Jubilant June

I have been looking for a purpose in life and finally I do have one. June was kind and considerate on me. I fetched a lot of compliments on my writing which is not unusual but this time I sunk them in for a lingering cherish; Core strategy at Mumbai opened my eyes to trading as a career, mother’s hospitalization for thrombosis, SPARRC care and much more. So much of action and I will be guilty to miss out on. As ever, we start with the best ones:

a)     Compliments: When I started blogging on Rediffiland in 2006 the comments of fellow bloggers would give a thrill for a high. Then I shifted my blogging platform to blogger and those hardly fetch any comment but I would get responses from Facebook and Twitter for my blog links. The “Online trading @ Mumbai” post had my Mumbai classmates giving me thumbs up. I particularly cherished the comment from Kapil Mokashi my instructor, “This is brilliant writing and I am forwarding it to the OTA India head.” Then Suresh said, “I loved it so much that I forwarded it to my dad.” Yohannan of Oval crew at Vishranti said, “Man, you write beautifully. It’s as self-evident and obvious as a sunrise.”  RV Rajan said at the Eliot’s, “You really are a powerful writer. If you desist from writing about your siblings, you will go very far.” Even TH Iyer said, “Your writing has gone up a notch.” As for me, I do feel a certain mastery and perhaps in the best writing spell ever.

b)     Equity trading: One week in Mumbai and this is slowly getting to be addictive for a hobby. I genuinely love watching how the red and green candles form in lower time frames, I love to watch the trends as they stack up in the flow. It’s a Science here for a game of probabilities. I love the XTL sessions where the instructors teach all that they know without holding back (how will I possibly know?  I feel in my gut that these instructors improvise so much, put their own minds to the charts and come up with out of the world study material for students).  I am falling in love with this aspect so much that I spend a couple of hours a day on listening to these live or recorded webinars; this is my latest bug for a hobby. As I was telling Lakhina, “If and when my one crore becomes two crores then I can afford any holiday vacations in the world.” This is as good a motivation as any. We have a robust XLT Chennai group on Whatsapp and I am inviting a friend to listen to these teachings for he is a “stock” enthusiasts as well. Learning and sharing makes for better learning than just learning and hoarding. I like this new side of me for a new interest consuming the old me.
c) SPARRC care:  I came back from Mumbai with swollen and stiff knees and I lost faith in SPARRC, "If after 9 months this is the progress then I am doomed." I spoke my mind to them, "Please tell me whether I will ever progress to walking without pain and a limp." This was a moment of truth for them and they reacted beautifully. They said, "We'll put you in therapy." Sukanya is a master therapist and she worked on my muscles for a week kneading it like wheat for chappatis taking out all the pain trigger points. The doctor Arvind said, "Please try a new set of exercises. The quality of your posture is important than how long you exercise it imperfectly." Sukanya added, "Sir, it is all in the mind. Get your back straight, bend your knees and land on your feet.  Get a good gait and then you'll progress rapidly." I am so grateful to them for their professional care that I feel my knees are on the mend. This is a good team, they vibe so well. 

d)      Mother’s hospitalization: My brother-in-law called me out of the blue saying, “Your mother has a blood clot and she is hospitalized.” I lost no time reaching SP Hospital in the evening and that place vibrates well. Venous thrombosis is not a life threatening ailment except it causes a nuisance with swelling and itching. The doctor at the helm is the son of legendary Balamuralikrishna, Padma Vibushan and one of the best exponents of Carnatic music. I met my sisters but we were not gushing in affection, we very much stuck to our roles. It was like Theresa May shaking hands with Vladimir Putin at G-20 meeting after the Salisbury poison attack. I was the cashier for six days of hospitalization but I appreciated that my eldest sister spent all the time in a spacious room at the hospital – sleeping on the attender’s bed would not have been cozy rather that plank would make for tempting backaches. My mother is six months short of 80 and looking at a toothless face (though she radiates good health) one feels that “life is one long journey of regret and missed opportunities. Death is so final that even at a far distance it’s scary for it’s a final closure with no rewind button.”

Chennai had rains after nearly 200 days of sun which is a record in a decade, we get rains within six months bracket for a norm. The rains brought greenery and cheer to the mind almost on appearance, just to listen to the howling storm winds when the window panes bang against the wall or wooden frame for a clattering sound, smell of earth, the trees swaying in delight as the showers descend down is sure a mood-uplifter. I am sure every Chennaiite must have danced inwardly that day, 20^th June, when the rain gods smiled on us.  As for me, life is good as my writing shows. I seem to be in a phase of personal growth, definitely of growing maturity for I am more accepting and take my time in getting distraught over other people’s actions. There is a sense of forgiveness and gratitude, or having lived and slowing passing away into the ages. Yesterday I went to a PUMA showroom for tracks and a nice pair of sports shoes; these little things emphasize the living quotient in us.  Living just one day at a time, I frankly don't build castles of glory or doom six months down the line for my life afforded no such cruise, it flows in any direction and I am mentally ready to accept what course is served for the day. 

Random thoughts

#132

There is no greater joy to a writer than a title like this. It’s a free license to ramble and that is what I intend to do.

            First I have been busy for a month now – one week in Delhi in May and another in Mumbai and for a “frog well” like me this is breakneck speed. I am cursed with terrible knees and so these twin trips were endurance and courage. That I got full value for fun in vacations at Delhi and learning in Mumbai is my genetic trait of hard work floating to the surface.  If there is one realization I hope never to forget is I AM NO WEAKLING which any ‘frog” is prone to think. I am as good as anyone when it comes to resourcefulness (a word I have never used on myself) and being smart (again a word far removed from me). Huge gains

            I also realized another that at my CORE I am a decent person storing a lot of value for KINDNESS and stray incidents of even compassion to others. There is not a grain in me to make use of others, “opportunism” is a word that will never play out in my life. I am the GIVING kind even if I were to wear the fool’ s cap hundred times out of hundred. These twin trips also showed my gritty side reinforcing my self-image of Sisyphus condemned to carry a boulder on his shoulder for an up climb in a mountain.

            I credit all these virtues to MINDFULNESS – moment to moment awareness of the changing reality within me and outside. I am all to respectful that nothing is permanent and the change is only reality for both our bodies and minds and our interactions. So I desist from forming strong views on anything; I am forgiving on gross people even as I have learnt to forgive myself for my gaffes. But I am just watchful of this: I don’t want to hurt a soul for it is drilled into me that “a person who inflicts suffering on others will never find peace himself.” Just this wisdom alone reins in my mouth and also my thoughts to whatever limited extent, you will catch me dead trying to hurt anyone deliberately. Save these three.

            On my siblings my mind has reached a dead-end as it did in October of 2009. When pUsHpA announced her engagement to another man, my entire mind revolted as though it had vomited.  I intuitively felt that “I don’t wish to ever see this person again or hear another word from her.” I did not put this into words but feelings are stronger than sentences on a blog post. But with my sisters the words came first and the feeling later. I am through with them. Even the fool in me realizes that the birds have long flown; there is no pleasure in dishing out insults and embarrassment for they are like homing pigeons.

            I had this nice metaphor on pUsHpA even as I analyzed her character. I think she took a lot of time healing the scars when her first romance with Sanjay Goud went phut where she even cut her wrists (such theatrics deserve a Bollywood movie and Inshallah it will come), since then “she learnt to fall in love with ease and get out of a relation even easier.” It’s as though the entry and exit barrier for romance had smudged to a thin line except in my case I closed the shutters while the Sindhi got into a actress’s mindset. A young girl's innocence is  abused and as it's usually the case she becomes daringly shameless - the trip from innocence to daredevilry is wafer thin that the victim turns predator.  In this ramble I quite forgot the metaphor which I will serve now. It is a new stream of thought and no reader should cringe if I begin in a new para!!!!

            When I was dumped in 2009 the first reaction was shock and disbelief; that someone would go on a pre-honeymoon trip with a man and then foreclose that account without as much as an explanation. My mind shouted WHORE,  no one has the right to play with someone’s emotions. It was only when MINDFULNESS entered the mind in 2017 that I realized how fortunate I was.  I realized in next to no time that intrinsically, basically, essentially, fundamentally this woman was a disaster for me, not for all the Fab India dresses, French perfumes, and ruddy complexion and her perfect nose and sense of humour can ever compensate for lack of values. Like Dolly Parton says in a movie: A bird may fall in love with a fish but they can’t make a home. Over the years with my mindfulness practice getting stronger, I realized that “unwittingly she did me a huge favour leaving my ship." I am much like an invaluable two hundred year old antique stamp she discarded as junk. As for the stamp, it will find a worthy buyer who will know its value. There is a lesson here: Destiny uses the grossest minds to teach its subtlest ones. 

            Life, what do we know of life except pick up scraps of wisdom along the way. It just calls for honesty and effort. It does not promise you any reward but it does give an window of opportunity to test out your ideas.  Many feel my blogs are long but my only defense is that I am not serving a story but I am dishing out an experience which may just be the one you need for a cross-reference as you grapple through your life. That is why good writers are read for in their personal experience they offer a mirror to others. As for me, I used to feel like a broken wing and a flotsam discarded by nature. But in the middle of 2019 I verily feel that I have lived so deep in the ocean of fear, pain and suffering that only now I am beginning to experience some measure of happiness and peace. Truly no one enters heaven without going through the fires of hell.

            Let’s end this post on this nice note. Yesterday I got two of my intraday trades right: SBIN and GAIL. The price came into my marked supply zone, turned within my zone before the stop loss before racing to hit my target line. Forget all this obtuse philosophy; this price movement is real and it does feel an orgasmic delight.

Friends matter

The last one month has been good on the friends’ front for they gave me wonderful memories to store. By blogging I am storing these fragrances for a later day reading and reliving these moments.

Ganesh Shenoy: I was gripped in a wave of frustration by the middle of May. After Vipassana B’lore, I resumed my smoking with zest and that’s a recipe for a disaster and lay the mind soaked in gloom. I was weary and listless that nicotine brings in its wake. I called Ganesh Shenoy out of the blue for just this reason: he has a sunny disposition, he has a high energy tone of voice that makes for an instant cheer. He did not disappoint as he advised, “Sathya, don’t ever go to an old age home. I know managing the kitchen for over 13 years is bad enough. Can I suggest something? You should join a social club or something where they play cards or pool or any place that brings lonely chaps together.” I thought it was a fabulous suggestion. Ten minutes of Shenoy and I was back to my shouting best.

Manikandan: Mani is special. I had not seen my mother in six months and this was giving a guilt feel to the mind. My fights with both my siblings were like the World war kinds; I wrote to the entire circle of relations about what I felt. Like no involvement for thirty years and the very definition of SELFISHNESS and SELF-CENTREDNESS to their sons and even daughter-in-laws apart from influential relations whom they value so much. This provocation warrants stabbing a knife on my chest; this is my Caesar’s act of burning the boats.

            My mind felt and cried, “As a son, I am pathetic. The old woman could die any moment and that will add to guilt trip. I must visit her soon.” Another part of the mind said, “Not in the presence of the elder devil of a sister” I want to go through life without seeing and hearing from them; I have had enough.  Mani solved this issue for me today, “Sathya, I will accompany you to ensure that you don’t open your mouth even if they should drag you to the streets with abuses.”
            Today I met my mother; just had a glimpse of the elder devil and all was well. I spoke a few paragraphs of concern to my mother and came away. I wouldn’t have done this of my own steam, Mani plodded me along. This was a huge huge favour.  

Ashish Bansal: When the luncheon party got over on 18/5, Ashish offered to drive me to Huda City Centre metro station. On the way I said, “My moodswings abated after my heart surgery. I was so starved of basic physical contact that when I found professional nursing, say they used to take my blood pressure or change the mop on the forehead to arrest a rising fever I got better with my moods. That sort of stabilized.” He immediately said, “It is affecting me,” as he controlled his own emotion. I have said this tale to quite a few but none fetched such a connection. That was the best moment of the DLF luncheon by a mile.

Vivek Banerjee; He hosted a bout of whisky at Saharanpur Club on 23/5 after I had a wonderful holiday moments in Haridwar, Rishikesh and Mussoorie. We were to celebrate Modi’s big win but I was attacked by a wave of self-pity. I told Vivek, “At times I feel that this is the last decade of my life, left to myself I would do myself this very year. My life never enjoyed a basic rub of the green. My siblings could have shown some connection,  woman in 2007 was a disaster and now my knees are all but worn out. I don’t see one positive reason to live. Anything that could go wrong, they have spectacularly gone wrong  in my case.”

            Vivek has this prescription for this kind of outburst, “Sathya, you must go to Thailand and screw day and night.”
            I slept in his guest room and hit upon this great insight, “I can only love myself if I love the activities of the day. That I must like or begin to see value in the daily SPARRC rehabs, swimming at Raj Sundar, and trading activities, guitar and writing these rambles.”  Once I grasped this thought I instantly felt a bit of healing. It may be true that one day I will blow my brains but for the moment let me enjoy these moments.

Ranga: On Wednesday, 29/5, we went to Maris. Of all my friends, Ranga is the most detached. I am sure he won’t call me in decades unless I call him which sort of devalues our entire relation. He is like Sherlock Holmes to my Watson and trust me, I hate to be fawning and obsequious.  That day he was in roaring form and we had a conversation that if recorded could have illuminated the world.

            I asked him, “How do you rate Gandhi as opposed to a Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela and Aung San Suu kyi?”  He said, “I will not. Sathya, if you observe closely we are not reacting to a personality but we will be debating about our sources of information. Only Gandhi’s parents can have view of him and to everyone else he is just a story we have read. So any argument is “your story of Gandhi” versus “my story of Gandhi” and yours and mine depend on our sources of information.

            Then I told him about the power of vibes and how some people have charisma. Ranga said, “Nature does not give anyone charisma for it needs two people to create it. It needs an object and then it needs a foolish Sathya.” I told him about a physio therapist at SPARRC who was charismatic and I realized the wisdom of Ranga’s words: Nature does not confer charisma on anyone, it is always the person perceiving who does it.” With Ranga, you see so many subtleties.

            I was telling him, “Be it Bill Gates or Steve Jobs or Narayanmoorthy; nature produces its winners”. He said, “Wrong again. Nature may have a say on survival issues but the success of these blokes is determined by human nature - which is greed, avarice, talent, gumption for hard work, opportunity and how anyone defines success and the price they are willing to pay - and not Mother Nature.” Right again.

            On opinions Ranga said, “Every motherfucker is entitled to an opinion but if you are cultured you will examine them regularly saying it is merely your point of view. If you are cultured, you will listen to other’s who has invested more in their opinions though you don’t have to swallow anything lock, stock, and barrel. We form opinions to make sense of the reality that is unfolding, if you are aware that it is limiting point of view then you are getting somewhere.”

            Then he said, “You must know to differentiate between teachers and experts. Issac Asimov (he rattled many names) are born to teach but they are not the last word of the subject.  Of course as a teacher they are brilliant but Sathya learn to differentiate between teachers and experts.”

            I came home feeling this regret, if only I had recorded this chat it would be a treasure for the entire world. Ranga is as dry as Sherlock Holmes but he is that level of a genius too. Even scraps of his brilliance like this post will do. Fortunately he does not read these spaces and I am saved.

Gnawing loneliness

The word gnawing is interesting and means “persistently worrying or distressing” and it’s a word my unconscious chose for the title of this post. Yes, I will explore loneliness in this space.

            I guess I was born LONELY, even as a child I never fitted into the mould. My aunt used to say that one of her worst experiences in life was tagging me to a temple when I was 2 or 3. She recounts that I would insist on an explanation as why different gods carried different weapons or some such inanities.  She reminisces, “Sathi, you were always different. You have a probing mind to everything from the time you learnt to speak.”  Then Schooling and Colleging years at Hyderabad were growing years and full of torture memories as my parents used the stick and the iron rod to make me fall in line which I of course never did.  Then IMT Ghaziabad happened and I had a full new set of issues to handle in life; I had to live dangling with the sword of bipolar on my head.  Again any mental issue makes for loneliness.

            It was only in 2007 (I was 38 years then) that we found an alternate accommodation for my mother.  I was clear that I could not waste one more moment in the hate filled air that her presence triggered. My mother defines to a polluting agent; she is an expert in filling only hate and fear wherever she goes. I remember telling my sister then, “Take this house, let me run away. I can’t take this anymore. It does not matter whether I reside in Besant nagar or in the slums but my mind needs fresh air with the urgency of oxygen to a dying patient and no more of the evil lady.” Both my sisters had no choice at my ultimatum: either she stays in Besant nagar or I. So they said, “Pay a monthly maintenance to the janmadatta, we will take care.”  And so thankfully my riot filled life of 38 years found silence (no more of the shrill voice that grates like Arnab Goswami live for 24 hours) and a chance to grow. And I did.

            First came Worldwide Media that developed me as a writer with craft. I spent years honing my skills without any expectations of reward. Then Vipassana happened, mindfulness happened but one tambura shruti remained iron clad fixed on a concrete slab: I was condemned to a lonesome existence which actually is heavenly from the cacophony of abuses that my life had its horrible origins.

            The years marched by. 2007-9 were times a Sindhi woman filled on the phones, good for a time-filler but later turned horrible for the morale.  2009 -2014 I had ambitions of making it big as a writer as I invested my energies here. But nature was stubbornly and obdurately cruel. Any skill will only grow when skills meets opportunities, so I expended my energies on a blog medium which by its nature “does not sell” or “earn any money”.  Then 2015-16 were two years I was on the edge of a precipice – more than a simile I was dangling from a cliff whose cords could have snapped any moment. Then I plodded on to Mindfulness and since then some measure of mental stability. What makes me a hero on a pantheon of Greek heroes is I never saw a festival in three decades since my poor old dad died in 1989. My sisters were so determined to include me out for any festivities not out of malice or inherent selfishness but they were wired strongly in the reverse direction for the worst interpretation of Hindu culture and customs (something like a woman once married goes into a new gothra and she is only to enrich the new family even as her former family is dangling from a ceiling fan situations).

            This is a 600 word introduction, a very long one, to the subject of loneliness. Now let’s get to the current state.

            I came from Bangalore in the first week of April fresh as a lemon after a week of Vipassana. But within a week I resumed my smoking and the once the poison stick settled in the system, I found my loneliness gnawing to a paranoid level.  It often manifests like this:  I feel like talking to a human being in the evenings as the sun goes down and the twilight sets in. I look at my contact lists on the phone and frankly I don’t have anyone. I call Vivek once a week, then a try a Prithvi or Ranga or anyone and again honestly none of them give me a conversational value. Then I try some Rudram chanting or Gita chanting to subdue the mind as the waves of loneliness fill the being. This thought does not help: if I die today, the hospital would not have a forwarding address for my dead body. I can’t put my finger on who will make for the cremation party and frankly the number looks zero. Now I can dramatize this thought to a more distraught imagination: if I have a heart attack, no hospital will enroll me into their admissions and administer critical care.  Even for a millionaire patient like me, they would look for insurance in the form of a relative or friend at the cash counter. These thoughts have the effect of increasing my Gold flake count in the day as though death was so easy. 
            What really hit me in the back of the head with a rock was this episode. Last week, Thangam my cook calls at 9:20 am saying that she will be an hour late. This has been happening repeatedly. She has signed a new house and they seem to be demanding. My body works like a clock - since I wake up at 4:00 - 4:30 kinds I am ravenously hungry at 9:45 that a small tiffin at 7:15 at Vishranti does not suffice. I gave her the worst dressing down in 9 years but inwardly I was crying.  This used to happen with Meera too, for on some days I would make a plea, "Meera G, please come at 8:30 tomorrow for I have an interview at 10:00 at Gemini." That day as though cursed she would drag her feet in by 9:00. I have actually cried silent tears on such occasions for they accentuate my vulnerability and loneliness to it highest pitch. 

            The medicine for LONELINESS is not COMPANY but UNDERSTANDING. I have ten thousand friends (not literally but I have many who care for me) but those don’t help when a Diwali or Pongal is on the anvil.  Why is UNDERSTANDING so essential in a relation for we will die out of thirst for it? It operates at different levels: if the man of the family has a heart attack, it affects his immediate family only for they are OBLIGATED to care for him financially and physically in the hospitals. Our societies are not so advanced that the wife of a heart-attack victim will go dancing in the pub or travel to the United States when the surgeons have fixed a date for surgery. At least for appearances the wife and the kids must stay at the hospital as friends and relations troop over with their concerns and a plastic bag of mangoes or even a Horlicks bottle. Again appearances but these are the essentials I am denied.

            It is then I realized that UNDERSTANDING operates at different levels. Hypothetically if my wife cuts a finger in the kitchen, I am OBLIGATED to offer words of solace and also finish the rest of the cooking, again obligated to wait for the stench of blood to clot to wrap a band-aid or take her to the neighbourhood clinic. This is an advantage of having a family around – take someone to the clinic, wait outside the ICU at the hospital and the obsequies after death. All these are denied to me and this is where I died a million times in the last three weeks. Trust me, 2-3 Gold flakes only make matters worse.

            I have my daily SPARRC rehabs and I like the positive energies of the place where most of the therapists are in their 20s and full of youthful zest. I also like the energy at the swimming pool in the evenings but my days don’t intersect any human being the rest of the day which is highly demotivating. So disparaging that if I had a gun, I would have shot my brains to smithereens by marking an exact spot at the temples after a google search. I keep telling myself: Wait and wait for two more years which is the energy that I am left in the tank after managing a kitchen and groceries for 13 whole years. The prospect of an old age home is the bitterest pill to swallow, I promise I will do a Kurt Cobain if I reach there.

            So many truths impinge on the way. If your first relation in life which is with a mother is screwed up then the rest of the journey is more arduous than a climb on the Everest. I used to feel that destiny will not so cruel and that I deserve a second chance at life; that there is a Sita or Savitri in store for me. Now at 50 I know better. Even if a Sita or Savitri were to cross my path, and if they were to fall down on their knees for my love (this is imagination reaching absurd levels) I have gone past the expiry date for romance and marriage. Physically and mentally I have grown out of a young man’s shoes. There are things which suit only young bloods and not a 50 years old. The worst calamity you can invite for yourself is to invite a woman to a bed after 50. You don’t debut at that age even on a occupation much less something extremely vulnerable and stressful as a marriage in our times.

            So where does all this leave me? Maybe a soft skills training could assuage to a large extent but with each passing year, I am sure loneliness kills more efficiently than a cancer or a hemorrhage. It is easy for me to grow my 1 crore to 3 or 5 crores in less than five years (I am being realistic here for I am learning to trade in Options and futures and forex asset classes) but that will not plug this hole. Yet being the peaceful man and respectful of destiny I await a miracle where I can find a purpose to my days.  Maybe the third Gold Flake will get me sooner to bed and sleep!!!! 
            As a Hindi song goes: Jine kee vajah toh koyee nahee marne kaa bahana dhundata hai
Ek akela iss shahar me...

A slice of Madras

#129

“Chennai is the most negative city in the world” is my assertion in any social gathering even at random encounters with raw strangers while on a train or a flight or anywhere I get human company. But I can’t do without the city for my mind is used to TAMIL and restaurants around every corner serving idly/vada and filter coffee.

            Last August there was a possibility of a job in JUST DIAL at NOIDA that my mind revolted. Fortunately I did not get the offer but if I had then I would have had a hard time self-convincing to make the shift to a NCR region. Delhi hits the gut with the Punjabi aggression and Hindi everywhere (Acche Hi, buchha hai) that my mind at 50 is fatigued. I do need a bit of Tamil in the air, filter coffee at every corner. And with my lame legs I am happy and content at Besant nagar where my movements are optimized to the lowest possible denomination.

            Yesterday I had a day out and it merits a blog post.

            I booked for a gas cylinder refill at 6:00 in the morning through interactive voice response (IVR) where you use the numbers on the mobile for bookings.  Normally it takes 2-3 days but yesterday the door bell rang at 11:00 and presto, cylinder delivery. The bill was Rs. 722 that the delivery boy said was Rs. 750 for climbing two storied staircase. I had just over Rs. 300 in the wallet and I told him in a morose voice, “Please take Rs. 250 now, I will go down to the ATM for the remaining Rs. 500 which you can pick up later in the day.” The boy acquiesced and it is such instances that reinforce my love for Chennai despite it being the most negative city in the world. Here I can talk to bus drivers and conductors, milk vendors and grocers and have a running conversation; something I can’t in a Bangalore or Hyderabad and definitely not in a Mumbai or Delhi. Knowing the local language is vital when dealing the menial working classes, otherwise you are not one of them. You might as well count for a German or French or a American or a Martian for all they care.

            Then I got down to withdraw 12 k from the ATM and went to Nilgiris store for Aavin milk sachet and Oosi Thenkozhil (a traditional savory that is fried and comes packed). I saw Ramani a mid-70s walker at the beach who greeted me asking, “What are you doing in this hot sun?” I showed him the half litre milk sachet and the Thenkozhil as we both smiled on cue as it were. Again I can’t have such a dialogue in a Delhi or Bangalore if Tamil was missing on the roads.

            In the evening I had to pick up Ranga for a drink at Maris and he backed out at the last moment. I was determined as I engaged an auto from Sathya studios to Maris.  I signaled for a couple of autos for negotiating the price; one fellow said, “Rs. 120 for Maris” and I asked with devilish cunning, “Is it for to and fro or just the drop?” He got the dry humour. Again something I can only do in Chennai with my Tamil skills. Finally I found a fare for Rs. 90 and off we went. The driver was beefy, large frame and he had a manly contour to him as he started talking which went like this:

            I reside in RA Puram area and only drive in the evenings. Actually I make a living as a money lender. I give weekly loans say if I give a loan of 10 k, I only pay 9 k to the borrower. The borrower has to make weekly installments of 1 k weekly for 10 weeks. Earlier I used to give monthly loans but suffered over 15 lacs loss. You see this Navodaya restaurant (as we passed by on the RA puram road) and that man ran away without repaying my loan advances of 1.5 lacs. That fellow despite being a Brahmin cheated me and these days one to be careful. I added a comma for a filler in this one-sided conversation, “To make a living as a money lender is tough for you need brawn and you need to be thug on a recollection drive.” The auto driver continued: Yeah, I have been out in the market for 20 years and all the local goons are my friends.

            Then he shifted to family matters: I was 19 when I got married, I fell in love with a 16 year old, we eloped and got married. It was my being responsibility getting the elder sisters married, finding grooms and financing the weddings. The second girl's marriage did not work out, she came home after a year with a baby and we have been supporting her ever since. Seeing that failure, my brother-in-law refused to get married. Now he is 50 and we keep an eye on his health and safety.

            I told him, “I am also a bachelor at 50 but a happy one. There are pros and cons both sides and a wise man takes advantage of where he is placed while the fool cribs at what is lacking.” We introduced ourselves, “I am Sathya and I make my money trading in stocks; I am Raja and I also around your age.” Again such a conversation can’t be imagined in a Telugu or Hindi or English or whatever. These are occasions that connect me to this most negative city in the world and boy, I come alive in these moments.

            This was the first time I was drinking alone at Maris as I ordered two large of Signature whiskeys and a soda as the sides dishes of a sundal, puffed rice and peanuts were served. The bill came to Rs. 495 which I swiped with a credit card leaving Rs. 20 as tips. I asked the steward, “Is it crowded today or what? Usually your service is better.” He smiled taking me for a regular saying, “Today our man power is less.” I loved being alone on the table and resolved: no need to wait for Ranga or anyone; being alone is so much peaceful and less stressful on the nerves. Must make it a monthly habit. 

            That done I hobbled to the restaurant on the ground floor. I sat on a corner table away from the maddening 8:40 pm crowd. The bearer took my order for a full meals.  I rate Maris restaurant the best in Chennai for service; you will never find such alacrity of stewards filling water to your glass or be attentive for refill of a sambar or curry or pickles or whatever anywhere else. You don’t find this level of service in a Ratna Café or Sangeetha or Saravana Bhavan. You see the same old familiar faces and they go out of their way for very best in hospitality in the city. I ate my food on a banana leaf and left a Rs. 20 tip. I spoke very little to the bearer but we connected, as he kept refilling and replenishing my glass of cold water or the extra rasams.

            I went outside and waited for a 29 C. There are a few new red buses in town with bucket seats and there was a new red bus 29 C Deluxe that I boarded opposite Chola Sheraton. This is the most negative city in the world but I lived every moment of it thanks to the auto driver, the stewards and even the trees and birds retiring into the night. I looked at the asphalt roads and thought, “This is my city and my roads and I will not exchange it for a Abu Dhabi or a Manama or anywhere else” as I looked at the crescent moon on a cloudy night skies with lampposts throwing light on the rising polluting airs  over the treetops. This is my city and this is where I belong. And if a spell of hell is prescribed for you, first thing you get down to learning is a smattering of Tamil which will convert it to heaven. 

Swimming lessons

#128 post

First let me get the 50^th birthday out of the way. For me it is a great milestone – for anyone who has lived 18, 262 days (600 months or 2608 weeks) in our age and times especially with no one around is a stupendous achievement. I was telling my friends that this time translates to over 1.57 billion seconds and to have been a visitor to this planet for this length of time is some grace at work. There are good days and bad but what makes living a miracle is we get an opportunity to better ourselves. Living is like a puzzle or a Gordian knot which we try to unravel; it is a never ending exercise and the pleasure of living comes from experimenting new approaches to old knots, being daring and courageous even in jail situations as the mind tries  to reach a modicum of peace.  This year Ashish Bansal called, so did Ranga, Arun Kailasam, Neetu, Lakhina,  Lalit Matai and Vivek apart from whatspp greeting from Deepak, Anu, Mani Sir, Shabd and so many really. That they remembered to greet me on this occasion felt good

            Last week I signed for a one month swimming course at Raj Sundar Palace which is a 3 star hotel in Adyar, opposite the famous Sathya studios. It is 4 feet depth and 15 metres pool which is ideal for me to walk for a knee therapy that SPARRC insisted upon. First day, I did 15 laps taking breaks after every 3 laps; next day I did 25 laps before settling to 30 laps in 40 minutes with breaks every 7-8 minutes. That I am in water for 40 min is good enough for me.

            The fee for using the pool is Rs. 2,700 and I tried to bribe the swimming coach for coaching me by saying, “I will pay you extra.” He batted straight, “Please approach the counter, the rate for coaching is Rs. 2,700 for 15 sessions.” I said, “I will certainly sign up for it after this one month of walking in water.”

            I learnt this very important lesson in the pool that I frequent between 7 and 8 pm daily. They were a group of very loquacious girls in their teens making a hell of a lot of noise in lifestyle English vocabulary, “Did you hear that Ed Sheeran song?" And then go on sing a couple of lines or “how do you do the butterfly stroke?” or “Is the Honda City your car? I saw your driver smoking beside it." to "I can't do bubbles in water for more than a few seconds" to cracking a joke that befuddles the swimming coach and reduced to asking, "Please explain so that I can also join in your laughter, "(poor fellow knows only Tamil) in English.  Say a team of 4-5 girls aged between 15 and 18 who are so full of themselves and a tribe that talks in shrill accented American accent that starts to grate the nerves (maybe some of these girls could be here on a vacation from America, they certainly looked rich and without pretense). First day I bore in silence, second day I couldn’t control myself telling a noise maker, “I know you girls speak in fantastic English but please have a heart. There are others in the pool and your decibel levels are disturbing us.” From then the noise did come down a couple of decibels and they grow silent each time they see me passing by in the waters. I heard one of them whisper to the others, “That was rude.” Next day, I greeted them as though nothing happened and they had the grace to wish me back.

            Then there is a Social Media manager from Ananda Vikatan, a Tamil weekly. He is a North Indian with a lot of smiles and I banter with him while advertising my blogs, “You must read my thinksathya blog posts.”

            Day before yesterday a grandfather was teaching his two grandsons to swim with all those tubes wrapped around them. I heard a little 5 year bleat out loud, “Thatha, you please mind your own business and allow me to mind my own.” The young brat must have been irritated with those non-stop volley of instructions on staying afloat or padding with the arms in water. This was so natural that I couldn’t resist a laugh.

            Then there are two boys – say 9 year old and a 14 year old and they swim right across my path when I am walking. I try to shoo them away; these kids have no concern for others. It is then I realized that a swimming pool is a good theatre for observation. The 4-5 teen girls who were too noisy were decent, at least they knew that they were erring with their antics. They smile at me when our eyes meet. In contrast these two boys in yellow caps were plain selfish. I likewise sport a morose face when I am crossing them as I walk in the waters.

            Two days back there was a Christian family – a robustly built mid-30s man and his two sons aged 5 and 8 while the wife watched from the sidelines. They kept talking loud, “Mama, I can swim now without those pads” or “Dada, the little one is struggling” and the commentary was non-stop to a nuisance. With passing years I realize that a young parent is the worst in a public place for their capacity for noise making is infinite. When I meet such gross people, I am taciturn and sport a morose face almost sniffing air and contorting my nose for a stiff upper lip attitude. Yesterday we got talking as the man said, “I am a physiotherapist in Bangalore. I could sense that you are walking in the pool for your arthritis.”We spoke more and pretty soon we were smiling and bantering for a great lesson: Give time and patience and people around you blossom. There was now a good flow of bonhomie.

            Then there is a 70 years old retired doctor lady and she advised me, “Take long strides and try reverse walking, it will be good for your knees.” There is a lesson here: smile at familiar faces, greet them and they open up to you.  

            I have 27 sessions in the pool and I have finished 8 days in a row. I tell myself: If I go 27 out of 27 then I am god, I will be happy with a score of 25 but anything less, it would reflect poorly on my self-esteem. I am going to Delhi on 18^th May for a week and on my return I intend signing for the 15 days coaching class before I decide on a three months package or something like that. Life gives you enough learning if you care to observe and be open. Besides swimming, I got myself a 32 inch Smart TV and now can play my youtube files in the mobile phone straight to the TV. Life is interesting at this moment though I am yet to turn the corner as it were - my life could do with some josh but what the hell this noise from the swimming pool serves the day. 

When “outrage” turns to “humour”

I love the dictionary meaning of “outrage” that goes like “extreme strong reaction of anger, shock, or indignation.” The synonyms listed are: indignation, fury, anger, rage, disapproval, wrath, shock, resentment, horror, disgust, amazement. Exactly what I feel for my two elder sisters!

            I will briefly mention my angst – for 30 years they did not feel a need to involve me in festivities which meant that I have not celebrated a festival since my dad’s death in 1989. Both of them did not care when I was vulnerable and hanging on to life on a fragile thread during my depression years.  I am sure they will not give me a cremation after death or tend to me if I am destined for an ICU critical care. Such relations are a scar on the soul; we don’t worry about relations that don’t apply like “I am not going to moan the non-existence of a wife in my life or miss kids.” But I will feel cheated and feel nothing but scorn for my sisters for they are real in blood and sweat.

            Instead of being OUTRAGED my creative mind slips into HUMOUR and these are the many ways I conjure to get back at them. Since I am a gentleman these are just thoughts and not put into action however seductive they seem. These are some of my creative insults for my sisters that are not served:

a)     I thought of writing to the Principal of KEYS HIGH SCHOOL in Secunderabad where both the she-devils studied where-in I make a strong case for a REFUND. They obviously did not EDUCATE my sisters well enough and so I have a genuine case for a compensation. Parallelly if I could mark a copy to the editor of a Deccan Chronicle or Newstime or whatever paper sells in Hyderabad, this can be a news interest story generating a lot of mirth and embarrassment.

b)     My fingers were itching to leave a message at L’s samandhi saying that L has become pregnant at the age of 54. Again a social embarrassment for a hoax of a joke.

c)      Or just maybe write to them saying that L has converted to Christianity.

d)     Or I write a fictional story of two ghost sisters called V and L. How both of them turn to werewolves on new moon day and go up gobbling street dogs and sleeping crows for an after dinner munch. Also how I taught both of my brother-in-laws to plant a tamarind tree so that they can climb it when their wives go into such devilish sprees.  My nickname for V is “Shakini” and L is “Dakhini” – they are both not human beings but born of a jackal as in the movie Omen. They are Brahma Rakshasa, yama dootha as we chant in Mahanyasam

e)     Or I could write to the Oil and Petroleum Minister Dharmedra Pradhan and the BPCL board that they is a BPCL employee who is the world’s worst sister and mark a copy as to as many BPCL employees as possible.

These are just creative expressions of OUTRAGE but serve my mind well. No longer I feel a negative energy when I think of these shrews (termagant, fishwife, witch, gorgon, spitfire, she-devil are dictionary synonyms) but a creative zest for more of creative insults. This is my way of Metta Bhavana.  
             Revenge is part of human nature but I have found it to be always COUNTERPRODUCTIVE. It is truly is like hitting oneself with a stick on the head; such a self-defeating sport and a pastime. My entire family - father, mother, two sisters - never gave me a moment's respite from hatred and anger. These are lifelong scars but I must find the energy to channelize it better. This revenge thing sucks and drains my energy as both my sisters are no less sinister than king cobras. It is tough living on my own with these scars but I have to do better. 

               I also realize that I am not such a good fellow as I pretend to be; or serve sermons on Mindfulness on Facebook.  Negative states of mind like anger, hate and outrage are indeed addictive states of mind. I do observe my mind that these remain as LOW ENERGY thoughts as possible for it is POISON and fill the day with humour than out to shock and upset people who are better placed in society than me (they can hurt me in real ways for they do wield some influence that I don't). In the end I realize that life serves me a menu that I must have cooked for myself. Let me work these transient states as much as possible. 

Stock lessons

#125 post

In December, I knew nothing about stocks.  But I had a fool’s courage: what the mutual fund experts can deliver, I will do it better for myself. They have no flexibility, they are burdened by huge overheads and cost of running a fund; these are advantages that an individual enjoys and if he/she is smart they can make it count. Also remember, mutual fund managers roll in luxury and fat salaries though you never see any FUND increase in value by more than 12-15%. They are not accountable to anyone; no one ever gets sacked for incompetence and an investor only becomes wiser after the damage is done. So I said to myself: I will rather lose my money from my own incompetence than any MBA, sugary, two suit of coat and boot.

            Thank God, destiny supports the brave and I chanced (my guardian angels at work) on Online Trading Academy and since then my investments have some rational basis. I have learnt so many lessons that it is worth recording if only for my own reference.

a)     Zee Entertainment: I bought 1000 shares for 434 and my heart was dreading when the price hit 420. All my reason said SELL IT while another foolish part of mine (I have some very foolish genes nailed in my brain with a glue thicker than Fevicol) said SEE IT AS ADVENTURE and let it float.  The stock fell precipitously. I was reduced to the metaphoric rabbits caught on headlights (which an idiom dictionary describes as both surprised and frightened) as Zee tumbled from 420 to 334. I was dazed as though someone hit my head as my losses were hitting a ONE LAKH mark. I sold it at 334. Then the price recovered to 354 and I bought 1000 shares hoping it would recover. It went further downhill as I sold them for 334 for another 20 k loss. At the end of the day, my portfolio bled “-1.25 lacs”. I did not lose any sleep; I wasn't over-dramatic refusing to be a nervous wreck or feel a burning sensation in the pit of the stomach But one part of my mind cried like a non-stop broken record: Sathya the foolish Sathya, the Sathya the fool who thinks he is wise. That I am not as flippant on money matters came as a very pleasant feeling and realization to me.  Lesson: When a stock jumps off a cliff, sell immediately. I need not be stubbornly foolish to insist on losing my trousers and shirts and undergarments even though watching a slide collapse with a thud is exciting! The lesson is simple: Never buy stocks when a stock is on a free fall; wait for the dust to settle, say wait at least ONE trading day to recover before you have a natural greedy instinct of a trader to buying good stocks at rock bottom prices.

b)     L&T results: L&T declared their Q3 results over a weekend and they were most impressive. The stock which was trading at 1285 had a pre-market opening at 1295. It rose dramatically to 1330 before sliding back to its natural slow steady range at 1285. I did not know anything about pre-market opening and the day's trading only begins after the prices are finalized by 9:08 am.  But I gained a learning: have eagle-eyed vision when a company is on the verge of declaring Quarterly and Annual results. The stocks do react dramatically and there is money to be made in half a day’s trading. Same thing happened to Bata India. At times the results are so bad that the stock loses a third of its price like Tata Motors – so be a little cautious as you pick these stocks from RESULTS declaring sprees.

c)      Cummins India: I bought 100 shares at 850 and it kept falling and I kept laughing - remember that foolish Sathya who gloats he can move mountains single-handedly  - knowing well that sometimes it has to reverse. It fell to 750 and I thought, “I made money on other trades and so it is only a 10 k loss. Let this stock be my learning experience.” That is when I realized the value of a STOP LOSS. Now anytime my stock goes below a point, I have no hesitation selling it for a loss. It is better to shave your mustache rather than have your head tonsured.

d)     IIFL holdings: I did the curve analysis, the trend was upside, and the Demand Zone and Supply zone perfect for a classic case study demonstration. I bought 1000 shares at 350 and watched it intently for a couple of days. Once it touched 330, I was despondent for I did not wish to have another Cummins on hand. So when the stock reached 350, I sold 500 and at once found peace with a thought: At 1000 shares, a drop of Rs. 10 is a minus 10 k while at 500 shares, a drop of Rs, 20 is just minus 10 and so there is more tolerance built-in, more patience and less of emotions at play. I watched IIFL touch Rs. 410, as it started to slide back I sold them at 407 when my calculations showed 420 to be a good selling zone. Later the price kept climbing past 450 and it is then I realized that I should not GLOAT when the prices rise, I need to have the patience of a SAINT and wait for the stock to hit my selling zone. This was a IGNITE recommendation where they pegged this stock for a Rs. 550 range; I was foolish to check out early.  I had a good chance to make a profit of 1 lakh instead I retired at 25 k. Lesson: As a weekly trader, a stock will not dramatically shift its direction in a huff; even if there is a dramatic rise or a fall it has to reach equilibrium in a day or so. There are no percentage points to be won for HURRY and IMPATIENCE. Rather one needs to be cool as cucumber with a ready supply of nerves, sumptuous greed and wits and a confidence of a trickster to realize that the last card is yet to drawn. Lesson: Sell without any labored analysis when a stock is in free-fall but when a stock is a fast climber then wait and wait to sell. Don’t be greedy to sell in haste just because you have caught a salmon. If you stay a bit longer, you may even find half a dozen. Again metaphorically for I am a strict veggie. 

e)     Wipro: I bought 500 shares at 261 and there was a huge supply as the stock was stuck at the 355 range like a tortoise for a week; only sideways upward and no falling off the platform in either direction. I sold it for 259 prematurely between 9:15 and 10:00 am which is not a bright idea at all (Wipro did reach 264 during the course of the day which for a tortoise Wipro is a hundred metres dash at Olympics). Wait for the market to stabilize for the day; the opening hours is always a jostle and a shove. Lesson: learn to wait before acting can be a golden rule of trading. Remember he who waits gets to laugh at the end; never the nervy jerky kinds. 
f)     Bharti Airtel: Every stock has a certain personality but don’t get lulled into a false sense of security. I picked up this stock at Rs. 300 and held it for a fortnight just for fun and room for an observation value. This stock just did not move, I thought it was another ITC (the most colourless and personality-less stock that I know) and sold it for Rs. 310.The next month this stock had a turbojet acceleration as it raced to Rs. 350 in a couple of days. It is like the worst dullard in a class suddenly topping an international quiz show. 

  The primary motivation of trading is NOT GREED or make money in a hurry but learning. This is a game of speculation and probabilities and there is set pattern to a way stock markets behave. For the educated and trained, every price point is an interplay of demand and supply. I am glad that I am still in the green; my portfolio may be growing at 5% per month and when I learn some of the virtues highlighted here; I might even get to the 10% gains per month which is PROFESSIONAL TRADER levels. Then I will jump out of my skin and kiss passerby; broadcast it over BBC and CNN and Doordarshan and all the air waves. I am glad the lessons are coming in fast and thick; time to make them count and make money using my wits and analysis. Finally I realize that Sathya is not all that foolish as time and lessons do come on the way.  Thanks to OTA, those online classes in February and beginner's luck. 

Ratschlag

# 124 blog post

It’s a beautiful German word for “ADVISING” as TH Iyer mama explained one day while at the walks at Eliot’s Beach. He said, “The Germans consider ADVISING as akin to beating someone with a stick. The least a German would say by way of a conversation is – If I were you, I would think or act like this……..but then you are not me and leave it at that. It is a very open society where individual freedom is respected.” I said, “In my case ADVISING others is like beating myself with a stick.   Self-flagellation. Self-mortification. Masochistic. I have been trying to drill some sense into my sisters' heads and they just don’t bother.”

            This story is so interesting that it does give me the right to break the 2019 resolution of no writing on the Bad four. I don't want to deny myself and the rest of the reading world for there is a powerful lesson embedded here. 

            First a disclaimer: Of the Bad four, my mother and the Sindhi (my ex-girlfriend) are like those documentaries that movie screen would show in black & white era where Nehru is seen shaking hands at the airports with some world leader while descending a plane. Meaning these are fossilized characters in my head; these two cause as much nuisance as the memories of my father who passed away almost three decades back – so diffused as though from my previous births.

Bad 4: My mother

My mother is a diseased gene at work. She has not learnt one life lesson even as the clock shows over 78 years. This is a rotten egg at birth but my only grouse is “she had ample time and freedom to learn yet was adamant to insist on her nuisance ways.” For the last 15 years she has been on psychotropic drugs (any moodswings or depressions is symptomatic of a mind rolling in too much hate and fear) and I would tell her often with the patience of a saint, “It is time that you learnt something; your daughters are married and worse still your grandsons have got married. There is no payoff being a gold medal in stupidity anymore.” Her immediate retort would be, “I am useless to everyone, I would rather die than suffer.” I would tell her then as per the usual sequence, “You seem to think of death as some kind of relief from pain and a paradise where you can behave as you wish. The sufferings on earth get multiplied a thousand times after death. A peaceful mind is a gift while an agitated one will only cause misery either while living or gone.”  She would blank my reasons out and next day, it is same old story of fear, grouses, and complaints.

Bad 3: THE Sindhi

I truly loved this woman with the whole of my being in 2007- 08 and only drifted away after she announced her engagement to another man. Even if she had taken that decision, the least she could have done is snap our ties with some tact, straight forwardness and a contrite attitude like, “Sathya, I am marrying another man. I am really sorry for walking out on you. As you say, I am returning your books and images, deleting all your mails kinds.” At least this would have been small concessions and saving crumbs at parting. I would have returned that gesture with “let her fly away” in peace and without a guilty heart.

            Since I got no apology, I pasted –served boiled and fried like noodle strands -her reputation for a while in 2010 before a threat of defamation and police complaint got me to halt in the self-destructive fire (there is an amazing insight here: When a heart is attacked with hatred and non-love, it gets so addictive to take revenge and set on a course to defame and maybe even choke the throat).  Years passed and I used to think during my darkest days, “Maybe the Sindhi got it right, it is better she is happy with a new man otherwise she would have to suffer alongside especially in the 2015 and 2016 years.”

            Then MINDFULNESS happened and I realized that the Sindhi suffers from a character problem. She had broken one of the five silas of Vipassana (no stealing, no murder, no lies and gossip, no intoxicants and this one is important NO PROMISCUITY) which means Buddha’s teaching no longer applies to her. Observing the five silas is foundation course; kinder garden level. The least she could have done was to write after a decade, “Sathya, I am sorry. I was your first date and first love. I hope you are happy.” Instead she threatens me with legal notice when she finds my blog posts besmirching her supposed reputation. Look at this, the truth does not hurt but loss of reputation does. Who is she trying to fool? Herself?  Husband? Colleagues? Is truth and honesty so far lost in the wilderness of life that they mean nothing as compared to one’s monstrous and erroneous self-image? There is another insight here: One does not think of any sweet memories associated with this pest, the mind only remembers the pain and sorrow this pussy inflicted on me. This is a character I can never forgive and sadly not forget too (unless I fall in love again). 

            That attitude saves me further for I am doubly and triply convinced that such a rat is not fit to share my cot in any capacity. Since then, each time my mind thinks of the SINDHI I feel like in the toilet and wash my hands with Dettol hands wash.  Good riddance to bad rubbish. Mine is a very large heart easily given to forgiveness but she would not give me a chance for those nobler feelings to flow! Such a crook.  Exactly the way Pi felt in “The life of Pi” when the Bengal tiger walks into the forest after that boat drifts into a shore without stopping for a second glance.

Bad – 1&2

Both my mother and the Sindhi are losses in my balance sheet account of life. But both my sisters are working capital accounts. I have to be in contact for we still have a mother as a joint responsibility.  Both are graduates, both are worldly wise unlike my mother, both are rich monetarily and family wise but again no minds or hearts are narrower.

            I used to lament often like a broken record to my eldest sister “V” that I have not seen a festival in three decades. She would hear it and let my angst go from one ear to another even as the years started piling up. 18 months ago I wrote a blog post with my litany of sins on both “V” and “L”. Again no effect! I started to circulate these blog posts to my first cousins with a copy; again no effect.

            Then these events happened in a sequence. I was bound for Delhi in the middle of August, 2018 and invited “V” who said, “I am scared to visit Besant nagar for there is no knowing how you will behave.” It felt like she had hit me with a rod as I asked for clarifications, “Do you fear your physical safety or emotional well-being?” Getting no answer, I was livid and wrote a email to “L’s industrialist brother-in-law” saying how cheap and gross both my sisters are.  “L” is hypersensitive when it comes to the industrial magnate for her husband works in one of their concerns and they are easily one of the richest people in the city. “L” could have picked up a phone or visited me, try to reconcile but she did nothing. It is then you realize that tamasic people like the Sindhi, V and L have no moral fibre. 

            Then in December as the house sale proceeds were going on, I hear “V” saying on a landline, “I am so nervous of my son getting a work permit in America that I am spending sleepless nights,” which gave me an opening to ask, “How come you care so much for your son and not squander a minuscule in my direction?” Again no response and this time I was so livid that I wrote to her brother-in-law and also L’s industrial magnate innocently asking, “Are siblings required to care for a brother in this age and time?”

            Then this social experiment happened as I wrote emails to V and her entire family of sons and daughter-in-law explaining how elder sisters should behave. I gave examples of our paternal second cousin Jayashree who tends to her brother who is afflicted with muscular dystrophy with daily visits from her residence in Virugambakkam to Ashok nagar. I also rattled out other instances of a Usha, our maternal cousin, coming to the aid of her estranged brother after 25 years when his wife deserted him or a Radha who went to America leaving her infant daughter in Chennai to supervise the treatment of a brother in pneumonia. Again no response.

            Then I threatened them with article features in Tamil newspapers and magazine or even writing to the PMO on such depravity (which dictionary defines as moral corruption and wickedness) and again no response.

            For those still fogged about my issues, let me reiterate – both my sisters had not invited a very vulnerable brother for three decades nor visited him at my house for an instance of extreme selfishness and self-centredness to a Arctic chill level,

            My cook Thangam wanted to speak to “V” to drill some lessons on Family responsibilities. Even the grocer Muthu and the milk maid Lakshmi felt outraged enough to heap abuses on them. My friend Arun Kailasam gets visibly annoyed anytime I talk about my sisters. He was so upset at me for attending my nephew’s wedding that he stopped talking to me for a while. My neighbours and beach-goers would spit at my siblings for this prolonged lapse of duty. In fact I wanted to write to their alumnus KEYS HIGH SCHOOL for refund of school fees and to OSMANIA UNIVERSITY for revoking their degree certifications. And then I learnt this lesson – I went around trying to drill sense to them instead I got this lesson drilled into my head for a very powerful insight: you cannot teach others using threats or ridicule or shaming them or sarcasm or even at the point of gun. Both my sisters are like those cobras; you will die of exhaustion beating them with sticks but nothing happens to them.  A simple apology like, “Sathi, we were lost in our own worlds. I am sorry and tell us how we can involve you in festivals or when you fall sick.” A simple acknowledgement of this fact would have saved both sides from a whale of misery. As I told TH Iyer mama, “I do not possess the German sense of individual freedom” and my lesson is “Advising others is like beating myself with a stick.” There is no percentage gain here, only losses.  There is a corollary here: Bad - 4 was instrumental in killing her husband, Bad -3 in betraying a man's love by dumping him are CHARACTER MISTAKES while Bad - 1 & 2 are ATTITUDE mistakes of a WRONG CONDITIONING of the mind and very poor sense of PERSONAL VALUES. As for me, I too earn my freedom from the Bad four finally. The world is far and wide and there are very many sensible and decent blokes out there.