Remember the book buddy!

 

First day in a new ‘old’ school,
fears and all the childish whims.
I meet you and what ye do,
make sure I got the welcome cane.

 

Foes we never could be,
as from then on we are in it – a pair.
The first it was of many to come,
teachers spanked, but together we stood.

 

Then came the days of love
- of music and of the fairer kind.
Books, cassettes videos and all,
we saw it and learnt it whole.

 

Remember your finger spins,
and those late night fitness runs.
Those were the days we never cared,
of jobs, life or even losing hair.

 

Splitting ways – you went on your own,
to learn the art of nursing wounds.
While I stayed put to live a lie,
in the cheap thrills of campus fame.

 

You became hard and strong,
but remained honest deep inside.
I learnt from you buddy of mine,
to look beyond and dream things big.

 

I never tried but things changed,
I flew away from the nest I grew.
The day I got a job of worth,
I remember you were amongst the happiest lot.

 

Up and down, life went on,
you never flinched, as things got bad.
now that you’ve got your call,
to reach the shores were Caesar once ruled.

 

You will flourish in the Roman land,
and will reach a higher plane.
Look you will to these old days,
Of rains, pains and joking pals.

 

The you will open this book,
the first you used to learn your new tongue.
“Parla pocessino Italiano,” you’ll smile;
remember this book buddy, Oh yes you will.

- Leslie Xavier

( for Bobby, on the day he left for Italy and a new life - a friend forever. The book mentioned here was a 'learn Italian' book we both had brought to study the language during our college days. Things didn't work out but today when I was searching my dusty table drawer I saw it and thought I would give it to him with  a few lines...)

Dew Drops

It's just an appreciation of two special friends of mine...

The younger one follows him,
sparks of faith, trust and hope in her eyes.
Things which could only come,
through years, a score, of being around.

It's not the face she reads,
but also the person's thoughts;
who else could get it right,
who else other than his sister own.

Behind him she enters the House of God
- High Noon at Santhome Church.
Prayers, wishes and love all round,
Sibling bond shining through.

I befriend them, talk to them;
but could never figure their silent words.
Thoughts which one would only know;
by knowing the other for "18 years".

Gods sure are smiling on 'em
- they have each other in a lonely world.
But we all seem to have someone,
what matters is whether they'll be there.

That's what makes 'em special so,
big bro he'll always be.
He says it between the spoken lines,
words which I could catch with ease.

They are making my day for sure;
lonely Sunday's will never be there.
Sprinkled care I'm getting now;
sharing smiles of the loving kind.

- Leslie Xavier
(... to a lovely brother-sister pair, Ryan and Madonna)

Noon flight to Bangkok? No! Friends made for each other? Yes!

A normal lunch at an "uptown" restaurant, nothing special happened. Until I realised the person in front of me, my pal, is perhaps not as weird as me, but someone who's just as close, just right and of course, she's a treat beyond words.

 

To be honest, it probably was not in the league where we could say, "it was an enchanting gourmet trip to Thailand". But for the couple of amateurs that we are, I guess it was fine. We had our Thai lunch, from one of the "good" if not the "best" Thai restaurants in town and we enjoyed it every bit, partly because the food appealed to our taste buds and partly, at least for me, it was a company I cherish.

Well it was yet another Thursday, weekly off, another day to feel lost, as I usually am when my body can't cope with a mind which is still on overdrive, from the previous weeks' up-and-down run in the valley of no return - my office, the ever-alert newsroom cum editorial.

It was time for the weekly rendezvous with my friend to renew the 'lunch connection'.

Checking out the different foodie joints in Chennai is what I do with her and this week the draw went to Thai cuisine and the first name that came to my mind was a small door I see every other day, while going to work.

I usually take the TTK Road while cycling to Nandanam and to my office, just because the trees lining the street protect me from the relentless mid-afternoon Chennai sun. And I sure have noticed the name "Benjarong", which they say is one of the best Thai joints in town.

But is it true? Is Benjarong Thailand personified?  I don't know as I'm not familiar with Thai cuisine and even Thai culture, though I do know a few things about Muay Thai (Thai boxing) and the bicycle I ride is also an import from the South East Asian paradise.

So Bangkok, here we come, albeit in an auto rickshaw, not Thai Airways.

The place itself, when you enter, gives a feeling you can chill, be yourself and have a nice left-to-ourselves lunch.

But then it better be, otherwise who'll bother to go there next time. I know I won't. Because for me, the ‘gastronomical’ journey I undertake with my friend here is rather secondary to the emotional joy-ride I take when I sit opposite her and indulge in talks, ranging from the choir girl I would love to fall for, to how vast her chocolate wrappers collection is.

Yes, I know what is going through everyone's head now. Who is this friend, who's eccentric enough to collect wrappers and end up having a treasure huge enough to fill up the entire cupboard in her room and who fights tooth and nail for it when her roommate tries to clean the mess.

Well, the people who know me think I myself am a weirdo at times. So I guess we are just friends made for each other.

Anyway like I said, we are in this Thai "island" in the middle of "Tam-Bram country" and I am not the least worried whether what we eat is authentic or not. It looks, smells, tastes and even sounds OK to both of us. The food was great. So our gourmet curiosity is satisfied.

But beyond that, the whole experience, at least for me, was not a flight to Bangkok, but a flight to the roof of the room we were lunching in! A trip which showed me my inner self in relation to the special friend opposite me.

A trip I took, when I was sitting in front of her, eating my desert, while she had already finished hers and was eyeing mine with suspicion. Yes shedug into my dessert bowl as well, that’s what makes her special. No cosmetic airs about her at all...

Coming back to the flight; I floated up to the ceiling, had an outer body experience so to speak. I was above the table and I could see us both chit chatting. What are we doing there? No beating around the bush here. I wanted a straight forward answer. So Leslie, what's up doc?

Can't you see? We are finishing our lunch and with it, we are finishing another page of our "Friendship Log". A page which has some weird "leaf and peanut laced in a sweet sauce" appetiser, a chicken starter wrapped all over in bamboo shoots, pan-fried noodles, lamb, and dessert - all Thai style.

But more importantly a page which also had, the speciality of the day - "the chets and molus" fermented in love, the sweetest of ingredients known to any chef, and of course, the words of mutual respect, admiration, and, how can I forget, the small fights...

And yes, the three dots mean the story will never end here, it'll continue, my hope is... for eternity, if not forever.

Thy name is woman

Think of it, the world never leaves us with any time to rest. It revolves, evolves and the cycle of creation and ‘re-creation’, which also involves a fair bit of destruction, has left us huffing and puffing, just trying to keep pace. It has been happening since eternity, scary right.
We humans call ourselves ‘masters of this world’ now, a title we earned through our race’s perseverance amidst the earth’s unending supply of life-enriching gifts as well as its life-changing and punishing ways of the ‘cycle of change’.
But we persevered and in some style, and the reason………

Thy name is woman

I myself fell into this trap once,
a pit where all men fall.
Being born with the ‘stronger’ tag,
I was told “you’re to rule the world”.

History’s made by men, they said;
Kings, Nobles and Prophets all.
Slipped I did, Oh yes I did,
Ignorant of the real truth that was.

Men were born to rule it all,
But the ‘kings’ were made by the humble ‘You’.
Long back when ‘You’ kept us safe,
And fed us through your very veins.

If men were born to climb and soar,
The wings were given by the loving ‘You’.
Long back when ‘You' carried us all,
And made sure we're not grounded at all.

The World has to move, has to grow;
And without ‘You’, it would never fly, would never soar.
Survive we have to, and you’re the source;
Rise, thy name is woman!

Today is Women’s Day, but in reality every day is the celebration of the most divine of creation…

Vox Populi - "budget for the common man"

It depends on who the "common man" is. The Union finance minister P Chidambaram (PC) presented the 2008 budget in parliament yesterday and the question I ask is - did the minister make history by presenting a budget for the ordinary man. It would be a landmark when you consider that no budget in the history of mankind has been poor-man friendly. Maybe an exception is the budget presented by Mahabali, the legendary Asura king who ruled Kerala.

But he did create history, according to our prime minister Dr. Manmohan Singh. " The government has made a generous gesture in announcing a loan waiver for farmers. It has given Income-Tax relief to the middle class. It is an 'aam aadmi' budget. It is pro-investment and Pro-agriculture budget," said the economist.

The budget is pro-investment - yes. If by investment the honourable leader means disinvestment in the public sector. But is it pro-agriculture, pro-common man?.... Not in your wildest of dreams.

Define the common Indian Mr. prime minister. By any yardstick, I would say the common Indian is the majority Indian. Not the billions of our fellow countrymen who follow Hinduism. My brother, now-a-days the citizens are divided not into religious classes but economic ones.

The common Indian is the Sathyaseelan I see lying on the street, after a day of hard toil under the hot Chennai sun. He has no roof of his own, his annual income is Rs. 11000/=, way below the Rs. 1.5 lakh ceiling for taxation.

Sathya represents a class, which forms almost 60 per cent of the 100 billion. The common man like him won't be munching on corn flakes for breakfast or run to the nearest car showroom because the manufacturer has cut down the prizes of small and hybrid cars - another gift for the "aam aadmi".

Maybe Sathya should buy a car and live in it since he doesn't have a house to call his own.

PC has handed a lifeline to the struggling farmers, waiving their loans, to stop them from taking their lives. A generous gesture. But he forgot one basic fact. He can't waive the loans those poor souls have taken from Shylocks. It is the local private money-lenders who harass the 'son's of earth' to such an extend that they give up on God's one and only true gift - life. So waiving bank loans, doesn't make the picture rosy, but rather makes it more grim as ultimately all the waivers put pressure on the tax payers, the middle class, for whom the finance minister has presented such a populist budget.

From the time PC got involved in our country's finances, his so called success mantra was disinvestment. The populist budget has provisions to continue this selling culture - this time the focus on oil fields, insurance, among others.

"Oh my Mother India". That's not me who cried, it was the Father of the Nation turning in his grave. Don't sell her, our mother, to neo East India companies and Harvard B-school graduates.

PC has shown one more time that he is a quintessential capitalist, who will be more at home running a MNC than the multi-billion strong ethnically and economically variant country like ours. But who knows; all the disinvestment and "open" strategies he uses could even burn Microsoft Corporation's arse if he runs it.

Ultimately who is to be blamed. We should decide whether to let Naturalised citizens, failed economists, buffalo wranglers, hard-core capitalists, fascists, actors, old-world Marxists and power brokers to run our mother land.

But we really don't have any other choice. The cream of our Nation has left and are wandering in the Silicon Valley in search of the promise land, in the process, helping the likes of Bill Gates make millions.

But even if the "nerd brigade" comes back, one thing will remain the same. There will never be a "common man's budget". Vox Populi - never here...

Transit friend

Definitely not!
I am talking about Mr. Agnello Felix Ceasar, Indian born Australian. I must re-phrase it. He is Indian to the core and wants to marry only an "Indian chick".
"I am tired of Aussies dude. They just don't measure up," he says, with that trade mark naughty smile of his.
Aggie, the guy could never speak malayalam without making us laugh. This after he spent the first twenty odd years of his life in Kochi, among us full-fledged mallus.
Your guess is correct. My friendship with Aggie dates back to our school - St John de Britto Anglo Indian Boys High, and to our college - Sacred Heart (SH), Thevara.
The college where Aggie ruled as the undisputed cycling champ with the boy next door charm. Girls loved him to the same degree they hated me. If he was the boy next door, I was the Al Qaeda man of SH.
Now the kid's a sailor, in his words, "sailing between Tasmania and Melbourne and not getting much fun out of it".
Oh boy his school boy charm has still not left him and I realised that talking to him this day at Chennai Airport, where he had a six-hour stop over, on his way to Kochi from Melbourne.
Two days back he had called me saying he would be spending some time here and if possible we could hang out. We did have some catching up to do as the last time I spoke to him was a year before, Christmas time. Besides I was never going to miss a chance to meet a friendly soul in this city.
He messed up the day he was arriving though. Good old Aggie. Always had trouble communicating in Malayalam. He could have used his Aussie English with me. I ended up waiting for him yesterday. I called it a dry run for today even though I was cursing him and myself.
I spent the whole day with him at the airport, all the while telling each other that we chose the wrong career. Should have been pilots. See the lovely chicks around dude.
He was doing transit to Kochi and the reflection made me laugh. Aggie was my friend. But is he just a passing face in my life. Bull shit! He is never gonna transit through my life. You're going to stay, aren't you buddy?
We just can't be the hi-n-bye type because of many things. As starters, we were sportsmen, the fact which Aggie is so proud of. Now retired of course.
We are from the infamous Fort Kochi area in our town and that in itself is a distinction and a bonding factor stronger than a Fevicol joint.
We have done things together in college that would make today's kids look like art movie action heroes. He was my student too, in the Way of the Empty Hand - Karate.
But I can't explain this any more. It ain't easy you see. I guess the only thing to say is he is my friend, as simple as that. No fine print. Just a good friend.......... Never a transit face.

Brothers in arms

To a dear friend

Which is the greatest of all human relationship? The obvious answer everyone points to is that between a mother and child. The divine relation. But ask me and friendship comes a close second.
Sure there are arguments like - how can you even compare a mother-child relationship to friendship? Have you forgotten the ten-month old bond of the umbilical chord?- and so on.
Well frankly even the blood that runs through your veins are gifts from your mama, everything I would say. Except the man you are. That is where friendship comes in.
Our character, the manhood or womanhood in you, is formed from our childhood as layers. But the last layers are laid during our adolescence by our best of friends.
In my case, that's where Manjush comes in..........................

Teaching me to walk

Well, not literally of course. But my first steps as a wrestler were guided by none other than my buddy Manjush. And as a destiny or something, my last steps were also guided by him - as my coach.
We were brothers in arms. Learning the trade of man to man struggle, using it for glory, sharing the pain, the trials and tribulations that came with it.

Guarding each other's back

It's a challenging world when we are teens and to add to it the rivalry of competitive fighting. Our's were a different fight. One that involved emotions that were in essence the same as every other gang fight with the stark difference being we fought for a cause. Glory in the arena. I still remember bleeding my nose out on to Manjush's T-shirt in a place called Poonjar and he supporting my desire to fight and fueling it. But I'm sure inside him there was also that genuine concern for the safety of his friend. That same concern, he used to express when I was in no man's land career-wise.

The bond

It's something beyond the ring. It must be amusing for my friends to hear this. But it was Manjush who showed me what friendship is all about. He is an example of an ideal friend. Wait a minute, there can't be an ideal friend. So I would say, he is the one who is closest to an ideal friend you can ever get.
And this truth made me get close to him and respect him. The unselfish gestures he would show is something out of this world, considering the state towards which this commercialised world is moving.
I shouldn't be writing this at all because whatever I write won't be enough to describe what he means to me. But one thing I want to reiterate here is that no matter how much I try I can never be the man my buddy Manjush is. You're the man dude........

"Angelus elatus"

Yesterday, in between the daily routine of making pages, the expected duty of a sub-editor at a news paper, I received a call from Antony Dsouza (Dizou), my friend from college.

No I am wrong. He is more than a friend to me. The man behind me getting through graduation in physics is definitely more than a friend to me. Usually he doesn't call me during my work hours as he knows how tough it gets, especially when it nears page deadline.

And here the phone was ringing and I pick it up with a little bit of a worry in my heart, his wife Veronica (Rilja) is expecting a baby and the date the doctor set was 15th. Hope everything is all right.

A happy Dizou greeted me from the other end and revealed the good news. "Angelus elatus" - An angel is born. He has become a dad.

I couldn't conjure up any words to say to him and ended up giving a blank congrats and the usual blabbering about a party and all. My mind was pre-occupied you see - with the pages. But I felt a sudden surge of elation in me that couldn't be described with any words I have in my arsenal.

Dizou had surprised me when he called up an year ago saying he has found the love of his life in Rilja and they are going to marry last December. Just a year before he had said he won't marry in a hurry and had promised he would give me company. I am a long way off from the sacred act of matrimony you see.

And my respect for this guy grew. I have always believed it takes guts to marry. Dizou is one guy who has guts, believe me. His decision to join the merchant navy after a graduation in physics, when there were easier, closer to land, options available is evidence enough that he is a special guy who doesn't shy away from any adventure. And marriage is one big adventure.

I couldn't attend their wedding as it was in Kochi and I was stuck with pages in Chennai. And it was late in January this year that I first met Rilja. That was in Chennai. Dizou was doing a course here as part of his officers training for the merchant navy and they were put up at a place in a private beach on East Coast Road - a nice romantic place for a honeymoon.

The first time I talked to her, I knew she was the right person for him. What struck me was her attitude, the same as his. If there is anything like the saying "made for each other", then this is it - a match made in heaven I would say.

And now eleven months later they are blessed with an angel, a baby girl. May God shower her with His never-ending love and blessings.

The belief is that man was made in the image of God to do his will on earth. He was the creator obviously, and one of his first commands was to fulfil the destiny set upon man as masters of the World.

To produce ones own kind is like doing God's work as we are taking part in His creative efforts. Dizou, my man, you lucky dude. Finally you have joined that elite club.

It's great and you don't know how happy I feel for you guys. I can't express it with the simple grammar I am aware of as a human or the three languages I can speak and write.

A few lines I present you and to your lovely, and I would say, better half - a gift to the new born and her proud parents.

Angelus elatus

It’s a path we are born to,

life in this beautiful world.

Full of shadows yet so bright,

the scape that surrounds us through.

A while ago you trod that path,

alone with your soul as mate.

Now your mate is the one

– whose fruit you behold in your arms.

Ain’t she lovely, the little one;

sparkle in her eyes to learn it all.

And spirit real in her heart,

to soar and fly like a bird.

Blessed is this gift divine,

who brought joy to all far and near.

Love her like your very life,

Angel that she is – an Angel born.

Martial status

Its not a typo error like you might have thought. It's martial status I want to talk about today and not marital status which usually plays in the mind of guys my age.
Don't get me wrong here. Martial status is just a symbolic word I'm using to present the legacy I got from my dad and a generation before him. I received two separate versions you see.
I remember vague pictures from my childhood where men clad in whites executing precisely designed movements in unison to the sharp command of my father. That was the legacy I got from him. Karate.
From the time I could comprehend words, I heard about the heroics of my dad's uncle, who happens to be my grandpa in a way, about his mastery of the locks and the throws. That's the legacy I got from him. Wrestling and through it the martial art of Judo.
I was literally born into a dojo. My dad had a karate class at home along with the few he had at various other places and a whole lot of students. He was one of the senior masters of the art in Kerala, my home state, and a respected Sensei in karate circles.
What karate has given me is hard to summarise. I would say - everything. It gave my dad. It defined my relationship with him; with my uncle, who is also a first dan in the art. It nourished the mutual camaraderie and more than average love I share with my brother. Above all, it shaped the man in me.
Of course I got my mama without the art ok. Mama is just mama, no other fineprints there.
When I first started my blog, I named it Life, Philosophy n martial arts because I had planned to write just that. My life. My life has its philosophy which I sometimes boast to friends as an unadulterated one. Unadulterated by books I mean. But influenced by a host of other factors. I needn't mention that martial arts is one of them because it is the primary one, I dare say.
But karate, judo and wrestling were missing from the issues I addressed in my blog till now. The reason is I have moved away from the way ever so briefly - last two years, because of my physical injuries and professional duties. Practising the sacred art became less frequent and I lost the light in me to talk about my experiences as an artist.
How can I write about the art when I don't practise it. Now that I have resumed training, hopefully I shall soon bridge the gap between the real me and what I've become now.
Once that happens, I would be at peace with myself on a daily basis which is not the case now. Now peace comes in small packets for me here and there. Frankly I am tired of it.
Now, slowly I would be able to say...... "I travel alone in this world. But I fear no one because I have my two empty hands" - the words of my great grandmaster Sensei Zenryo Shimabukoru of Japan.
It epitomises the philosophy of the art I practise.
Karate - Way of the empty hand.

I'm in a trough

Having grown up near the sea, I was always attracted to the beach, the air with the salty tinge to it, the waves. Oh yeah the beautiful waves. So elegant and yet so powerful, with curves as fine as a sexy woman yet within her the power to devour.
Waves have always fascinated me and as a student of the physical sciences I learnt certain intricacies related to its motion and during my days as a teacher I've lectured on waves to many a bored soul, trying to make them understand the crests and troughs of the lady.
I was teaching them life actually. Now I know. After finding out own my own that life moves in waves - with crests and troughs. Crests of happiness, elation and troughs of sadness, depression, of anxiety and of fears.
Right now am stuck in a trough trying desperately to get out. With friends and family throwing in life lines which I am scared to grab. The swells are high but I have to overcome it. To reach a crest riding which I should move on. Happiness is a state of high, a crest, and when the moment pass you are bound to slide to the trough filled with the longing to get back to what had been. That's what greats have spoken of in metaphoric terms. Like Night and Day, Yin and Yang. Everything has a down side to it in this world. What makes it so?
Maybe the fact that man is not an ideal engine is the reason. Ideal engines are just a theoretical state not possible in real world where friction, un-burnt fuel and other factors create wastage. I am talking physics here but the subject is so much related to real life. May be much more than biology.
My mom, though not much of a thinker, once said to me: "You shouldn't be too happy or too sad in life son. We are just ordinary people and we are not supposed to be ecstatic or depressed over things. Just be moderate in your celebrations as well as your tears."
Now I know the wisdom behind it all. The more we are happy the higher will the crest be and deeper will be the trough. If we enjoy life in moderation then the swells will be manageable for ordinary swimmers like us.
Right now I am in a trough and I am trying to piece together the events of the past two weeks to find out what put me here in the first place. What was the wave I rode so high that has trapped me in between huge swells I can't swim over?

Flight to the Isles

Literally I flew to the isles - the Indonesian archipelago to be exact. That’s the start of my journey which ended me in this temporary prison.

Here it was. My first reporting assignment and it’s my damn luck that it was an overseas one. Indonesian is no ultimate destination like the US or UK, the general destination of the high fliers. But it of course is a country with an identity of its own and a history that dates back beyond renaissance, unlike the Americas. Not that the Americas didn’t have history before Columbus. The only thing is it wasn’t recorded. The hell with it whatever it is.
To the Pacific ring it is for me. Suddenly I have this brainstorm. Could Indonesians have visited America before Columbus? Maybe the Apaches have Asian roots. Definitely some features seem to be common. Well the other thing is that Columbus didn’t discover America. The big guys did. The real big guys. The Vikings.
That’s another story. For now the point is I am stuck in Chennai traffic on my way to the airport to catch the Malaysian Airlines flight to Kuala Lumpur from where I would hop on to another one of the flying miracles to Bali. Great. My first flight. Feel like a small bird that’s flapping its wings in front of its mother yelling “I am ready to fly mama”.
That’s exactly what I did. Called up home, after which I though I would call Abdusalam who is the other reporter from Chennai coming to Makassar to cover the Gudang Garam International Rally Indonesia 2007. Rather a long name. But sponsors have their say I guess. And I think Gudang Garam must be one Garam (hot) company in Indonesia. Later I had a first hand experience of how hot Gudang Garam is. It’s a cigarette company and it burns from your tongue to your tummy when you smoke it.
I called Abdus and it seems he hasn’t even started from home. Must be a cool customer and a regular flier. That’s why he is taking the trip in a relaxed manner. But I am a rookie and I am as excited as my first steps some 26 odd years back.
Anyway Abdus suggested that I may check in if I reach the port before him. But I said no. Mainly because I am bit scared to do it alone. Like I said I haven’t flown before and I don’t know how to check in. Damn I am a journalist. I can talk my way out of any situation. At least that’s what my mom says all the time. But why waste words when you can just follow suit. Abdus must be a mature elder guy. At least a year older than me.
After about three quarter of an hour’s wait in front of the international terminal at Chennai Airport I finally meet him and my first jolt. Well he’s a kid. Only as old as my brother. None the less he is definitely more mature and experienced than me. His brother and sis in law dropped him and we exchanged pleasantries. Then we slowly walked in. That’s it I guess. One small step from Chennai and a giant leap for Leslie. A leap that will take me to Malaysia first and then to Indonesia. That is if the plane doesn’t crash in some Island, where the passengers will be stranded just like the ones in the series “Lost”.
That would be great right. I have already made up my mind as to which character I would adopt. Jack of course. I need a Kate too. I hope beautiful chicks are there on board. But the Idea didn’t amuse my mom. Which mom would be happy hearing her son is wishing for a plane crash?
I got on to the plane. My excitement rising. I even got the window seat with Abdus sitting right next to me. I called home from the flight, Everyone’s happy. I guess the waves were rising above the ideal mark even then.
I was sitting on the left side of the plane right above the wings. I can see the wings and the engine and after lift off I could see the beautiful Chennai lights. I said to my buddy Abdus. “Chennai is so beautiful from up above.” He just smiled. Guess he is not much of a talker.
The plane was filled up with celebrities I guess. No, I am not talking about the two media personalities on board. Hey talking of personalities I am thinking now. Do I have a personality? I guess I need to sort my P word or I will end up as another brick in the wall like what Pink Floyd predicted.
The flight was filled with film stars. Tamil or rather Kollywood film stars. I changed the word Tamil as the stars who would most probably be shooting some romantic sequences in Malaysia or Indonesia were Mallus. Damn these Mallus. It seems they are everywhere. The actor was Prithviraj and the actress, well I still don’t know her name. I keep referring to her as the girl who acted in the movie For the People.
Some movie it would be. And I think the producer or director is another Tamil actor Prakash Raj. He’s a good actor I think. Don’t know. I have seen him in action one or two times and from what I saw he is OK.
So maybe if the plane crashes I can get the actress to play the part of Kate with me. But she won’t be good. Kate is really a free spirit I think. But I am sure this actress won’t be. Even if she is the Lindsay Lohan type, she won’t be free. Lohan I am sure is tied up by commitments and pressured down by expectations too, though the act that she plays everyday for the media and the paparazzi, portraying herself as a wild spirit, is pretty good. Guess she is a natural. Who won’t be natural if your tummy is filled with booze and your lungs with grass smoke.
Back to the plane now. Dinner is served. I had a glass of beer. Then they stopped giving it. Turbulent weather is the culprit according to the pilot. Good. I wouldn’t have asked for more though. So it doesn’t matter. Anyway one thing I have decided. I am not going to let tiredness or sleep tie me down the next four days. Like the old Yankee saying, I’m a gonna kick ass, fully enjoy my trip and enjoy it the max.
My first landing and what a site it was. KL Airport. Very beautiful I would say. One of man’s attempt to compete with nature and I would say man is pretty close to beating nature, the only shortcoming being that nature’s creations more or less don’t harm itself. But man’s does.
Beautiful structure though, Kuala Lumpur airport is. My buddy was saying it was the best in its class and one of the most energy efficient, close to nature airport in the world. I just had my hand baggage with me. So I had no problem with collecting and checking in baggage and all. But Abdus had made a mistake of not checking in his baggage till Indonesia. So we had to get out, collect his baggage and then check back in for out flight.
I was smiling to myself now. My initial assessment of Abdus was wrong. He is not a cool customer. He is as jittery as me if not more. But he is a good guy. I know that. And I am mostly right in judging people.
So we went to the immigration counter to stamp a transit visa so that we can go and get the baggage. The clerk there at the counter was one of those` my ass has a mole in it - kind of a guy’. The bugger was rude. Well I would have retaliated if it wasn’t for the small technicality that I was in his country and he was holding the cards. So I filled up the forms. The clerk, I am calling him `Ass in Pain’ for convenience, stamped the visa and we collected the baggage and went up stairs for the main lobby of KL.
It was 4am in the morning Malaysia time. I hadn’t slept one bit. But strangely I was not feeling sleepy or tired at all. But I noticed Abdus was.
What can I say about the main lobby of KL other than that it is quite beautiful. And we were standing just one step away from the doors to the city. Taxis waiting outside to take us to the capital of Malaysia. I tried to tempt Abdus to take the plunge and go out for a tour. Our flight was six hours away. He said no and frankly I would also have said no. I don’t have that much of a hard gut you see.
Abdus sat down to rest. Behind us there was a TV screen and the news was flashing. The tenor is dead. Yes The Tenor – Lucciano Pavarotti, the great Italian singer.
I was walking all the time my eyes capturing everything there is to capture form the vistas on offer at KL. Then we slowly made our way to the terminal where, hopefully, we would meet the rest of the media contingent from India.
And we meet up. Well the exchange of pleasantries with the others were not that warm. I guess it’s because journalists tend to be vary about each other. I don’t know. I am new in this field. But like I said at my job interview for this post a year before, I have good interpersonal skills and by the time this trip ends I would be friendly with every single one of them. We fly from KL. Next port Bali.
Lunch time in my flight to Bali was rather funny. First of all I could here the hoarse voice of Vikram Gour, a photo journalist from a car magazine complaining about the special vegetarian meal that he is supposed to have on board. It was the travel agent who had made the blunder of entering Vikram’s choice of food as vegetarian. That too special vegetarian. Now he has to endure roots. Well airline food is tasteless I would say and to add to it the insult of just eating uncooked veggies. I can only sympathise with him.
One of the hostess came to me and showed her artificial but sweet smile asking me what would I like to have. Well this girl was of Indian origin. Probably a Malaysian Indian. Many are there in Malaysia as a result of the migrations two generations before. Her grand parents would have been farm workers. But she was cute too. Anyway she offered me chicken and beef. I asked for beef like any red blooded mallu Christian would have. And she was surprised.
That’s when I knew that Indians are not supposed to eat beef. She might have learnt that in her history books or something. But India has changed baby. She is an expanding market according to economists. She is shining according to Bharathiya Janatha Party leaders. Ask me, she is still the same old lady. Beautiful as ever. Sexy as ever. `Sare Jahan Se Acha, Hindusthan Hamara.’

Is it Kochi

Am I landing in Kochi, My birth place, my home. That was exactly my thought when the flight was approaching Dempasar Bali airport. The airport is near the ocean and the skyline with the coconut trees and all looks exactly like the Queen of Arabian Sea. Wait a minute. I am over the Pacific. So this won’t be the queen - my beloved Kochi. Not even a day has passed since I left Indian shores and here I am feeling homesick.
Bali airport is small. Real small I would say. That’s good as we don’t have to walk miles to reach the check in counter and again walk to reach the other counter which would take us to Makassar or Ujung Padang.
We were greeted by a grinning face at the airport. He was holding a board with mine and some other reporters’ name written in it. He was arranged by our travel agent back home. Great. Now this guy would sort out all the formalities in Bali. As we don’t have visa we have to get everything done here.
And the fellow was saying that he initially thought I was a Russian. What is so Russian about my name – Leslie Xavier? Now I know that these Indonesians think in crazy ways. Just kidding.
But the grinning fellow was only good smiling. We had to spend a hell of a lot of time and money to get out of the international terminal and reach the domestic terminal, where we were greeted by the good news that the Garuda Indonesian flight to Makassar is a little delayed. Someone from out group was saying the flight could also get cancelled in this part of the world without much of a notice.
Kind reminded me of Air Deccan back home. But I don’t mind the delay either. It doesn’t matter if I reach Makassar a day late. I had already filed my preview from Chennai using the press releases and a little internet research. Kinda make me think. What’s the point in catching three flights and reaching this remote island in the Pacific when we could have just filed the reports from our comfortable offices.
But the experience of being at the event is something different. I believe it inspires us to write better reports. Some others may disagree with me. Well disagreements are good as long as it is productive.
The flight to Makassar was uneventful with the most noticeable change being that it was not as well furnished as the Malaysian one and the hostess being considerable older. I was tempted to call her aunty.
Two cars were waiting for us at the airport with the drivers not knowing a word in English. They were just supposed to take us from the airport and en route we stopped at a gas station and filled our cars with gas worth five million Indonesian Ruppiahs. The currency is so devalued that 10,000 Indonesian bucks will fetch you just $1 in the exchange market.
I found it rather amusing and at the same time disturbing. How and why should a dollar have more value than other currencies including the Indian Rupee? Why? India is such a great country compared to the US. We are morally, socially and spiritually in a higher plane than America.
It is disturbing that countries are now measured in terms of economics. Good old days are gone and will never come again.

Clarion hotel

We reached Clarion, out base for the next four days and met Anthony Rodricks, our media coordinator and the guy who spends the bucks for us.
I have to share my room with Abdus. A natural choice - we being from the same city and all. I started making friends from among the group. Subash Rajta from Hindustan Times, Chandigargh; Vikram Gour the vegetarian; another Vikram from Pune, among many others.
The first day was uneventful other than a small change in my report and a round of beer with Gour, Rodricks and Sarath the cameraman, the most experienced guy among us and a real kick ass fellow I think.
I went to bed only at three in the morning and woke up at five as we were supposed to leave at 6.30. So my schedule starts and I am heading into the unknown as I don’t know what to expect and the excitement was on the rise. The crest now way above the permissible limit. In tsunami land, a tidal wave was building inside me.
From the previous day’s experience with the drivers, we managed to get ourselves a guide and an interpreter so that we don’t face any problems communicating. So off we went to the rally grounds where the stages were already underway, on the way stopping at a mall to collect the life savers - chocolates, chips and lots of bottled water.

Sugar sugar all around...

History of Makassar has some parallels with my home-town Kochi. The Queen (Kochi) was once a port ruled by the Dutch and so was Makassar. But Indonesia has many more things borrowed from India.
On our way to the hotel yesterday I noticed a shopping mall called Ramayana. And the name Bali also rings a bell in me reminding me of the great king. Rama’s fame has crossed the seven seas, just like Valmiki had written.
The thing is there was some sort of trade between ancient India and Indonesia. Maybe the name Indonesia was given to the Island Nation because of its Indian roots. Hinduism was the dominant religion here at one point in history. Now as we all know, the country is the biggest Muslim Nation.
The roads taking me to the rally zone called Takallar in Makassar reminds me of the ones in Kerala. Narrow winding ones. Apart from the humidity or rather the lack of it, the air is so like Kerala. I wanna go home now.
Takallar is a farming village and its sugar plantations everywhere we look. And driving through the village roads we could see first hand how the life of real Indonesians are. It’s a far cry from the tourist brochures or the welcome masquerade we got at the airport and our hotel.
One thing I noticed in the city of Makassar was the Americanisation that has happened in this supposedly third world country.
Everywhere I could see McDonald’s and KFCs. Every junction the chain joints are open it seems. One of my colleagues was saying that the country has no choice but to welcome America or else Japan would have invaded or some other country would have taken over. I would say Japanese occupation would have been better.
At least the culture would have been in tact. And then there is this little observation. The places where Americans had set foot have become hot beds for terrorism, be it Afghanistan, the Gulf region, and Indonesia is no way behind with some of the most radical of organisations present here. Some damn influence these Yankees have on our world. They are the ones who promote terrorism and in the end they fight terrorism. So who are the real terrorists? You decide.
Anyway back to Makassar. Our car is nearing Takallar and we saw a couple of rally cars speeding past us. The houses of farm workers by the roadside give us a fair bit of idea of how the life of these people here are.
The houses are on stills. That means the region sees a lot of flooding. And the roofs and tiled and slanting. It’s by no means a surprise to me. It rains like anything over here just like it is in Kerala.
Rally was the same as I had expected, cars zooming past kicking up a lot of dust from the soft mud roads in and around the sugar plantations. We move from one stage to another watching the action from media access points strategically placed around the stages. We reporters needn’t work when the actual rally is taking place. It’s the photographers who are having a ball at that time. Their life is hard. They have to be in the middle of the action trying to capture the moment so to speak.
Our work begins only after the race is over. That’s when we start to write or rather type our stories and I got my angle during the first service break. I am not much of a questioner. But I am a good listener and I got some quotes from Cody Crocker who is the championship leader and also from drivers of our trip sponsor MRF, Jussi Valimaki and Katsu Taguchi.
Earlier I was talking about Valmiki writing about King Ram. I guess now Leslie has to write about Valimaki in Indonesia.
So using those quotes I got a feel of the race and the direction it is heading for and wrote my first day’s report. To make matters easy for us, for the first time this season, Cody has faltered and it is Valimaki and Taguchi who are leading the race. Our sponsors are happy. I would say we brought the luck for them. Just kidding.
Anyway after a hard day, sitting in the AC car driving around the sugar plantations, we come back to out hotel and now I start to envy the photographers. Now it’s their time to relax while we start working.
I finished my job fast enough and after that I went to the hotel resta and had a shot of screwdriver. I kept saying. I did a great job and I have earned my drink. It’s time to party and the hotel we are staying has a happening night joint. My damn luck I would say. So off to the dance floor.
I guess the lack of sleep and the entire excitement of partying coupled with the booze and the satisfaction of a good day’s writing created in me such a high that the crest in me was as high as the Himalayas.
My day ended at 3.a.m. That’s when I crashed into my bed after a hot water shower. My buddy Abdus was fast asleep. As I slipped into my dream land I was thinking what would the next day be like. One thing I was sure. It would be exciting too. And looking back to the first day in the sugar plantation I am thinking of the small girls I met there, who took snaps with me thinking I am a celebrity. Well I was friendly with them and none including the drivers were having any time to spare for the young fans. I went to them and spoke with them. That made them happy. I was a teacher before and I like being with kids. Not a professional habit I would say. It’s my nature.
The sugar plantations made me think of another glaring fact in life. Either be useful to yourself in this world or end up being used by others for their growth.
I shall explain. The harvest was over at the plantations and they say the sugar plants eat up the minerals of the soil like anything. So the field is practically dead after one harvest. But what the ingenious farmers do is that they burn the wasted leaves and the standing shoots at the field itself instead of removing them. This gives some minerals back to the soil. Another lesson in life for me I guess.

Shopping spree

Not for me though. I am not a great shopper as I have trouble selecting what to buy. I am unsure. But the last day of the race was a Sunday and we decided that after the race we would go for shopping in the city. Our guide was also happy at this prospect.
We didn’t wait for the race to finish instead we went straight to Ramayana mall. I was not gonna buy anything. One reason I had mentioned earlier and the other was that I didn’t have any Indonesian Ruppiahs with me. The ones I had, I had spent at the night club.
I purposely split from the other guys at the mall. I like walking alone in a mall as I have done so often in Chennai. It allows you to observe much better and in my personal case it spiritually enlightens me. Funny evolution of man don’t you think. Now he finds spiritual enlightenment in material stuff at a mall. Earlier it was nature which inspired man to nirvana.
Malls are the same everywhere. Only difference is that here the people have mostly Mongol features. No, am not being a racist here. I was just explaining the real situation that’s all. And one thing really surprised me.
I met and spoke with a lot of girls at the mall. Indonesian girls. They all think I am handsome. Actually the same comment I had received from the hotel waitresses. But I dismissed them thinking it was a ploy to get better tips. But I know they were really telling the truth. I am really handsome. In my whole 27yrs in this world, no girl in India has said to me that I am handsome.... Maybe I should move to Indonesia to spice up my love life.....
After the mall we went to the beach to collect some traditional curios. On the way I saw a church. It was closed but the architecture was so similar to the Dutch church in Kochi – St. Francis Church – where Vasco da Gama was buried initially.
The race had already finished and we had to file our reports. So the beach trip was abruptly ended and we went straight to the hotel. We reporters skipped the ceremonial finish which didn’t amuse our coordinator Mr. Rodricks. His team had won but the journalists he brought refused to attend the finish ceremony. Naturally he would be pissed.
But dude we shall do out job and write a big report for your team, don’t worry. Anyway the fact that we refused to attend the ceremony might have played in his mind when he cancelled the night boat party which was organised for us. The reason he gave was that there was no time.
Who cares. There’s a bigger party at the hotel night club tonight and one Indonesian pop diva, Cindy B, is the main feature. It’s gonna be rocking tonight...........

Dances with the star

Have you seen the movie Dances with the Wolves. Well it was a Kevin Costner masterpiece and was a winner at the academy awards. Came out in the early 90s I think. It is the age old story of a white taking sides with the underdogs, in this case, the Apache or Cheyenne Indians- dont’t clearly remember whom. He fights along side the tribe which had seen great chiefs life Cochees, Juronim0h and countless fierce warriors whom the pioneering Yankees killed like they were mere pests. Was it not a holocaust.
Now back to the night club. And rocking it was. Danced like anything and finally danced with a star - me and Vikram - on stage with Cindy herself after she had put an invitation to the crowd welcoming someone to do a jig with her.
The party finished at three in the morning. Me and the two Vikrams were literally thrown out of the floor and we had barely enough time to pack out bags and rush to the airport to catch out flight back.
The trip, if I sum up in a single sentence, was on ride to hell in the happy sense of it. I was on a ‘HIGHWAY TO HELL, HIGHWAY TO HELL’.
And no wonder I am having such pronounced withdrawal symptoms after reaching Chennai and back on the desk and the daily grind of editing crap and making pages. I want to do reporting often. That’s really me I feel. I am basically an outgoing person and this desk job is killing my spirit, I fear.
It is this fear and the longing to fly like a free bird that has made me fall into the dark recess (trough) I am in right now. I rode a big surf just a day back. Now I am stuck in between swells.
The only thing left for me is to wait out the rough sea till the waves become manageable and then swim over. But the wait is filled with agony and despair. Oh God......

Good Friday

A quest

Someone asked me the other day, what the significance of Good Friday was for Christians? I answered with the usual blah blah.... and conscious pricking authority of a Christian, who doesn't know anything about Christ, saying it's a sad day for us as it's the day Jesus was crucified.

Then the second question. ''Why do you guys call it Good Friday, if the day is sad?''

Here goes my Christian scholar mask out of the window. But I was determined to find the answer.

After a few searches in Google, I hit upon a site. Typed the key word. The site says Good stands for ''holy'' as in a holy day. Or Good derived from ''Good Book, The Bible''

Then I asked another good friend of mine about 'Good'. She said It's because Jesus died on the cross and at that very moment we were saved. Humanity was saved. Hence it's a good day for humanity.

Well I know it's not a perfect answer. But my pursuit starts this day. Pursuit of God, not the meaning of Good Friday.

I know what I have said now is a quest without an end, and for me, without any means too. But it might end up as a search for my soul. Search for my inner voice, finding which will bring me at peace with myself. So I can safely term it as my small pursuit of happiness.

I have heard someone say, God and Devil are within every human being.

Who is God, What is God... Does God exist. If he doesn't then why so much hype. If he's there, then where is he. Is God good. Does he love us........ The questions are endless...... But life, in itself, if you think of it, is an endless question. Of course there is a beginning. Or is there? There's no proof. I can't prove to anyone at what point in time my life began. Will my life end? I would definitely die. But my journey never ends. Here too I can't prove with logic. But life is endless, and my quest of God will, I hope, help me unravel it's mysteries.

This day, I went to Besant Nagar Church and attended the Good Friday service. There was Way of The Cross too. It was different in the sense, at every station a clipping from the Mel Gibson movie Passion of the Christ was shown depicting the scene. The movie, I felt, was a little on the bloody side. Too much of torture.. I am sure an exaggeration. But the effect of those images were definitely strong. I saw tears in some of the people's eyes. Even I was moved, thinking about lot of things, not just Christ.

But when you think of it, are we doing the right thing here. Church, as we all know, had quite a dark past. It had used this symbol of Christ suffering on the cross as a marketing tool to control the masses, even though some of their actions were much more a torture to the great man. Or rather Son of God.

Christ loved humans more than any prophet or God or person had ever done. He just didn't care about anything else but love. ''Love thy neighbour'', a misinterpreted quote at His time, and unfortunately even now.

But the point is, the Church which Peter and the many pontiffs who followed him controlled, has a philosophy entirely different from that of the Teacher. Church is based on Power. It's foundations deeply rooted in political ambitions. Where as Jesus' idea of church, the way I figured out with my limited exposure to his teachings, is that it should stand for the people and not for God. When you think of it it's ironic. Son of God saying church shouldn't be for God but for humans. Well Jesus desired just that. Like I said earlier, no one has been a better lover of mankind than Jesus.

So I would say church is or has been crucifying Jesus time and time again. But no one realises it and we all take active role in it. Either we wash our hands or throw stones or whip him.

Am I a Christian. I would love to be one. Because Christ was a great man who wanted everyone to be happy. A happy world. Can you imagine that. I will follow Christ, not the church...... Not the church that crucifies the great man, almost every day.

I would be a Christian. A person who follows Christ. Not the christian who re-crucifies the Messiah.

Am I really back

Hi guys,

After a long break I've made up my mind to start my little madness again. Updating blogs can't be called madness, but in a way it is....

I was inspired by a friend of mine. Benoy......

Well dude thanks. Now I shall somehow find time, no matter how lazy or busy, to write something that would eat your brains. That is if you are foolish enough to read my blog.

So fasten your seat belts. It's gonna be one hell of a stinking ride. But I secretly do hope what I write is good. It's a ego think you see......

Email versus SMS

It all started with a question that one of my friend asked. Whether I prefer Emails or SMS's to keep in touch with my loved ones. Well it made my thoughts wander into a different nook. A place where no one generally venture. Even though the things in question are those that everyone use, no second thoughts are given to their social, psychological or physiological impacts.

We are pack animals. Well opinions may differ but we are animals, atleast that's a common point that everyone agree upon. As animals we have a tendency to search for security. This search land us in groups or packs. So we are pack animals and as pack animals we need to be near our pack. But unfortunately, in the present world living near one's roots is not possible at all.

They say our world is dynamic. But it is the micro dynamics of every moving individual that makes our world dynamic. We have to shift. We have to move to greener pastures for survival and it's not practical to move the entire pack to a new grazing land as in contrast to earlier times, nowadays the security is not in numbers but in agility. As we all know agility is indirectly proportional to numbers. I'm talking about the physical world.

But our mind works differently. Our psyche it seems are still tuned into our genetic code. The code that reminds us that we are animals. Maybe civilised but animals none the less. Our heart demands love, demands support, demands attention.

So even though we can survive much efficiently in this new world in isolation, our mind, or rather our soul keeps us locked with our true self. It is this need that has led to all these inventions, starting from the ordinary letter , telegraph to the modern contractions such as Emails or Short Messaging service.

Means of communications are born out of the need to communicate, need to be loved and so on, but it is ironic that most of the technology that are now used by us to love, to be with loved ones were all invented for war. Email and the internet was first designed for military use and so is every other contraction.

But that's our animal instinct too. An instinct to protect our pack from outside attack. War is just a fight for survival in tune with the principle of survival of the fittest as theorized by Charles Darwin.

I have been beating around the bush for a long time now. Lets get back to Email and SMS.....

Well I use both and I'm willing to use any other means and pay whatever it requires if it helps me to be with my roots or atleast be in touch. But there are opinions that Email is the most impersonal means to communicate as it is electronically generated and that written letters are more romantic and so on.

Of course written letters are more romantic, more personal. The fonts we use when we write, our hand writing are actually the font of our heart. Each person's font (hand writing) will be unique, as each person's soul is unique. In that sense I prefer letters to Emails, but letters are also referred to as snail mail. In this age of speed letters are starting to get obsolete. Of course letters are romantic, but impractical in this age of IT.

But I do love to write, do love to message, do love to phone... Everything is part of my struggle to survive in this world without losing my true identity. Without losing the address to which I belong. Without losing my soul. Without losing my sanity to the vultures of world economics.

We may not believe it. Earlier it was our earth, the elements, that guided our destiny. Those times were good as the earth guiding us is synonymous to God guiding us. That may have its uncertainties but, God loves us, our earth loves us. So no harm will come to us.

But now our destinies are controlled by analytic brains who control our world economy. We are guided not by stars but by our world's policy makers. That's something I can't agree with and I can't be without fighting against. As I believe that humans can never be impartial, can never completely be committed to humanity like mother nature is, like our God is.

The Loyola connection

Being in a foreign land always has its plus points. First of all you're an Alien. Well, how can that be something positive. Aliens stand apart right. They evoke fear. They are hated. Well so be it. I don't like this cruel desolate place. It took love away from me. It took everything I care about from me. So I hate this place. I'm an Alien here. So let them hate me.

The second benefit is that suddenly when you're alone, you start looking back at yourself. You contemplate. You think about your life. The deeds you've done. That's when ghosts from your past return to haunt you. It's an eerie feeling, but a feeling I've started to love.

But for me the most special thing about being here is that it has made me a more caring and sensitive person. A person who cherish love. Cherish being loved. A person who wants to belong somewhere, because I know I don't belong here. So I look around for familiar faces. Faces dear to me. Names special to me. Luckily I found one here. That's `Adarsh'.

Adarsh was my student from my not so illustrious career as a teacher. In fact my whole teaching experience can be summed up in a few phrases.

• Irregular (regularly irregular in fact)
• No subject competency (I knew nothing about physics)
• No self motivation to teach (nil I might add)

Hey, but I was not a complete loser. Even though I was not a self-motivated teacher I was good at motivating others. My career as a teacher was not great, with shades of commercialism coming in and all, but I can sure boast of some good friends now, who were my students to start with.

Adarsh is again a little apart from the rest of my so called `student turned friend'. The reason is not because of him. It's because of me. I told you earlier, I was a jerk of a teacher. But I always tried my best to be there for my students, whatever it is. But I couldn't do it for Adarsh. To start with I couldn't even teach him physics, but he's quite cool with that. I didn't even complete the portions for the year for Christ's sake. There goes my commitment. I'm not talking about my commitment to teaching. It's my commitment to students.

Adarsh would've felt the same. I always used to wonder why this guy used to come day in and day out just to listen to me talking crap. And to make matters worse I wasn't even regular. He used to commute a long way for my classes and most of the days return, happy probably, with me not turning up. I guess me not being there was more of a help to him as I couldn't corrupt his mind.

I used to look at his eyes during lectures. They had some meaning. I still couldn't fathom what they meant. Was it a feeling of being bored - No, being curious - maybe, being intimidated - No No. Even he doesn't know it I reckon.

Well this world moves in crazy ways. I always had this guilt in me thinking I didn't give 100% to him. But here he is, with me in this foreign land. He himself an Alien like me.

Now I realise that my boy here and myself have some what similar temperaments, although different tastes. I had to meet him. But in reality I was scared to do so. Don't know why. Maybe that guilt inside. Or maybe something else. But I had to meet him none the less. Because he is someone I know. It's as simple as that. He's someone I know, and therefore someone I care about.

I was late as usual. Punctuality is sort of like my middle name. But I don't have a middle name as you know. Hence I don't have punctuality or rather I've never been on time my entire life.

I walked through the open gate of his college. Loyola, an imposing campus. Imposing and rather charming as there was something inside that was appealing to me. That was attracting me. The gates were fully open as though saying I'm welcome there. He was already waiting for me. When I saw him I realised he hasn't changed. He's still the old boy I knew. We walked through the campus, had dinner at a Chinese joint near by. Lot of Blah-Blah's as usual. It was raining. Rain is something I like, but in this place....Well.... But I can't hate rain. I shouldn't.

``Hate this place instead Leslie - Please.''

Walking back I insisted we walk through the campus. I don't know why I did like that. Maybe there was something inside that appealed to my scorched soul. Maybe the empty corridors that still resonates with the hopes and despairs of young hearts. Or maybe it's the feeling of being near or walking with `Sofia' (wisdom). But I loved the place. I promised myself, I shall return. Soon...

The rain was pouring. I wanted to remove my umbrella and my shirt and just spread my arms and stand, staring up into the falling droplets. The feeling would have been great. But my pal would have felt embarrassed had I done that. See how even I who always follow my inner voice fell prey to social norms.

But I'd again come here. Maybe the rain wouldn't be there but atleast Sofia would be there. Adarsh too. Also the lonely souls and broken verses...

Maybe my heart longs to be back in college again.....

I was upset before going there to meet my pal. But being with him in this palace of dreams, temple of desires, made me relax. I feel as though I've become wiser.

I feel cold walking back. It's not because of the rain, but because I'm leaving the warmth of a friendly soul.......

Scent of the Rain

Ask me I would say that rain is life. It gives life. It quenches our thirst. It cleanses our soul. Rain goddess, a mother....
I still remember my childhood days. I had time then to watch the rain drops splash. Watch the rainbow form and wonder at the silver lining around a dark cloud. Rain was romance then. There was something mystical. Rain was joy. Oh what fun we had in school when it was raining. To play in the ground that was water logged. To skid and fall. Get wet and dirty all over. Coming back after all these adventures, get nice spanking from mom for getting dirty. It was an adventure. Rain is an adventure.

Those days, during rain I used to look out of the window. There would be a cold draft hitting my face. That cold draft was so refreshing. Or was it the scent that was refreshing. Yes, Rain goddess wears a beautiful perfume. A perfume made out of elements from our mother earth and the sky. Have you ever noticed it. If not try it. Its heavenly.....

You guys might wonder, why suddenly I'm talking about rain such a lot. Yesterday something happened that made me think a lot about it. That's why.

Yesterday I was getting out of my place to make a move to my office. Then suddenly it started to rain. Actually the place I am in right now, Chennai, in the south of India doesn't get much rain. It is a place notorious for its hot and humid conditions. So normally a rain would be a welcome. But you got it wrong. Rain floods the place like hell. So for the 1st time in my life I cursed this gift of God. Why did I do it. Just because it was an inconvenience for me. So human I have become. So human. I just think about myself. I have started to think like a career professional who would do anything to keep up with his professional demands.

Humans were not like that to start with. We are a race who are romantics. We are a race born to enjoy and experience this world and its beauty to the fullest. We are basically poets, artists.... But we choose not to exercise these inbuilt faculties of ours nowadays. But why? Is it the influence of technology in our lives. Is it because of our constant isolation from nature. Or is it anything else.

I guess the answer has many dimensions.. Of course these days we are isolated from nature. We travel in our air conditioned cars, work and live in our climate controlled cocoons. We use sun creams with UV SPF more than 50, so that not even the smallest of its rays reach our skin. Hey, Sun used to be our source of energy. Have you forgotten that.

Then comes the next culprit, technology. Frankly speaking we don't have time to take our eyes from our LCD screens. What has become of us, Oh God--- Slaves of technology.

Our society is the ultimate culprit if you ask me. We have other priorities now, priorities that has been inflicted upon us by our society. All these things have compounded upon us and made us zombies of sorts. Zombies living in an isolated world.

Let's come back to rain. I hate myself now. The object of my desire, my passion and joy, yesterday I cursed it. I cursed it cos it had become an inconvenience for my insignificant existence. It had become a nuisance for my worthless commute from home to office. Worthless as it keeps me away from my elements. Keeps me away from love. Keeps me away from nature, my mother.

Oh Dear God, don't curse me now, I have not seen life. Don't curse me and take your gift away. I need all the gifts that you have provided us. Only then will I be able to know me, only then will my life be complete.

Where are those clouds. Shower upon me your love. Shower upon me and cleanse me from inside as my soul has become corrupt.

``Jean Jacques Rousseau''

In between I write some stuff as poetry. Mainly because I don't have to worry about any mistakes in sentence formation and all. Besides I get some satisfaction or something like that when I finish one.

This one was written by me last year while I was in college. It is about the great French philosopher Jean Jacques Rousseau. I haven't read any of Rousseau's work and I am not that familiar with his life either. The only thing I know about him is his educational philosophy, which I learnt as part of my college degree. So my ideas about the great man is pretty vague. So what I have written wont justify his greatness. Still I have attempted something. I hope what I have written doesn't make him turn in his grave...........

Jean Jacques Rousseau

In the streets of Paris it was
that I met a great soul
lucky I am, for I could behold
the treasures this Man possess.
Greatness there was in his words;
and divine were his thoughts.

I watch him in awe
what made him so, I wondered.
Is it the mighty hand of God,
or the raw nature like he claim.
His greatness is his mind-
a mind so pure and warm;
It's a pity, he was mistook
for someone he was not.

A real son of nature he was
but this world gave him wounds,
which turned later to gashes
open, wide and full of pain.
He couldn't love, Oh he could..not;
he just couldn't stand this world
this cruel world full of masks,
whose soul is corrupt to the core.

He wasn't loved by anyone
nor did anyone receive
that damned thing full of pain-
full of deceit and sins of lust.
What drives him, I wondered;
and I dared to ask.
Surprised I was by his answer
it was love, I heard him say.

``LOVE'' !; could I be mistaken.
How could it be love.
How can a man be inspired by the very thing
that eluded him all his life,
and drove him to the dark world of pain.
I am mistaken, it was not love,
it was his hatred for this world
that made him create,
Son's and Daughters, that would serve
the very thing he hated
and turn it to a better one.

Yes, his spark started a fire,
that burnt the heart of millions
waking them up from their slumber
and breaking their cocoons of ignorance.
Fire consumed the whole of Gaul,
Rhine filled with corpses BLUE,
Bastions consumed under its rage
turning Seine to crimson red;
eminent with it the fall of Bastile.

The thirst of cold metal
for blood that's blue,
was quenched at last through vengeance
with the swing of the guillotine axe.

Waves huge rose up from Gaul,
spreading with it far n wide
and reaching the shores foreign; the new world,
the message of freedom, the message of Life;
and the cries of comrades for
`` Liberte'', `` Egalite'', `` Fraternitte''.

The world as we had known then
has changed for the better, I see,
or has it really changed.
I see forces dark and huge
still pulling us down;
the very things we swear by
and claim they are to serve us;
the rules and laws we live by
are still killing our urge to grow,
clipping our wings and
stopping our minds from soaring;
to greater heights than we are now.
Choking our desires and dreams,
killing life from within us.

I urge you my fellow beings
stand up and salute,
this great soul who has given us
the means by which we could
be blessed in every sense.

Open you eyes, I beg you
cos in front of you is an axe
use it to break these chains
that has barred us from happiness
and enslaved us in its grip.
----------

An old buddy

I met an old buddy this day. I know it's not a highly creative way to start a log. But this a log right. So I thought, for a change I would directly get into the core, instead of beating about the bush.

Max, my old college buddy and my team mate dropped by this morning. Suddenly out of the blues. Well I was surprised but more than that I felt really happy. I mean to see a familiar face among new unfamiliar ones. It always feels good.

I really don't know what kinda relationship I had with Max. We were clearly more than friends. He was my practice partner during Judo camps. I can say I was his mentor of sorts. I taught him a lot about college, wrestling and maybe a little bit of life too. Well that would definitely create a bond between us that's much more than friendship. Anyway I saw him. He has gained a few pounds. Brought him to my room. Had the usual friends chat, talking about college days and other stuff. Life has sure turned serious after our college days.

Well I went with him to the bus stand to see him off. He's hitting the big time so to speak, career-wise that is. He's gonna fly to Dubai next month or so to join a construction company over there. But this afternoon he had to catch a bus to his current nest. Thirunalveli. Anyone been to Chennai will know the Moffussil bus terminal. It has got a vast lobby, high ceilings and all the usual big station stuff.

We had lunch from there. Then I walked with him to his bus. I hugged him. Looked into his eyes. I could sense a tinge of sadness in em. My eyes were covered with my dark sun glasses. So my emotions weren't betrayed. I exchanged the usual pleasantries with him and the usual crap like keeping in touch etc...

I walked back. Looking up onto the ceiling of that bus terminal I suddenly had this hollow feeling inside me. As if i'm suddenly left alone. I walked back, all the while thinking that this could be the last time I see this buddy of mine. He's gonna go his way. End up somewhere. Somewhere else in this vast world. Even though people say that our world is getting smaller. For me the world is still a huge place where we can easily get lost. Well I only hope that Max or me or for that case anyone, shouldn't get lost in the crossroads that form the fabric of this world. Crossroads formed from the bye products of our continual shift towards a pragmatic existence.

I hope for the best as we humans are not pessimists by nature..............

Junctions

Just thinking where my life has reached, would make me wonder, Oh God. What is happening. Or What has happened or What will happen again.

When I was in high school, my teacher used to tell me and my pals, 10th grade is going to be your life's turning point kids. We used to wonder. What is this turning point this guy is talking about. Now I think I have realised what he meant. I would like to term these turning points as junctions of my life.

Well 10th grade passed. It was in 1995. Then came the fun filled virtual world of college. Joining a college too was a junction. Just like my teacher had said I reached a big junction after my 10th. There were lot of traffic lights. Some red. Some Yellow. But mostly Green. I couldn't make up my mind as to which road to follow. I took one that was the most frequently traveled (I took up science for my college as all the kids wanted science, it was the in thing those days, Maybe it still is). I wasn't forced or anything by my parents. Instead in my case the pressure was from the society. I was a fool to let the society guide me. To succumb to peer pressure. But I did. Took a turn. Then it was a ride. Sometimes bumpy like a village road. Sometimes smooth as an express way. Junctions came.

Took my expected turns. Did what I could do with the turn I had made years back. Finished my M.Sc in Physics.

Then I realised that I am not made for the role I had chosen. I can't do anything with the burden or tag I had with me. The tag being the degree I possess.

that's when I made the point that from now on I wont take turns with pre-notions. I decided that I would take blind turns. But the thing is that I have not taken any blind turns till now. The junctions I have crossed after that have all been ones with just one obvious turn to take. You don't understand don't you. I shall explain in detail.

The junctions I have reached were all dead ends to start off with. Then a track would emerge and I shall slowly take it. Some might say that I have been lucky to be here without taking any prior plans or routes. Maybe they are right. A real life example is the job I am in right now. I completed my bachelors degree in science education last may. The obvious turn to make after that would have been to take up a job as a teacher somewhere. But I didn't make that turn. Instead I traveled a bit more from that junction and reached a dead end, which gave me thoughts about retracing the path I traveled to the previous junction. But then I stayed to contemplate. It saved me actually. Out of nowhere came a road. Took it and here I am in another part of the world occupying a position in space that for me would generally have been improbable if not impossible. Working as a Sub-editor for a newspaper. Who would have thought of it.

Maybe I have to cross many more junctions. Maybe I would turn again. Left turn or right turn, the point is I should not let anyone guide me. But that's not possible. Maybe my destiny drives me. So let it be. I would let my destiny guide me. I have got my seatbelts fastened for a bumpy ride.

world

This world as we know it is a constantly changing one. A dynamic one. But what is this world?
Recently i was talking about the space time continuim. Yes, this world of ours is just a special function of space, time, and velocity. i included velocity as it is one constraint that includes matter or mass in a superficial manner atleast. with my limited knowledge i could only think of a 3-dimensional continium. But actually the dimensions to this world is close to infinity if not infinity itself. That is the reason why we can't explain certain phenomenon that occour around us. We term the unexplainable as a miracle.

This inablity of ours is our limiting factor. That is why God is not a person among us. Our perception has its limits. Mine is just 3 dimensional so to speak. Of course there are other dimensions that i can think of, or rather slowly the dimensions will reveal itself to me. I guess that state is what sages tried to achieve or might have achieved.

Its a journey of a life time to understand this world. But modern man need more than one life time to understand his world. The reason quite simply is that our perception has become numb due to the 4 walls that surround our mind. The walls are actually not 4 in number but is many fold. It includes our destiny, the prominence we give to our careers, family, and above everything, the greens(money). Another irony is that the very dimension of our world itself contribute to our numbness. Time for instance. We are governed by time, thereby it limits our perception. Velocity as we know is a physical limit we have been trying to conquer by attempts at land speed records and Mach counts. But we can't. Atleast with what we have now, we can't.

This exactly is what Einstien termed as the physical barrier for time travel. Velocity....

So is time travel necessary to understand this world. Maybe it is so. But as far as i feel physical time travel is not at all required. The key is surely our mind. Just got to break it free from the shackles of the limiting factors. Hopefully i might be able to do so. But first thing's first. Let me find out what the barriers are

Just joined

hi guys, i just got into this thing called blogging. Actually i have been thinking for a long time to start my own blog Only now i did it. I guess the saying goes, there is a right time for anything. We sometimes call it destiny or something.

And so maybe i am destined to start a blog at this point in the time space continium. Lets see what happens from now on.