Mighty Pen!

"You're not allowed inside without a pen" he muttered.
Late to work as usual on a Monday morning, I had no time for the old watchman's wisecrack or his aging ego. In a nasty tone that I dread to use, I yelled back "what the f***? Are you out of your senses? I'm here to get my damn phone repaired and not here to write an exam!!"

Eagerly awaiting an apology and a fear stricken staff welcoming me inside, I looked around screwing up my face harder to show how disgusted i was. There was no audience, in spite of my unusual loud dialogue delivery. I could only see empty chairs and a very unconcerned receptionist busy talking on the office landline. Perhaps, this was a common welcome act. "Yuu are educated, and don’t carry a pen...what generation is this" he said and threw a pen on the table. "Signing compulsaari...in the registeru" and turned the worn-out register towards me. The waning act of anger waned further as I toned down my voice and replied sarcastically.."well...this is your register and your requirement....why should I carry a pen?" Not very keen about his answer I just signed on the register without bothering to enter any details and move on. "too many pens I lost saar, people sign and steal it" he murmured as he diligently examined the register I had just scribbled on.

I moved towards the door to enter the service center, assuring myself that very soon I will find someone to vent it out on.

As the door refused to welcome me in, the irritating voice filled my ears again "entree madbeku....switchu illi idey" (only after you enter the details will I press open the switch to the doors) the old man said. Biting my lips hard and wondering if my dead phone was worth the fight with a old man who derived sadistic pleasure, I grabbed it without looking at him and filled all the painful details. The 'purpose of visit' section was itching me to be as profane as I could be.

As a true Bangalorean who is conditioned to the 'adjust maadi' philosophy, my darkest thoughts waned as I looked at him again and consoled myself, as this be the good-deed-of-the-day and scribbled 'phone needs to be resurrected'

I threw the pen on the register after this to announce that my purpose of visit was on record. Without turning the register he tried to read what I had written, he turned his old head as much as he could holding on to his withered blue cap.

Twisting his cheeks a little more he murmured something. "Ri...swami....yenri nimma golu?" (what's your fuck up?!!) I asked. With a quick look he pressed the button door open and said "handwriting aa idu??"(what kind of handwriting is this!!)
"This is it!" I said to myself and stared back at him. This time, real hard.
Unperturbed and realising his folly, our man said "not yours saar...look at all others. These days computer maadtare....penu..pencilu...gone...."

Realising that our man is discontent with change in general, I walked past him and entered the service center, finally. After a fruitless effort to revive my phone, I walked past him again hastily not wanting anymore delays. Turning around to check if the next gullible customer had to go through the same, I stopped by at a distance, watching a pot-bellied man with thick gold chains hanging around his wrist build a surprisingly quick rapport with this dated gatekeeper. He just signed the register, smiled and the doors opened. I wondered if he was a regular customer and therefore a quick entry. As I began to move on leaving behind this 'service center' that didn't believe in service, the old man caught me watching this and embarrassingly screamed "Saar nodi...free pen kotru..avaru yaaro...neevu..next time baani pen hidikondu" (see...he's leaving behind his pen after signing, you do the same next time :-)

At a loss for words.

Today, I was experiencing one of those rare instances, when life paused for a moment. White light flashed before my eyes. And I went weak in the knees. The broken wrist and the displaced elbow didn't hurt as much as this simple question the young physio threw at me after thoroughly examining my hand. "Are you married?" he vaguely asked.

"Why? does that mean bad news, and what's marriage got to do with my broken hand?" I said to myself. Will I no longer be able to use my hand purposefully in a married life? Or, would he want to apprise the impending consequences to my 'would be' father-in-law, if I were to reveal I was planning to marry. "By any god-damn chance can it affect my reproductive organ?" I felt weak in the knees. Shrugging off vague thoughts and consoling myself that a freak accident like this cant change my life or freak me. Even before I could answer him back as I came to terms with the situation, the physio had twisted my wrist real hard as I heard a cracking sound. I twitched my face in pain thinking what he's about to say next.

"It's alright, nothing to worry, but you may have to screw a rod in your wrist, a small operation and then you can use your hand normally" he bent down to take his seat on the rusted metal chair. Ignoring every single word of what he said, I decided to clear out the question that was bothering me more than the pain, I squeaked "what's the marriage connection." Adjusting his white coat, reminding me probably of his honourable profession, he smiled and described the process with a sigh "distraction techniques you see." By the time I acknowledged the innovative method that he employed on me, he was scratching some code words on a prescription for the little damage he had done on my wrist. "I'll go in for a second opinion" I said, just to confuse him a little this time. He paused without showing any sudden reaction and continued wriggling his pen as if he was still writing the prescription as he looked at me . I smiled and said "about the operation bit, of course."

The Matrix effect.

Often, after watching a good movie, some characters from the movie continue to live-on in our minds, for a while, at least. During my younger days, it happened a lot more frequently and I used to live the experience, literally. A 'dishum' on the screen would automatically tighten my wrist. A 'dishum-dishum' on the hero would mean anger and rage on everyone's face. And during community viewing (one TV in the neighbourhood phenomenon) nodding heads, expert commentators, and weepy women added that much more to the entertainment value of DD programmes.

After watching a Bruce lee movie, I could kick the shit out of anyone. Bash up goons single-handed or take on the whole world after 31/2 hrs of Bacchan Saab. This short stint imaginary characterization depended entirely on the movie and the character I patronised.

A few years back, The movie Matrix had a huge impact on me. Thankfully, it lasted for about 30-minutes. It was an expensive movie-date (no pocket money, no source of income) catching up with a friend (phoren returned) that day. About 300 bucks for a two-way auto ride, movie tickets, beer and food included. Fiesta time, certainly! I might have had some more money to spare, had my bike not ditch me that day. But in that case the story i'm going to write about wouldn't have happened.

So, the time, venue and agenda was set. And as I completed the part-bus, part-auto ride(to save money) to Rex Theatre on Brigade Road. Getting off the rick on MGs meant the joy of a brisk walk and save a buck, probably. The narrow footpath on Brigade's was fun though, every thing was/is available here. The footpath mela enticed all kinds of people, including me on any given Sunday. The railing was a vantage point as it offered a better view of yourself to the passerby, and of course for the cheap lot, the cheap thrills of brushing and rubbing against someone was high.

Hawkers spat venom if you trespassed their property on the footpath. It was the new age chaos. Cut to the chase, time was running out as I hurried past on this narrow street. And this was one movie I didn't want to miss out on. Also, the thought of the phoren dude waiting was a big obligation, feet moved faster and faster. I abandoned the footpath and jumped right onto the road. Evoking loud shrills of electric blasts coming at me from the cars.

After due appologies and giving all the possible reasons, I continued walking towards the theatre without the customary hug. Trying to show off that the ticket collector was someone I knew, I put up a smile on my face and ready to nod at him the minute he looked at me. Quickly realising that this guy would care less to see anybody's face but the tickets, I smartly tried to engage him “Movie startaagidiya??” A silly question, no doubt. Some joy, at times, in reconfirming the sad part. "Heard you failed in the exams?" Most relatives suffer from this ailment.

Exhillarting movie. Whistles and a pledge to come back again to watch it. It took me about 20 seconds after the movie got over, and the credits vanished that I decided to get up from the bug-infested chair to walk out. Keanu Reeves was walking out the theatre now. It was time for me to unleash myself. I had the power.

"Where do we go for a drink?" My friend asked. Realising that it was quite late in the night after the second show, I suggested that we have a quick dinner and leave, catch up next week for a drink. He hesitantly agreed. After, a walk past Brigade to MGs, assuming most joints would be closed, we had a hearty Tamilian Chineese style dinner from one of those carts lined up. A quick catching up on life happened between us as we lit up a cigarette and walked towards the autorickshaw stand. Vague interpretations began whenever we were not conversing. Keanu Reeves was reminding me that he was still around and wanted to live on for a while. I began to feel a little different and wondered if I had the power. A hard squinting stare at the auto driver would suffice to bring him to his knees and plead us to board his vehicle. It was about time I tried it out, I said to myself. Realising that this friend was also lost in thought, I sensed it was "spaceman spiff' time. But before, I wander into wonderland, we had to get our transporters convinced. About the destination. And about our 'yen guru' skills. "Auto" I shouted as we were reaching the MG road junction. The rickshaw stooped and the driver got off and bought some beedis from a hawker. We ignored him seeing a big bunch awaiting us near the junction.

Even before I raised my arm to signal an auto, there were more than one responding...wavering madly as if they knew us for long. One of them just asked us to get in his rick and not bother. Happy that we got our means, we continued walking towards his autorickshaw. "Where to?" he asked in Kannada. And as I told him the location, he nodded as if he knew that I was about to say that. He seemed to be a bit strange guy. He seemed to be under heavy hypnotic trance. As he got in the rick and I stubbed out the ciggarette on the road, he said "Swagatha -Come In"

It felt really strange to feel that warm in a autorickshaw. I acknowledged the weird look on my friend's face and winked.


As he pulled the long lever near his leg, the driver turned back to check my attire, a quick scan.
After a loud crappy stuttery jerk, the vehicle stated moving. As we reached the end of MGs, I had noticed that this weirdo driver turned back some 3 times tomake contact with us. Midway he rises up from the hot seat and leans back. Confused with this acrobatic stuff my friend looked at me in anger. I pinch myself to see if my power has become overbearing on him. The driver checks in person if the meter is moving or not and settles down. Realising that it isnt, I ask him "Yen swami..yen idu meteru..full golmaalaa?" Screeeeeeech...and he comes to a halt. Gets off the vehicle and detaches the long handle of the starter and walks away. Returns back with a smile.

“Urgent agitu saar” sorry what? “Toilet hogide” oh ok, we looked at each other and heaved a sigh of relief. One question was still not answered, why did he take the pull-start lever along? I asked him. Another scary screech as he just missed a drunk walker on the road. “Bewarsigallu” he yelled. I repeated my question again. And he jammed the brakes again and leaned back to say “ Naigala kata saar, readyaagirbeku attack madute (Dog menace, got to be prepared)” Seeing the reaction on my friend’s face, I felt some cajoling was required and laughed out load. That bugger jammed the brakes again and said “Joragi nagbeda…ee..roadalli yeradu deva ide (Don’t laugh hard, two ghosts wander on this road in the night).

We kept to ourselves for a while without talking and without looking at each other as he scanned the roadside for every detail and said how things had changed from the last night. As, my thoughts wavered the movie scenes began to appear and it made me feel strong and confident. I knew that I could chase of any ghosts by just staring hard and controlling their mind (if they had one).

“What a movie, it was” I said turning towards my friend as we reached closer to his home. I just prayed that the auto driver didn’t hear this and screech his vehicle to halt again to throw a comment. He did and this time he stared at the mirror that was just above the windscreen. Staring hard at me, as if he didn’t like what I just said.

We just missed stopping in front of the gate as I didn’t hear my friend show his house. As he got off, he asked me if I still wanted to continue the scary journey with this mad automan in a sarcastic tone. He baited me by saying “we can have a drink, and you can start of early morning” I took it up and decided to settle the night for the auto ride. As I leaned inside the meter to see, the driver spit out some red jelly from his mouth and blocked the meter with his hand. Surprised at this, I took a step further to face him and asked him if anything was wrong.

He spit the jelly out again, got off the seat and looked around. “Is this where you wanted me to go first?” he asked. “No, and I’m sorry as I decided to stay back” flashed another 5 rupee note to show that I was offering him something extra. He turned his neck in quick jerks to release his neck muscles. Flaring up his nostrils he asked “Hedirkond bitra? (got scared) I shrugged him off and cajoled him saying how that it was quite late and I decide to settle down here. What on earth can ‘the one’ be scared of? I said to myself and gave him the money. Spiting out a lot more than earlier and clearing his mouth the driver looked at my friend and me again as he took the money. He said in broken English to my friend sensing that he wouldn’t understand Kannada “go Himalaya Theatre..in Majestic…good evil movie …Bhayanak Raath I coming from there only…..see last show...you both enjoy too” and gleefully took up his seat and scooted away revving up the engine to make a loud noise.

The Advertising writer

It never really was meant to be this way.
Not even in the most awkward dream. How it could be true? I mean, me-the-dreamer will have to struggle for a living, every day?! Worse, struggle within, trying to put myself in the shoes of an unemployed graduate, or a fat housewife wanting to shed weight, so that i gain an insight, and in turn the big idea. Work in graveyard shifts to turn that adult diapers ad into a metal winner. Ward-off those admonishing, discussions that friends often planned and try to convince me to look for a 'decent' job. Writing was probably for the society misfits , the khadi-wearing-bag-trotting people.

'My dear friends, worry not' I would address them patiently and convince them that I was here with a bigger purpose in life. I was the gift to mankind. After all, I didn't toss that Logarithm book away when the class teacher asked me to by-heart, for nothing.’ Why would all those midnight oil burning sessions thinking of 'big ideas' go wasted? It couldn't be. Wasn’t I supposed to be dodging bullets, flying at supersonic speeds conquering the world. Well, it wasn't. I took the wrong pill that 'Morpheus' offered. Back to insanity. Back to real world.

"How long do you take to write a 20-page brochure? It's already 1 week!" the 50 year old client servicing executive yelled in my ear. A long introspective nap was disturbed. Blank white pages stared into my eyes, It told me that you I was still 'the one' I could live my dream. It convinced me that I had the power to change things, change perceptions without budging from my comfortable chair. This white blank page showed me how I could create stories, build brands that didn't exist, conjure up ideas would change the world.
Ah! Finally I managed to sell this brilliant story to myself. Kudos! I guess that's where the journey began. That's when the gray matter wasn't good enough until it sold well. So, 'Greysells' it was.

I'm just a dreamer

I don't remember my first dream. I guess none of us do, but wondering what it would've been like.

Did I see snapshots of the future? Did I see an ethereal world? Phantasmic images? Or was it so scary that it would jerk me awake from abysmal sleep? Technology may help us interpret them one fine day. I wonder how much significance will it be of. Though, gritty souls like me will enjoy every little clue that life throws at us. May be, I'll write another poem after that. Or, it may help me die with another dream. Who knows!