Of Animals and Man

After a month of frenzied action the world cup has finally drawn to a close. Young stars twinkled brighter than ever as old stars faded away. Many memories will remain- The football named Jabulani bouncing around with a football named Diego Maradona. Old men wilfully pumped up their BP while supporting their teams while the the young opened themselves up to a whole lot of going crazy. A beautiful month celebrating another edition of the beautiful game went by leaving in its wake memories of Love, affection, heartbreak and wonder.

What I would remember remember the most is a rather adorable cephalopod, about 2 years old, eyes forever half closed in a pose of meditation, moving around in a tank somewhere in Germany, probably wondering why every once in a while he was subjected to a zillion flashes of light.

What amazes me, more than the obvious discussions, is the depth of human feeling Paul has elicited. Depending on where you stay the name could mean anger, hope, expectation, cynicism, contentment, belief, or prayer. Say what you will, I’m thankful to Paul because over the past one month, he has shown us a little more about what it means to be human.

Its nice to know that that very animals we pay so little attention to, teach us so much about what it means to be a human. One world famous chef announces that he is sharpening his knife while the president of another country announces relief measures ranging from temporary protection to adoption for Paul (or is it Pablo nowadays?). All the while I’m sure Paul ponders over the mysterious source of his next tasty tidbit.

Some more examples to show how much certain animals mean to us-

Sir Nils Olav commands a huge army and is a symbol of everything that’s good in the Norwegian Kings Guard. One must watch the respect he commands and the awe he inspires during parades as he waddles all along proudly displaying his rank on his flippers. Sir Nils Olav is an emperor Penguin

Lance Corporal William has been one of the Queens best in the army. He has had a wild time in the army- headbutting a drummer during the Queen’s eightieth birthday. He was even put through a disciplinary hearing for that offence and demoted to the rank of fusilier before being promoted again. I wonder- perhaps the Drummer upset him, or perhaps LC. William didn’t have his daily dose of whatever goats eat. Ya, apart from Being in the Queens Royal Guard and living a life of ‘discipline’ LC. William walks on all fours and bleats! Would you really blame a Kashmir Goat for Headbutting to show its annoyance?

- I can almost dramatize the disciplinary hearing scene in my Head

Colonel. LC. Wiliam, do you know why you’ve been called here?

LC. William: Maaaaaaaaa!

Colonel: You Headbutted a drummer- you made your company look bad, you disobeyed a direct order, you were found lacking in discipline, and you insulted the Queen

LC.: Maaaaaaaa!

Colonel: You are demoted to rank of fusilier. Now leave and think about the shame you’ve brought to all of us!

LC: Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! (Trans: Idiot bipeds mumbling! Ooh there’s a pretty leaf and it just feels so right J )

All the while, our generation have grown so disconnected to each other- I think it becomes imperative to look elsewhere for inspiration- to see life a little bearable with a little hope- I guess that motivates most of us to look to the animals. In hope, in wonder.

What were the major happenings of this decade? Its easier for us to rattle off the attacks and deaths and doubts about government than it is to list 5 amazing things that made us feel happy to be humans. It almost seems like each one of us is a little Island of distress, doubt, sadness, some love, and a dimly flickering ray of hope.

In times like this perhaps- the tentacles of Paul, or the Flippers of Sir Nils Olav or the goat antics of LC. William give us that much needed bridge to understand other humans without being judgemental of them- for a moment forgetting the things that keep us grounded to rationalism and for a little while take us to the sky in our little flights of fancy- just like when we were kids.

So that was my most favourite happening of the world cup- a 2 year old octopus providing us a bridge to talk to each other all the while allowing us to laugh to ourselves a little bit! Allowing us to drop our pretence of seriousness and smile without expectation! I’m sure I could say Thank you, but he wouldn’t understand- I’m about as knowledgeable about octopus language as Paul is about English. But I’ll make it a point to buy him a nice tasty shellfish if i’m ever in Germany. Not so much because he predicted 8 matches right (How did he???) but because he gave us something else to see- no the blood and gore, not the intense competition of the World Cup, supposed referee blunders or the annoying Texas Chainsaw called the Vuvuzela, not the regional, national and international dangers that await all of us. He gave us 15 mins of tranqulity- to see a peaceful octopus swim from one end of his tank to another, open a tasty morsel of food, and each it- with the satisfaction of a 2 year old child. He gave me something to hold onto in an otherwise evanescent and shifty world.

A Decade of changes

Do our origins determine the people we become, or do situations change us in ways we can never fathom? And at what point in life does the past become a stranger to us all?

I still remember the pigeons cooing, the sparrows chirping, an incredibly large tree- I still don’t know which species it is- all I remember is my Biology teacher pointing towards it and telling me about its genus and species. Some buildings have been torn down, others constructed to help my school come of age in an ever changing world.

As I walk through the 3^rd Eleven field, I can almost see myself 12 years ago- running down this field– I guess I wasn’t as fat then! Ajax walks down with his cane and shoos everyone to attend assembly and all I can think about at this time is if my shoes are shiny enough so that the prefect wouldn’t catch me. Or wait- my hair appears too long and I am going to get caught! And to beat it all i cant find my hymn book! At this point I’m sweating and palpitating. My uniform doesn’t look ironed enough and I don’t look smart enough! Oh wait! There’s the hymn book! I can muster some courage after all.

I sit here today in corporate attire seeing myself go through the motions- most of my teachers aren’t teaching at Cottons anymore. The lady who showed me how to write has moved to the Middle East. The lady who piqued my curiosity about History has now gone home to Kerala. There’s a strange silence around this place. A place oddly familiar- where the stories of the past do not meld into the continuity of the present.

Its 10 years since I graduated out of Cottons- 10 years of change. I cant seem to shake away that nagging feeling of being in an extremely unfamiliar place. True everyone says there’s no experience like going to a place you’ve known after a long time to see the changes you’ve had since then.

But heres the question- what do you do when you realise that a part of you does not live anymore? I walk through tower block and I remember my friends there- I feel nothing! I walk through the cafeteria and see myself standing in the queue for donuts. I feel nothing! One ought to feel a sense of nostalgia, or longing or atleast some contentment and satisfaction. All i see is a guy 10 years younger than me running around to eat Donuts... I guess thats where the similarity ends.

The rest of me, from ten years ago is a stranger to the present me - a strange sense of déjà vu combined with an out of body experience- Paradoxical, confusing, and a little scary.

Ten years ago I graduated from this place. Got an amazing education that I could never afford (Thanks mum and Dad!). its supposed to be my ten year anniversary, graduating with a decent score- all the while walking- Nec Detrorsum, Nec Sinistrorsum, but On Straight On.

Frome being a believer, I’ve become more cynical. Yet theres a part of me that wants to be the guy from ten years ago. Running through the field, scared, happy, contended, doubtful, playful.

I guess coming back here was good because I got to see the person I was. But there’s a large difference between that and the person I am now - too large a gap that perhaps can never be bridged.

Yet I walk on- Knowing that i have a part to play in this world-insignificant as it may be.

To Mrs Sneha Ramesh and Mrs Rema Pillai I say- Thank you. The parts of my life that you discovered for me, kept me happy through the years, and will continue to do so. Its a gift that Ican neither quantify nor substitute.

Cafe Nirvana

What is it about old places that makes us feel warm, cozy and blissful? The same cacophony of discussions, the same tilted sepia toned picture hung on the wall. Two mirrors on opposite walls kept at an angle inclined. The signature white uniform with the spotless White and Red Bandana, the rickety tables, the faded blue paint and the inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The same Century old Cash Tally Machine that makes a peculiar sound that proudly proclaims its personality.

Oh! the smell of coffee makes me feel wanted. Feel hope. The coffee brewed here is a metaphor for good living. Filled to the brim, Full of Life, Rich and inviting... I'm in Love. With Coffee apparently.

The coffee I sip brings me to a realization. Its not just the coffee , not just the people, not just the tables and walls. Its all these things put together - and more

The Coffee House is a place where our collective consciousness- as a people and as a culture- resides. Every culture, Every City has its cultural nerve center. The coffee house is one of such places for Bangalore. Visiting the Coffee House is entering the inner sanctum of the city's collective memories. To experience this, all we have to do is sit down and listen carefully.

What do I find?

A group of businessmen discussing trade over the same coffee that is slowly working its magic with this new couple who sit across from me. I see the girl sipping coffee slowly and stealing loving glances from the boy she's with. Its the same coffee thats helping the girls sitting behind me form such tight bonds of friendship and camaraderie. Lunch is served to the Salesman who's sitting in front of me. And slowly he beings to feel lighter- confident. Probably his prospective customer bailed out on him and was feeling despondent. having lunch here has made him realize the fleeting nature of setbacks. I see a Mother telling some story about her times at the coffee house, to her daughter who's just reached adolescence. I think when this girl experiences Love for the first time- she'll visit here as a symbolic gesture letting in a guy into her life. This old man sits in a group reminiscing fondly about his life and his times with his wife who's passed on- to his group of really old friends. They all Laugh- full throated- and most of them don't even have teeth left. I think of the time when these men came here- maybe decades ago. They weren't this fat. They had Hair, Teeth, and companions. Now they have each other- one of them may leave us all today evening. But this memory would live on passed through them, through me. It suddenly feels like divine hands are working their way to me.. and before I know it I'm smiling too.

I am all these people- The old Man without Teeth, The Girl who might find love, the despondent salesman, the group of friends, the doting mother and Just-Fell in Love- couple. All these people are a part of me just as i am, of them.

Then the realization dawns on me. The coffee house doesn't just serve coffee. The coffee isnt an end- its the means to an end- its the magical fount of self realization. A mirror to my soul and simultaneously the hand of hope.

Everyone has a different picture of hope. For some its their husbands/ Wives. For some its their Lovers or friends. My picture of hope is a pot bellied, mustachioed man with no name. He wears the spotless Red and White headgear and a spotless white uniform. His red belt is the widest belt made ever and his shoes are white and polished. With a genuine warm smile he ambles along like Baloo the Bear and brings me my order of scrambled egg Toast and coffee.

We live schizophrenic lives- especially in the cities- Memories shift like sand dunes of the desert. In this shifty world of Maya, I see my picture of hope- as he comes walking to me smiling and conveying at the same time- "I'm here now- and I'm here for you"

Old Wine...

What is the distance between Texas and Bangalore? I'd say about the same distance as the width of Brigade Road in Bangalore.

Its a strange ethereal feeling meeting old acquaintances and friends. Long periods of being incommunicado followed by a meeting, one never really knows what to expect. People change day to day- and over a period of three years we have changed, a lot. Sort of reminds me of the short story 'After Twenty Years'

Yet there's always a feeling of familiarity, a sense of great affection that cannot be expressed in words. Genuine laughter knowing nods in scams undertaken together- a long long time ago.

And the experiences come back in a rush- like a dam that burst open. And that familiar feeling of being partners in crime returns. Eyes never Lie. The same streak of hair that runs across her face, the sharp laughter that makes the world a little less unbearable and voice that can calm calm me down from murderous rage to carefree laughter in minutes. The same look of wonder and terror.

We hanker for change in our life, everyday, fight for it, sometimes die for it, and yet it seems we all want things to remain the same. Back to the same bumbling 18 year old, who got all tongue-tied in the presence of a rather charming girl.

Life encompasses within it a very deep and profound madness. I guess meeting old friends gives us some sort of a respite from our own little insanities of living everyday. A similar feeling to drinking very old wine. Initial exhilarating that transcends into serenity followed by moments of untarnished beauty. Towards the end, all that remains is a warm glow that radiates from within, knowing that fulfillment is the easiest thing in the world.

Three Years ago, we said our goodbyes only to meet three years later. Lives have diverged but our way of living hasn't. Because of technological changes we keep in touch even though we're separated by oceans, but fulfillment is never reached... The void of emptiness that cannot be fulfilled by keeping in touch alone.

And it remained so through large internet chat discussions, favors and video's exchanged, and messages passed on, and news shared. It was not even fulfilled when I heard she'd landed in Bangalore. Bangalore or Texas, it never really changed. Local Calls and ISD Calls have the same dull sense of being impersonal and metallic.

... Until I saw her across Brigade Road waving to me. Thats when memories came back flying through the night sky- Memories of classes attended and classes bunked. Memories of the unbridled fear in her eyes because of the dog pound. Memories of endless cups of coffee and being curious because of intellectual chatter of the monkeys near the electrical department. Memories of circular reasoning that would drive a certified psychologist to insanity.

That was the distance between Texas and Bangalore for me. the time and distance it took for me to cross the road. A place where our conversations stopped being 'telecommunication' and started being personal. I guess, because of our busy lives and the horrible traffic it took us three years to cross the road.

A happy thought for me to remember that the first Happy memory of the year was gifted to me by two incredibly warm people who who remembered me when they didn't have to. They chose to celebrate joy of togetherness on a cold dry winter evening, instead of curling up in their homes with family.