Blocked calls

#166

If I were to die today, my entire being would flood with regret for an absurd over-emphasis on relations. We give too much importance to others, we even try to wriggle our way to their good books. That’s pre-digital age mentality. We were told that Dale Carnegie’s “How to win friends and influence others” is a gold standard for living in a society. Bull shit. I would write a more relevant book titled, “How to make life difficult for others at the first opportunity.”

            I am not cynical or over-dramatic here. The world has changed beyond recognition in the space of a decade: Being nice and courteous in this age is being a moron to the extreme. The joint family died in the 60s and 70s, maybe the nuclear family died in 2010 and now in 2020 it's me and my interests alone.  
            I am saying this with all the earnestness at my command: Please don’t be kind and courteous. Being rude and boorish is fine but it should be done at an art level. You need to be sophisticated. Don’t parade your SELF-CENTRED streak but serve it with layers in false show of concern; have sweet words for the mouth but no feeling in the mind. Your job and duty is to care only for one person and that’s YOU. 

            For me 2020 started with Ajay’s “I will ask my wife if I should give you a loan.” That shook me up as the thoughts gained momentum: The world just does not care for an individual. If you realize how little the society thinks and feels for you, you would not open your mouth. The only person who cares for you in this digital age is not your wife or daughter but online marketers. Once your number gets into their database, they will badger you on “personal loans”, sell a vacation to Mars and anything in between. You are loved for the money in your bank balance and not you; if you think someone loves you then it's maya, the ultimate self-delusion. Want proof? Lose your job, don't buy your wife and kids any gifts or lay infirm for a week - you will soon realize how hollow and self-centered all their affections were. 

Blocking spree: I need a guarantor for my loan and the first person I approached was Srinivasan. He said, “Give me a day and I will get back to you.” It's as much a smart stalling move as after a job interview “We will get back to you, don’t call us.” I waited a couple of days before blocking his number. Then I sought out Mugundavel my builder for a guarantor. I know he is as cunning as a perpetually starving rat, he has no morals but I wanted some humour as I kick-started this social experiment: Sir, will you be my loan guarantor? He said, “I am already a guarantor for a close friend, I cannot have a second one concurrently.” I smiled and blocked his number. Then tried Krish with the same request. I was under the illusion he cared until he chickened out, “Sathya, if I sign as a guarantor my credit score would come down. Then I cannot avail any loans in the bank should a need arise.” I was sorely tempted to block his number but I thought: if he were to ever call by mistake, let the phone ring itself out. Then I wrote to a friend in Dubai on Whatsapp: Man, I feel like talking to you. Would you call me this week? I got no answer as I deleted the name from the contact list. Last month I was happy to an exuberance to block Vivek on my cell phone, a friend of 13 years, on another grouse: He simply got into the habit of annoying me. Sathya, what have you done to your sisters to merit hospitality? That number went for a year before this straw broke the camel's back: Sathya, I told you that getting a loan is very difficult. Why did you buy this Palavakkam apartment now? You should have first made money in the stock markets and then ventured into these buys. Most sensible advice on hindsight but this is a classic “I told you so” on a burning deck. Then there was Ramesh, Yohanan, Manikandan, Rajaram, Prithvi, Siddan, Prabhakar who fell on the wayside for no reason. 

            In all these ruins there is just one person who shines; 88 years old TH Iyer mama. He calls me daily wishing me luck and hearing my laments. In this world if you have just one person to EMPATHIZE, you are fortunate. Napoleon lamented he had none to trust, Alexander the Great had just Hephastion, and I have my TH Iyer mama. To the rest of world, be kind and courteous but from a mile away. I must warn myself that any flood of friendship is wasted energy on a unsuspecting public. It’s a pity we are not allowed to carry guns and knives in our society particularly as human population is on an exponential rise. But in your mind, just kill your kindness and compassion. If not at least start blocking numbers on the phone. Welcome to the digital world of Aadhar and Pan card and 16 digit credit card numbers, don't think you are bigger than them!!! 

Relationships in the Digital age??

#164

Wisdom is not something you arrive by reason; it takes life experiences to get a fleeting sense of it. Reading books, attending inspirational talks won’t make a person wiser, probably you will come home and parrot the words for an impressionable value. Borrowed words never make for one’s wisdom.   

            This is a rambling introduction to this thought that bugs me at the moment: the world we live is a terrible one. My life is interesting for it spanned three different times for a study in contrast:

            1970-1990 were my growing up years from birth to graduation when the world was still sane: television entering our homes, the neighbors knew each other well (we had the first landline in the locality and neighbors flocked to us for the phone facility, they now had access to an instrument to talk to their married daughters and sons). My father who had a flourishing career never stopped worrying over the fate of his fourth brother who could never keep a job. 

            1990-2010 were the years when I entered adulthood. I had a massive culture shock in the IMT hostels – the transition from a Nawabi Hyderabad society to a lifestyle-addicted, aggressive Delhi crowd took a long while for my mind to adapt. The society at this point was consumeristic: people buying Maruti cars, joint family became nuclear which meant no elder brother fussed over the unemployment or penurious state of his fourth brother! These years became what I call the: I, my wife, and my kids centered vision for existence. These were times when people voted for money and status – the more you had them, the more you were respected in contrast to the 1970-1990 phase when intelligence and culture got a legroom. There is often quoted axiom: the world is nothing but a mirror of your thoughts. If you were friendly the world reflected back that aspect to you which these years more or less held.

            Then came the post 2010 years where the world was classified as winners and losers as the IT crowd took over. They are truly global, their lifestyle no longer wrapped in Eastern conservative mould. Women smoke and party, pre-marital sex tacitly approved, and we simply stopped caring. Today we have reached a stage of not caring a damn to wives and kids. Today your own spouse will walk out if you lose your job regardless of a foreign vacation six months earlier. That by extension meant “We not only lost the art of caring for a nuclear family, we lost out on caring for ourselves”. Today if you are friendly, you will be mistaken for a madcap. Today if you fall in love, you will sign a pre-nuptial agreement. And if you are me, you will keep a gun under the pillows for self-protection!!! Today marketing men are more interested in your money than in you, pharma companies will dance with joy if chronic illnesses rise each percentage point. You will not know your neighbours, sad thing is you will not know even your siblings. We have changed our food habits, women use their breasts for a fashion accessory, and money is the only currency that is respected everywhere. Long lost in the desert are intelligence and culture and sobriety.

            For me, these phases of the society in transition hit me straight in the eye – I had the vantage point of being alone. Today anybody would be fortunate if you can find four friends in the city on whom you call: Buddy, let’s go for a movie this weekend for my wife rubbed me to the ground. Or buddy, I am in some financial trouble. Can you loan me 10 k for a week? Everyone understands that they are an island today – there is no premium being nice and friendly, you don’t have to fake a smile. People like me who have no societal shackles can look at you straight in the eye and say, “You are a bother, keep out of my way,” without a pang of guilt in the conscience. Today we look at a colleague or a sibling or even a spouse or a kid feeling, “This fellow is out to touch me, let me be careful.” Faith in gods was the first casualty, that vacuum was first filled by Sri Sri and now Sadhguru for a dose of pop spirituality. Then went the family customs as we severed from our parent tree, then came all the vices from women’s empowerment and effeminate males (would you believe it, most wear ear studs in one ear). Once we lost the caring aspect, we became strangers to ourselves as those aspen leaves tossed around by the slightest breeze.

            2020 got me this wisdom: The world is a friendly place but it does not care from Ajay. Then this corollary naturally sprung in my fertile mind: When you realize how little others think and feel for you then you’ll never open your mouth. Nor will you smile or mouth those useless good mornings. Now I have reached such a state that when someone smiles at me, I pause to ask: What do you want from me? Or you an insurance salesman or trying to sell me land in OMR 20 kms from the city?? Or a membership to a resort or selling a vacation??? And if I am going to commit suicide tomorrow, I will set fire to the planet with a gleeful smug: the journey from the innocence of the 70s to the callousness of 2020 is complete. 

March Misgivings

#163

This year was supposed to be a Consolidation year, but there are no green shoots of growth as of now. This loan has now become a knotty thorn, I pray that this month provides a solution.

            Yesterday I had a drink with Ranga at Maris and that’s the reason for this blog post. He has an original mind, greater in depth than me. I plan to use this medium to capture yesterday’s thoughts:

a)     Sathya, if you have noticed that even a sober guy acts animated in a group. You will always find group conversations at a bar boisterous where people shout to get themselves heard. It shows poor character to me. You only talk in two situations: a) where you are respected enough such that the other person waits to listen without interrupting, b) you open your mouth to add to a discussion and not noise.

b)     When I told him that self-love saved me from moodswings, he said, “It’s wrong usage of the word self-love.” You mean “you stopped blaming yourself and you were immediately healed.”

c)      Tambrahms are not ritualistic, Sathya as you keep parroting. They are highly conformist. I am Telugu Brahmin and there are no constraints my community imposes on me; I can be me. But in the case of a tambrahm, non-conformity becomes headline news. There is so much pressure to fall in life – that’s why you’ll see the maximum chanting crowd in a temple, or performing rituals like Amavasya tharpanam, or non-smoking or non-drinking made into a such a virtue.

d)     When I was cribbing about my siblings lack of care, he said, “Sathya, only you can define your duties for you. You have no right to conceptualize on other’s duties. Do so and you’ll find misery clinging on to you.”

Life, the eternal bitch

#161

Being alone always has its cost. It’s an oddity that one grows almost as a separate species. In a family – which I have not seen since 2007 when my mother shifted to my sister’s place – I guess there is room for all types of emotions to trigger. Some pleasant, mostly unpleasant but there is a thin thread of bonding. If you are incapacitated and even if you are the most worthless, family-defeating member, you will be taken to a clinic when sick, cared for in an ICU when dying and cremation after death even if it is with a grudging sigh. But being alone you must pretty much arrange these inevitable stages.

            Being alone, you must pamper yourself. I set small goals; each time I make a 40 k profit in a deal I treat myself to a book on Amazon or a BBC video, or I plan a short trip, or invite Ranga to Maris for a drink,  or even a small packet of sweets from Aavin or Krishna Bhavan or buy a fancy item for the drawing room or watch a movie on the big screens. Two, more important than self-pamper you need to “ensure that there are no negative forces” to upset the fragile mask of peace. Even a small ant-bite is enough to drown you in an ocean of self-pity. So you learn to avoid stressful situations and boorish people. For me, the first sign of a “mind in free fall” is my smoking number goes up, I begin to curse my second sister, I begin to fantasize on suicide and death. When I reach such a stage, I drop everything and head for a Vipassana retreat.  There are only two people who call to enquire; T H Iyer mama at 86 and random calls of Manisha. Shivaja, a Rediffiland friend, calls me each time she is Blore. Which shows the world is excessively self-centered.

            I have been here in this new house for 6 weeks now waiting like a lost man in a desert for the mortgage loan. The more the delay, the more I doubt whether I can capture the form and momentum at the bourses. I am also pitching for “soft skills training” role which could get in some people quotient. I do need a platform to meet the next generation,. I am terrible marketing my wares, so now and then I drop a word to my friends – could you explore a possibility in your firm kinds? Knowing the apathetic world we live, such feeble attempts rarely get you anywhere. 

            My appreciation for Meera and Thangam who served my kitchen for 15 years have gone up manifold after coming here. I engaged Nalini as a cook here and she is terrible with no brahmanical instinct in culinary. I even brought my elder sister for a crash course, now I realize she needs more. It’s like starting someone from alphabets and "a for apple" kinds. To her credit, she brings in a positive attitude. There are days when I am pulling my strands in disgust. I tell you this: for a bachelor, a cook is the most important person for the food issue is vitally the most important. This area needs fixing.

            It's not easy with these odds. I am smoking a lot these days, waiting for the bank loan and trying to fix a food problem from an inept cook. This is more than an ant-bite for me to sink in the ocean of sorrow. But I am trying. Writing the four parts Alexander series felt so reassuring, that effort did shore up self-esteem. Today I am watching “Parasite” my third Oscar movie of the season.

            Each of my mental wanderings on blogs invariably ends with this thought and I don’t mind a million repetition: I live in an apathetic world. There is little bonding to life or any relation that offers warmth. I need to find a reason almost every month just to pull through. I stay in the race even after the bulls give up!!!! But each year, it gets more and more difficult.

            The best of Palavakkam would be: train this Nalini character or find another source, re-discover my skills at stock market trading, get SPARRC routine which means I need a two-wheeler which is a sound investment, get some swimming in. There is a music institute here and I resume my guitar classes. Being alone you need “good supply of happy hormones generating activities”. Then secure the Kumbakonam villa, then pool and music score sheets as consequential events. But if God were to appear and grant a boon, in today’s mood I would press for a release. 
            I don’t know how to evaluate my life; whether I am a force of good or bad, whether I deserve a heaven or hell for a after-life but one thing I am certain: no one brought such pluck and endurance to life as I have. Or just a pistol shot blast of your brains which feels an inevitably. We make too much of life and death, both are the same if you ask me. 

Sobering February

#160

Three insights here.

            First, I hate to admit this, I am wrong.  For long I had a chip on my shoulder about being neglected by my siblings.  But this counter thought made a lot of sense: We were from a dysfunctional family that did not teach us to bond or even relate. So all of us grew up like guests in a hotel, there was no family binding. To their good fortune, they found husbands and love and children for a purpose in life. I just could not  which I can’t hold it against them. Both mother and my eldest sister visited my new house, we promised to be civil and distant than be severed and coarse.

            Second, this incident shook me. I paid 1 lac as an advance for a villa in Kumbakonam in October. I was supposed to pay 9 lacs immediately but all those monies and more went into securing this apartment in Chennai. Yesterday I spoke to the Kumbakonam promoter which roughly went like this: Sir, I am terribly sorry. I was interacting with Gopalan who has had a surgery. I am more than three months behind schedule. Narasimhan said, “Sir, I have complete trust in you. With your 1 lac, we have started construction. As per agreement, you owe us 20 lacs now. The villa will be ready by April.” I told him of the bank loan and ended the conversation saying, “This chat warms my heart. I thought of transferring 8 lacs through netbanking. Now I will personally come and hand over the cheque.” 

            The third insight is APATHY. We live in age of excessive selfishness to the point of self-defeat. I was telling a friend, “You know what makes Chennai such a heartless city? We don’t care for others. Care has many levels: I don’t expect the level of care you would display when your wife or kid is in the ICU where you will drop everything and attend.” I have been in Besant nagar for three decades, only TH Iyer mama at 86 visited my new place.” Tambrahms in Chennai don’t realize the importance of visiting friends, inviting them over for lunches and dinners even once in a decade, a distant “hi and bye” kinds is no better than a stranger. All the humour, banter and jokes count for nothing if there is no care; primary first level care which a Mumbai, Blore or a Delhi has in abundant measure.

            Lastly I have grown a bit wiser in 2020. I no longer yank my mouth after this realization hit me hard: if you realize how little others think or care for you, you wouldn’t open your mouth. I watched “A beautiful day in the neighborhood” and “1917” for Oscar season. I am planning “Parasite” (Korean film), “Little women”, “Joker” and any Oscar nominated movie in town. These really engage, they inspire me on creativity and integrity in storytelling. That's how the time rolls here. 

No one cares!

#152

A more positive title would be “You are on your own” but I am in an outrageous mood with a rich hue of morbidity now.

            I last celebrated a Hindu festival in 1989 which makes it 31 years. Who is to be blamed for such apathy? My siblings of course are culprits number one. It’s sheer, broad as daylight abdication of their duties in this digital age of selfishness where people have time only for themselves, others may as well drown or hang from a noose, I care a damn. I tried to drill some sense to my eldest sister for decades, “Look, if I die in a road accident the cops will bring the unclaimed body to your house. Being a sister of a bachelor means you are my guardian even if it sounds distasteful.” My sister is blessed with an intellect of a buffalo chewing the cud in the shadows of a tree on a hot summer day. You can beat the buffalo, skin it alive or hack its neck in a slaughter house, but it cannot learn differential calculus no matter how good the instructor is. It is easier to move a mountain and carry it on your back than drive sense into a recalcitrant tambrahm woman. Or bang your head in the wall, either the wall will come down or your head mangled beyond any surgical correction but some women will never learn. So I continue to pay this cost: 31 years of no festival. I am no saint though as I curse with all the venom at this gross negligence on an Everest scale: may they experience a bit of my suffering.

            Then the neighbours should have included an orphan man into their festivities which is what Kalpagam did. They would gift me festival sweets for years and I was infinitely grateful to the extent of addressing her AKKA. Then a stupid clinic came, we had a massive disagreement and all bonhomie built over decades disappeared in a moment. The supply of festival goodies stopped, we even stopped wishing each other face-to-face for neighbor whose front door is opposite yours in the apartment. It is here Chennai fails, This city has not a considerate nerve for the underdogs, no city on earth is more selfish and self-centered.

            Then we come to friends in the Eliots beach. I might know 10-20 regulars for no more than a hi and bye. Again it does not strike anyone’s minds that here is a fellow who gets to be alone on festivals. I praise a lot of friends in my blogs, but none as much harboured a thought to include me in a Diwali or a Pongal. None thought of wishing me on the phones much less visit me with a sweet packets and smiles. This gesture even escaped the minds of venerable Sarada Mami or Ranga. In Chennai each one considers himself as an island, there is no common human thread or any connection. So I end moaning my lot on festival occasions.

            My nerves cannot stand the revelries of a Diwali where everyone is exuberantly happy; womenfolk visit the temples in new silk saris, children bursting crackers from dawn to dusk, families calling on each other and here I am with no one to bother. So I would pack off to a Vipassana retreat before money came in recently. Two years back I went to Pondicherry, last year it was Guruvayoor while this year I was so preoccupied with stock market trading to feel the full agony of loneliness on a Diwali day. Trust me, nothing feels more scorned and discarded than that on that day.

            It takes a noble heart to realize another’s sorrow. But we live in an age where even if you should shout from rooftops your angsts no one will bother. If Balakanth was ever aware that there is a human being on earth who has not seen a festival for 31 years, he would have flown to that place, hired cheer girls, ride on an elephant for the biggest celebration of lights and crackers. His heart was large. And if he knew a friend has not seen a festival in three decades, he would have died of shock.

The fleas of Sindh

#146

10^th October is one date I never forget – it’s just as much a landmark as my birthday on 27^th April or my heart surgery on 27^th June or very near suicidal attempt on 27^th November. Neither do I forget my dad’s death on 13^th November. But we are now in October, let me explain what 10/10 means to me.

            pUsHpA was a slippery character from day-1 as she led me to a garden path. No one has spoken such endearing words of love as this female. I lost my Worldwide Media job and almost from the next day she turned cold. It was on 10/10 in 2009 she announced on her Orkut site “I am engaged”. I smoked half a pack of cigarettes that day, spent a sleepless night later for the first time in my life. Here was a woman who had a pre-honeymoon vacation with me, swore undying declarations of love for thousands of kisses and hugs and when it came to parting “just did not say a word of contrition”. If ever there was an instance of sneaking thief exit, this was it.

            One of the many lessons I learnt from the Sindhi imbroglio was: Women in our age can change their partners at their whim and fancies. Another was: never trust a Sindhi and a Punjabi* ever. Even today when I find a Punjabi woman attractive in my circle, I give it a broad miss for “once bitten is twice shy”. Life is too short to repeat the same mistake again and I am no fool more than my share. That race gives a lot of premium to “chickna” skin and “wealth”. Both of which I am neither endowed or aspired.

            The second time I came across a Sindhi was Haider Sheikh in Abu Dhabi. He was my colleague in Adline advertising and as slimy as they get. He was as dumb as a doorknob but he knew how to survive in a foul acrid atmosphere of hate and spite of Mohan like no other. To any abuse and outrage, Haider batted with a straight smile, “Yes Boss.” He was boiled daily with words of abuse for the same mistake, but his smile never wavered or his “Yes Boss” or a Uriah Heap’s show of servility. What nature gave him a more than a jackal's share of cunningness, it failed him as he continued with his error prone ways in work. He got on my wrong side many a times, as for me this feeling strengthened: Haider was the second Sindhi I was unfortunate enough to meet and both did not bode well for me. Yes, he was "chikna" but dead from the neck up with an IQ below that of a tortoise. Both pUsHpA and Haider can make a living in the glamour industries as a model or an actor; nature has not given them minds for anything higher.  Come to think of it, both the Sindhis look to me as made-for-each-other kinds for a corollary: Sindhis should only love and marry among themselves lest they pollute superior races and genes. 

            I sold my M90/4 in December and took up residence in 91/6 in the next building. The house-owner is a Sindhi and she is just as worse as the worst of them. The roof leaks and she will not spend on repair. This is a 45 years old construction, even the kitchen slab has not been replaced or the bathroom tiles from 1973!!! This Sindhi female has 4 to 5 houses in the city and makes a pile of rental income. Every tenant of hers curse her for she is too tightfisted – she will simply not replace a worn out fan or do any kind of repairs. A Tamilian is a peaceful creature but the bad names the Sindhis earn on account of this house-owner is enough to tar the entire community as we soon aver: what better can we expect from Sindhis?

            I am largely secular; I am not a sectarian fellow. I have a broad outlook to life and believe that there are good and bad people in every language and religion and caste but when it comes to Sindhis my attitude changes: If you find a Sindhi and a snake, better kill the Sindhi for it is more dangerous is no mere saying but there is a lot of truth to it. I think we should pack these Sindhis to where they belong – Sindhustan in Pakistan. They defile the atmosphere wherever they go. After pUsHpA chastisement there is a lot of relief: whatever destiny has in store for me, it can't get more worse than her. Anyone coming in my social circle can't be so gross and animalistic as this female. Once you have seen the worst of a human being, naturally your days and months and years brighten like the summer sun. Phew!!!! 

Post Script: I have a lot of IMT friends who are Punjabis. They are as good as the best of them. Point is, after this Sindhi chastisement I am wary of getting into romantic situations with that tribe. If pUsHpA had been a Bengali, Malayali, Marathi, Gujarati, Sinhalese or from the Hindi belt or Kashmiri, my reaction would have been just the same. Being in Chennai, a Sindhi is as rare an animal as a white ant, I come across them like once a decade kinds. I am taking the trouble to write this disclaimer so that none of my friends feel grieved. 

True Angels

#139

I have done quite a few blogs on CARING; it’s a recurring theme for me. Each time my mind hits on a new insight on CARE, I rush a blog post.

            There is no skill greater on planet earth than the virtue of care – when someone is in physical or emotional pain, to offer a shoulder of support is heavenly. It’s mark of a man. To turn your back is a trait of a devil, no matter how many candles you light in a church or a wick in a temple you deserve a place in a frying pan.  These are the people who make this planet miserable for friends and relations and to those around, I don’t have the tiniest of doubts here.

            I will never forget this instance of CARE. Manohar is an electrician and we became friendly each time I had an assignment for him – times when a fuse would blow out, or even if the bathroom closet does not flush. He is an artist in such matters, he finds solutions no run-of -the-mill guy can even conjure. Like when the water motor was not sucking in water, he used his mobile as torchlight to find any holes in the PVC pipes. I can keep on singing his praises on his professional side but it was this instance that touched my heart. Last year I told him over phone that I sold my apartment. Next day he comes to the house with a long face saying, “I know how lousy and beaten you may be feeling at this phase of life. I was passing through this way and wanted to meet you.” He is not highly educated but few people are blessed with that level of compassion.
            Yesterday I found that my house-owner would not repair the terrace floor. It’s laid with four inches of cementing when all it needs is to be dug up and re-laid with concrete tiles. It’s a job that would cost over 1 lac of rupees but there is a crying need as the rain water leaks into my bedrooms.  No one would pay 21 k for such a house and I told the owner straight, “You repair this, I stay another term. Or else I vacate.”  She is a Sindhi and as tight-fisted as the worst of them. She engaged a mason for another layer of cementing, I wasted not a moment calling her, “I am vacating by the end of November for this house is not worth the 21 k.” She did not argue though she might not find a tenant for months after I am gone. She is a classic: penny wise, pound foolish caricature. 

            The whole night I was fuming at the injustice of life. This morning I had no energy for SPARRC rehabs. I was smoking more in the hope it might induce a brain seizure or a trigger a heart attack. I called Vivek and he gives relief. He said, “Sathya, try Mylapore or T-nagar where you will get food, I am sure you’ll make new friends there. Remember Besant nagar is not the only place on earth.”

            Then I called Dhamma Mani Sir and when I appraised him saying, “I am finally vacating Besant nagar after three decades. Feel a beaten cat, if I had a gun I might have gone for the temple.” He said, “Sathya, try Shubham Ashiana and they have a wonderful property in Maraimalar nagar. Buy a single bedroom for 25 lacs and your monthly food expenses will not stretch beyond 5 k. I had food there last week and it’s fantastic.” Then he added, “Look when I left Ranipet for Mumbai I had the same doubts of relocating to a new place. A few years in Mumbai, there was again a pain of leaving a familiar place. Same thing when we came back to Chennai and now I am at Mogappair happy and content. Maybe if I have to shift from here to a new place, I will not go through similar emotional pangs of attachment. Look at it this way, you have to go from kindergarten to primary, then secondary, then college and then employment and each new place is a challenge to adapt. I am sure you’re strong enough to face them. Look for food, then slowly spread your wings and new friends will come along.”

            Talking to him I was soon laughing and joking. It just took 10 minutes of the phone for him to connect with my feelings and offer a palliative. When you are staying alone even a minor ant bite looks a shark attack as the mind slips into the darkest hell of insecurity and fears. Each time I am feeling real low to a lousy mood, I call a few angels to get my breath back.

            Balakanth was an exceptional human being, multifaceted in many activities. He was the live-wire of any gathering, his humour was spontaneous but what really connected was his caring quotient. When anyone approached him with a problem, the first thing he would say is, “let’s try.” He would go all out to bring solace. Same with Manikandan and this is true leadership quality – to lift someone when they are down in the dumps. It really does not take much but very few people are blessed in the art of caring and connecting.

            For me the worst caricatures in bipeds are those you approach for help and they turn the other way. Like, I am looking for soft skills opportunity and do you know anyone to network me with? Or I am going out of town for a week, can you please collect the laundry?? Or any of the thousand petty things of the demands of living. When I approach a dork* (which I will realize after the chaffing) for assistance and there's a stoic dead-end for a response, the first thing I do is delete their number from my mobile phone. Not that I wish them bad but I don’t want to transact with such worms again. Deleting ensures I will not have access to them for the mind is weak and if my situation gets me drowning more I may be tempted for another round of begging. Even if you have been praying for a god like those asuras and saints in Amar Chitra Katha comics and the skies open up for a proclamation: Sathya, the Lord is pleased with your devotion. He will personally meet you at 7:00 am IST. Imagine the lord coming for the appointment at 7:05 and you’ll lose all respect. If there is one lesson we'll need to imbibe is "CARING for those around" or else we will all die alone and die no better than worms. I learnt this lesson in 2006  from C Subramanian's son (CS was once the Governor of Maharashtra) when I sought his assistance for a contact on a work assignment. I would call him once a week and each time he would say, "Sathya, give me one more week. Call later." Nothing transpired but I happened to run into him as he explained, "Even I have to approach others for help, there's no harm in anybody approaching me. Remember even Lord Rama had to curry favour with Sugreeva as he said to a classic: everyone needs help at one point or the other. We should try to keep the cycle going. 
* meaning of dork is "a contemptible, socially inept person" (North American; informal)

Waiting, cooling heels

#136

Before I take a jab at narrating my side of events, Vivek Banerjee supplied a nice thought: Sathya, why take so much trouble on blog writing? It does not pay you a penny or is there any interested following? This touched a raw nerve, I simply said, “I have nothing better. It’s unlikely I would blog if there was an earning opportunity especially now that the stock markets needs stabilizing and I need more learning.”  Vivek is right. I have written too much and for too long and going nowhere for creativity.

            This is a desultory blog to capture these times, usually the onset of festival season catches me in the throat for a panic. I have not seen one in the last 3 decades, for Diwali I make it a point to visit any temple town just to be away from the revelry of fire-crackers. But beginning Ganesh Chaturthi onwards, I fervently wish I was buried hundred feet under. It does feel a singular punishment to be kept out for so long and no silver lining. Now after Igatpuri Vipassana, I sit for 50 min of meditations at the start of the day – I wake up, dim the fans and sit in silence watching either body sensations or breath. I feel a lot of settled nerves that I attribute to this new habit.

            This brings to mind Vipassana humour which I would like to have a record here. I recollect saying this to the teacher at Blore 2018 when he said, “Sathyanarayan G, you must try to sit in Adhisttan.” I said, “There is so much pain in my knees that it can supply power to the entire Blore city.” He did not laugh but I certainly did.  Now at Igatpuri when I went to confer with the teacher on Adhistttan, the teacher (a different one) said, “Observe your pain closely with the detachment of a scientist. See the source of pain, observe on which part of the body it is decreasing from source, see if there are any changes in each round. For instance, the pain could be intense pressure and five minutes later it could have turned into intense heat.”  After successfully holding them for an hour, I reported back to the teacher, “Sir, I did it thanks to your advice. I can’t afford to fail in this Maratha kingdom and bring a bad name to the Tamils. It’s Tamil pride that was at stake.” Again the teacher was not amused though certainly I was.

            In a Vipassana centre, any seed of a thought develops quickly as I played this humour on my head.  I tell Manisha, a typical Marathi, “Why did the Marathas lose the third battle of Panipat in 1761? Not only that, you people have not lost your pride till date,” for a giant chuckle. In reality I will not play this joke on her for she is overly sensitive but I can ruminate in my mind for a produce as I imagine Vivek saying,” Sathya, the Marathas lost the third battle of Panipat in 1761 because of poor leadership. They had a tambrahm in their army.” I tell him, “You mean I was heading their army in my previous birth.” I imagine Vivek chuckling, “You give yourself airs. Sathya, even as a foot soldier you have the ability to topple a ship.”  

            As you can see I am WAITING, COOLING MY HEELS by narrating jokes just to myself to keep myself busy. I wish for an earning source; it looks like those festivals that never come to me. One throw of the dice is in Mumbai where I am there on 19/8 for four days of FUTURES classes. I will ask for favours with my instructors, pray what else I can do?  I am quite innovative on this front, not in the manner of asking favours but I have an open mind for an occupation. I no longer insist on a white collar assignment. If not soft skills training, I am open to even a LASSI shop or food catering that I considered seriously last year. I need some people interactions in the day and sadly I have not been resourceful enough for a dose of it. I am not overly keen on writing a biography of an industrialist or a film actor but I will pitch for it in Mumbai with known people. Or try selling a script for a movie (I am better with my eyes closed and arms twisted on movie scripts, even my discarded thrash will make better viewing on the screens than the ones I catch on HOTSTAR). I need just a push, I am talented enough to make the most of it. But where will it come from in this junkyard of a country, I wonder. But at least in Mumbai I have some friendly people to voice my request, here in Chennai there's none. 

            Today my taciturn cook told me this tale in a tone of excitement: My electricity bill came to Rs. 1700 almost double the normal rates. It seems that after 500-unit consumption, we get into a new slab rate. So this time we were very mindful switching off lights and fans until yesterday my daughter found that the common water pump was connected to my meter. So for two months I was worrying stiff until this discovery. I am asking the owner for a refund and no more of such dirty underhand tactics.” I narrate this simple tale for this is my sole window to the outside world of normalcy.

            I have a talk to deliver on VIPASSANA and MINDFULNESS at FOSWL on 18/8 (it’s a local monthly gathering, it’s an abbreviation for FRIENDS of SAME WAVELENGTH). Normally no more than a dozen people attend, but for me this invitation looks like “one-year quota of talking for which I am extremely bashful and grateful”. My life is reduced to waiting for years, I have shown a lot of patience and perseverance. Maybe destiny will keep score and prove the axiom that every dog has its day. Waiting, destiny old man.

Retirement plans

My nerves can’t take this much longer.  I have been managing a kitchen from the summer of 2007 and it’s more than 12 years on the clock. Buying groceries – toor dhal, moog dhal and there are two more varieties like kadala paruppu and paitham puruppu (I know I am testing the patience of both Hindi and Tamil readers here but there are no English equivalence) then the old army of mustard, pepper, dhaniya, red chillis, mediyam, table salt, tamarind and more.  Adding to my burdens is the now habitual late-coming of my cook. She was as straight as an arrow of punctuality and efficiency for 9 years and now nearing 60 she is slowing down visibly. Believe me when I say that nothing is more dispiriting to the mind than waiting for a cook with rats running around in your tummy protesting the delay. I am through.

            My simple plan is “find a gated community where there is a kitchen service”. I am spending close to 15 k a month which is a king’s budget for food expenses, outside food however disagreeable to the stomach will easily fit into half that sum. The incentive is no more washing utensils that makes for rushing to the grocer for Vim soap and Scotch brite scrub pads. Living alone is bad enough physically but when there is no emotional support of care of any kind to even decimal proportions then that life is a Greek tragedy. I will try to find a gated community with food facility, some inmates to play a board of carom or even the monotonous chess even if I have to tolerate a gossip on cricket, Modi and movies is not a bad diet rather a dramatic improvement from my recluse current state.

            If I have money rolling off my sleeves, then I will start some inane thing like SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT or Save the Bengal tiger to keep myself busy. The current fad in the city is Rain Water harvesting. It’s not a bad idea to pool in some unemployed youths and go household to household with a pamphlet in hand (where my writing skills will come to play at last) and harangue them with lectures of ground water replenishment and climate change gibberish. Or to prove to my Delhi friends that I am very liberal of temperament, I will write to Modi to make me the Tamilnadu ambassador for girl’s education and gender equality under “beti padhao and beti bachao”. Or join Sadhguru is planting a million saplings wherever he wants me to pitch in. It’s a funny world out there where everyone worries about saving the planet but can’t stand the sight of a neighbor to exchange two words.

            I am becoming an expert in booking cheap airline tickets. I find myself suddenly flying all over with 10 trips in the last 12 months – flew to Delhi twice, then these monthlies to Mumbai. Next week I am taking Vistara to where else but Mumbai for a Vipassana course at Igatpuri. I am clocking a lot of air miles but no earnings to go alongside. Again it's a funny world when a son sits on his dad's wealth without a care in the world. 

            I had a huge headache of filing IT returns where end of July is the last date. Sourcing an auditor is not an easy chore as I found out. Ranga recommended Ramanathan who is  frightfully busy to reply to my clarifications on guideline value certificates, then there was another auditor bloke who kept postponing the meeting (he must be deluged with assignments for this society rewards everyone except a creative writer), another took all my documents and went on a long foreign tour as to be of any utility. Pandian suggested Manimaran at Kilpauk and he is the perfect answer to my prayers – he asked me for “fair market value of the property as on April 2000” and he is optimistic that the IT department has no cause to pinch me. I love his attitude, “This property is your dad’s gift to you. He has already paid his taxes and so the government should have no business meddling its nose.” For this sentiment alone I would widen my wallet!!!!  

            It’s a tough world if you ask me. There are few people who have learnt to CARE for another human being. In our times even husbands and wives try to squeeze happiness from one another as though a tug of war or a power struggle in a corporate. I can understand much of the debasement in values in the 2019 times but one thing my heart will never condone is this ingrained apathy and lack of trust in fellow human beings. Each one is much like the speeding motorist who will rush to beat the traffic signal, he will not pause to consider that there are hundreds waiting on the pedestrian crossing. Such insane self-centeredness is the price we pay for living in a crowded and now heartless society.  

            Of all my friends I feel very grateful to Pandian as a trusted friend. He was the one who purchased my flat and he is the person I rush to for seeking favours like: Can you suggest me a good auditor? Or Can you help me in sourcing a “flat valuator for determining fair market value in 2000” kinds? I also talk to Vivek Banerjee at least once a week when the flow of morbidity is at high tide in the mind. He is another who cares for me and is blessed with a sweet tongue.

            Life as seen by me is bone dry. I am a living testament of an individual in 2019 who is left alone like a flotsam on the seashore. As Dev Anand sings to Hemamalini Pal Bhar Ke Liye koi muze pyar karale, jhootha hi sahi. The mind needs its quota of “jhootha pyar” as much as sleep and food and that’s where my life falls flat. Hopefully the Igatpuri Vipassana does some assuaging, some plaster of paris to cover the wounds of the heart.

Jaded January

#121 Post in Dauntless

A writer cannot resist same letter nouns or verbs or adjectives on titles; the dictionary informs me that one of the meanings of jades is “worn out”. January was that kind of month.

            Transporting the sofa set from one building to the other was some adventure. I have friends who go trekking to different unexplored peaks, my adventure quotient is reduced to sofa set shifting. But the funny thing is the mind goes through similar exhilaration and despairs. “Shifting headaches” was one blog post I earned for my labours.

            Yesterday I was speaking to Vikas my batchmate and we are connecting after 26 years and I said, “I am a writer perhaps a self-claimed best creative writer in India. Don’t get impressed for it nets me no earnings at all. I have a choice to think of myself as a best writer if only to delude myself and shored up self-esteems.” I loved this thought: Either I can look at myself as a colossal failure at three months short of 50 or I can look at myself as a hero. I choose the latter perspective for it serves me better but the point is this: We can change our self-image as many times as we want to suit our current advantage.  It’s no good telling myself that I am a wimp though it might ring true to a dictionary definition rather I say “What a great trier I am. What a great soldier of life?”

            This month was brutal lessons in TRADING. I made 30 k in Infosys, 20 k in Sun Pharma before losing over 1.3 lacs on Zee Entertainment. Entirely my stupidity as avarice took over reason. I should have sold Zee at a stop loss at 420 rather I saw it sink to 300 and I lost my shirt in a hour’s time. But these are early days and this taught me a lot of lessons and the first and foremost is PROTECT YOUR CAPITAL. The second is “Your profit earnings come in increments while one big wave can drown you.” The stock market plays fair and it brings out your personality. Now I go slow on trading for February.

            I had a viral fever last week and that got me dispirited and glum. Being alone on such days feels the full weight of abandonment, the fever recedes but the mind takes longer to come back after reaching this bottom thought.

            I listen to Sadhguru a lot these days. He is truly one giant of an intellect with opinion in every field. He brings deeper and newer perspectives.  Very few people make me think and revisit my premises, Sadhguru does it all the time.

            I am loving the new house. Being on the second floor, this is more a vantage point to watch traffic and life below on to a busy street. It’s breezier too.  There are no crow nuisances and at this height, I am nearer the tree tops. Also there is much less of vehicular pollution and so I can sweep and mop the floors once a fortnight as opposed to once a week.

            It does hurt that my life has now been reduced to trading in stock market for my earnings and engagements in the day. I would prefer a soft skills training or even mental health counseling. But then nature does not flow the waters of my life to my shore rather it floats and kicks me to a flotsam. I like this humble side of me; it’s taken decades to reach this wisdom of NO RESISTANCE to the PRESENT MOMENT. I will accept whatever comes to my hand and then try to work things around.

            I saw the movie ACCIDENTAL PRIME MINISTER and rather liked it. Not Hollywood class but it had enough to show what happens in the corridors of power. It also reinforced my natural distaste of Congress and Sonia Gandhi; they mean only evil to this nation.

            This month also served me this jaded experience. YOU CANNOT FORCE WISDOM ON ANYONE EVEN AT THE POINT OF A GUN.  I tried my best to drive sense in my siblings through persuasion, reason, threats, shaming, education, ridicule and nothing worked and only stoked antagonism and animosity. This is a great beautiful lesson: LEARNING IS ALWAYS A SOLITARY ACTIVITY. Only you can learn and only you choose from whom and what experiences in life to learn. At times it gets so frustrating that you feel like drilling a hole in someone’s scalp hoping and praying they get a whiff of wisdom but you only end up hurting yourself more.

            Another is this comforting thought: Lots of IMT batch mates read these musings. I was so happy connecting to Ashutosh Mishra yesterday and he has an unquenchable thirst for Ganga River and trekking unexplored mountains. It’ rare to meet people who have passionate hobbies and it’s a sort of a kindred feeling. His achievements are much greater; he conquers mountain peaks untrammeled by human beings in the last 200 -300 years. My only feat in comparison is moving a soft set from one building to another with the same level of heightened tensions and emotions. Nature certainly chooses its winners alright.

Sure Signs of Tamas

#119 post in Dauntlesssathya (last post of 2018)

This lesson did not strike me until this week. It’s a powerful life lesson and any reader can benefit from. The lesson is simple but it took me a long time for the penny to drop – DON’T ARGUE OR REASON WITH FOOLS.  They are sure to bring you down to their mean levels. You end up hurting yourself.  Let me illustrate this from my life experiences.

            I used to tell V and L for decades: That you have not included me in festivals is something that hurts me. It reduces me to an ORPHAN status. Also when I fall sick or not in a physical state to walk to the restaurants for breakfast, I could do with a either a moral or physical assistance. Despite a million times of broaching this topic on phones, mails, in person and even a blog post they refused to get this into their minds. JUST BLANK IT OUT or wear a raincoat. Then I realized this: ONE CANNOT REASON OR DRILL SENSE INTO A CLOSED MIND. Latha was very finicky about the impression she creates with her industrialist sister-in-law. I even wrote to the tycoon expressing my disgust at L's behaviour and yet she did not have the courage to address.  One definition of TAMAS is “they don’t see reason even if you keep their heads on a western closet and flush it for a torture that is commonly seen in Hollywood interrogation scenes.” Or for an Indian imagery of shaking a tree for the fruits to drop. Some trees are so stiff that your hands would wring in exhaustion; these trees would rather prefer being hawed down than yield. Some people are sadly like that for a definition of INFLEXIBLE and INTRACTABLE. 

            Another person I drilled a hole in their head without getting anywhere was pUsHpa (she is always spelled this way to indicate a slithery snake). I used to tell her in the second half of 2008. “Look, you have your differences and I have my lists of angst against you. Let us meet, thrash it out. We owe this much to ourselves after Ahmedabad and Kodaikanal and Bangalore. Then we either reconcile or we snap away.”

            She just would not hear even as I warned, “ Please don’t call me for it affects me psychologically. Friends can become lovers but lovers cannot be friends. Either we meet in your next monthly visit to Bangalore or we put an end to these useless calls.” I was too weak of mind as I continued to take her calls. Once I even feigned a Vipassana retreat for a 10 days respite from these calls. On the eleventh day, she calls me repeatedly and my heart melts to take it in the third attempt. I am such a sentimental ass!!!

            With pUsHpA I read all the signs of a SNAP right but I did not have the emotional strength to put them in practice. She was after all my first and only woman whom I hugged and kissed. We were not suited for each other. I am much too honest and brainy; she was more a consumer who buys expensive clothes, change her car every second year, overseas vacation and a pseudo feminist. Very money minded as you could imagine a Sindhi while for me MONEY holds no special meaning as long it meets my living expenses. But she was deadly attractive when she wanted to turn on the charms with her humour and wit. Even in 2008 when she downgraded my stock from LOVER to a FRIEND on her own volition, I was not exactly enamoured. If I was, I would have flown to Ahmedabad and brought this matter either to a closure or reconciled our growing differences. Point is, DRILLING SENSE for more than 8-9 months and this woman just stood her ground. All the wisdom of a Solomon was wasted even as I saw my first romance go down the tubes ever so agonizingly slow. It was only when she went to Goa in February 2009 and start dating in March that I mentally wrote this relation off yet continue to engage over phones --- extreme STUPIDITY and DIFFIDENCE on hindsight.

            Even my mother is like that. Some times I used to grow large of heart to think even in my graduation days, “ This woman breastfed me in my infant days and so deserves respect and affection.” But such a noble sentiment did not last for a day. She would torture even when I was in the SHIT SHOWER SHAVE. That kind of verbal torture is something I am yet to heal completely. Again no amount of persuasion, kindness and gentleness worked.

            The point of the blog post is clear. YOU CANNOT HOPE TO REASON WITH TAMAS. You see your loved ones driving a car without a brake and you know in your mental vision that the racing car is tearing down straight to a crash. But you cannot do anything; you suffer in slow agony as they drag you down alongwith them. Then you understand how it should be with WISE people. When there is an emotional outburst or a direct charge against a wise man, what would be their options?  My surmise is EITHER dismiss the allegation as false or acknowledge it and learn from it if the cap fits. You either end up saying, “ You are unreasonable and I don’t share your feelings at all” and snap those ties or have the mental courage to say,” There is a lot of truth in what you say. I am sorry for your angst. Please don’t rile, I will do a course correction. “ A wise man is FLEXIBLE to change a thought pattern, acknowledge the errors and march forward while a TAMAS is a car stuck in sand and no amount of acceleration and power will make it move an inch. Some lesson I realized last week.  
Post Script: It is for this reason no SATTVIC person ever ventures out to advise unless the other person falls on the knees and begs for wisdom. Why and when did Krishna preach the Bhagavad Gita? to whom? Arjuna fell on his knees and crawled saying, "Krishna, my dear friend. I am at the end of my rope. I am going to pieces. Please advise me as to the right course." It is only after this surrender, Krishna dons the teacher's hat and not before. 

Bad Four

 Bad Four*

I was telling Mani Sir yesterday, “ In 2019 not one word on the BAD FOUR on my blogs.” He has a sardonic sense of humour saying, “That was your resolution in 2018 which you violated with immunity.”

            My mother seriously I have not a trace of hurt though she is the reason for my ship being grounded today.  V and L are siblings who I will FORGIVE but not FORGET for these acts of omission is an emotional scar as I realized this: We don’t worry about people who don’t exist but we take offense to people not taking up their RESPONSIBILITIES. Both V and L despite a million protests and even a stinking blog post don’t see sense at all. I felt that a murder is more FORGIVE-ABLE for it can be a rush of hot blood; but the sin of NOT CARING for three decades is prolong lapse of duties and height of grossness.  pUsHpa was a devil in angel clothes. We really hit if off and we could have had a life of a fantasy had she not been dismissive of love. To TRIVIALIZE love is a black crime worse than murder or stealing apples from a hungry child. She had a chance of a lifetime to get civilized in my company; I frankly lose nothing in the DUMP. It feels that she invited a penurious Mother Teresa for a dinner; then got into squabbles and kicked her out before the meals were served. Or give balloons and tell stories to kids and give them gifts which on opening is a snake about to unleash its pangs. It is a sick life to KICK OUT VIRTUOUS persons from your life given that the supply of gross ones is inexhaustible. As for me, pUsHpA fiasco was just one more in the series of MEGA HURTS inflicted by society. That I have grown stronger is a tribute to my mind and hard work.

            In 2019 I don’t wish to ruminate on the BAD FOUR. And if a pUsHpA or V or L were dangling from a rope and only me to cut the chord and bring them to safety, I will not do that kind act. These four (include my mother too) deserve the rarest of the rare as they say in legal parlance….death by hanging till the neck is broken. I may even volunteer to be the hangman. FORGIVENESS yes in terms of not generating a LIVE HATE ENERGY in the current account but they screwed up my past that my present and future turned black. But yes NOT ONE WORD ON THE BAD FOUR in 2019 however tempting. They are so evil and so opposed to the GOOD that my mind draws so many truths of life reflecting on their lapses. They serve a great lesson: YOU CANNOT DRILL SENSE INTO LOCKED MINDS. You only end up hurting yourself. But in 2019, not a word or Mani Sir I will pay you a 10 k fine and a lunch at Annalaxmi for any violations. 
Post Script: I wrote this post on THINKSATHYA as part of 2018 memories. Couple of good friends felt I was being too bitter and so I thought of shifting it here. 
* Bad four is CHEWING THE CUD. All the four characters don't spend one second thinking of me, though I spend quite a few. My interest is also primarily that of a WRITER for they are so BAD and EVIL and ruminating on them affords me a lot on perspective of right and wrong, besides I also gain a lot of metaphors and similes. The past is not so overbearing but since I resolve not to write ONE WORD in 2019, I might as well take a parting shot. 

August Augury

This was some action month. 

I spent a week in Delhi which is a major miracle and a lot of IMT camaraderie. It’s been an interesting month but for starters let me get the negative thing off my back.

Defamation: On 10^th August I get a crank call from a mad man in Ahmedabad saying, “You are a pervert and you have gone back to your defamation ways. I will put you in jail for this.” I shouted him down, “Yes, I am a pervert in words while your client was a pervert in behaviour.”

            Now this is old story, I have not an ounce of emotion in that garbage quagmire. My life essentially has been a victim of four women and in my blogs of over 1000 posts this strand appears now and then. On pUsHpa I genuinely thought she had changed her surname and in my posts it was only the maiden name. I did post a google talk which I am not entirely certain whether it is libelous in character or not. But someone’s photographs or mails are not exactly one’s private property; of course I am sure these can be put up on a blog medium. I have no time or energy to check that out with an expert lawyer’s view; but once I do then I will do everything under the law to write my posts as I deem fit. If anyone has a case for defamation, please bring it on.

            Since my focus these days is jobs and earnings, I removed couple of blog posts on the advice of one of my UNICEF friends. Mr. X (let the name be anonymous) is one of the UNICEF heads in the South and a very good friend and he advised, “Remove this lot for it does no one any good. But if there is a case filed against you, I will help you with lawyers or talk to her bosses in Gujarat.” One good thing that came of this unsavoury was I looked at her profile and she looks my aunty for a great insight: women age rapidly while nature goes easier on men. That’s why in the older days WIVES were a good 10 years younger. pw is a piece of shit and no amount of French perfumes can douse the foul odour.

This did leave a bad taste in the mouth for a couple of days before the strains of living got my attention elsewhere. But rest assured this female has it coming once I set my house in order and once I get a lawyer clearance.

Ex-PW club: I posted this story in writersathya and the very next day an assistant director of Bahubali wrote to me saying, “I would like to meet you in Pondicherry.” This time I took his mobile number, spoke to him before taking a trip on 12/8. Some lesson I learnt from the Dubai fraud. As fortune would have it, again let me call him Mr. Y, smsed saying, “My financier’s father just passed away and we are rushing for condolence. So kindly postpone your trip. But let me assure that I am still interested in the story.”  I got this message midway through my bus journey; I continued for a day out at Pondi for a break from solitude and meditated in the Mother’s Ashram.  And I came back home refreshed and exhausted.

            Yesterday I spoke to a Bollywood producer who happened to be my 1992 batch mate. She said, “Not my scene but I will see if I can put you on to those in this genre.”

IMT cares: After a dozen of my alumni read these posts and one 1992 classmate who wishes anonymity called on 31/7 saying, “Sathya, I have a spare apartment in Delhi and you can use it for as long as six months. Chennai is a graveyard market, come to Delhi and explore this market.” Such an appeal was hard to ignore considering this friend has done spectacularly well on the career front since our passing out in 1992.

            I booked a ticket in Air Vistara on 15/8 and it is the first time I am flying after the Abu Dhabi fiasco in 2014.  My friend was extremely hospitable who trusted me with the keys to a swanky apartment that comes with a swimming pool. This is affluence on a scale where a Aamir Khan or Salman Khan would reside.

            I was there for a week and realized one thing: there is no fun staying on another’s hospitality however large-hearted and sincere well-wishers. I also stumped on this insight: There are no jobs @ 49. No company in the face of earth would hire for my resume. I can only get a job based on my talent which must be experienced in freelance assignments.  Once this thing penetrated the skull, I booked my return journey much to my host’s surprise.

            I met the Kalyani family at Lajpatnagar and made friends with Manisha and both her brothers. Prashant’s daughter who was 6 months old during my last visit in 2008 is now old enough and smart enough to read my blog posts.  I found that girl super smart. They gave me a wonderful dinner and Santosh dropped me at the railway station for the third time in as many visits – in 2006, he dropped me at the station, 2008 at the airport when we were stuck in a traffic jam and I just made it when the counter was closing and now in 2018. I value my relation with this family. I loved my travel on Delhi metro and was zapped by the yellow line, magneta line and blue line and all that. Truly an international city in terms of infrastructure; I also found them friendly. Maybe it was my pronounced limp or grey hairs, Delhities offered me a seat even in crowded trains much to my discomfiture. But I loved the respect at least my age was fetching me.

            On the last day, 22^nd Aug, Lalit of IMT 1992 batch called me from Indonesia, “Sathya, one week is too short a stay. Try for couple of more weeks before you return to base.” Then Neetu, another alumnus called, “Hey, Sathya so nice catching up after 25 years. How about staying for Kochie’s 50^th birthday celebrations when the whole batch will congregate and it will be nice to catch up.” I spoke to Anurag at Mumbai and he promised to help me in his firm. I always find an intrinsic decency and nobility interacting with Anurag and Darbari. Shabd wrote from Los Angeles, “Sathya, don’t lose heart for God does not forsake anyone. Having faith and trust makes the journey easier,” for a message I am not going to forget in a while.

            Lakhina hosted a lunch at the Galleria and he was friendly and concerned and what I can say about Smita who heard all my life tales with sympathy: abusive parents, apathetic siblings, whore for a date and how my life has been laid low from factors beyond my control. I said, “All I heard from this pussy was her daily menopause and hormonal changes for a year.” She said, “That woman got it wrong for no woman can hope to find a more romantic and committed man like you. I clearly see her mistake of committing in early and then backtracking. But Sathya, don’t worry. Your best days are just round the corner.”

            Seeing such warmth from friends who have I not seen or interacted since 1992 felt overwhelming. Certainly North India cares and I loved Delhi for such generosity and friendliness. I gifted DARLING INDIA to Lakhina and Smita; I also read that on the train in decades and I loved it. I normally don’t read what I write but once in a blue moon they really fill the heart with abundance.

            I am more or less firm on selling the apartment unless JustDial or NIIT were to click. I am a bit sceptical here. Mani Sir advised me from Doha, “Sathya, you have a big terrace at Besant Nagar and why not do roof top gardening. It will fill up time most admirably and you also stand to generate a good income. I know of a person in Coimbatore and I will put you on him when I am back to Chennai.”

            August was that kind of a month. I got a lot of affection from Iyer mama and Shyam in Bangalore and so many people. I live a life of a recluse hermit but I love these human connections. I also learnt that I am blessed with a lot of caring friends who will haul me up even as I drown in the abyss of an ocean floor. They are lots of good people in the world was the realization for a hard-boiled cynic in me. This was verily a good month for some life-long memories and worth cherishing.