Friday, 25 September 2015

The Merchants of Literary Street

Dog eared paperbacks, dusty tomes, crumpled magazines, the smell of dust and old paper. A horde of customers browsing among the stacks for a trashy novel or a classic; a school kid trying to find a previous year question bank, a college fellow tries to save a few bucks and among them the vendors trying to pull you in to their shops. In all the cities I have lived or visited, I had found a street where at least one footpath has been invaded by the mongers of literature. They haggle and coax us into buying our choice of poison, and we misers bargain teeth and nail to bring the price down a notch more even though we are getting it for a steal. I am sure you now understand the topic my today’s rambling – ‘The Second Hand Bookstore’



I contracted the book addiction back in 1995 in my fifth grade and within a couple years, I exhausted the tiny little library of our tiny little school. Okey I may not have read everything in there but I am pretty sure that I had read everything I found interesting back then. Hardy boys, Famous Five, Nancy Drew, couple of 007’s, a tone of Astrix, Tintin and also the occasional Mills & Boon. Once the source dried up, I was desperate to find more dope, in this case books. I remember vaguely the books displayed below a sprawling tree somewhere in the city. I knew it was near the Palayam mosque and with a bit of subtle investigation I found out the location. I emptied out my stash of bucks, called a friend along and set out to the big bad world on a growling and puffing KSRTC.  We reached the literature street with out incident and it opened to us not just a plethora of authors and titles but also introduced to us the glossy page center spread of P Andersen and co, Boy meet the world !

 



We returned religious to the vendors, bargained and always bought the books/magazines at the price quoted by the sellers. We morons were thoroughly ripped by them but still we went back with more cash clutched in sweaty palms and cheap fake leather wallets. The raging hormones may have played a role in directing us there but each time we went there, we came back with more books than cheap porn magazines. Slowly the habit of reading took root in me and the role played by the second hand stores was pivotal. Trivandrum have many proper book stores like DC, Pen, Continental etc but they burn through your savings like vitriol. We also had two huge libraries, The Victoria memorial & erstwhile British library but the books rented from there always felt alien to me, for the greatest pleasure for me is to write my name on the back side of the cover page when I start reading a book and was not possible with a rented book. Hence the seconds store became my Holy land.


Over the years the book vendors had to relocate to the Ayruveda College Junction, AKG center junction, Pattom etc when the authorities chased them off in the name of development agenda. All the purpose it served was the sellers and their kids went hungry to bed while the readers went to bed where sleep eluded them. No development or such ever happened. Finally the folks settled down at the present location, next to the Public library, the most apt location. They still regularly gets final warnings and threats by so called authorities to pack their bags and GTFO, but still to all our glee, the trade goes on. A few of the sellers had scattered across the city and now displays their wares at Pattom and Ayruveda College Junction but the majority still sells at the serene Library junction where culture, history and literature amalgamates.


I still visit them every month and buys 4-5 books and over the years have developed my personal library, a possession that I am proud of. More than the trophies that I can exhibit, those books signify the milestones that I have passed in each year of my reading journey. My sincere thanks to all the good folks at the Second hand stores for providing the hundreds like myself with this opportunity. And a few word to those who propose to vacate the stores and develop the area, I quote Barnabas Collins


 ‘I have already prepared my counter-proposal. It reads thusly: You may strategically place your wonderful lips upon my posterior and kiss it repeatedly!’

Wednesday, 9 September 2015

Morons, Machines and a Madikkery Ride – REunion South 2015

This is a long read on my journey with Royal Amigos, a Kollam based Enfield club to Coorg in Karnadaka and back. If you saw this post pop up in your time line but is uninterested in bikes or biking please exit now only.
‘You must write a travelogue on this.’ Sleepy eyed, dead tired and drooping Nikhil did mange to tell me this before he rode off to his gate at Kollam and I dreaded ahead to cover 70 more odd kilometers to Trivandrum. I was at the final stage of our epic ~1500km ride to and from Virajpet to Trivandrum.

Couple months back Nikhil did invite me to join the Enfieldhead’s south Reunion at Coorg and I instantly brushed it off, but as the day drew close I wanted to join the adventure. For who wants to miss such an atrocious idea? I had a fanatical search for an Enfied as I didn’t own one and a couple of my frieds offered me theirs but it was my wife’s fried Midhun who finally got me one. A 2005 model 5 speed electra. A behemoth that was garaged for over two years, bit rusty and handicapped in the electric start. He needed to coaxed by decompression and multiple kicks to rise from the stupor, but once alive his roar did woke up the block. I instantly christened him pThor. Thor for the thunder he generates and p for, well fcuk it, its my story and I will write whatever I want. I took out pThor for a week to get used to his tantrums and to master the ‘taming the bull’ ritual. On the day of the ride I was joined by George on his Classic 350 and we left college on a half day leave to reach Kollam to get pThor’s oil changed and spark plugs cleaned up. Nikhil was already there suited up to the boots and riding suits from 7am and now baked in the mid day sun impatiently waiting for us to join. After the quick service thanks to the crew at Unnonny motors we were off to Kochi for our night stay. Nikhil had to fix a flagpole on his TB350 and hence he blasted off leaving George and I to a slow pace. We were soon caught up by Martin on his TB500 and Vipin on his Continental GT and we proceeded on a relaxed pace to Kochi until we hit the traffic there. A couple days ago I saw a post shared by Patrick about how Kochi for them is not a city but a feeling. I am sure. A feeling when you get stuck four times at the same traffic light sucking up diesel fumes while hoping that some debris loose form the metro pillars won’t squash you. Roight there dude, Its some feeling. George left off to his wife’s place and we rode on to our vantage point at Harbour view hotel were we met the co riders Vijay sir on his Standard 500, Nidish doc on his classic 350. After a bit of chat the Kochi duo left us to have our dinner and crash at our friend Abhilash’s place.

Our ride began in earnest on the second day. The plan was to start from front of Lulu mall at 6 am and to all our surprise we were able to do so by 6.15. Impressive display of punctuality, I would say but George will not for he had been waiting for us from 5.30 in the morning. Military discipline does suck when your friends are too much of a civilian. Vijay sir had printed Ozymandias for the dreams he chases on his bike and from now I would refer him as Ozy took up the role of the ride caption, Nikhil was deputed as the lead rider, Vipin or mechanic the rear guard while we the mediocre ones the riders. All of us had to run on head lights all the time and must be able to see the head lights of the rider behind us all the time, if not must slow down so that he can catch up. Cool rules, no problem I thought. But wrong, I was the fourth rider behind Nikhil, Ozy and Martin and soon I lost sight of them. pThor was not impressed at his younger cousins and neither was I. After around an hour of riding I initiated a pit stop and demanded that we go at a relaxed pace as if I wanted to be stressed out I would have just sticked on to my job and not join a ride. I wanted to chill out, I want to relax, so I want to have tea, have a smoke enjoy the view and relax my way to Coorg where I plan to relax some more before I relax my way back to Trivandrum. Ozy, the man on a supercharged 500 was not impressed on my monologue but still with a smirk he told already lets chill out but remember we need to reach Iritty by night fall, some 350Km away. Congratulating myself for putting my foot down, we had tea, then we had breakfast after some 30km, evenly spaced smoke/photo breaks and a stupendous dum biriyani at Calicut. By this time we were more or less in the rhythm of the ride and comfortably reached Kannur where we had tea and cleared off the bakery by unburdening them of all their snacks. I must confess you haven’t had authentic Malabar food unless you had it from Kannur, the irachipattiri and unnakkai was so damn good that we wasted an hour at that spot. The plan was to ride through Mahe. Oh you naught mind, you read that correct, but unfortunately we bypassed Mahe somehow and ended up at a place called notMahe. Now we were at a dilemma to go back or to proceed to Iritty and with the sun disappearing faster than the cash in our wallets, we decided to ride on. In the mayhem of the ride that followed we lost and found Nikhil once, I almost slipped on a gravel patch (quite sure no one noticed that) and reached Iritty by 7Pm. On the way itself me and many if the co-riders did notice independently that Iritty lacked the basic requirement for a Mallu’s survival, for we could not find a Bevco outlet anywhere. With heavy hearts and still heavier bags we lumbered into M2H residency. I am not making up this, that hotel was called M2H, I don’t know what the expanded nomenclature is but I am sure the owners had a great sense of humor when they named their hotel. Bathed and ready we set off to find beer and food rightly in that order and did find them for the first washed away our weariness and the food lifted our spirits. The night was well spend chatting while Nikhil, George and myself crashed in a bed clearly meant for one person.

The plan for the second day was to start early as we had a patch of forest to ride through and George was sure we can witness some wildlife in the dawn, so we were locked and loaded by 6am and did very promptly did not start by 8.30am. It was Ozy the most unlikely person who delayed us as he cramped his thigh and had to wait for a couple hours to find his feet. With the hope of wildlife gone and rain clouds gathering we warily began the ascent to Coorg. Some of you may know that I cycles a bit and have done the Ponmudi route in Trivandrum couple times. This route was similar to the Ponmudi road and I felt that while I am laboring up Ponmudi on my cyclel I can hear my heart pounding, crank clicking, chain straining, birds chirping, monkeys chattering, a million insects buzzing, I can smell the forest, my lungs are filled with the virgin air so cool that it takes to a meditative stage that the yoga dudes seems to achieve standing upside down. But as our machines sped through this forest, all I heard is the roar of seven Enfield’s, backfiring of Martin’s TB500 and the smell of spent gasoline. For me it was disgusting, and it was the one part of the trip I hated. I would rather gladly cycle up those Ghats taking four hours instead of ripping it off in thirty minutes on a motorbike. An hour or so into the ride we took a piss/photo break and donned our rain jackets as a drizzle began. I did wander around the road for a few minutes to stretch my legs, leaving my commonsense home I walked on the damp grass wearing a low shoe and shorts. A couple minutes into the ride I felt something crawl on my left ankle and my instinct reflex helped to pick and throw off the leech before it could attach itself to feast on me. I am sure that leech that I dispatched off during the ride was not that one that landed on George and devoured his blood leaving trails of red lines on his legs, but he was not very happy about that. We finally reached Coorg by 11 am.

There was a registration process to join this REunion with a fee of 5500 for our accommodation at club Mahindra resort, food and festivities and me being the late John was unable to pre register. Martin took up pains to get a spot registration for me while the others got their room keys, tags and such. After an hour of unsuccessful deliberations with the constipated looking fellows at the counter we decided to head to the rooms. They place was pretty good and quite as we were the first set of riders to reach. After settling down we decided to attend to the matters of the stomach. The question is should we have a gourmet brunch at the resort that will most probably cost more than our bikes or should we ride to the nearest town and have food? The trip to the town was a quick affair with me going pillion on Nikhils TB350 watching Vipin pop up wheelies on the Continental GT while others rushed past. We made it to the town in good time and it was a feast for eyes, take it from me if you are ever asked which place in India have the prettiest girls, the answer is always Coorg ! He had our brunch from a hotel shared by a bunch of very noisy bikers from Madhuri I think lead by elder dude. On our return ride we saw may rider clubs pull in, The Royal Pandians, Road Shakers etc. I found it funny that there were dudes who loaded their bulls in pickups while they travelled in chauffeur driven cars in complete riding gear only to unload and ride from the gate of the resort to the parking lot, reaving the fcuk out of their machines. Post the brunch it was time to decide what kind of spirits we must acquire for the evening, the clear ones or the colored ones and finally the colored ones got picked. In life most of the problems occur when we either overestimate or underestimate something, in case of Mallu’s and booze it’s always underestimation. On reaching back, we immediately dispatched off the spirits and were still standing. It was then a dull wait for the DJ to start so that we could have dinner afterwards. By around 7pm, we left off to shake a leg at the DJ and fill up the growling bellies. This time Martin managed to secure a registration for me and I became a citizen of Enfieldom form a being an illegal alien. One think I must tell you dear reader, Reunions are sausage fests, if you are a adrenalin crazy, testosterone pumping, beer drinking engine revving overcompensating middle aged man, you have come to the right place, else excuse. Soon the DJ and the actions grew on us and we decided to call the day off.





The penultimate day of the ride began with a short excursion to the town after a hearty breakfast to get some souvenirs for the folks back home and ended up in a big debate of whether we should stay at the resort and enjoy the overpriced amities or should we head out to explore Coorg. After a prolonged meaningful debate including morons, jokers, fcukers and such we decided to ride to Madikery fort to have the famed Coorg pork dishes. There was a slight drizzle and the 30km ride was enjoyable, we reached a disappointing fort where Ozy took some excellent photos while we wandered around. I have been to this place a few years previously in my college days so played the guide. After the fort we crashed at the nearby hotel and devoured a selection of pork. Pork pepper fry, pork masala, pork roast, pork in bamboo shoot curry and the every other pork selection available there. I am sure we had eaten an entire pig among the seven of us. Astrex would be so proud. By now the sun was playing hide and seek among the rain clouds and there Ozy and George decided to get back to the hotel to enjoy the pool while we morons decided to proceed to Kushalnagar to see the famed Tibetian monastery and golden temple. It ride was a constant uphill matter followed by a stretch of flat road so beautifully paved that the hot heads among us had to do 120kmph to ecstasy, while the mediocre me followed at the pThor’s top speed of ~90Kmph. We reached the Tibetian colony in good time and explored the area. It was here we noticed that we were acutely short of cash and the nearest ATM was another 15Km away and none of the shops accept cards. It was a great disappointment for me as I was planning to go on a shopping spree, and maybe it was a self protective mechanism done by my conjoose brain ! By around 5Pm, it was getting darker by the minute and we decided to head back to the hotel as it was a good 80km ride and it was then the heavens opened up to unleash a torrent. We were in for the toughest ride of the trip. Every time rain threatened us Ozy will comment, ‘Lets see who is a real biker and who is not, are you morons tougher than your bikes?’ Well we put it to the test on that day. I was wearing a cotton t shirt, shorts and a thin rain liner and soon began to shiver. The rest of the team were better dressed and was in a better shape than me. The fog that joined the rain reduced visibility to almost zero and we put our left indicators along with the headlights to signal the ones behind. I meekly followed Nikhils tail lamp while he followed the lead rider Martins. Among the five of us, Nikhil is the bike fanatic who keeps his ride in mint condition, eager to replace any part that may show signs of wear and tear rather than repair it, while me on the other hand resorts to duct tape to fix the torn seat cover. I could make out in the face of our mechanic his distress whenever he laid his eyes on pThor as he was sure pThor will die in the most inhospitable of conditions and will make us push him. But it was as always the best laid plan that failed first when Nikhil’s TB350 spurted and died. I was afraid that pThor may follow suite if I turned him off and kept him running throughout the time Vipin attempted to fix the TB and finally diagnosed as some problem with the battery terminal. Vipin took over the TB350 while Nikhil rode the TB500 from there on. Around 20Km from our stay we took a break and to acquire some spirits for the night. I fished out my mobile from the flooded pocket of my rain liner and was surprised that it worked. I made a call to my wife at a bus shelter and found an insect turned upside down struggling there. It was that beetle with the fcuking huge pincers and my first instinct was to stomp the pulp out of it, then suddenly maybe because of the sense of peace I got from the Buddhist place, I decided to spare it going all philosophical, I thought that all living being have a place on earth and I must not take a life unnecessarily. After I finished my call I was joined by Nidish doc to a nearby shop to get some supplies. It was still drizzling and I pulled up the cape of my rain liner and my fingers brushed on something on it and I groped around it only to be rewarded by a pain so intense that even getting your vital in the zipper could be called trivial. I pulled out my hand and shook it violently to throw off whatever was sawing my finger into half and in the corner of my eye I saw the huge pinchers slicing through my flesh. With a flourish of my wrist I managed to throw off the creature and examined my blood soaked finger to make sure I haven’t lost enough of the digit to consider a shift in carrier. Then and there I decided that such creature that flaunts pinchers, stings etc does not have a place on earth as they are some abominations that escaped through the cracks in hell and must promptly be sent back if seen anywhere ever again. So much for piety.

Half an hour later without we reached the resort and changed from rain soaked apparel. Pulling out Nikhils riding boot took all the might of four of us as it was stuck at his ankle and finally we entered the room after getting duplicate key cards as Ozy and George could not be found anywhere. The wonders a couple dry shots, some puffs and a warm bath can be experienced best after a rain soaked ride is one of the rewards a garden variety biker can hope to achieve, but take it from me, it’s a great feeling. Refreshed and pumped up, we strolled to the lobby for dinner and found Ozy and George worried as they were unable to reach any of us for the last few hours. We gorged on the buffet and met few fellow bikers who had rode far and wide and had come in hordes from the corners of the country to be at this event. Therese are not the usual bearded, overweight drunks or not the senseless prepubescent’s that endanger themselves and everyone else on the road with their rash riding but level headed respectable professionals who give true meaning to the passion of riding. I had a great time interacting with a few of them and stood openmouthed hearing their ride stories and experiences that I may one day hope to do myself. We then left to the parking lot to fix Nikhi’s TB which Vipin did with ease and little after 12am we decided to hit the bed and to wake up at 5am so to start back home by 6.



After a quick bath, pathetic attempt of self made coffee and hectic packing we bid adieu to club Mahindra by 7am and started the descent through the winding roads to Iritty and reached there in good time. Nikhil, Vipin and I needed to be home by the day while Ozy, Martin, George and Nidish doc were planning to halt at Kochi. So the former three had to ride 250 extra km and I being the one with the longest way to go was on the edge. At morning I found that my phone had died of drowning in the previous night’s rain and now I was communicating with my wife through Nikhils phone. Her messages became less friendly and more threading as the time passed on and Nikhil was keen to make sure I reach home before my wife reaches the threshold of her fury which he was certain will be directed at him while I stand dumb as a rock. The breakfast at Iritty took more than an hour and by now we lost our patience and decided to split the pack. Nikhil and I raced off with the idea of minimum breaks and 100km ride slots from there on. It was the beginning of the ride that truly tested my mettle. We buzzed past Mahe, Kannur and reached Calicut by noon and were very happy at our pace. We were caught up by Vipin and Nidish doc by then, had a chocolate milkshake from Calicut and rode on quickly. Reached  Kodungaloor by 3Pm and were hopeful that the pace can get us home in time and decided to take a break to cool of the bikes. Vipin noticed that pThor’s chain was sagging and tighten it up and increased the rear brake tension also. After a tea we were off to Edapally and it was then I noticed that pThor was not pulling like before and I was falling behind and I suspected that I smelled something burning. Quickly I stopped the bike and was terrified to find smoke from the rear wheel hub. Apparently the rear break that was hot got jammed while tightening and we had to wait another 30 minutes to get it corrected and cooled. By then the rest of the crew had caught up with us and we were not happy that we wasted an hour, from there we continued on to Kochi and reached by around 6.30 and halted in front of Oberon mall to bid goodbye to Nidish doc. Nikhil noticed that he had got a text from George that Martin wants us to wait as he is too coming to Kollam and we waited for an hour. By then I was clearly impatient and coaxed Nikhil to join me as I still had around 250km to go and I wanted to reach Trivandrum before 12am. We left Vipin to give company to Martin and started the final lap. Nikhil and I decided on the code that he would ride in front and would now and then put on his left indicator and I had to respond to the same by flashing my left indicator if all is well and I must put on my right indicator if I wanted to stop. Someone who had never had a true ride reading this account will feels such things trivial but to someone who had been on the saddle for more than 12 hours every trivial things matter for his safety. Chertalla, Alapuzha and Ambalapuzha flashed off and we did a tea break at Karunagapally and twenty Km from there Nikhil made it home just past 10pm and I rode along into the final 80km.


Once alone in the road, I was getting sleepy and started to get hallucinations. Shadows and light plays giving me impressions of people walking into the road and eerie sound of the nights disturbing me. This must be how the legends of highway ghost are born, weary travelers witnessing normal shadows and seeing white clad ladies attempting to eat them thanks to the cliché of Indian movies. More than supernatural I was more worried about my bike dying in this desolate patch of road or me hitting a pot hole and falling down. Sleep too was creeping up my eyes clouding my judgment and I almost rammed a crossing stray dog. Rest easy Manekaji, I missed it. More than sleep or the strays something else was bothering me, I was getting seriously Son-sick. It is a variation of home sickness in which you do not want the trip to end and go home but you desperately want to see your son, hold him I your arms and see him smile at your monkey face. I stopped somewhere near Kallambalm and poured the last bottle of water over my head and ripped the road till I got home. Dismounting at my house after around 18 hours and 600km on the bike I felt my head wobble and the body refusing to stop believing that I had finally stopped riding. I rang the bell and there was my wife with her sleepy eyes and happy smile at the door, smiling at her I marched to our bed to find little Sid sound asleep with a smile on his lips for daddy to reach home.
So dear reader, what did I achieve with this death wish of an atrocious act that costs a fortune? Well I felt alive. As I read some were, most people die at 25 and are buried only by 75, but in the last four days I felt alive than ever. There is no better de-stressor than to follow your passion and have the company of a bunch of friends with the same level of retard-ness like you. The lessons I learned includes never ever attempt to ride more than 500km in a day or spent more than 12hrs on the saddle; never trust your rain liner to protect your mobile and finally suite up well for any ride. And yes if you ever come across the beetle with the huge fcuking pinchers, stomp the pulp out of it.
Will I ever do it again? An Enfield Reunion? Probable not, I found it is as boring and as expensive as the Dental conferences I frequent; sans the awesome people I met. A ride with the Royal Amigos? Hell yes, it’s an adventure to cherish until you have done something even madder.
Thanks for reading

The Onam after Onam – Harthalonam !

Hartal is a term in many South Asian languages for strike action, first used during the Indian Independence Movement. It is mass protest often involving a total shutdown of workplaces, offices, shops, courts of law as a form of civil disobedience. In addition to being a general strike, it involves the voluntary closing of schools and places of business. It is a mode of appealing to the sympathies of a government to change an unpopular or unacceptable decision.
So begins the Wiki page on the term Hartal. A word that was unheard of till 1998, the year when the Supreme Court banned the festival of Bandh. Back in the good old days we had the fortnightly celebration of various forms of bandh like local bandh, state bandh, transport bandh, medical bandh, diary bandh, textile bandh and so forth. Finally the court themselves were fed up and decided to call it the quits. Within days popped up its sequel – The Harthal.

From my understanding of the Wiki definition, a Harthal is an voluntary event unlike a bandh which is mandatory in nature. The process is simple, some dude who has some beef (pun intended) over someone or something in a position better than himself stands on top the tallest tower and calls out ‘harthal’. The voice resonates through the nation amplified by print, visual, social and antisocial Medias, and the public gear up for the event. On the due day the Harthalees line up to make it a success while the police lines up to keep the harthalees in line. The entire nation goes to work and keep the productiveness intact except in the southern tip of the peninsula, a bitter guard shaped spit of land, people celebrates the event. No one ventures out of their homes, the beer stalls and meat shacks would have been cleared off on the previous night which is designated as the Uthradam for the Harthalonam. The channels puts on Harthal day special events and we chillax.Shankaradi from Sandashem would love it, had he witnessed it.
Today was such a lovely day. In contrary to the previous events, this time I decided to go to work. Repairing a bike is much cheaper than changing the cracked windshield of a car and hence I decided to take my motorbike, the flying Dutchman to work. Yes I do have a black car called the black pearl. My work place is around 50Km from home and I travel through the city, NH, SH, suburbs and finally the rural area and 100km is a good distance to judge the effectiveness of the Harthal. This is what I saw.

Almost all the shops remains closed even medical stores; I did plan to step into some institutes of worship to see if Harthal affects the deities, but was too lazy to get off the bike. Next time maybe. As I proceeded I could not find any local blue collar worker on the streets but the bus stop was crowded with our migrant work force. The Blue collar bhais, good for them for they remember the hunger they suffered back at their home, the very same one we Mallu’s remember when we work in the gelf. No harthals there.  Moving on, I reached the hub of Harmony at Work, a packed police van unnecessary parked there. I am sure the educated and sensible techies have better use of time as it is highly doubtful that the Whiteman across the Atlantic may appreciate Harthals. I blitz on the NH hopping from radars and traffic cameras happy that the Dutchman finally got a chance to fly while I watch the party flags fly. The satellite town where Bheema showed up recently looks deserted as the satellites in Interstellar with only a couple police jeeps and yawning cops. A dude in check shirt throws out his thumb like he insists on getting a lift from me, but sorry I can’t stop, Not this close to a bunch of cops as I like most of you guys feel more paranoid than protected when a cop is nearby. Finally I reach work earlier than ever only to find few lost souls wandering there. ‘Its full strong Harthal, no bus, big problems, no one will come’ Security maman says. Right, as expected.

I open my FB and there I find all the Mallu’s who have been missing on the roads and at work. We say in chorus, ‘No to Harthal’ while we change the channel, crunch the Onam’s left over banana chips and play the online activists. A few souls ventures out because either their jobs are in stake or their finances are as bad as the Red party’s future. The rest of the population in the bitter guard state enjoys this Onam just as the regular Onam and Maveli should have stayed for a couple more days.
As the day draws to a close and while the news lady who has a perpetual judgment look in her face announce how complete the Harthal was I look forward to see when can I have another one of these? The biggest irony I observed is that I never found anyone in the roads attempting to block the traffic or push people back to their homes when they come out. We just subdued to the proclamation of Harthal that is 178% sure not going to achieve anything. Just like Loki said, ‘Is this not our natural state? It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation’ and of course relaxation from work. But to subdue to the proclamation of ideologies and methods that died back in the nineties will not progress us as a nation, a state, a family or a person. Period.

NB: Did anyone notice that one of the demands of the Harthalees is a minimum pay of 15,000Rs for laborers. Yea you read it correct, fifteen followed by three zeros. Keep in mind that the average pay a dentist in Kerala gets after a state entrance, five years of study, innumerable exams and an internship is around 8000. Bitter guard state indeed.
Happy Harthal or bandh or strike or whatever.

Bob, Joe & Lee

I must be celebrating. I must be overjoyed. I must be on cloud nine. Ever wondered what the hell is this cloud nine? Is it some kind of cloud that is found above the other eight? Of course I know it’s written to express happiness, so let’s assume that happiness has nine different levels and nine is the highest achievable score. Hence cloud nine. Today I must be in that level floating over the cloud, bellowing mist like that junkie I met at the shack by the beach letting off the light blue acrid smoke while he reaches his nine or ten.

I am meeting up my GF in an hour time and that’s why I expect myself to be in the above mentioned cloud, not any lower. I am with this chick for the last two years, a relation that is not exactly made in heaven but it does have its share of ups and downs. Ups mostly, if you know what I mean. I wonder how conveniently have they made up the phrase ‘in love’ which is so much similar to ‘in prison’ while you never say ‘in friendship’. Maybe because friendship is a ship in which you always have an option to disembark and GTFO while ‘in love’ is something off your control. You must either do a prison break and be hunted all your life or you must wait until you are nothing but an empty shell with no social life, money or character. Then they let you go free. But my love life is nothing like this. They say when a door closes, another one opens, but in my case when the door that I held dear closed on my face, it knocked me off my feet. The door then married a dude with a bigger car, bigger house and became the savithri to his sathyayan while I lay on the floor. What do you do when you get knocked down? Try to get up, duh! That’s what I tried only to find that I had pushed off all the handholds and hands to hold while I was busy cozying the door. Apparently that’s another way they let you off the prison on your back.
Why am I telling all these stuff? No idea, maybe because I have nothing else to talk to you now. I am not a known social animal and is often compared to the crab for our charming personalities. In my theory, falling in love occurs when there is an imbalance in the mental council that govern the actions of a person. There are three guys in this council; Joe, Bob and Lee. Being the average person always has its perks for he is invisible. Attempting to find an average person is one of the toughest missions in Call of Duty. It is because they can camouflage like a Ninja. Fining a needle in a haystack is old school, but finding a needle in a stack of needles, that takes the cut. That is the average Joe for you, for you shall never find him lurking in the heap of Joe’s. You will look as flabbergasted as Neo watching the innumerable Smiths pour into the court. After the Average Joe comes the Overt Bob. He is the one who goes for the overkill. He is someone who can be instantly noted and tagged. He is the kid who always gets caught by the teacher at school. He is the one who is always selected ‘randomly’ at the airport by the customs officer for the checkup. I am sure you have seen him everywhere, for today I saw this dude on a two wheeler with two pillions, a bag of groceries balanced on the petrol tank, his helmet singed to his arm talking to the mobile phone while negating a traffic block. We see all kind of such clowns who do not wear a helmet or have mobile I one hand or carry 3-5 pillions but its often rare to find someone do all the three things together. A special kind of stupid, Mr Overt Bob. Finally we have the Weenie Lee. You guessed him right. He is that fellow who is as useless and ueue in queue. Oh I am not implying that Weenie Lee is a useless dude, he is well and good at things that matter but he is the one who always backs out. The one who bails on you at the last moment be it a beer run a road trip or a Frisbee game. He always comes up with the most outlandish of the excuses for his absence. If ‘Its too windy to play Frisbee is not outlandish enough how about ‘It’s too early to drink beer?’


I am sure that you already know these stuff from my bro Freud’s book. He called my Bob, Joe & Lee by the name Id, Ego & SuperEgo. Way cooler names that what I gave and Freud have pointed out that all three of these dudes live in every one of us. Yea even in you too lady. For the sake of the Femmies out there, let’s call them Jane, Kate and Sally but the essence is same. We have an uptight persona, a dork and a bloke in all of us. Falling in love is when the bloke runs the show, while in love is when the dork takes over. When you on the floor and the door walk away with the new bloke you can know that who is in charge now. The uptight fellow. Psychology 101.

I know you are eager to know the story of the break up, but that’s for another day, now is the time for me to get the mouthwash, car keys and the wallet. Especially the wallet for wallets is the building block for every relationship that involves an ugly dude and a hot chick.
Kudos !


Tuesday, 8 September 2015

Anguish of the Angel


As I glide down the ravine to the pearly sand
I felt the gust of wind flutter my wings
I am far from my home, the palace among the stars
Where resides my brethren serving our holy father.

I was lost in pride and blind with envy
to see my lord endear the lesser sons
For the creatures of mud and his breath
Placed high in his pious heart pained mine for long.

The morningstar was right, said my heart
While the whispers of my soul asked for faith
It was then my father himself showed the way
Descent from the stars, walk among men and seek the truth.

The day is new, fresh with dew and chill
An infant sun rises deep from the turquoise depths
My soles feel the touch of the virgin land
While the white froth of the sea kisses my toes.

I wander from the lonely shore to the holiday sort
Fathers and mothers, sons and daughters with their laughter
Sand castles and sea shells, snorkels and palm leaves
The aroma of spices and freshness of coconectar lingers here.

This is where heaven truly is and not at the swirl palace
Whispers the lightbringer form the great beyond
Sly he is; fallen from the sky to the fiery pit
Speaks to me the injustice of clay golems placed better than us.

They laugh and they sing, make merry while we serve
Blessed to born; growth to robust and to grey they are,
While we linger in the moment of our birth; in curse of immortality
Denied we are the joys of a life and death.

The chatter of the child brings me back
From the mind of the fallenone to the midst of the jovial crowd
As I glide hollow among them I felt my despair grow
Shaded from their senses I am by my heavenly aura.

Away from the crowd I ran swift and unseen
Beyond their shrill voices and the cracking laughter that I envied
I ran and ran beyond the rocks that weep with the tide
Till the voices failed to reach my tormented ears.

Why father have you given them everything?
A virgin land lush green and a mellow sea deep blue
The company of each other and the joys of love and the fruit it bore
For the mantle of parenthood is what I miss the most.

My sorrowful face was turned to the breaking waves
Where my sullen eyes fell upon something crimson by the beach
Squinting and straining I neared it only to repeal in horror
It lied like a broken doll gifted by the sea.

The little face was pale, the tiny fingers wrinkled
The eyes that once shown with hope had lost their light
They were yet open, lifeless and pleading
Please don’t take me, three years is too short a time to live.

The gentle sea caressed him with her tender waves
Like his mother rocked his cradle many a days ago
Her loving tides ruffled his auburn hair
Like his father did at times with love.

The anguish I felt was beyond my bearing,
And my screams echoed across the worlds far and wide
Unheard by the men deaf to the plight of his brethren
Went on with his wars blind to the joys of life.

He was Aylan my son, said that Lord soothing my sorrow
He is the son that I loved and lost before his time
The blood and tears of the innocent is the price that I pay for my blind love
For it is in my name my sons slaughter each other.

In the field of corpses Aylan is just a grain
Like the sand that lines this vast beach
It is my fate to witness the wails and mourns
While I repulse in bitter agony at the evil that I blew life into.