as a fighting team with winning as its quest. Fans now had other things to cheer about too. Other players to keep track of too. With the others often chipping in, the pressure on Sachin to perform in a do or die cause reduces and soon became non-applicable. In a phase where Sehwag was very consistent (mind you, his test average is still above 50 and for his strike rate, I needn't say more) I'd actually switch off my tv when Sehwag got out and I'd wonder how 'those' days were when Sachin getting out meant the game was over. This happened even as lately as in 2002. (Remember the Natwest final against England - 143/5 with Sachin out, India would have instantly experienced a plunge in electricity consumption!)

We started winning games more and more consistently with the rise of more and more individual match-winners. With the passage of time, akin to ripening of fruits and aging of wine, our batting order, the envy of the world was supposed to be more and more impregnable and unbeatable. You'd expect individuals visiting a foreign country for a test tour for the nth time in their careers; the very ones whose individual batting records would beat some lower ranked teams, would by now get so invincible that experienced bowling line-ups, let alone younger ones, would have nightmares about getting the team all-out.

For a fan like me, it was extremely disappointing to have won the tour in West Indies only 1-0. Losing to England 4-0 was a shame for the reasons mentioned above. Then coming back to home soil, we beat West Indies only 2-0 (where a 3-0 was doable)... It was very uneasy to see these performances. Optimists and those let-these-go-sayers would bring up a variety of arguments. Some of them included calling other teams "not the best". That, to me, still didn't justify India's shabby batting performances. I'll agree that we have had our problems with bowling teams out and so winning tests (and ODIs against strong batting units) was going to be difficult. Add to those problems BCCI's follies like 'attempting to prepare sporty pitches' which eventually would turn out to be neither turners nor bouncy but dead.

With Ganguly (weakest of the big 5 that we boasted through most of early 2000s) gone the other 4 had to carry on for some time as we slowly inducted younger players to play alongside the living legends, learn a few lessons about batting and not-losing if not winning. So late in 2011 New Zealand drew the test series 1-1 and announced that Australia was suspect against swing bowling. Memories from Steve Waugh's last series flashed and it seemed all correct, the way Zaheer and Irfan Pathan extracted wickets through swing. Hopes of the first ever series win in Australia were brimming. The new finds Umesh Yadav and Varun Aaron augmenting the already blooded Ishant and wise and crafty Zaheer meant that this was the first time our bowling was going to feel at home in Australia.

If winning, for some reason - like Ponting's getting back to form, Clarke stealing the thunder, viral flu attacking all Indian batsmen - was difficult, at least drawing tests this time was supposed to be walks in the parks. What happened then? How did we not manage to save a single test? The only ray of hope came out to be Virat Kohli! His 50 on a Perth wicket where everyone else failed showed promise. That's all!


Is it wrong to feel cheated now? 4 biggies whose experience put together is unbeatable by a whole squad of most other teams failed us yet again! Well, even if they had won us some series here and there, the loss this time was unacceptable. Why? Of course it was not acceptable because if we lost with such players, how could we hope to win series in the near future with all 4 (realistically) close to retirement. 2 of them are already out of the ODI and T20 squads so there is no debate on that front.

So when I, as a fan, wish and pray that Sachin retires, am I a blasphemer? Part of why I specifically am mentioning him is that the others have come to be ignored anyway. I don't want to get into statistical belaboring. I take my hats off to all that he has done. Now with the 100th 100 becoming the new craze nothing else seems to matter - not winning, not even a fighting performance. We are ready to tolerate a poor performance if Sachin would get his 100th 100. That is not acceptable for me. I think he has a lot of records and even has a World Cup now. I'd have appreciated if he retired right then. But then it was ok for him to carry on. No harm... But to what extent?? Is it okay if he keeps gifting his wickets to newbies who weren't even born when he scored his first century? Is it okay if India keeps losing despite him in the team?

When a team does badly, the seniors are supposed to take responsibility. So NOW what is the problem in asking Sachin to take ownership? We're okay with Dravid being hanged to death, Laxman being lynched, Sehwag being tortured to death, we even pick on newcomers for not performing, but we let Sachin get away? Somewhere I believe it is this very attitude that lets, the wrong-doers get away in India, politicians continue to rape us day in and day out and we ask for more!

In my honest opinion Sachin should retire. (Of course who am I to decide? No one. In fact if I had the power to decide there would have been no need to 2nd guess what he'd be doing by now.) If this was even a few years ago, I wouldn't have said all this and I didn't. There was his very lean patch years ago and I was praying for him to recover. Not now! As a well-wisher for Indian team I want one slot in the team to be unblocked for a youngster who, inspired by Sachin, could attempt to get close to his stature (if as most would say no one can ever be Sachin) soon and carry the baton forward. In a country with so much of talent I find it hard to understand the extra lenience being showered on a lost cause. And for those who are trying to convince yourselves or others that records don't matter to him I will feel scared for your gullibility. Not like it is bad to have such ambitions but don't preach about his altruistic and selfless intentions! At the end of the day he gets paid for what he is doing. He hasn;t been playing for free, you know? If he were really selfless and patriotic he'd have perhaps given IPL lesser priority than some tours he didn't go on.

To me the breaking point was first the England tour where I refused to take any excuse for the defeat and then the Australia tour. I think my prayer that all 4 biggies quit is fair. I also know that these prayers will not meet with any resistance for 3 of them but for the 4th one I'll even get death threats. That is what riles me and I hope people see the fan's cry in this tirade more than a random rambling and a trigger for a statistical war.

Please Sachin! Go while we still have time to recover from our wounds!

Scent of a woman - morning after version

Dazed, I wake up, morning after!
Straightening every nerve - each a drifter.

I am not, definitely, Al Pacino!
Yet, dance with her was eventful as El Nino!

All I have is the scent of her hands.
Bewitching, as witches and their wands!

Every word exchanged, in memory, is etched.
Forever, the dance, on heart's canvas is sketched!

Danville Development

I was listening intently, nodding occasionally, trying to be normal and sensitive to them. I was trying to appear calm and normal. I wasn't sure if I was able to pull it off! Here I was, thinking I was a good actor, capable of masking my emotions, but I felt shabby!
I was in a class of "Civil Rights" course and there was a general discussion going on. At best a fairly aware, knowledgeable and analytical person, I was in awe of my classmates. I somehow felt awkward, filled with pity and yet strongly respectful of them. These were the inmates at the Danville prison. Black men of varying ages were discussing the Civil rights in the US between 1955 to 1970 with equanimity.

Those who were aged 45 plus were calm and oozed wisdom. The ones who seemed around my age had a zest in their eyes. In the eyes of Juan I saw lost opportunity, remorse and penance. That was what I saw. Maybe another person would have seen the zeal to learn the many things he can while at the Danville prison.
I glanced, observed and peered at the others too with a hope to see what insight I could gain into their lives - now and in the past - but the harder I tried the more I exposed myself. The deeper I looked into their eyes the more I felt like screaming out to the world, "Give them a chance!" They were better people than some of those who roam free and wild in the world! To think that they give themselves as bad examples to their kids, urging them to not follow on their paths, made me feel depths of the low feeling one gets when one is helpless and sad! I imagined a 'regular' father telling his son, "Behave well or you'll be like one of these prisoners!"

Now I turned focus to one of my classmates and imagined what he'd say to his kid!

The discussions in the room left me stimulated. People were ready to absorb what I had to offer. It was a place where ideas could float freely and everyone could assimilate them without restriction. Majid (Otis) said, "Democracy and Capitalism were conflicting." I couldn't stop admiring this bespectacled gentleman ever since that line.
Will, who sat next to me, explained how there were colored fountains back in those days. The ease with which this topic was being discussed, the ease with which he was explaining the idea to me and the readiness with which he was absorbing whatever I had to say about casteism in India was astounding. Majid was quick to point out the similarity between casteism and racism. I had, by then, eased into the home made by the prisoners for themselves. So much so that I quickly argued like I would with my friend, if he offended me!
In between classes, I was greeted by Anthony and he spent most of his break time interacting with me and asking me about my life. I only felt it was natural for me to ask him about his. "Fridays we have classes which we look forward to. We love to learn! We get college credit, too, for this. Tuesdays and Mondays we spend time reading books at the resource room. Some of us even go back to our cells and spend time thinking about their paper/thesis!" As if that, something more privileged students like me hardly ever did (concentrate so much on academics), wasn't enough I asked him, "And what do you do the rest of the week?"
"Oh nothing! We're in a prison, you know?"
"Uhh ummm..." At this point I momentarily felt embarrassed and uneasy! I didn't mean to offend him but somehow it registered that that question could've so easily disturbed him! But Anthony was ahead of me! He smiled and moved on telling me that I should share my knowledge in calculus and algebra with some of them. Or even paper writing... That simple act of his put me in awe of him! He didn't care to be offended with minor things. He even saw the humor in it. All he cared for was to interact with me and to thank me for taking time out to visit him.

They had welcomed me and other visitors like me to their place. Without their genial, warm, outreaching attitude towards us, I am sure we wouldn't have been able to call this one of our most enjoyable days in life - a sentiment echoed by every visitor unanimously!
I started the trip when the weather was bright, gently cold and still. I ended the trip with the weather breezy and chilly! My emotions and state of mind followed the weather pattern too. It was hard to not give in to the conversion of emotions to tears. I maintained my calm and nonchalance!
I learned important lessons and I wish to thank the inmates of the Danville Prison (Danville, IL) for making me a better person today!

Why I can't be an atheist?

Why you?

Thank God it was me. Hopefully it ended with me. Don't want such a thing happening to even my enemy...

You don't have enemies!

In theory, son...

He scarred your face. He gave you pain. You can't even smile. The very attempt to smile and infuse energy in people causes you pain!!! Is that what your 'God' gave you for being a gem of his children

He protected me from worse!

What absurd logic is that? I refuse to take that.

You are too harsh on God.

You only help others. You go out of your way for others. You feed every poor person you meet. You feed every hungry person that walks in to your house. Many a soul are blessed to even have eaten your hand-cooked meals. You are stupid enough to be unconditionally affectionate, warm, welcoming and kind to others. You are especially kind to rejected, lesser children of 'God'! Why you?

Maybe my wrongs in previous lives...

What kind of 'God' is he if he can't dish out punishments as and when wrongs are done? Why should I believe in your 'God'? Why is he a 'God' if he can only punish you now for being flawless? Even in your thoughts I haven't seen you harm anyone. You made backstabbers feel ashamed of themselves by your warm treatment towards them... I am justified in being an atheist!

You have to be open enough to understand his ways, son! I am happy I am done away with this now, than later, at an older age, when I have reduced tolerance to pain!

How can you be so positive amidst so much pain and agony? Well, maybe I should believe in God. I should believe in you... I should, because you do exist!

(GET WELL SOON MOM!)

Strength of a woman!

December 24th 2009. If you look at the date, it is one day before Christmas.

That day, however, I realized that I could hardly fathom the depth of a woman's heart! For all the training that my prospective wife should be proud of my mother for, I just didn't understand it.

So here, I land at Bengaluru International Airport, not without the frustration and fuss of the bribe seeking officials. I loathed every moment of going back to India. My friends who came to pick me up, were annoyed that I tried to run away from the airport premises, not even acknowledging their presence. My justification was that I wanted to escape the irritating government officials.

My friends - Viraj, Vinod and Shreyoshee - relish my mom's cooking. Who Doesn't? I'll pay a 1000$ to anyone who finds a flaw in my mom's cooking. But then, that's not the deal here. The deal is in how this woman casts a spell on others while maintaining an impression of possessing supernatural powers.

Here is her Modus Operandi:
1 - Smile.
2 - Make people comfortable.
3 - Cook amazing delicacies.
4 - Be optimistic.
5 - Help everyone.

I, someone who can speak in 5 or more languages, am trying to learn the secret behind having friends of any background, despite not knowing more than 1 language... Acquaintances who'd take an extra step to help her, just to see her smile stay on her face... I am not exaggerating when I say that 0 to 100, people of all ages speak to her. They feel comfortable talking to her. They want more of her time. So I analyzed her. That is so typically me... Observe, Analyze, think...

She is not a Psychiatry major. She is no Engineer. She doesn't have the B.Com certificate to prove that she is 'educated'! Does any of it matter? I observed - No!

Her secret behind endearing herself to everyone is a secret indeed! Here, I can challenge any psychiatrist an amount of 1000$ to gain an insight into her psyche.

Now a mere mortal like me goes back home after 18 months of living away from home. I was greeted with the same affection that my friends were greeted. Clearly I was offended. Being a single child, I was used to being the center of attention. So a "Hello!", upon my arrival, from my mom was offending to me... I expected more.

The whole day, my friends would not take my hint - a hint saying, "Guys, maybe now you should leave me alone at home. Maybe I could do with some sleep (Jet lag)!" I am proud to have such friends too! I'd give up a lot of things to have friends like these!

Finally towards evening, they decide to leave for their respective homes! Relieved, I decide to inspect my home for the various changes after my departure to Chicago. Nothing seemed to change as much as my mother's tolerance towards my absence. I was supposed to be her only child. So how was I to understand her "Hello!" when I appeared at the door?

I saw that the lunch served was not one of my favorites - Potato curry! I was dismayed. I was confident that my mother would cook my favorites right from day one.

With all the pent up feelings, mixed with home sickness, I was peeved! I went in to her room. She happened to enter the room at the same time. As was customary, I grabbed her face gently, hugged her, tapped her and asked, slightly annoyed, "Enti Amma! Nenu oste neeku aanandamuga ledaa?" (Aren't you happy that I have come?)

No sooner did I hug her, than I heard her sob! And she didn't stop until at least 5 min. I was stunned! Any lady crying over my shoulder was supposed to be comforted. That was how my mother raised me. So I looked around, stunned! Something wrong? I was supposed to be homesick! And my mother was a strong person - to an extent that everybody pours their sorrows into her! Seeing her sob relentlessly put me to shame. Indeed I didn't know to read the mind of a woman! This woman - a personification of strength, love, kindness, inspiration and amiability taught me yet again that '...still waters run deep.' Here I thought, I was homesick. But there, my mother suffered from son-stroke!

That is when I realized that the depth of a woman's heart is not fathomable. Woman's Day or not... Mother's Day or not... Here is my tribute to the Woman! If ever my wife loved me for the respect I have for women, she should thank her mother-in-law! Mom, here is another tribute to you! I Love You!

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...

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.