A Woman

The blood washed her face as she plunged her knife once more into his heart. She had no idea why she was doing it. She did not know him. It was just the thought - the thought that the sight of homeless man on the road begging her for money everyday annoyed her beyond her tolerance limit - that made her do it.

She had always dreamt of doing it. The belief among her relatives that she needed a man to protect her whenever she went outside her home amused her. She was strong, and she knew it. But she alone knew it.

I may say that I killed him to prove that I was not weak, she thought. But she knew that she never needed to prove anything. She had been living alone in various cities, most of them dangerous, for the past five years. She had never even bothered to get even a pepper spray.

Of course, she was not attractive. Rather heavily built, she always knew that nobody would be attracted to her. And she always had a facial expression that seemed like a warning against getting friendly. Rarely did she smile. Instead, her face radiated power. She was always aware of it - a power that was inside her. The power was neither good nor bad. It was just what she chose to make of it.

As the man tried to breathe for the last time, she felt strangely at peace. Of course, the beggar was of no use to any one. Nobody would even notice that he had disappeared. She later disposed of the body near a railway track. Nobody noticed her as she dumped the bag near a shrub. She knew it would be days before anyone noticed it. And she had been careful enough to leave no traces. Living in a secluded area gave her enough time and scope to plan and execute her crime to perfection.

The phone rang as soon as she reached her home. "Manu, where were you? I have been trying to get you for an hour now. Your brother has met with an accident. Have you changed your cell number again?"

She listened calmly as her aunt told her the news, sobbing. So her brother had met with an accident. Nobody bothered to take him to the hospital, as he lay bleeding after a truck had run him over.

"I will reach there tomorrow." She kept the receiver back and sat down to watch the tv. While watching another one of those dysfunctional shows that garner TRPs, she booked her tickets back home. She had four hours to start. She quickly typed in a message to her boss informing him of her brother's accident and then booked a cab to take her to the airport.

She wondered if it wasn't too much of a coincidence that her brother met with an accident on the same day that she had killed a man. Some sort of divine justice, maybe. But then, she had never loved her brother much. For all the show of love and affection, she knew that it was all fake. He was the one whom her parents wanted. She was a girl, a burden, to be married off one day, with a hefty dowry. She wouldn't say that her parents did not love her. But they loved him more. Though they all knew that she was better - in all respects. But he was the one who would take care of them.

She often felt that her parents and her brother was aware of the intense feelings of hatred and jealousy she tried to hide. It was a struggle to keep the emotions under check as she saw herself being sidelined, in very subtle ways, by her parents. She knew that they were not always conscious of what they were doing. It was just that they could not think of doing it any other way. She smiled to herself as she knew she was no longer a prisoner of the society and its mores and norms.

While in the cab, she wondered if God would punish her for killing the man. She imagined herself to be Him and evaluated the quantum of punishment for her crimes -would she be punished more for killing a person or for feeling totally apathetic, maybe even happy on the possible death of her brother? The question had always confused her - whether God would judge people by what they felt or what they did? People often committed sins unintentionally. Why should they be punished? On the other hand, thoughts could not be controlled too, and she was well aware of it. She sometimes wished to be a dumb, normal girl who would be blind to the shortcomings of her family. But never, never did the understanding of her situation leave her.

By the time she reached the hospital, she was told that her brother had miraculously come out of danger. Her parents were smiling. She was not sure if her presence there had not contributed to it.

Her brother tried to reach for her arm while smiling through the pain when she met him finally. She faked a smile. She had long learnt to mask her feelings.

She had been afraid of herself long ago. The fear of punishment for feeling all the emotions that would lead her to hell. Now, she didn't care.

Maybe, God realized that He could not punish me this way, she told herself. She wondered if God would ever punish her. For, she loved no one - not even herself.

"Am I one of the weeds?", she asked herself after reading the parable of weeds. "Would it matter to the weed that it was condemned to fire? Am I a human being without a soul?"

The Storm in the Teacup

We are currently witnessing a media frenzy surrounding the arrest of an Indian diplomat in US on charges of visa fraud. While Indian media and politicians are vociferous in the defence of the lady, the Americans are actually unable to figure out why there is so much outrage over the incident. There are many factors that has led to the current situation. Let us go through them.

Let us face it. Indian diplomats are not paid well enough to afford maids in countries like the US. She should not have taken the maid, ideally. However, being used to the culture of the subcontinent where the maids come cheap and are a huge help in dealing with domestic chores, she would have thought it worth the risk. The maid too might have initially thought it to be a good deal - a wage of 30000 rupees per month for a maid is the highest an Indian maid can aspire to. And boarding and lodging came free. It is quite unlikely that the maid was not an active participant in the fraud. She changed her mind in the US as using her rights as a person there offered her a better deal.

I would not blame her for doing so.Maids or domestic helps are considered to be less than equal by a person belonging to the middle class in India. Having a maid is a status symbol. Hiring and firing of domestic helps has the characteristics of an unregulated free market. Maids have separate utensils for having their food. The amount of distrust shown to maids is rationalized as trying to be safe. Maids usually belong to the lower class of the society. Their wages are miniscule and probably that factor, along with the mistrust shown to them makes them steal or become partners in other crimes. The things which an average maid takes for granted in the US are given only to privileged maids in India - maids who have earned the trust of their employers. That is the reason why 'treated as family' is considered to be enough reason for paying low wages. We have not lost our feudal mindset. So the middle class takes it, sub-consciously at least, as a condemnation of the lifestyle we follow.

The educated Indian looks down upon manual labour. It is always transferred to someone lower than him or her. Men pass it on to women, upper classes to lower classes. Earlier it used to be from upper caste to lower caste. You are an oddity if you earn enough and do not employ a maid. The status of a government official is often judged by how many people he or she has at home. Employing people in the office to do domestic chores is the norm in an average office in India. It exists in its worst form in the defence forces but the Indian bureaucracy is no less.

That being said, Indians have the tradition of bending over backwards to please their guests. And we expect it to be reciprocated though we may not directly insist on it. And strip searching is akin to sexual assault in India - the body of a woman is to be naked under no circumstances. It is considered to be one of the worse humiliations a woman may face.  That may be a reason for the increase in rape cases - men trying to re-assert theit power over women who are getting empowered. Quite honestly, most of the Indians protesting now would have simply kept quiet if the lady was not strip-searched. We understand that she has been accused of committing a crime and that she will have to face the consequences if she is convicted. And diplomats do have a special place in the country. As per the  custom in the subcontinent,  a diplomat or an envoy is a guest who is not to be harmed, no matter what he or she does, whether in personal capacity or not. The guest is akin to God. So you can understand the anger an average Indian would feel if the custom that he or she has been ingrained with is not followed in the case of a fellow citizen in a foreign country. A fellow citizen, and that too a diplomat strip-searched!? That too over a crime that logically no rational requirement for the accused to be strip-searched? Welcome back, Cold War years!

If there is any equation not involved in the whole thing, it is one of caste. The diplomat belongs to one of the most deprived castes of the country. It is more of a class thing, a bureaucrat thing. The rich and the powerful are accorded special privileges in the country. At least half the civil service aspirants are more inspired by the red beacons of the official cars rather than the idea of public service. And finally the Supreme Court had to cut down the list of people entitled to have red beacons.

The sense of privileges Indian judges have is a totally different and laughable matter.

Yup. It is a complex situation. And general elections next year only makes the issue worse.

Desperation

I am feeling like Marvin in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Depressed personality prototype. Just wishing this blog entry would make the entire bad feeling go away.
So my staff decide whom to post where behind my back and everything else before putting it up before me. I have decided to take the guru's advice and am planning to become the nasty boss starting today. I have already started. I am having a terrible mood too. And that has helped a lot in putting on the nasty face.
I am not a nasty person but I really don't want to get the feeling that I am being taken advantage of because I am good.
Today is the end of the softie-me. Planning to be the tough boss.
Cheers to that.
Have to be my own cheerleader in this quest.

No clue

I have always wondered what the titles I give have to do with the stuff I write on my blog. Both are totally random and honestly must be showing zero correlation with each other.
Honestly, I am a very lazy bird who just happens to do some work by sheer force or habit or due to the jarring voice of conscience which does not let me sleep if I do not do the right thing. Blogging comes in a third category and I honestly have never understood why I do it. There is of course pleasure to be derived from eating, reading, travelling, sleeping and daydreaming. I work well to avoid the pricks of conscience and insomnia. But blogging gives me no pleasure. No one appreciates the thing. I write because I just feel like writing.
There are many things I would have loved to write but refrain from, owing to being part of the executive now.
As an official of the audit department, I get paid now to criticize the government and so I should not be complaining. But honestly, there are far better things I think of doing rather than reading through the pointless files. On an average, an audit report comes up for discussion in the legislature at least two or three years after the irregularity has been commited. It is basically post mortem and is done so that the mistake will not be repeated in future.
People think it is easy for us to catch the wrongdoers. They do not understand the functioning of the government. The paperwork is usually perfect. Only a moron would allow any lapse in the paperwork if he or she intends to commit a fraud or to indulge in corruption.
And of course, there is always the usual comment that audit makes it difficult for the executive to work and that it hampers decision-making. Well, auditors are not the ones who made the acts, rules or regulations. They were framed by the politicians with inputs from the rest of the executive and not necessarily from the auditors. We only judge performances against the benchmarks some people have set for themselves or conformity to a legal framework designed by the people for themselves - how do we manage to get the blame for that? Beats me.
Yet here we are. Taking it all in our stride and wishing for sense to prevail.

Lazy me!

Have been lazy for some time now. I have this problem of alternating between extremes of activity in each area of my life. Luckily two extremes usually do not coincide. Otherwise, I would have gone bonkers.

When I was the President of the Mess at Yarrows, I believed that I would be a really tough boss to please. One of my Directors even told me so. After reaching here I am finding that I am becoming a mildly tolerable one, not the fire-spitting dragon I was to become as per my nightmares.

Probably it is a conscious effort by my sub-conscious mind to stay calm. Or more probably, it is the effect my boss is having on me. She is calm like a still pond always. It seems nothing can be a bee in her bonnet.

There are quite a few officers whom I have met till now who have acquired this nothing-can-wreck-my-peace kind of attitude. It is a pleasure to work with them. You know what would be better? If they could give me feedback about my work.

I have got a pretty thick skin (thanks to Shimla!). And I can take the severest of well-placed criticism without having an emotional turbulence rising in my bloodstream. I just wish somebody would tell me to my face how I am performing.

My PA

I have two PAs. I haven't got a clue why I need even one. Not being a busy person, with pretty much no appointnents to handle or work to get done (damn it, I've jinxed myself again!)and two smartphones which do even remind me to get up and brush my teeth in the morning, why do I even need one?

And the new PA is far too dignified to be my PA. He reminds me of Jeeves. Only that he is a vegetarian. If he could bail me out of all the awkward situations I would get into in future, it would be great. I have always wanted to live like Bertie Wooster, with a person like Jeeves as my butler.

An Aunt Agatha too.

My other PA is a very silent person who likes the calm and quiet of my secretariat. I usually call up people myself as I don't find the point in wasting another five minutes in the PA-PA route.

Probably I will need a PA when I start going on official trips. And of course, they are a great help while submitting travel bills for reimbursement. I remember one of the staff in Kerala applying for two days' CL to prepare his reimbursement claim. Luckily, I don't have to do that, thanks to my PA.

And my old PA is going on a pilgrimage. So I probably will get to know my 'dignified' PA better. Probably he won't be as intimidating as he seems. But this is the first time he is working for someone so down the line.

Let us wait and watch.

The Philosophy of Teleportation and The Missing Key

I lost the key of my apartment yesterday. Yes, it vanished into thin air and I noticed this fact around 7:15 pm when I was at the door of my apartment trying to fish it out from the millions of things in my handbag.

I will not reveal the contents of my handbag.

Let us just say that I emptied my bag and searched for that tiny key. Twice. But nothing was found.

I remembered that I had dumped the key into my bag while walking to the office.

Still I went back to my office and searched for it again. One of the guards even assisted me. But nada!

So I went back to my apartment. On the way I borrowed a hammer from one of my neighbours to break the lock open.

And I broke the lock open.

The humble smithy classes in engineering has helped me in life much more than the much-hyped advanced digital signal processing. Probably because I have betrayed engineering to get into auditing.

When it was chat time, a senior colleague remarked to me that my key might have been teleported into the fourth dimension.

I feel tunnelling to some other dimensions may be a more logical explanation. Who would want to teleport a key to another dimension. It is not as if the lock and key are of any use. Anybody can break them open. Locks and keys are only psychological deterrents against naive thieves.

But then I was reminded of a discussion we used to have during our first year of engineering - is teleportation of human beings even possible?

Assuming that mapping of the entire human body down to the last atom into information even becomes possible, would it not be a case of murder to destroy the 'original body' in the process? Will we be living as blocks of information during the time of transmission? What is life, if that is the case? And if two copies of the same person exist simultaneously, who would be that person legally? Will we ever die if teleportation of human beings becomes possible? For, you can always store the information to rebuild you somewhere and request that you be rebuilt once you start getting old. What is death then?

There are other interesting things too. Maybe we can process the information to generate a copy that is more intelligent, healthy, beautiful, etc.

It may also lead to slavery. You may be able to buy the information requited to create a person and create him/her as your slave. However, I doubt whether the person so created would even agree to the idea.

Oh! The mad possibilities of science!

Yesterday I asked my friends whether a 3 D printed dish of chicken would be vegetarian or non-vegetarian. My non-vegetarian friends replied that it would be non-vegetarian and one of my vegetarian friends replied it would be vegetarian. Perceptions!

The Changes

"Mr. Kumar, internet is down again."
"Madam, they have reset the connection as there was some problem."
This has become a daily occurrence in my office. For a knowledge-intensive activity like auditing, internet connectivity has become a must. And interruptions can delay files.

It has been a dramatic change. I still remember the long queues I used to watch as a kid in front of the counters in SBI. You had to stand in a queue to withdraw money or deposit it. And the people in the counters were very important people.

You still have to stand in a queue. But in front of ATMs now. And it is no longer a transaction that would require an emotional commitment on the part of anyone. Except for the pain of parting away with hard-earned money when you are shopping with cards. But still, you are compensated in terms of the goods/services you get in return.

Taking away of the human element has been a welcome change for most of us. The banks love it as their operating costs per transaction have come down. And soon they will start charging you for what were considered to be their 'fundamental duties'.

It is interesting to note how things have changed and are still changing.

Like how easy it used to be to go into your neighbour's house to play with the kids there. Today I barely know who my neighbour is.

The Monologue Today

Did not feel like cooking today. It was raining, and it was the perfect weather to sleep. So I just ignored the feeling of guilt and continued to sleep till I felt like getting up.

Some say living on your own will make you more responsible. Maybe true in some ways but may not be so true too. When I had a roommate I would try to wake her up if we were both lazy. Or I would sleep till I was dragged out of bed if I happened to be the lazier one. Those were the good old days. Now thanks to being perfectly alone in a five bedroom apartment close to the office I don't care to wake up before noon on weekends. And then cooking for myself is the only thing that is keeping me sane given the 'disorderly life' I am living.

Well, it is not actually disorderly. Except for the irregular sleep part, everything else is in order. I wash my clothes, clean the house and cook. And it gives me a false sense of satisfaction and self-sufficiency. Ah! But I long to take a break and travel someplace far away.

A Monologue

I took over as DAG (State Receipt Audit) of Andhra Pradesh on Aug 26, 2013. Quite apprehensive of what the charge entails, I developed a habit of reading in detail every file that came to me. I used to feel quite guilty when I could not read a file in full. It happened as a result of seeing senior officers like Secretaries to the Government of India signing on files that contained absolute falsehoods. Didn't want to end up like them.

I still try to read most of what comes to me. But I acknowledge that it is neither possible nor fruitful to go through the details of all the files that are put up to me. There is just one thing I take comfort in - none of the files I take decision on relates to life-and-death matters. In most cases, I can take time to decide what I want to do - a luxury that is denied to a lot of my fellow civil servants, for various reasons.

There is a burden of guilt that hangs in my heart when my subordinates sit in front of me and try to explain what their reports are about. They have so much more experience than me! I also feel guilty when I go to my AG - she is a great officer and I hope to be like her some day. She unfortunately has to take up a lot of burden because of my 'newness'. Her patience and sense of balance is remarkable.

I have a mix of people in my office - people who are polite yet firm in their opinions and the yes-sayers who will say yes to anything I say. Personally I feel more comfortable with people who will say 'no' to me right away if that is what they feel. I hope I will remain so. People who agree to everything you say are not helping you but giving you a false sense of security and infallibility.

I remember the first day I joined the office. Sitting in the huge office chair behind the huge table in a big  cabin on the first floor of a building dedicated almost entirely to receipt audit. And I was still a kid at heart. I still am trying to grow up and fit in the role that I have been given. But still there is that hopeless wanderlust in me which just wants to run away from the files to a beach, lie down on the sand and look at the sky till twilight and beyond.

Of course, there is no job that pays you for doing nothing. Once one of our Professors had asked us if anyone of us would work if we had enough wealth to let us live without having to work for a living. I found the idea pretty abhorrent at the time. Now, that seems like heaven. However, I have no intention of being a jobless person. I wish I could be a traveller and write travelogues. Or a freelancer. One of those highly elusive talented people whom everyone respects. ;-)

Maybe I will be, one day. Why be a miser with your dreams?

The Story of An Uncomfortable Journey

Kerala is a state apart in India. This is one place where the government is under continuous scrutiny over things both right and wrong. Everyone feels restrained - as if someone is always watching you. If not the big brother, your neighbour, or the creep who has been staring at his mobile for the past half an hour. Probably he will upload a video of yours on youtube if he gets a chance.

Still there are hilarious people, as I found during the train journey from Hyderabad to Kollam on Onam eve this time. A perfectly well dressed man who was drunk wanted my opinion on his song which was about to be released. When I told him I had no interest in his songs and that I would pull the chain if he continued his absolutely torturous singing, he apologized and moved away. The remaining passengers got together to ensure the safety of my fellow passenger and mine thereafter. "After all", they said, "he is drunk. But really, women these days are very brave. What can they do? How much can they run too? They too have a right to live."

The discussion soon turned to the Delhi rape case. An old man who was coming back from a political rally in Delhi, said this: "They had to be hung. There was no other way it was going to end. So much of pressure and hype was built up."He continued:"But you can't blame the men alone in such cases. The behaviour of women in Delhi too is not in accordance with our tradition."

I felt like laughing aloud at the old man and arguing with him. But that, I felt, would be pointless. He has not much of his life ahead of him and it is too late to change his set of ideals. What we need really are mothers teaching their sons to respect women as individuals so that they do not grow up to be old men like him.

One of my friends in Railways called up the Railway Protection Force when I messaged her about the scene the man was creating. They were fairly quick in their response and came into the compartment as soon as the train stopped at the next station. It made me fairly confident about travelling in trains.

I was thinking after the incident on why I was so angry with the man. He had done nothing legally wrong. He had asked me about my opinion on a video he had made which I refused to watch. On his repeating his request, I neatly scared him by threatening to pull the chain.

The actual mistake is this: Refusing to understand that nobody has a right to invade my privacy, even in a public place, without my permission. And people need to learn to be graceful when they rightly get ticked off for unreasonable behaviour. In short, we need to be ladies and gentlemen. Or at least try to be.

The Fun Comes

Two of my batchmates have joined the Hyderabad office too. We are all brand new DAsG posted to 'tough charges' on our first posting. However, the experience has been really great till now, thanks to the wonderful bosses we are having.

I like my boss. She has let me settle down and has asked me to take my own time to learn things. It means a lot to me at present. She has also been guiding me. My seniors too have been really great. I am always calling up someone or the other when I have a doubt. Thank God for communication networks!

Academy has been great too. Whether filing an FIR for my lost laptop or giving me advice on how to handle problems at work, the Directors have been really helpful. I can't believe I wanted to get out of Shimla.

I am going home on Saturday for Onam. I hope we all will have a great time. I have a week with nothing much to do which appears to be great now. There was a time when I desperately wanted to do something but could not find anything to do.

I have finally come to the conclusion that the One Above really loves me a lot. Thank you.

Missing you all!

Hyderabad appears to be pretty boring after the wonderful tines we had at Shimla. It is not the problem with the place per se, but with the people you interact with. In Shimla, our two batches had a combined strength of around forty. So there never was a dull moment. And I had a roommate. Here, being all alone in a huge apartment, with not a soul to talk to, is not a very happy situation. Moreover, it has been raining since morning, confining me in my room.

I had always wished to get out of Shimla thinking it will be better outside. How wrong I was. For all the good food I am having here, I am sorely missing the company of my friends. And I finally recognize that it is the company of your friends and family that makes your life enjoyable. Neither money nor fame has got anything to do with it.

I feel blessed for all the great friends and the absolutely wonderful family that I have got. Would never trade my place with anyone else in the world. I need to find friends in Hyderabad and I hope I soon will.

Hello Hyderabad!

It has been a week since I landed here. Life has been hectic and I have seen Hyderabad in a way never shown to me before - the lives of ordinary men and women in constant struggle to live their lives with dignity and happiness.

I sincerely believe that the state of public transport in a city roughly shows the regard the state has for its citizens. It shows the power of citizens to bargain and get want it wants - the means to mobility that is so vital in an economy. When the state fails, public transport virtually becomes non- existent, only to be replaced entirely by private sector which may or may not be kind enough to the lower strata of the society.

The importance of public transport in cities of India cannot be overstated. They are the means by which a vast majority of the population commute to their workplace. The local trains of Mumbai and the Metro rail in Delhi havr virtually become the lifelines of those cities.

That said, the neatness in publuc transport roughly correlates with the civic sense of the people and the commitment of the government towards the welfare of the people. The behaviour you observe in a local train or bus is characteristic of the city too. You need not do an analysis to deduct that Delhi is a dangerous place to live in for women. Just travel in the metro and have a look at the number of people staring at a woman travelling alone. That is the time when you feel thankful for the surveillance cameras.

Hyderabad has a reasonably good public transport system with buses plying to all parts of the city. I have not yet travelled by the local trains here and so I am not qualified to comment on them.

Any reasonable person can find out how rich or poor the general working population of a city is by looking at the cleanliness of its most popular form of transport. Delhi could claim to be rich or at least middle class by the standard. Mumbai is definitely middle class. Kolkatta is a dying city looking at the old taxis plying on its roads. Hyderabad is a city with a vast population of poor people who take the public transport to their workplace.

It is the duty of a government to provide a reasonably clean means of public transport to its citizens no matter how rich or poor they are. It is a matter of respecting human dignity, if nothing else. It is a fundamental facility to be ensured if the government actually wants to be a facilitator of development.

At Qilaa

Life has become a bit boring, of late. We were planning to go to Kinnaur but the heavy rains poured cold water over all our plans. Being confined to Shimla now, I have decided to try out as many eateries as possible here.

So I have ended up at Qilaa at Shimla for lunch. I was pleasantly surprised to find the good old Shawarma listed in the menu. However, having decided that it would be too much of an adventure to ask for it in the first trial, I have ordered a chicken biriyani.

Chicken biriyani usually acts as the measure by which I grade a non-vegetarian restaurant. And masala dosa for south Indian vegetarian. I have not yet developed a measure for north Indian vegetarian as I am not a great fan.

After eating the biriyani, I can say that this is one of the better restaurants in Shimla. It has a quaint, old world look - an HMV gramaphone, a Victoria station clock, bagpipe and all. And the food has been good.

Trying shawarma next time.

The Shimla Experience

Whenever I meet my seniors in the service, they start talking about their wonderful stay at Yarrows. That always made me wonder as I have never found Shimla enticing enough to hold me back. I have always held it to be self-evident that no sane person can enjoy the place for a duration of more than two weeks. Unless you are from Himachal, of course. After all, there are only limited avenues of entertaining yourself in the erstwhile summer capital of British India. It seems insane that the Brits chose this place to rule over the subcontinent. And more insane that we continue to have our training in a place almost literally cut off from the rest of the country.

When you enter Yarrows, you feel transported back in time. If it were not for the electrical equipment and wi-fi routers, one would have seriously imagined meeting Jinnah near his old bedroom at Room No. 6.

Unfortunately, Yarrows is not haunted. A ghost would definitely have made things far more interesting. One lives in luxury in Yarrows to compensate for the near isolation of the place. We have fabulous, grand rooms; room service is pretty good and the environment is breathtakingly beautiful and for me, jarringly peaceful. I thrive on noise.

The only people you meet here, however, are only bureaucrats, officials or finance professionals with a sprinkling of human beings of other varieties. I do not know why but I found them to be a bit freaky, especially the fourth group. A noted Gandhian had come here. She was near maniacal in her love for him. Gandhi happened to live here in a buildung for a couple of days when he had come to Shimla. If she had her way, she probably would have declared it a national monument. Respect for Gandhi is one thing, and this was a totally different thing.

We need to learn to embrace our heroes as they are - with their failings and mistakes. No one is perfect. Learn from their goodness and spread it around.

It was nearly twenty months of sheer madness and I would not have survived but for my friends, both new and old. I know that I haven't pleased everyone but I have tried my best to deliver all the time. So I hope to leave the place without regrets. My best wishes to the future batches of IA&AS. Live long and prosper. May force be with you.

The Awful Marketing

After reading and hearing a lot about it, I decided to go to the Kollam Mango Fest. Took a twenty rupee ticket for entry and bought two kilograms of mangoes. They turned out to be tasteless and artificially ripened using chemicals. I regretted purchasing them.

I had a mango kheer too but it tasted quite good. That was a worthwhile thing to do.

Now coming to the actual story:
While I was roaming around, somebody suddenly caught hold of my hand. Surprised, I turned around to see a lady selling 'whitening' products.

I have never been a fan of whitening products. Yes, I like spot-removing creams, moisturisers, facials, etc. However, I do not want to become a 'white beauty'.

The lady was insisting that I give her a chance. The incident had caught the attention of the onlookers. So I decided to gove her a try.

She applied the cream on my left hand while continuing to speak of how great the product was. She coninued to do that even while she finally rubbed the cream with a piece of cotton two minutes afterwards.

However, my skin, just like me, remained faithful to the old colour. So, smiling, I told the lady, "Since the colour has not changed, I think I will pass."

Even if the colour had changed, I doubt if I would have bought it. The lady made a mistake in making me her 'specimen'. Anybody who has seen me will vouch for the fact that I am not that into beauty products. She should have got someone else for the demo.

The Terror of Being Unconnected

My BSNL connection stopped allowing me to access internet yesterday. Without whatsapp and dear Google, life was a pain. Switched over to Airtel today and my life came back to me as soon as I started getting messages n whatsapp.

Now I have to figure out what has happened to my BSNL connection.

A very funny thing happened today. I was late as I got out of the home but luckily happened to reach the railway station on time. I found the coach reserved for ladies in my train to be entirely empty! I never get a window seat in the morning and it has been a great desire of mine to sit there and go. So, needless to say, I was thrilled.

Later, a lady came in and told me that it was not the ladies' coach. As I was not bothered as long as it was a window seat, I smiled at het and asked her to check. She told me that the guard in the train had told her.

Now, I had seen it clearly marked on the coach that it was reserved for ladies. I told her that two coaches in that train is usually reserved for ladies and that the guard was wrong.

Later, people found out that I was right. Till that time I was the only one in the coach. Men wouldn't enter as it was marked as reserved for ladies and women didn't enter because of the guard.

I was feeling angry at both the guard for his foolishness and the women fot theirs. So what if it was not reserved for ladies? The entire bogey was empty. Men aren't going to eat you alive if you happen to enter ummarked coaches.

The Mosquitoes

I have often wondered why mosquitoes have still not gone into mass extinction with all of us so bent upon killing as many of them as possible. It seems humankind is a strange race - the species it wants to protect inevitably goes extinct while those it wants to be extinct so desperately flourish, and bite us with vengeance every time, all the time.

The mosquito repellants give out fumes that give me a headache. The mosquito nets are too hot for me. I hate nets on windows as they block my view. And you can kill only so many with the electric bats.

In my experience there are many types of mosquitoes, based on whether they hum loudly or not, whether they can be killed easily, their size and whether the bite causes pain during or after the bite.

The most annoying ones are those which hum loudly and also cause pain during and after the bite. I wouldn't mind nuking the place if these could be exterminated for sure.

Last night was terrible!

The Kannur Kasargode Trip

I was planning to cancel the trip as I was still on the waiting list three hours before the train started. I wanted to go but didnt know if the Railways would be kind enough to give me at least an RAC ticket. As soon as I got out of the office, I saw that I had got an RAC. I could at least sit and go now.  After rushing back home in a superfast express and packing a small bag with whatever my hands could find at the time, I was ready. Unfortunately, my phone was not. It showed a 66 percent charged status and I became worried whether the battery would last the overnight journey.

However there was nothing I could do about it. Mom came to drop me at the railway station. I know that she still thinks of me as a kid. And I am sure my behaviour at home doesnt help.

The train journey was not enjoyable till the TTE confirmed that I had a berth to sleep on. I had supped at home; all I needed was a place to sleep and I got it.

The next morning, I woke up early and brushed my teeth. Now brushing the teeth in the train with tens of others is a fun activity. I recommend that everyone try it at least once. Went back and sat till the train  reached Payyanur railway station. I got into an auto and went to my aunt's home. My cousin and my aunt were at home when I reached there. My cousin had managed to twist her ankle and so she was effectively immobilised. It was unlike her to sit at any place for more than five minutes. I could make fun of her now that she couldn't come running to beat me up. Had a wonderful breakfast and started off to Cherupuzha in Kasargod. Kasargod is the northernmost district of Kerala. That is where my mother's parents and most of her relatives stay. They had settled in a place called Chittarikkal - my grandparents were teachers at a school there. Most of the settlers are actually from central Kerala. And old-timers still tell me of the tales of their hardship when they had first come to Kasargod.

I reached Cherupuzha and took an autorikshaw from there to my mother's home at Chittarikkal. The rubber trees had made the settlers reach and you could see the proof on the roads - all models of cars that you could find in Indian cities were passing my poor autorikshaw.

Everyone was worried I would lose my way. After all, I was going there after two years and much had changed. Fortunately, the auto driver took me home straight away. My grandmother and cousins were waiting for me. I went and met mt aunt who was staying nearby as she was leaving for Trivandrum. Then I had lunch and played a game of cards. It was fun to play the game again - reminded me of the days at Yarrows. We talked and had fun. Then I slept like a pig till it started raining. I was woken up by the sound of thunder all around me. We had our dinner after prayer. And then I slept again.

In the morning, grandmother and I went to the cemetery before attending the Mass. After the service we went to the house of my uncle and had another wonderful breakfast. We then got hold of my aunt and drove to the house where my mother was born - my mother's uncle's house. The people there were very happy to see that I had come to visit them. On my way back I met another aunt and the rest of my cousins who were at Kasargod.

After the lunch, I started travelling back to Payyanur. Went to my house but found it locked. All around me where new faces. I left the place in ten minutes and reached the railway station.

And thanks to a very dear friend of mine, I got a berth in the Maveli Express. Reached my home early in the morning at six and here I am, on the Malabar express, going to my office.

The past two days were extraordinary, and today is anything but. I am thinking now again about where my home is - I felt a strange pain in my heart when I saw the locked door at Payyanur. I felt incredibly happy when I saw the smiling faces of my family in Kollam. And I feel a sort of peace when I am at Trivandrum. Which place do I call home?

The old timers in Kasargod still talk of their nadu - the place where they originally came from - with an affection that comes from deep within. Circumstances had driven them here and they were settled here for life - for good or bad. Maybe, like them, I too will not find peace on earth as I know not where my home is.