Examination Blues

Mia is frustrated. It’s almost a month since he had applied for revaluation and personal seeing of the law paper he could not clear. His college has no idea when he is supposed to go to the University to see his paper personally. He called up to the University to find out when he is to go. The lady who picked the phone said they are not ready yet. He doesn’t know ready with what. Now, the final date for submitting the application for revaluation and personal seeing was long ago. And all that the University has got to do is to let the Colleges know when their students are supposed to come to the University for Personal Seeing. They just need to sit down and count the number of students who have applied for personal seeing and schedule it accordingly. Or the University can even schedule it, assigning two days for a College. There are only three law colleges under his University.

Mia’s is a sad story. He is a hardworking and an intelligent fellow. Usually hard work and intelligence do not always go together. Now, Mia is a rare combination of sheer grit and wit. But he flunked in his law paper last semester. He is so angry with the University for making him flunk in a paper he wrote well.

He’s not happy with the University for Two Reasons:

1. His eighth semester exams are scheduled for next week or so. Now, he has not applied for a retest. And if personal seeing and revaluation doesn’t happen, then the future of the paper he could not clear is not going to be particularly a happy one.
   He flunked in a paper he thought he would never flunk. He passed in a paper he thought he would never pass. [He wanted to apply for revaluation in both, just to show that either way it was not fair. Some how I could convince him not to]
2. Now, a comment from one of his teachers angered him the most. Half of Mia’s classmates could not clear the same paper. The poor teacher, in his desperate attempt to console those good students who failed, said: “You see, forty papers were valued by one and forty papers were valued by another. In the second forty most of them failed. In the first forty all of them passed. Bad luck for the second bunch.”

Mia finds it hard to understand. Many of his classmates, who are below average, cleared this paper. He has no problem with that. What saddens him is the fact that those who are so confident about what they wrote could not clear. And there’s nothing they can do about it openly because their future lies in the hands of the University. Mia is wondering if he has to go to the exam hall after consulting an astrologer.

Mia is a first class student. Mia has never failed in any law paper so far. But University doesn’t need to know all that crap, does it? Universities can do anything and get away with it, ya.

A Cat Fight and Two Films

Last night was a perfect example for how two things so unrelated could coincide to lead from one thing to another. Last night I and Unni had one of our usual Cat Fights. Ya, that’s what I call them – Cat Fights. She’s a real Cat when she’s angry and I’m not anything less. I’m a Verbal Cat, fire breathing words that would readily qualify as bullshit at any given point of time. She’s a Scratching Cat, with real sharp fingernails. Our Cat Fights are usually over silly things. They are so silly that we just can’t believe we fought over something as silly as that, later, after everything is said and done.

It usually begins so calmly. We are talking about something and all. And out of the blue I do something that annoys her or she says something that irritates me like hell. And either one of us pull a long face. As the argument builds up, she goes angry. Though she’s a wannabe lawyer she can’t beat me when it comes to debating over silly things. Now, when she is angry, I don’t know how to handle it. The best thing I can do is to lie down beside her and touch the softness of her arm or something. I love touching her when she’s angry. But touching her when she’s angry can be really, really bad. You may end up with peeled off skin or a broken finger or swollen lips or puffed eyes.

I remember, once we were fighting. That was again over something as seriously silly as usual. The Cat Fight got worse. I ended up literally with two bleeding scratches on my wrist. Now, the end of that fight really turned out to be so charmingly steamy because of those two bleeding scratches. You know what I mean? Ya!

Last night we were watching the Tamil Movie, Amarkalam. [Unni is so well-informed about Tamil Films. She told me Shalini and Ajith, the lead actors of that film fell in love as they were shooting for the film.] The interior design of the Heroine’s home was too finger licking good. These days, we always make a mental note of cool interior design ideas as we watch movies so that we can use them later when we build a house. Now, they had the prototype of a phone booth in the heroine’s home, where they kept the phone. It was a cute red box that looked exactly like one of this Ooty Phone Booths. As the heroine was receiving a call, sitting inside the phone booth, Unni declared, ‘We are going to have something like that when we build a house.”

We have this habit of one saying exactly the same thing the other is thinking. That’s not magic or anything. In a six year old relationship you almost know the other person like the back of your palm. “I was thinking of the same thing.” I said.

“Oh! No, no. That’ll be like giving the kids a cozy place to, you know what…hm..No way. Even if we have it, we are going to have it in our room.” She said suddenly, as though she remembered something she forgot and was trying to recall for a long time.

“Why not?” I frowned.

“Why not what?” She turned her face to me from the screen.

“Let the kids enjoy that?” A Big Question about the kids yet to come. They are not even on their way.

“Are you saying you would permit the kids to do such things?”

“I don’t mind.” I said, in my most provocative tone.

“I do mind.” she said.

“Why? We used to talk hours together over the phone. Now, why not the kids live their life and we live ours?” I snapped back.

“I don’t want the kids to make the same mistake that we did.” she blurted out and all hell broke lose.

I pulled a long face. She tried to explain. I wasn’t in a mood to listen. She tried to pet me and put some reason into my head. And both of us knew one thing was going to lead to another. But it was going to take time.

However, life is full of surprises and it ain't going to take you where you plan to go. Unni went to the next room, in her pretentious fit of rage. I was supposed to follow her in five minutes. Then there was this don’t-you-dare-to-touch-me thing to go on for sometime. When she knew that I had reached that point of no return, she would flood me with kisses, so unexpectedly like a summer rain. And finally, if everything worked out the way it should be, we would be naked in each others arms in no time.

But today, in my dumb attempt to make it different, I didn’t follow her to the next room in five minutes. After ten minutes, ten long minutes, I switched off the tube. I went to her. I touched her arm. She pushed me away. I touched her arm again. She pushed me away harder. From pushing to pinching to scratching to my goodness. She’s a tigress when she’s angry and things went out of hand. Things went out of hand when she started hitting her head with my hand, bang, bang, and bang. I was expected to hit my hand on the floor in retaliation. She was complaining of a headache yesterday and this made me really angry. In my attempt to bring her to senses, I slapped her across her face. Now, she goes wild when she is at the peak of love. And I go wild when I’m angry. Now this slap was not acceptable. That was it, the end of that night.

I came out of the room, feeling so sorry I slapped her. She switched off the light. Now, that means it is over for today. She’s not like me. She sleeps faster than she actually does, when she’s upset. And I can’t sleep when I am upset. So I switched the tube on. And there was Danni playing his saxophone. Danni is T V Chandran’s masterpiece film. And as I was watching the film, I discovered T V Chandran’s theory of Unrelated Coincident. First the unrelated phone booth in Amarkalam led to the Cat Fight. Then, the Cat Fight made me watch Danni. Had it not been the wrongly concluded Cat Fight, I would not have watched Danni. And watching Danni made me discover Chandran’s idea of Unrelated Coincident.

I wanted to watch Danni for a long time. And there it was, playing on the tube. Unexpected. Unrelated Coincident. Like it happens to Danni in the film. Every important development in Danni’s life is connected to some important historical development in strange ways. Danni was born when Gandhi went to Dandi. His first wife ran away when the first Communist Government in Kerala was dissolved. And it is a film about how strange the ways of love can be. The old Danni falls in love with an old woman whom he calls ‘teacher’. And they go to Bangalore, to meet Danni’s long lost daughter Louisiana. They meet Louisiana. Louisiana is so happy to meet her ‘papa’ and his wife. Later, when Louisiana finds out that they are not man and wife, she throws them out of the house. Danni and Teacher are in the street and it is night. And Danni dies that night. The teacher books a van and takes the dead body to Kerala, her place. And imagine an old woman, coming home one fine morning with the dead body a man and nobody knows how he’s related to her. She buries him in her land, showing us Love is that Strange a Thing, one often fails to make it out when it’s happening. And I’m discovering that every day, loving Unni.

Forcing a marriage

Just read Hasan Suroor's interview with academic and social activist Nazia Khanum. She released a report on forced marriages among Asian Communities in Britain. This is getting better day by day. Of course she makes that difference between Arranged Marriages. But methinks, both are pretty same.

The debate in India was always about the merits and demerits of both Arranged Marriages and Love Marriages. Even the so called advocates of Love were not so sure about their cause. So they discovered another way of making it sound better and less provocative - Love cum Arranged Marriage. The reason? The whole issue is Security within Marriage. Security? Ya, even in this age of women's liberation and feminism. Ultimately it boils down to security. Security simply means men taking care of their women and children.

Now, Nazia is right. The parents who force their children to marry or in their own sweet terms arrange for their children to marry somebody, have TRADITION as their excuse. That reminds me of Tevye in The Fiddler on the Roof. I can still remember how Tevye used to scream TRADITION.



Ya, that's the only way out, you know. Now, Tevye asks, how did these traditions get started? Well, 'I'll tell you' he says. The answer - He doesn't know. Ya, he doesn't know. None of us know. That's pretty same in the case of marriages too. We do not know when all this got started.

Now, we Indians are so proud that we are the people of Vedas. I'm told during Rig Veda they had no idea what arranged marriages were. I think the idea of an Arranged Marriage is a European contribution. But that argument is not often accepted. We are proud about our Veda Culture. But we often prefer what our English Masters taught us in matters of marriage.

That trip to Agra

It was when I was a postgraduate students. Final Year. We went for that tour to Agra. Mangalore to Delhi. Delhi to Agra. It was an everything-you-arrange-by-yourself kind of a tour. We went to Delhi by train. From Delhi to Agra by bus. It was a one night journey to Agra.

We woke up as the bus stopped in Agra,early in the morning. Our luggage were at the back of the bus. Everyone was getting their bags. I was waiting for my turn. And, oh my god, my bag was not there. My bag was gone. Somebody picked my bag. I didn't know what to do. We did not want to file a police complaint as it would mean being held up in Agra for another day. It was so cold there. And there I was, without my bag, without extra cloths, wondering what to do. I decided to drop it and leave it alone. Let me not spoil the mood of my friends. So I dropped it.

Agra, that's what. We went to Tajmahal. The symbol of love. We went around Taj Mahal. White wonder. So peaceful. I didn't like any of the monuments in Delhi. But Tajmahal has some strange power to draw you. It makes you calm. It looks so good. Three of us, me Udupa and Sunil. We were the company. We let the girls and others be on their own. We walked up and down Tajmahal god knows how many times. And then, when no body was looking we just laid down on the marbles of Tajmahal and slept. We slept so long. It was so cool. And I woke up as somebody was tapping on my shoulder with a stick. It was the security. He woke us up. Scolded us for sleeping their. It seems you are not supposed to sleep there. But we did. That's why I still like Tajmahal

The Defining Moment

I'm asked to shift my office to another block in the building. This is the third time I'm shifting. Each time I shift I'm given a better place, that's okay. But this entire shifting process makes me frustrated and angry. You know it's pretty hard to change - that makes me think of what I am.

I'm looking at myself from two angles:

1. The 20th Century Angle, just before liberalisation started and we just had no Internet, and only one television Chanel and I could possibly dream of only a Government Job
2. The 21th Century Angle, where I am slowly transforming into one who can survive even without a Government Job, can live the way I like, has a lot of freedom and exposure. [Freedom??]

And I finally arrive at a sentence that describes me best: 'A Twenty-eight something, Twenty-first Century Male, trying to shed the Twentieth Century skin, who knows what it takes to be one. '

I know what it takes to be one. You are kind of confused between your pious 20th Century Identity and aggressive 21st Century Identity. You are scared by your sudden change from a Conservative to an Ultra Modern. [What ever that be!!] You still can't believe you don't need a Job offered by Indian Government to survive. But then, you are still not sure. Do you try for a Government Job or a Corporate Job? I feel as secured in my Corporate Job as I would be in a Government Job. I don't spend sleepless nights over getting a pink slip. I know, if I get a pinkslip tomorrow, I can go else where, with my dignity. [And I just don't care] Or, if worst, I can do it on my own and make it. The last company I worked asked me to go home. But then I never had to go home. I got a better placement, with a better pay package.

But, then being a 21st Century Male is not just about your job. It's also about 'Party Hard and Die young' sort of thing. I don't know. It's also about dealing with a more liberal and challenging opposite sex. Its about dealing with an aggressive life. But life is cool that way.

What do ya think?

Mangalore Live: Facinating Blog

I found Mangalore Live as I was browsing for pages of reference for my previous post. Great attempt by someone, who has so

painstakingly added snaps of different places in Mangalore. Mangalore Live gives you a fair idea about the Mangalore Land Marks. I think it's somebody under a user name ASH. Ashish? Aishwarya? What ever, good attempt man.

It's not so extravagant. It's just plain and simple. A snap and two lines or so. But the blog is not updated as often as it should have been. Anyway, so far so good. Great point of reference.

Defining Mangalore

Mangalore is not a frank city.That's how PE looks at Mangalore. Now, Bangalore is not like that. It shows when Bangalore is bitchy. It shows when Bangalore is bad. It shows when Bangalore is up to anything. That's not the case with Mangalore, she says. You never know, she says. Mangalore is not as innocent, decent and sensible as it looks, she says. Real Mangalore lives in its shadows, she says.

Talking about Mangalore, it's one place in India I know where Auto Rickshaw Drivers don't take you round and round the city and then charge you one and a half of what you actually see on the meter. It is one city in India where there are more colleges and schools than you can possibly count. It is the only place in India I know where Giant Malls and Petty Grocery Shops equally survive.

Now, how is all this possible? Why are auto-drivers not so cut-throats? How come there are more schools and colleges in Mangalore than human beings? How do the Gullivers and Lilliputs of the Money Making Wheel survive without any of the adjustment issues they have in other cities? the answer is very simple - all because of a group of people who constitute the majority of population in Mangalore: Students.

Yes, they make Mangalore a place worth living. They come in all sizes, colours and types. You may find all sorts of people among them. You may find freaks, junkies, voyeurs, exhibitionists, zombies, hippies, call girls, addicts, drunkards, teetotalers, nerds, geeks, geniuses, all sorts of stuff. The only thing in common about them is that most of them live on strictly rationed pocket money, unlike their counterparts in Bangalore. They can't spend like those in Bangalore. They bargain like all hell broke lose. They tender exact change. They just don't leave without taking their changes, even if it means a one rupee coin.

They are too different from the young people in Bangalore. Young people in Bangalore work. They are corporates, most of them. And spend two months with the corporates and you start stinking. The youngsters in Mangalore don't smell of corporate air conditioning. Then, the youngsters in Bangalore do not know each other well. so, it's okay what ever they do. But youngsters in Mangalore have their classmates to whom they are accountable. so you just can't live as you please. If you want to live as you please in Mangalore, you better find somebody with your tastes.

And these guys in Mangalore are sensible. Bangalore Guys are like Americans - they appear to be sensible, but they are not. Ask the Bharat Mall guys and they will tell you. Mangalore tries out everything that's new. But marketing gimmicks don't sell the way they do in Bangalore. Saibeen Complex and Empire Mall are full on any given day, even when Bharat Mall Guys struggle to do business. People in Mangalore don't buy all that crap. They know what you get where. They know when the shirt you sold yesterday for Rs.150/- shoots to Rs. 300/- on a buy one get one free offer.

Now, I have only one complaint about Mangalore. It's not a place if you have a romantically inclined lover in you. You can take your girlfriend for a film. You can take her to eat out. But never ever dream of having some peaceful time with her in a park. Mangalore doesn't entertain the concept of a park. The good park you have is as small as your palm. The big park you have is as bad as a desert. Now, drop the idea of being romantic if you want to be happy in Mangalore. Be happy hanging out with your girl in Malls, in Pubs and in dirty Udupi Hotels.

Otherwise, I love Mangalore compared to any other city in India. Now, I hate Bangalore. I'm scared of Mumbai. Chennai confuses me. Hyderabad freaks me out. Delhi turns me off. Cochin is snobbish. Trivandrum is out of fashion. Kolkata is dirty. But Mangalore is like a good old friend. It gives you back what you give it. It understand you, it recognizes you. It's like a mirror- you get to see what you are. You can't blame the mirror if you look ugly, can you?

What I saw on Modi's site

For another post yesterday, I thought it would be great if I linked with Modi's personal website.Yes, I am talking about Narendrabhai, the eyesore of Indian English Media and the man who lives as a mask in the minds of thousands of Hindu Gujratis, especially during election. I'm told that Modi gets his brand building done by professionals. I don't know if some professionals did Modi's website too. If they did, those guys must be flogged bare bottom for such a lack of political imagination.

I haven't yet read through the pages of the site. I'll when time permits. I don't think there's anything important in there that I must know urgently. I found it accidentally when I was googling for a reference point. My fisrt reaction to what I saw was a dirty smirk. Look at Modi with his hands up, holding a lotus. This idea is a dumb choice. A lotus in Modi's hand is so unnecessary a prop. Everyone knows Lotus is BJP. And everyone knows that Modi has an image that spreads beyond BJP. We remember BJP when we see Modi. That's the power of his image. How could his brand builders make him stoop to such a level? With a Lotus in his hand Modi looks like a Buffoon. (If any true Gujrati found this website, he would kill the Brand Building Managers then and there, I'm sure) In this picture he appears to me like a cheap politician in BJP, tying to please Advaniji. I didn't expect this from Narendrabhai. I thought he is beyond cheap political tricks. I thought he is a straightforward man. Ya, he may make his followers kill to safeguard his power. Now, that's not a crime, is it? And that can not be branded a political trick. It is about the emotions of Hindu Gujratis. It's about bringing a man who made the development of Gujrat possible into power. Where would Gujrat be without Naredrabhai? He's the man behind every success of Gujrat, including it becoming a very popular place across the world. People today remember Gujrat not because of the half naked skeleton called Gandhi who once lived there but because of Modibhai, the man with a stylish beard and shining face(thanks to his beautician). With that kind of a picture in his website how do I differentiate Narendrabhai from the stupid congress men trying to please Madam High Command?

______________________________

(NB: I found a young picture of Sonia Gandhi as I was looking for some page that could give you a reference point to high command. She looks so young and beautiful. I did not understand the comment along with the picture, though. I think its some Italian Blog. CHECK OUT)

My Latest Discovery: Aamir has a blog

Hey, guys, you know what Aamir has a blog. And it was his first birth day since he started Blogging on 14 March 2008. That was yesterday, hm. He thanks his fans for wishing him on his birth day. There' re almost 403 pages. He started blogging some where in 2007 Feb I think.

The following is how he starts off his blog: Hello hello hello. How much I enjoyed reading all your comments to my last post on lagaandvd.com !!! I was absolutely in splits. And, I have to admit, also very touched by your responses.

And check out the list of more celebrity blogs. Find out who else are blogging.

Tare Zameen Par and some odd thoughts

Watched Tare Zameen Par last night.

TZP certainly makes a tear roll down your cheek. No wonder Advaniji cried as he watched the film. I won't be surprised if Modiji or Bushji or Musharrafji or Budhadebji or any ji who qualifies in our political history as someone who is made of anything other than pure flesh and blood cry as he or she watches the film. TZP is the expectable best Bollywood melodrama can get.

I never like stories that come with a moral tag attached to it. Not that I have anything against morality. Just that they remind me of the moral education text books at school. I don't like TZP for the loud moral tag that comes along with the title - Every Child is Special.

But I like the film for the way in which Aamir makes Dyslexia a household name in India like Nokia, Sharukh Khaan and Ujala. The film worked because it touched a phobia (or....is it a mania?) that has been haunting nuclear families across India for the last two or three generations. It's the same thing that sells Horlicks, GK Books and Chicken Soup for the Soul.It's the same thing that makes Summer Camps, CET Coaching, and CBSE Schools great business ideas.

It all started when we were kids. TZP worked because it gave what every tow-kid-parent dream of - their kid who becomes a hero in school against all odds. No one is going to remember the efforts of Nikumbh Sir or the struggle of Ishaan Awasti. We are only going to remember Aamir's list of famous people with Dyslexia. We are only going to remember that the hero of the film finally achieved.

Nothing is wrong with Aamir's film. Everything is wrong with us - we are always the same old modern-Indians. More argumentative than practical. Aamir knows it. And he made that his selling point.

I seriously doubt if some American or Indian psychology association had funded TZP. Like, you know, CIA funds everything against Communist Governments. Or like Condom Companies fund everything against AIDS. [Just kidding, Aamir]

Chak De India is often screened during Corporate Training Sessions. In a similar fashion, I am told, most of the B Ed Colleges in my part of the world are screening TZP for their students. That's great achievement Aamir, honestly.

Remembering Elsie

There're times when one's reminded of the past quiet unexpectedly. Here was me chatting with an old friend from school and he mentioned Elsie. He asked me: "Po, do you still remember Elsie?" And here I'm thinking about Elsie when I'm least expected to.

Yup, I remember Elsie. She was a pale frail girl with a round face, big brown eyes and plaited hair parted into two. I don't remember talking to her, ever. I don't think I know how she sounds. She looked kind of cute, forlorn and deep. I'm always intrigued by women who have a distant look in their eyes the same way I'm drawn to plump and curvy women, I think.

And this was not the first time somebody reminded me about Elsie, mind you. Four times I might have met friends from my old school. And all four of them remembered Elsie when they met me. The ways of life are strange, that's all I can say. Or, ya, I know, where ever I go, people associate my name with the name of some girl from the locality. Hope you got what I mean. No, please don't brand me a jerk or a womanizer. It's not the way you think. I realized this strange thing when Unni told me once. She was teasing me about some woman from the place where we first met. Later I found out that she really believed I was after them. Everybody there were making stories about me and these two women, stories spicy, hot and as they wished and could imagine. And the greatest thing's I'd never even talked to them, even for once. Somehow, I still wonder, no one from that place seems to know how far me and Unni have gone.

As I told you, most of these women were people with whom I'd never even interacted, let alone going on a date. And I come to know about the gossips doing round only after I'd left the place, when a friend of mine from that place asked me if I'm still in touch with this cute ass or that. The funny thing is, no one seems to know the women I was really in touch with when I'm somewhere.

But, Elsie is different. Though I would never talk to her, I hadn't failed to notice her. No, I never used to stare at her or anything. The primary school kid that I was, you tell me how much I could have possibly known about staring and stuff. I used to feel a special kind of tingle up my tummy when ever I heard her name. [I felt a similar tingle only when I met Unni]

We were in the same class till seventh grade. I never had the guts to talk to her. Or was it that I never felt it was so important to talk. In fact, I was never bothered I never talked to Elsie. We were never friends. And I don't know if at all she had ever noticed me.

She might have noticed me. You can never tell you know. These girls are one of a kind. You can never make out what they are up to. I am sure she might have noticed me. I was this pet kid of teachers because most of them were my Dad's or Mom's friends and I was bright enough to be a pet. And there's no way she couldn't have noticed me. But when I say she would not have, I mean, she would not have the way I did. Or, I don't know if she did the way I did.

It's not that I miss Elsie now. Had not my friend raised her name, I would not have thought about her today. And that doesn't mean that I've forgotten her. It's just that I don't miss her.And I don't know where she's now.

I loved this blog..u'll love it too

Read what Dario's writing. He's probably the youngest one I've read on the bloggoshpere. Check out how he looks at the world. Go to his blog DARIO. He's such a great writer that he's going to make you fall in love with him right from the first word in his blog.

Here's a snippet from Dario's Blog: Yesterday was Friday and like other Fridays we went to park. It was sunny and we had such a nice time. I had my walker with me and had a big tour round the park in that. I ran after all the boys and girls there. And can you see something?For the first time ever I had real shoes on. It was a bit difficult to walk in shoes, but it was a new experience and I am sure soon I will get master in that. Even for the first time I could run as fast as all the other babies there!

Kicking a habit can be so hard

I'm trying to kick this habit of using tobacco that got stuck with me some ten odd years ago. It's becoming too much of an addiction and I'm trying all that I can to get the habit hell out of my system. I know this is one habit that kills so slowly. In those lines, I am already half dead.

This is probably the only thing friends disagree with me the most. They have tried everything possible to make me get it out of my system. Unni even went to the extent of eating a whole pack of tobacco when she found out I still had a packet in my pocket. The bloody thing just popped out of my pocket as I was taking my wallet out. She was furious. She snatched the packet and just pushed the entire content into her mouth. Later, seconds later, I felt like killing myself when I saw her throwing up into the washbasin. I just can't see her hurt. However, I still couldn't kick the habit, despite hours of promising.

My problem is, I know, I have somehow made myself believe that this thing inspires me. Though I am highly immune to the kick that it gives by now, I feel drained if I don't have a pinch in my mouth. Now, I have tried alternatives. But, I am somehow conditioned to buy a pack of tobacco anytime I shop.

There're times when I decide and throw the pack away. It usually happens when I'm travelling. But then, I find myself buying a pack as soon as I'm out of the bus.

G always tried to scare my wits out saying that there's this thing called Carcinogen in that. She used to say: ' You'll die of cancer one day and I don't give a damn." Jyothi and Christine used to threaten me saying that I'll die bleeding in my bowels. Uppapi tried to persuade me saying that girls wouldn't come near me. Girls did. So I didn't listen.

But, today, as I sit in this bus and blog like a maniac, I'm finally deciding to to kick it in its butt once and for all. I'm not yet sure this is another travel decision. I'll know as soon as I get out of this bus. I haven't thrown my packet away yet for the fear that I'll buy another as soon as I get down.

Missing G

Somehow, I still have no idea how, the General's wife is off my mind today. At least, she doesn't haunt me the way she used to for the last couple of weeks. It's not just because I'm out of town. [I am in Bangalore now for an important meeting. And you probably know how boring meetings can be after sometime.] It's also because I started thinking a lot about G, all of a sudden. She just popped out of no where, into my mind again, like a summer rain, as she always did. I don't know where she's now. G got married and went to Delhi with her husband. K told me she's now the mother of two beautiful daughters. [K was in Delhi, on a Central Government Project that never got completed]

The number of calls dropped till they never happened, after her marriage. Emails shortened from lengthy paragraphs to short sentences to words to absolutely nothing. She just disappeared from my life just as she came.

I never thought I'll be writing about G. [In fact, I was tossing a coin an hour ago to decide if I should be writing. And it always gave me the wrong side of the coin. But I have decided to write, come what may. I write because I know G's not going to hate me if I write about us. She may probably add a little more to what I wrote if she comes across what I wrote] I am not writing this to figure out what was happening between us. We knew what was happening between us. We were having fun. We were just two people who were open about the way we felt. We kinda believed that heated arguments, silly fights, a lot of laughter, a lot of passion make life worth living. We believed in life as it comes.

I'm not insecure about the fact that she's not calling me anymore. [I usually am a person who's likely to feel insecure in situations like this] I'm not angry with her that I don't know what's happening with her. I'm not angry with her for the fact that I ain't a part of her life anymore. I miss her and I'm pretty sure she misses me.

We met through a common friend. There was nothing unusual about that meeting. Just a 'HI' and some words exchanged. I liked the way she looked.[I always have this thing for girls who are a little plump, with the right kind of curves at right places.]

One fine morning we found ourselves exchanging numbers. And G was the first to hit things out with a hot SMS. Then it was raining SMS and Calls. Most of the time we argued over silly things. I loved to do that. It made sense to talk to her. It was always straightforward. It was never melodramatic. [We hated melodramas]

After a few weeks, we found ourselves in a rickshaw, an evening. And without realizing it I had her hand in mine, as we were laughing and talking. Or was it she who had my hands in hers? Whatever, we were holding hands like we were lovers. It was a cold evening, somewhere in July.

And I'm pretty sure I was not thinking of what could go wrong., as I always did. I was not looking for a punch line, consciously. G had a way of not making me conscious, bothered about what could go wrong. She laughed for the silly things I said, her ringing, pinning laughter, making me feel like I'm the smartest material available on earth.

It was getting darker and it was drizzling. The driver stopped the rickshaw to refuel from his petrol can. He went to the back of the rickshaw to fill the tank. The side covers of the rickshaw were down. We were alone in the vehicle. I could feel G slowly pushing my hand between her thighs. She was feeling cold. [No, it was just between her thighs , not where you think it was] I didn't misunderstand the gesture. She pressed her legs together and shuddered as though it was cold.

We were talking so animatedly till now, talking and laughing. Now, there was a silence. With my hand between her thighs, and me all excited but doing nothing to calm myself down, we were just sitting there. G slowly leaned on to my shoulder and whispered into my ear: 'Were we so fast?"

"No!" was all I could say, and I meant it. It felt like we knew each other for a long time and we were doing the kind of thighs we were doing for ages. In fact, we met some three weeks back. And here we were like two naughty kids running away into the bush for mischief. That's how some people are. You know them right from day one. I kissed on her forehead involuntarily. My hands were still between her thighs, the softness of her skin through the cotton cloth she wore, as the driver came back. We resumed our talk, trying to be as animated as possible. In seconds we were happy we were fooling the driver. I cupped her thighs. She pressed my hands in reply. The rickshaw pulled on. It started raining heavily.

A new blog and a sudden inspiration

Inspiration.
Things usually happen when you least expect them to. And this blog is another such sudden inspiration that may die down any time of the day. It usually does. The last time I had another blog going and that too somewhere around this time. But that did not last beyond summer. The only thing being time. Time matters and I really did not have time to sit and write my wits out. So it just died down. And that blog was really popular with one person - Ancilla. She was the only one who read the blog and commented. We used to have heated arguments, with nobody winning. Then the blog died. I hope this one doesn't.