Blocked calls

#166

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

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

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

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

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

Sathya, the Alexander

#165

Needless to say, Alexander the Great.

            This loan imbroglio (extremely confused, complicating and embarrassing situation) served some wonderful lessons. Today I know as much as a loan consultant on procedures and documentation. For those regular to my pages this is one more affirmation that we indeed are a rotten apples society for an insight: when you approach this system from the front door, they’ll ask you for come through the back door.

            These loan procedures are a funny thing – you get a housing loan within six months of purchase, interest rates for a home loan is 9-10%, minimum 5 years to a maximum of 15 years duration. Then there is mortgage loan and Personal loan (say 10-11%) while the private financiers starts from 12% onwards (say a Cholamandalam Finance or Muthood Finance). Loans are given to salaried people and people with good IT returns; so if you are a self-employed asshole like me, ask your auditor to dress up your IT filing. Pay a nominal income tax even if you go through the entire year without earning a dime. Now with this much experience, I am getting loan by greasing a lot of hands. That shows even if I have 5% odds of success, I have enough cunning-ness to open the doors wide.

            The first 3 months of 2020 got me to introspect a lot. Take these as my insights: The world just does not care for you. My definition of Maya is the self-delusion that we are cared and protected in this society. It’s further away than meeting Harry Potter’s characters on the subway!!! Second: India is corrupt to its neck and ass, exploit it to your advantage.

            When I look at my life, I have grown leaps and bounds. My teenage years were a blur, the 20-30s was a decade of RAW COURAGE as I managed jobs, heart surgery, 30-40s were years of SLOW RECOVERY as I found a lot of solace in TS walks, Swami Paramarthananda’s lectures. And now 40-50s is the decade of re-birth. It feels like going back to a womb for a world of possibilities. For isn’t the definition of DEATH is that we lose all that we know and feel to BIRTH where we are born and start from scratch. Mindfulness turned me inside out for a new leaf without the scars of the past.

            One of the worst sins of living is GUILT which is a result of wrong interpretation of the past. The SELF-CRITIC in us must die so that a SELF-FRIEND is born. Most people don’t bat for themselves they are busy batting for Modi or Rahul or Tendulkar or SRK. How absurd!!! A daily practice of GRATITUDE makes you HUMBLE of creation.

            I will be 51 in 6 weeks-time and I will not change a line of my script. Nature is a mother and a thousand times kinder and wiser for it gave me a Balakanth, Sarada mami, Ranga, TH Iyer. It also gave me a morally vacuous pUsHpA who entered my life for a dose of romance, and the exit couldn't have been better timed. It’s then the penny falls – we need the gross characters. But for my sisters, I would have never grown.  

            When I look at my past I have nothing but love and respect for me now. I have survived storms, tsunamis of shame and abandonment. Each time I fell to the abyss – rock bottom – I clawed my way back to the summit. For a long time I thought of myself as a bird without wings and mortified of heights until I realized that I have been an eagle along. We don’t live in a random universe of chance, it’s a painstakingly orderly in its writ, each dot and line on the canvas is a work of a supreme artist. This is a universe that is so efficient that it records every thought and feeling of all its creatures. These mental imprints are the inputs for evolution. The recording and storing is not in the heavens above but as energy packets in your own mind. Once you know how to handle those energy streams of the mind, you win always. Including bribing your way to a housing loan!!! Just love yourself, trust yourself, and you'll have the mindset of Alexander. Whatever I do, it's world-class for an output. I add value to life with each moment or as many as I can. 

Relationships in the Digital age??

#164

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March Misgivings

#163

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

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

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

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

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

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

February News

#162

This year my dauntlesssathya blogs will be direct and zero wastage of words. More like news highlights and a synopsis to make sense of it.

The headlines are:

a)     HDFC screws up: They took 8 weeks to reject my loan application after promising every third day. A prompt rejection would have been infinite mercy. I am so sick of their incompetence that I will be snapping any connection with them. Their ineptness has cost me time and money – for 8 weeks I have not engaged in my stock market trading for loss of income besides the emotional stress of uncertainty.

b)     Narasimhan of Vishalam Builders: He is a wonderful gentleman who comforted me saying, “You need to pay 13 lacs now but take your time, we will wait for your loan to be accepted.” This is my second trip to Kumbakonam and I loved it more. I plan to go monthly, it’s an emotional high to see your villa coming up. The food is great, the auto chaps are friendly and super-efficient, green countryside, good quality water, fresh air and all the pluses are adding up. I am loving this buy more than the Palavakkam one; that’s just an apartment but this is my land!!!

c)      Vivek is super dense: For almost 11 years each time I had a talking urge I would trouble Vivek and Manisha. Of late, Vivek has grown senile to unbelievable denseness and un-stomachable attitude. I tried my best to salvage but what drove the nail in the coffin was this attitude: What have you done to your sisters to merit any kindness?? This attitude almost snapped the ties two years and now this is the last straw: Why are you overstretching on real estate? First earn your monies and then buy instead of running after bank loans? Again this theme was beaten to death in the last four months despite my assurance that “my troubles are my own and no friend of mine will be touched for monies.” Vivek is dense beyond belief; all I sought was solace instead I got blame and an attribution of stupidity. My last words to Vivek this week was, “This is the last time I am speaking to you in my life.” There is no danger of any comebacks here.

d)     TH Iyer mama is the sole one with a heart: This year started with Ashish’s refusal of a soft loan that got my mind reinforced on this thought: If you know how little others think or feel for you, you wouldn’t open your mouth. This learning has quietened me almost 90%. I have many names on my contact list on my mobile but none are useful even for a solace at the word level except TH Iyer mama. He is the sole one who reads my blogs, calls every alternate day, follows my trails with life closely and storing a lot of affection and encouragement. 

e)     Oscar movies: I saw “A beautiful day in the neighborhood” and it was paisa vasool as Rediff would say on their inept movie reviews. 1917 had more depth, I simply loved “Parasite”. Each time I walk out of a movie hall, I feel supercilious: maybe I could have done the script better and tighter. But after “Parasite” I was gushing feeling that a couple of Sathyas can't reach such quality levels. I am planning three more movies of the Oscar season.

Today I am in a position to grow 20 lacs to 40 lacs in 12 months. If I had this skill in 2018, I would not have been forced to sell my Besant Nagar property in 2018 for a startling perspective. It takes time and skill and confidence at last arrive at an earning source. Thank God for small mercies.

Life, the eternal bitch

#161

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sobering February

#160

Three insights here.

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

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

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

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

Chennai Vs Mumbai

#159

Normally I don’t comment on macro issues – you will never find my blogs on politics or gossip or celebrities or movies or sports. I strictly keep it personal to the experience I face in my days. I realized this intuitively even as I began writing these blogs in 2006 that an individual experiencing the flow of life makes for endless possibilities for engaging tales. But this is about two cities, I am no historian or a sociologist to make a study with statistical tools but let me talk about my experience. Both these cities have such contrasting personalities.

            Chennai is 100% unadulterated pure hell. It is the most negative city in the planet. If I have to describe this city in three words, they would be SELF-RIGHTEOUS, SELF-CENTERED and hence SELF-DEFEATING. It unfortunately borrows its character from a typical tambrahm who is an intellectual animal but toxic-ally selfish. Chennaiites cannot see beyond their nose for a tunnel vision of “me, myself and my family”. The rest of the universe is of no consequence as long as I earn enough to pay my bills, my wife cooks decent food in the kitchen and lights up my nights and children score enough marks to scrap through in the annual exams. Why do I feel so negatively for a city that has been home to me for three decades? The city does not involve me in its run despite my genius writing skills and fairly decent person (no one will ever accuse me of selfishness or self-aggrandizements).  Not one person has realized my pain of being abandoned during festivals for three decades despite living in the most elite part of town. .

            Mumbai is a contrast. I went for a stock trading class for a week in June, 2019 with a bias that this is the most mechanical and heartless city for human relations. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead I found the city with a work culture that is staggering – each one is perpetually on the move for his work. This is one city where the poor don’t bemoan their fate, they sell hand kerchief and socks on the pavements with a zest and confidence that is unbelievable. One feels this fast pace of life in the air, something or the other is cooking in this place and mostly for the good. Behind the veneer of mechanical efficiency, people care – you go to a restaurant couple of times and the waiters begin to smile at you. The best of Mumbai is “it’s the only city that recognizes some special quality” in me. In my Futures class in August 2019, I had couple of classmates saying, “Sathya, you are just 50. Move into the city and the city will find something suitable for your talents.” 

            Even in stock market trading I find classmates from Mumbai willing to share their knowledge willingly unlike a Chennaiite who will hold it back. Chennai looks at both friends and strangers with a suspicious streak as though they are eyeing to grab their ugly obese wives draped in sarees or stab them in the back at work. We have zilch co-operation, this is one city where your neighbor would say, “I saw your house being robbed. But I did not raise a cry for my husband was sleeping and I did not wish to disturb him.” We are that foolish as to score self-goals with righteous indignation.

            If I have a measure of stock trading success in 2020, I will be the owner of a villa in a distant Kumbakonam, 325 km from this shithole. My sole demand in life is a meager - please get me admitted to critical care in a hospital when I have a cardiac arrest, cremate my body when the white sheets are drawn and disperse my assets to the list of charities. Such a small gesture is beyond anyone in Chennai. There is greater probability of such a caring hole in a Maharashtra town or a Bangalore. My disgust is so much that I would love to see this city drown in the Bay of Bengal much like Kannagi burning the city of Madurai when her husband was unjustly hanged.

            If you ask me the definition of a heaven, I would say: any place where you find a little understanding and some bonding. By that definition Chennai is hell surely.

Pangs of settling in

#158

I don’t know why I write these blogs. Maybe a flicker of a distant thought that someday someone will read these pages and confer me greatness – Tchaikovsky or even the greatest Mozart became famous posthumously. But this year, my resolve, is less personal, less self-centered.   

            I came from Dindigul on 6/1 and I had a huge laundry list of tasks in front of me. Within two days I had setup the modular computer table, re-assembled the sofa-set (I saved Rs. 3000 asking the deckup carpenter to help after he pieced the table together), got the MI person wall-mounting the smart TV, set up the kitchen, replaced a cylinder tube, got a Hathway broadband for a staggering efficiency. I looked at myself with wonder, even God would not have been so resourceful, a quality I never associate myself with. To my self-image – often erroneous for I estimate my worth a lot less than reality beckons- I am a theorists and a supreme thinker. I take as much as 3-4 days rumination even on a petty thing like a haircut simply because I don’t want an extra ounce of work for my poor knees.

            Within a short time, I became a regular Swiggy customer – I found myself fleeced Rs. 50-60 for every delivery though they saved my knees a whale of a trouble. In the new house I found myself consuming less calories for I was eating a lot less. Bemoan the guy who depends on Chennai restaurants for four squares a day!!! Slowly I start making coffees and teas, another day even upma but something is missing. Besant nagar is as much a professional whore of a metro but I got used to it. Each time I stepped out of my abode (you are supposed to chuckle here) I ran into familiar faces for half-raised greetings and eye-contact. Here no one knows me. This is paradise compared to buses zipping down Seventh Avenue in front of my house, here I spot couple of cows grazing in the fields for a complete contrast. The best of Besant nagar was everything was within my walking range, here it’s 500 metres to ECR and my knees curse me in the vilest words the dictionary can afford. Besant nagar is a whore but it felt nice on the system, Palvakkam is a heaven that needs getting used to.

            I am a poor reader; I have long stopped buying books. Then last month I ordered 4-5 books on Amazon for a solar eclipse rarity. The books came and promptly went to the shelves. Now I opened Philip Freeman’s “Alexander the Great” and it caught me by the scruff of the neck. I just love everything about ATG.  Nature does not produce a ATG than once in a 5000 or 10000 years; he is Bhima, Arjuna, Duryodhana, Sakuni and Karna combined except real in flesh and blood. I venerate Buddha through every cell of the body but my heart and soul belongs to Alexander the Great. In the one week in the new house I could not have found a greater inspiration than the battle exploits of this extraordinary man 2300 years ago.

            I met two people this week who deserve a special mention. Dinesh was the Hathway executive and at 23, he looks the best salesman I have come across. Yesterday Ashok came to configure my desktop for the Wifi. I have known him for a decade as he said, “Sathya Sir, anytime you have a heart-attack I will drop everything and attend to you.” Such nobleness, I am indebted more than words.

            I am 50 now, I have lived alone for 13 years without a minuscule of support. I never doubt my resilience or survival instinct, I see myself in the class of a Hercules, Achilles and ATG for my inward journey was no less breathtaking in scope as their war exploits. But if God were to appear and ask for a boon from me, I will say, “Bring it on old man. Take me away for a well-deserved respite.” 

            HDFC is the worst possible bank in India. My housing loan is now more than 4 weeks old by which I time I got my apartment registered with my own funds. After sleeping for 5 weeks those guys tell me, “Now that you have registered property, there is no point in a housing loan. But we will consider you for a mortgage loan.” I need 25 lacs with the urgency of a next breath; I need this money for trading and a part-payment for Kumbakonam property. I am annoyed, exasperated, intensely irritated and frustrated and throw in all the synonyms. 

            Yesterday I saw QUEEN and Kangana was outstanding. I felt she has earned the right to put a foot in her mouth each time she opens it. Which reminds of a drink I had with Ranga at Maris and he says, “Sathya, we have two orifices; anterior and another in the rear. People who speak without thinking is farting; there is no question of a volition here. Sadly most people in our age use the anterior for a propaganda and posterior for speaking.” Ranga comes with such priceless insights, I learn as much in his company than what life throws at me almost each moment. I will end the ramble with this tailpiece: Viji’s husband, my brother-in-law, invited me for a Pongal lunch that I gently declined saying, “An electrician has promised to come tomorrow. It’s a new house you see, so I very sorry to miss this feast," for a white lie. The invite is as much a wonder as the hanging gardens of Babylon or those pyramids in Egypt for my folks wake-up after 32 years. There is one thing about Alexander I envy; in those days men slit others throat at the slightest provocation while here I am in 2020 who can’t even slap a fellow human being.  
              Welcome to 2020, I am as cynical as ever and my writing as potent too. This year looks a make or break, I will make it even if I have to beg, borrow or steal or even kill. Finally I am learning. Thanks to Alexander the Great. 

2019 comes to an end

#157

On the surface this was a bumper year. A 50 years old man couldn’t have asked more than an earning skills and some real estate purchases that dropped out of the skies – out of the blue. So I must be happy and ecstatic; not exactly true.

            Just an hour back, Thangam had a last day at work. I felt sad and somber. I gifted her a brass lamp for ten years of loyal and efficient service. She promised to visit me at the new house when there is a formal puja ceremony. I have observed Thangam for ten years and she is a woman of character, who knows how to build a family from straws. She raised three daughters with a drunken non-productive husband; all three are graduates and married to families couple of steps higher on the economic ladder. Any time I think of a Meera or a Thangam in my mind, it is with respect and honour. 

            2019 had lots of Mumbai trips, couple of Vipassana retreats, and I engaged my time on learning and mastering to an extent on stock trading. Today I have a skill which will never see me hit the roads. More than just money – which is a great skill for those starving in India – I am obsessed by the game of numbers and probabilities.  

            At my mind level, I see all too clearly that I am in the finishing line of life. I have run a hard race and I could do with somnolence. I have fared as very few given such a lousy start – my parents inflicted such childhood traumas that I have taken a whole of my adulthood on a repair job. Now there is no one to blame; blaming others for your failures does indeed have an expiry date. As for me, the lessons forward are crystal clear – practice more of self-compassion, more energetic and get outdoors for I am as recluse as a cattle in a dairy farm or a chicken waiting for slaughter in a coop. I still store enough strength of mind to make something out of my life yet, but like the unpredictability of a Tata Steel or Yes Bank I am as much clueless as to what bread my life would bake. I am world class in four domains: writing, soft skills training, mindfulness and stock trading would be the latest addition. Even with such formidable skills you need a tailwind for any bakery of life in an oven. At 50 I know this with a certainty; not a blade of grass moves to the wind without divine grace. And grace is not something you beg or plead; it flows or it doesn’t and your job is to keep pegging. The universe is under no great compulsions to fabricate a purpose for your life; your destiny is revealed to you at its pace. Your job is gob up and keep doing what’s on the menu which calls for patience and more whips on the donkey’s back. So humility is a given; uncertainty a fact and ambitions as futile as those crushed cigarette buds after a smoke.

            In 2020 there will be less of dauntlesssathya blog posts – I find it nauseatingly self-centered. I hope to write on new interests and experiences in thinksathya but in 2020 there will be a conscious effort to be less self-centered in my blog writings. 2020 begins in a new apartment in Palavakkam, and a 3 days Vipassana course in Dindigul. I am ever the trier!!! And I sign off with heaviness in my heart: this is my last blog post from Besant Nagar which has been my home for three decades.  I am happy to go, it did serve me well though. 

M91/6 was very lucky

#155

The apartment I currently reside is bang opposite the famed RBI staff quarters. Besant Nagar was as suburban in 1960s than a Thoraipakkam or Siruseri today before RBI opened a residential quarter for their officers in the late 1960s. Besant nagar was famous for three things at the dawn of 1970 – RBI staff quarters, Astalaxmi temple and the cremation ground. Then in the 80s-90s this part of city became SUPER PREMIUM for its proximity to the Beach and later in the 2000s with the advent of Tidel Park and IT parks on ECR and OMR. Today Besant Nagar is perhaps the hottest place for a youngster, he/she finds the beach an ideal dating place with every kind of fast foods and eatery in the vicinity, the New Year celebrations in Besant Nagar is on a global scale (meaning every Chennaiite anywhere on the planet will talk of Besant Nagar New Year celebrations). In these 4-5 decades this part of the city has grown astronomically – one of my friends bought two and half grounds in Palavakkam for 30-40 k whose market value is over 9 crores today.

            Anyway I got distracted singing the glory of Besant Nagar but for a justifiable reason. I am finally moving out after spending the last 3 decades of my life here. Strangely I am happy moving out, there is too much vehicular traffic here, too much people movement and my heart aches for a bit of solace and quietness and a lot more trees which my new residence accommodates. As for me, my photographic memories of Besant nagar is walks on Theosophical Society lawns (I was a regular for years) and Swami Paramarthananda’s spiritual talks.

            Now let me get focused on what I had in mind when I started this blog post: my current apartment has been very fortunate, in the 12 months I spent here I have grown as a person and importantly on the wealth front. For the first time in my life I have a money making skill; Gods be infinitely thanked for this. I also had a lot of travels in 2019 and I will put down this apartment M91/6 in 2019 as the best of my three decades stay in Besant nagar.

             The registration for GREEN PARK is getting pushed by the week. If I get a HDFC housing loan, the papers will be signed tomorrow. If I don’t make it to the loan – strangely banks lend on the basis of salaries of employees or IT returns of businesses when more people are getting fired and more businesses turning red. I have a skill which is only now showing good returns but “banks play by the safety of numbers” than make an allowance of skills- then I borrow 5 lacs for a personal loan and finish this matter. I most certainly will shift to GREEN PARK in Palavakkam before Christmas or on 31/12 as the last of my Fixed Deposit matures on 28/12. So that’s how things stand today. I am comfortable with both though a housing loan would make my life infinitely easier.

            I narrate this personal tale just to make this point. Raghu who I befriended just a little over two months said of his own volition without any nudging, “Sathya, if you fall short of 4-5 lacs, I will be happy to loan it to you.” I was talking about GREEN PARK housing finance as I briefed him on the  HDFC housing loan before he made this voluntary offer. No one in my life has placed such trust on me. I will never risk such a confidence, I will go for the Personal loan but Raghu’s words cooled my hearts like never before. Here was a person who is extraordinarily good in today’s rat race world of selfishness and it is that act that I wished to record for a blog post.

            I visited my mother this Sunday and she looks on the edge. Her face is shrunk from no teeth at all. I was there only for 30 min fearing that my sister would make an appearance any moment and my mood was revolting against that encounter. So I sneaked in like a thief and sneaked out. Next day I spoke to my sister in ages saying, “I am buying an apartment and would you come if I invite you for a puja in the middle of January?” This is no noble gesture from my end except a little warmth with a sister which will not make me feel like a sneaking thief in my next month’s visit to Adambakkam.
            I feel sorry that Thangam's tenure as a cook comes to an end with this shift to Palavakkam. She is a classy person though she was plagued with bad health this year. I gave her a 25 k bonus for 10 years of faithful service, also an assurance, "Please contact me anytime if there is a financial emergency. I will be more than happy to lend." Thangam speaks little; there's a lot for me to learn in terms of daily discipline, commitment to family and she carries more grace than I can ever muster in any social setting. She was good, even great and it will be sad missing her company. Now I pray for a new cook with some proportion of these qualities; it's vitally important that a person with a good heart cooks your daily food. 

            As the year comes to an end, I spent over Rs. 3,000 on books – I got one on Alexander the Great and another on Hannibal. I also ordered some stock trading books. This is one domain I have thirst for learning, I don't wish to squander this state of mind by distracting myself elsewhere. I have a wish in 2020 – buy one BBC documentary or a National Geographic Special each month I gross 4 lacs in monthly earnings. These DVDs don’t cost much except a delivery service from a UK or USA but I would treasure them with my life. I also have a couple of material goals for 2020 – finalize the Kumbakonam villa deal, then have a two wheeler for transportation to gyms and nearby restaurants (in Besant Nagar everything was walking distance) and finally afford a car. Car is a luxury I can live without but I would like to have that experience before I can cast it aside. The purpose of this post was 2019 was an extraordinarily good year for me, M91/6 was inordinately fortunate for at long last I got something out of the marketplace for an earning.

Life’s trivialities – 3 insights

#154

I checked the meaning and it says “of little value or importance” but nothing gives more insights on life than normal mundane living.

            First tale: Thangam, my cook, was scrupulously duty conscious in the first 9 years of service. The last 12 months has been a horror.  She entered my services in January 2010 when life was throwing all kinds of bouncers at me. I was unemployed the whole of 2010, I was boiling inside after a woman dumped me in October of 2009, I still had fantasies of publishing fame. Thangam is a taciturn character to the friendly Meera, the earlier cook. We took more than a year to speak more than two sentences. In the initial years I was content that my food problems were fixed. Thangam is quiet German efficiency.

            I am very liberal as an employer - I give 4-5 days a leave a month without question. I also give my cooks the use of the ration card from which they get 4 kgs of sugar, cooking oil and other pulses at subsidized rates. Thangam is now 60 and fast ageing. For one who was never late by more than 15 minutes in the first 9 years of service the last 12 months have been a horror show. She takes more leaves than I can digest, irregular timings that rattles my cage. If you are supposed to come by 9 am, 30 minutes late is acceptable but not 11:00. This happened 3-4 times this month. Her reason is using this prime cooking time for her physiotherapy sessions for a sprain in the arms. This sloppiness makes me feel like reducing her bonus from 50 k to 20 k,  a gratuitous gesture,  as I shift to a new residence when dispensing with her service. What pains me that she just does not care or give an ear to my censures. I tell her gently, “You have worked for 10 years here and you have earned the right to take as many leaves as you wish. But please don’t promise to come at 8:30 am and call me at 10:00 saying you’ll be an hour late.  Please remember that there is a person waiting for breakfast and any delay after 10:00 is rats in my stomach.”  She just doesn’t get this simple message soaked in thick layers of SELF-CENTEREDNESS (Thangam has a rich selfish vein of selfishness). If I am having a cardiac arrest and were to call Thangam for help, sure she will respond but not if she is attending a physiotherapy session. There is an insight that Thangam taught me unwittingly: How much ever you are absorbed in your work or physiotherapy sessions, please spare a thought to the other person. Don’t be so selfish and self-centered as to earn the wrath of a very hungry man. 

            Second Insight: One of my pet scratching emotional wound is "try to hurt my siblings" with couple of stinker mails annually. My grouse against both my sisters is they have not included me in festivities for 3 decades knowing full well that I am a loner and zilch family support. I tried hammering in their heads that they owe me a certain hospitality but a drilling machine to make holes on a concrete slab would have been easier than putting any noble thoughts on their heads. I also realized that I get no support from them when I am sick (both my sisters never visit me in decades, so absorbed they are in their pre-occupations with their husbands and sons and daughter-in-laws and grandsons that a poor brother can’t fetch even a fleeting glance of concern).

Normally I write a stinker mail to them around Diwali for a yearly ritual and include in the "cc" their kids and their samadhis as my outrage and shaming them to people they hold near and dear. Yesterday I was tempted to write "both of you have such stone hearts that it will do you good to work in a crematorium. Your task would be collect the bones and ashes after the bodies are cindered to ashes. A few days work and you will realize the wealth and flesh are ephemeral." I kept debating in my mind before this thought stopped me in the tracks: In this world there is so much misery and sorrow, let no one - however much I am provoked - suffer on account of my words or actions. It's a nice thought to remember, so I repeat: I will not do a thing to wipe out sorrow in others caused by million myriad factors but I will not be the cause of someone's sorrows.

            Third tale: When I started the TOI job in February, 2007 I was asked by the HR department to open a salary account at HDFC bank which I promptly did. Though I have a savings account at SBI, HDFC has been my main operative account since then. When I sold an apartment last December and those people saw 1 crore in my account, the VP (investment) invited himself to my residence. We had elaborate exchanges on my risk appetite and expected rates of interest. Those blokes drew up an investment plan that to my rank amateur eyes looked hollow and out to suck me. For instance, they were giving me a 7% interest on Fixed Deposits when the outside market gives 8%. So I told the man in suits, “Thanks for the trouble. I will manage my funds myself.” My thinking was simple: It is better that I risk losing my monies out of my own steam than get someone who will tell me after a year and in the meanwhile enjoy fat salaries and foreign vacations signing up dumb goats like me.

            Last month I sought an appointment with their relationship manager asking for an overdraft facility or a home loan. They simply refused despite me having 10-15 lacs parked in my savings accounts at any given point in time.  I wrote to HDFC Bank CEO on the level of pathetic service and the branch manager called me saying, “Can I come and meet you at your residence?” The lady did not as much take any initiative to meet me in 12 years of banking that a simple complaint mail to the CEO got her jumping out her seat.

            In the meanwhile my builder Mr. Mugudavel, an enterprising man, urged me for a home loan to consummate the transaction as quickly as possible. He banks with HDFC, Kottivakkam branch while I bank at Besant Nagar. He requested those people to contact me. Those chaps visited me, saw all my documents and are now willing to give me a home loan which makes my life incredibly easy. The insight here is simple: Those who have known me for a decade just don’t care while a stranger sees merit in my case. The Kottivakkam team is speed-rushing my application and for once I thank them of their competence and decision making process.

Busy as a bee

#153

These are fast-paced crazy times. Too many things happening and I am just waiting for this week to lapse to get my breath back.

            Buying an apartment is as tough as getting a daughter married is an age-old Tamil proverb that I am now facing the full brunt of it. I have just the money for the purchase but some of it is locked up in Fixed Deposits (one is maturing this month-end and I hate to lose out on the interest part especially when it on the last month of the finishing line). A friend once insisted that I handle 75 lacs of his money after realizing that I am going at A+ levels in the stock market. A month back I was cavalier and dismissive for it is “infinitely better to win or lose one’s money than play with the trust of a client. But now on the last stretch of an apartment buy I reverted back to him, “I can’t handle 75 lacs but I can promise you 20% return for 25 lacs which is a mental pressure I can handle without changing my trading style.” If he agrees, I get the apartment without any overdraft or loan otherwise I empty out my pockets for the GREEN PARK apartment at Palkalai nagar. This week should answer that question: whether I go for an overdraft or being an investment specialist for a neighbor.

            I don’t really fare well under any kind of pressure. I am like an African native who does not mind waiting for a bus in a bus stop for two days. I want time to pause, reflect, masticate. It’s not in my grain of genes for a thoughtless, heedless rush of time where I am simultaneously doing two dozen things in a moment and tick-off items of a checklist kind of living.  It’s fun for a month or so beyond that I can’t take that load of baggage.

            Tirupati trip was a miracle thanks to Thirumalai the driver. I also learnt that I talk too much in a coach kind of setting. We were 10 of us and I was sizing them up to the extent of doing a blog post on each one of them. But yeah there is too much noise I bring to the atmosphere and there’s no excuse. But my only weak defense is I rarely venture out of my apartment and so make the best of a talking opportunity. But when I do an overdose of it, I end up educating others. I see myself as a sage and philosopher by accident, my life is so far removed from the usual humdrum. I also feel so much superior in the midst of people when I see moans and groans of “I did not get the promotion I deserved” or “I cannot afford French perfume or the latest winter collection” or “I am having a tough time deciding on the curtain’s colours” kind of lifestyle living when I am very comfortable living without power supply for hours of a hot humid Chennai skies or warding off mosquitoes that has drawn first blood on my skin. Life the eternal courtesan, I find it attractive and drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet. Life as it falls on me and others. Everyone I meet is a puzzle my mind wants to crack (I have this ingrained Holmes streak since childhood!!!), each one of us have whales of stories to tell. There is no such thing as normal which is what you will find in a TVC where a happy couple is selling insurance with a playful boy and an aspiring girl all doing aerobics in the living room. Life for most part is tough, not at all easy in our times.

            Then I had a three days Vipassana which one would have thought was a breeze. We had the biggest rains of the season and “how I managed to reach Besant Nagar in one piece after being stranded for three hours on the road in the middle of nowhere” is enough material for a blog post by itself. Point is, each time I go out of my house, there is a story that descends on me.

            2019 has been a fabulous year – possibly my best. 1998 was a great year where I had a heart surgery that led me on a journey of wastrel idleness through weekend Vedanta talks and a king’s walk on the Theosophical Society lawns. These were the main courses in the day and I loved it without the pressuring of earnings or placating irate clients or fire-fighting or any stupid glory at the corporate.  Then 2007 everything seemed to fall in place; my first writing job and my first & last tryst at romance. But 2019 is special because this is the first time I was not short of money and I made the best use of it – four trips to Mumbai by flight, a holiday in Delhi, Vipassana courses in Igatpuri and Banglore and now these short trips to Kanchipuram and Tirupati. This year I had a lot of outdoors and they have definitely impacted my mind on how others cope with a witch called life.

            My mind is so full of trading that I am having little time for these blog posts. I wanted to write “Adventures in Trading” for sharing my experiences on Tata Steel and Bharti Airtel. I also have a pending blog post on “Vipassana @ Chennai” which I should fit in by this week. I record my thoughts on a mobile so that I don’t forget the raw data as it were of life memories and that’s when I realize the power of a written word. Nothing comes close to writing, not even a high quality audio recorder.

            2019 gave me a glimpse of life that I have chosen after trading. There will be more trips and even monthly 3 days Vipassana breaks in 2020 from the stress of the stock market. I am planning a weekly planner where I can jot down the daily BPL (Booked profits or loss) and total MTM (Market to market) gains on a day. Then have a schedule of 3-days retreats at BLORE, HYD and MAA (Chennai code is MAA in Airlines book) for a monthly Vipassana break and weekend travel in South India to compensate for the stresses of the week.

            I am thankful to Ganesh Shenoy for his boisterous cheer, Raghu, Gopalan, Iyer mama, Manisha, Yohanan give talking and listening pleasure. Yesterday I got home with a heart as excited as a formula-1 car driver after battling the rains and spoke to Ashish Bansal for a sounding board. He really is wise beyond his years; each time I speak to him I am richer with an insight. Said he, “Sathya, you seem to be living without any baggage of past while most us are limited by our experiences.” That, my friend, is due to the daily practice of mindfulness. In the end nothing counts as much as love and trust you confer on yourself. You are indeed the hero and villain of your life, don’t allow any frilly petticoats with shaved legs and western skirts baring thighs to disturb the peace that is inherently gifted to us by creation.

            As for me, I am just waiting to make the final payments for securing GREEN PARK and then shifting into it. The rest are mere details now. I have done very well in 2019 for this is the first time in my life I have a money making skill. Gods be finally blessed for liberating me of this plight for decades. 2020 should see me get a villa in Kumbakonam and maybe even my first car. But there is no woman in my mind for a determined resolve. Life is good as it is, there is too much risk losing my new found wealth and freedom. Finally there is also a growing insight that "Whatever I do, I am world-class" - be it creative writing, soft skills training that never got a platform, mindfulness literature and now stock market trading. Which is a comforting thought for a mind which is genetically rich in diffidence. Gods be blessed for making this year so packed with activity and purpose. 

No one cares!

#152

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy days are here again

#151

This post is going to be a ramble and so be forewarned.  I fill my days on stock market and I have reached a professional expertise level on Future & Options trading. I can safely say, “Let the stock market throw whatever at me, I will make money. The fear of losing my shirt and pants is long past gone.” Stock market is like driving a car on a highway, it is joyful cruise if you know how to ride. But if you are clumsy you stand a good chance of a hit and loss of life. So is highway driving safe or risky is a question that entirely depends on the skill of the driver.

            On 12/11 I had a wonderful trip to Kanchipuram for a thanksgiving at the Mahaperiyava Samadhi. I loved the suburban train travel which reinforced my belief that anytime I get a chance to travel on suburbs I will do so with a childlike delight. The best thing of suburbs is you can stretch your legs, take a walk, stand or sit which you can’t in a car or a bus. Then there is life unfolding around you – people get in and get out and I get to observe a whale lot of people in a short span of time which has an incredible impact on me. These are true sons of the soil affording me a chance to get the pulse of the people and character of the city. I feel an average Indian is entrepreneurial (I see so many selling chikis or headphones or fruits), I see a lot of valour and courage there, of course there are morons too. But this is life unfolding and I think a suburban train travel makes for the best observatory. Trust me!

            13/11 was Appa’s 31^st ceremony and as usual none of the womenfolk in the family came and it’s good as well. My father used to work 12 hours working days for 40 years without a break and it’s those efforts that bankrolls my wastrel and idle existence today. I had given a “remembrance advertisement” of my father in the 10/11 issue of Adyar times, a neighborhood weekly tabloid and behold an elderly gentleman spoke to me from Boston late in the night, “I chanced on the online version of Adyar Times here in America. The face looked familiar and I distinctly remember your father. I was his colleague during 1967-1972 years at General Electric which became Nelco later on.  Just as you have described, he was very hardworking, soft-spoken, and considerate to others. I am coming to Chennai next month. I want to meet you and your mother." This gave me a lump in the throat. Imagine someone remembering my father after 1972. He was such a giant of a man. That conversation took my own mind to this enduring image of my father distributing fruits to everyone around him – be it cut apple pieces or pomegranate seeds or even bananas after the skin was peeled. He was one of those who would crack the shells of peanuts and give it others or make huge balls of “parupudi sadam” and offer it to us. His was a large heart, kind to others without any fanfare, he educated all his younger brothers and got them their first jobs, he did not marry till he was 31 until both his sisters were married off, he would give his entire salary to his mother for running the home, and best of all he did not chest thump his generosity. He had kindness and royalty in his veins which I have inherited to a large measure. Let any beggar accost me and I empty out all the coins in my wallet. If anyone says I am hungry, they stand a good chance to get a tenner from me. But my father was kinder, softer, and never hurt people while I am a bit of rough and tough who loves to put people in their place once they start to misbehave. I make obscene amounts of money in trading, I am one of the best thinkers around,  certainly a world-class writer on any scale of estimation, one of the best exponents of mindfulness, I am blessed with cooks of character for the kitchen, I have no one to nag me, but nothing gives me joy as this: I am my father’s son and that’s enough for me. If an ex-colleague connects with a son of a death man of 31 years reminiscing his friendship in 1967-72 times, then can there be greater honour to life? My father brought grace and dignity, these qualities come naturally to me just as giving. Truly it is not the wealth that a parent should leave to his wards, it’s this kind of respect and affection, and these values that are soaked in the genes. If there is one lesson my father’s life teaches me today it is KINDNESS in words and GIVING in action; a good ideal for me to be inspired for the rest of my life.

            As you can see this incident shook to my roots and forcing me to reflect on my own evolution as a person. Vinod was my role-model in the sense that “If I could become someone like him, nothing would make me happier kinds”. Now I might be at Vinod’s level of 1989 – he had an overweening belief in himself, he spoke his mind without mincing words which meant he could be scathing at times. This would perhaps describe me today. My another hero was Balakanth; he was blessed with singing and he was one person who lived moment by moment. It’s true that in your passing years you unconsciously grow into the mould of your heroes.  My other inspirations are always Jeremy Brett playing Sherlock Holmes in that fabulous Grenada series version and Alexander the Great. I revere Gautama Buddha to a cult degree, every atom of my body and mind feels a deep gratitude to him for the gift of Mindfulness and Vipassana. But if you ask me for a role model, it’s Alexander the Great.

            Gopalan and Raghu are my newest friends and they give me a lot of comfort. Raghu said, “I will help you in shifting.” He is so kind and helpful that I asked him for a reason. Like all great people he said, “I was in Aurangabad for thirty years and so many people have helped me beyond comprehension. In the first year I found the food so insipid that I wanted to run away from the place. But do you know what those at office and my residence said, “If food is your problem, we will make your kind of food and give it to you.” Gopalan is all ideas for me on raising money for the new property, “Check out whether a overdraft will cost you cheaper or a home improvement loan.” These are two people I would approach for assistance should I have a heart attack today.

            In two weeks I will be moving out of Besant nagar and I am not slipping into nostalgia or any regret or any pangs of separation. Palkalai nagar is just 4 kms south, it has a better and cleaner beach, more sun and wind, and I am going into an apartment that I fell in love with straightaway. I am calling this house GREEN PARK and my Kumbokonam villa ANANDA GOVINDA. I am one of the enduring characters of Besant nagar and it will miss me more than I would. I bring a lot of smiles to vendors, I often tell Muthu, the vegetable vendor, this for a standard fare, “Cut the drumstick like you are hacking a chicken or did you bring the snakes (for snake gourd)” for a smile. I also tell Oviya the therapist at SPARRC, "I came hoping you would on leave so that I can have an easy session." So our everyday chat is something like, “Oviya, tomorrow is Friday and praying at the church at 6:30 am will please lord to no end” or “Do you have any friend’s wedding to attend tomorrow?” Everyone enjoys this bit of humour. Much like my greeting Dr. Rajaram with, “What you know about ENT can be written on the back of a postage stamp.” Or the immortal banter with Prabhakar, “Your daughter is settled in America, your wife is professor and you are a General Manager, what do you do with so much money?” I say this each time I meet him, and believe me it brings the house down for everyone in the hearing zone. Life is good. If you respect and honour it, life does pay you back strong returns of love and peace as much as stock markets are making me money.