Early morning blues

It was dark. The whole world was silent. I looked at my watch. It was 5:30 am. I had woken up after a bad dream. I heard the ticking of the seconds hand in my watch. It seemed to speak an unknown language of the souls. Those sounds reassured me that it was all but a dream. I went to the balcony. The tube lights in the road had partially painted my landscape. It was if some painter had started painting in pale colours of white and orange and fled unfinished. The chiaroscuro drove me in a quandary whether a new day had risen or not. I came back inside and opened my laptop. I had hibernated it while it was busy multi tasking for my carnal pleasures the previous night.


 I opened to see where I had left my work during the wee hours of the midnight. Mozart was waiting inside winamp eagerly awaiting my orders to play his 9th symphony. My word processor assistant was snoring noisily. As soon as I opened the minimized document, he woke up and smiled with pursed lips. He was happy to see me getting up so early. He didn’t grudge for waking him so early. He was eager to render his services. I wondered how if all the people in this world learned a lesson or two from him. I finished my pending business in my laptop and laid it down to rest in eternal peace. Gradually the divine Painter started his usual business. He slowly started painting my landscape with vivid colours. I suddenly felt the urge to get out of my room and experience the sweet smell of the morning air. I started walking holding myself tight with my hands. I was not alone now. I was walking with my self. I thought I was the only early bird out in the college roads for an early walk. My thoughts withered in the rays of the early morning sun as soon I saw various kinds of people walking feverishly in the campus. I ogled at each and every person closely forgetting about the world of sexual orientations for a while. I forgot whether I was straight or gay. There were different kinds of people. One was walking as if his legs had been set to some linkage mechanism. He was talking in the phone in Gujarati. I couldn’t understand a bit. But I could make out that he was tensed. He might have been talking about his loss making business to some one or may be talking after a break up to his ex- girl friend. I moved ahead. I observed a pretty unusual sight. An usual group of fat twenties and sexagenarians were standing together in a circle. Before I could peer in to see what they were doing they scared the shit out of me by laughing loudly with their raucous voices. Their voices polluted the whole atmosphere. It disrupted the harmony of the lovely morning. It seemed as if some rapper barged in the middle of a ghazal concert and started rapping in high decibels.

I was filled with hate hearing those ugly voices. I wondered how God could give such a bad voice. The hate suddenly turned into amusement as I looked at their faces. Their faces were filled with smiles. My lips without my permission opened up to show my partly yellow teeth to them. As I looked at few of those’ clothes I realized what pains it must have taken them to wear those tight t-shirts. Their bellies were in a war over the fabric of the cloth. The belly had won and stood out in the victory podium. I wondered why they were doing this. They had spent one half of their lives earning all bucks at the expense of their health and now are desperate to regain their health by spending their fortune. It was really bad mathematics. 


There were few more funny sights. There was one more group which was roaring like a frail lion. I pitied their frail throats which were trying to clean the Augean stables. As I walked ahead the sound of Om began to reverberate. There was yet another group chanting Gayatri mantra in unison. I could also hear hanuman chalisa recited by another group. My soul, purified by the divine sounds blessed them and pushed my legs forward. I saw an old man walking trying to keep his smile as long as possible. He was trying at lengths to make him feel better. I observed him for a quite long time. He looked at the bright day and the greenery around in my campus. He wanted all those he saw in my campus to make him feel better. However the more he tried to make him feel good, he became more desolate. His face showed me a tableau of emotions. He seemed to live alone in this world. Probably he might have lost his better half. Or he might have lost his son. His face desperately tried to hide the sorrow inside. He held his walking stick so tight that it could hurt his hand. I guess he was afraid if he would lose it too. He created a huge impact on me. Soon after he disappeared without a trace in the huge crowd, I began to ponder about him. I remembered a dialogue from one of my favorite movies Before the Sunrise. I remembered the female protagonist saying… “Isn't everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?” The words went around my head for reasons which I couldn’t comprehend. Both my thoughts and my throat got drained. I needed something fluid to bring back fluidity in my life. I idly sat under the morning sun on the platform. I ordered for a cup of tea. As I gulped the tea watching the whole world getting ready for yet another boring day, I could feel something raising in from unknown corners in my body and springing me back to my happy little world.

Youth and spirituality

Looking at these two words from the outset, it might seem like a square peg in a round hole. It may be like Jayalalitha and Karunanidhi doing a Nach Baliye in a rainy forest in the hills of Ooty. Or it may be like our Narendra Modi giving a lecture about atheism to a group of rationalists on the occasion of Janmashtami. During my second year when I decided to join Art of living, this seemingly called mis-fit struck me very deep. Though I had some spiritual inclinations ever since my childhood, I was quite apprehensive this time as things were different now. However without doing much ratiocination, I decided to go for it. Now, I realize that it had been the best decision of my life. It wasn’t so easy then. Many of my friends were flabbergasted by my decision. I had long debate in the canteen with my friends over my decision. They thought I was crazy. They couldn’t believe the fact that a guy who is in his twenties could be fascinated by meditation, satsangs, pranayam et al. I don’t blame them. It’s quite natural. The whole society thinks so. In fact the whole society is very apprehensive regarding spirituality. Think of spirituality for a moment. The mind immediately pictures those boring somniferous lectures given by some sexagenarian who seems to be in amnesia state (which his devotees proudly call Nirvana state) and is surrounded by the paraphernalia of faithful devotees and phirangi youth crazy about eastern mysticism. Things have changed now. With the world becoming flat, spirituality has also acquired new dimensions. Rather than going in detail about what spirituality exactly means, let me address the prima facie question asked by many. “Why do youngsters need to know about spirituality?” “Aint it too early?”

Well think for a while about all those people who taught us all those moral values in our childhood. I had moral science as a subject during my third standard. There were lessons for every moral thought. There was a lesson which taught me how bad it was to get angry over some one. There was a story written in which a person lost all he possessed because of his temper. While looking retrospectively at these imposed moral instructions taught during those classes, I realize that those lessons didn’t teach me what to do when I really got angry. They didn’t tell me what I should do at the spur of the moment when I get on to my nerves.

Let me quote one more example. Let’s say you have an internal test tomorrow. You cosily sit in your room with a firm resolve to study for the next few hours. How many of you can sit in the same seat for at least an hour? The moment you sit down in the table, you start to think about your girlfriend. You message her. Ten minutes passes by. Your mobile doesn’t seem to move even an inch. You look at your mobile to see if you can see “1 message received”. But all you see is that stupid wallpaper which you’ve set. You start thinking. “Has she started disliking me? Has she begun to ignore me?” While the book cozily sleeps in your lap, your mind is on a roll thinking of all sorts of questions to be asked when you meet her next time. How many of you can sit for two minutes without a single thought in mind? Give me one instance when every cell of your body was totally drenched in the present. Perhaps never... The problem with us is that we don’t let our mind to think about all these trivial things.

Spirituality can only teach you simple techniques to control your mind according to your will. Our mind is basically like a coca cola bottle (assuming for a while that coca cola is good for health). All those bubbles which effervesce out of the coca cola bottle are our thoughts. Thoughts keep coming up and disappearing. The moment the bubbles tend to settle down you will be able to enjoy your drink. Same goes with your mind. Our mind generally vacillates between the past and the future. We are either worried about our past actions or too anxious about our future. Caught up in these two worlds we forget to live in the present. Spiritual practices can only teach you to live in the present moment. People generally think spirituality means that we have to renounce what ever we have. None of the spiritual leaders nowadays advise their followers to leave their homes and join an ashram. They advise their followers how to attain peace of mind in this dog eat dog competitive world. Many youngsters in leading metros have understood the importance of spirituality in their lives. In Mumbai, several thousands of youngsters have joined Art of living. They do head banging in the night and pranayam in the morning. Countries in the west have realized the importance of spirituality and have introduced spirituality in the students’ curriculum. Ivy League Institutions like Harvard Business School and Stanford University have pranayam and meditation classes in their semesters.

By this time u must be thinking that I belong to the marketing division of the Art of Living foundation. Fortunately or unfortunately no is my answer. The whole purpose behind writing this article is to erase all the popular tags attached with this vulnerable word – SPIRITUALITY and see spirituality with a new perspective. I hope it has served its purpose.

Speed Breakers

As I returned to the college after my holidays, the newly constructed speed- breakers caught my attention. Eager to experience how it felt, I went for a ride in the campus with my friend. To my eyes the speed breaker looked like vestigial flab protruding from a sleeping hot south Indian actress’ hip. I pity all those bikers now who used to flaunt their riding skills. I also pity all those chivalrous knights who would whiz past 60 kmph with their dames by their side and race against the time as the clock struck 9:30 pm. However this has an advantage. Now the relative speed between me and those bikers would reduce, thus expanding the inertial perspective frame in which I could get darshan of the damsel.

My mind hit by the speed breaker started to throttle in full gear. I began to wonder where else could we put a speed breaker. No, I thought. I felt there are several speed breakers which should be removed first. You need to remove the unwanted ones which hamper the progress before installing new ones. I looked at the black tar road. The black lump of tar reminded me of the black gown. It took 7 years to deliver the verdict for Jessica Lal when the judge had written in the report during the first trial that he knew who the murderer was. The speed breakers in the judicial system – inadequacies in investigation, shoddy prosecution and judicial lapses have made the people lose faith in the judiciary. When the local police officer catches you for traveling in trebles, the police officer gives you only two options. You can either pay him a bribe for fifty bucks or go to the court to be produced before magistrate who would fine you upto three hundred bucks. I don’t have to ask you which one you would go for. My mind which was entrapped in the atomic lattices of the crystals of tar began to diffuse. I began to think where I could install a speed breaker. My mind now got refracted by the glamour of the vehicle. Those curves at the right positions made me feel as if I was sitting in the laps of a svelte senorita in motion. My mind which got defiled by her beauty decided to think about the economics of her manufacture. Soon economics took my control and I began to wonder if our country’s economy needs a speed breaker. Now, wait. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mean to install a speed break to hamper the progress of our economy. I wondered if we could put a reality check in the progress of our economy. Our Prime Minister Mr. Manmohan Singh seems very gung ho over the Capital convertibility issue. I personally feel he has been hitting the throttle too hard. The Argentine Crisis of 2001, the tequila effect- East Asian Crisis of 97’ and the Russian crisis of 98 took place due to hasty decision by the Government to usher in full convertibility of the currency. Though our economy has been doing well for the past few years, it would be churlish to introduce full capital account convertibility at this juncture as it would make the economy unstable. I came to my senses as my friend suddenly hit the brake. I wondered if I had encountered yet another speed breaker in my way. Not this time…I have reached the destination now.

Most memorable night in my college

As the number of days of my stay in this college is counted, my memories often in between those day to day chores (read as classes) take me to those exalted moments which I had captured every frame in my mind. My mind would often take me to those frozen moments of the past filling my present with a mélange of gaiety and grief. I wish to capture few of those moments with my words.

It had been hardly two months since I entered the most memorable phase of my life-my college days. The excitement had never ceased to stop. It seemed to grow more as the days numbered. Everyday I was meeting new people of various ethnicities, regions. I was hearing so many voices of different languages in those creaky buildings called as hostels. Languages which I had heard while switching channels in my TV had now begun to echo through the corridors. The dreaded term “Ragging” became the most talked about thing in the hostel .Wherever I went I could hear students narrating tormenting stories about ragging. Few were cracking jokes over the funny things they were asked to do during their room calls. My friends who were in my association had room calls the whole week.

It was my turn that day. I was pretty much excited about the whole thing. I had the faintest idea over what would happen that night. It was a windy night. The ruffles of the leaves seemed like ominous signs by the trees warning me about the impending danger. While I was leaving Bhabha Bhavan, I made a mental check up of the things I had taken for my room call. I had taken my intro list. I was carrying my technical id with graph. I also had my white handkerchief. While I was moving along I opened the intro list and quickly recapitulated all the addresses with their phone nos. As I entered the doors of Hostel-3 I was engulfed by a wave of hostility and fright. I was accosted by few seniors in the corridor. They looked at me with the same disdain a Gestapo officer would look at a Jew. They asked me where I was going. Words refused to come out of my mouth despite my effort. I stammered “DDDDF-5”. Before the number 5 could reach their ears, one among them shouted. “What did u say..?” “How dare you?” I felt sudden shudder of fear. It took me a jiffy to realize what I was telling. “Sorry Sir…D Block First floor Room No: 5”. I hurriedly climbed the stairs and reached the room. I stood near the door of the room. I took a few deep breaths and knocked the door. A voice filled with hatred resembling Punit Issar (Duryodhana of the Mahabharatha fame) came in through the door. “Get inside”. I slowly opened the door. There were six guys in the room. It seemed they had cleaned the room just before I entered the room. All the six of them were cosily seated over two cots put together. “Shall I do the traditional entry dance?” I asked looking at their eyes while standing near the door. “Hmm…”. I moved my hands together in unison and bent my knees to resemble a lotus. It was a traditional bharatanatyam step which is done in the beginning of a concert. Here I was performing the step making myself ready for this ragging concert. I entered the room. My eyes only then noticed a frail woebegone creature who squatted on the floor in one corner. He looked like an exhausted mine worker after a hard day’s work. It took me some time to realize that it was my friend. His cheeks seemed rosier than never before. I could understand who would have done the make up for him. He seemed to be in a trance state. I could feel some creature moving along my cheeks. I quickly touched my cheeks to wipe the sweat. One among the six talked to me with a tone of sarcasm.” So are you the guy who refuses to shave every day?” I didn’t know what to say. These sorts of questions really irritated me. What was the need to ask that question when he knew the answer. I however took care not show my discontent. I lowered my head. One more voice from the group asked “Have you brought all the things which should be brought?” I said “Yes” . “Show me your intro list” I quickly took it from my pocket. I had worn a Louis Philippe Shirt with matching trousers. I bent forward slowly and handed over the sheet of paper. He peered into the sheet and his eyes ran in the huge maze of rows and columns with eagerness to spot a mistake. “Tell me the date of birth of Balaji”. I responded in a jiffy. “25th May 1986 Anno Domini”. He was taken aback by my quick answer. He checked the column and said with a tone of authority “Hmm...Good”. All the 5 bones in my face moved together in perfect accord to give a smile over what was not meant to be a compliment. I partly showed few of my teeth. A voice came roaring in” Don’t show your yellow teeth to me you ********”. All the 32 bones in my face moved in quick succession to show a frown in my face. How many buttons do you have in your shirt” I quickly responded “16”. I had already counted it in my room. One more voice came in from a corner ” Tell me Are you ready for the GK game” I without knowing what it was said “Yes” The voice came in again. ” I’ll tell you the rules. You have to ask me questions from any field you wish. But not more than 4 questions from the same field. For every question I answer you have to unbutton your shirt. For every question I don’t answer that little puke who is sitting there will unbutton his shirt. Is that clear?” It took me some time to digest all the things that were told. After a brief pause, I said “Yes”. I was pretty average in general knowledge. I suddenly gained a bit of confidence over myself. I however looked at that frail creature who had come out of the trance state then and listened to what was told. I gave him a piteous look. He didn’t have any emotion in his eyes. His mist filled eyes had nothing to say. Probably It was the sign of acceptance over what was destined for him in the next few hours. I asked my first question. “Who is a spin doctor” I knew for sure that no one would answer this one. As I expected no voice could be heard from the other side. However my happiness didn’t last for long. My friend unbuttoned one button from his shirt. I couldn’t bear to see his face. I lowered my face and started thinking about the next question.

“Who wrote the book “My presidential years” “. It was one of my favorite questions for obvious reasons. I looked at all the six guys who started to discuss about it themselves. Every second they discussed about the question seemed joyous. This is the best part of ragging. It freezes time. Those six seconds duration seemed like six minutes. I was happy to see their quizzed faces. I started looking at my watch admiring every step the second hand took. All of a sudden one voice howled “Venkataraman”. That was the first time in my life I felt bad to hear my own name. The sound clutched my heart with talons of shame. It was an unforgettable moment. I glanced at my shirt and my fingers gradually caressed the top most button of my shirt. My hands however refused to move further. I was filled with a whirlpool of emotions. My ego started throwing in words of abuse into my mouth. However my lips didn’t cooperate with it. I wanted to get out of the place. One among them was keenly observing the reactions going on in my face sadistically. I looked at him. He was enjoying the tableau of emotions in me. I couldn’t bear to see that face smiling at me. I suddenly pictured how it would be if I could produce concentrated H2SO4 from free air and throw at that smiling face. I was enjoying the sight of that chemical splashing and burning every fiber of his skin. I came to my senses when my senior’s abusive words primed my ears. I unbuttoned one button from my shirt. I resolved to ask the most difficult question they could ever hear in their lives. “The title song” Kal ho na ho” is based on which south Indian raga?” I was pretty average in spotting raga. I had a doubt in my mind whether it would be “keeravani” or something else. However I knew none would be able to answer this question. This went for an hour before they got exhausted with the whole GK thing. I threw questions from my favorite subjects economics, psychology and music. Norman Lewis’ Word power made easy helped me in between whenever I couldn’t ask questions from those subjects. I didn’t have the guts to see my friend who was totally desolate in despair and shame. He was asked to leave. He sank behind the door without a trace. I stood pretty close to the balcony door. I could see the moon illuminating the dial of my watch. It was 2 AM. One amongst the seniors suddenly spoke in a soft voice. “Your general knowledge is pretty good man Keep it up.”. My face generally lights up whenever I receive a compliment. I instead stared at him blankly. Soon one senior who had not been involved in the GK thing suddenly came forward. He had special feelings towards me. Right from the first day I met him he hated me very much. Today he wanted to vent out all the hatred he had for me. He resembled very much like the typical goonda you find in the streets. His shaggy uncombed hair with a thick moustache and beard however didn’t stir any amount of fear in me. I was suddenly feeling brave despite the fact I knew that makeup would be done to my cheeks too within few minutes. I firmly stood like a soldier caught as a prisoner of war. He then swayed his hands slowly to check if the distance was perfect for a perfect landing in my fat cheeks. He asked me to close my eyes after removing my spectacles. It was the worst moment one could ever face. I didn’t know when I would be hit. He moved his hands slowly caressing my cheeks. I guess he was making the initial arrangements for the arrival of his hands. Time stood still then. I could hear the tick of the second hand of my watch. The whole world went blank for the next two minutes. My body which went cold got warmth from the heat generated in my cheek. My mind went to deep nirvana state. I felt as if I was the only creature trapped in a vast expanse of molten pitch. All I could see in the earth was black. As I opened my eyes I could see stars revolving my head. I had seen this thing in my favorite Tom and Jerry cartoons. Today I saw it in my own eyes. As my eye balls moved I could see those white stars moving along with me. I refused to believe what I was seeing. I felt totally numb. I couldn’t move single part in my body. I stood like a statue for the next two minutes. I partially heard few voices telling me to leave the room. My legs moved like mechanical toys which are given key to move. The whole world seemed so silent. It was as if some one had pressed the mute button of this world. For the first time I felt the weight of my bones. It was as if I was carrying a sack full of bones. My legs suddenly gained some divine force and carried my whole body to the hostel. I reached my room and collapsed in my bed.

This article was not written to glorify or romanticize ragging by any means. Though I strongly advocate against physical ragging, my heart refuses to condemn ragging per se. Later when I pondered about my ragging experiences, I realized that during that GK session I had learnt to think on my own feet. I learnt what it really meant by acting under pressure. Above all I learnt to control my emotions. There were moments when I was in the verge of an emotional break down. I learned to cope with those moments. There were moments when I couldn’t resist laughter. I learnt to control both the extremes. When this incident had occurred, I thought of complaining about my seniors to my hostel authorities. They deserved to be punished for such sadistic acts. But they were indirectly responsible for all those things I had learned during ragging. Also I didn’t want to ruin their careers. Business gurus are gung-ho these days about Emotional Intelligence. However during those times when I hadn’t known about emotional intelligence, I underwent training in emotional management. I had learnt it in a painful manner. I would never forget it through out my life. Before I conclude this article , I wanna give a small advice to all my juniors in this college

Ragging is a wonderful thing. It helps you to forge relationship with your juniors. Make sure you teach your juniors something useful for his life through this ragging. BUT DON’T EXCEED YOUR LIMITS. Make sure the guy who is being ragged also enjoys the whole process…

Love on wheels

PS: My first blog post ever written! I feel funny reading most of it now!. 

I was walking down the swanky magdalla highway gobsmacked by the seamless traffic flowing down the newly built concrete roads. As I was returning down the corner lane after a gruesome day of my college, I observed a pretty unusual thing. The corner lane was swarmed with two wheelers. I could also see Romeo and Juliet lost in their world above the wheels. When Jamnalal Bajaj had ventured his Bajaj company even in his wildest dreams he would have imagined that Bajaj bikes would turn out as Multiple Activity Vehicle with Cupid striking chords amidst