The Hand that pushed me in!!!

Any regular traveler in and around Mumbai wouldn’t need a second-hand description about the traveling ‘adventures’ that a Mumbaikar goes through every day. Pushing, pulling, squeezing your way past a thousand bodies trying to do the same is like daily chores. Add one more to this list of activities—‘Hanging on for dear life.’ For relatively new travelers, this term is apt, as this would be their last and only choice during peak hours. For the others, who seem to be hanging on to keep their souls breathing, it’s their way of having fun, also perhaps, a way to impress a few from the fairer gender in every passing station.

I don’t fall under the category of a new traveler. But, and this is a big ‘But’, my idea of fun does not include acting like a super-hero in a vehicle that takes about 2,000 lives in Mumbai every year. A couple of times I have had to hang on to the pole by the door the reason for which was mentioned in the first paragraph of this post—it was my only available choice to reach college on time.

Now, I fall under the category of ‘working class’. This means I have to get off and on the trains at stations where the word ‘crowd’ would seem an understatement. Come to Dadar and you will know why! Getting off at Dadar isn’t tough for me for I go along with the flow of the hundred others in front of and behind me. But getting on to the train, I always think twice before trying to leap (literally) in!

So, here I was at Dadar waiting for a Dadar-starting heading towards Titwala. For someone from Dombivli, getting inside a train, while it is nowhere near its halting point, is a piece of cake. Or so I thought it was! This one came at a fair speed. There were a few hanging by the door wanting to get off. I looked at one door. Found it unmanned. And jumped in grabbing the pole. Well, almost! I did grab the pole, but the jump wasn’t good enough to reach the footboard. I had completely misjudged the speed of the lifeline! I was ‘hanging on for dear life’! My hands gripping the pole hard, my feet suspended between the train and the platform. A red and black costume and I would have looked like a junior Spiderman! Those three to four seconds seemed to last an eternity. I have heard the phrase, ‘heart in the mouth’ a lot of times. I was experiencing it now! Suddenly I felt a strong hand pushing me making me swing inside using the pole in a typical Spidermanesque way! On my way to catch the seat, I looked back and those behind me were still running behind the train. I had no clue who pushed me in, for the people who came in behind me came a good 4-5 seconds later!

Sitting by the window seat that I managed to grab, I was still shivering at what just happened. Or what was about to happen!

The drama didn’t end there. The train became so jam packed that people who were inside wanting to get off at Dadar couldn’t get out even after the train had stopped and restarted on its way back! These were the ‘new-comers’! In an attempt to get off at the next station, Matunga, a couple of ladies from that group fell off from the train on the platform. I watched in horror as the train stopped again! The ladies survived! Phew! I let out a sigh of relief and a big one at that. That could have been me at Dadar about 5 minutes ago!

All I can surely say is I didn’t use any super-hero-like power to swing myself into the train. And I did feel a Hand pushing me in. It was the Hand of God!

Win or Lose... It was a special feeling!!!

It is not always you feel special about something you achieved. It is almost never that you feel special about something that you were NOT able to achieve. I have been fortunate to be a recipient of both these scenarios. Those who know me well wouldn’t be surprised when I say these have come at a sports field. But, they will be surprised when I say it happened at a badminton court—to be more specific, the court at my beloved St. Xavier’s College.

My second year of junior college. I was an absolute disgrace what one call ‘textbook badminton’! So, here I was playing the selection tournament. I went past my first two rounds with relative ease. My semi-final match was pre-poned leaving me under-prepared and over-dressed for the game. I actually was looking like an executive, dressed in formal clothes, coming straight out of a high-level meeting looking for a break from work. I borrowed a racket from a friend and started off my match with Nikhil, my opponent! If anyone was looking out-of-place in that court, it was me, with my formals minus any footwear for I had removed my floaters before the match.

Half-way through the match, I was already looking down the barrel hardly able to breath. My friends Merwyn and Anish had joined in, cheering for me! Nikhil made me run around the court. Most of his shots were directed towards the baseline, something that I was totally unaccustomed to as I was more an ‘at-the-net’ player. Nikhil clearly had the upper-hand, leading 12-3 in a race to 21 points. I shook my head looking at Merw and Anish, struggling to get even the words “I can’t” out of my 32! Breathing heavily, I desperately looked around for a miracle and lease of life in me out of somewhere. I wanted water. I needed air to breath! An oxygen mask would have been welcome. After losing one more point, I just sat on the court trying to gather some breath. The word, “God” came out repeatedly at every breath I took. My arms were shivering. The score-line read 14-5 tilting towards Nikhil. Not a long match for someone reading the scoreboard for the first time. But each one of the points had marathon rallies. My shots to Nikhil kept coming back at me. And after coming to terms with Nikhil’s strategy, even I had found answers to his baseline shots. My shirt was drenched. I cared a damn if I was stinking! My eyebrows were heavy and sweat pouring out in front of my eyes was making sure I didn’t get a proper view of my opponent. “Quitting” while on a sporting field is not in my dictionary. I gathered myself all over again. Took a deep breath. Waited. And waited. And wiped off the sweat from my brow. And served. And that new lease of life was pumped in. I start hitting the shuttle well. It was time to give Nikhil back a taste of his own medicine. It was time to make him run around the court. I made him play to my strengths. His shots stopped going towards the baseline, rather came just where I wanted it. Now, Nikhil was getting worn out. The score-line: 19-12. Still in his favour. But, I knew I was peaking and I couldn’t let it go from here, every now and then opening my mouth wide to let in some air! A couple of smashes and drops later, I was breathing down his neck. But Nikhil still had it in him to win a point to reach match point! 20-18. I broke his serve. And came back to win a couple more points. Scores tied. 20 all! The match extends to a game of 23! Huffing and puffing, both of us look at each other. Wiping our sweat, catching our breath. It’s like a boxing match. Round one to Nikhil. Round two to Blessen. Round three will decide who will be the finalist! We both are so dead tired that we can hardly get that occasional ‘Yes!” from our sets of sixteen. We restart our game. A smash, a drop and a mistake by Nikhil later, I was walking towards Merwyn not knowing what to say, where I am or what to do next. I had just done the improbable! Down and out about 20 minutes ago, I was now a recipient of a well-deserved ovation by the crowd for fighting through my condition and not just coming out of it, but coming out of it victorious. I was so lost after the victory that I forgot to shake hands with Nikhil, who also deserved the ovation he got. Nikhil’s fitness let him down, my resilience got me through! It was a special feeling!

My second year in Senior College. I was one of the pre-tournament favourites to reach the semis! I’ve hardly had any match practice. But I was confident to overcome my first round opponent, whom we nicknamed ‘Elvis’ for his side-locks! The match was totally tilted in my favour right from the start. I had quite a few supporters. Carlo, Anish, Bijoy, Jasmine, Fiona and Rahul—all rooting for me! The court was more crowded than usual! I was leading 9-3 in a race to reach 21. I was just getting back in the grove finding my old touch that I had lost because of a temporary lay-off! Elvis was playing good, but not good enough! But then, a moment of what-one-can-call ‘over-excitement’ came in. In one of the points, Elvis plays a decent smash away towards my right. Standing at the left side of the court, I dive full length parallel to the ground and manages to reach the shuttle before it touches the ground. The shuttle sails over to the other side of the net towards Elvis, who was surprised to see feather-laden coming back towards him. The crowd lets out a huge ‘Wooh’! Elvis keeps his nerves and plays a drop. I have just regrouped after my dive and am only on my knees when the shuttle is dropping on my side of the court closer to the net a few yards away from me. I go for another dive using the force of my knees and still, manage to get the shuttle across. The spectators, now, are shouting! Elvis keeps his nerves and plays it to the baseline. But getting back up from my second dive, I knew not all is right! I struggle to hit the return at the baseline. I avoid jumping and smashing and instead, just play a safe return. Elvis pounces on the high shuttle and smashes it in front of me. I can hardly move, let alone think of another dive to return the smash. I lose the point. The crowd still applauds and shouts at the circus I just did on the court.

But from thereon, I can hardly stretch or run. All I can do is walk and hit those returns close to me. Elvis smells his chance and grabs the opportunity. He plays all over the court. I limp all over the court. Fiona, a sportswoman herself, comes to the court and asks me to try some stretching. She fears I have pulled a hamstring! Friends standing by ask me to quit. I just shake my hand and tell them I am ok. I wasn’t! I was grimacing in pain! “Hang in there, blessy!” I kept telling myself. Friends around me are concerned about my health. They keep asking me to leave the game midway! But I am of the adamant kinds! And I continue. Playing with pain all the way! At match point, Elvis hits one beyond my reach. I watch the shuttle thudding the ground in horror. Elvis won the game. I lost! And perhaps, an end to my short badminton career too! I limp off the playing area. But I could hear the crowd applauding and still shouting! I saw a couple of them standing up from the temporary seats to applaud. They came forward and shook my hands. “That point (where I dived twice) was worth recording, dude! Great fight!” one of them exclaimed, with a little salute! I limp to the washroom. Bijoy gives me a little smile on the way! I smile back. I am disappointed at losing, but I know I had given it my all! Elvis might have won the game, but, (this might sound like a self-promotional sentence), I won the crowd there!!! I left the court feeling proud of myself with a few still smiling at me! It was a special feeling!!!

Limbless to Limitless!!!

“From a life without limbs to a life without limits”- Thus read the entry pass for the programme that featured Nick Vujicic. Few around the world have already heard this name. Many among this few have had a positive impact because of Nick’s words!

A few months ago, I had received a forward from a dear friend, where Nick shares his testimony. Ever since, I have had this desire within me to see the miracle, that is Nick, in person or at least hear him speak. My prayers were answered as my brother called me up early on a Saturday morning to tell me that Nick is in town and he will be speaking that evening next to Wilson’s. I called up Deepak, a good friend and one of the organizers of the meeting, to book two entry-passes (free, of course) for my brother and me.

Nick is a motivational speaker. But as Nick makes his entry, the crowd of 700 stands up to give a well-deserved ovation for this warrior of Christ. There is a wave of sympathy flowing across that BVB auditorium. The reason—as is evident from the lines on the entry pass, this speaker from down under was born without limbs (a body minus hands or legs). This wave, however, doesn’t last too long! One would expect a person with a disability as that of Nick to be soft-spoken. All the initial assumptions are laid to rest and Nick starts off by shouting Hallelujah to God! The glow and happiness on Nick’s face is worth a thousand pictures!

“I was angry with God for creating me this way,” said Nick about the initial phases of realization about his disability. He complained constantly and at one stage, almost thought of ending his life! He kept asking God to give him hands and legs and thus, let him lead a normal life. But then, he stumbled upon John Chapter 9, where Jesus was asked by a few in the crowd the reason for a blind man’s situation. Jesus answered, “He was born this way so that the glory of God can be revealed through him.” Nick got his answer. God had said “No” to Nick’s request. But Nick knew it was for the better! For God had seen a purpose behind his condition. Nick quit complaining from thereon and gave his life for Jesus Christ. Little would this handsome guy have known that not only his life but lives of those around him would undergo a dramatic change as well. Nick now saw a purpose behind his life. He stopped dwelling on his problems for he knew that his God was mightier than all his problems. Nick completed his Bachelors degree and now aims higher!

The gathering was just awe-struck by what Nick offered them that Saturday evening. It was a whole package of happiness and hope. Every third sentence from Nick called for applause. The applause, however, was for his Saviour, who had changed his life! Nick says that if God had given him arms and legs when he had cried out, he might never have been a motivational speaker. He might never have been able to pull in the crowd that he can today! True... very true... It was because of Nick's condition and the gift God gave him to remain happy in that condition that made him such a darling to all.

Nick loves freaking people out and sees the positive side to everything in life! He remembers the time when he freaked out a little kid after the latter thought the former was an alien!

He remembers how he freaks people out on the beach, by suddenly sprouting of the water like a strange amphibian!

He remembers the time when a huge wave crashed against him as he was swimming to throw him completely off guard and deep inside the water. Nick had drowned, or so thought his friends around him. But Nick was holding his breath deep inside the waters waiting for the waves to pass! And as waves calmed down, Nick emerged out of water to get back to swimming! "Waves crashing against your lives shall pass!" Nick declares.

There is no fakeness in this Aussie’s happiness. The joy of the Lord is reflected all over his face and body language. Nick knows that his sufferings are nothing when compared to what his Saviour suffered for him on the cross, leaving all the pleasures of heaven behind!

Nick then calls on to the crowd, describing to them what Jesus Christ did for them on the cross of calvary. Some youth teary-eyed, some others smiling, as they called Jesus Christ in their lives. Their lives will never be the same again.

Next up, Nick prays for the sick. And immediately, the results are there to be seen as a beautiful young lady from the front walks on to the stage. She had fallen off the stairs just half an hour before the programme and could barely move her arms. She came forward and hugged Nick, moving her arms, unable to talk fluently as the joy just engulfed her!

Not a single person who came to the auditorium that day left disappointed. They came to see a person without limbs. They went back seeing a person without limits!

I dedicated the 50th post of this blog to Nick Vujicic, who definitely has changed my outlook towards life! Considering that I it took me more than three months to post my 5oth, despite already having some stock of other posts, shows the impact Nick has had in me!

THE MAN Who Owned Our Car!!!

Three months, and I still did not have a tinge of idea about it! One fine June evening, in my absence, a deal was made and a four-wheeler was added to our family. Of course, I knew about the second-hand Santro that we were buying, but was in the dark about THE MAN, who had actually owned the car. So impactful was the name of the first owner, that not just me, but a few friends of mine also lost their sleep over it! “Moron, you own the car. I haven’t even seen it and I still can’t sleep,” exclaimed one such friend while continuing, “Blessen, take this as a sign from God. Your car has been passed on from people, who made it big in the profession that you want to be in and I don’t even need to mention about the very first owner. You are literally in the driver’s seat, dude.”

Last Friday, the pastor and his younger son were watching CNN-IBN's discussion on the Bragelina couple’s visit to Pune. “Naah, not my kind of news,” thought the son as he headed to his room to do "better things in life (which would be Orkutting)!" This is when something that his dad uttered got him really interested and made him rush back to the hall. “How do we know that?” he asked his dad. “Check our car’s registration book and you will know. I always thought you knew that.” “No, I had absolutely no idea whatsoever!” exclaimed his son, as he scanned the very first page of the RC book, in deep shock and excitement.

Well, it so happens that our car is actually a third-hand buy. It belonged to a BBC lady journalist, who left the country leaving the onus of selling the car on her driver, whom we knew fairly well. The driver, at the time when the deal was being made, had informed my folks and bro about the initial owner of the car. But because the piece of information seemed a little too difficult to digest, my family did not really believe the driver’s 'story', which is what they thought it was-- just a 'story'. As for me, I hadn’t heard him, so there was no question of me being in the know about it. But after seeing the RC book, my dad had no choice but to believe the driver.

Apparently, the BBC journo had left the country for the fear of her life. The first owner of the Santro was kidnapped and killed by some terrorists in Pakistan. He was also a journalist, although he became renowned only after his death. He is the very reason why Bragelina is in India! The name in that registration book, which got me excited, thus making me call all my good friends at and after midnight, was of a certain gentleman called Mr. Daniel Pearl!

Beginners Guide to Traveling in Mumbai’s Local Trains

1. Travel as light as possible with little or no luggage. If you do have a luggage, then make sure you also have your name on it or else some stranger might come to the happy realization that his great grandfather’s uncle’s brother-in-law had lost a similar bag/suitcase in 1936 and stake his claim over it.

2. Avoid peak hours, which would be, let me see… ahem… almost throughout the day! Basically, avoid traveling!

3. Make sure you are not allergic to the combination of sweet ‘aroma’ of oil, fish and sweat! If you are, constant traveling will make you get used to the same.

4. If you are a first-class traveler, then be sure to apologize for accidentally pushing or stepping on someone. If you are traveling by second-class, then be street smart and blame the ‘accident’ or ‘incident’ on the person standing behind you. Before doing this, make sure there IS a person standing behind you or else, you will be in big trouble.

5. Amongst all the good qualities that a Mumbaikar possesses, politeness is NOT one of them. So, if someone is hell bent on picking up an argument with you, be polite and remain as quiet as possible. Your attitude will surprise him. The guy that is picking up the argument might just have had a fight with his wife at home and may be removing it all on you!

6. If your stop is just five stops away from the starting point, then don’t be dumb in trying to find a seat, for if you do, you may never be able to get off even after the tenth stop. Remain standing, and do so closer to the door that you will be getting off from! If you do not know which side your platform falls, then ask your co-passengers. But make sure the person you ask is not a mirror image of you yourself. You might just end up either on a wrong station or on the tracks, the latter being not a very exciting prospect!

7. If you are going to be a regular traveler, catching the same train and hoping onto the same compartment will help you make new friends. These guys will stand by you whenever there is an argument.

8. Local trains are awesome when it comes to catching up on lost sleep. The sleep that you have been deprived of for either working late in your office, or for doing assignments, or for simply chatting with your friends online through the night (I have been a victim of the last two cases). If you are a ‘long distance’ traveler within Mumbai (like I was for six and a half years), then take advantage and try sleeping for at least an hour (like I did during a good portion of these six years). You must, however, also learn to stand and sleep. This is one ‘skill’ that you would acquire over time!

9. If you indeed get a seat, consider yourself lucky and make the best use of it. But while catching up forty winks, acquire the skill of ‘staying still’. If you are a pendulum dancer like I sometimes am, then be sure that person sitting next to you has really high levels of patience! Else, the mouthings you get from that person will be music to your ears which won’t stop accompanying you unless you use the same on another person and the epidemic spreads!

10. Extremely crowded trains can be used to your advantage in terms of catching up on lost sleep. Once you have achieved the hardest task of getting inside the train, you won't have an inch to move, which is when you can just depend on the flood of ‘inactive yet alive’ bodies standing all around you. Use these bodies as your support pillars and doze off! But this is totally dependent on whether the whole of your body is actually inside the train. For if you try to doze off with half of your symmetry hanging out (don’t ask me how), then your ‘body’ will be just that—a body but with ‘dead’ added as an adjective!

11. Respect the people standing on the footboard or at the door. They might seem to be, and some of them indeed are, wanna-be Romeos, but it is because of these five gentlemen that you have some place to stand or, in some rarest of rare cases, sit! Also remember, you are at their mercy when it comes to getting down, for if they decide to stay put at their place, you sure will be caged till the point of their destination!

12. Women can make great use of traveling standing at the footboard. I have seen many women using the natural wind and air to dry their hair!

13. Avoid pressing your clothes from your home, if you travel by crowded trains (which would almost be every time). For, by the time you come out of the train, your clothes would seem like it is freshly out of the washing machine! Also, consider yourself fortunate or your shirt to be of high quality, if you have all your buttons still on!

14. ‘Beware of pick-pockets’ is a warning that appears throughout India and Mumbai is no different! The only difference being, in Mumbai, the ‘artist’ to execute this skill would be the well-dressed lady/gentleman standing near you. At times, you might feel that the train seems crowded than it actually is. Beware of situations like these, for these skilful people work in a group and are the actual creators of this ‘fake-rush’!

15. ‘Beware of homosexuals’ is NOT a warning that appears throughout India but Mumbai IS different! Guys/gals who appear over-friendly might suddenly sprout out a question—"wanna come with me for ‘fun’?" Traveling in averagely-crowded trains, you might come across someone sticking a little too close for your liking. Every time the train jerks, these people might try to hold onto you for support! Make sure you hold your bag, or whatever it is that you are carrying, in front of you acting as a ‘separation’ between you and the desperado!

Blogging To Continue...

Despite the loserly begging I did in my last post, only six comments (at the time of posting this one) was registered. Jeez, what was I thinking when I had initially put 10 as the upper limit. This six comment includes two by one person!!! So, does this mean an end to my short period of blogging? Naah... There's no easy escape from crappy writings to the not-even-a-handful visitors to my blog. The reason why I posted my last message was purely out of frustration and discouragement. I realised that if I do get discouraged by such silly matters, then I might as well call myself a real high-quality loser! My blog may not be popular and would actually be an example of one of the crappiest around, but deleting it would be an absolute waste of the time and effort I had put in posting my earlier posts, some of which has been, allow me to be a little immodest here, decent enough!!!

So, the mallu-blogging shall continue!!! I hope this pleases the five gracious 'commentators' of my previous post.


PS: One of my friends recently told me to "use my good voice to good effect and create an audio blog. Surely, you will have a greater fan following, especially amongst the fairer sex" (not exactly in the words of the person, but somewhat like this)... Well, I won't really be opening up an audio blog, but a photography blog is definitely on the cards and will soon be up!!! For the love of photographs and visual images, I hope a few more will visit that blog of mine. Right now, I am contemplating an URL that I should have for that blog. I was thinking somewhere along the lines of 'Thru the Mallu Eye'... Any suggestions???

To or Not To!!!

Off late, the amount of visitors to this blog has reduced drastically, as is evident by the 'Hit Counter' and the number of comments I have in the last two posts. Either the handful that used to visit my blog has forgotten the URL of the site, or has finally gained their senses to notice the really pathetic writings and posts. So, is there a point in me continuing to blog? I am not sure if I can yet answer that. Maybe this post can. So here’s a call to anyone who accidentally hits the URL of my blog: If you do happen to be one of those rare guests to my blog, then be kind enough to post a comment on this piece. Any number less than 10 would mean me saying ‘Bye Bye’ to the world of blogging (Am I asking for too much? I think I am. Bargaining the number down to 8.)

I left my first job because...

Your behavior a disgrace to XIC. Please put in your resignation and return ID card immediately. (sic)

This is to inform you that you have been terminated from the service according to clause 2 of the appointment letter…

For all those who came in late, you may not know that I was working with a leading media company in India at its head-office in Mumbai. Ever since I saw the imposing heritage structure, it was my dream to walk inside the premises as an employee. Not many get the privilege of realizing their dream in the very first instance they try. I did!

Although my name was never going to be seen or read by a good part of Mumbai, who swore by the most-read English daily, it still could be traced at a corner of the second page of a supplement that came along with the daily. This supplement however, was read by only those who had the time to stretch their legs, sit back and scan through the happenings of their locality. My job profile included editing and proof-reading some terribly written articles. After editing some of them, I was quite often tempted to include my name as well in the byline. So my actual post was that of a sub-editor cum reporter, although I reported for the supplement only once and am yet to see my byline in print for that! I am glad I haven’t seen my byline for that particular article for it was more a glorification of the supplement itself, as the event I covered was co-sponsored by the broadsheet.

I wasn’t great at editing and my immediate boss (IB) made that clear just second week into my job! Some of my friends still feel that the decision I made wasn’t a wise one since I left an institution that boasts of being second to none in the media industry. But they are still to understand the reasons why I walked out of my first job, quite literally! Well, I just stopped going to work without informing anyone at my workplace. That explains why my main boss (MB) text messaged the very first line of this post.

There were three instances in my three months of work that led me to take the decision to ‘walkout’, the impact of which is still being felt at the supplement. Just to clarify—these three instances form just one ‘reason’, for there are a couple of others as well!

1. The IB came and told me that the layout artists have complained against me to the MB, that I keep changing stories and headlines at the last moment. Now it so happened that despite being a fresher, a lot of artists had become my friends. I went to them to clarify, which is when I got to know the actual story. They had not even uttered my name to the MB! The complaint was against the team and my IB in particular! The IB very smartly passed on the blame to me when the MB asked her for clarifications!

2. My IB cannot come on Saturdays to work at all for reasons perhaps only she and God can tell. And the other two senior members of the team were also supposed to have their comp-offs that weekend. So it was left to me and one other colleague, who too was a relative fresher although a senior to me by around 5 months. Every person in the team is supposed to take responsibility for a page wherein a decision is to be taken as to which stories will go in that particular page. That Saturday, I took the responsibility for the first page and before calling my day off on Friday, I had clarified with the seniormost member after the boss about the stories I will be carrying and she had given me a ‘go ahead’. One of the stories that I carried on page one was an investigative report and apparently, one of the authorities that the reporter mentioned she had spoken to, said that journo had last spoken to him about four months ago! There were calls to my IB from the municipal corporation asking for clarifications. And again, I was taken to task by my IB for not ‘clarifying’ with her about the story. She had herself advised me to consult the other senior member!

3. One day, my IB decides to have a one on one chat with me, in which she tells me that she wants me to be her right hand person (whatever!). And among other things, she mentioned that the MB thinks I am the ‘weak link’ of the team! That was it. I didn’t even wait for any more ‘clarifications’! I didn't need any other sign from Above telling me to quit. I had got three in three months already!

The other factor, which is perhaps even more a reason for me leaving than the above mentioned blame-games, was the attitude of my IB! Our working day used to start anytime between 11:30 to 12:00. But for my IB, it started after 2! Why? Because it wasn’t she who worked, it was us, the lesser mortals, who were supposed to slog it out. All she had to do was to check the final product, make sure the freelancers are well paid and pass on her mistakes to others! Even before settling down after coming to work, she would head straight to the canteen along with a couple of colleagues. After having her fill, she would come back, sit at her comp and play some really childish online games, while her ‘subordinates’ stared blankly and tried to make sense out of statements, which had adjectives aplenty and pronouns in rarity, for every second person was ‘on the condition of anonymity’. Every once in a while, you could also hear her say, “I am so tired!” Tired? Of what? Pressing the direction keys of your keyboard trying to maneuver your online duck? I could see the IBs of other supplements slogging like us mortals and this Lady Lazy having a ‘perfect job’, redefining the term ‘idleness’!

Apart from these, after taking up this job, I had also felt a great deal of emptiness within me. I realized I wasn’t spending anytime with the One who took me this far! I knew I had to do something before I went too far away from my God!

The rest, as the cliché goes, is history! A couple of weeks after I gave my IB and MB a shock, I got a ‘dismissal letter’ from the HR head of the company (second line of the post is an excerpt of the letter). I don’t know what they mean by ‘You have been terminated’ for I had already terminated myself!

ICC: Idiotic Cricket Council/Idiots Creating Controversies

Cricket—just when you think the game is getting a little boring, new twists and ‘turns’ brings it back to the front pages of the newspapers. Off-the-field cricketing actions have always created newsworthy stuff for the media men. And in the past week or so, similar actions have ensured that cricket, as a sport, will never be too far away from controversies.

It all started with the Proteas calling their tour to Sri Lanka off, following a bomb blast just a couple of kilometers away from the hotel. The fear-factor reigning large on the players from Africa is understandable, considering that the term ‘bomb’ struggles its way into the international pages of the newspapers in that country. But a question begs to be asked here. With the Indian team staying back, wasn’t there a security threat for the Indian players? But then, eventually hardly a match would have actually taken place as the subsequent bilateral India-Lanka three match series had to be abandoned due to heavy rains. An anti-climax of sorts, but very much along the expected lines!

The second incident that will take some time to die down is the Pakistani boycott of post-tea session in the fourth test match against England at Oval. Darrel Hair! This name has become synonymous with controversies related to the subcontinent. This name will ring more than a thousand bells to the Lankans. The owner of this name was the first to call Muralidharan a ‘chucker’. His list of ‘chuckers’ ran large, but none in that ‘list’ included any from outside the subcontinent. The latest ‘Hair’ raising controversy includes no chuckers or an individual, but an entire team and the cricket ball. On seeing the roughed up side of the ball, Hair, along with his Caribbean colleague, Billy Doctrove, came to the conclusion that the Pakistanis were upto no good and had tampered with the ball, thus, not just calling for a new ball, but awarding England with five penalty runs! Not once did Hair or Doctrove warn the Pakistanis about their suspicion. Not a single one of the 20+ cameras caught any of the Pakistani players tampering with the condition of the ball. In fact, not even did the two umpires see any players messing around with the leather and seam! A look at the scuffed part of the ball was enough for the two to come to the conclusion that the subcontinent men had ‘brought the game to disrepute by altering the conditions of the ball’. In protest, Pakistanis who were well on their way to a consolation victory, refused to come out to the field after tea, making the two batsmen and umpires wait. The cameras focused on the closed Pakistani dressing room.

After a few anxious moments, the protesting players walked out to the field, but this time it was Hair’s turn to act childish and be the protestor! The umpires called the play off for the day and didn’t come out! The Pakistanis eventually forfeited the game—the first ever time a country has done so in the 129 year history of test match cricket!

Did Inzy and co do the right thing by not protesting in such a manner? YES! Period. ‘Childish’, people would say, but enough of Hair’s anti-Asian attitude! I am not a big fan of Pakistan, as considering their history of ball-tampering incidents; they might well have done something wrong on this ball as well. But, show us the proof, Mr Hair. ICC apparently, has decided to stand behind its umpire. This is not a surprise as the cricket’s governing body has not once, supported the cause of Asian cricket.

In 1994, when England played South Africa, the English captain Michael Artherton was caught red handed on camera applying some dust from his pocket on the cricket ball. Was that not trying to ‘alter the condition of a cricket ball’? The skipper was let off with a fine! Inzy however, faces a fine and ban of one test and/or two one-dayers! This may not be for tampering, but for leading or for that matter, not leading his team out on the field and protesting. Hair, on the other hand, will go scot-free for his counter protest. A definite case of double standards!

Who is the eventual winner in this? No one! Who lost? The people who had paid money to watch some cricketing action! And of course, the game itself!

ICC—Idiotic Cricket Council or Idiots who Create Controversies, indeed!

Retirement Plans...

“I think I’m gonna retire!”
“Why?”
“Like Ganguly, my form seems to have disappeared with age. I can’t win matches anymore.”
“Age? What age? Don’t talk rubbish. Form is temporary, class- permanent!”
This was just one of those cricketing clichés that my best pal, Vijesh used after a game, as we were brooding over ‘what could have been’. Both of us ended up being in the same team, for once, in a four-over friendly. The previous Sunday was the only other time I’d faced a delivery, after the September of 2004, when the Xavier’s ‘selector’ thought that “undedicated players” shouldn’t be a part of the team (mentioned in my first ever post). Coming back to the game, I thought my bowling in that game was lackluster, but I knew I had to make up for it with my batting. We were chasing a rather modest 26 in four. After the fall of the first wicket, Vijesh and I put up a partnership as we inched closer towards an easy victory. But, just as we needed five of the last over, Vijesh was run out and I was left with having to score just five of the last five. ‘Easy’, one would think, considering I have accomplished more difficult asks earlier. But Appu is one of those bowlers I hate to face. He has been my nemesis time and over again. And as this left handed batsman played and missed the second ball from the left-handed bowler, I knew this wasn’t going to be as easy as the equation suggested.
Five of four. But Appu’s impeccable line did me in again as I charged down and missed again.
Five of three. I just couldn’t trust the batsman at the other end for, to borrow Geoffrey Boycott’s words, ‘my mum could play better than him’. I made up my mind to stay in the crease and play the ball according to its merit. The ball was on my legs and I flicked it down to the fine-leg area, but alas, only if runs were allowed behind the wickets. We were not playing eleven-a-side and therefore, couldn’t afford to keep men behind the wickets.
Five of two. A thousand thoughts ran through my mind as I was clueless about what my PoA will be in the next delivery. Another excellent delivery and I played and missed. Again!
Five of one! I had no choice but to go down the track in this ball. Appu marked his run-up and ran in with the green coloured tennis ball gripped firmly on this left hand. And as soon as the ball released itself from the think yet long fingers, I charged down the pitch. The ball turned out to be a full-toss close to my legs. I heaved it to the leg side, this time making sure it stayed in front of the wicket. Vijesh let out a huge cry, seeing the ball high and seemingly about the clear the field. But to his dismay and to my own, the ball bounced about five metres within the boundary. As I was jogging the 22-yards watching the ball sail high and bouncing twice, I was pleased to even secure a tie. But wait! It wasn’t over. I thought the ball might hit the iron fence. It would have, but for that narrow ditch dug up just before the fence. The ball died inches before the fence inside the ditch only to be picked up by a joyous fielder. We lost! I banged my bat to the green grass and looked up to the heavens.
I couldn’t help wondering to myself—‘Blessen, the match-winner is dead! Blessen, the cricketer is dead!’ But again, inevitably, an ‘inner voice’ (or was it Vijesh?) told me, “He never will.”

When the nation prayed for a Prince!!!

Scenes that one occasionally see in Hollywood movies came alive, as a good part of the nation, glued to news channels, prayed for the ‘re-arrival’ of a five-year-old Prince. Well, he was five when he fell in the 60-ft-deep pit, six when he came out! No one would ever want to spend their birthday inside a dark cavity. But, almost every one would love it when an entire nation wishes him/her. The irony however, was such that the birthday boy himself did not even know that he had become the talk of the town, rather, of the country.

A walk down the roads from my ‘new town’ to my ‘old village’ was enough to convince me that the Indians were desperately in need of some positive news. The TV mechanic shops had a flood of people around it watching the army try hard to get the little six-year-old out of darkness, literally. The motorists, for once, were not complaining of the jams that the crowd caused. Last time, someone saw this many out on the roads catching a glimpse of television screen was perhaps when Sachin Tendulkar was going berserk against the Pakistani bowlers at the 2003 world cup. For once, the nation was rejoicing, and the reason was not cricket!

As the jawan brought Prince out wrapped in a white blanket, shouts of joy and celebrations en masse was just a matter of time. A little tap on the jawan’s back with a stick by his senior officer. The Prince was alive and ready to celebrate, finally, with the nation. Noise of the fire-crackers could not quite match the one that followed Indian victory against Pakistan, but sure sounded sweeter. Proxy cake-cuttings ensued and ‘vote of thanks’ rose to the heavens, even as Prince’s mother did the latter to the nation.

'Prince'- the name itself had no caste or religion! He could have been a Hindu, a Sikh, a Muslim or a Christian! Many are yet to know about it. I don't even want to! All that mattered was that he was an Indian and a six-year-old at that. The nation wept together, the nation bit its nails together, the nation prayed together, the nation finally celebrated together!!!

Happy Birthday, Prince. Long Live the Prince!

...

I can sum up the recent happenings of Mumbai in just these few lines!!!

Rain, Riots and Blasts...
Flood, Fury and Fanatics...
What IS happenning IN Mumbai???
Yet, nothing WILL happen TO Mumbai!!!


Blogger's Note: The headline is left with just three dots on purpose, indicating I have nothing much to say!!!

A Shoulder To Lean On!

There are times when one desires to be close to someone. Someone who would listen to you—your ramblings and cribbing. Someone on whose shoulder you can lean on and cry your heart out. Someone, who can pick you up when you are down. A close friend, with whom you can pour your heart out. I had gone through similar cravings. But those remained just that, cravings until I came to a beautiful realisation of that Someone who I know will always be there!

Many a time, this thin shoulder of mine has been a place where a head leaned on and some tears found a resting place. My ears have been a recipient of a lot of stories that flowed along with the liquid of the eye.

There were times when at the point of breaking down, I always somehow manage to keep it within myself. I know the friends that I can rely on will all be there for me, but they are at most times, a little too far for comfort.

This is when I stumble upon the beautiful hymn:

What a friend we have in Jesus,
All our sins and grieves to bear,
Oh what privilege to carry?
Everything to Lord in prayer!

Oh, what peace we often forfeit?
Oh what needless pain we bear?
All because we do not carry,
Everything to Lord in prayer!

Can we find a friend so faithful,
Who will all our sorrows share?
Jesus knows our every weakness
Take it to the Lord in prayer

The hymn has been my ultimate encourager! And when I started sharing all my sorrows to God, I felt someone not just lending me a shoulder, but carrying me on it. When I was down, He lifted me up and when I was empty, He filled my cup. I felt lighter and from that point on, a smile always lingered on some corner of my face. One of my closest friends once asked me, “Blessen, how do you manage to have a smile even when you don’t go through the best of times?” It was the comfort of God at play!

'Soccer' or 'Football'???

Some call it the ‘soccer’ world cup while some others refer to it as the ‘football’ world cup. I play safe by calling it the ‘FIFA World Cup’! So, what exactly is the actual name of the game, where 20 players kick around and fight for an eight-inch diameter ball, while two at the extreme ends of the ground in a different form of clothing are the only ones allowed to handle and kick as well? Well, the fact is that in India, you will be correct if you label the game with any of these names. But in US (Oh, these Americans!), if you want to see ‘football’, chances are you will be taken to a see 30 ‘huge’ men fighting (quite literally), kicking, running around and doing all sorts of things with an eye shaped ball. The score line will read similar to that of a 5-over cricket game. Dubya’s men call this game (which is very similar to rugby) ‘American Football’.

But the origin of the word ‘soccer’ has a little interesting story behind. The game of rugby football was very famous in the UK towards the end of the nineteenth century and so was the trend, started by the Oxford University students, of adding ‘er’ as a suffix to every shortened word! Rugby football was referred to as ‘rugger’ (‘rug’ of rugby+ er). Charles Brown, a student of the University, was asked if he played ‘rugger’. A witty reply flowed from Brown’s mouth, “No, Soccer!” Witty, because ‘soccer’ as a term never existed at that time and the Oxfordian had shortened Football Association as ‘soc’ and added ‘er’ to the word. A new term, ‘soccer’, was born and possibly, and in a way, a new sport was born too! Brown went on to represent England in soccer. The rest, as the cliché goes, is history as soccer became one of the widely used terms in the sporting world and needless to say, the game itself is undoubtedly, the most popular sport!

After Thought: For me, ‘Football’ seems to be an apt term to describe the “the beautiful game”. Unlike its American counterpart, the game minus for the goal-keepers, only involves the legs unless the ball is out of play. ‘American Football’ should actually be called something like ‘American do-anything-with-the-ball’ or ‘Americans fighting-over-a-ball’!

Eat Your Words, Mr Chappell!!!

“West Indies have forgotten how to win!” Greg Chappell made a statement to this effect to the media just before the Indian squad left for its tour to the Windies. Five one-day matches later, Brian Lara and co have ensured that the Aussie had to swallow his words. The final score line that reads 4-1 is a far cry from what Mr Chappell would have imagined. The Indian team, having convincingly defeated Sri Lanka and England at home, was at its peak of confidence as they left for their venture in the Caribbean. But after two weeks of cricket in the islands, a huge question mark hangs over the team’s ability to perform abroad.

Now that the series is over, post mortems have already begun in the media. A team that was languishing at the eight spot in the ICC’s ODI rankings humbled the third placed team, considered about three weeks ago to be favourites for the 2007 world cup. Chappell’s policies and experimentations were praised and even this blogger, in an earlier post (Indian Cricket… On its Way!!!) had ‘expressed’ his happiness on the progress of the Indian team. But I had also mentioned- It is very important that India does not get too carried away for most of these wins happened in the sub-continent. The real test will come when India visits the Caribbean next month as the World Cup will take place there in 2007. They have to maintain the standards they have set and prove, more to themselves, that they are ready to rule the world.

What I feared came true! Indian team did get carried away. The standards they had set for themselves weren’t maintained, especially while batting! More than the Indian team, it seemed it was their coach who got a little too carried away. Making a statement like that was really uncalled for, no matter how weak your opponents are! Brian Lara, in fact, made it clear that it was Chappell’s statement that made them push that much harder to almost blank out the Indian team. Something that Chappell’s predecessor, John Wright was respected for was his ability to respect his opponents and open his mouth only when it was needed. Chappell’s true Australian attitude came to the fore when made that statement. The West Indians made sure that he not only had to eat his words, but also was made to pay for it! Arrogance is good, but only when on the field. Off the field, one might do well to mind one’s own business and I am afraid the Aussie failed in it. Every sport is won or lost out on the playing area.

Blaming Chappell alone won’t be fair, for the young players performed way below par. But what were selectors thinking when they knew Sachin won’t be available for the ODIs? It was obvious Robin Uthappa won’t be a part of the squad until about the last match. He was the only other opening batsman along with Sehwag, as the selectors conveniently ignored a few experienced hands. Yes, I am talking about Sourav Ganguly. Expecting Dravid to do well every time he came out to open was asking a bit too much from the Indian skipper. VVS Laxman, the other player to have done well in the last tour to West Indies, also missed the ODI bus. It’s alright to pick youngsters, but when on a tour, it is safer that you carry a couple of experienced heads too! Indian selectors would do well to remember that next time they pick a squad. Also, surprising is the omission of Ajit Agarkar for test matches, the best Indian bowler during the ODIs. One really can’t comprehend the logic behind Mr More and Co’s decision.

But, I hope Greg Chappell, More and more importantly the Indian team proves me wrong and retains its pride my winning the test series in the West Indies. They have the ability. All they have to do is to put it to good use. Easier said than done, I suppose!

Someone's Missing from the Field, Mate!!!

A really funny and strange incident happened on the cricket field today. It’s my first and possibly the first ever time in the world of cricket! Second ODI between India and West Indies… The Caribbean side has lost two wickets with the board reading just 16 runs. Ajit Agarkar just completed the eight over of the West Indian innings. Irfan Pathan starts a fresh over. Batsman on strike—Ramnaresh Sarwan and at the non-striker’s end is the great Brian Lara! Pathan bowls and the bowl hits Sarwan’s left pad and rolls about three metres away from the crease. The batsmen quickly call for a single and goes for it. Suresh Raina, who had just dropped Lara’s catch in the previous over, reaches the ball in a flash and with a little underarm throw, disturbs the stumps. The Indians start to appeal. Raina looks around appealing. Sehwag, standing at square leg turns around to appeal to the square leg umpire. He throws up his arm, but soon realises there is someone missing there. The square leg umpire! Where is he??? The Indians are scanning the infield to find the whereabouts of a gentleman in blue formal shirts. The cameras manage to catch him walking in with both his hands half raised from behind the wicket-keeper. Mr. Billy Doctrow was apparently adjusting something next to the sight screen and not a soul noticed this man walking off! The Indians are stunned, the West Indians are stunned, the crowd is stunned, the commentators on air are stunned and more importantly (or is it funnily?), the two umpires themselves are stunned! After a long discussion, the umpires decide to call it a ‘dead ball’. Dravid clearly wasn’t amused at the incident but Harbhajan saw the funny side to it (and so did this blogger)! Although Lara was safely home, it would have been interesting how the Indians would have reacted had he not made his ground!

Funny or not, it sure makes up for an interesting tale to share to our grandchildren (considering they are cricket buffs as well). One can always say or at least I will, “I was there! Well, at least watching it live!”

The Da Vinci Code- Popular among Protestors!!!

A good majority of Christians all over India are protesting against the release of the movie, the Da Vinci Code! So, what is my opinion regarding the protests? A staunch Christian that I am, one might expect me to support those protesting against the release. ‘RUBBISH’ is what I’ll say. In fact, you might just find me protesting (if there was any) against the protestors of the release.
A few dignified Catholics formed a part of the censor committee to review the film and amongst them, were the Director of my institute (or should I say former?) XIC, Fr Myron Pereira and former Police Commissioner of Mumbai, Julio Rebeiro. The committee cleared the film minus any cuts only asking the producers to put up a disclaimer saying the film is purely fiction. Still, doubts lingered over the release as protests intensified. My questions to the protestors are these—
When Christian countries the world over including Italy and US didn’t have any objection, why India why? Why can’t we treat this as just a fictional story?
In fact, protestors have made sure that the film has got undue popularity although the reviews from Cannes Film Festival suggest that the film was disappointing. A lot more people who perhaps didn’t even know what the Da Vinci Code was all about would now want to watch the movie! Protests against Dan Brown’s book by the same name no doubt, increased its popularity. The fact that other Brown’s books weren’t as popular as the Code drives home this point. I recently finished reading the book and I must say that I wasn’t too impressed with it. The story sure was interesting and intriguing but I’m not sure if I admired the style of writing (and the ending I thought was slack). But there is another point to be noted here! Some people who read the book didn’t completely take it as fiction, which is why I agree with the censor board to add in a disclaimer. One of my brother’s friends, after reading the book commented in front of my bro, perhaps unaware that the latter was preacher’s son, “This is the end of Christianity man! Christianity ka toh waat lag gaya!” (or something along those lines) Because Mr. Brown mixed a lot of fiction with little facts, some were of the impression that what he wrote were only facts! Few people bother to turn the book and notice a portion of the bind which reads ‘Fiction’.

The foundation of Christianity wasn’t laid by a few mortal men who wrote the gospels and the rest of the Bible. It was laid by Someone who walked on this earth, performed miracles and died a criminal’s death only to be resurrected on the third day. How then can one think that this foundation will be shaken by a badly-made movie or a fictional book? Over the years, many such books have come out, some even claiming to be non-fiction, but not one was able to do any harm to the faith!
All I’ll say to those who object to the movie is, ‘If you don’t like the movie, then don’t watch it!’ It is as simple as that! Believe in the four gospels. Don’t make Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code, the fifth gospel! It (both the book and the movie) is after all just a fiction!

An Encounter!!!

We were done for the day (night would be more appropriate). A nice, yet stinky Marine Drive breeze hitting our faces as we were lazily trying to move on. Rishi’s treat at Pizza Hut was yet to get digested. At least that was so in my case! We had refreshed ourselves by little cuttings and a strong coffee. Pooja and I were supposed to head towards VT (now CST) and the rest towards Churchgate.

Suddenly, a family of three approaches us. A 30-something man, a lady and a child. The lady is holding a little bag and the child’s hand is firmly gripped on his dad’s. The man closes in on Rishi and all of us are almost certain he is here asking for directions. But to our surprise, he asks the birthday boy, who turned 22, for some money. Apparently, the family hadn’t eaten anything! Rishi just nods his head giving a reply in the negative, the reason for which is in his blog. The man looked disappointed. Home-bound people, meanwhile, are trying to cross the road. I can’t help but feel extremely bad for the family. ‘They look hungry and lost,’ I think aloud besides adding aloud to my friends, “I feel bad yaar.” I understand why Rishi denied giving them a helping hand. These days, whom do you actually trust and believe? Rishi’s earlier experience had taught him a few lessons. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. But, as all of us somehow crossed the road, my mind is deeply troubled. From across the road, I see the family approaching a couple facing the sea. The couple also seemed reluctant to help. They get up and walk away. The family sits down facing the road watching the speeding vehicles in front of them. My eyes go back time and again to the three especially to the little thing sitting between his parents. “I am feeling really bad yaar. I feel like I should give them something!” Mayura and Pooja tell me to “go ahead.” But at the back of my mind, I am also wary of the fact that you can’t trust every person and especially here in this great city. I finally heed to my friends and instincts and cross back walking towards the sea-phase. The man sees me approaching. He’s sharing a packet of mixture with his family. I suddenly feel a ray of hope in that man’s eyes as he sees me get closer to him. I had already removed a ten-rupee bill from my wallet and kept it in my hand. I am about a hand’s distance away from the man as I hold out the bill to him. He takes it willingly, folds it in half and keeps it in his shirt pocket. I ask him his whereabouts and how he landed up in Mumbai. I learn that he is from this place called Yavatmaal and had come to Mumbai to meet his brother. But his brother, in the meantime, had gone to Manmad and he had no clue where he lived. ‘How can someone come to this huge city without even knowing where he lived?’ I ponder. But at the very next moment I realize that this is after all Mumbai. He continues that he needs about 150 bucks per person to reach his place. And they were chucked off from the train by a TC as the trio was traveling ticketless. “Now we don’t have money to eat. Only if we could get money to buy one ticket, we could have adjusted.” I sense that he expects more than the tenor I gave him. A thought crosses my mind whether I should part with another tenor. But I decide it is best for that tenor to remain untouched for the time being in my wallet. I just vaguely say something and heads back towards my friends standing on the other side. I say to Vanessa, “I might as well be fooled rather than feel bad for not having done anything.” After hearing their story, I am a little put off, although deep within I don’t know whether to accept what that guy said whole-heartedly.

I am still not sure whether what I did was the right thing. All I knew is, I had parted with ten bucks and that, considering the situation, didn’t mean big to me. I had much more in my wallet. I don’t even know if what I did was charity. But I definitely know that it made me feel slightly better. As I walked back with my friends, I kept thinking ‘we had filled our stomachs with food that cost us more than half a grand.’ It made me think about all the other families. Then, realization dawned. I shouldn’t really be going too far thinking about other such families struggling for money. An example of that, was in my very home. My dad in his youth! It made my eyes dense. But I concealed it pretty well and made sure the liquid doesn’t roll over to my cheek, as the birthday boy walking alongside me was on the phone answering yet another birthday wish!


(My dad’s story is stuff for a later blog)

Not Just A 'MOM'!!!

So, another Mothers’ Day just passed by without this blogger wishing his dear mom! I got this email recently, the writer of which is anonymous. But, it can really make one think! When we go across looking around at people’s profession, ‘mother’ as such never figures as an occupation. I dedicate this post to all the mothers around the world. (Not that any mother reads my blog. But here’s wishing all those moms whose children take pain (almost literally) to visit my blog—a belated Happy Mothers’ Day!!! I wont do much talking here… the piece that I got through email should speak a lot about what a ‘mother’ is all about and proves that a ‘mother’ is not actually just a ‘mother’!!!

A woman named Emily renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.
"What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a..."
"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."
"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation... 'Housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically.
I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, "Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."
"What is your occupation?" she probed.
What made me say it, I do not know... The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations."
The clerk paused, ballpoint pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.
"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"
Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, (what mother doesn't), in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I'm working for my Masters, (God as well as my whole family), and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day (24 is more like it). But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother."
Motherhood--What a glorious career!
Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!
This Sunday, don't forget the Research Associates. God sure cherishes every one of them!

The Predictions and The Results!!!

‘I am terrible with predictions and I won’t hesitate to eat my words. But I hope I don’t have to!’
--Me, a couple of posts earlier….

The results are out and I guess I had to eat my words… but mind you... only in one case!

Tamil Nadu
My Prediction: Amma retaining power.
Outcome: Dark shades are back! Mr. Karunanidhi had some surprises in store for me. This is one place where my political brain got it all wrong. It was indeed the DMK-led Democratic Progressive Alliance that romped home winning 161 out of 234 seats, thus gaining a clear majority. However, unlike AIADMK last time, DMK will be at the mercy of the Congress Party as despite being the single largest party, it fell way short (93) of the figures required for the majority (118). So, while DMK can play its cards at the Centre, Congress can do the same in Tamil Nadu. Both parties will have to accommodate and appease each other.
CM: Who else, but the man who sleeps with his shades on—M Karunanidhi.

But in the other four states, I seem to have got it reasonably right.

Kerala
My Prediction: Left Democratic Front (LDF) coming to power.
Outcome: While the scoreline might suggest that it was an easy ride for the Left with victory in 95 seats out of 140, it (scoreline) took many poll analysts by surprise. Not many believed that UDF (United Democratic Front) will get more than 30 seats. The tally of 43 seats therefore, wasn’t too bad a performance. It’s hightime that Karunakaran starts thinking of hanging his political boots. His newly formed party could win just a solitary seat as his own son Muraleedharan faced his consecutive election loss! BJP, as expected, still hasn’t opened its account.

CM: There are two candidates for the CM’s post here—Achuthananthan and Palloli Mohammadkutty. Penarai Vijayan, who I thought had a chance, doesn’t seem to figure in the scheme of things.

Off the topic: Karunakaran’s newly formed party is called Democratic Indira Congress followed by the initial of his name in the brackets, which when converted into an abbreviated form will read DIC(K)… Ahem… I wont comment any more on that.

West Bengal
My Prediction: Left Front
Outcome: Buddha smiles yet again!!! As if anyone had any doubts about that! The only question at West Bengal (which will soon start to read as Left Bengal) was the margin of victory. I will just let the numbers speak for itself. The Left Front garnered 231 out of 294 seats. Here, the CPM alone can form the next government winning 173 seats, comfortably ahead of the required majority of 148. With these kind of numbers, there was little Left for others like the Trinamool Congress and the Congress.
CM: Who else… Buddha is smiling again, as I said…. Bhattacharjee!

Assam
My Prediction: Congress may retain power but will find it difficult to gain numbers to form the majority.
Outcome: Out of the 126 seats, the Congress along with a couple of independents have won 54 falling short of the majority by 10 seats. Now as I’d predicted, the situation here gets interesting! This is one state where the ‘significant others’ will play a major role. There are 20 independents in the ‘Other’ category and these are bound to the ‘king-makers’ in the state. Besides the ‘Others’, the newly formed Assam United Democratic Front (AUDF), that won 8 seats, will have a say in the formation of the next government. One reason why the Congress managed to scrape despite the anti-incumbecy that was supposed to work against them, was Prafulla Kumar Mahanta’s faction of Asom Gana Parishad (Progressive) [AGP(P)] and the BJP digging into the ‘original’ AGP’s votebank. It is also said that AUDF ate up a lot of Congress’ votes. While Congress might just about manage to form the new government, the picture is still not clear as to who will be the next CM. It is very likely that Tarun Gogoi might well be the man, again.

Pondicherry
My Prediction: Congress will complete a hat-trick.
Outcome: The Congress-led DPA won 21 out of 30 seats. But the Congress will have to cling on to its partner DMK to remain in power. As I had predicted, a few rebel candidates proved to be a bane for the DPA, yet it wasn’t enough to keep them out of power. AIADMK could garner just six seats completing a bad phase of elections for Amma.
CM: R Rangaswamy

Meanwhile, at the Rae Barelli re-elections to the Lok Sabha, Mamma Gandhi won by a whooping four lakh votes! All the other candidates, excepting one, lost their election deposits. This really begs the question—why were this election held in the first place when the result was a foregone conclusion. Just another way to spend (read waste) people’s money, I suppose!

So, there you go... since we are playing with numbers... an 80% success rate in my predictions ain't too bad, heh? Especially when it concerns Indian politics where anything can happen any time!!


Note: All the numbers mentioned in this post are during the time of going to blog and can vary with little or no difference.