For H

Draw the shades over your face,
Throw a sheet across the bed;
Dim the lights inside your eyes,
And hush the voices in your head.

Dream happy technicolor dreams
And dry that lonely tear,
Because for the moment, when you wake,
I will still be here.

And what do I wish for myself?

To love. To be loved. To never forget my own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away.

And never, never to forget.

- Arundhati Roy

Being a Giant

To be a Giant.

This has always been our passion, this desire to be a Giant.

Not to stand on one's shoulders or have one for a friend.

Those may be fortunate things.

But to be one.

Because Gaints step over barriers that seem never-ending.

They conquer mountains that appear insurmountable.

Giants rise above fear.

Triumph over pain.

Push themselves and inspire others.

To be a Giant.

Do Giant things.

To take Giant steps.

To move the world forward.

Confessions of an Unemployed Youth

It is hard to describe how it felt to be working at the age of 22. Although slightly proud that i had landed a decent job, managed to hold on to it, and earned quite a bit of money while at it, i couldn't shake the feeling that there were a thousand other things that i should have been doing instead. As a result, i spent most my working life in a state of conflict. In the end it was a compelling mix of fatigue and boredom that finally led me to give it up. Throw in the towel. Retire even. And so it was, that in the summer of 2006, i was finally out.

In the months following my astonishingly decisive decision to throw away what seemed like a perfectly good career, i continued to remain in the aforementioned state of conflict. i missed my job, but only in the way a dog would miss being being kicked in the balls by his master, which, by the dog's reasoning, must surely be the master's way of showing affection. In later years the dog would perhaps recall some of these kicks and wonder with appalled fascination at how much they meant to him. He might even reminisce with his pups, if he managed to have any, about the Good Times. But enough about the dog.

My problem was slightly more complicated. Even though I managed to convince myself that the job was surely not that good, and the pay was surely not that great, i found that i still missed it. So what was it that i missed?

For starters, it was Something To Do. Before you dismiss that as a uselessly unconvincing reason to hold on to a job, i must point out that there is something softly re-assuring about going to bed at night knowing exactly what it is you are going to be doing the next day. It might be a completely horrific, mind-numbing, please-get-me-out-of-here-before-i-kill-myself job, but it was still Something To Do. There were no surprises. You woke up, got ready, walked right into your worst nightmare, and actually managed to feel good about it. Because like dogs, you see, we humans are slaves to routine. The painful monotony of a job that takes up almost all our waking hours is, in fact, something most of us crave. The drudgery offers us security. I hate to sound philosophical, but it is what provides us with Order in a World of Chaos. Without that, you're left with Choices. You end up lying awake at night wondering whether you should watch tv in the morning, or go for a jog, or perhaps it might be a good day to take up para-gliding. Before long you are debating the pros and cons of each of these choices and you find yourself desending into a black hole of meaninglessness, an endless void from which the light of no star could hope to escape. But this, as i pointed out, was merely for starters.

At this point i will refrain from listing the other reasons why i missed my job because if i dwell on them any further i may lose my mind. So i will instead list out reasons why i DON'T miss my job. (Writers Note: In today's high-stress environment, it is important to maintain a balance as i have just done. Insanity is never that far away.)

One the reasons i looked forward to my new-found freedom was that i would now finally have the time to do the things i always wanted. Yes, i'll admit there is some satisfaction in being able to choose how you spend your day, but to my surprise i found that i was now busier than i was when i was actually working. This seemed so inexplicable that i resolved to spend some time thinking about it. What was all this stuff that i was doing without even realising that i was doing it? Where was all my Free Time going, time that i was supposed to have spent reading, writing, and watching TV?

Ah, yes. Writing. This was one of the things i always wanted to do. My lack of work, i reasoned, would give me all the time i wanted to write. So i decided to get cracking. Writing, however, as much as i'd like to argue otherwise, is not, evidently, considered a Job. And so when people asked me what i was doing and i said 'writing', they would give me disappointingly vacant stares. I felt myself falling so fast in their estimation of me that i was almost dizzy. Writer? I could not have been Wronger.

I soon realized that for some reason, writing is seen as something you did in your Free Time (which i now had) as a respite from Work (which i now didn't have). Unless of course I was Salman Rushdie (whom I wasn’t, and thank Allah for that). The plain truth was that I would never be considered a writer because all my time was now Free Time. As a result, now when i am asked the same question, i respond with "I am planning to study writing." This particular answer is received well by the Adults (at 24 i am still at that age where i'm never sure whether i'm a Young Man or an Adult. I prefer to think that i am both, and this has its perks which i will elaborate on later) and they nod their heads in approval. "Yes, yes, writing these days is a very popular thing. Everyone seems to be writing in their Free Time. Indian writers are now becoming world famous, you must study well and write properly," they tell me solemnly, "Once you find a Job." It is now my turn to nod in agreement. It is a purely instinctive nod, however, and comes from years of pretending to listen to what Adults had to say about my future. My brain prefers not to interfere in these matters.

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"No Arithmetic?", is invariably the response when I tell people that I now spend most of my time Reading and Writing. Two months without a job and suddenly everyone's a stand-up comedian. If I had a rupee for everytime I hear this particular joke, I wouldn't have to bother looking for another job. Which, I must point out, I'm not doing in any case. I think the whole Unemployed look is starting to grow on me.

I think it was Mark Twain who said - 'Man is faced with a curious dilemma- he must choose between his work and daytime television.' Since I've never really had the opportunity to put this particular theory to the test, it has been, up to this point, just a clever thing to say to people. However, having now gained a deeper understanding of daytime television over the past few weeks, it is clear that Mr. Twain had a point.

In order to place this next piece of information in context, you must know that I did actually spend some time thinking about where all my New-Found Free Time was going, as I had resolved earlier to do. Surprisingly, a lot of it was spent approximately 2 feet away from the television. Even more surprisingly, the time spent in this particular activity was significantly more than I had initially estimated. Upon closer analysis, I found that Newton's third law of Cable Relativity explains this phenomenon. According to Newton, in the world of Cable TV time is calculated in units (where 1 unit is equal to 30 mins: the length of the average sitcom) Therefore, when one watches 4 successive re-runs, one is likely to consider this as merely 4 units wheras the actual time spent was in fact 4 x 30 = 120, i.e, 2 hours, out of a possible 16 hours that one spends awake. Which, in my case, immediately becomes 2 out of a possible 12 hours spent awake, what with my theory that as humans we are designed to sleep for exactly half the duration of each day.

Which brings me back to Mr Twain and the quality of programming itself. The results of my careful research are revealing: There are, at any given point in the day between 10 am and 5 pm, only three main types of shows to choose from. I will now list these in no particular order of suckiness.

1. The Psychotherapic Talk Show

Guest: Oh, it was horrible, i was this young skinny kid and i had, like, pimples, you know?

Mature Audience: (sharp intake of breath)

Host: And how did that make you feel?

2. The Hyper-Exciting Nature Show

Voiceover: As you can see, the majestic lion just twitched his tail. This is absolutely incredible. He will now spend the next three hours contemplating his prey and will then, if we're lucky, start to make a move towards it. The spotted deer, meanwhile, visibly ages in anticipation of its imminent death. It's almost as if it knows that it will not roam these grasslands for much longer. A week, at the most. Stay Tuned.

3. The Tele-Marketing Show

Voiceover: And welcome back to Asian Sky Shop. Here now is our all-time-best offer, much better than the all-time-best offer that we told you about this very morning. Introducing...(drum roll) The Super Duper Sauna Belt. Yes, it's true! For the astonishingly low price of 500 rupees, you get a product that is actually worth 10,000 rupees in Croatia. And you get free gifts worth another 10,000 rupees. And you get a handbook worth 1000 rupees which explains how you use the free gifts worth 10,000 rupees. And the first 10 people to order this fantastic product get a surprise gift worth more than all these free gifts put together! Order now!

Model (who's a housewife, no surprises there): Trust me this is truly works! I am used the Super Duper Sauna Belt and i lost 20 kilos while i was peeling the potatoes. Thanks You to Asian Sky Shop.

Voiceover: So, what are you waiting for? Grab the phone and order your Super Duper Sauna Belt NOW, exclusive to Asian Sky Shop! Postage is FREE! And even if it isn't, and you don't get actually get any free gifts, and the product isn't worth even 10 bucks, don't bother trying to find us because we're in the Sky, remember?

Stopping by Woods on a Sleepy Evening

Woods are lovely but mostly fake,
And I have so many naps to take,
And hours to go before I wake,
Hours to go before I wake.

Childhood Recollections

One of the few incidents I remember from my largely uneventful childhood took place when I was about twelve. It was July and that usually meant that one set of cousins was going to pay us a visit from abroad. I still remember how we would wake up bright and early and tidy up the house, making sure that every last thing was in place for these relatives from distant lands. And when the time would finally come to pick them up from the airport, we would wear our smartest clothes and hop into the car. That year it was the turn of the US cousins to visit. (When you’re twelve, it’s easier to describe them that way: US cousins, UK uncle, and so on). I still remember the youngest kid getting into the car, obviously drained from the flight. He fell asleep almost as soon as we set off, while his older brother struggled valiantly to keep his eyes open, and make polite conversation with his 'Indian' cousins, as his mother had taught him to do throughout the 15-hour flight.

About 10 minutes into the ride home, the younger kid woke up and looked out the window, only to see a couple of cows standing lazily in the middle of the road. I noticed that the look his face was a strange mix of fear and confusion. He then turned to his mother and whispered 'excuse me' (this was another thing his mother had taught him: when we're with your Indian cousins, always say 'excuse me' before you interrupt someone, ok?)

'What is it son?' 'Um, Mum, how long till we reach the city?', he asked softly. I held my breath, this was it, the moment was here, the young boy's first brush with reality, his first lessons on India, a land he knew nothing about, and felt no connection with. I turned to his mother, smiling behind her pink designer glasses. Here it comes, I thought.

To him: 'What's the matter son, the cows scaring you?'

To us: 'The poor child, he's not used to seeing animals on the road.'

To him again: 'Isn't that great son? Remember how we saw cows once on a farm on our way to Kansas? Would you like a chocolate?'

And yet, it never happened. The moment never arrived. My aunt slowly wiped the hair from his face, and said 'Son, this IS the city.' I smiled. Yes it was. It was the city.

Our city.

At the time, I wasn't sure why his mother didn't bother seizing the opportunity to educate her little American son about his motherland. And I wasn't sure whether my cousin thought it normal for cows to be standing in the middle of the road in a real city. But looking back, it didn't really matter. It was the city. And that was enough.

One day I hope that my cousin will return to India with his own little children, and I hope that I will be around to drive my own kids to the airport to receive them. And maybe one of the little boys will turn to his dad and say 'Excuse me dad, how long till we get home?' And perhaps his father will smile and say 'Son, this IS home.' Yes, this was home.

And that was enough.

India- Tales from the City

The woman at the traffic light
Oblivious of her child's plight;
Empties her lungs into a balloon
That she will sell for two rupees.

Sooner or later she will run out of air
Sooner than later no-one will care;
And she will lie there surrounded by balloons
As lifeless and deflated as she is.

Meanwhile...

The little girl in the mid-day heat
Does handstands to the sound of a drumbeat;
Her innocence seems to keep the despair away
As she bravely chases a dream.

Her skills belie her tender age
She believes the whole world's a stage;
But soon there will be no-one to watch
And she will know that things aren't as they seem.

Growing Up

At twenty-five i was dumbfounded afresh
By my ignorance of the simplest things.

- Ted Hughes, Fulbright Scholars

There was a time when I was sure of myself, when every decision I made was calculated, and borne out of careful and rational thought. It was a time when I was simple, life was simple, and the world itself was a largely uncomplicated place. That time now seems like a long time ago. Someone once told me: how simple it is to be Happy, but how hard to be simple. I think now, after all these years, that is quite true.

Age has brought with her a large group of friends. Doubt, Regret, Cynicism, all of them have made my head their home. They are constant companions now, and are a part of every decision I make. They each have something to say. They color my perception, lacing my thoughts with their various hues, diluting facts and obscuring reason, till I no longer know what is the truth. I wish it weren't so, I wish I could be rid of them, but it seems hard now. So Hard to be Simple.

I miss my old friends, those happy, one-dimensional friends of my youth. Somewhere along the way we lost touch, and now they don't return my calls.

And so every once in a while I find myself looking back, with Regret sitting by my side, wishing that Hope was still around. I think sometimes about how different Life might have been if I had never grown up, if I was still a Boy, with dreams in his eyes. But just then, Cynicism reminds me that the Boy is long gone, I was now a Man, with new friends, a new Life, and perhaps, a new World. It might be hard to be simple again, but it was still simple to be Happy. And maybe that was enough.

Experience, who's been sitting quietly in the corner, nods his head in agreement. Doubt, on the other hand, merely smiles...

Common Sense and Sensibility

'We have seen God- he bats at Number 4 for India' screamed the poster, held up by an adoring fan, speaking for an adoring nation. Minutes later, the unthinkable happened. He was out, gone for one run, it was impossible, this wasn't supposed to happen, what kind of game was this, what kind of cruel cosmic joke? About five seconds of stunned silence later, adulation turned to rage as the crowd proceeded to boo India's greatest batsman off his home ground. While the English supporters exchanged bemused glances, others, like me, could only gape in astonishment at what must surely rank as one of the most disgraceful moments in our utterly disgraceful sporting history.

To begin with, however, let's state the obvious. Or, for the benefit of the guy holding up the poster, the not-so-obvious. Sachin Tendulkar may be worshipped by a sizable population of this country, but he is not God. There is no evidence to suggest that God does actually bat at number 4 for any side, or even plays the game. And even if he did, I would think he'd be more of a bowler than a batsman. For someone who routinely sends down thunderbolts from the skies, there's no saying what he'd do with a little red ball. (Right arm, around the sun, please) But I digress.

There are a lot of lessons to be learned here. Yes, the mob can be fickle, and the public's memory is often short. It is perhaps also a reminder that Glory, like Fame and almost everything else, is fleeting. But above all, it is a testament to our collective ignorance. How else do you explain the crowd's behavior towards one of their own?

It is true; there is a palpable sense of expectancy every time he walks out to the middle. We wait, with bated breath, like children at a magic show. We hope, fervently, for something special to distract us momentarily from the dull routine of our everyday lives. Across the country, people of all ages fall sick. Exams, work, dinner, it can all wait, Sachin was on strike.

But what is it based on, this adoration? Was it merely our own selfish desire to be entertained? Do we raise our heroes merely to watch them fall? In ancient Rome, spectators cheered while gladiators clubbed helpless slaves to death, and then laughed when they in turn got mauled by lions. It is an indication of how little has changed when a man - feted and glorified across the world - gets ridiculed on his own turf. All because the paying public didn’t get their 250 rupees worth. For a nation that celebrates one bronze at the Olympics, we are surprisingly unforgiving.

What is it that makes us refuse to acknowledge greatness? Is genius just a passing fancy; are we temporarily impressed and then, just as easily, bored? Or are we so foolish as to believe that perhaps we are all the same? Ashes and dust we may all be, but every once in a while someone special comes along and performs superhuman acts that the rest of us only dream of, and few hope to achieve. Sachin Tendulkar is one such man. For eighteen years he has brought us joy, fuelled our dreams. Yes, he is only human, at times painfully so. But even so, we need to feel blessed to witness the precious gift he possesses. Instead of mocking him, we need to stand in awe of his greatness. If for nothing else, at least because such people make us believe that we can be great too.