Idi

It was the last day of Ramadan- the air was thick with festive glee. The children were all over the market place buying their favourite candies, young girls selecting the most beautiful ensemble for the D-day and men purchasing the best meat for the daawat tomorrow. Her house- a one room space in the crammed street- overlooked the market. She looked at the scene outside with great intent, absorbing the happiness and contentment that was being radiated from each and every face that she glanced at.

She remembered her son, and daughter. A tear trickled down her cheek thinking about how she had lost her daughter in the riots. What was her fault? Had she done wrong to anybody? She was a devout Moslim, and had always believed in helping the poor. Today, she missed her terribly. If only she could have her back, if only her life had not turned out the way it did. If only...

Her son had always been a handful. Never the one to listen, he was the one who had to be handled with great care and interest. After his sister's tragic demise, he had become a lot more serious. There was always an intense expression in his eyes, a hardened look. He obeyed everything his mother said, and tried to be the most diligent son, but something was amiss. He started metamorphosing into someone with a purpose, someone who hid his motives from others- probably himself too- so that the world would not know what he was up to. One day, he left home without saying anything to his mother. She thought he would return in sometime. He never did, and it was almost 8 years now.

She was determined that he would return tomorrow. How could he be away from his beloved Ammu for so long? She would make his favourite dishes- Rogan josh, Kesar Biryani, Shahi Qorma and Seviyan. "He will come", she kept repeating to herself. After putting her heart to the preparation of the feast, she was worn out and slept immediately.

---

She woke with a start! Rushing to the door, she flung it open hoping for him to be smiling on the other side. She couldn't recognize who this person was, definitely not her son. He asked for permission to enter as he had something important to talk about. Verifying his credentials, and it turned out he knew her son and his whereabouts, she let him in and offered his a glass of rose water. He drank it with ravenous thirst and asked for some more. She looked longingly at him, hoping that he would be the carrier of a good message. He began talking about how her son had left home to join the extremists in their quest to wreak havoc on society, their plans of a large scale macabre in the town hall on various festivals and their callous behaviour towards the suffering of innocent lives. He was one of them too, but one day something changed- forever. It was Eid, just a day like today, and both of them were walking on the streets, a day off from their mission. They came across a rickety boy, who begged them for some alms. They spoke to the child and asked about his family, and the boy wept silently. As it turned out, he belonged to a well to do setup, but had been orphaned during a blast a few months ago. The two of them froze in their places, because they were the ones who had planned the gruesome act. They felt a burden on their conscience, something they could not live with, and in that moment they decided to flee.

That was 3 years ago, and today both of them were teachers at a Madrassa in the next town. They had taken to teaching young children, who would be the future of the country and transform it into a place of harmony and prosperity.

"Why did he not come back in the past three years?", she asked.
"He tried to, but every time he resolved to return, he remembered the boy and cursed himself for being the culprit for all his miseries. Maybe it was someone like us who killed your daughter, and because of this he could never face you." He fell silent.

Her vision blurred, and she stumbled on her chair. "Take me to him ", she said beseechingly.
"He's here."
She turned around, and there he was. Taller, a lot bonier, but the same softness on his face. The mischief clearly visible in those blue eyes. She rushed, held him with care, and squeezed his arm to confirm his presence. "Where have you been?", that's all she could manage to say before she choked.

---

They ate heartily, shared anecdotes about the past eight years. Her son was back, and he was no longer on the wrong. She remembered her daughter again, and prayed that she be fine in heaven. It was evening now, and it was time for them to leave. As they were departing, he said, "The last time when I left, I did not ask for your permission. Today, I do Ammu. Permit me to leave- only to come back- and pray that I never lose sight of the good."

She blessed him with all her being and prayed silently for his well-being. She thought of the Idi that young ones receive from their elders. God had been very kind on her this day. He had given her the most prized gift- her son.

Random Ramblings

There is inherent goodness in all of us, and that is how the chi flows. The good, the better and the best- I categorize people in that very way. So what if people always doubt you? So what if you are the shade of black in their eyes? If you can eat your square meals a day, and sleep with a spartan conscience, noting else should matter, right?

Sigh. It does.

We are inherently a confused bunch of people. We crave for 'fitting in' and yet try to be unique. The paradox is baffling, and sometimes, there are things that the human mind is never supposed to know. The best way to know yourself is to gauge your responses to various situations. I surprise myself every now and then, and in the process, I evolve.

Time is fluid- it run faster than you can catch up. And in the process of running- huffing and puffing- do snatch a look at yourself, fleetingly if nothing more. You will be surprised to have aged beyond your years. After all, age is just a number and experiences make your existence count.

Ab 'Bus'?

Everyone has a check list, nay a bucket list, for all the things 'checked' and all those which remain hollow circles and squares. Coming home from Roorkee in a shoddy dilapidated Rajasthan Roadways during the wee hours of the morning was not a predominant entry anywhere on that list, but then again, it was a beautiful journey.

The silhouettes of the trees at the far end of the fields, dark stoic figures waiting for the dawn to break, reminded me of the stillness that is life. Time changes- days give way to nights and years to decades- but the being is inherently the same. We all crave for the soothing moonshine, and the comforting rays of the sun. Perspective, or so they say.

To think of all that has flashed by in a span of 3 and a li'l more years was purging in many ways. What if Roorkee never happened? Sometimes I wish it didn't, at others, I can't express my gratitude to the comatose 360 odd acres. The irony that is life.

There are moments when you are weak, and tick-tocks when you can take on the world. No one really likes plain Vanilla ice all throughout, there has to be a change at some point. Variety that is life.

As the skies darken...

My internship is over, for all practical purposes. Nine weeks down, and a week to go, I can comfortably say that this time has made me realise who I am, and what I am meant for. But this is not about me, it is about them. I met, and had the good fortune of interacting with, a bunch of great people here- some I knew since I time I used to be a kid, and some who are a part of my life at R. And to them, this note- the last, for now.

Rahul- Shine, always. You will.
Nitish- Stay this way- you're almost perfect.
Mayank- I couldn't have asked for a better concomitant. Thank you!
Shruti- Keep that smile intact, you must.
Anoop- You are meant for glory, we know it.
Mohit- Hope to see you at the top, soon.

Paarth- Keep in touch. And thank you for being a great friend!
Ankit- I lived my childhood again- the time when we were kids! Thanks, and you have to keep in touch. Always!
Anshul, Sandeep and Abhishek- You guys deserve the best- go get it!

Arpit- For the honesty and commitment, it shows. Don't change! An order, and a request *smiles*
Abhishek- For the warmth and simplicity, thank you for everything! I wish we had more time.
Amiya- For everything unsaid, and things untold. Good luck!
Shubhanshu- Keep the spirit alive, Dada!
Mihir- For all the songs sung together, it was a memorable trip!
Samarth and Chirag- Kick ass and stay cool, always!
Aayush- Apologies for all the jibes, it was all in good humour. Take care of you, and keep in touch!
Kingshuk- You are a great lad, always make things happen. They will!
Abhishek Singh, Gaurav and Ravidutta- Good luck!

Pramodh Rai- Thank you for the warmth, the care and the help. Thank you for listening to me, when I was talking to myself. You are truly revered.
Manan Maheshwari- Go stud go! Be at the top.
Apoorv- Hope we catch up someday, somewhere. I'll be looking forward to it.
Wai Yee, Eric, Daniel and Delwynn- You guys are rockstars! Keep the fire burning inside you (pun totally intended)!
Thank you Dang, Ruohan, Nishank and Ankit! Also, I had a great time at Johor, Ankit.

I guess this is about it, and I also know that I may be missing out on a few wonderful people.

It feels strange saying goodbye. It weighs me down. Yet, I must.
For when you say au revoir, you kindle the hope of chancing upon each other- again!

Money, money, money!

“.. I need to get my cheque liquidated today! I have no clue when I’d get the next one..”
I promptly walked into the Citibank office near work at about 9.25 AM. The chill of the aircon was a welcome change from the humidity outside. I punched in my queuing details- 2003, I was branded. The wait was not long.

9.30 AM

I walked up to the wrong counter, only to be directed towards an adjacent staff. A demure woman, of 25 and not more. A trainee.

“How may I help you, sir?”

“Erm.. so I needed cash. Here’s my cheque.”

“Can, can.” She looked at the cheque hard and long. “Five thousand dollars? Can sign at back?”

“Yes, of course” I scribbled my name at the back with green ink. “Here you go!”

“Thank you. Also Employment Pass can?”

“This for you as well.” I smiled as I passed on my Training Employment Pass to her.

9.50 AM

She was still figuring out her way around the system. Vacillating between the TEP, the computer and my cheque, she was having a tough time figuring out what to do. Trainees, tsk.

“I have a meeting at 10, so could you please hasten the process?” I nudged.

“I am sorry.” She hurried, and consulted her colleagues about something.

She came back pleased, “What denominations do you want?”

“Hmm.. give me twenty 50 dollar bills, ten of 100 dollars, and three one thousands. Can?” I tried my best to make her understand. ‘Sing’lish pleases every local here.

‘Can, can sir!” She was ecstatic.

In the meanwhile, I was looking out on to the streets. SMRT route 970 to Shenton Way. I would miss this lifestyle- very unreal, but every breath is a mixture of hope, despair, aspirations and broken dreams. Every breath is a reality here.

I was interjected in my stream of consciousness, “Here you go, sir.”

“Uh.. oh! Thanks!”

10.05 AM

I was leaving, and not being the one to check whether all the bills are proper, I was about to move on when for some vague reason, I just peeped inside the envelope.

I froze.

I went back to her and inquired, “How much cash have you given me?”

“Five thousand dollars, sir!” She beamed.

“Please check again.”

She was crestfallen. “I am so sorry sir, I.. I..” She giggled. Her colleagues were starting at her, and she was indescribably embarrassed.

“That’s okay. But you must be careful, right? You don’t want to jeopardize your life by passing on thirty 1000 dollar bills instead of three, yah?”

____________________________________________________________________

For about good 5 minutes, I was holding 32,000 Singapore dollars in my hand- and on record, only 5. That's a lot of money, profanely so.

Surprisingly, the packet did not weigh a lot. My conscience did.

Snap!

If you would have asked me 8 weeks ago about how I would spend my time in Singapore, you'd be met with a bright enthusiastic reply with a subtle epidermal wariness. I look out of the glass wall of my apartment- a place I have grown to calling home. I see the same faces in office everyday, the usual pulling a fast one by my boss and the intolerable arrogance of my neighbour. I have become used to wearing a shirt and trousers for the better part of the day, and the leather shoes don't hurt anymore.

Eight weeks- an insignificant interval in the history of man, a major period in my life's history. It was yesterday that I set foot in 1208, and in about a fortnight, my footsteps will vanish from these carpeted floors forever. Is it fleeting- existence? I think not. I believe it is but natural that people come and go- and that footsteps are erased so as to make the path a joy of discovery for someone else. If time stopped, and people remained, wouldn't life become moribund? It flows, and let it.

I have to thank a lot of people, appreciate them for teaching me things and reprimand them for being callous at times. You tend to condone everyone at the fag end, it takes a lot to hold malice in the left corner of your torso. It is this nature of mine, and yours, that makes us human. That proves that coagulation is festering, and thus, move on.

It's a dull Saturday afternoon, and I am still under layers of coverings in bed. I want to get going for the day, but the present is painfully blissful. A fortnight, which I know is going to vanish in a snap.
I am readying my fingers, just hear the sound- will you?

Complaint Corner

And they say that time is fleeting? I see permanence in every moment. As if every tick-tock is a lifetime. As if every beat is complete.

Life is a box of chocolates, Forrest.
But we were never told about the bitter ones. Affinity to dark chocolates is an acquired taste, contrived in most cases. You learn to enjoy it, the seduction of the nubile taste. Essentially, chocolates are not supposed to leave you bitter- quite literally. Then again, exceptions galore. Sigh!

The infantile ebullience of trying your hand at something for the very first time is beyond words. It can be manifested in various forms of emotions- excitement, apprehension, despair, intense happiness et al. No wonder the experimental side in us dies a slow painful death. We become accustomed to our bubble, and disturbing it causes immense discomfort. A 'sigh' moment, yet again.

The rancorous me is on a roll today, I wonder why?! The world isn't a bad place after all. You do see whites in this milieu of greys and blacks. Just focus, my dear Watson, and you shall be blinded by their refulgence.

And oh, I always thought that The Audacity of Hope was a rather fiercely personal pompous statement. Little did I know that the Uncle Sam's Administrator has penned down his views on the very same hyperbole. Must get my hands on it. Now!