An Uncertain Friend

Learning has always excited me and more than that it was the vast knowledge and the wise people that kept me in awe (read disgust) of my own ignorance. Anup Joy is one such person who has added to my pain of ignorance and the joy of learning. I was new to this company, learning the culture and the tricks and trades for survival, when I met this guy. Not just me but anyone who meets him for the first time would assume that he is a Doctor, well that friendly doctor who would rub you wrong to treat you right. I can reflect at the conversations I had with him over the last two months and, to me, it seems like a classroom wherein I learnt a lot more than I thought I knew. I have come across a lot of people who are mature, understanding and particularly the ones who are excellent communicators which helps them to win too many fans but unlike them this guy tends to provoke your brilliant ideas, tease your stagnant thought process and push you to prove yourself. You might feel the urge to overlook his opinion and move on with your life but his communication skills and his ability to understand your fucked up ego/ complexes/ low self esteem will prevent you from ignoring his blunt yet opinion. I am writing this not because I have something to share with him or to show my gratitude but because of this stupid urge share about people who have added to my life, like I always did. The thin line of difference between arrogance and smartness is what this guy tends to play around with. His down to earth nature, gentle convincing smile and thought provoking sense of sarcasm is well complimented by his honesty towards himself; if not anyone else. I am not sure if he lies, I don’t see a need for him to do so, and so every time I walk up to him with doubt and particularly when I am confused I know I am going to get the most honest opinion and that helps me to analyse where I stand amongst the debris of confusion. This stupid yet beautiful connect that I feel with this random guy whom I have started admiring for his ability to make me understand myself has a certain beginning and for some reason I call him my uncertain friend. Like they say, People who happen to you are the ones who last long. *fingers crossed*

Complimentary Vada: The Controversial Piece

Like most mornings in my life, since I moved to Kerala, I decided to get myself something to eat. Feeling like a woman and not wanting to cook, I left home and walked into this small restaurant right across my work place and ordered for a Masala Dosa. The generous restaurant, if I can call it so, decided to place a complimentary Vada along with the Masala ‘Dull’ Dosa.

Now out of curiosity I asked the waiter, who threw the plate with the Masala Dosa and Vada on my table (hospitality is rare in Kerala), about this complimentary Vada. I asked “Boss, I just ordered for a Masala Dosa” and pointed at the Vada. He grinned and winked at me and said “Have it brother, it is delicious.” Now that did the trick, coz delicious food with a review from a guy who has first hand experience is a must try. Also, the smile and wink suggested that this complimentary Vada was a part of the so called hospitality.

Now as I sat there digging my finger into the complimentary Vada and often taking a chunk off from the Masala Dosa, I felt as if the Vada was grinning at me just like guy who served it to me. I know I have a stupid imagination. As I sat there I decided to have a cup of coffee, I called the waiter and just then a guy walked in, occupied the chair opposite to me, looked into my plate and ordered Masala Dosa. I smiled at this new table buddy and ordered my coffee. The waiter brought the Masala Dosa along with “The Complimentary Vada” and my coffee arrived in a steel glass which was placed in a flat small steel bowl which was again in a stained saucer. The breakfast table buddy was munching onto his breakfast and he seemed in a hurry, I assumed that Monday was the reason for me eating slowly and him hurrying up. He quickly finished his Masala Dosa along with the Complimentary Dosa and waved at the waiter for the bill as he rushed to wash his sambhar dipped hand at the wash basin. I smiled at him as he walked away from the table collecting his bag and he ignored my smile as if I didn’t exist at the table. I ignored the way he ignored me and looked back at the grinning Vada, suddenly I heard a ruckus taking place at the bill counter.

My Breakfast table buddy was pointing at the long wooden menu hung on the wall and he said “I ordered for a Masala Dosa and the menu says it is 35 rupees, you can’t charge me 42 rupees” The guy at the counter with the same Vada/ Waiter grin said “You also ate the Vada, which will cost you 7 rupees.” The Complimentary Vada, my idea of hospitality had suddenly become a complicated subject of argument. My Breakfast Table buddy slammed his hand on the counter and shouted “I never ordered for it and you served it, I thought it was free.” The guy at the counter frowned and said “If you didn’t want the Vada, you could have told the waiter and he would have taken that back.” I looked at the waiter who looked at me and walked into the kitchen. Seconds later another guy walked out of the kitchen, walked upto me to ask if I wanted anything else. The ruckus at the counter mellowed down and the Breakfast buddy left after paying. I asked for the bill and pretty much knew that the Complimentary Vada wasn’t complimentary anymore.

The Vada tasted better than the Masala Dosa but I realized that nothing comes for free, atleast not the Complimentary Vada.

Lost Words: An Untold Story

Drops of dream and all falling on to my closed eyes

All the more I am lost and all the more I am in love

She spoke of what I knew I would feel and she

She spoke of us and said it was never; wish it was true for it seems forever

 

She walked out of the bed and stood by the window. It was dark outside, enough to blind her, but she could see some light faraway or she believed she did. Tears flowing down her cheek down on her naked breast, she knew she didn’t deserve this pain. It had been more than two years that she had felt this pang burrowing her thoughts and leaving enough pain there to hurt her. It was a random search for poems and beautiful words, she landed on this blog, read some posts and found them to be interesting rather enchanting. She commented and forgot about it.

An anonymous response for the comments on one of those posts is where it all started. He never gave away his name and kept his identity under cover. He was smart with words and intriguing for his anonymity and playfulness with words. A man of few words and would ask questions that would provoke or mostly leave her shallow. They started exchanging mails, initially about his blogs and her comments, and later they started speaking of ideologies. He kept her intrigued with his anonymity and his blog posts. Soon it became a ritual for her to read through his words and comment, to wait for his mails on her comments and for more exchanges.

On his part, he would write mails explaining his blog and expressing his opinion about her comments. The anonymity prevailed. She felt connected. She found a friend in a nameless, faceless and an unknown man. He understood her even she spoke less. She cried reading his blogs and she waited to hear from him. She wept upon his lost love and she wept upon his painful youth, all in his words. She loved his words, she loved him and she knew not who he was. She hated another woman commenting. She hated the hundreds and thousands of visitors on his blog. She would suggest her discomfort when he replied to women but he would always come up with something to cheer her up and the reading continued.

Faraway on some land unknown she lives,
With a wish of being with her, I endure the pain here.
Know her as a tigress clad in the velvet of life,
Thoughts of tacit pleasure, her words arouse me,
Fear of her parting and the pain there after,
I dread my thoughts as I express them in words.
Not that she is unaware of my thoughts,
But the fear of her judging it.

And this she knew or believed was for her. She felt the love, the belongingness and his love for her. She didn’t comment, she couldn’t and she believed that would leave him restless.

Another week passed by with no mails from him, there were no new posts. He was gone from her life and his own. Was almost a month, she had checked his blog every other day. She read them over and again. She wrote to him, nothing about his blog, asking about who he was and with a want to meet him. She wrote about her love, the pain she went through and sense of betrayal she felt. She cried as she wrote and the pain reflected in her words.

Next morning, she woke up with a heart filled with expectations and the fear of being hurt. She was hopeful for a reply, even if it meant pain. There was no mail from him and in disbelief she sat there. Anger took over pain and she decided to let go. After all, it was just another guy and someone she never met. She knew it was hurting but more than that she knew it was necessary to get over him and his words. The good bye was needed; a comment, she believed would be suffice, and so she visited his blog. It wasn’t there anymore. Two years and he hasn’t written ever since, at least not known to her.

Fiction

Love Unknown: #TwitterLoveStory

She walked into the bedroom and I could only see the silhouette but it didn’t take much time to realize that she was naked. I was sitting against the wall, legs spread on the mattress with prints of elephants and big magical flowers, both in black against the white of the bed sheet. I felt her feet press on the mattress and she pulled the quilt that I had wrapped myself in. It was cold outside the quilt, she smelt of lavender and she was cold too. Her shoulder against mine, her head drifting onto my shoulder and her hands moving against my chest. I put my hands around her as if it was something I was trained on but it felt good as she moved closer. She said something which I couldn’t hear, a whisper or might be just some sound playing in my head. I looked at her and she had her eyes closed, her lips against my shoulder. I kissed her on the forehead, it seemed as if I was trained on this one too. She moved in closer to me, looked up and we kissed. It was not the perfect kiss. It was more like a message, more of her lips pulling away mine and her body moving against mine. My hands holding her head and again we kissed, this time I could hear our lips, the quilt moving away. Her nakedness against mine.

I wanted to stop and tell her that I loved her. I also wanted to share everything about myself. I wanted to tell her that I wasn’t the guy she thought I was, that my name is not Jay, that I am not the Fraud Mallu that she thought I was. I kissed her and she held me closer. The tears ran down between our cheeks. she felt them and she stopped. She smiled and all I could say was that I loved her. She sat on my lap and we kissed again. I pulled away this time around and tried telling her everything that I wanted to. She put her fingers on my lips and kissed me on my neck. I wanted to make love to her but I wanted to make love to her as myself and not as some guy she thought I was. I tried speaking but this time it was just words lost in between our lips and the passion thereafter.

We made love. She had her legs on mine and her hands wrapped around me. This time I pulled her closer and told her that my name wasn’t Jay and that I am not The Fraud Mallu she thought I was. She lifted her head and looked into my eyes. It was dark enough to hide the pain on my face but there was light enough to see her disbelief. She put her head back on my chest and hugged me closer. We slept.

I wasn’t sure if she believed what I told her. Not even sure if I should try conveying the truth again. The morning looked calmer and from 12th floor of the high rise I saw my life changing forever. She was beautiful and I was in love. At the Door, she turned around and said “Even if you weren’t The Fraud Mallu or Jay, I would have loved you for the Man you are, I love you fraud mallu” We hugged and she left.

Fiction

Left Alone

No, I don’t see anyone around me,

I hear voices and sounds known unknown,

No, I am not in love, neither hurt nor at lose.

No, there is no sorrow and nothings gone for a toss

Just left alone, I feel no pain yet I feel left alone.

 

His story, her past and their stories all the more,

A smile here, some words of kindness and yes I care.

Empty head, shredded papers, some doodle on the wall.

Unread mailbox, unanswered calls and no weed I roll.

Just left alone, I feel no pain yet I feel left alone.

 

In darkness I sit with no thoughts, No thoughts.

Impatient yet the silence covers it all, no thoughts.

“Don’t kill yourself” No, I don’t like the sound of gun shots,

Now as you walk out of this, please turn off the light.

Coz I wish to be alone, No pain just the wish to be left alone.

Happy Birthday To Manmohan Singhji

Mein hoon Manmohan and I am your fake Prime MInister.
I lead some scamming ministers, iraadey unkey sinister.
Sanaatta hain mere bheetar, aur muchi hulchul charo aur.
Someday I will talk, I do hope, but then I am puppet and tied to the rope.
Coz I am a nadaan gudiya aur nachchaaye mujhe ye firangi bhudiyaa.


Scam Scandals aur Anna ne macha rakha hain mere naak mein dum,
I am suffering all this for that Rahul, who is nothing but a scum.
Been called a lame duck, man of few words and even a puppet at work.
Though they aren’t just accusations but I take them with a smirk.
Coz I am a nadaan gudiya aur nachchaaye mujhko ye  firangi bhudiyaa.


Economics happened, so did wife and three kids. Also Sonia.
I thought my career was fine and someday India would shine.
But then Raja and co. gave me some scandals for opposition to whine.
Just like Anna even I have a clean Past but that loser can very well sit and fast.
All this and more.. just because .. well just because
I am a nadaan gudiya aur nachchaaye mujhko ye  firangi bhudiyaa.

And the Journey…

Parvathi, as she introduced herself to me, must have been in her early 70’s. Her wrinkles defining her age more than her voice or spirit, she was cheerful and too relaxed for her age. I was wondering and waiting for a hot woman to occupy the vacant seat next to mine and that is when she walked in. The sorrow of having to spend the next 4 hours with a woman who has been on this earth, too many in numbers,  thrice your age in years must have been evident on my face coz she asked me “Are you expecting someone else, my child?”. I was ashamed and smiled with a nodding head in negative and uncertainty across my face. I pulled myself up from my relaxed posture and helped her with her seat and when I was done with her bags; she put her hands on my head and like most of the Indian grandmothers wished for my wellbeing. I smiled and more because I enjoy every bit of affection I get from strangers, typical of being me.

She pulled out ginger candy and offered some to me, I wasn’t sure but I took couple of them from her small, unsteady and wrinkled palm. She informed me that they were home made and appreciated her daughter in law for being kind to her, I smiled again.

She “So you don’t listen to music like most youngsters these days”

Me “Yes, at times. Not when I am travelling” I lied.

She “I don’t enjoy music these days, honestly I never did” and she gave me the most beautiful childlike smile a 70 year old woman can. I smiled and looked out of the window with the smile still across my lips. I wasn’t sure if it was her smile or the realization that, in a 70 year old woman, I found someone who doesn’t enjoy music just like me.

She enquired about what I do and where I am travelling to; my answers were short and were followed by her own detailed description about her journey along with the purpose. I was listening to her and in between would look at her earlobes and the diamond stuck in the earrings. The wrinkles on her face couldn’t be ignored and to me, it seemed as if, one line leads to the other and then the other. I was listening to her story of growing up, her childhood and how days were different then, her college, her love for the English language, days in England, marrying an air force guy, divorce, teaching at a famous college in Chennai and now living with her elder son in Kerala; every word of what she spoke was interesting and a  life lived.

She “So, aren’t you bored yet?”

Me “You are doing good to keep me entertained and I have a beautiful woman for company with a beautiful story. I am entertained Amma.” I smiled.

She “You know how to speak to a woman, don’t you?” and she patted me on my shoulder.

Blushed like every time and a smile that just confirmed my shyness. She drank some water and offered me some, for which I pulled out the bottled lemon drink. She smiled and asked me to pull out a small pillow from her luggage, which I did. She rested the pillow between her back and seat, also asked me to pull back her seat, which I did. She closed her eyes but kept talking, she told me about her recent fight with the back ache, how she was preparing herself and her family for her death and most importantly completing her book of poems she started as a teenager.

I am not sure when her words faded away taking her into a beautiful silence of the slumber, I watched out of the window as moments of thoughtfulness in my head made way for some poignant eagerness  to reach home.  Am not sure if I will ever meet this old woman again, I am not even sure if I want to, but the thoughts of those four hours will be etched in my memory for some unknown reason.

(Fiction)