A small innocuous glint, an inconsequentialspark. Easy to miss. Best to extinguish it then.A shadowy flame once in a while. A glowing ember. Think nothing of these. Aberrations.
More eruptions, so frequent that the timing between them blurs. They feed on each other in savage frenzy. The flame builds. There is no destroying it now.
Hungry, the fire seeks any opening to expand, to take over every fiber, every dark corner a starving welcome. Spanning, hunting, devouring. Unbiased destruction.
I almost sensed it an instant before it happened. A cold dread filled me. I could feel my testicles start to shrivel. Was this it? So simple? So sudden?
Why me? Why now? I trembled and knew that I had lost control of my bladder. It was astounding. How easily one gets scared. I always thought I was brave, but now fear pervaded my being. I had never been so terrified and so self pitying.
I looked all around. There was nothing around me but the horror clutching at me from without and within. I let out a thin whimper…or was it a wail…
What was I going to do? The options went through me and were all dismissed. I didn’t want this but where would I go now?
Minutes went by and I didn’t do a thing. I was still sweating like a horse after a race. I didn’t realize I had so much fluid in me. I had to take my mind of this thing.
I started thinking about my life. It did flash before my eyes! It was a good one. I had always done well and had never any reason to complain. Not that I had ever thought about it until now. The perspective seemed different now. Mundane events in my life that I thought were of portentous significance and earth shaking tragedies suddenly seemed inane. What the hell had I been so bothered about! Life had been good!
Strangely, the sweating stopped. I wasn’t afraid anymore. A sense of calm slowly took over. Maybe this was for the best. I actually smiled. Everyone I had loved was gone so what was left for me here?
Anyway, it’s not like I had any choice so might as well be brave about it. I was not going to close my eyes. Desperado! Bandido! God, I felt good. I’d never felt so confident and happy in my life.
My smile widened. I knew I looked silly. But I didn’t care anymore.
Slowly and deliberately I extricated my foot from the land mine….
My nephew summarized the events of last night succinctly. "If we had this kind of determination in sports, we would all have more gold medals than Phelps".
With that opening, let me unravel an unnecessary adventure we went through.
The evening started innocuously enough with us visiting the homes of our cousins for Janmashtami. As luck would have it, the critical mass for the late night dessert trip took its ominous shape and unwilling the fight the hand of destiny, we acquiesced and proceeded towards LakeView for ice-cream in two cars.
The fuel gauge in my car showing a huge (negative) gap between the needle and the 'Empty' mark notwithstanding, we set out merrily in the heavy downpour. I was very confident that I could fill fuel on the way. Let us call this Mistake #1. The first petrol station we came across was closed. Well, duh! It was 11:30 p.m. and they close at 11.
Undaunted, we proceeded towards M.G. Road, some 10 km away. One more obstacle here. The double road was under 2 feet of water. A few cabs and bigger vehicles braved the water and forged ahead but the risks outweighed the dessert cravings for a bit here.
We made an elaborate U-turn on the one-way street amidst much honking, cursing and good natured ribaldry amongst our co-drivers who for some obscure reason were also driving around at this ungodly hour.
Next we attempted a different route to our destination. We shall officially peg this as Mistake #2. Any other normal human being would have thrown in the hat (into the fast rising water on the road) and gone home. But no! We are made of sterner stuff.
We continued along twists and turns of small streets and again ended up before a neat little reservoir on the road. A cursory glance at the Maruti Swift sailing effortlessly ahead told us all we needed to know. One more U-turn and by this time a strange sense of reasoning prevailed across the two automobiles and a consensus was reached to head home.
The fuel situation, meanwhile, continued to look grim and the weather gods continued to savage us with gale force rains. Just when I thought we might make it to a 24 hour petrol station, a sickening grinding sound dispelled any such notions. We had a flat!
At this point, the wife, one usually given to outbursts of humungus proportions when faced with adversity, broke out into hysterical peals of laughter. In a confined space, with rain pouring buckets outside, take it from me that this is not an enjoyable experience.
Luckily for us, our two nephews who would do any F-1 pit crew proud, jumped down and started changing the tire while the wife and I valiantly held aloft umbrellas successfully drenching both my nephews.
We sent the other car with an empty Coke bottle to get us some fuel.
Finishing the tire change in record time (about 4 minutes 37:22 seconds), one of my nephews said we should drive on. Mistake #3.
The other car and ours slowly increased our distance apart and with the threat of an empty tank looming, we jovially drove on...somewhere... My nephew was furiously trying to give landmarks to the other car and in the confusion even managed to ask how to give the cemetry as a landmark.
Putting a stop to the madness, we finally halted and guided the other car towards us.
We now move a little back in time to the happenings in the car (the fueled one and the one to bring us fuel).
After leaving us to our own devices, the other car moved at breakneck speed to get us the fuel. At a gas station, my nephew's friend started engaging the staff in a saga of epic proportions with intense melodrama involving hungry and crying kids stranded in the rain. The recepient, obviously a stalwart of such ocassions seemed unperturbed and wordlessly pointed to an oil shop nearby. Again, before my nephew could protest and just ask for an empty can, his friend broke out into the Darfur children mode. The man, without breaking a sweat and apparently ignoring the tragic tale, emptied a can and handed it to them.
With a 5 liter can of petrol, they journeyed to intercept us on our travels without petrol. For some unfathomable reason, my nephew hugged the can of petrol in the back seat, nearly knocking out the occupants with the heady intoxication of gas fumes.
At half past midnight, on the 27th of August, in torrents of rain, a Stanley and Livingstone like meeting occurred in the hallowed streets of Hosur Road (heading towards St Marks Road). With our auto suitably sated and after letting the other car go home, we of the indomitable spirit did attain our original objective.
Circa 1 a.m., we touched down at LakeView just as they were closing and ensured (one look at us and they knew we weren't leaving without ice-creams) that we all got huge scoops of ice-cream (mine was ButterScotch Cake with Fudge) and tore into them with abandon.
Like I said, the never say die attitude our family so proudly possesses helped us attain salvation and justified our Raison d'être.
Of late, I've been getting a lot of dreams. Not just at night mind you. Even when I take an afternoon nap, even if it's for 30 minutes. I'll keep updating my blog with these vivid picturizations that are beamed to me in surprising regularity because I think they're really cool dreams! Disturbing and meaningless no doubt, but cool!
The little boy It's night and I'm looking up to the top of a bus where a guy is holding a 2 year old boy. My wife is in a hurry to leave for some reason but I really want to get that kid. The guys throws the kid from the top of the bus. I miss but the child falls safely next to my outstretched arms. I pick him up. Apparently he's Afghan. Fully padded up with woolen shawls and sweaters and socks; a really plump and fair kid with bright red cheeks. I am determined that I will adopt him and as I pick him up and hold him I start to cry uncontrollably.
The Chase A long winding road in the middle of nowhere. I am stuck behind a slew of vehicles and getting very impatient. I need to catch up with a big Mobile Home that is a little ahead but making good progress as the traffic has cleared there. I decide that it's faster for me to run across the grassy plains and hills and intercept the vehicle that way. My only worry is the packet of yoghurt I have to leave behind in my car. Okay, I told you this was meaningless!
Anyway, I start running across dried grass fields and reach some farm houses. Strangely, there is no one anywhere other than the long line of cars on the road. I hear dogs barking in the yard but still see nothing. I also hear the sound of TVs and voices and start to fear that these folk are kind of the evil dead or something. I run past the houses and barns and finally come to steep mud incline which I need to climb to get to the road. A big brawny guy is already climbing the slope with little success. A guy in a military suit appears next to me as I try to climb. A gun shot rings out. The brawny guy is shot in the leg. I hurriedly climb down. The military guy (I think he's a general) walks past me with the chilling words 'You're already dead' and calmly fires another shot into my injured climbing companion. I am then escorted into a prison.
Statutory Warning: This article contains alcohol, vulgarity and undetermined sexes. You have been warned! Now read dammit!
Thanks to a friend, we had reservations at Absinthe, a nice and posh Southern French and Italian restaurant in downtown San Francisco. The prices did make us catch our breath though. However, the French onion soup was delectable and Porus in a fit of dashing adventurism ordered the Bok Choy as it sounded exotic (Okay, no idea why!).
Mojitos seemed to be the preferred drink of the ladies and though a teetotaler, I threw caution to the wind and ordered one too. My alcoholic pursuits were not to bear fruit as Shaila neatly polished off both her drink and mine and not content with this already significant achievement, we did a fast pull and empty of Pallavi's drink too.
Realizing that the food menu was a little beyond an average person's income, we meandered out of this august French establishment. Well, when you order a miniscule bowl of chick peas and you get charged per chick pea, you know you are over your head.
Our entire evening seemed to be running to a script. We were next asked to go to Sugar, a small bar, a stone's throw from Absinthe. For some reason, I had Shaila's handbag on my shoulder and proceeded to wear her blatantly feminine sunglasses. Word has it that I was a dead ringer for Elton John. But, hey! This is San Francisco! Need I say more?
Sugar turned out be a cozy bar and somehow we garnered the only room in this environment. It did look a bit seedy but most of the ladies were a tad beyond noticing the mundane. Once more, living it up, I decided on a Long Island Iced Tea (LIIT). Mama mia! That sucker hits you like a rock between your eyes!
Random dancing, smoking, drinking ensued and we made merry listening to the atheist (80s?) music. I don't know about most men but I find it incredibly enjoyable to be around sloshed women. And the LIIT was slowly but surely working its magic. Okay, who am I kidding. I was buzzed. As I waited patiently for the bar to stop its lazy spinning, we thought we'll get something to eat. Not sure why, but Sugar is a place which is totally mobile. Everything inside keeps moving in circles. I wonder how the bartenders ever manage to pour their drinks!
Porus, now the man in charge ordered us to go to a Falafel place across the street. As we marched daintily in roughly the direction he had pointed, we realized after about 9 minutes of staring at the restaurant, that it was closed. It's a wonder how people figure this out in a jiffy when sober. Damn the sober people!
Full of the right spirit, we continued to saunter on and entered Marlena's. Bohemian in appearance and with lively music, something seemed odd. More investigation in the inebriated state provided us some succor. The ladies dancing on the little stage were not of the opposite sex. Hammering it home - they were drag queens. Quite nicely dressed I must say. At this point in time, Shaila, already a few notches above the legal limit for being behind a steering wheel, had the brilliant spark. She wanted me to wear the handbag and her glasses.
A man can be piss drunk but when it comes to protecting his manhood, the fuzziness in the surroundings disappear and you suddenly begin to think very sane and rightful thoughts. Essentially, I had no intention of being someone's bitch that night and firmly put my foot down on this proposal. A bit miffed but not beaten by any mean, Shaila marched out and started to call her mother in India. This, while running up and down the streets of San Francisco well past midnight. The remaining members of our ragged party didn't seem to be making any pedal moves so I staggered behind her to ensure she doesn't get into any trouble or worse, get me into trouble.
Some sound practical advice from the mother seemed to activate Shaila further and more rowdiness resulted. Luckily, we found a restaurant still open and bundled everyone inside.
Sudden realization dawned on Porus sometime during the last few events (I was high so can't pinpoint the time) that the last BART train is at 12:15 a.m. How nice!
Anyways, we decided to go to Porus and Yamini's place by a cab. Riding on our good luck, we found a cab with three rows of seats. Unfortunately, the cab driver was a Gujju (I think, but definitely Indian). Unfortunate because of the washerwoman-like lingo emanating from the last row. By now, I don't need to say who. You know who! A choice example was when the walkie talkie spurted out some disembodied voice. The last row had this to offer as a gentle rejoinder "Bhagvaan ke gaand se awaaz aa raha hai".
Gujju bhai's face contorted so much I thought he'd have a seizure. Porus, next to him blissfully slept Guppy Fish like with deep rumbling tones from the under belly.The fun and frolicking continued from the rear woofers with those evergreen numbers from superhit movies like 'Chameli Ki Shaadi' , belted out in surprisingly coordinated megaphonics.
We finally got to our destination without additional excitement and got a good night's sleep.
I say we don't party enough! We need more of these evenings man! Bring it on!
Standard Disclaimer: Ingesting alcohol is amazingly good for your humor and makes the world such a simpler place to live in
Another Farm Story! Okay, don't groan. I won't be talking about land development and produce. Well, not this time at least.
Having dug the bore-well and with light pressure from the wife, the construction for the farm hand's quarters has started in earnest. What's missing of course, is the farm hand.
From recommendations, we acquired one resume and the candidate showed up at a neighboring farm which was apparently the interview venue. To aid is in this complicated maneuver, we enlisted the august presence of the local headman's son. An imposing and towering person, one does not want to take undue liberties with him.
The candidate was brought forth by the referrer. Out of respect or some such thing, they both stood behind us to make it challenging for us to talk to them without craning our neck and body at distorted angles. For a while, everyone stood around and no one spoke a word.
A few minutes later, another friend of ours voiced his thoughts in the form of probing out the candidate's name and requesting the wage figures desired. More hemming and hawing and the person (Madhayya) quoted the salary he was making in some god forsaken part of the state. The number seemed unreasonable as there were murmurs in the interview panel and general disagreement.
On some unseen cue, two backers for the farmers' cause appeared out of the blue. Both put across their points very clearly on why a higher salary was warranted. Their arguments, peppered with facts and figures of daily living expenses, the price of gas, rice, rocket fuel etc, while very fascinating, did not make much of an impression on the village leader. Even existing salary structures in the immediate vicinity were treated with quiet disdain.
An interesting dance ensued, with neither party actually expressing a number, but at the same time, I was struck by the headman's sensitivity and tact. At no point did he raise his voice or directly contradict anything the farmers had to say. However, the moment they were out of earshot, he would give us hard statistics on wages and salaries in the area. A very delicate balance indeed. Though a big shot in the area, he was at all times very polite and civil to the farmers, not once disrupting the harmony of the conversation or putting them down in any way.
The fencing continued for a while. This was quite complicated as we didn't want to artificially elevate the market with a salary that was too high. This would have disastrous consequences on all the hiring in that area. So, the parrying went on.
We finally gave in and told Madhayya how much we were willing to pay. A detailed explanation on the total compensation package inclusive of all benefits and bonuses was given. However, Madhayya had been heavily influenced by the two cronies who were the voice of Madhayya for all practical purposes.
The hunt for the farm hand goes on! I'm now learning to work within the boundaries and framework of communication styles and approaches to this hitherto straightforward task.
I'm not sure what got into me but last week, I suddenly had the urge to trace my friends from the years gone by. Effective sleuth work on the web helped me discover my class-mate, best friend and confidante for 5 years in Nigeria. 24 years since we parted ways and I was thrilled to reconnect with him. And, it was like we had never lost touch. We just got back into the same groove and the easy relationship we had as kids. Quite amazing actually.
More hunting on social sites got me in touch with an entire contingent of my primary school and senior school buddies. It's a wonderful feeling to get back in touch, see how people have changed physically and otherwise.
All we have is memories now. Cherished ones always. Even the events that caused us much stress and discomfiture are now remembered fondly and for a while we get lost in the history of ourselves and the people that were part of what once was.
A healthy dose of nostalgia is always good to rejuvenate the mind and body. I highly recommend it!
