Socks, Not Soap

When did roti-makers become so arrogant?

I was waiting in line, along with about a dozen others, watching as two men took their own sweet time in rolling and baking the rotis. I’d been there for over half an hour, and the only way I was going to fill my stomach, was by keeping my temper under wraps.

Finally, the cook decided to reward me for my patience, and slowly wrapped a couple of rotis into a roll. Handing it over, he indicated that the favour was over, and I was to be on my way. So much for ‘customer is king’.

Just as I was about to turn away, though, the fellow behind me suddenly shook. His body trembled violently, as he slowly collapsed onto the floor in front of my feet.

A La Masia For Us?

Chennai at 6 in the morning during mid August, is beautiful. The air is crisp, you feel a gentle breeze pass you by, and something about the atmosphere makes you look up at the sky and smile in content.

I was standing on the terrace of my hostel in Egmore, holding a copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula, when it began drizzling slightly. Adjacent to the hostel is a hockey stadium, and from where I was standing, I could view the entire field.

About twenty children were training in the center of the field, running between cones, skillfully using their hockey sticks to control the ball. As I watched them for the next few minutes, I thought about La Masia.

The Chetpet Story

A rush of wind. Bustling crowd. Screeching rails.

That's all I remember of the first time I used the Suburban train in Chennai.

Over the next few weeks, my white-knuckled grip on the overhead railing loosened; my posture slackened; I finally took my eyes off the entrance of the compartment.

I looked around, and noticed The Chetpet Story for the first time...

21st Century Wordsworths

Recently, my English Professor at college held a lively discussion that focused on the theme, ‘The World Outside’. He began by asking us the simple question: When you think of a poet, what comes to your mind?
A smart classmate responded, describing an image of someone sitting under a tree, drawing inspiration from the world around him.

I wanted to raise my hand and say: “Eminem, anyone?”

The New Way To Hangout

This is part of a new phase in Laptop Diary, since for the next three years I'll be in Chennai. Hoping to revive the blog with stories of my college life. Let me know what you think....

There is a good chain of juice shops in Chennai, called ‘Fruit Shop’. Trust me, the juices are better than what the generic name suggests. It’s a great place to hang out, or just grab a drink to go.

One evening, a few friends and I decided to gather there. Guys dropped by in twos or threes, and soon, about ten of us were sitting around the small shop, ordering our usual drinks. Once that was done, we began talking among ourselves about nothing in particular. It took me about ten minutes, but I finally realised that something was odd.

Four Wars...And Counting

 Recently, my brother - in - law and I were having a casual chat about everything under the sun, when he said: Canada and U.S have the longest undefended border in the world.

That, along with facts like you cannot lick your own elbow (Seriously, you cannot,) were tucked away in the Trivia section of my brain, until he said something else as well. "Look at us, fighting between the border of India and Pakistan."

Naturally, I replied the same way any Indian or Pakistani is expected to reply. "But its different in our case," I said, hesitantly.

"Threshold? What Threshold?"

Odds are you've been in this situation yourself. A friend, colleague or relative is crying about something horrible that happened to him. And into this scenario walks in another fellow, delivering the cliched yet necessary line that goes something like this. "What're you crying about? This is nothing. There are so many worse things that could happen to you..."

Like most of you reading this, I've heard this myself. I've been told so by my parents, friends and teachers. In fact, you might have even read posts of mine declaring that the pain we suffer is little compared to that of people all around us.

Yet, recently, I had....you could say, an epiphany, though it wasnt all that dramatic. More like an apple-falling-on-the-head moment. And that's how I got this post.

Not Today...

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I was on the phone with Irfan, and since we'd just finished our 10th Grade Board Exams, I had all the time in the world to talk. "Did you see the match the Arsenal - Liverpool match?" I asked.

"Hold on a sec," He said, and before I could ask him why, I heard the sound of muffled coughs.It wasnt the type of cough you hear when someone's clearing their throat. Nor was it the kind where someone's chocking on something. Instead, it was a continous, hoarse sounding cough. And I immediately understood.

10 Likes and 20 Comments

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"...Hmm, what should I do. Should I buy a 7 riyal large can of Coke...or go for two small cans of 3 riyals each? I guess the 7 Riyal can is bigger...but I dont think I'm that thirsty right now. Guess I'll go for the two small cans instead. Peace out people!"

What you just read, was a Status Update on Facebook. No, seriously. Someone actually took pains to type it all down, so that every one of his 326 friends could know what exactly he drank.

Well, there's good news and bad news as far as this story is concerned. The good news is, the fellow was quite pleased with the decision he took. The bad news....well, he began wondering whether he needed ketchup or Mayonnaise for his burger...

Years from now, we might look back and talk about how Live Updates, such as on Facebook, Twitter, Orkut (?). What I'm wondering is...will we remember just how messed up the whole system was?

Think about it. A Status Update was originally meant to be a clever and quick way of letting your friends know how you were doing. You could say things like, "Enjoying my vacation in Venice,", or maybe something like, "Tired after a long day's work".

If that was the actual idea, I'm sure the genius who came up with the idea must be smashing his head onto his computer monitor right now. Because, obviously, things havent worked out quite according to plan, have they?

Take a look:

Arnold Webber is happy, happy, happy, happy! :)) :))
I know happiness is supposed to be contagious, but cmon, get a grip!

Thomas is in the mall! Good fun//\\Misses all his friends...Luv u guys! Stay cool...Keep rocking...Peace Out!
This, just for a trip to the mall. Cant imagine what a 2 month vacation would sound like...

Of course, not all Status Updates are horrible. There are some that actually make you think, or atleast chuckle lightly. Which is when I realised that Status Updates actually reflect real life.

The thought came to mind when I read a Status Update of a friend of mine. It was about him preparing for an upcoming tournament. Nothing much, just a status saying that he was excited. It got 15 likes, and almost 35 comments. For those of you who're not in Facebook, that's a pretty good response.

Just above his status, was another one. It was from a mutual friend who wasnt high up in the social ladder, and what he had to say, wasnt so exciting. "Life sucks....everything feels horrible...Just wish I could end it all..."

No likes. No comments. Nothing at all.

Which makes you wonder. Why is it that a popular guy's upcoming tournament is more important that another guy's potentially suicidal status update? Why dont we all rush towards him, asking what's wrong?

The answer is simple. That's how life is, most of the time. The school heartthrob could twist his leg and have the whole cheerleading squad around him. No one notices the loner in the rest room, with his wrists slashed, almost lifeless.

Of course, that doesnt mean we're all cold hearted. Why, I myself am going to update my status with a link to this post...and then wait to see how many comments I get.

It just means we're human...and sometimes, that worries me.

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A Single Cup of Tea

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This is a fictionalized diary entry from an army man's journal...

Life was supposed to be an adventure for me. And for the first 25 years of it, I thought I was doing just fine. Until the incident on 26th August, 1988. As newly promoted Group Leader, it was my duty to carry out reconnaissance missions throughout a jungle that basically functioned as an Enemy base.

It all happened so quickly, that I still dont remember most of it. All I know for sure is this. Because of my mistake, three men in my team were taken hostage. For the next 48 days, they were severely tortured. Though they were eventually freed through diplomatic interventions, life never returned to normal. Not for them. And especially not for me.

I quit the Army. I cut contact with my Army buddies. The thought that my actions had caused so much pain for my comrades, I realised, was too hard to bear.

Which was how I ended up working part time in a restaurant.

My job was simple enough. I took care of preparing the drinks. One day, a customer chocked after taking a sip from a cup of tea I'd made. Turned out, I'd put in pepper instead of Cinnamon.

Which made me realise I wasnt even fit to make a cup of tea.

My boss brought the cup back, and bellowed with fury. "You nincompoop!" he cried. "What the hell are you fit for? Cant make a cup of tea without killing somebody? Are you trying to run me out of business..."

Only one phrase caught my mind. Cant make a cup of tea....without killing somebody.

The next day, I sat idly next to the window, ignoring the growing pile of orders for tea. Soon someone noticed the delay, and called the Boss.

"Oy!" He yelled, entering the kitchen. "What's the matter with you? Why the hell arent you making tea?"

Without moving a muscle, I kept staring out of the window. "What's the use?" I asked. "I'll probably screw it up anyway."

Surprisingly, he didnt reply. Instead, swearing loudly, he got someone else to take care of the orders. That night, as we were closing up, he entered the kitchen again.

"Hey kid, what's the matter with you?" He asked angrily. I didnt reply.

"What, you're sad because you screwed up a cup of tea yesterday? Is that it? So what are you planning on doing? Quiting your job altogether? Is that you're bloody brilliant idea? It better not be, sonny, cuz that's a shitty idea. Let me tell you what you'll do. You'll be here at 6 in the morning, and you'll start making tea the moment I ask you to. You'll make sure they taste good. If there's less sugar in one of them, the next time, you'll add more sugar. If the customer says the tea is too strong, you'll make sure you reduce the number of tea bags next time. And you'll keep doing this, day in and day out! You understand me? You'll keep doing this, until you become the bloody best tea maker in this place!"

He stopped for breath, and threw me a spiteful look. As he turned to leave, he remarked, more to himself than me. "Stupid little kid. Quitting cuz of one little cup of tea..."

What he said that night, changed my life.

I rejoined the Army within a month. By 1992, I was a Lieutant. By 1996, I was a Colonel.

Why? Because I realized that life....was just like preparing tea. Every day is like a single cup of tea. Just because you ruined your cup yesterday, doesn't mean you stop. All you have to do is make sure your cup of tea gets better....one day at a time.


[Please leave your comments, and rate the post as well....]
 
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The Pressure Cooker Syndrome

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It was almost 7 o' clock, and I couldn't afford to be late to work yet again. So I rushed to the kitchen, threw open a cupboard and took out my Pressure Cooker. In my haste, the nozzle of the Pressure Cooker slammed against the tiled wall. Cursing loudly, I placed the Cooker on the stove, and left for work...

Ramesh said he was fine. And to the surprise of his friends, it seemed he really was. Even after being unfairly fired from his job, Ramesh was in good spirits. "I spent 10 years at the firm," he said calmly, "It's about time I had a change."

Martin meanwhile, was being a complete gentleman. He and his wife had just divorced, and he was quite fine about it. "I'm fine, guys," he said. "She wanted the divorce. There's nothing more to it." He was frighteningly calm.

The Cooker began hissing softly, as the water inside began to boil. The jammed nozzle made sure none of the steam was let out. Silently, the cooker remained on the stove...

Ramesh laughed the whole week. He attended parties, hung out with friends, and completely ignored the topic of his unemployment. He was far too happy to think about it.

Martin was behaving like a hot blooded bachelor already. He never mentioned his ex-wife, and made sure no one ever talked to him about her. He was over her, his friends were reminded. It's all in the past. It was time to move on. And that's it.

Two hours after I'd left, the Cooker began shaking violently. Steam was building up inside, and the hissing was getting louder.

"How long have you been at Wilton Corp., Ramesh?" his friend asked as they played a game of Poker at the bar. "Ten years," Ramesh replied. "Wow, that's a long time, isn't it? I'm surprised they fired you after so long. Have you found another job yet?". Ramesh shook his head. It had been over a month since he lost his job. His bills were over due, his insurance had expired. Suddenly he felt angry, first at himself and then at his company. How could they just fire him like that...

After hosting a successful birthday party, Martin said goodbye to his friends. Just as he was about to leave, Joseph turned around and casually remarked. "By the way, you heard about Caroline? She's getting married next week." Martin froze for a second. And suddenly broke into a smile. "Oh," he said. "Good for her. I hope..I hope she's happy..."

Finally the Cooker rattled, almost toppled over, and exploded...

They found Ramesh's car rammed into a roadside tree. The police are assuming that he was heavily drunk. His friends knew for certain that he was. He had stumbled into his car, grumbling to himself. As he drove off, one of them heard him talk about his company. "10 bloody years, and this is what they do to me..." Finally, it had all come back to him.

Martin's best friend came by at 8 in the morning. He found the living room trashed. Shattered glass was spread all over. A few paintings, along with the television and trophy cabinet were damaged. Martin was leaning against the wall, weeping to himself. As his friend tried consoling him, Martin buried his face in his hands. 'Claire...' he managed to say.

The Fireman surveyed the kitchen, and looked at me in disdain. "Sir, you should know better than this. The Cooker was obviously damaged. Must be a jammed nozzle. Anyways, there's nothing much we can do now. It'll take a few days to fix this mess"

We all suffer from the Pressure Cooker Syndrome. Perhaps it's just 21st century style, but for some reason, hiding our emotions has suddenly become the 'cool' thing to do. 'Get over it', 'Dont care a damn'. There are a dozen people around to hand us advice. Wish emotions were so easy to get rid off. Anger, sorrow, jealousy, depression...all going away if we just ignore it.

They don't just go away. You cant just pretend to be happy. You cant run away from how you feel. That's as smart as using a jammed Pressure Cooker. And if you've seen my kitchen, you'll realize it isn't a very smart thing to do.

Please do drop your comments, if you've read this far. It helps to know you're opinion. And it helps to keep the blog alive.

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'When We Were Kids...'

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I'm sure you can relate to this. Has it ever happened that you're eating lunch with your family, or watching T.V. together one evening, when the elders around you say something like, "What all happens in this generation. When we were kids..."

And so it begins.

It's fascinating at first to hear that your grandfather lived in a village. Its even funny when they tell you about how they would play in the mud and splash around in the water, (though a bit scary when you realise they never had Lifebuoy around...)

But after a while, it's infuriating when your dad tells you that he walked 5 kilometers to school everyday, everyday! So I wondered how it would be if we could get a turn instead, to talk about how it was when 'We Were Kids...'


Life was good back then. Most of us spent our childhoods, playing amazing games on revolutionary game consoles like the Playstation.

Our teenage years were spent, almost always next to the computer. We chatted with total strangers in MSN Messenger, sometimes until they became our closest friends. We made accounts in social networking sites like Orkut and Facebook. For a while, it seemed as though the 11th Commandment was 'Thou Shall try to get as many scraps as possible'. Some of us had friends all over the globe, from Argentina to Germany to Japan.

We photographed every important event of our lives, and some, sadly, photographed even the unimportant ones. Pictures of Birthday parties, Summer trips, Weekend Stay-overs....everything was uploaded for everyone to see. All of us felt important, as though everyone else wanted to know what we had to say. So we updated our status every other day. What's more, we read every one Else's status updates. We let everyone know when we were happy, we sulked publicly when we were sad. We sought comfort when we were depressed, we swore publicly when we were pissed off...

We had friends. Loads of them. We had friends whom we'd never ever seen in person. We had friends who were actually our friends' friends. We had friends who wished us on our birthdays, we had friends who forwarded mails every time. Then we had friends whom we messaged often. There were other friends who we'd call often. We messaged each other at every time of the day, left scraps, gave miscalls. We were never out of touch, unless we wanted it that way.

We watched movies. Not once a month. Not even once a week. We watched a movie whenever we wanted. We watched movies like the Titanic and Lord of the Rings, which left us spellbound. We watched movies like the Matrix, that dazzled our senses. We watched movies like Spiderman and The Dark Knight. We memorized movie scenes, by hearted (actually learnt by heart!) movie dialogues.

We witnessed historic events. We stared in horror at our television screens, as two planes crashed into two towers. We cried when we saw people being slaughtered in war. We shook our heads in despair as bombs ripped across cities all over the world. We worried about death, yet faced it bravely. Earthquakes, floods and hurricanes came, but we stood strong and brave. Even a Tsunami washed away our cities, but not our courage.

We watched as horrible leaders like Saddam Hussain were disposed, ironically, by other incompetent leaders like George Bush. After years of Anti-Americanism, we were mesmerized by the speeches of a man born to a Kenyan man, and a woman from Kansas. For the first time, almost all over the world, we applauded the victory of Barack Obama.

Then there were those days when we counted the months, weeks, hours and minutes, camping outside bookstores so that we could get our first copies of the latest Harry Potter book. Newspapers and Television channels around the world covered the story as millions of us hoped that Harry Potter would survive. And he did.

Perhaps most important of all, we lived in the generation of 'Greats'. We got the unique chance of watching Michael Jordan soar to slam a basket,Tiger Woods swing a drive, Sachin Tendulkar send yet another ball out of the stadium, Roger Federer lift Grand Slam after Grand Slam after Grand Slam. We bid good bye to Michael Schumacher after he won everything there was to win. We said 'Well Done, Michael', 'Good going Michael', 'Keep it up Michael', 'Excellent Michael', 'Unbelievable, Michael!'...until we smiled and simply said, 'Wow, Michael Phelps. Wow.'

Perhaps even more importantly, we were mesmerized by a Jamaican, who sailed across a race track as though he was out for a jog. Usain Bolt became the fastest man ever, and we witnessed it.

It was exciting back then. We used the Ipod and the Internet, to hear the music of Britney Spears, Eminem, Linkin Park and Coldplay...without paying a single cent. New Superstars were born, and we regretted the death of the biggest pop star of all time. Michael Jackson.

Years from now, we'll be asked about these times. They'll want to know how it was back in the early 2000s'. And this is perhaps what we'll say....about the time when 'We Were Kids...'

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What About The 'Other Guy'?

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"What about the other guy?" I protested.

"Oh, just shut up," my friends replied in unison.

It all started when we decided to watch an English Romantic Comedy. Dumb choice, was what I first thought. But then something struck me as odd...

The plot of the story was that there was a guy named Robin, who loved a girl named Jenny. Jenny however, has a boyfriend named Tim. So the entire story is about how the hero tries to woo the heroine. And believe it or not, it actually works! (Yah, I was just as surprised as you!). So with a matching soundtrack, the credits start rolling. And the movie's a success.

Or is it?

What about the 'Other Guy'?

In the case of this movie, the 'other guy' is Tim. Personally, I was rooting for Tim from the beginning. He seemed like a good enough guy, and there was no reason why Jenny should leave him for Robin. But then Jenny gives the explanation. Tim is not as funny as Robin. He's also not as caring, or as loving. Nor does he have that same sense of crazy enthusiasm. As though it's a fault of his, Tim is a quiet, reserved kind of guy.

So Jenny decides she's much better of with Robin instead, and everyone in the theatre hall applauds. Well, except me.

Because here's my problem. I'm happy if I get to go through life as Robin. But what if I'm Tim instead? What if I'm not the funniest, smartest, sweetest guy? What if...I'm the 'Other Guy'?



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Wanted : A Loving Family

"Dude, let me help you. What's wrong? You've been quiet the whole evening. That's not like you, John. Now tell me, what's the matter?"

I watched as John hesitated. I had a reputation for solving problems. It was a reputation I enjoyed. It felt nice being able to help others. And if there was anyone who needed help right now, it was John. He had accepted my invitation to spend the Eid holidays with my family, since his parents were still in the United States on a visit. He had been excited about it. That is, till he reached my house. From then onwards, he was quiet.

"You really want to know?" he asked me.

"Yes, I do."

"What if you cant help me? That'd make you feel bad, wouldnt it?" He smiled wryly. John knew me well.

"Cmon man. Just tell what's bothering you."

"Do you know where my parents are now?" John asked.

"Yah, they're in the US, right?"

"Yes. Do you know why they're there? Because they're visiting their family friends. That's what the counsellor asked them to do. To resolve their problems or something like that."

"Counsellor?"

"Yup. Marriage counsellor. They're planning to get a divorce. I'm not surprised. If you'd spent a week in my house, you'd pay them to get a divorce. All this wouldnt have bothered me. I mean, I never had a loving family. My Dad never bought me a present on my birthday. Atleast he's out of town, so that's an excuse. My Mom's worse. She doesnt even bother to remember when it's my birthday. But you know why I'm thinking of all that now? Because, because I see how it's with you."

"With me?" I asked incredulously. I didnt understand what he was saying.

Just then my cousin brother knocked on the door. It was time for lunch, he said. As I got up, John moved towards the door. Before leaving, he turned around and said: "If you dont like your friends, you can drop your friendship. You can find new friends. You can choose whom to like, and whom to avoid. But with family - with family, you get just one chance. What do you do if that chance gets ruined?"

Eid Day Lunch was a festivity in my house. The table was surrounded by my father, mother, two sisters, my uncle, aunt, two cousins, another uncle, John and myself. As could be expected, there was a lot of talking, teasing and laughing. Plates were distributed, dishes were moved around. Everyone helped everyone else. Long stories were told. Jokes were cracked. The ladies blushed, the men shouted in mock anger.

For the first time perhaps, it all made sense to me. I could sense the love between everyone seated at the table. The witty repartee between me and my cousins; the way my mother told embarrasing stories about my childhood. Memories were brought back from years gone by; the table was filled not just with food, but a deep sense of happiness and satisfaction. It was one of the best lunches I ever had.

Later that evening, when everyone was out in the courtyard, having tea, John sat besides me. "So, what's your solution?" he asked. I had thought of it all along. What can we do if we have families where there isnt any peace, let alone love between one another? What can we do if our brother or sister, father or son, never give us the respect and happiness we deserve? I think he already knew what I was about to say.

"I dont know the solution, John," I said, perhaps for the first time ever. I looked at his face, a plastic smile hiding his emotions. At that moment I knew. The lunch we had, was one of the most painful experiences for John. It made him realise just what he was missing.

If you dont like your friends, you can drop your friendship. You can find new friends. You can choose whom to like, and whom to avoid. But with family - with family, you get just one chance. What do you do if that chance gets ruined?

"I dont know what the solution is..." I repeated again, more to myself, than to him.

[More than a thought, this post is intended to be a discussion. Please let me know what you're answer to John's question would have been. If you know anyone who feels the same way as John, please ask them to comment as well. If needed, please post the comments as Anonymous. This story is fictional, but as with all my posts, it's inspired from real life.]

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Andy Dufrain

Have you heard the story of Andy Dufrain (actually spelled Dufresne)? If you've watched The Shawshank Redemption you'd know. But since we're all busy watching Harry Potter or the Transformers, I'd like to tell Andy Dufrain's story. (Warning: Given below is the plot of the movie. Spoiler Alert...)

Dufrain is a banker, whose convicted of murdering his wife and her lover. Due to circumstantial evidence, he is convicted and sent to prison for two life sentences. There he meets Ellis Red Redding. The movie shows Andy's experiences at the prison, but one thing note worthy, is the fact that Andy asks Ellis Red Redding to smuggle in a rock hammer and a poster of a movie actress.

As the story progresses, we come to find out that Andy Dufrain was actually innocent, and wrongly convicted of murder. Then, 17 years after he first entered prison, Andy Dufrain is missing from his prison cell. The furious prison warden discovers how Andy escaped.

Through a tunnel in his prison wall....

Andy Dufrain spent about 17 years chipping away at his wall, late at night after the prison lights were switched off. He used to take all the concrete that he chipped away, put them in his pocket, and emptied them in the prison yard every morning. Andy Dufrain was an innocent man. He was finally free.

After 17 years. 17 long years. Every day during those 17 years, Andy chipped away using nothing but a small rock hammer(the size of a slightly large toothbrush).

There's a line which Andy says to Ellis Red Redding in the movie. The line is: "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies".

Hope. Something most of us lose within a week, or a month. We try dieting for three weeks and then decide its easier to just remain fat. We try to score better marks and after the first four report cards, decide we're maybe not smart enough after all. We try being friends with someone we really like, and then drop it after the first few tries. Worse still, we try getting back together with our estranged friends, and leave it after the first few no's.

Sometimes it does seem futile to hope. Sometimes you might hear them say, 'Give up Dude', 'It's no use', or a personal favourite of some, 'Get a life!'. Well, when Andy Dufrain asked Ellis Red Redding for a rock hammer, Ellis jokingly asked him if he was planning on tunneling his way out of prison. "It would take you 600 years to do that!" Ellis said, to imply how impossible the task really was.

He was wrong. Andy Dufrain took less than 20....


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Black And White...Or Shades of Grey?

The class fell silent when John entered. It was always like that. No one spoke much in John's presence. After all, he was the infamous backbencher, the perinnial failure, the guy who dared to back answer teachers. Some even said he was a chain smoker. I didnt know what to believe. But one thing was for sure. John was a bad fellow.

A bad fellow. My cousin, who was studying in the same school as my senior, heard me mention about John one day. He laughed. "Funny how you treat life like a Lord of the Rings movie." He remarked. What do you mean?

Well, you've seemed to lable John as a bad guy havent you? Meaning you know some people who are good?"

That was an absurb question. Of course I knew good fellows in my class. There were plenty. Like Philip, the class topper for example.

My cousin shook his head, realising I wouldnt understand. Just before leaving though, he said. "Maybe you should know more about John. It might change your opinion about him...."

Three weeks later, I had just finished my Maths examination. I was waiting for my friends outside the hall, when my cousin met me. "Ah, just the person I wanted to talk to. Wanna know more about John?"

I didnt mind.

Fine, then here's a good intro for the guy. Till 9th Grade, he was amongst the toppers in class."

I laughed so hard my cousin hit me on my head. "It isnt a joke. And you dont have to mock me so much, too."

"I'm sorry. I just found that too hard to believe."

"Yes, so did I. Well, turns out till 9th he was in Bahrain. That is, until his parents had a falling out with some of his relatives and decided to leave. He didnt want to leave. He loved his school, his friends and most of all, his relatives. It wasnt him who had a fight with them after all. But against his wishes, he was made to join this school. The first two months were terrible for him. He was emotionally wrecked, and that showed on his mark sheet. Everyone was quick to label him a back bencher.

And that's where he's been ever since. At the back bench."

My smile had vanished, and I looked at my cousin seriously. "But then, if John was a brilliant fellow, why couldnt he prove himself?"

"I dont know. There could be many reasons. Firstly, he had a deep grudge against his father for forcing him to shift schools. Then there was the lack of motivation. For a guy whose lost all that he loved, getting 100 in Maths isnt excatly exciting, is it? But that's not how the teachers saw it. They piled on the pressure. So did his parents. They made sure he didnt have any of the freedom normal teenagers had. And it was bound to happen."

"What would happen?" I asked.

"John took to smoking. Believe me, it wasnt to prove himself or become a big shot. No, it was because he couldnt bear it all. Yes, it was a bad decision. But sometimes I wonder, if I myself would have done the same thing, if I had gone through what he had."

"So, he's been like this ever since?"

"Yes. Why would things change? He's labled that way isnt he? He is the bad guy, the guy who never studies, the guy who's good for nothing. In the wonderful class heirachy we've formed, he's below the Super Nerds, below the All Rounders, below the Sports Stars, below the Average Joes. He's at the bottom of the rung. And that's where he'll stay perhaps."

My cousin had to leave suddenly, since a teacher was looking for him. As I waited for my friends, I thought to myself: We spend so much time seeing the world in Black and White. Everyone's either purely good or purely bad to us. We praise those who are impeccable, and shun those who have flaws. So many of us can easily point out the bad in someone. How many of us try to figure out how he became so 'bad' in the first place?

We're not either black or white. We're not either completely good, or completely bad. We're shades of grey. Some lighter than others. But sadly, we've forgotten that. We've begun treating people in contrasting colours....

My impression of John had changed drastically. I could see him for who he really was. A brillant student, caught in the troubles of life. A fellow who reacted in the best possible way, to deal with all the pain he had to face. Yes, he smoked. Yes, he back answered a teacher once, out of frustration. Sure, he had utter disregard for marks or exams. But I wonder: wouldnt I have reacted the same way, if I went through all that he did? Maybe not. But maybe....just maybe....yes. I would have.

I went back into the hall to collect my hall ticket. That's when I saw John chuck his question paper into the bin. "How did you do?" I asked, trying to sound polite.

He shrugged his shoulders, and looked at me in the eye. "What does it matter", he asked. Philip commented as he saw him leave, "He's probably going to fail again this time. He wouldnt know half the answers anyway."

A minute later though, John's words had a new meaning. I had caught a glimpse of his question paper before he chucked it. It had scribblings all over it. As I took it out from the bin and straigthened it, I saw the answers to the six mark questions, written on the side of the margin. They were merely rough calculations. But they were almost fully correct.

John knew the answers to the questions. He was smart enough to calculate them on his own. But I had a feeling he never wrote them onto his answer paper. Why? Because, as he said, 'What does it matter?". Everyone expected him to fail. In their eyes, he wasnt a kid with a lot of potential. For them, he was one of those people who would never succeed, who would never pass. One of those people who would never be correct, who would never be 'Good'. For them the world was just Black and White...

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Why I Began Eating My Tiffin...

I know it's an unusual title. But then again, this is an unusual post.

I have a really annoying habit. Just like most of you. Many a times I forget to eat my tiffin. The reasons are always good enough. I had Prefect Duty during the breaks. I was completing my homework. Sometimes, it's actually true. The canteen just has better food to choose from.

The only one who's annoyed by all this, is my Mother of course. After all, who would take it kindly, if the food they prepared at the break of dawn, is returned half a day later, uneaten and wasted.

It's not as though I didn't care about it. I guess I just didn't care enough to actually do something about it. Until one evening, my mother snapped.

I was doing my homework, when my mother asked me whether I'd eaten what she prepared for me. "Uh, no."

Things had gotten that simplified. Just "Uh, No."

"You dont care about all the food you waste, do you?" My mother asked. It was always the same script. "One day, you'll have to face God, and be accountable for all your actions. Do you know how many people are dying because of hunger...?" I listened, like I always did.

Just then, my father tossed a newspaper page onto the table. "Take a look," he said curtly. There was an article, about a boy in India, who died after falling from a tree.

Sad, I thought.

Then I read the whole article, which was unfortunately in Malayalam, and hence took a little time. It seems the boy had climbed the tree, to get a fruit from the top. My mother shook her head when she heard me reading in my broken Malayalam.

"No! The boy was starving for food. Desperately, he decided to climb the tree and get some fruits to eat. A passerby who saw this impoverished boy, took pity on him. He decided to feed the boy, and asked the chap to get down from the tree. The boy, so overjoyed at the fact of getting one square meal, hastily tried to climb down the tree. That's when it happened. He lost his grip, and fell. His limp, malnourished body couldnt take the fall. He died.

I heard the story, and looked at my mother's face. I thought it was a joke. It had to be. After all, it sounded incredulous.

"Do you know what the mother was crying about?" She asked. "She was crying at her son's funeral, wailing about how the poor boy had to die without ever eating one proper square meal. 'Oh, why did he have such a horrible fate!' the mother wailed."

There was an uncomfortable silence after my mother finished narrating the story. I finished my homework. We had our dinner. I checked my MSN, Facebook and blog. We all went to sleep.

The next day, as my friends called me to hurry up on the way to the canteen, I stopped to take out my Tiffin box. "What happened, didnt bring any money today? I'll pay for you," one of them said.

I shook my head silently but did not reply. After all, he did not know why I had began eating my Tiffin....

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The Meaning of Cheapness

"Which movie do we watch? Dark Knight or Hancock?"

"I love Will Smith!"

"Well, I hear this Joker guy's really good..."

"Fine then," Thomas said, "let's watch both of them."

"What! That's 70 Riyals! I'm not wasting that much money on movies!" Akash cried (you could make that out from the exclamation marks...)

I put my hand on my head, as in, just the palm part of it, like they do in the movies, and then shook - my head only, you know, not my whole body. Anyways, I did that, because I knew what would follow.

"God, you're such a cheapo!" Thomas declared. Here we go again, I thought....

I always had a predefined conception of a Cheapo. In the beginning, I thought a cheapo was someone who wore an over sized, stained shirt, with uncombed hair, grizzled beard, a toe sticking out of their left or right (maybe both) shoes. Then I went to school and learnt about Beggars.

After that, I thought a Cheapo was someone who'd walk into a shop, and exclaim when he sees the price tag of a Dolce & Gabbana jacket. Till date, that's been my view on the topic. Until I thought of Akash and Thomas.

These two buddies of mine are great to hang out with. But only if you knew how each of them behaved. Most of the time, I'd go with the two of them to the Mall, hoping to either enjoy Ice Skating, or catch a Movie. Akash would spend about half an hour wondering whether he'd spend his money on the skating, or the movie. Soon after that, Thomas, who'd have just finished watching a movie, would accompany Akash to the Ice Skating ring.

It's understandable ofcourse. Akash isnt the kind of guy who gets a thick wallet everytime he goes to the mall. Thomas, on the other hand, would never be able to guess how much money his wallet has.

The most painful example of Akash's money mindedness (or Cheapness, depending on how you look at it) came when we had to catch Transformers at the Multiplex. After getting out tickets, we reached the Snack Bar. "Three 7Ups'" Thomas said.

"12 Riyals," the lady replied.

Akash froze. He wasnt too bad at maths, so he figured out the cost of his 7Up Can. "Er, you know what, I think I'll buy my drink from the Supermarket downstairs."

Thomas, who wasnt too bright himself, asked incredulously. "The movie's going to start now. Why on earth would you want to buy your drink from the Supermarket. You can buy it from here right?"

"No, I cant, because, because I need Diet Coke."

Even the lady behind the counter raised her eyebrows, when Akash, a 5 foot 8 inch tall guy who weighed 61 kilos, said that. Thomas was too confused to ask anything more. I merely smiled. A can of soft drink from the Supermarket cost just 1 riyal.

I reached home, and wondered what the meaning of Cheapness was. Could Akash be called cheap? The lady behind the counter certainly would say so. Then something happened, which confused me even more.

Two weeks ago, we were at the theatre again. This time, Thomas's wallet felt considerably lighter. The reasons were clear to me ofcourse. His dad just had a huge pay cut, and the expenses at home were a little on the higher side. "Would you like something to drink?" The lady behind the Snack Bar counter asked.

"Yes, one 7Up," Thomas said, opening his wallet. There were just five riyals left. "Actually, I wont be needing the drink, thank you."

Akash looked around in surprise. So did I.

"Hey, why dont we walk down to the supermarket and get something to drink?" Thomas asked.

"Why?" Akash asked, looking surprised.

"I dont know. I'm in the mood for walking a little. Now, are we going or not?"

We got our drinks, and watched the movie. Still, my question wasnt solved. What is the Meaning of Cheapness? Was Thomas being Cheap, or just saving money? Then what's the limit for saving money and when does it turn into cheapness? Is there a standard for such stuff?

I dont know the answer. Why dont you tell me what you think?


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My Mother's Birthday

There I was, with my classmates, chatting away, when someone yelled out to us, "Happy Women's Day!"

The others paid no attention to the yelling. Even I turned my back. But then it struck me. "Shoot!"

"What happened?" some asked.

"Crap! Today's my mother's birthday!"

It's been like this for the past so many years. And almost all the time, I only remember my mother's birthday, because (thankfully) it falls on World Women's Day.

I went back home. And guess what? I forget all about the birthday. Till about 8 in the evening. That's when I looked at my Mom and said. "By the way, it's your birthday right?"

She nodded her head, partly surprised that I remembered after all. That was the end of it.

Then I came online. And checked Facebook. Visited Orkut. Quickly logged in and out of MSN. That's when it struck me. Wasnt something wrong here?

Imagine how you or I would have felt if no one wished us on our birthdays. In fact, most of us subconsiously keep a count of how many people wish us. We check our Walls, Scrapbooks, MSN Offliners, Gmail accounts, Mobile Sms's, Telephone calls...all because some years ago, we were born on that particular day.

What about my Mother? Her birthday, sad to say, was no different from any other day of her life. There's wasnt even anything special for dinner, since I wasnt feeling too well.

Sure, not all of us are as unabashedly shameless as I am. But some of you, atleast a handful, must be knowing what I'm talking about. It doesnt have to be Mom's birthday. It could be your Dad's as well. Or why not, even your Grandparents...

For sixteen years of my existence, never for once had I woken up, with the thought that today was my Mother's birthday. I felt ashamed. I promised myself that next year would be different.

But as I got up from the study table, I realised not everything has to wait. Leaning over, I hugged my mother, and gave her a kiss. Perhaps that would make her day a little more special....
 
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You Had A Bad Day?

It was one of those days when life seemed horrible in every possible way. About three months ago, I had a huge fight with a very close friend of mine. And like any other teenager, it affected me a lot. In fact, my entire day at school went bad. For some odd reason, there seemed to be no joy left in the world anymore.

As thought that wasnt enough, I got out of school, only to realise that my bus had left without me. How much more miserable could life get? Deciding that I needed to get home before I broke down and cried about my pitiful life, I walked towards the nearest bus stop.

That's where I met Irfan. He was taller, and more good looking than me. And with his bag slung across his shoulders, he looked like a college kid. We began talking, and soon I found myself ranting about life and all its problems. He was a patient listener. In fact, he was a passive listener. He smiled when he had to, shook his head sympathetically when he had to. For half an hour, that was all he did.

Then the bus arrived, and we both got on board. By now I felt as though I knew him my whole life. It's easier to make a friend when you're feeling horrible, I guess.

Then suddenly, I realised that I never asked him anything about himself.

"So, dude, tell me. How was your day?"

He smiled. The kind of smile that makes you wonder what the person is thinking. And then he told me how his day was.

Irfan was a 12th grader. Not a very studious 12th grader, unfortunately. In fact, the school in which he was studiying, had decided not to allow him to write the Boards. The only way he would be able to write, was if he passed his Physics Pre-Boards. That day was his Physics Pre-Board. Realising that he had just one shot at getting his school life in order, Irfan studied as hard as he could.

Things were looking quite positive that morning. He left his house, boarded the bus, and was revising his lessons. Just as he reached the school, though, things changed. Irfan realised that he had forgotten his Hall Ticket. Without that, he wouldnt be able to write his Preboards. There were just a few minutes left for the exam to begin. And the bus driver refused to take him back to his house.

Irfan ran the fastest he had ever run in his entire life. He ran through the streets, dodging passerbyes and crossing busy roads. With sweat making his shirt stick to his body, he ran all the way to his house, which you can understand is far(why else would he use a bus to get to school, right?).

He got the Hall Ticket, and ran all the way back as well. But well, as they say, all bad things happen together. He was 20 minutes late for the exam. What was more, with all the sudden rush of running across the city, Irfan couldnt seem to remember what he had learnt. That happens to many of us, right? The only difference is, we've never had to run across town for our hall tickets.

Irfan did badly in the exam. That's actually an understatement. He wasnt sure of passing. In fact, within an hour of submitting the paper, he was called to the Principal's office. Seems they had a jolly easy time correcting his paper. There was nothing much in it. And then came the bad news. Irfan wouldnt be given the Admit Card for his Boards. Without an Admit Card, he wouldnt be able to write his Board Exams. Without writing his Board Exams....well, there's nothing much he could do about his further studies.

"So what now?" I asked him after he had finished telling the story. "Well, I'll have to bring my parents to meet the Principal. If he allows, then I'll be able to write the exam. I'll have to wait till January 3rd. Six long days, till January 3rd."

The bus stopped, and Irfan got up. "Anyways dude, take care," he said as he got down. "And I hope everything turns out alright between you and your buddy. Cheer up!"

The bus moved again. I was the only remaining passenger. The bus driver called out, "Where to, young man?"

I couldnt hear him. I was thinking about my bad day. Suddenly, life didnt seem so miserable. Suddenly, I didnt feel as though I was a victim of faith. In fact, I said a silent prayer. A prayer for everything good in my life. And also a prayer for Irfan, who had to wait six days to know whether he could write his Boards, and save his future studies...

Note: This story was actually inspired from a real life incident. Though the name, incident and dialogues have been changed, the effect it had on me was real. Waiting to hear your comments...

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