" ('To the ones we won and the ones we lost - Salud!')- my entry to the GetPublished contest’’

Hazy memory, but a picture he remembers vividly.The front bencher's were staring back. Besides him on both sides were the pretty girls that were the reason for their" full expression" stares. And his darling was sitting right next to him. Of course at that time he didn't know she was his darling. Neither did she.After all he was also the darling of the rest of the ladies in Class 2nd B.

The kids at his apartment block were a tight bunch. Leaderless but happy, playing the usual ; cops and robbers and impressing girls on new BMX bicycles.12 yr old kids without a care. She was from Sri Lanka. At that age he didn't know where Sri Lanka was.But he knew she was pretty and their eyes met, always. A different kid of a meet...

The sermon was long. He was waiting for that instance.All the rest noised out by the anticipation.That was the reason he caught a seat in the front pew leaving his dad pretty surprised.Finally the moment came.Where everyone steps out to take their share of the holy bread. The line formed to the altar.And there she was.An angel for whom he would even suffer this catechism class.And then, there he could write poetry...

Her head rested on his shoulders.The train was full. He was tired.But the trip was worth it.His eyes closed for a second. And memories floated around in his head.She was the best thing that ever happened to him.He never knew an engineering college would throw up this surprise.The first day the professor called out the attendance sheet there was pause when he heard the name.And when he turned around to search for where the sound of "Yes Sir" came from, their eyes met and he knew a story had started...

The cycle was an old one.Hero Atlas.The ubiquitous old timer.It was the only one he had.Uncle was kind enough to provide him that.No complaints.It was serving its purpose.She had a new BSA SLR.And she passes by his gate at exactly 3:00 pm.It was a wait. The time was only 11:00 am.But it was worth it. A chance to ride together.A chance to feel love rushing at you as you ride the roads , a rush like the sweet wind from the paddy fields...

...............

Sad stories.Happy stories.Stories of Love.Life.
He too was a lover boy in his own right with memories to call his own.As an unknown feeling way back in the 2nd standard, the return of the same unknown feeling as a 12 yr old, to a gradual realization and acceptance of the feeling throughout adolescence, adulthood and for the gold nugget at the end of the rainbow.These are his stories and this is his tribute.

Every story to the ones we won and the ones we lost. Salud!!

This is my entry for the HarperCollins–IndiBlogger Get Published contest, which is run with inputs fromYashodhara Lal and HarperCollins India.

The Hypocrite

I didn't see him at first,the lights too bright.My eyes tried to focus upon the man by the side of the road.The incoming sea continued on past me, a never ending flow of dark lifeless shapes.

He was dragging himself along the road looking helplessly at the wave after wave of people and machines. Everyone walked past him.A cripple far below their world and eye.

"Do you want to cross the road my friend", i enquired. He looked up at me with listless eyes and nodded.

My raised hands did little to stop the flow.I looked down at the helpless eyes of an unfortunate victim of circumstance.I decided to take the plunge and warily waded onto the sea trying to break through the flood.The sudden explosion of noise was deafening.A million high pitched horns cried in unison and just as suddenly stopped. The sight of the man on a rickety board dragging himself behind me silenced the noise.

Safe on the other side, the sea resumed its never ending course."Thank You", he said. I smiled, acknowledged, nodded understandingly and walked onward, my good deed for the day done.The smile stayed on my face till i turned the key to my apartment and switched on the television.

I am the hypocrite.

It was the persistent smile that did me away.It betrayed an overfed ego and a choreographed sense of humanity.It reeked of instinctive falsehood and the rabid need for self gratification.

I pity myself for i am lost.We, are all lost.For today, we feed on ourselves.

The angel lost

The old mans stubble was a week old.

He was tired.He was helpless.It was almost a week to the day that his only daughter went missing.

His angel. His little angel.

The policeman was rude.A disheveled old man who came ranting into the station did not somehow deserve his attention.He walked out, no more tears left in him.

Where was he?What had gone wrong?Why did his eyes close?

His daughter was lost.The city swallowed her whole.And his life moves on.One day at a time.One second always too late. 

Hope.Prayer.Family.

Inspired by true events

An Andhra dinner and Multi culturalism

What does an Andhra dinner have in common the true meaning of multiculturalism.

It was my colleagues daughters 1st birthday and he invited my entire team to join in the celebrations.It was not a big team but sure enough had a members with distinct cultural roots from across the nation.

Jammu, Tamil Nadu, Maharashtra, Orissa, Andhra Pradesh and Kerala.

Almost,just almost covers north, east ,south and west :-).

The rice floating on sambar, the dry chilly, pappad, curd.Ouch!!!Plates and fingers were licked clean without remorse.

The term describes people who have more than one culture in them but it took me one heavenly Andhra dinner to find out what exactly makes us click in more ways than one.

Food.Heavenly Andhra Food. :-))

Culture and the Survival Instinct

The documentary was all about Culture.

Culture defined where the killer whales swam, what they ate, how they hunted and above all it defined the strategies for their survival.

The LA pod (having a distinct culture) had perfected the art of killing the Great White Shark.

How?

Careful conditioning over generations.And thus laying to rest the legend of the Great White!

Are humans so different?How far have we been influenced by culture in moulding our decisions?Are our instincts shaped by a conditioning of generations of our forefathers?

Survival holds the key.

The scavenger and his city

He sits hunched over his bag.Sifting through the contents,occasionally pulling the open mouth of the bag over to his face, taking deep breaths.The hands move feverishly,searching in anticipation.

The smell is overpowering.His nose wrinkles without sign of disgust.Everything has a price.The bottles, caps and the occasional leather.

The dogs arrive, in packs.They ignore him. He's one of their own.Man and dog,to each his own space.

Suddenly the face lights up.He found something.

Dinner.

In the end,the city provides for all.

 

The lone man on the motorcycle

Took a ride with the ubiquitous three wheeler to help me weave through the incessant traffic. Impatient to reach my destination, i see commotion ahead.Cars, men and..something else.
A kid in his uniform lying on the road, his hand on his forehead. I put my head outside to get a closer look.

The boy is still.

A couple of passerby s' crowd around.
My eyes transfixed on the scene,my mind running up theories.But i do not move an inch.My lips eerily silent.
The three wheeler finds a gap through the maze of people and cars and takes me onwards...to my destination.
The last i see is a man on a motorcycle stopping to enquire, the only man to do so. I wondered aloud " That could have been me", the lone man on the motorcycle.

I still do.

Some days

Some days are just like that .Uninspiring.
Your pen aimed for the paper and it sits idly.Your mind.

The sheer mental exertion of going through the plains of the vast expanse of your mind to ferret out the little nuggets of sights and sounds of your daily life that lingers on long after your body has passed through the space is a impossibility in itself.
I try to concentrate.My thoughts wander and it returns back safe.A journey bereft of incidents, pain and joy.
I ponder the thought of sending it back again and decide against it.My eyes slowly close and the pen in my hand drops to the floor.

My thoughts wander again.Dreams shroud me.A parallel world in itself and i am once again lost in the wilderness of my thoughts till my mind becomes numb.

Well..off to tomorrow and a different point of view.

The Samosa man

I was hungry. Weekends have that effect.A late start and a menacingly growling stomach.If there is a single thought that requires proper and intimate reflection, it is this. 

Choices are the spoiler. I decided to hitchhike on the nowhere of decision making.

100 meters. I see a crowd.

The tea stall.

Well, there is one on every corner. For a country of a billion people obsessed with the drinks its the perfect panacea for a hangover of any kind.

This one is special. My heart leapt. The sight of the mounds of triangle tickled every gastronomic sense in my body. It also told me a decision has been made.

My Break fast and Lunch. Samosa and Tea with a hundred people. Young,Old,Sick,Healthy,Rich,Poor....All that mattered was the Samosa man and the lure of the experience.

 

The mornings of Everyday

Everyday.

The vehicles, the reluctant steps of little boys and girls, the cry of mothers after them, the clanking gates and ... the ring of the alarm telling me that the sun has long since risen.My heavy hands,they reach for the snooze as the eyes slowly peep out of its cocoon.

SHIT!!!Adrenaline Rush and...Im late...again!!!
Natures call, Brush, Bath, Roadside Poori and Gates of my office.
10:00 am.
Party Time Gentlemen!

Everyday.