CHAOS AND I ARE DOING FINE

Chaos!

When I first came across this word in my life, I chose the conventional path of referring a dictionary and religiously dug out the meaning.

The dictionary left me feeling miffed with two conflicting viewpoints on chaos.

It described chaos as:

#1 - The infinity of space or formless matter supposed to have preceded the existence of the ordered universe

#2 - A state of utter confusion or disorder; a total lack of organization or order

Believe me when I tell you, I got simply carried away by the first interpretation. 

I ended up reciting the word chaos repetitively in my self-talks, introduced it to some of my friends and started adding it to every sentence of mine (when I got irreparably frustrated and irritated).

The word enslaved me. Speaking aloud and while endeavoring to write faster, I made sure that chaos continues to be a regular attendant in my worries, stress and hypertension. 

Chaos didn't bother me much till I saw it grow arrogant and start backbiting. The sudden change in its characterization made me take a stance against chaos; I started rethinking it; as an identity, an insignia, an impossibility and also an irritant. 

Times change. So, I am in a new timezone. This time, a new obsession has taken over. This obsession was actually born out of my reconstructed approach towards chaos. 

The reconstructed approach involves treating chaos as a condition without form. I envision chaos as malice, which takes the shape, size and form of the situation we are in. Post which, it continues to grow, starts taking control of the sensory organs, tightens its grip and holds the mind captive. 

Chaos, I believe has polluted my blood; infiltrated into my DNA. I am aware of the crisis, this uneasy feeling that chaos continues to expose me to. The frequency of this feeling was massive when I was living alone in a city, not too far from Mumbai. After I returned, I was lucky to find chaos sporting a leaner look. The change in personality is a welcome change and has opened new avenues for chaos to overrule.

I am not in a mood to keep fighting against chaos; I would rather allow it to stay closer to me. Therefore chaos and I are doing absolutely fine. Maybe someday I too would say something similar in the manner, Dushka Zapata, the author has tried to put it - Creating order out of chaos is not something I’d ever consider a chore. It clears my head. I do it for fun. Doing laundry is instant gratification. Taking something rumpled, stained and smelly and turning it into something fresh, fluffy and neatly stacked is my idea of heaven.

Happy to repeat and conclude - Chaos and I are doing absolutely fine.

- Virtuous Vociferous

AT THE STROKE OF RANDOM THOUGHTS

I believe life is a journey of random thoughts.

Thoughts that last for a second and the ones that last for a lifetime.

It is only at the stroke of some random thoughts that I chose to share mine from today and few from the days, not many calendar years ago.

Random Thought #1

An hour back, the dogs got grumbling again; not one of the rare patterns that I am not well acquainted with. But this event keeps repeating itself. Unusually these fights break out during this specific hour of a crossover, from a Sunday to the Blues-day (Monday). These conflicts break through the silence of the night. I appoint the lamp in my bedroom the official spokesperson to anchor the unspoken hours, of an otherwise noisy night. One random thought after the other, is this how this night plans to reveal yet another day? Bow, vow, woof, hoof; there go the dogs again. Either hungry or horny, they are going to stop at none.

Random Thought #2

If I am asked what my favourite colour is, I will be heard announcing yellow as my first choice, only to be followed by red, maroon, brick red and neon red. At times, I spend hours explaining my fondness for black and white. Therefore you will not be left with a doubt to see me drive a white car. It’s a cosy little, spacious car. It goes by the name of Zen Estilo and sports a tattoo too – Mom’s Pride, Our Honour.  My car is not just my car; it’s also our family’s first car. Fresh from a new scratch and slapped by the failing veins of its AC, it drove us through the highway, saved us from the potholes, left us feeling rich with the experience of moody monsoons. As the winds blew, the downpour grew fiercer and the muddy waters flowed thicker, the car chose to run tougher. Either angry or ambitious, our car is just another story in making.

Random Thought #3

I remember seeing her in the hospital. I have known her mother for years now. We have been colleagues first and then friends. My mother had accompanied me to the hospital. The nurses had wrapped this bundle of joy in the softest clothes. Her mother, my friend held her tenderly and gently placed her in my arms. For three minutes that I held her, I was overcome by countless emotions. As she kept growing, her mother shared her stories. We attended her first birthday, skipped her second and maybe forgot her third. But she kept growing. Today she is in the second grade. Initially she ran shy of me, locked herself in the kitchen and didn’t reveal herself till the time I had left their apartment. Today as I flashed my smartphone and told her, “This is an apple.” The same shy girl came closer and replied, “Uncle, if this is an apple, shouldn’t you be eating it instead of confusing it as a phone?” I am yet to recover from this innocent question of hers. I think I will never have a reply to this question of hers because every object of our desire makes us its ardent slave. Ira, I salute you.

Random Thought #4

In the year 2008, Nikhil and I were in Goa. For the five days that we stayed there, we explored every corner of Goa that made us imagine a million things about it. We went on a river cruise, we drove on Hero Honda Splendour, we observed the mannerisms of foreigners and secretly saw some Indians ape the American tanning ways. On the second last day, we were told that we can spot dolphins, if we delve deep. The boat might have taken us to the spot where dolphins supposedly take a plunge or two; we saw none. Years later, while attending a seminar, I heard someone whisper, “Did you see those dolphins?” I was at my wit’s end. I was attending a scholarly talk and I had heard someone talk dolphins. Before I could react pretending to be irritated by the small talk, I saw her walk in and she carried those two dolphins with utter grace. I don’t remember the year and neither do I remember seeing the woman again. But I am sure the tattoo of those two dolphins on her arms might still be busy making her look more beautiful than ever. My first encounter with tattoos and the spell they cast.

Random Thought #5

If migration makes you famous then I too had migrated a year back to a new city. Three hours away from Mumbai, I had made Pune my home. But my migration didn’t make me a celebrity like other cities could have possibly managed to. My migration was always pregnant with the sensation of feeling detached. On weekends, I would rush home like a child rushes back from a boarding school. For the five days that I would stay in Pune, I hated being a stranger to some realities. There were very few honest faces, which surrounded me and my thoughts; they still are a part of my life. But the city failed to make me a celebrity. I wish I had shifted to some other place, as they say Bengaluru is much happening. There's always that city away from the city we live in, which feels a little lonely and sometimes a lot more homely. But my home will be Mumbai and the only other city that I can survive in happily is Kolkata. Of the two, which one is my favourite? Oh don’t compel me to make a choice between my two mother cities.

Random Thought #6

He was fond of smoking. Tea kept him energetic. He was smarter than me. In his 50s, he was handsome and still desirable. Today he would have turned 69. But he chose to leave handsome rather than live through the oddities of time. No matter, how against I was to his many thoughts, he will continue being the hero. Even today, he is famous as Hitler in our hometown. He would have continued being famous as Hitler in future too. Such was his temperament and such was his obsession with a disciplined life. Happy Birthday to you Baba; I will keep missing you on every July 10.

It’s 1 AM. Before I could sense it, Monday had barged into my mobile phone reminding me that sleep offers no discounts. And in this journey of random thoughts, I wish to wander more, learn more; see the dolphins bounce again, doesn’t matter in which form – either real or in the form of a tattoo again.

-Virtuous Vociferous

INDUCT FIRST, INSTRUCT NEXT

Two weeks back, in one of the farthest suburbs of Mumbai, in the conference room of an otherwise pretentious but swanky office, I was asked a question by a stranger – How good are you with your interpersonal skills?

I hadn’t ever met this person before in my life. I hadn’t heard about him or read about him. I might have read about his agency’s name in the list of instantly mushrooming so called ‘digital’ agencies but, I never seriously considered meeting him in person.

The necessity to reply him didn’t seem of vital importance to me. In this scenario, I was neither a desperate seeker nor a desperate browser; I was just meeting up for some other purpose. His question left me miffed. In the past few years, I’ve been asked many such questions and I’ve also been party to people doubting my capability, my capacity and my calibre. So be it! But I need to ask one question – Why aren’t any of the recent organizations (in my knowledge) conducting induction programmes? I am not asking this question independently but this is a unanimous concern, which needs to be addressed by the so called thinking community of today’s changing advertising, digital or any tom-dick-harry culture in India. So I ask again, “Why aren’t any of the recent organizations (in my knowledge) conducting induction programmes?”

Every time, I’ve asked this question, I’ve met with failure or a long lull (almost mute). To be honest, none of the organizations are encouraging induction. The hiring culture has grown worse than ever. This is how the entire process takes place; this is with regards to the hiring marathon, appointment thereafter in most of the recent advertising and digital agencies:

An HR Manager calls up after reading the first few lines of your profile. In most cases, keywords like #CreativeBackground #Copywriter #Scripting #Experience #CampaignDevelopment seem to be enough for the HR girl or guy (I am saying girl and guy because serious individuals have left this space and jumped into the valley of invisibility) to dial your number and invite you for an interview.

• The first round of the interview is necessarily with the HR Manager. In some cases, the HR Managers are well read about the background, a candidate hails from. But, at times, I’ve been personally saddened to come across some hiring executives, who don’t know a thing about advertising or even the age of digital communication in India. I’ve met someone who thought Facebook is 20 years old in India. Shit, why wasn’t I on Facebook then? What a shame for me!
  
  
• The second round is usually conducted by someone who is loosely or tightly associated with the job profile that you might get appointed to. Now this girl or guy comes with his/her own excess baggage. The deadpan look on their faces tells you that they have been forced to conduct this interview. Secondly they are very upset about the candidate they had met last week and had eagerly desired to be appointed to the position, now under negotiation. Since the deciding committee hadn’t selected his/her desired candidate, this interview will be considered an additional burden. Your resume will be not scanned or read in this second round. You will be asked silly questions about yourself, your best campaign, your knowledge of a brand and some more extra queries (about which you might not have any inkling).
  
  
• The third round of your interview will be a rapid fire round with a person, who usually hangs around three departments; the Managing Director’s Cabin, The HR Manager’s Cabin and the Cabin of the Second Round Interviewer. This person might be a relative or a good friend of someone already working in the office and will come to you either with a sheet of paper or loads of attitude around him. The certain task in his or her hand – Ah, here is this product, create a campaign around it.
  
  
• The fourth round will be a negotiation round, which necessarily focuses on underestimating your talent. No matter, the years of experience you possess, you will still be made to realize that you are nowhere. 

Having cleared all the rounds, you are in the Bingo Zone. You are happily handed over an offer letter, an appointment letter, a bunch documents comprising illogical rules and regulations and yes you are told, “Our incoming times are fixed 9:30 AM but, we are very weak at outgoings.”

On the first day (in the event of you deciding to join on a demotivating, lazy Monday), you are hurriedly pushed into a conference room, which smells of neither a room freshener nor food but rather stinks with the pesticide sprayed over the weekend. The HR Manager from the first round makes a Godly appearance and promises to introduce you to everyone in the office. On your first day, you are made many promises and none of them are true. On the second day itself, you are put on task by the two people from the second and third rounds. They start acting like a boss to you. When you gather the courage to ask for some time to think over it, pat comes the reply, “Time is what, we are running against my friend. You better pull up your socks.”

The moral of the story – On the first day when a candidate is misled into an organization, the chances are thin for him/her to continue even for the first six months.

Therefore whey is induction necessary?

• A newly appointed candidate might come from the same sector that your organization operates in but the functioning might be different.
  
  
• Your organization might be following the theory of chaos to win accounts, lose accounts, adjust accounts or sustain accounts; the newly appointed candidate might like to do things in an organized manner.
  
  
• Some people in your organization might not be aware (either deliberately or unknowingly) about the appointment of a new candidate; wouldn’t it be nice to organize a 10 minute get together to help the new candidate break the ice?
  
  
• The hierarchies might be different in your organization; what if a junior talks to a senior like a boss or what if the candidate is dragged into some important pitch presentation, about which he has no knowledge at all.
  
  
• Every organization, every agency has a certain DNA of operating; are you sure the newly appointed candidate will come to know of it on the first day of his/her joining?
  
  
• Hold back your set of instructions before gauging if the candidate has found a proper place to sit in our office. If he/her hasn’t yet been shown the place to settle down, you seriously need a reality check. 

Hoping that I haven’t kicked off a controversy, I would sign off saying - INDUCT FIRST, INSTRUCT NEXT.

-Virtuous Vociferous 

ISN’T MOTIVATION THE KEY?

I remember being very young when my father walked in during a midsummer afternoon and declared, “Wake up, you got to learn cycling from today.” He held my hand and I followed him to a local bicycle mechanic’s shop. I remember the mechanic only by his first name – Abdul. His physical features were uncanny with a hairstyle that could inspire many hilarious characters for a comic strip. His jawline was peculiar, seemed a little misaligned and he broke into a smile every now and then. My father chose a bicycle for me, a maroon colored mini cycle of Atlas make; strong and sturdy, inviting. We made our way to the adjacent playground. My father gave me some basic instructions about how to pedal, maintain balance, take control of the handle bar and switch between looking upward, downward. As I sat on the bicycle, I told myself, “This looks pretty easy.” My father released a gentle smile and I started pedaling. I might have gone a little ahead when I lost balance, hugged the ground and smeared with red mud. The children playing nearby rushed to my rescue but, my father discouraged them and walked closer to where I was lying helplessly; now staring at the rude blue sky.

My father asked, “What happened? Why aren’t you getting up?”

I defended, “I can’t. This is not my cup of tea. Look at me, I am all so dirty.”

My father, now having raised his volume slightly warned, “You learn it this way or never.” 

Seeing my adamant behaviour, my father didn’t press me further and let me tread on my own. For more than a week and less than a month, I didn’t ever head to Abdul’s shop to hire a bicycle to start learning bicycling. I was mocked by my friends. Some of them showed their compassion while others simply decided to give me a miss. My mom stood by me; she opened the door, pushed a note of Rs 5 deep in my palm and warned, “You are not returning today without learning. Make the world stop laughing at you or I will make sure that you learn it my way.” Shuddering and breathing heavily beneath the threat, I rushed to Abdul’s shop, grabbed the same bicycle and was back on the playground. This time, Abdul had a little mercy on me; he accompanied me to the playground and promised to not let me lose my balance. Abdul’s assurance made me feel confident and I started pedaling. I pedaled for quite some time, turned my head to see that Abdul was long gone. My heart sank and I hit the ground instantly. I was so outraged that I felt like pelting a stone at Abdul, breaking his misaligned jawline and make him suffer for life. Before I could set my thoughts into action, Abdul came rushing; he helped me gain my posture back and said, “Good job. Next time, you should pedal more, fall without worrying and start cycling again.”

Abdul’s words kept echoing in my ears. I returned home valorously. The story that I built around my learning experience seemed to have no end. I kept repeating the same to my mom and she kept smiling. After some while, my father debuted right in the middle of the story and doubted everything that I padded up to support the core of it. Next morning, he promised to accompany me to Abdul’s shop and verify my claims.

As the sun rose, my heart cursed the morning; on a nasty front, I also prayed for an earthquake and a heavy downpour to thwart my Bicycle Training Programme. But God seemed to be on leave too. Abdul happily let the bicycle go; he accepted my father’s bet that if I don’t fall, he will not charge us a penny. The pressure was mounting. As I took control of the bicycle, my mother’s words echoed again, “You are not returning today without learning. Make the world stop laughing at you or I will make sure that you learn it my way.” I looked into my father’s eyes and he seemed to be communicating silently to me, “Son, don’t make me say what I said that day. Prove me wrong. Don’t let me should at you, pushing you to learn it this way or never.” After a while, he yelled, “Pedal. Whom are you waiting for? Go ride. If you fall, get your ass up and ride again. Or else, I am never going to pay for your bicycle practice.”

Some of his words might have been negative but they had a positive connotation. Being a father, he didn’t want his son to fail. My mother didn’t want her child to fail. On the tad end I saw Abdul, being an entrepreneur, he too was betting his luck on me and somehow I felt, he wanted to lose out on that small bet of Rs. 5; he longed to see me succeed.

I started pedaling, I temporarily lost the balance and then regained my composure. In a matter of 45 minutes, I had completed taking five rounds of the playground that had treated me like a loser. In the sixth round, I fell off the bicycle. But my father ran to my rescue. His single word for that moment, “Finally.” Abdul let out a sigh of relief and when we returned home, my father had a story to narrate. I was the listener this time. My father told it the way the events took place. He didn’t pad up a single thing. Abdul found a momentary mention too. My mother stared deep into my eyes, drew me closer, hugged me tightly and said, “Didn’t I tell you I will make you learn my way?”

Emanuel James "Jim" Rohn was an American entrepreneur, author and motivational speaker had once remarked rightly – Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.

My only regret is; people around the world have suddenly stopped motivating and have started taking keen interesting in conspiring. Thankfully I will hold on to my ground to continue being a motivator for those who need my help and my timely advice.

-Virtuous Vociferous

PS: My father was a person of few words but he had the strength to bend a mind. I am unaware about Abdul’s whereabouts but, I am sure he meant everything he said. My mother still continues to be my source of constant inspiration. 

AS WE DROVE OUT ONE MIDSUMMER MORNING

As you might realise, the title of the blog is inspired from the 1969 Laurie Lee memoir As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning. But this post and the book don’t resemble each other on any account. To be precise, this could be just another anecdote.  

View from Lenyadri caves

The recently concluded weekend could have been another ordinary day of our lives; had we not instantly decided to travel to a destination, which helped us grow rich with its vibrant memories. At around 9:30 AM, we started for Titwala in our white coloured Zen Estilo (Meter Reading: 50206). The first destination being decided, we deliberately chose to remain clueless as to where, we would be heading after offering our prayers at the temple. But we were in for a stunning surprise. Following a disturbance caused by some over-drunk antisocial elements, the entire area around the temple town remained closed. The shops had downed their shutters, restaurants had shut business, cops were on the vigil and visitors like us were left a bit dissatisfied. Luckily the doors of the main temple were kept open to not let down the expectations of devotees (like us), who throng in over weekends.

Monkeying Around

We were back on the Murbad-Kalyan road, hunger making our taste buds run dry. Dajiba, a midsized restaurant jumped to our rescue with two plates of hot Misal Pav being served alongside two cups of hot tea. Our hunger pangs being taken care of, we chose to explore some traveling options; these included mountains and beaches. We chose to travel straight to Malshej Ghat and if time permitted, a few kms ahead of it to Junnar. Lady luck agreed to travel alongside. The car’s speed didn’t hit an ounce below 100 kms/hour; the only exception being the presence of relentless speed breakers near Murbad bus depot. We were in no mood to negotiate. The first sight of Malshej Ghat’s towering peak gave us an adrenaline rush. Driving through one of the openings of Malshej Ghat, which also serves as a tunnel; we brought our car to a halt near Maharashtra Dhaba at Mhad-Pargaon (Meter Reading: 50317, Time: 13:30 hrs). We treated ourselves to a sumptuous spread of Jowari Bhakri, Aloo Mutter and Baked Papad. At this moment, we were informed of being just 45 minutes away from Lenyadri Caves in Junnar. To the uninitiated, Lenyadri is one of the 8 spots of pilgrimage that offers darshan of Lord Ganesha’s Shakti Peeths in and around Pune (also known as the Ashtavinayaka Yatra).

Lenyadri Caves

Our hearts, now overdosed with excitement, couldn’t resist beating faster. There stood the Lenyadri Caves, at a height of 100 feet (30 m) above the plains. Going by Wikipedia, Lenyadri is the only Ashtavinayaka temple on a mountain and within the precincts of Buddhist caves (Meter Reading: 50343, Time: 14:20 hrs). We decided to park our car in the private parking zone. We were then presented with the challenge of having to climb 350 stairs to reach Lord Ganpati temple inside the caves. At around 14:30 hrs, the sun was at its scorching best. But where there is faith there is always devotion. And where there is Lord Ganesha, we are Blessed Humesha. Since the climb was steep, it was decided between us that one of us would take up the challenge. Endurance had to be put to its ultimate test. Loaded with a bottle of cold water, a camera, a Western hat and eye gears; I started on my own. I exhaled more, inhaled less and drank less water. The idea was to not take any break while climbing. High on devotion helped me to succeed with flying colours. After having reached the entrance, I called back to have conquered the summit. On entering the cave, the exhaustion faded out. The natural form of Lord Ganesha, smeared in vermillion was a sight of sheer bliss. Peering out of the cave weaved a scenic tale, which cannot be narrated through a single write up. 

The Pagoda

After stepping out, the visit to the pagoda in one of the many caves was another delight, which I shall timelessly savour. As I started descending, I was left amused by the sight of monkeys seated by the rock-cut stairs. Expectation of food was quiet evident in their eyes. Since I had nothing to share, I was spared of their wrath, which usually emerges from infighting.

By 15:25 hrs, I had touched base. We then teamed up again to shop for some raisins, which are sold at throwaway prices; in large, small quantities. At sharp 15:30 hrs, we started back for home. Since we were to travel by the same road and through the Malshej Ghat, we stopped by to photograph the surrounds and of course enrich our souls with selfies. After having crossed the tunnel, we came across the ghastly sight of a dead body being pulled out of the valley. We decided to leave the suspense of this story unattended. During a pleasant journey, we were in no mood to carry home bitter memories. At this point, it is worth mentioning the efforts taken by government authorities to beautify the ravines. Since monsoons are expected soon, the edges have been barricaded and seating arrangements facilitated to make visits much more pleasurable. Driving through these places, we made sure to buy wild sweet berries, even though raw mangoes were on sale too; all of them at cheap bargain friendly prices.

The Challenging Staircase

We ended the trip with a quick visit to our neighborhood. During the time, we finally parked the car, the meter read 50467. Till the next time, we embark on another road trip… we wish you Happy Driving, Happy Exploring.

-Virtuous Vociferous

PS: The next time, I write a post related to travel, it will bear a new voice and a new style of writing (absolutely different from what it looks, sounds and reads now). 

DEAR MAA – 60 MILES AHEAD OF US

The train reached Nagpur. Summers were riding high. This was yet another school vacation. This was just another summer trip to Kolkata; our annual holiday. Our Milton water-container, which could easily carry 5 litres in it had started running dry. We kept praying for the train’s timely arrival in Nagpur. I am speaking from memories of a time when mineral water was a rarity, branded bottled water was out-of-sight/out-of-reach. The moment the train came to a halt, I saw her jump out of S5 (the coach we were reserved with), sprint towards an ice counter, fill the container to its brink and return with a victorious expression. She had done it again by acting on her immediate instinct.

Maa’s life has been a collage of many such fearless experiences. Being the eldest daughter of the eldest son of a joint family, Maa’s days of ‘Being Responsible’ had commenced from her days in cradle. Over the years through her decisive actions, she just didn’t silence her critics but went ahead to generate a fan following, very much similar to that of a filmy personality. She started her career with New English School in Kalwa as an Assistant Teacher on a meagre pay scale. Being a teacher, she treated every student equally. According to her every student is special and it is the teacher’s responsibility to make her or him a better citizen for the future.

I continue being a student of hers. Maa also happens to be the first superwoman I met from the time, she brought me into this world. After my birth, she chose to dream on an all new level. The challenges had grown tougher than ever. Following a non-cooperation movement, sparked by a political union leader of old times, textile mills started closing down; one after the other. My father’s mill was one of them. When his mill closed down, he was serving as a Production Supervisor but, over a week’s time everything changed. At this juncture, Maa had to shoulder the responsibilities. It was during this difficult phase that she had to also pursue further studies to secure a B.Ed degree. Determined and passionate about teaching, Maa continued achieving success in everything she chose to associate with.

Last month, she touched 60. She is now retired but continues to be an active teacher and is still referred to or addressed as Krishna teacher. She has mentored everybody, irrespective or their age, caste, creed or religion. Every time she is greeted, she returns the gesture with her same old simplistic warmth. On many occasions, I couldn’t hold my tears back because I found her to be too simple. But she is unstoppable. Chasing a dream, defying attitudes and countering opinions; even I tend to grow tired. But for Maa, every simple movement is a challenge in making.

To Maa that I shall always remain indebted to, I have learnt the following lessons from her:

• Be determined, be always responsible
• Counter every challenge with fire in your belly
• Let the world oppose, never fall prey to opinions
• Patience is the key to unlock unknown opportunities
• Giving up is the characteristic of cowards
• Hard work will definitely pay off in the long run
• Don’t demand respect; let your deeds bring that to you
• Teaching is not a profession to earn money but a passion to create better citizens

-Virtuous Vociferous 

THE ENTRAPMENTS OF DOMESTIC LIFE

All this while, the tasteless mind has been plagued by questions. These sharp-edged questions keep protruding out like active ulcers on passive skin. Causing anguish, demeaning desires, these questions compel us to probe deep into a proverb, which reads: PURPOSE FUELS PASSION. In a life as domestic as ours, the ‘purpose’ seems to have gone missing.

The sun is yet to come to life. The alarm goes off at 5 AM sharp. Switching off the AC, crawling out of the bed, contracting and expanding the eyes, inhaling the remains of last night and exhaling the so called depravity of sleep; we tell ourselves, “Wake up, time to go”. The door leads to the bathroom, the bathroom gives way to the washbasin, the washbasin sports a hefty tap, which we turn on and push a toothbrush deep inside to help us sport a million dollar smile, cavity free jawline, fresh breath (in case, smooching tops the agenda). After the residues of the previous night’s half-digested food finds a way down the flush, we are equally free to declare ourselves ‘Fresh’.

Postponing the bath, we sprint towards the kitchen; boil a glassful of water, slice a lemon into two, undo the lid of Baba Ramdev’s Patanjali honey and consume it to make a statement, “We are health conscious”. It is 5:40 AM by now, we decide to embark on an excursion of a home that belongs to us, exploring deep corners, which hide in them a dead cockroach, a group of paralyzed mosquitoes, a nano crew of marching ants and a spider busy spreading a web to trap them all. Sorry we are in no mood to give these pests a free hand; we pull out the broom, rescue them from the circle of life and death and release them dead or alive straight into the dustbin. Thereafter we continue with the broom, trying not to fly on it but sweeping the floors and other surfaces. By 6 AM, we are out. Huffing, puffing and sweating heavily. This part is globally known as ‘Physical Workout’. By 6:45 AM, we are back to wake up the other members of the home. The God, the wife, the mother, the washing machine, the gas oven and the milk over it, the refrigerator and of course the music system.

The wife and the mother have got their own agendas to chase. If wife and mother are both professionals, boarding the 8:45 AM Mumbai Fast tops the list. Prior to that the moral responsibility of cooking a storm keeps them engaged. Oh shit, it is 8:15 AM. If we don’t leave now, the train (even though starting from where we stay) might get crowded. We run down all the staircase, blow the horn to signal our concern over a supposed delay in making. The wife follows in 50:50 makeup; the rest of it will be taken care of in the train. While we are busy finding a parking space, the wife is already running for the train. We run, board the train and curse those who opt for a return journey from the station prior to ours. The train comes to a halt, the wife alights somewhere else. After we alight, we take a look at the watch and release a sigh of relief. This part is officially known as ‘the train is running on time’.

Humping and thumping we reach our offices, welcomed by the security guard at the reception, we sign in and traverse smoothly through the biometric passage. We settle down and start fondling with the PC, Laptop, Tablet and IPad that serves as our connection to the outside world. This part is universally called ‘being in office’. Till lunch hour, we try to figure out what are we supposed to do. We make phone calls to our loved ones to know their statuses; has the wife reached her office safely? Did mother have her breakfast? What is the bank balance for today? Boss comes in, doesn’t smile, doesn’t react, doesn’t interact and then we scream out ‘communication gap’. Post the lunch hour, we associate ourselves with some menial tasks, which fail to make us feel proud; we gape, we ape, we yawn, we curl and by the time our mind starts concentrating on the tasks at hand, it is it time to leave. Leaving office on time is considered sin in an advertising agency (or perhaps the advertising industry). The moment, we decide to pack up, the client servicing team members come hunting for us. We step out, our phones ring, we are requested to come back to the office and there we are fondling with computer again. Time doesn’t stand still, decisions are postponed, feedback never shared; frustrated and irritated, we call it a day. This part is called ‘finally out of office’.

Once again we are at the station, waiting impatiently for the train to arrive. Even though the indicator predicts an arrival within three minutes, many a times, the train seems to have disappeared. The train arrives, we barge in; finding a seat is a rare opportunity if at all we board the train from another destination rather than the point of its origin. We get back to the destination, we started from in the morning. And once again, we are back home. We bathe, we refresh and we settle down for dinner. We switch on the television, make an attempt to stay up late to catch a movie, we had long heard about but never thought of watching. The eyes start trembling, beg for sleep and naturally we are back to the bed again. The AC is switched on and there we are, indulged in sleep, lost in nightmares and getting lost somewhere, before the alarm rings again.

Days and nights fade, we follow the same routine. Then comes a day when we ask, “What is the purpose we are pursuing in our lives?”

A long silence ensues.

Purpose lost, purpose gained; only this time, it is not the one…we had been thinking about!

-Virtuous Vociferous 

Nous Sommes Prêts

Till yesterday we followed an orthodox ritual of traveling. We would wait for months to first think and then travel. Our hopes stuck to the availability of tickets; we never made a choice that contested our fascination about train journeys. Though this fascination was an imposed one, over the years, we ended up gingerly falling in love with it. This love spanned between the geographical limits of Mumbai and Kolkata. Summers after summers, we relied on a solo vacation; a vacation that comprised learning English and Bengali grammar too.

Over a period of time, this fascination took a beating; other destinations started casting their spell. We did try to make an exception. Long back the three letter word ‘Goa’ resounded. A travel agent was approached; the yellow colored cubical type office was tucked somewhere between a barber’s shop and a general store, somewhere near a badly smelling fish market. Somehow the plan didn’t materialize the way, we had wanted it to. In fact we never traveled to Goa. We had saved enough for this trip. Our hearts were left broken by the immense agony of cancellation. There were two ways to vent it out, scream wildly or calm down. We calmed down, purchased a Videocon washing machine with the saved amount and never ever spoke about it. On certain occasions, it seemed like we had taken a pledge to never reveal what happened to our plans of a so called different vacation in Goa.

Years faded, desires matured, faith soared and the feet developed an itch; this itch carried the sensation of tramping across destinations. From trains, we made an upwardly move; this time we chose to fly. This wasn’t a fascination but a better option to travel. A perfect time saver; journeys by flights attracted both; raised eyebrows and swollen egos. Even though Kolkata topped the priority list (yes I mean it; the priority list) of vacations, we discovered other destinations such as Gokarna, Chennai, Puducherry, Shimla, Manali, Chandigarh, Pune, Kolhapur, Dharamshala, Silvassa and of course Goa (we visited on multiple occasions). We didn’t limit ourselves to national boundaries, we traversed partly across the globe, to another Asian destination. This time we found ourselves in Thailand; we went exploring through Pattaya and then Bangkok. We shot photographs with tigers, prayed in Buddhist temples, walked through the nights and enjoyed eyeing Dolphins, Orangutans at their comical best. Even though it was our first international trip, our passports bearing the first international stamp; the experiences were quietly brushed beneath a carpet of hushed anguish. Some complained of not being informed; we wondered if they would have towed along! Some complained of the trip being an ego trip; we regret that the ego they spoke about never showed up. Once again we took another pledge to lock our Bangkok memories with an unbreakable password. The 3500 odd photographs remain copied to one of the four or perhaps five external hard disks that we share between us. 

Throughout the years, we realized that breaking away from an orthodox ritual attracts antipathy from all quarters. The society reacts in strange manners. Ties of blood weaken. Promises of friendship are forgotten; it’s really funny how one international trip ends up being a controversy. Will we not take another international trip ever? Why shouldn’t we? Our passports are not meant to rot between their date of issue and renewal. We will travel of course, we will break a norm again; if not in the near future, definitely maybe immediately.

Having lived for long in memories of bygone years, the mind continues demanding freshness. Social media continues to tell us about the restless journeys, our friends, our family and our extended families embark upon. We used to stare at them, on our computer screens, till one day we decided; break the rules, hit the road, take the first left turn, move a little ahead, then turn to the right and continue going straight; without once, thinking of taking a U Turn.

Therefore to many journeys ahead, we wish to say, “Nous Sommes Prêts”.

-Virtuous Vociferous 

REOPENING THIS SEASON

No more tall claims. No more long waits. No more thinking through darkness. No more remorse over wasted weekends. This list of ‘no mores’ carries the burden of running longer. This list also poses the threat to end up ruining my future course of writing… Let me add an extra no more to that or should I save it for some other time!

So where was I between these unblogged months?

Migration: Between 2008 and 2010, Pune was my most favoured destination to stake my claim for being a second home. The weather, the people, the food and the possibilities looked highly defined. The trips I made back then to Pune were a blend of personal and professional inclinations. Never did I foresee a migration. Between May 2015 and December 2015, I migrated to Pune; holed up in a terrace flat. Peaceful locality, closer to my place of work, pleasant weather; everything seemed picture perfect. Except that I had started missing Mumbai immensely from the day I unlocked the door of my apartment. During my course of stay in Pune, I did nothing great about my passion but, kept imagining about it, talking about it and slept by setting myself on a paid vacation mode.

Books: Reading gives me indefinable joy. My greed to read increased; I read books after books after books after books. Crime fictions, suspense thrillers, nonfiction, biographies, journeys, deaths, births, revolutions, destruction and evolution; I read them all. I felt like I was possessed by a hungry reader’s soul. This soul replaced my original part, auto installed itself and I continued to read. Traces of that reader’s soul can still be found in me, I am still reading and going by my instinct, I am not letting go the habit. 

Cinema: There are two types of cinema; the ones you want to watch and the ones you are suggested to watch. I fell in love with the later. In the long list of suggestions, I watched THE SHIP OF THESEUS, FIGHT CLUB, ZERO DARK THIRTY, THE SHINING; it’s a tiresome list of choices I made. But cinema gave me a lot. Thankful to two specific guys from my Pune office, who introduced me to the kind of cinema, which I knew existed but, didn’t endeavour to secure an access.

Weekends: Posted on domestic duty. I went shopping for vegetables, clothes, perfumes, shoes, accessories, snacks and a lot more. I promised to write something on Saturday, postponed it to Sunday and by Monday, the less it’s written about, the better. I combed through weekends, I flipped through them and when I counted down the wasted ones, I cursed.

Lethargy: It is not in my nature but, I did extend to it my olive branch of friendship. Even though for years, I treated it like an alien, its commitment towards me was unquestionable. There was no specific reason behind this partnership but, of course my desire to try it once. Thank you for being there and now having disappeared.

All said, all written, I now cut the ribbon; a satin red one with regards to REOPENING THIS SEASON.

-Virtuous Vociferous