Mumbai Calling

#138

I hate to ramble though many well-wishers wryly observe, “Your blog posts are long, get it in the 500-750 words range.” There is a point there, but if you want even a bit of visual in the read then the words tend to be on higher supply zone.

            First rule of writing is “there must be a well-thought out subject for a blog post.” Second rule is: If you find humour in the daily run, record it for a rainy day. Now we get to this post to find if I can strictly abide by them.

            What makes me a good (let’s say readable) writer is “I think original thoughts, rather they impinge on me when faced with the current of life.” Two, I try to be as concise for brevity is clarity. I was in Mumbai in the month of Feb, 2007 as I started employment in Worldwide Media that manages lifestyle magazines as in a Femina and Filmfare.  I was residing at my sister’s house in Santacruz for three weeks, I found my new colleagues callous, the city mechanical that those three weeks felt a life imprisonment. I told my manager, “Thanks for giving me permission to go back to Chennai, I am taking the earliest morning flight.” She said, “Sathya, Mumbai is not so bad.” Later when discussing this with a friend, he added, “Mumbai is a soulless city.” That metaphor stuck in my mind for a long time till I visited Mumbai in June, 2019. Twelve years is a long time, usually characters of cities don’t change a millimeter in decades for they are as predictable as weather.

            In June, 2019 I saw my thoughts change little by little. In the seven days I spent, I found classmates who were all smiles and banter. Strangely I also felt a lot of people respecting me. The whole lot of intangibles in the unconscious combined and that trip got me singing a new tune: Mumbai is certainly the best city in the India. I tried to capture a bit of transformation in this link

            Then I had another week in Mumbai in July for a Vipassana outing at Igatpuri and I felt a lot of positive vibes about the people and the place which is often intertwined. Last week, I had another week in the maximum city (thrice in three months) and I found a lot of bonding, vibes of friendships and lot of banter and humour. After the Futures course, couple of classmates felt, “Sathya, your skills will be better used in Mumbai. Relocate here if you wish to get somewhere.” I met Dr. Rajaram who seconded, “For your kind of Indian intellect which I must say is “First rate” Mumbai will be your savior city for it is a land of hope." Then he said something like “Mumbai is not a Cape of good hope for it does not resemble a cape, nonetheless potential city of hope for you.” He is a man very fond of words always ready with a smile and way with words.

            Then Ashish Bansal who read that "Futures @ Mumbai" blog post said, “Sathya. Mumbai seems to see virtues in you that Chennai doesn’t. Let that lover affair with the city grow, and if you earn enough in trading you can leave the most negative city in the world to this urban jungle.” The idea sounds great, let me park in the corner of my mind for money will be determining factor.

            But this new stream of respect makes me feel a good person. There is quiet confident feeling inside: maybe I am not such a bad bloke. There are some nice things about me. One of the best things in life is the “power of a genuine compliment”. Even if you are a shade worthier, it propels you in the right direction. What is the converse of “give a dog a bad name and hang it”? Maybe it's “give a dog a good name and it will try to live it up.” That’s what a good environment is all about. It rewards the virtuous or the merest glimpse of it, that encourages the person to dwell deeper. That’s the reason I am an unabashed lover of the Gulf.  Nowhere on earth I fetched compliments like “Sathya is a man of integrity or he is a bloody good writer.” Yesterday my uncle called out of the blue to reinforce this goodness as he said, “I was telling your mother that Sathi can be difficult but if you observe closely his anger is never out of place. There is a righteousness about him, he is incapable of doing wrong. ”

            Let me end this post with this humour. I was telling my OTA friends, “These guys are expanding. Last time I was here; I saw my student adviser dragging a suitcase with lots of packages from Marks & Spencer. She has got the shapliest legs in those short western skirts. Whether I make money or not, at least I am content that she gets to shop in these fancy places thanks to a few idiots like me. Besides I get to see those glossy legs in each of my trips.” That got the biggest laughter as I said poker-faced.  But this blog post is not about her legs but about prospects of relocating to a Mumbai if and when I make money. Enough said.
Post Script for an afterthought: We all need a bit of recognition and care. Mumbai seems to reserve these qualities in these three short visits in a classroom setting. Unless I find an earning source and preferably in a Tamil speaking area - could be Trichy, Coimbatore or Madurai - it makes no sense to relocate though I am fed up to the brim with Chennai. 

Radical Listening

#137

We are all to be pitied for we live in a callous world where CARE is as extinct as dinosaurs. SELFISHNESS and SELF-CENTREDNESS is the age we live in, our parent’s and grandparent’s generation had it a lot better. They at least had siblings to visit and call on them, the earlier generation not only knew their cousins but they kept in regular touch. It was only yesterday I realized the power of RADICAL LISTENING from my interactions with FB friends.

            We mistake ourselves to be our monkey minds where the thoughts flow at astronomical speed, there is no constancy in a thought. The mind in its natural state produces a stream of opposite thoughts, we try to make sense now and then. Say I would like Amitabh Bachchan when I was a kid, today I can’t stand him for two minutes’ watch on television, same story with Gavasker who I idolized in my growing years to the extent that I would keep a score of his test match innings, updating as it went along. Now I wouldn’t care to shake his hands even if he was to visit me at my house. So the premise is “thoughts are valid at a point in time, I have every right to change them” at a mental level and consequentially at an action level. Maybe changing thoughts and actions is referred to as inner growth or else we’ll be no better than animals that come with a built-in constancy.

            In my initial years of BLOGGING I was hot-headed. I would jump on other’s views on politics, religion, language or even start a city war like Mumbai is better than a Chennai. Now older and a lot matured I am not so wedded and bonded to any view on any macro subject. Today if someone were to walk up to me and instigate saying “Buddha is a moron” it will not rile me. Or something equally asinine as “Jesus is the only savior of the world and other religions are dog shit.” These opinions reflect the character and personality of the speaker and not me a passing listener. Neither do I get worked up when some groups love for secularism makes them espouse the Congress family, they have a right to their opinions but I don’t have to subscribe to it. Neither is it fashionable for me to proclaim that Arnab Goswami is a maniac which he undoubtedly is, I don’t have to air such toxic views. There are better things in the world of sights and sounds to converse, like how much I enjoy a walk in the Theosophical Society lawns or how invigorating a boat ride on the Ganges was in Rishikesh or how much I loved Igatpuri. Besides I don’t have to have a subject to harass people with my views and opinions or keep a list of party jokes instead I try to practice present moment awareness.  Increasingly I see that many people - including me - don't know how to use their talking mouth. But each time I goof up, I am aware and come hard on myself.

            I think the greatest gift you can confer the other person in your company is to ACCEPT his/her thoughts without editing or culturing it. They can harbor any thought or feel any emotion, if it gets too heavy you have a right to run for cover but you don’t have a right imposing a contra-view and heckle them by starting a self-imposed education process for them. Radical compassion is listening without interruption; it's saintly patience not to supply a point of view or joggle your memory for a building pressure in the mind for a response. You can listen to them politely and carry on with your life without enforcing your petty views on them. Sure you have as much a right to hold any view on any macro subject but it's churlish to express them at every single opportunity. Just allowing others this little space to be themselves is an act of great kindness and compassion.

            We as Indians suffer from this complex of impressionism (often mistaking a loud talking mouth for intelligence) and conformism of a herd mentality society. But this lack of acknowledgement of others is no excuse for you to shout your way through, it’s boorishness to the extreme. There’s already a lot of noise in any gathering, keeping quiet should be your contribution and soon enough you’ll be respected for it. I have often been guilty of talking about my siblings or a failed romance, sure enough the world is not interested in them even for a gossip value. So any hunt for sympathies is not only a wasted effort but it reflects poorly on me for washing dirty linens in public. I must realize that a talking mouth is not the sole pathway to display my knowledge, wisdom, and how smart I am. It's silence that brings out these aspects to others and never a rattling mouth of a speedy train on rails. 

            My FB posts or blogs do generate a lot of compliments. Not a week goes by without someone praising me to the skies but I don’t feel anything. There is no high here for I know that mine is essentially a wastrel life. I am part of no one’s life and this loneliness hurts me psychologically. Only now I am realizing the power of acceptance, not the garish banter or humour. I try to bear in mind that it's in my best interests that the other person finds my company relaxing; it's a quiet demeanor that attracts flies to a honeycomb than the Rajdhani Superfast express octane blast of reason.  How nice it will serve me if anyone who interacts with me find it their best moment for the day.  Never open your mouth for a time filler, be it as a co-passenger in a flight or a train or when placed in a group of people. Speak as though you'll be charged on a word to word basis as in filling a telegram form. Kindness and Compassion are most bandied words; it starts with listening without interruption. This is a lesson I am yet to learn but increasingly sense its value. Now that I have put my mind on this, it should reflect in my writings and speech for more of restraint and a little of grace. 

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.

Igatpuri experience

#135

Before I forget, as an aside: I filed my IT returns thanks to my auditor Manimaran.  He was resourceful and gave me total satisfaction with his concept of “fair market value in 2001” rather than the “guideline value in 2001”. That way my capital gains were next to nothing and so this is one huge worry that resolved itself to a sigh of relief.

            I came from Igapuri on 29^th July almost a changed person. First, I learnt to do the body scan from 10 min to 30 min and suddenly my mind was able to perceive more subtlety in body sensations. Which means I have been amiss a long while, a simple change from sitting on the floor to chair got me to go real slow and efficient. Now I can even stretch myself to a Adhisttan (not change my sitting posture for an hour). I believe I have grown as a person from 10% to 20% in this week, which is doubling myself quality wise. I came home and did the blog series on THINKSATHYA, 3-part series aggregating to 4,500 words within 24 hours which is breakneck speed even to me.

            I am not going to repeat the insights I wrote there here on dauntless. Except add contents that I could not fit there, like “a virtuous mind must feel sorrow when it hurts others” as I experienced in the Dhamma hall. I was seated on the third row, there was one meditator on the fourth row who would be invariably late for group sittings and each time he went past my back his trouser would scrap my behind. It happened couple of times and then on the fourth day I turned around and said, “Ooch” and a stare. We are in the vow of silence and this is technically breaking it. I felt so sad at my boorishness, the waves of regret and contrition lasted almost half a day. On the final day, I made it a point to apologize to him.

            That drove my mind into this area: Each time my mind is going downhill the first symptoms is  it starts beating itself for a self-flagellation ruminating either on my sisters or the Sindhi. This is watering a dead plant or feeding dead fishes, there is nothing to be gained except collect misery for a high degree of masochism. I also thought that I had become shameless; I was taking a malicious pleasure hurting them with my blogs. For a Vipassana meditator nothing can be more self-damaging. Buddha would have died of shock if he knew any of his disciples inflicting hurts and deriving pleasure. This is one territory I resolve to shut shop, the first thing I did on coming back to Chennai was delete a blog titled “Remembering Pushpa”.

            Another insight was “I TALK HUGE” and at times almost NON-STOP. There is no excuse to say “since I hardly get an opportunity to speak, let me not squander any opportunities.” The truth is “people respect LISTENING and CARING and not an INTELLIGENT VOCIFEROUS MOUTH.” As Goenka G sums it perfectly: Knowledge always gives rise to debates and confusion, it is experience that removes doubt. Intelligence is no more than information available on Google search, wisdom is LISTENING AND CARING which I must learn some day.  Already this realization has gotten me to “speak haltingly rather than a Rajdhani kind of speed” earlier. We all desire to be understood but that doesn't give me the right to drill a hole on other people’s heads.

            Finally, this thought kept shouting in my head; The birds and animals work for the day while my days are filled with IDLENESS. I must engage in an activity, have some earnings. I will ask some friends, there is a visit to Mumbai in the middle of AUG where I will request my instructors or anyone who can assist me there. I have to find an earning source in 2019 or else I cannot afford Besant nagar with the bourses crashing; my height of optimism now is to recover my capital which I expect in the festival season. With YES BANK still on life-support I am staring at a huge loss as of now. I have half a mind to wind up Besant nagar and take up lodgings near Igatpuri. I like the Mumbai/Maharashtra crowd – they will not crib admitting me to a critical care on necessity or cremate me when I am gone something which is highly doubtful in a tambrahm filled Chennai.

            My meditations have improved but there is no letup in my nightmares. In sleep my mind goes back to school where I am failing in Physics and Chemistry, I see all my school mates in adult version. Everyone is a success and I am shrinking myself in shame having nothing to show. All the family desertion, failure in jobs and romance adds up to failing in exams in nightmare. It is for this reason alone I want a couple of years in a job, maybe a romance would help too. But these are things not in my hands.

            As for me I must get the focus back to stock trading; I must get the JUNE discipline of spending an hour on charts. I must get back to the CONTROLLED trades. I am still looking for a spark for the engine to start. This 20% is still “FAILED” status, I need some daily supply of life moments for a pass at 40%. I am trying as ever, what else can I do differently?

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.

The Sine curve of life

#133 post

How quickly can a mind go to rust and ruin? In my case just four days.

            1^st July was Monday and I was deadly serious in resolve and action, “I am going to listen to live XLT sessions, I am going to place trades along with the instructor. No more of scanning and sticking my neck of my own.” My mind had so much of charts and time frames in the days that even in my sleep, my mind was full of candle sticks and simple moving average and Bollinger bands! That’s when my computer that was always threatening to go into cancer died on me.

            Then started my frantic phone calls to Ashok the computer repair man. He came and reinstalled the OS (a duplicate cost Rs. 800 for an original Rs. 10000 but no one goes for the shelf price for we all know that Bill Gates has long made his billions and so damn his copyright and my conscience) and that computer behaved as though new. Then the hard disk got a viral infection on Thursday night for it is morally upright with zero tolerance to piracy which meant that I had missed two XLT live sessions. Was it Shakespeare or some equally brainy bird who said: The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry. I don’t know about mice but mine went awry so badly that it deserves this blog post. For a mind that was reveling in charts and Bollinger and SMA, I lost interest totally being off-limits to computer for a 5 full days. Trust me, it was worse than quitting smoking and the withdrawal symptoms as I just did not know how to fill in the hours in the day. I painfully realized that without a desktop and internet my life amounts to a big big CYPHER. But for this gadget I would have either gone insane or just hung from a tree, it is verily my father, mother, more importantly my sexual fantasies and more!!!!!

            This forced five days break gave me a lot of time to smoke and get my already fragile mind more screwed up.  As though I had not enough fires to manage on my courtyard I went seeking for more. I wrote a harmless FB post: Love and romance was once a lifetime in our parent’s generation while for our generation it  is a matter of convenience. Women’s liberation zindabad. This to my Delhi friends was like a red rag to a bull as they came heavily on me so much so that I removed the offensive post in the speed it takes to login and delete. That was just the trigger I needed to go quickly to the bottom of the sine curve which I believe is called “trough”. The smoking had laid the ground, this idiotic FB post was the fuel and now I was asking myself existential questions like “nobody loves me and so I should pull the trigger this year” kinds.

            Even in such calamitous frame of mind, I am a first rate thinker as the mind forced itself into morbid thoughts. The fundamental reason why a mind romanticizes death is “escape of my reality which frankly stinks worse than the municipal garbage bin on 31^st street near Synapse clinic" is hold your breath BOREDOM. In the 20s-30s the mind lives on an inexhaustible mental energy that infuses life to every possible fantasy of the mind. That’s the age I am willing to do anything; even an “asshole me" will take up a job in a Punjab adda like Delhi in the quest of corporate glory and money (no literary pun as I did take a job in Safdarjung Enclave and within six months worked myself to a heart surgery that followed six months later,  for a cosmic ledger and a sense of humour of my creator that I don’t very much appreciate) or spin my mind with thoughts of removing a woman’s clothes (some nameless woman) in a hundred different ways. Silly years of 20s and 30s before 40s brings forth arthritis in my case. There is no other ailment that makes a person look decrepit and gives a “end of the road” image than a limping knee. Suddenly from a chocolate hero image of your dreams, you become a side character even in a movie you spin for yourself!!!!! Add this to a Sindhi imbroglio and you’ll agree that my mind is now even more mired in the “trough” of a sine curve refusing to get up for years. Then I take interest in stock losing 10 lacs along the way for a gleeful experiment daring and just as I am about to become the “greatest chart observer in human history” my computer does a monkey on me. Truly my best-laid plans fell apart like those mices in Shakespeare’s mind. Sorry in this ramble and some literary flourish I forgot the essence of the point I was making: we die because we get bored. Our mind once suffused with corporate glory and sex and romance now is burdened with arthritis and loneliness. The daily diet of getting up, eating, shitting and sleeping looks like an Indian art movie where nothing happens for two hours and in the climax you wake up to find Naseerudin Shah drive a flock of bewildered sheep to the other side of the river for God knows why. It is then you start romanticizing on death; no more sheep crossing to other bank, any menu but this. If the doctor writes “cardiac arrest” for reasons of demise, in my case he will write “sheer boredom” and close my file.

            My head was swimming in so much negativity that I thought I must desist and drag this sine curve from the trough. How? By signing into a vipassana course which to my mind is the cop out default answer. I did not find any god damn centre close to Chennai except one at Igatpuri. I dashed off my online application from the cellphone and that’s how things stand today.

            I called Dhamma Mani out of the blue, but before I forget let me thank Anu at Hong Kong and Ashish Bansal at Gurgaon for taking my calls when my mind was melting at alarming rates like those glaciers that send weather scientists to make Cassandra predictions. Anu said, “Be sensitive to what you write on your own FB for it is after all a public forum for others to comment.” When I explained my misogyny  saying, “with my kind of mother and sisters and that imported trouble of a Sindhi, women are not frivolous objects of banter but deadly poisonous snakes to my frightened mind.” She said sweetly, “Thanks for enplaining”. With Ashish I spoke for 30 min and it felt a charging of a mobile phone as I laughed and bantered. He is a very smart bloke and unusually modest, if I had his kind of success and temperament I would be shouting from rooftops and cut my first rock album. Okay now we come to Dhamma Mani, I called him in ages and he spoke about his Vipassana practice: I do ana pana for 40 min and my mind becomes so concentrated that I go into the banga state. Then I do Vipassana for 40 min. This man is less than two years in Vipassana and he makes me look like a mice for a mirror image. I resolved: this year I will also do 40 min of ana pana and if I reach banga state, I will cut that rock album on my own!!!

            But this first week of July taught me this; for an idle wastrel like me a computer is oxygen. Those XLT sessions (these are two hours sessions on stock trading by the best practicing professionals) are a side-dish. If I change the guitar strings then maybe the sine curve can go to crest. Silly life is mine, it needs some humour and banter to see it so.  Good that I don't take myself seriously for if I did then I would have either been a monkey in an asylum or been like one of those hapless bleating goats crossing a river in flood or just copped-out.  Or the mice whose plans went awry. 

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.