Deception

Someone around me is chattering about about her boy friend. Giggling and passing lame remarks among their group of friends. Bottles are being passed cause someone is dying of thirst. As I pass the bottle I sniff and realize it’s not water. Deception, successful. Put on a poker face to not looking disgusted and pass the bottle along. Deception, successful. I used to play pass the word and now I am passing bottles filled with liquor. Which one do I hate more? Oh, it must be passing the word. It involved me speaking into waxfilled ears of humans who didn’t bother to hear the word correctly or clean their ears. Accidental miss pronunciation, childish giggles, tickles and interaction. Nope, do not want to indulge in that. So, yeah. Passing bottles is better. I start to doodle in the margin of my notebook, tiny thin strokes along the border of the margin. There is still a quarter of the margin left undecorated when the ink starts to fade and then finally stops leaving its mark on paper. I rummage through my stationary pouch, loads of coloured pencils, a 2B faber castle pencil, a pencil sharpener, a faber castle scale and a non dust eraser. No gel pen. I throw away the pen and pouch, into my bag, annoyed. I look over at the other occupants at my desk, hoping someone would have a gel pen I could lend to keep myself occupied. Nope. No gel pens on the desk. Actually no pens on desk. A few books carelessly thrown over the desk, rumpled xerox sheets jutting out of the books. Bags that hadn’t been washed since their births. Empty lunchboxes. Glowing cellphones. But not a gel pen in view. Yea I know what you are thinking, “Geez!! Why can’t you use a ball pen?” It’s simple, I can’t. I see a few staionary pouches. There might be a possibility of a gel pen in one of those zipped pouches. Why do grown ups use only zipped stationary pouches. Why dont I see anyone use a doubled sided pencil box with magnetic box locks and a built in pencil sharpener? Anyway, No gel pen, the quarter of a margin has to stay blank until I get one. I start to wonder what I must do to keep myself from dozing off. When I hear a scream.

“You! In the maroon shirt. Stand up!”

Maroon shirt guy looks around, realizes he is the only guy wearing a maroon shirt in the general area of the room being yelled at and stands up. I kind of know this guy. Not know, know him. Hmm.. how do I put it. Just a nodding acquaintance.

“What is the solution to the equation on the board?”

Dazed, he rummages through his un-maintained notebook. Trying to find an answer in his notebook when the question is on the board.

“What are you looking at in your books? Tell me the answer!”

Sudden calmness envelopes the room. Few seconds later, a guy, two chairs away from him hisses a number. They play pass on the message until the answer is receipted by the maroon shirt guy’s ear drum. Processing the payload message, he sheepishly repeats it.

“Come here and solve it.”

Visibly shaken, he shuffles around his seat. Slowly gets up and starts making his way to the front of the room. Picks up the white chalk from the long white desk and turns around to solve the equation. While he is fumbling with the chalk, someone knocks at the door, asking to have a word with the person no longer holding a chalk. No-chalk-in- the-hand guy acknowledges the request and walks out the door. Someone walks up to the front of the room, slaps the guys back, writes down the steps to solve the equation, hands the chalk back to the maroon shirt guy, dusts his hand over the maroon guy’s hair while wording something equivalent to you owe me big-time with a few abusive words thrown in, walks back to his desk and takes his seat.

Soft murmurs start to spring up from my side of the room. Some start throwing crushed paper balls at the maroon shirt guy. He amuses his seated friends by welcoming a few, while dodging the rest. When the crushed paper ball ambush stops, he looks at the chalk written solution for a while, while doing his version of SHMing. He looks at the door, seeing no one enter, he picks up the paper balls and throws them into the bin kept at the far corner of the room. On his way back to the ambushed area, he puts on his Ray Ban aviator sunglasses and does a good imitation of MJ’s moonwalk. I knew they were Ray Ban aviators cause I have one of them too, that’s how I established a nodding acquaintance with him. Someone starts playing ‘kaala cashma’, he breaks into a hip-hop/bhangada move. The song gets louder and the dance, better.

Hearing the raised decibels, the person in authority returns. Sudden calmness resurfaces. Everyone’s eyes dart towards the solution, as if to confirm its presence. The questioner assigns a different question to him so as to ascertain his credibility. He ponders over the question for a few minutes. The questioner soaks in triumph of having rightly judged his lack of ability to solve the question or rather, having caught the lie. Deception, failed.

I know what you are thinking again… “Is the questioner the professor? Aren’t you supposed to be calling him with his designated name?” I bet that’s what was written on his appointment letter, but do I care? Short answer. No. I care about not having a gel pen to decorate the margin with.


Was going through the huge pile of drafts. Was surprised to read quite a few drafts… Not because they were particularly atrocious, but because I don’t particularly remember writing them. Probably cause I wrote”better” stuff back then than I do now. So thought about publishing it even though it’s incomplete. Not sure what my mind was upto when I wrote it. Probably wrote it in reminiscence of my days at college. Enjoy it while you can… I mean your days in school/college, not the blogpost. 😛

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Whirlpool

A settling whirlpool served, contained within a circular steel walled vessel, which fits within the palm of my hand. Bubbling with energy of my young effervescent mind. Brimful with the bribe offered to wake me up every morning – until middle school – or so I think. It’s fragrance meandering, reaches my nostrils, drawing out memories of lazy mornings from forgotten corners of my pulpy, boxed up brain. It’s colour, the colour of my clothes on a rainy August evening, boasting my boisterous endeavours on mudroads leading to my house. Each sip a reminder of humble taste we collectively admired. Back when it came in just two flavours. Back when I completed with my siblings to be the first one to be handed the drink. Back when my taste and appetite determined food intake, not the blemishing glances from friends and passersby. Back when no one scorned at my choice of drinks. With each sip my thrist for something vicious fades away. Sipping the last drops, licking the remains adhering to the sides of the vessel, innocence grips onto me. The world seems to be a better place to live in… Even with whirlpools in it.

In other words… I had a tumbler of simmering Horlicks last weekend. A drink I don’t remember having in over a decade.

Happiness is …

Happiness is –
– Our constant chatter
– Your voice on the other end of a call
– A notification from you
– Your sense of humour
– When you call out my name
– Your excitement over anything new
– The misheard lyrics you sing
– Your bindass moves
– The stories you spin
– Your witty comebacks to my taunts
– The ease with which I float around you
– Your chirpy giggle
– The smile glued on your face
– When I am the reason you smile

Ken

All I see is darkness. In that, what I mean to say is, I see nothing. I hear screams. Screams of fear. I grope around to feel something – anything – familiar. My feet crawl across the uneven ground, centimetre by centimetre, asseing the land above which I stand and move ahead. I twist and turn my head hoping the darkness lies in the direction I face, not with me. My heart pounds within my chest, the heartbeats getting louder and faster with each slide of my foot. I spread my arms, my fingertips aching for a touch of familiarity. They feel nothing. Slowly and steadily I move forward. Screams. I still hear them. Blindly I move towards it. I lose my balance as my feet slip into a grove. I let out a yelp and fall down. Feeling and freeing my feet out, I stand up and move in the direction I think, is right. The screams have subsided. I feel a hand wave across my back. I turn around to grab the wavering arms. “I found you!” We exclaim and grip each other’s hands tight.

As instructed, we wait there for a minute or so. Finding company, my heart fades its beat to a normal pace. Someone approaches us and says “I will guide you through”. She places my left hand on her left shoulder and my partner’s right hand on her right shoulder. With her guidance we moved, with mixed sense certainty and doubt. She informs us about the a flight of stairs winding down before us. We feel the shoulder sink down. We let out a synchronised cry. I lift my right feet above the ground and slowing bring it down. Unable to find ground at the expected height, my brain sent out signals indicating my fall. I scream. My guide tells me there are still a few centimetres before my feet touch the ground. I follow her instruction. As my sole touches the rocky step, I let out a sigh. She informs us there are still about 10 steps, of varying heights before we reach level ground. I curse under my breath and condition my depth perception deprived brain. I start hearing a lot of cries again. With a few more instructions, curses and a foot sprain, we reached level ground. We walk a metre or two and halt. Our guide slips our hands off her shoulder. Our blindfolds are removed. I look at the clear blue sky and the surrounding trees. Viewing a familiar sight, I am flooded with relief. I look around and see others steadily moving in to where we are. Their faces distraught-I am sure mine was too.

As and when the blindfolds were removed, huge exclamations were heard. I am sure they were of joy, of accomplishment, of having survived the darkness. Once everyone had their blindfolds removed we were asked to assemble around our guide forming a circle. She asked us us about our blinding experience. Responses ranged from thrilling to frightening.

We were being taught about the importance of sight. We were on a school outing. This was the most exhilarating learning experiences I have had while on a school outing.

What made me write this today was an incident today morning. On my way to work two or three blind folks get down at the same bus stop as I do. They need to get to the other side of the road. And this road is always bustling with traffic. Usually anyone getting down at their stop helps them cross the road. If no one does I help them get to the other side of the road (I am bad at crossing roads). Today, I was the only one getting down the bus along with one of blind person – let’s call him X. I helped him get down the bus and waited for the traffic to slow down. I look towards my left and saw a second one of them – let’s call him Y – a little further away, get down a different bus and assumed someone getting off his bus would help him cross the road too. (The dumb me! *Facepalm*). So I look the other way and while making casual small talk with X, wait for a clear spot to slip through the other side. He says he works at a call centre, gives me directions to his work asking if I could drop him off there if I am heading in the same direction. The traffic slows down, X and I cross the road. I turn around to see if Y has come through too. A crowd of college students are crossing the road and again I assume someone has helped him cross the road too. The road past the bus stop cuts into another street via three or four steps. I help X get past it and a little further into the street, past the under construction area – cause it’s Bangalore. I look back, still no sign of Y. I tell X to have a good day and head back to the main street. I find no sign of Y on my side of the road. I look past the traffic, divider bushes and crowd to see Y still standing in the bus stop asking help from strangers and hoping someone would help him cross the road. No one did! I was infuriated. How could no one from such huge a crowd not help him cross the road?! As I moved to cross the road in traffic. I saw a guy walk towards him, offering to help him cross the road. I waited for him to safely cross the road onto the street leading to the street where I dropped X off. I went my way, infuriated.

Empathy is getting rarer. All he would have asked you for was to cross a busy road, not buy him a iPhone X.

*Random trivia*:

A months back a cousin of mine told me about a restaurant which supported blind people. The restuarant had blind chefs and waiters. Customers were asked to be seated in a dark room with no lights. They would be served in dark. They are too in the darkness, relying only on there tactile senses. I would love to visit this restaurant.

Year gone by – 2017

Yo guys! Wassup?

I have used the word “guy” for years without thinking about its origin. This year I found out how the word “guy” originated. It’s an eponym. According to google: “A person after whom a discovery, invention, place, etc., is named or thought to be named”. The person after whom the word guy was coined was Guy Fawkes. Colloquially known by the mask worn by V in V for Vendetta. If you are interested in exactly how the eponym originated, check the link at the end of the post.

Okay, back to the post.

This year, I published lesser posts, again. There are about nineteen drafts for the post, not one publish ready. I am frequently enquired about how my blog is going. My usual response is, “It’s okay”. Some friends having subscribed to my blog, ask me why I haven’t posted anything in so long and enquire if I have blocked them from receiving notifications. Subscribers, please note, I haven’t blocked anyone from accessing this site. It is just me who isn’t publishing posts. A few weeks ago, I narrated a clumsy event from my clumsy life to a friend, and was suggested to write a post and publish it on the blog. After a while, I hinted a possibility of turning this blog into a yearly post. Disappointment in me was evident in their face. I didn’t understand the disappointment, I am not even that good a writer. I have my reasons for not posting on the blog. There I go again, one of my friend constantly nags me when I say I have reasons, saying, “Excuses. Excuses. You always have excuses”. I must not be giving excuses, but I take this opportunity to put it out there, that I will not be posting regularly.

This year was a tad bit better than last year, inspite lesser posts.

Screenshot (2)

That said and done. Let’s see how this year went for me.

YEAR GONE BY – 2017

I sported my shortest hairstyle this year. Some of my friends called me Indira Gandhi and a little kid. Despite what everyone said, I loved my hairstyle.

The BBMP – municipal authorities in my city – decided to chop down most of the trees in my locality to provide an uninterrupted stretch of land for construction of metro. BBMP is still chopping down trees for different stages of metro construction and I hate it. They destroyed one of my favourite bus stands in the city. Metro makes travelling convenient, yet the process leading up to the metro construction is pathetic and inconvenient. Due to the construction, my travelling time has increased from from anywhere between two-and-a-half hours to three. To reduce my travelling time, I occasionally walk for around two kilometres. That’s right, the time taken to travel two kilometres reduces from one hour to fifteen-twenty minutes.

I painted my white Bluetooth headphones. Not the best decision I took this year. Yet, loved how they turn out.

My friends at office, occasionally brought packed breakfast for me. Some they cooked, some were parcelled from restaurants. This is how I discovered my favourite dish in the whole wide world, Indori poha.

Bought a guitar, played it for a month or two, never tuned it again.

This October I tried an art challenge called inktober. In essence, over a period of thirty one days, one is supposed to draw/sketch/paint with only ink as the medium. Prompts are laid out for each day. This aims to improve ones’s drawing skills. Out of the thirty one days, I drew only for fifteen. Needless to say, I failed at it. Here are the sketches I made.

The books I read this year, ranged from intense drama/plot twists to funny and interesting anecdotes. My picks for best books I read this year are, The fountainhead by Ayn Rand and Black water lilies by Michel Bussi.

TV shows I watched in increasing order of recommendation: The OA, 2 broke girls, Pushpavalli, Stranger things, The Hugh Hefner story, South Park and The Last Week Show tonight. The most awaited Season 4 of Black Mirror is out, haven’t seen it yet. Guess I’ll watch it next year!

This year I discovered Podcasts. My favourites were in decreasing order of recommendation: Criminal Show, 99% invisible, The allusionist, ear hustle and what Trump can teach us about con law. Please mention podcasts you might think I like, in the comments section. I can’t get enough of them. As one of my friend says, “You know what they say, Listening is the new reading”.

Despite the ups and downs, this year was one of the best years I’ve had. I certainly enjoyed creating memories this year! Hope you did too!

Wishing you all a Happy New year! Have a splendid year creating memories! 🙂

Stay happy, stay safe, stay confused and peace!

Click here to know more about the eponym I mentioned before.