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Sunday, May 24, 2009

The "Jatti" thieves

Based on a true story.

Yesterday our village was attacked by the Jatti(underwear) thieves. Before we get into what really happened, who are these Jatti thieves? For the past week or so the villages around Coimbatore are invaded by a bunch of ruthless thieves who are popularly known as the jatti thieves(தி ஜட்டி தீவ்ஸ்). Why are they called the jatti thieves? not cos they steal the branded jattis hanging on the cloth line but cos, when they come for their mission they come wearing only their jattis. Only Jattis? yeah only cut-jattis. They also cover themselves in some kind of greasy and slippery oil so it becomes impossible to catch them by hand.They are a group of four to six men and the number changes according to the mission. People who have seen them report that they were well built, tall, dark and looked like monsters. These ruthless killing machines choose one village for a night. They carry only a very few weapons, a little knife, a rod with sharp nails and a hammer.They enter like cats clad in their dark jattis, they hide in the darkest corners of the village, they choose the lonely house which is located outside the main village and as the the village slowly gets to sleep they emerge from the darkness and break open the doors.They enter without making a noise.They wake you up with their knives, one of them catches hold of the youngest in the house placing a knife in the junction of the head and the chest, the second one collects the mobile phones and breaks them on the floor, the third one takes refuge of the people in the house as the fourth one breaks open the vaults and clutches the jewellery from the women. Finally they lock you in a room and tie your hands and mouth. When they are done, they leave the house locking it from the out and escape into the nearby grooves.It all happens like it was already written. If you play their tune, all you loose would only be your possessions. If at all if you are going to revolt then there will be blood. They have scissored the right ear of a grandma who refused to give away her ear-ring, they have pierced the head of a few with the nail rod, and one has lost his eye as the nail rod hit his face.Casualties? reportedly two till date. Nobody knows who they are.They don't look like locals, people say they speak Hindi and sometimes broken Tamil too. The worth of the stolen has crossed a few million in rupees.Police? Yeah they come after the thieves leave and they leave before the thieves come again!.The commissioner has ordered for a shoot at sight and the police has already informed the villagers to murder the thieves if they are caught.

It was just another Saturday for me.Sitting inside my brown roofed village house, I was lost in the web on my over-heated PC. It was nearing eight in the evening.It was then when my Uncle called me sayin the thieves entered the village next to us. They were hiding inside the toilet of a house when a little girl spotted them, as the girl started shouting they fled the place. The four seasoned thieves were chased by some hundred men but soon they lost track as the thieves singled out and each escaped in a direction.My Uncle said two hundred men from nearly three villages are in search for the thieves in all the grooves around. I said let me know if they are caught and i got back to my work. Hours passed and my Uncle came home, their search had turned futile, but the whole of the village was speaking about the thieves. My uncle was sayin how cruel they were to the people and said most villagers had sweared to kill them if caught.Hours passed, i sat with my Uncle as he was watching Royal challengers trash CSK. His phone rang again a voice shouted "the thieves are hiding in the common marriage hall near the temple". We ran there just to see that the whole village had come to life in the mid-night, hundreds of men with huge and round sticks were running in all the directions. A huge crowd had gathered before the hall which was located at a safe distance from the village. We went there and the search was on, the bushes were cut down, huge lights were brought in. The person who reportedly saw the thieves said, they were standing on the walls wearing only their jattis and as he approached them, they blinded his sight and ran away. Hundreds were searching in places nearby the hall, I never knew there were so many people in my village.I was never a part of the social life of this village, and many were looking at me "who is this guy". I was wondering if i go for a leak removing my trousers and if these guys are gonna sight me with my jattis then im sure they are gonna think im one of the "jatti thief" and they will beat me to death. So i stayed with my uncle and the people i knew. The place was completely scanned and it was decided that it was a rumour that the thieves were in the village, we were starting for our houses and suddenly we heard a few women scream wild somewhere nearby. The crowd rushed there, the women were restlessly shouting that the thieves just ran crossing them. A women said a man was hiding inside the bushes and when she asked he who he was, he pushed her down and ran away. Suddenly people realised the kind of mess that they were into, the brutal thieves are now inside the village and they can do anything to the innocent lives. A wave of tension started spreading across. My Uncle asked me to rush home as the people in my house were already asleep. Yeah people i was asked to be the Man of my home then. I was kind of grinning inside me cos all these are hell new to me. Came home and switched on the lights, made sure that the bushes around were safe, like the cops in hollywood movies i crawled around and spyed in our neighborhood, i started practising some punches in the air, i asked my grandmother to put a thilak on my forehead and say "vetriyoda thirumbivaa raasa". As my grandma searched for a broom i left my house, i knew its gonna be a long night ahead and i took my iPod with me. groups of young men were roaming all over the place each armoured with heavy weapons, there were faces with anger and tension . I should have looked like an asshole to sport an iPod in that crowd, anyways stupidity happens. i joined the crowd which was searching in the directions pointed by the women, teams were built and each was assigned a task. Some young men took the task of roaming around in the bikes, and some searching individual homes. Nobody took me in their teams. They knew i was not a villager.I started roaming around alone, i called my Uncle and he said he was busy somewhere else searching for them. They said the thieves were hiding somewhere in the little village and the search was getting intense. Someone would shout "Hey i saw a thief here" and before the people reach there someone from the other end of the village would call that someone spotted the thief trying to jump a wall. People started circling in and around the village and it became a Tom and Jerry story. I came home to see that my orders were not in place and everyone including my little cousin were standing outside the house.ARGH!, then I kept roaming for sometime, I kept hearing Akon's new album, I knew i was too careless, I knew i din know the seriousness of the situation, i was wondering what if he suddenly emerges from the bushes, he had a knife and a rod but I only had an Ipod and a Motorazr.I was standing in some dark corner and there were no many people around in that street, a man i knew came in his bike. He saw me alone there, he suddenly handed over a huge wooden rod which weight a few extra pounds and said "mapla, inga yaarum illa naan nayaker thatava varasolren neenga intha theruva pathukonga"(there is no one in this street, ill ask nayaker thatha(an old man) to join you, you both take care of this street). I was like are you joking, but i gladly accepted the offer. Soon the old man too joined me, we both were standing in the corners of the street. He had a larger stick, yeah people an old man/young man combo to save the village.

I stood there keeping my face as stern as possible. I knew i would burst into laughter any second. The world is still believing me. I was so cool that the thatha standing near me was annoyed with my carelessness. I was like who is going to come here to this street. And my phone rang!!!. My uncle said "Vicky who is near the 3rd street", i said "myself and the old man,Y?" and my uncle said the sweetest lines ever said, lines that ill never forget all my life "i heard that the thieves are running towards the third street and they are heavily armed". The most intense moment of my life, no people i din piss out there believe me. I was motionless, i said this to the grandpa near me and he started tying his dothi up getting ready for an encounter with the beasts. What am i gonna do now!? I said to myself "No Vicky,Now you are not a software engineer who works with Steve, Matt and Davidson. You are no more the guy who visits the village for sleep and food, you are no more a guest here, you are now a part of this village, you now shoulder the responsibility to safe guard your motherland(yes! my mom was born here), you are a angry young man, you are Rambo, you are the native village warrior, you are the man that the world wants and the man that the world is searching for.Get ready for the toughest night of your life and tonight lets dine in hell". I was all charged up, i folded my shirt till my shoulders, i curved my newly grown moustach. I was like "Vaangada! vaanga! Seriyana ambalaya iruntha vaanga da"(Come thieves come to me, if you are a man and if you have your balls intact, come to me and cross me). They never came! I was waitin there for a few hours and only an old street dog was in sight. They escaped form me, the escaped from a man who was ready for a battle. I called my uncle he said "You FOOL are you still waiting there?, we enquired the people who reportedly saw the thieves and found that all was a RUMOUR, nobody actually saw the thieves, when inquired they all said that someone else had said to them and nobody saw a thief in the village, the thieves had never come to the village, YOU GO TO BED!!" No one had insulted me like this before. Go to bed? FU**! dude i was waiting for a battle. If at all they had crossed my way, if at all they had come near me... i would have looked them in their bloody eyes, i would have roared inside me once and lifted my hands, then something really terrible would have happened in that lonely dark street. The next day The Hindu would have reported "Young lad defeats thieves and saves a village" and Dhina thandhi would have reported "இளைஞர் சாகசம்!!! ஜட்டி திருடர்களுக்கு ஜட்டி கிழிந்தது".(No translation available!)

PS: Jokes apart, the village is still caught in the web of uncertainty. People are expecting that as the thieves never came to our village they may came again anytime. Dedicated police squads are asked to roam around in the villages for a few days now.

PS2: Believe me when my uncle called me to say that the thieves are nearing me, I already had my plans to tackle them. Guess what?? I would have said to him "Hey see no blood, ill give you my iPod and also teach you how to operate it, its worth 5k.You can leave without a hush. GOD PROMISE ill never tell these people the direction in which you ran". Now you all know why i took my iPod with me :)

PS3:(26/May)This post is selected by Blogadda.com as one of the best Indian(!?!) posts of this week, Click the image to view the page.

Sunday, May 17, 2009

Pablo Neruda

And you will ask: why doesn't his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?

Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
the bloods in the streets.
Come...and see the blood in the streets!

Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)

When a poet is born, the angels in the sky come alive from their dreams, a gush of warm water flows through the springs across the ends of the world, the tree by the river sheds a single leaf which floats in the air for an eternity, a light bulb kept in an old hut fades slowly to darkness, a few fleas keep sucking blood from the wound of the dead, hiding in a dark corner a grown man cries bleeding his heart out, a tint of wild lust is mixed with gallons of love as a woman deeply kisses the man she loves. When a poet is born the world gets ready for him, for he would soon capture in the magic of his lyrics the warmth of the water, the journey of the lonely leaf, the silence of the angels, the pain of the man caught in darkness, the passion of love, the glitter of the tear and the smell of the dark and humid drop of blood.When a poet is born he doesn't come out crying, but he comes out looking at the world with with his indifferent eyes, which will make poems out of the moments of his birth. A poet I believe is never a kid, a boy, a man but, a poet begins and ends as a poet. As if the only reason for his journey is to capture his share of the poems which keep floating like butterflies in the middle of a sunny day. A poet is born to write poems, the poems which are destined for him to write. Poems which are as unique as the waves of lines in the palm. Poetry is art of capturing the world in little canvasses. To put in words the essence of the intense moments, the art of seizing the emotions which flow through the inner walls of the being, the search for truth. Poets are not gay, they share a deeper solitude inside them which pulls them towards the words. I always wished that i may have the vision of a poet, i wished i could share the sight of a poet so i could interpret the world as he does, cos in his vision there is a search for ultimate truth, he looks at the gore of the beautiful and the beauty of what that is despicable.A poet doesn't write for his reader, he writes just to capture the magnificence of the moment, he writes a poem just like a painter immersed in painting a still life art.His poems with equal measures captures the beauty of the first drop of the rain, the last tear for the dead, the purity of the white snow which slowly melts into the mountain river, and the purity of the white liquids which are melted in the hour of making love.

Just like old friends leading you to new ones, S.Ra introduced me to Pablo Neruda, who in-turn introduced me to his poetry which more than just magic of words has become a obsession for war and peace for me. He ignites fire, he throws inside some dust, he drenches with water, he puts a knife in bleeding wounds. When he wrote he did not write to impress me or guide me, he did not write to give false hopes to people or to inspire them, he did not write to teach or to preach, he just wrote.He wrote poetry to explain himself to himself. And that brings him closer to me, i read him knowing that his poems were not written for me, when i read him I and Neruda sit opposite to each other and we discuss the poem. It has not been long since i came in terms with Neruda, say it has just been a few months. Slowly i started collecting his poems, spending my midnights to interpret its meanings. After spending time with him, now i can say he taught me nothing except to accept to life as is it, to cry when you cry. to laugh when you laugh, to let life rule over you.I wonder how gifted are the ones who read in Spanish, the language in which Neruda wrote his poems. Neruda was born in Chile, belonged to every corner street of the world. He roamed around the world in Vietnam, in Lanka, in France in Spain in Italy. The Picasso of poetry was conferred with a Nobel for literature in 1971.

Neruda love for words is evident in the way he plays with them, like the piper driving with him the rats, the words run in the back of Neruda, they drown into his pen and come out as the wet ink filling in the paper. A word reaches its pinnacle of glory when it is written by Neruda. be it the beauty of the phrase "The lemons move down from the tree's planetarium","i want to be my love, alone with a tip of your breast of snow" or the pain of love in the words "Don't leave me alone, the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift into me, choking my lost heart". Neruda had a never ending love for words, which spoke on people, society, life, truth and beauty. But Neruda is celebrated for the poems he wrote on Love. Yes Neruda was a poet of love, most of his poems share with us heavenly peace and the numbing pain of love. For anyone who reads Neruda the beginnings would be his poems on love, his first book twenty love poems and a song of despair is a must read for people who for once knew in their life how is it to love and to be loved. When a man becomes mad about a women, all his insanities are interpreted as poems. Neruda loved women, he praised her, prayed to her and he celebrated and cursed her. Neruda was in love with love. The pure essence of love keeps flowing in all his poems. As S.Ra says young men and women in Chile and across the world still visit his memorial in groups, they stand in crowds on the shore facing his house and recite the poems of love. Neruda was a saint who preached love. In his in numerous sonnets and poems my favourites ones written about love would be Sonnet XVII which in it says "so I love you because I know no other way" and Tonight i can write the saddest lines which in it says "Love is so short, forgetting is so long".

Poetry is nothing but a vision, a state of mind that you share with the poet.My days are getting drifted in the magic of his words, I have almost done with all his poems on love and now slowly moving into his poems on life which range from communism to the struggle for social justice.Lover, political activist, the voice of the common man Neruda has had a number of faces.It is in his poems i find my reasons and my reflections. It is after reading him I found that there is no good or bad poetry any word that emerges from the depth of the soul is poetry. Now i know what to search when i read a poem, what to look at when i glance the life around me.Yes! than beauty, than gloss, than the infinite possibilities of hope, give me truth.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Bangalored again!

Bidding a heartless goodbye to Arun, i started running towards the apartment.I didn't want to miss out on the Coorg trip, i already started dreaming about the trip, the mountains, the mist and the coffee estates! They said they were leaving in minutes i rushed to the room. When i opened the door, I saw a few men lying scattered one looking at the ceiling, the other clad in his brief was scribbling something on the floor and the next few were glued to the evil box. As i walked in the rest joined I looked at them and we all kept starring for a few minutes,then suddenly everyone started laughing out "Dey meesa vechurukaanda".

Me:Shut up! what happened to Coorg?

rest: what Coorg? which Coorg?

Me: assholes u guys just spoilt a beautiful day with my brother, i came running!

rest: illa da we decided two hours back that its not feasible today

Me:Then why did u guys call me 20 mins back

rest: chumma ullulaaaiku.

After sharing mutual abuses for sometime, and after making a feasibility study for a few hours sometime later in the evening someone asked "how many wants to go to Coorg?" 1,2,3,4,5 the hands kept raising. So it was decided that we do a night drive to Coorg, book some resort there for a days stay and get back to Bangalore late time next day. The two red swifts were set and we started the trip, on the car we kept discussing about the Coorg that none of us has been to.I desperately wanted to be in a hill station, to become synonymous with nature. Everyone looked excited. After twisting and turning around Bangalore somehow we reached the the outskirts, and from there we took on Mysore road. The music was loud around us, and it was fun to be a part of that drive. we were midway to Coorg.We stopped at a petrol bunk after some two hours on the road.After the refreshments and before getting into the car for the long drive, someone asked "OK how many wants to get back to Bangalore", 1,2,3,4,5 the same hands rose again and in minutes time we were back on the tracks through which we just travelled. I was not shocked, no not a bit, after all i am with my guys for some 7 years now! Its just the way we are.the trip back remains historically important cos we were LOST. Nobody knew how and we kept following the first car and after some point they said that they too didn't know the route and were following us through the rear view mirror(Yeah we rock at logic!!). It was then i saw the Bangalore opposite to the one i saw in the morning, the dull, dreaded, and lifeless Bangalore. The streets without trees and roads without peace. But the ride was, we spoke everything that men of our age speak in a car journey.Yeah we discussed the socio-economic impacts of the Obama foreign policy and which actress looked better wearing a two-piece.You speak i pull you down, i speak you pull me down. We spoke, we kept on speaking, we laughed, we kept on laughing. We were happy to be lost in Bangalore. We kept looking at the Kannada film posters and someone said

him:Dey whatever i think the kannada people are the best when it comes to loving the fellow humans?

us:how do you say that?

him:What do we do to trans-genders in our states?We insult them in our movies, in our streets, in our tasteless jokes, we treat them as degraded human beings, we make fun of them everywhere we sperate them from our society.

us:Yes but what does that have to do with Kannadigas?

him:There is a lot. You know what kannadigas do? they don't insult the trans-genders in their states, they don't make fun, they don't drive them away instead "They make them hero's in their movies", look at the posters around man what do you call all these creatures as??

yeah we laughed like our ***s popping out.(He was not kidding guys, in whatever industry karnataka goes forward there is an industry where they still compete with apes, "the movie industry"). Finally all roads drove us home, it was late night when we reached home. Dinesh made some forgettable mutta dosais, we had a house-party, and finally i went to sleep after a tired day but as i had turned into an insomniac recently i was wide awake living in my own world and sometime soon the next day had visited us!

>Sitting in the back seat and travelling through the sun-filled city, I saw them. They where caught in the middle of the road, without able to cross the road. An old man and his lady, dressed in dense rural attires these are people i see everyday in my village but they were the first people i saw wearing a dothi in that wide and big city. In the few seconds in which we crossed them, i saw a bewilderment in his eyes.He was holding the women's hand and both had no place to go.That was one of the crowded places in Bangalore, where all the new age men and women of Bangalore spend time together in their weekends, the place where a few international brands were staged, the place for the rich and the niche. Looking at the man and his women out there was like reading a crude poem in the middle of the sun. The city has travelled a long distance away from the common man. How will he interpret the metropolitan which has grown before his eyes, will he be comfortable to walk in there?, will he not feel a bit alien in that "really" alien crowd? I was wondering what made him come to the city, i said to myself that he should have come there from his village to buy jewels for his daughters marriage with a little money and he ended up here or did he come to get seeds for his irrigation?. If he had regretted a bit, or if he was not able to become a part of the place around him, blame globalisation. It was the capital of the village man some time back, but now Bangalore remains the capital of the rich, the new, and the loaded.There is no place for the village man in the streets of the city which has painted itself with pretentive colours. What kind of culture is it when it alienates the fellow citizen?. When i think of Chennai it still has the rural stint heavily in it, people from the villages of Tamilnadu still visit Chennai with the feeling that "its my capital" and Chennai has never disowned them. Chennai has had the heart to accept people. Chennai too has the rich and the niche but the attitude i find with the men and women of chennai is they try to be as local as possible.They are glad to be locals and most dont behave like they just alighted form the last flight from new jersey(i speak from the examples i saw, there may/will be exceptions). In Chennai the more you are local by heart the more you become a part of the place. I personally believe that in the long run there will be only one global culture that everyone on earth will follow, but then I am against creating alienating societies within one society.That saturday in Bangalore, welcomed me to the Bangalore which i wanted to visit, the city where everyone eats with spoon and fork(one guy was eating Paper roast with a fork!), a city where women look manly and men look delicate, a city where you can't find a stationery shop for miles but malls in every corner,a city where people wake up at 11 and go to sleep by 9, a city where the starting cost of a Puma is 3.5k, a city where you can see people fuck in closed cars i almost every corner,a city for the unusual a city where you are not worth if you are not having a girl to roam around with, a city ruled by the excess of money, a city where the sales guy speak better English than the real English men, a city which has disowned its own culture, a city in search of new masks everyday, a city which has never been, a city synonymous with Peter Keating, a city which tries to compete with New York and Paris but loses in competition to *** and ***.

But still i loved the other Bangalore, where people still lived without becoming prey to the artificiality around them, i loved the city for its natural charm and warmth, i loved the city for its trees which made evenings in hot noons, I loved the locals who were gracious hosts and guided us through the strangled roads, i loved the kannada watchman t who opened the doors for our cars without a complain even when we took it out for hundred times a day, i loved everything that connected me to the city. Yeah i did love things there after all we were not screwed, we were just Bangalored!

PS: Man, where are you leaving now? I have not done with the trip yet, did i ever say what we did on saturday after we woke up? Every trip will have a day when the epitome of all the events happen. Yes the was a place that happened to be the unforgettable during our stay and it happened on a saturday night! in this place(hey idiot click here). My heart wants to speak about it but my brain says no! So lemme leave the choice to you, tell me if you still need the last sequel.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Bangalored!

(This is just another personal and ugly rant about my weekend at Bengaluru, reading is at readers risk)

I dumped my issues and bugs at office ran to the bus depot to catch my bus at 10:30. When I got into the huge white bus which was already chilling with AC, i longed for another long journey in the middle of the night, where i can sleep, think and dream. Then i saw him, the stout-bald-decent-gentleman with whom i shared my seat. He smiled at me and i smelled a rat. I settled down on my seat, covering myself with the brown blanket and watching video songs play in the LCD. No ordinary songs, i mean which other travels would have the guts to play a mid-night masala DVD right in the middle of the a bus filled with family crowd. It started with "naaattu saraku" then followed by Mumtaj and a few others, finally the hotness quotient went higher as silk Smitha came in with her iconic "nethu rathiri yamma". As the toddlers in the bus started crying some gentlemen stood up for a fight.The video was stopped, and in the silence that then filled the bus, i knew why i smelled a rat.It was not just a rat, it was a snoring rat. The stout-bald-decent-gentleman was snoring. Yeah I do hate people who snore like pigs, i do hate to be awake when someone keeps buzzing around my ears. I detest them, but on that day i wanted to stay cool. I wanted to change my attitude a bit and stop complaining a lot about people who snore. I stayed abnormally cool.Whenever his snore went high,I smiled at him.I smiled at him just like how Jesus would have smiled at the sheep, I smiled at him just like how a mother would smile at her kid. I almost became his mother. I had no complaints when he fell on my shoulders. I let him sleep over there. Whenever he snored in an alarmingly disturbing volumes i wished i could kiss on his glittering bald head and whisper in his ears "c'mon sleep like a baby". Exactly 6 hours passed. I looked around to see that the whole bus was sleeping, i went out to see that the driver too, was almost sleeping. I was the only one to pay 600bucks and end up with a red eye. When i came back, i found that i could take it no more. I knew i am no Jesus Christ, and i hated that bald asshole for making me sit awake for hours. My face then should have looked liked a pissing volcano. I threw him away with my shoulders every time he fell there, i said nasty things in his ears when he snored. I couldn take the fact that hits two mangoes with one stone 1)he sleeps, and 2)he happily disturbs my sleep. God-damn-it how i hate people who snore!. It was almost five and we had reached the outskirts of Bangalore, the guy near me woke up. He smiled at me and said "Good morning". He smiled at my dreaded face and pulp-red eyes and said "Good morning".I said "get lost you asshole, next time you get into a bus, wear a name tag crying out Warning:I do snore like a pig". You know i didnt say those, I just said "Good morning".He left the seat and i took the window by now, as the bus passed through the out-skirts of Bangalore city, a grin visited my lips. I kept looking at the waking city and in the intervals, I saw the mystery man smiling at me from the large hoardings. Everytime i saw him,he made me smile. With his sculptured physic, his mesmerising smile, his out-of the world hair-do, he was GOD! The local brand ambassador of coke, he was golden-star Ganesh, the most handsome man of karnataka, whose movies outrun even those of SRK, who is the Rajni and Kamal combine of Karnataka, who makes every kannada speaking women go sleepless, who is perfectely flawless except and he looks a bit more manly than Namitha.(Click here to have a look at the golden star). Looking at his face I knew how my trip is going to end up as!. My plans were simple, to spend a day with My brother and spend two more days with my old roomies who had come all the way from Chennai. I knew things will not be as simple. As the bus was nearing my stop, I slept. The driver then had to throw me out at the last drop point at the kalasipalayam depot. Yeah at last i slept for exactly 17 minutes and some 0-60 seconds.

The Auto halted at 17th cross street, Malleswaram. The sight which i saw then still lingers in my eye. The sky was opening up, the first rays of the morning floated above the trees. There were trees all over the road, covering both the ends. The trees blocked the light and below the tree it was still dark. Morning in the sky and still the night prevailed below the trees. Magical! was the only word. Waiting for my brother I slowly started adoring the city which i just traveled through. All the way there were tress, the roads were wide and proportional and the ambiance so peaceful. For the first time i tried shedding my inhibitions and said to myself that I liked Bangalore. I then knew why they called Bangalore a garden city, the whole city reminded me of a neighborhood garden.Arun (My bro) came then and May1:that day was his birthday. We drove back to his house.Wait a sec! it was no house, it reminded me of somethin else. A house built over acres with the porch which can hold some 10 cars. I asked if he lived there, he said the owner lives there and they live in the outhouse. The outhouse was a bit old, but on the way there was trees that were shedding white colored flowers the mist was still floating around and the air still had a tint of chill.Man i envied the place like hell. I was thinkin about the rooms that we lived in Velachery/Perungudi/Sholinganallur. Where you sweat at 5:30 in the morning and where anytime u can glance pigs bathing in the sewage. I went around the house, it was neat. Four fully grown men live there. I was reminded of my rooms in Chennai.Here each had their own bed, own PC, own internet, own dresses and even own inner-wear. ( The sight of ten foul-smelling men sharing the same room, same matress, same dresses, same *** , of whom i was an integral part did flash in my mind). My brothers room was all neat and perfect.There is a difference between men in the verge of getting married and men like us. Being there I knew i was still a boy. After a bath and a chat we left the house for some "brothers-day-out".While leaving the house, my brother introduced me to his house owner. An old man wearing his torn vests, sitting in his wooden chair and mending his pigeon nest.

Him: So where do u work?

Me: CTS.

Him: Oh! good, you last quarter earning were good! So why did u guys back out from the Satyam deal at the last minute?

Me:(What?? did we get into the satyam deal in the first point?, this old man is blabbering) No, we never were a part of the deal.

Him:Nope, your team did propose a bidding of some **, but they backed out finally.(He analysed why backing out was a good option, why he felt the deal was not worth it)

Me:Oh!

Him:So what kind of job u do?

Me:I work for a client called DB.

Him:Oh the information guys,.....( He spoke a looooot, from the history of my client to what is their current stock price, who is their CEO, and where all they have branches in India)

Me:Oh!

Him:So what is work u do for them.

Me:We as a team are responsible for managing and enhancing their severs and applications.

Him:What servers you use?

Me: Unix boxes.

Him:Yes Unix is best when it comes to bulk file transfers, Windows boxes aren't that good.

Me: (WTH???,)

Him:So you do shell scripting in unix right?

Me:(Jesus-christ! what is happening here, what is he gonna ask me do nxt? will he bring out a white paper and ask me write a shell script for him???)

My brother came to my rescue now, i escaped the old-man- who-knows-everything just to hear that he was an IIM-A grad in the sixties. My bro gave me a look which parodied all my MBA dreams. (Eluthi vechuko un diary-la 2012 la naanum oru MBA avendaa... ithu namba koladheivam ekidamma mela sathiyamda! sathiyamda!) Finally we left the place, driving around the city in my Bro's car. He had been there for years now and knows the history/bio-chemistry of every place out there. On the eve of his b'day we visited a temple, we went for a quiet breakfast in a sub-urban restaurant, we roamed around malls, i bought him a book, we spoke-we shared, after long time we both spent time as friends. If you had ever had a brother, the point in which you shed the tags as brothers and become real friends is special. We roamed around like friends, with a lot to share and nothing to hide. He took me to his office, as we entered I saw his security guard saluting.(In the place i work, my security shouts "Hey! you! display your ID card"). The more time i spent in his workplace, the more i felt ashamed about the place i work. It was huge and each had their own bay(I share my PC with 3 others), he had 39 colleagues while I just had some 5000 in my office.(For ppl working in IT: WE SUCK). Again after stealing some stuff from his desk we again left for the city. Hanging around in brigade road and the malls around, having lunch and roaming around I be live that day was one of the best days that we had together. (Arun if you are reading this, I really wished that the day went on!). But, my phone rang speaking on the line was my ex-roomie he shouted "Asshole(Ke**P*** in tamil)!!! Wru???, we are waiting for you here, exactly in 20 minutes we are starting for Coorg, cars are ready... come here sooon!!".In a rush then, Arun drove me to Koramangala. I bid him goodbye and walked towards the room from where we were supposed to leave to Coorg. Without knowing that a surprise awaited there for me!!(I know this the cheapest trick to stop for a sequel, pardon me ;)

coming soon Bangalored! -part II

Friday, May 1, 2009

Of the voices...

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live
~ Henry David Thoreau

A year since May 2nd 2008, a year since Amazwi.It all started with this. It happened as a matter of minutes, the decision to blog, the name, the theme and things. I had no clue that this little space on the web is going to become my address, an identity which has almost became synonymous with my existence. Amazwi is not exactly me. It is my reflection, a blurred and inverted vision of me on the water. Like many i stand on the edges of the well and I look at my own reflection on the water. I started it as just another blog but soon got it ornamented with my character, Amazwi imbibed my passions, from books, movies, to the essence of my lonely moments, what you have read here is what i think and what i believe,what you read is what i am.No wonder why Amazwi remains a loner in the blogosphere. I wanted to blog, but it was this post which pulled towards the magic of writing, which i believe is the most profoundest of activities. To write is an end by itself. When you get to the mode of writing you don't write for people, for their words, you start writing for the genuine pleasure of it. I dont blog, I write.Nothing can equal the moments when you sit alone and try capture the million abstract thoughts that flow all across your soul into a few selective words. I was good, i was bad, i was happy, i was sad, i was biased, i was absurd, i was funny, i was tiring, i inspired, i depressed, but all along i was myself. Reading back Amazwi you can decode everything that had happened in my life for the past one year, every single mood of mine.I wrote when i stood a few feet above the ground with brightness filling in my space, i wrote when i was crumpled in dark room with no air to breath, i wrote when i walked indifferently with my legs firmly grounded on sand. Writing has become a companion, a window in my room through which i see the world and the world sees me.Amazwi has taken me a step near all things i dreamt of, amazwi introduced me to a new world of people where most had a voice of their own, amazwi earned me a few people whom i treasure for life, amazwi kept a mirror very close to me and let me explore all the pores, Amazwi made me a self obsessive monger, it paved a way for me to travel all my life, it gave me a hope to look forward, it gave me a platform on which i stand and voice myself even if there is no one to hear.Amazwi has been a voice of mine, times like a roar, times like a groan, times like a cheer and times like a cry. All i did was to voice out. After a year now I am grateful to the few readers who made it a habit to visit Amazwi and those who criticize and praise from the heart. It has been quite a journey from Vignesh to "Amazwi" Vignesh. But still there is a distance between my words and my life just as there is a distance between the lyrical getaways of poetry and the binding truths of reality. I will live to cover the distance, and all the noises i make in the way can be heard here at Amazwi -the consortium of my voices.

Finally like a few of you out there, Im too really glad that Amazwi happened.
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