PART UNO

The famed Chennai beach – Besant Nagar. The sacred pavements there. It’s a little early for the night gong to strike twelve and I’ve just about armed myself with some cigs and a tiny cup of pathetically vended coffee. At Rs 5/- without recourse to, the road side vendor makes a busy day any day. The coffee, lousy as it is, is in my hands, heating for an oral percolation. I step on to the pavement. The hours are precious. Just a little while to go before the famed chennai cops (not too fondly referred to as the masked troubadours in a Hyundai Accent car) comes by to joust microphonically with one and all and send them back home. They have a rather defined process of putting each individual into their sleeping bags. These cops are presumably amongst the best in vigilance control surpassing in merit even the Scotland Yard. What profound crap! If forcibly jetting one away home by sheer harassment is indeed a way of ensuring discipline, then the Burmese Big Brothers are doing a much finer job.

There once was born a child. He knew not the essence of time. Whilst he would melt into it, not giving the world a damn, his world was all he knew of. But funnily though, anyone was welcome into his world. In fact, his world revolved around these anybodies. Such was his innocence. None could pinpoint a reason for his thoughts or actions. Neither could he. But as the days passed by and the reasons best known to the unknown alone, he grew up to be a promising cynic. And his world was now closed to all. None can pinpoint a reason for his thoughts or actions. Neither can he.

X’s day was in a bitter sweet symphony and it ended none too positively. And if at that, it would be a gross understatement. He lost his job. Being asked to quit, however politely, isn’t actually poetry. But then again, it could be that nice sounding limerick that answers life’s fundamental questions. It puts things in perspective and as the old adage cheerfully mocks at any living individual, it builds character. X now has nowhere to go. But man you should have seen him in discussion with his boss. The show of courage surpassed Mel Gibson as the Patriot. He walked away as the remnants, us, wished him luck and success in his life ahead. “I’m moving out. It’s already a step in that direction.” There was a definite chuckle in his voice as he said that. What a parody. Nothing is consistent in life. Even change isn’t. The travails of an elementary banker.

I’m moved. Emotionally touched. Shakira with her ‘Hips don’t lie’ on the T.V. She is such a humane act, only completely understood by a singleton bachelor and a banker at that. These divas remove all stress and strain out of a hard days life. True classical mechanics at work putting Newtonian ideas to shame. The greatest scientific revelations are at times, most easily understood in simple day to day living. A hot burning heap of coal to sit on and the most beautiful and the sexiest woman to sit by with. And relativity is easily explained.

Car choices. They have the peppy petrol engines and the fuel economy diesel engines. Petrol is expensive and diesel is short in supply. And we are running out of ideas. Here’s Reva. They say it’s an electric car. Battery operated and pretty inexpensive. Easy maintenance. But that isn’t the ad-lib. It is an environment ally. Thompson and Watson couldn’t have done better. Carnot died an unwitting death. Well, what if it is a slow poke. If you didn’t crowd the car, then a gentle push by a pleasant passing bystander or that friendly cyclist would provide you with the necessary acceleration. And every time you drive it, it relieves you of your potential guilt of polluting the environment. Well, at least till the battery died, that is.  Nowhere and nothing to do but to bury it or throw it into the sea. See already a solution. But not good food for the worms or the innocent sea polyps though. What are these things doing there anyway. Nothing ever seems right initially. Nothing ever is right in hindsight. But eventually listen to the fatalist and weed your potential guilt. This translated from the Diamond Sutra.

When on a drive, the songs of the band TATU is great for listening to. Their music is peppy, melodious and fast paced. And guess what! They are supposedly lesbians. Can it get any better? I mean, just think about it. There are now two of them. A double act that they perform great music. Call me a pervert, But hey,  perverts get to have all the fun in this world. They are Satan’s God Children after all. TATU rules. But then, who doesn’t.

Green tea – A good cup of it is a great stimulant. Made by what’s known as the infusion method. The tea bags are gently infused into glass with medium warm water. Say maintained at about 60 degrees C. Give or take a few more. Count to 60 or better still stop watch it to 60 seconds. Gently pull out the tea bag and chuck it. Best served without a sweetner. Dunhill fine cut serves are a better accompaniment. A fine symbiosis between the good and the evil. The carbon mono-oxide is anti oxidized. Amethyst in Chennai serves excellent green tea. But currently, K & I are at the Taj. The coffee shop at the Taj Coromandal is excellent. Wondrous ambience & plush ergonomic sofa sets & newspapers and magazines compounded with over 300 different varieties of tea and coffee assortments. The beverage is exquisitely brewed. We have a couple of hours before we hit the
movies. 2050 – A Yucky Love Story at the INOX. K had booked the tickets. He had driven down from Bangalore and met me at the coffee shop. I too had taken off from work early. The TAJ’ are perfectionists. The tea is great. A tad expensive though. The sip and the drag routine would continue for a couple of hours before K & I leave for the movies. There’s still a little time left to be on time.  Now the good part about going for a bad movie is that being on time is of no consequence. In fact
you could always skip going to it and not feel bad about it. Wish bad choices in life too had a similar bearing. Perhaps they do. But K & I decided to be to the movies on time and that is what we did.

It is none too difficult. In fact, you could do it with your eyes closed. One of the best things in life is in doing absolutely nothing. Ofcourse, you would be standing or sitting or sleeping perhaps. But that is it. Do nothing. Think Nothing. This is a very good way to stop time. Sometimes, albeit, this misconstrued to be a good way to pass time. Those are elementary laybrain view points. Once you do nothing or think nothing, then the time is an un-necessary variable. Have you ever been at a point when you are too bored to complete a wink whence you are half way through!!! Onlookers would gaze at you with rapt attention. They would exclaim – “the lad’s achieving nirvana”. Who knows that they might be true.

And this could happen when you are at the movies too.

--- TBC…

PART DEUX

A remote location. Sparse inhabitants around. There is at least a square mile of loneliness around the a compounded home with a span of an acreage of wooded land. The gates are a stitch of rusted metal parts. As you open the gates to enter the compound, it makes a creaky sound that strangely reminds you of a lousy bollywood horror flick. Rusted flakes fly all about as you enter. A creepy sneeze is invariable as it resonates loud and clear into the still air. As you step inside, you step onto a narrow path strewn with unkempt grass and dry leaves. Thick wooded trees line either side that stays beside you during the full 3 minute walk to the house. There is little light. And it mostly is generated from your mobile phone. The scarce lighting throws images mustered only by riotous imagination. You arrive at the entrance to an unguarded house. A seemingly dingy construction. Or it could have been the enormity of the land encompassing it. Einstein can drive you nuts really.

There is a balcony lighted only by a low watt incandescent bulb. It glows. The main door is teak wooded, ancient but sturdy. It is unlatched and a wee bit ajar. You step in into a single ‘faintly lit’ large room. To the far left on a old recliner sits a hideous faced guy. Scars and burns cover his face almost completely. And what little isn’t is covered by a thick grubby moustache. His seemingly lifeless eyes are almost swan white. It’s half open. A true master of his own world. A discard of the universe. Of his mother too.

There is a baby child in front of him. She’s playing with a solitary teddy bear. An angel face she has. Lovely cherub. A smile from her would have lit the entire square mile. The gloomiest of the faces would melt into sweet sunny ways. But, ah! If only she smiled. She is stone faced as she plays with the teddy.

Inadvertently she looks up to the guy. The guy’s lips part ever so lightly as he breaks into a miserly grin. The angel looks at him. Suddenly the room brightens putting broad daylights to shame. And then the little miss sunshine turns away to her tattered piece of a teddy bear. Again amazing Einstein.

It was a little before the intermission. K & I step outside the mall. It had stopped raining. Cool sea breeze on a wet night – a rarity in Chennai. The theatre, the mall is close to the sea. Hence the bewitching phenomenon. We light a cig a take a couple of whiffs. It feels good.

K – Crap stuff. The movie.

I – Yeah. Good thing I was able to sleep a bit.

K – Wanna go back.

I -  Seriously.

K & I ditched the second half. We could watch it in 2050. We decided, instead, to go on a drive by the East Coast Road (ECR in short). It was pretty late into the night anyway.

We unpark our car and hit on the gas. It is a pleasant drive through the ECR. Extensive farm houses and splendid beaches dot the entire country side/coastline. You can’t see much in the nights though. It hence has to be felt. We listen to “Pappu Can’t Dance Saala”. Funny thing. So can’t I. K, however, is pretty adept at throwing his limbs around in a pub.

For his theory of relativity, Einstein deserved much more than just the noble prize for physics. I mean, relativity has so much more to offer. Take sociology, commerce, ecology, economics as examples. All of these thrive on the theory of relativity.

Rich Dad – Poor Dad. Rich only because the poor exists and vice versa.

Intellectual – Stupid. Intellect only because stupidity exists and vice versa.

Beautiful babe – Ugly duckling. Beauty only because ugly exists and vice versa.

Handsome hunk – Thickheaded imbecile. Handsomeness only because thickheadedness exists and vice versa.

Good – Evil. Good only because evil exists and vice versa.

Good – Satan. God only because Satan exists and vice versa.

Coming to think of it. The theory of relativity isn’t seemingly an Einstein original. The great quack. Yes, the whole damn world’s a stage.

On a cloudless night, as you look up in the sky, you can see the stars. This is what the star-gazers do. One amazing job they have. And they get to use the fancy telescopes. These are the things that help you in bringing far away objects closer. Then you get a much better view of the object. It’s often difficult to see clearly things that are far away. This is ruling out the fact that you can actually see the sun rise and set. Or the moon and the stars. Or a faint ship on the horizon where the unending sea blots into the timeless sky.

In fact the entire night sky might be deemed to bean optical illusion but for these telescope thingies. But why the gazers use these equipments only to view the night sky is a puzzle. But what beats me completely is on why ever must one want to gaze at the stars at all. Apart from the obvious reasons, I’m not able to arrive at a single other one.

Take for example the 7 star configuration. In a particular arrangement, they claim this to be the Great Bear. Now, whatever would a bear have to do with 7 points in the sky. And why only these 7 stars? In fact the thousands of stars lighting the night sky (Oh! One can never really see more than a few thousand stars on a clear moonless, cloudless night sky) can be connected in any random formation to make many great bears. Or Sloth bears. Or Mongooses. Oh! Look. I just saw a question mark formation.

K – Do you want to break for a cuppa chai?

I – Sounds good. Lets light a cig as well.

K – How about the TAJ fish cove. Great place. We can walk by the sea side while we have the chai.

I – Na. Lets drive on a little ahead. There’s this place near Kovalam.

As you cross the Chennai suburbia on the ECR, you come to Kovalam (not to be mistaken for the Kerala one). Hereabouts and past a check post, there is a multitude of roadside small eateries and beverage vendors. This is where the tired bus and truck drivers stop to take a break. We park our car by the side of the road and attend to essential calls of the nature. We call for a couple of cups of sp tea (which is otherwise known as special tea). The vendor, looking at us dressed impeccably in our jeans, tees and firangi sneakers, serves it in a plastic cup. Else, it would’ve have been in an insipid glass tumbler that would have a million tongue marks in it. We light a cig each. There is a radio that blares melodious Illayaraja music . It’s insanely deafening but truly wondrous. The sound of music can be plain noise too. You can open your eyes but can’t really close your ears can you?

I switch the TV on. As I surf, eight of the ten channels play dance competitions. The other two play non stop commercials. I switch back to VH 1. Celine Dion screeching her lungs out for her “My heart will go on”. I have never seen the complete movie. It must have been one of the soppiest ever. Why even did the tale require a Titanic in the first place? But I did watch the Tamil dubbed version. And it was fun.

I continue surfing hoping there would be a Shakira number when I return back to the VH 1.

As we sit on a broken chair besides a broken bench, sipping our sp teas, a bus comes by and stops. “15 minutes” yelled the conductor. A few passengers descend. Their murmurs are heard above the blaring radio. It was past midnight. The cuppa chai was good. It doused the sleepiness. K was on vacation. I still have to hit work in the morning.

---TBC …

seriously world, to even ponder the solemnity of what’s written below, we need a completely different pair of eyes. i believe that it calls for tremendous courage and sacrifice to actually donate your eyes. while, yes, i am yet to make my mind on this, my heartfelt and sincere adulation to those of you who does do it.

the ii lady has tagged me. albeit, days ago. and i’ve shamelessly not carried it on. ergo, i tag others ... pf, shivani narula, joe average, hellz angel, the goddess, aj cheta, vatsala joshi, zeus zeus, the original ginger bread man & el amor.

for the sake of convenience (mine ofcourse) i’ve used the decidedly user friendly copy + paste function (down to the last drop) that ms office dutifully allows (may the ii lady forgive me ;-).

ps..st

	'Lightaneye' : Tagged Post "The greatest gift is a portion of thyself" -R.W.Emerson I"ve been tagged by Kush! To spread the good word, the post is being tagged from one iLander to another, spurring more and more people to get informed about eye-donation, and the ways/ means on how one could do it. The procedures are simple, and the post has an embedded link to a website ("lightaneye") that gives a list of all the hospitals in your area where the corneal operation could be done. ((Those who wish to carry this post on their iLands, begin here. From my end, I tag psaint & Lethal Weapon)) Here"s Udita"s blog: "What a Wonderful World" -Louis Armstrong “ I see trees of green, red roses too  I see them bloom for me and you And I think to myself, what a wonderful world I see skies of blue and clouds of white  The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night  And I think to myself, what a wonderful world” The soulful rendering of this song evokes vivid images of a vibrant, colourful world. Ever wondered how a sightless person would react to this song? How would he visualize the host of golden Daffodils, fluttering and dancing in the breeze, flash upon that inward eye, which was the  bliss of solitude for Wordsworth?! What a dark, dreary world with everything dyed in monochrome- BLACK !! And yet, those of us who are fortunate enough to be blessed with the miracle of sight, do precious little to restore this gift to our less fortunate brethren, snug in the comfort of our cocooned lives! Here are a few facts about corneal blindness. FACTSHEET Ø      Corneal blindness mostly affects children Ø      Corneal blindness can be cured only by corneal grafting from a donated eye Ø      One can pledge to donate eyes during one’s lifetime Ø      Eyes can be donated only after death Ø      If not pledged, eye donation can be done with the consent of relatives Ø      People of all age groups can donate eyes Ø      In India, there is a requirement of about 1 lakh corneas per year, whereas only 30,000 are donated Ø      This shortfall can easily be bridged by spreading awareness about eye donation HOW WE CAN HELP Spread the good word around- most of us are not aware how a little effort on our part can light up someone’s life! In the unfortunate event of death of an acquaintance, try to persuade the family to donate the eyes. This is the toughest part, considering the sensitivity of the situation, but if the family can be convinced that     * the eyes of the donor will live on after him,     * giving sight to two persons for a lifetime, and     * that the procedure of removal is free of cost, simple, hassle-free, & does not cause any disfigurement to the body, it is quite likely they would agree. So here’s the real test of your persuasive skills! Once you have their consent, here’s what you need to do next.       Call the nearest eye bank immediately. For Delhi, dial 1919 ( 24 hr-MTNL Toll-free service).Telephone  numbers of eye banks in other cities are available on the website www.lightaneye.org.       Switch off all fans in the room- cooler or AC, if available, can run.       Wrap some ice cubes in damp cotton, & keep them on the eyes. This  prevents the tissue from drying up, & helps keep it fesh.       Keep the head slightly raised with a pillow.       Doctor/technician from the eye bank will reach the venue within the shortest possible time, collect about 10 ml blood, and remove the corneas, all in 15 minutes.       Eyes are fit for retrieval upto 6 hours after death.       Remember, donated corneas are never sold/traded.   The Govt of India is also organizing National Eye Donation Fortnight from August 25 to Sept 8, 2007 to highlight the cause. Friends, where there’s a will, there’s definitely a way……..come, let us all join hands to eliminate the scourge of corneal blindness from the face of our country, and help everyone relish the rainbow hues that you and I take for granted!
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cheers, ps..st

"Two men are walking down a street. It starts to rain and one of them doesn't get wet. How's that?"

As a kid, I remember, I had read that one liner somewhere. It was so difficult to fathom the meaning of the statement. Funnily its been plenty years since and it still is so difficult to understand what it means. The name of the book is "Zen Speaks" or "Zhuangzi Speaks". Buddha asks this question and no one is able to answer. And then he says ...

--ps..st

The shade was a crisp crimson interspersed with golden yellow. But that was to the west where pale white clouds hovered around the sun. By the sea side, one could see the moon rising briskly against the waning sunlight. The sun was zooming down pretty quickly. It would become dark in no time at all. And in the campus life of Partha, by the pavement close to his school, a network of banyan groves by the road made it seem like it were a wooded country side. Under the dark shades of a single banyan tree, with its roots hanging downwards seemingly like snakes hanging down in penitent worship of mother earth was a solitary lamp post. And by the dull light, working overtime was a single cobbler. With movements that easily escaped the sharpest eyes, he stuck a needle into the soles of a weathered shoe and thus bringing back the sole to its rightful position. There was an old radio by his side. Not surprisingly, the music it stemmed was constant source of reminiscences for the school old boys club, who often gathered by nightfall by the culvert opposite to the lamp post.

It was six on a wintery evening. The temperature lessened further by the cool sea breeze. Partha rushed out to the cobbler. Tomorrow was the trials. To be selected for the district athletics team, he had to have his shoes mended. Participation without the shoes wasn’t allowed. But he had to push his chances of being selected for the Regional School Athletics Meet. His friends touted him to be the champion.

“Damn! I should’ve checked my shoes yesterday. And when is my dad going to get me the spare one? They are my family and no one seems to care.” He sprinted to the cobbler as he cursed to himself.

Luckily, the cobbler was still there.

“Oh! Thank god. I was praying that you would be here. Please, please mend the studs of my sprint shoes.” Partha requested.

The Cobbler gave a rather frustrated look. “I have to leave.” He said. “It is my son’s birthday today. I have just repaired his shoes. He has running race tomorrow, you know. Mending your shoes will take some time.”

Fear stole into Partha’s eyes. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Please old man!” He begged. I will give you twice the amount. Anything, anything at all. I too am racing tomorrow. I need to have this shoes repaired.”

The cobbler looked at Partha quizzically. “Are you in the districts meet too? Tomorrow?” He asked. “Which race is it?”

Partha answered with a sigh of relief. The old man could be persuaded. “Well, the short sprint and the 100 meter dash.”

“Really! That is what my son is participating in too. His name is Kadhir. Do you know him?”

Partha was shocked. Kadhir was his competitor. Only one from his district got selected. Both Kadhir and he were clocking similar speeds. While Partha ran at consistent speeds, Kadhir would flounder. Sometimes he would easily out pace Partha. At most times though he fell a few places behind.

“I know Kadhir. They say that he is the one other guy would could beat me in the race and the selection.” Partha spoke dumbfounded. Would the old man refuse to mend his shoes now all together?

But, the old man set all his instruments out and began the repair job. And Partha  now thought. “Why?” Why would he be willing to repair my shoes even though he could refuse and brighten Kadhir’s chances of winning? Maybe he is trying to sabotage.

“The metal spike has come of loose. It has brought out the patch supporting it as well.” The old cobbler was saying as he got down repairing the shoes.

“He could pretend to be mending it while he could loosen the spikes all the more.” Partha said to himself.

“Let me just take the spikes out and sharpen it first. Then I’ll glue it together with the patch. And then I could stitch it back to the soles.” The old cobbler rambled on as he went about repairing Partha’s shoes.

“Should I take it away from him now? I can try another cobbler early in the morning. The event doesn’t start before 10.” Partha thought.

“There, there. The spikes have been sharpened. Let me use this rubber adhesive. That would help you with a better suspension and wouldn’t crack under strain.” The cobbler was immersed in his work as he talked on.

“Oh! God! What do I do now? I can’t seem to decide? Why should he use rubber glue? Partha was frantic. “Aren’t cyanide based glue better?” Partha asked the cobbler, unable to restrain any longer.

“No.” The cobbler said. “Instant glue sticks better. But it could crack along with the spike when you put pressure on the toes. Rubber takes a while to stick onto but once done, it is a much better bet for you.”

Partha closed his eyes. “He’s fibbing for sure.” He thought.

After a while the cobbler spoke. “There. It is done. Please let the adhesive dry for at-least a few hours. Don’t wear it till tomorrow morning. In the morning, your shoes would be as good as new.” The cobbler gave a friendly smile. “May the best one win the race.”

“Hah.” Partha thought. “So I shouldn’t try it out now. Good excuse that was. It took time for drying!”

“How much?” Partha asked the cobbler.

“10 rupees son”.

“The cheat. He’s charging only ten because he thinks I do not suspect anything.“ Partha was in two minds now.

He gave the cobbler the money. Without thanking him, begins walking away. He would wake up early in the morning and cycle down to another cobbler by the next town a few miles away. There he would have the shoes mended again.

Thinking and all planned out, Partha rushed back home. He had to have his dinner early and go to bed soon. He reached his building. His home was upstairs – the first floor. Partha takes to two steps at a time and swinging gaily, reaches the top of the stairs. And just when he reaches the top, he loses his balance and falls down a couple of steps.

---

“The doctor is at home.” Partha’s mother was speaking to his dad. “Only a minor sprain, he said. He’s given some pain killers and some spray. Pattu should be alright by the morning.”

“Thank god for that.” His father responds. “He’s got the big race tomorrow and he’s been practicing hard for it. I’ll be home in a little while. Has Pattu gone to sleep.”

“Yes.” Said his mother. “The doctor has given him a sedative. So he’s sleeping peacefully now.”

-- ps .. st

"Sometimes", they said, "you are one good ice breaker".

And then they resumed their conversation while I back seated for a while. It was fun though. To just listen to these people talk. Sometimes they just pour their hearts out. Other times, I had to probe deep. Often I did just that. Quietly, listened. To the foursome- Pratik, Rahul, Deep & Arvind who would meet regularly at the tea shop by the montieth place, I had been the common link.

Pratik was a serious lad. I had first met him about 8 years back. He had just joined this company where Rahul, my good friend worked. He had been in disagreement with his wife. They had been arguing for over a week now. All Pratik had been insisting was that his wife work for a while. It would be a needy redemption for their depleted state of financial affairs.

“And who do you suppose will take care of the kids?” She had started. “Do you even know what it means to take care of them?”

“Look Sushma. It won’t be for long. It is just a question of time before I am promoted. My pay would be substantially higher then and you wouldn’t need to work any further”. Pratik reasoned in vain. “We could call either of our parents for helping with Rohan. They would willingly take care of him.” Rohan was their two year old kid.

The argument had been in persistence for over a week. From the waking hour till the waning lights when he rested his eyelids. He was disturbed. He would talk to me though, everyday. I didn’t know how I could help him or if I did. But I must’ve. He did rely on me strongly.

To the world, Rahul had been a happy go lucky lad. But that was not so. While often he would wear the cape of an “chalo yaar .. kya fikaar (don’t let it trouble you my friend) ”, deep down, he would weep almost every single day. I had known him since he was 14 years of age. He must’ve been in the tenth grade then. During the recess or sports hour, he would alienate himself from others and come under a shady banyan tree. And it was here that I first met him. Rahul’s dad had passed away when he was only 3 years of age. His mother had re-married. His parents where in Singapore now. Every month, he would receive a cheque for a thousand dollors. He had been away from home for around 8 years. He would spend most of his vacations at his close friends’ home, that were handful in number anyways. As far as he was concerned, he had more or less seceded from his family. He would time and again confide in me. Pouring his heart out and a lot of times crying in desperation from closeness to his family. I guess I did the best I could to help. To support. To be there whenever he wanted me.

Deep was a complete kolkatan. Deepanata Bhattacharjee was his name in full. He had moved in with his family a few years back and was Pratik’s Colleague. His stead fast pragmatism and staunch opinionated character had easily influenced Pratik. Whenever in troubled thoughts, Pratik would seek comfort in the company of Deep and I. Deep could converse endlessly on sports and politics. And so fascinating was his philosophies that I would spend time endlessly with him. We would meet almost every hour or so to catch up. It would just thrill me to be able to be a cause of his intellectual stimulation.

Arvind had been the marketing head of a company. He had been academically proficient right from his school days. A few years back he had completed his management course that he topped with due honours. It was in this college that I met him first. We used to be constant companions in our college days. But once he passed out, we didn’t seem all that close. Sometimes, I think he would just use me whenever, he had none other to talk to. Sometimes it surprised that he would be a part of the same coterie as amidst Pratik, Rahul and Deep. I knew well that the three didn’t like Arvind one bit. I guess I might have actually been the cause for holding them together even if it just meant sharing pleasantries at a chai shop.

And so, those are good friends of mine. And as their conversation draws to an end and as they drink the final gulp of the masala chai and mouth a minty candy or a scented supari, they would always save the last bit of me for that final drag before they drop me down and mercilessly stamp their platform soles - now just remnant stubs and all smoked out. And the last twist of feet to ensure that I remain stubbed and not a tinge of flame remains, is what makes me contemplate what the world is afterall. Maybe I'm the devil, maybe I'm an angel. I guess I might be a little bit of both.

.... Twhack! And something hit me on the back of my head.

My torso did a little salsa spin and how ever much I tried, I couldn’t defy the rotary mechanics. So I spiraled to the floor and lay semi conscious. My eyes were open however. I could see lights, translucent. It might have been stars though. And I thought...

“Who hit me there? Some one or a thing managed to knock me down. Me! A super hero. That one or the thing should have paranormal powers as well.”

I could hear a sound ever so faint.

“twhhhagawaaha .. atttwhhagawaaha.” 

More than one now. In fact this one was in response to the murmurings of the previous one. 

“acktinbogawaaha .. twacktinbogawaaha.” 

And I tried to see if I could make any sense at all. 

“argonapascritheta .. satargonapascritheta” 

hmm! “...theta! sounded mathematical. These must be intelligent creatures from space. And there were more than one for sure. And I thought back in time. I had mounted my craft. Identified, I seated myself in the cockpit and that’s when my STD ching changed. Oh! yes. The H4 – Tropic of Cancer. I revved the engines. Ignitions switched on and the drone was heard as clear as the waterfalls of the roaring Blue Nile. The count down began. And as the numero uno was coming to a coordinated sync, another sound – inexplicably alien to the environment, was heard.  

“Thwaack”. Hit. Again on the back of my head. Hell! Why couldn’t these things come face to face. Ah! These creatures were trying to communicate to me. 

“argonapascritheta .. satargonapascritheta” said the first one, repeating. 

“adweegaspatriska .. sastadweegaspatriska” said the second one. 

I could make out the hideous outline of the two forms now in front of me. The low watt bulb helped a bit. 

“What do you want from me?” I managed, though incoherently.

“adweegaspatriska .. sastadweegaspatriska” said the second one, more slowly now and pronouncing each syllable carefully. 

Of course it didn’t help. I didn’t know the damn language. And so I repeated as best as I could. 

“advigsptsiskra .. sstadvigsptsiskra. And what do you want you hideous tentacled space lizards?” I bellowed. 

“Thwaack” .. on the back of my head again. 

Stunned silence followed that made me a little nervous. My limbs were numb. I couldn’t move it even a bit. I must be getting weaker. Oh! The prayer. I had to chant the prayer. My powers must have weaned. With a dizzy head, I tried to close my eyes and chant. Closing eyes were easier. I couldn’t see much anyway. But I could scarcely move my lips now. I had to retain the sacred posture. I tried to. I couldn’t. All my energy was sapped. Writhing inside, I fought fatigue with all my might. Unrelenting, I pushed myself to a seating position. Bringing my hands together, palms facing each other, I opened my mouth to utter the initial syllable of the chant when ..  

“Splash” .. cold water on my face.  

It had to do with thermodynamics, I later studied. Every human body acts as a system within a universe. At the heat of the moment, when you are splashed in your face with ice cold water, the sudden drop in temperature surprises every nerve cell of your body into wakefulness and activity. And all of a sudden, I could see clearly as I could the sunlight in day. I could listen well too. I could hear un-muffled laughter all around me. 

Opening my eyelids and looking up, I bore the full brunt of my father’s irate eyes. A sheepish and a rather wide grin eagle spread across my face... 

                                                                                    - tbc

Dusky grey wings. Black overalls. Flaming red and bright orange – yellow paints by the wingside. And as it moved against the light of the sun, the flashy red paints and the bright orange – yellow mix looked like the wings were on fire. The tail piece had a silken smooth finish with smaller rudders bearing a cylindrical seepage device that jetted out sparkling fluorescent blue flames. It was these flames that made craft cut into wind at unimaginable speeds creating violent cracking sounds. Thunderbolts were put to shame. Sitting in the cockpit wearing a full black outfit and a cape was me in my Indra Dhanush. The pilfered airforce style Ray Ban that I had borrowed from my father without his knowledge had come in handy. I might have put the dubbelosevens to shame as well.

The Indra Dhanush (at that time, the super fictional tv soap “Indra Dhanush” was a big hit amongst us kids and so the name was a pretty easy search) was no easy machine to create. It required high levels of creativity, ingenuity and a tremendous will power to make. Each part of the sonic aircraft (that could float on sand as easily as an air filled balloon on water and could cut in and out of water as the swiftest of dolphins could) had been worked to detail. For instance, if an enemy were to have attack me from the behind, all I had to do was press a button and the tail piece of the aircraft would change places with the front portion. Even though I would be flying in the same direction, I would be facing the enemy and there he would be thinking how in god’s name would he be able to avoid the head on collision. Pretty silly, it would have made him feel. But then when you are a super hero, all tasks are easy done than said.

It was 12:30 hrs by hand held space-time describer (I called it the STD). This was a unique device that could predict the time and location of a possible enemy attack with a precision that would put to shame the current bunch of black belts and six sigma enthusiasts. I stepped into the aircraft. And as the door slid by, silence could be heard.

“May we have your identification please?” (Silicon Graphics, they said much later, couldn’t have done it that well). And I held both my palms face to face together and close to my chest. Face and neck forward and facing downwards a bit (modern day folks call it the “Kow Tow”) and eyes closed for a whiff of a second. Inside the human body, this position draws the energies of the mind and heart together. The energy flows so smoothly and transcends outwards that can be trapped to a energy meter and measured.  This energy is specific to each individual and as a security measure, is far safer than a retinal scan.

The craft then lit up inside. Bright crimson hues arose from the cockpit side while the tailside drew up multi coloured incense smokes. Aroma comes from the organic term Aromatic meaning “drawn from aromatic compounds”. A resonating voice calmly greeted –

“Welcome aboard the Indra Dhanush. Please take your seat.”

The sleak leather upholstered seater mechanically railed to where I stood. I moved in a step and sat down. Seat belts moved across my torso automatically and strapped me to the seat. And then I had taken my rightful place in the cockpit.

A second barely passed when my std chimed resonatingly – ching chang. The multihued glass panel displayed a red dot moving across 23° 26′ 21″ N. My mind tracked down the math faster than chacha chowdhury.

Ψ = arctan(cos (ξ)^2 tan (Ø)). (or to simplify to the laybrain it is just
\psi=\arctan\|\|\left(\cos(o\|\varepsilon)^2\tan(\phi)\right).\;\|)

OK! So it was in the tropic of cancer. My chronometric mind did a little mapmaking and I found out that it was on the H-4.

The ignitions switched on, the engine smoothly fired. I backed a bit and turned to the left to get a clear run-way.

My head started counting in tandem to the resonating digital voice.

10                     -                       Ten
9                      -                       Nine
8                      -                       Eight
7                      -                       Seven

What was that? Something disturbed me. I was not alone.

6                      -                       Six
5                      -                       Five
4                      -                       Four
3                      -                       Three

I could definitely listen to whispers and murmurings that kept growing in decibel counts. Whatever it was, was very close to me. Suddenly, there was a sense of chillness enveloping all around me.

2                      -                       Two
1                       -                       One

Thwaack? And something hit me on the back of my head ....                       

                                                                                  tbc ...

The D Day was one of the worst ever. True I had enjoyed all the attention but then everything else was a no-no. I wasn’t allowed to gulp a glass of water let alone eat a bit. The day started in a rather shaky manner. After going deep into the night, playing with cousins, it felt rude to be woken up fairly early in the morning. So early, that the sun didn’t shine for at the least until a couple of hours more. And there I was bathed, powdered to the core on some funny smelling homemade cosmetic. And by the time I reached the homa-kundam, I guess I smelled and looked like a volcano spewed upon child ashen with sleep deprivation. And unfortunately, I didn’t know the mantra yet.

My father and uncle were already with the pundits and I sat down. The pundit gave me a mango tree leaf that was swaddled with molten ghee. Most of the others were awake as well. My mom, draped around by sari that made her look at the least twice her normal size, stood alongside me and my dad. The fire pit was half under fire spewing smoke that cut my half closed eyelids like a crystal edged icicle poking the skin. Another pundit used dried dung to ward the smoke away from me. Little help it did.

The main Pundit (oh! there were four of them) kept pouring more and more of the molten ghee into fire causing it to swell upwards. I was worried if the roof would catch some of it (I didn’t know then that concrete wouldn’t catch fire unless with some help of imflammable/inflammable substances – in fact that was one of the reasons I deliberated more in the field of chemistry than any other academic pursuit). The second pundit (the one who, in vain, attempted to draw the smoke away from my eyes) kept mumbling instructions to me. And I was supposed to repeat after the main guy – de - honours. Heck, I didn’t even speak the same language he did. In fact I didn’t even know if anybody did. In fact I didn’t even know such a language existed (later on ofcourse, it was a mandatory subject of study at high school – give away: so I did make it to the high school after all). But the drool of his lips and tongue gave a weird rhythmic sound which I calibrated to the extent I could. But this went on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

.. on and on for until for a couple of hours at the least. I am not even sure if I fell asleep mid-way. I might have been because my father at times looked irritatedly at me. Maybe it was the Pundit. He might have been driving my dad mad too. Why? Why wouldn’t they just tell me the mantra and be done with it? I looked to my left side (to my right was my father) and saw my grandfather -serious and yet relaxed. He’s seen it all. He’s done it all. Was he a super hero too? Was my father a super hero as well? Wow this presented a new comic book altogether. Only then, I completely trusted the comics. Phantom, Superman, Spiderman, Batman, Flash Gordon, Mandrake, the Flying Robot and many more. They had to be real. They were photographed after all. Wasn’t that what comics were all about? Photographs/Images of their heroic deeds!

I was nudged into wakefulness. That was my elder brother. When I become a superhero I would get him too. That was soon after Mani. Oh! My brother could be a super hero too. Uhm! Another reverie. And more rudeness. This time about, it was the second pundit. He gave me a ladle and as