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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Blogger's Block....

For the past one week, there's a ritual I've followed strictly. Every morning, after crawling out of bed, I'd make my way to the computer, and visit Laptop Diary. No, not to egoistically admire my own little blog. But rather, to see the date of the last post. And as of writing this post, its been 14 days since my last (some blatantly labelled, filler) post. And thankfully, just like any blogger would want it, the absence was noticed.

Of course, not everyone knew the right reason for it though. My teacher referred to it as a symptom of typical teenage problems. Most of you'll get what I mean. Well, that's not the case. Then what is it? Well, I believe there's a phrase for it. Blogger's Block.

It's a nasty little problem, Blogger's Block. Well, its symptoms are fairly recognisable. Lack of original ideas, difficulty in forming proper sentences, redundancy in thought ('I think I should write about life.....no wait, I should write about...Life!'), and a general lack of willingness to write anything at all.

And why does this happen? Believe me, if I knew that, I'd probably know the cure as well. One of my friends asked me why  I wasnt posting regularly. And I gave the generally egoistic sounding answer, "Because I dont want to write a lot of sub standard posts. Each post should have quality; a proper standard." By his smirk, I figured he wasnt a fan of Laptop Diary.

Then there came a point where I literally stopped hiding behind excuses. After my father showed me a newspaper clipping. It was about a lady in Kerala, who was completely paralyzed, save for three fingers. And the news is? She just finished writing a book. As amazing as it sounds, she wrote for one hour a day. And finally completed the book.

I stared at the photo of the lady, lying on her stomach, holding a pen with her three fingers. She had a genuine smile on her face. And she had a copy of the book she just wrote.

That's when I walked up to my computer again. Maybe I might not post for three weeks again. Maybe I'll fill your inbox with subscriber emails. What ever it maybe, I'll try. I'm not sure, but after reading that newspaper clipping, I think I just found the cure for my Blogger's Block...

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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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The Second Most Asked Question

Here's a trivia question. What do you think is the second most asked question to kids? The most asked question, is ofcourse, "What's your name?"

The second, according to me, is : What do you want to become when you grow up?

Think about it. Almost all of us have been asked this question as we grew up from childhood to teenage life, and beyond. Whether its an aunt, or a neighbour, or even a passerby admiring us for our cuteness. And sadly, this was the same question which my mother wanted an answer to.

"What are you going to become?" she demanded to know.

Considering the fact that I was a Commerce student, who hated anything to do with Science, as well as Maths, I thought my options were quite limited. Yet even I was wondering. What would I become?

"A CA?"

I hate it when casual onlookers try to throw in their advice. They almost never know what they're talking about, do they?

One day, I was so frustrated that I went for a game of Pool. Sadly, it looked like God wanted to me to fix my career options as soon as possible. My pool partner couldnt stop talking about his plans for Chemical Engineering after 12th. Sometimes it seems like life's conspiring against you, doesnt it?

But then something happened which changed everything. A young man, in his late 20's, asked us if he could join in for a game of Pool. He wasnt the best in the business, but since we werent aiming for the Championships ourselves, we let him join.

Soon the topic came to that of future planning. "Ah, this reminds me of a friend of my grand dad. Used to be a really good guy. Funny thing is, this guy's father wanted him to be an IAS officer. In fact, that was kind of like his dying wish. Well, the fellow didnt make it though. Instead, he had to join some scientific research organisation -"

"Too bad," my friend cut in. "That's what happens when you dont plan out things properly, right? Just imagine if that guy could've made it through the IAS exams..."

The young man merely smiled. "You sound like my friend's dad. He said the same thing to his son as well."

"What happened to his son?" I asked.

"Oh, the same sad story. Except this time, the dad wanted the son to be a doctor. Actually forced the poor chap to appear for the Medical Entrance Examination. And, what do you think would've happened? He failed. Finally the guy decided to leave to Mumbai to follow his own interests, rather than listen to his dad -"

"Pity, real pity. Today's generation, all are the same. Think they know what they're doing. All this following your dream business doesnt work out in actual life."

The young man fell silent, yet had a grin on his face. We began concentrating on the pool game. Surprisingly, it turned into a stiff competition between my friend and the young man. Towards the end though, my friend was in a comfortable lead. Just as the young man took aim to hit his cue ball, he continued the story.

"By the way, I forgot to tell you the names of the two people I was talking about. The first person's name is A.P. J. Abdul Kalam."

The cue ball hit a stripped yellow ball, and it rolled into a pocket.

Seeing the stunned look on our faces, he continued. "And the other person. Well, his name is Resul Pookutty." A sharp hit, and another ball went into the pocket.

"Is this...all true?" I asked, half amused and half suspicious.

"Yes, it's all true. Sure, both of them had plans for the future. Both of them grew up thinking of their careers. But it didnt work out the way they wanted it to, did it? And see where it took them. One became the Rocket Man of India, not to mention one of the best presidents ever. The other, well, he became the third Indian to win an Oscar. Not something their fathers had planned for them, surely."

I looked at the pool table. There was just the 8 ball left. The young man took his aim. It was an impossible shot.

"So why did I tell you this story? Simple. You can plan all you want, about your life ahead. But know that it's not you who decides the future, it's the person above. That doesn't mean you shouldn't bother learning you're lessons. All it means is, believe in fate."

He hit the cue ball hard. It spun, hitting the 8 ball at angle. The ball rolled, hit the side of the pocket, spun for a moment, and then fell into it.

"And who knows," the young man remarked, "sometimes, even the impossible might happen for you."


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"Where Do Hamsters Come From?"

This post is partly rewritten from my previous post: The Bucket List. Dont mind if some of the themes discussed seem repetitive.

It was 1: 45 P.M., and all of us had just trudged back to the bus. Not surprisingly, it's wasnt an exceptionally good day at school. Too much homework in Physics and Chemistry. Tests in the other subjects. Most of us spent our time complaining about it all.

Slowly we turned towards the topic of farewell. Within a year, we would all be parting ways. Everything would change.

"What would you miss the most?" was the question we asked each other. "The bus journey to school." "Friends..." The list carried on for a while. And soon we fell silent, thinking about the future. The song Shadow of the Day by Linkin Park was playing on the mobile. A perfect nostalgic setting.

Suddenly I snapped out of it. "Guys, we need to do more fun stuff before we leave this place. Things like...like the Bucket List!"

Then I told them all about a scene in the movie The Bucket List, where Morgan Freeman is lying on a hospital bed, dying from Cancer. His friend Jack Nicholson is standing next to him. Morgan Freeman, at a time when he's face to face with death, cracks a joke which sends both of them into fits of laughter. They continue laughing hysterically, forgetting all their worries. And then Morgan Freeman asks Jack Nicholson for a pen. He takes out paper from his bag, and strikes out an item in his bucket list.

To Laugh Till I Cry.

Later, when we were a few minutes away from exiting the bus, I turned towards two of my good buddies, and said, "Guys, let's crack some lame jokes. Anyone got one?"

One of my friends had one ready. He took a short breath and asked: Where do Hamsters come from?

"Where do they come from?" The two of us asked.

"Hamsterdam!" It was one of the lamest jokes possible. Yet the three of us laughed. Laughed so hard, that we couldnt even give proper hi-fi's to each other. We laughed until our stomachs pained, and tears filled our eyes. It was one moment when I wished time would never change. But sadly, the day will come, when we'll be dressed in our suits and sarees, posing for our final pictures together. We will all tell how much we'll miss each other. But even on that day, when my friend turns around and asks, "Where do Hamsters come from?",

I'll have a smile on my face...

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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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