An Empty Stomach

Last night, I got into a 211 at around 9.30pm and was waiting for the driver and the conductor to start the bus. I luckily seated myself in a place where I could see the ugliness and the beauty that comes after.

A very lean man, not particularly dirty but without any linen to his upper body was trying to sleep in the bus stop. He was continuously groaning probably because of hunger and was fully in sweat where all else were enjoying the cool breeze of the summer night after a real hot day. To my surprise, he wasn't even begging, which he could have easily done as many were practicing the same keeping their pride aside. After the unsuccessful attempt to sleep, he sat down with his head up looking into the sky as if waiting for his last call.

I have seen many of these, and almost all the time thought of taking them with me to my house and to let them have a good bath, decent clothes and some food. But never did anything in real, though there was no reason that would stop me. This time also, I knew before hand, what I was going to think and how I would lay back doing nothing.

I observed a girl watching him from other bus, which stopped just next to ours. With her expressions, I learnt, she was also feeling like me. At first, she tried to avoid looking at him, but kept doing the same and looked like she was about to decide on something. Finally, she decided to get down and brought a cup of mango juice from a near by shop. By that time, her bus was about to leave. But she wasn't in hurry. That lean man was still groaning with his head over heels. She slowly patted him and gave him the juice. He was too weak to thank her and engaged himself in drinking as fast as he can. She got into our bus and sat next to me. He finished his juice and started looking for that girl with a feeble glow in his eyes. But she didn't see him anymore.

I wanted to talk to her, but I didn't know how to start it and you know my stranger-o-phobia? While getting down the bus, I said "That's nice of you." and she just replied me a with smile, I wouldn't forget and probably would torture me all my life.

Miss You Note

I always loved my work and wanted to be in the office even on weekends. I used to get surprised and feel happy to learn the minor technical details. I thought, I felt so because of myself and I could be like that wherever I'll be. But today, every minute seems like a chemistry exam and I want to run away and find someone like KC. I am getting scared of everything, schedule, work, status and almost everything. I should say, I am feeling technically lonely. I don't know why, but everybody seems to hate me.

I'm missing my TL. I missed him more, when ram gave the quarterly report of his team, which doesn't include me and pradeep and he did that only after rakesh reminds him to do so.

Farewell

I remember, when I used to get irritated for my mentor's (Kiran) over-guidance supposing I knew everything and I didn't need anybody's guidance. But over the time, I learned, what I didn't know, and that his extra care helped me to keep myself forward to my peers. How childish I acted not speaking to him, for holding me responsible of the mis-communication about Nortel's issue. I am sure, no one else, would have spared me so. That piquancy retained in my mind for sometime. I cannot recollect what exactly made me to be on friendly terms with him. Soon, I felt he is the best to guide someone like me. I remember this particular time, for he said 'it is OK!' when a customer pointed out a grave mistake of mine for using 'logical and' in place of 'bitwise and' He replied saying it was just a typo error. I felt so happy to have him as my mentor. Nortel's NPLUS project is the one I most enjoyed working with Pradeep and Kiran. I started liking him for some stupid reasons too like his birthday falls on 9th Nov, which is my brother's too and his son is also just a little older to Laasya. I always do compare him with my brother. Funny? Even I think so. One more funny reason is he is also BEC alumnus.

This friday, we had a farewell dinner for Kiran. After the dinner, while bye-bye-ing and leaving, Seenanna said, 'I don't know of all, but Thulasi will surely miss you.' I thanked Seenanna in my mind, for telling him this, which I wanted to say but wouldn't have said for my ego's sake. Then I tried to express my acceptance for Seenanna's comment and looked at Kiran for his response. He just smiled and replied 'I too.' with his eyes. I strongly feel, it isn't my imagination and that is what he meant, when he looked at me. I loved that half-a-minute for the way we exchanged our feelings unspoken. This reminded me of my brother patting on my shoulder and pulling me closer after his arrival in the airport, when everybody else was so interested to know whether Laasya would recognise him or not. I was in tears of joy for that little expression.

I (loved to) assume, Kiran and me share a special relation, which is unspoken, un-shown and so isn't known to anybody not even to Pradeep, but only to Kiran and me. I will miss him alot. It scares me to be in any other's team, for I guess, they won't accept me like KC did.

I wanted to tell these things to him, but I am afraid, I would get accused of trying to sweeten him for something else.

Perhaps.. a passing infatuation

This time, I hesitate to write down my feelings, as I feel, if they are within my mind, I am not bound to accept them and I think, I can suppress them with little effort. But now, it is out of my control and the moment awaits few words that may possibly express what I feel. I cannot promise to reveal everything now, because I may feel like dying of humility and can either give an abrupt end to this post or just delete it before publishing.

I have been infatuated at this old age and I am not sure if it is passing off or going to take away my peace. I wish, it will pass off, otherwise I wouldn't like myself.

I expected, I would take more words to say that, but now I understand, I cannot make it better, without being concise.

If I die,

Please any of you, show or convey this to my parents, not to perform any religious rituals for the cremation and not to let any of my relatives to touch me.

Note: I am just being too cautious for the unpredictable.

The duo

A simple thought put in a plain and honest expression is always a great combo. It makes one to surrender for a while and listen to. But as someone quotes it right, "making it simple, is always difficult." Even a finer idea without a simple expression, couldn't have made that impression on anyone. And also, expression without a clear thought would be as useless as a headless horse. But there lies the struggle to fit them like in a jigsaw.

I am always awed by particular writings, which may not hold a great story, but magnetises by the thoughts, that would have just slipped away our minds. Then the style of expression makes me feel like eating a candy. It seems, that meaning cannot be conveyed in any better way. I feel, an article or any equally meaningful word, would distort the expression, if misplaced. Those writings show off the writer's ingenious observation, how they think, and react or at least thought to react and importantly the honest way of writing them down. They might have well understood the pros of being honest while writing.

Though I don't aim to become a writer by profession, I love writing, which makes me to think of the concerned object. Sometimes it is otherwise too. I get a thought and so do I write, not to loose it in the current. The transformation of thought to expression is a sweet pain. It pricks slowly, teases a bit more, tortures like the hell in the moment of cliff, and then looks manageable, puts a smile, and finally brings success with a cheerful sigh. Oh no! it is not always a happy ending. Otherwise, some of my posts wouldn't have remained as just drafts, without ever getting published.

My thought gets hungry of expression.

The Final Door

There was a maze of doors, all of them looking more or less identical and seemed to be concealing the most enthusiastic things and the best opportunities one can ever find. When I entered this maze, everybody was cheerful making merry passing through each door. But I observed almost everybody taking a pause of few jiffies before knocking on each door. When I asked my mother, why it was so, she said, "There is a particular door dreadful, dangerous and there is nothing beyond that door. That one sucks people, whoever knocks on and vanishes them to air". She also instructed me to wait for somebody else to knock on any new door to be safe. May be that was the reason, people roamed around in mobs, where only one was leading them all the way. But I couldn't swallow my mom's precaution. I thought, she was indirectly asking me to be lame, to be handicapped.

From the day, I knew about this door, I felt joy in exploring this maze. Whenever I heard somebody knocked on that door, I didn't feel sad, Instead, it built up respect for them for leading the mob. I took inspiration out of every loss. I loved exploring the new ways. Sometimes, I was lost and took time to get back to hope. All the while, I knew, if I go on with this pace, I might knock on that door very soon. But it didn't scare me. Moreover, I felt, there was something else in that door, which these ordinary people failed to understand. I met few like-minded people, who were willing to accompany me my way. But I deliberately restricted them not to do so. For I couldn't bear the loss of any of them for the relation we share and couldn't cause them pain loosing myself. I felt comfortable in solitude.

One day, I reached the final door, but I didn't notice anything unusual. I seriously felt this one certainly couldn't be that door. I was even thinking of the future, making some plans to meet a very best friend of mine and to give her the sketch I was working on. And I suddenly remembered that I promised another friend to give a call. That particular moment completely erased my thoughts of that door. I knocked on it, rather in hurry to finish it all and to keep the promises I made. A blinding light glared into my eyes and somebody pulled me in with a force that even ten times of me couldn't resist, I was thrown into water, but I saw, the door was still open, I struggled to breath. I tried, but couldn't float, as I didn't know how to swim. I tried one last time to get out of the water. The more I tried to resist the invisible force, the more I was put to pressure. In this duel, I was pushed away. A sharp edge of a rock hit my head in the back. My head started bleeding. Soon, all the water got the color of sanguine. I wondered, if my head contained that much amount of blood. The door was closed before I lost the transparency because of the blood.

I was feeling weak and my body temperature was falling down. I tumbled down with forlorn hope. I closed my eyes, as there was no use for keeping them open. In that last moment, I wanted to remember the best thing that happened to me. It occurred to me that knowing of this final door could be the best one, otherwise I wouldn't have felt happy, every time I knocked on a door and checked my vital signs. Last thing I remember was the the smile I had given for the way I could convince myself for my fallacies. I think, I lied there forever and I still lay there buried under the rocks.

Author's note: I was inflicted with march madness and wrote this story which is neither meaningful nor the one that makes you responsive.

Sources of thought: Monsters Inc. , Mr. Nice Guy, Raj's death and me.