Confessions of a Tortured B'crat...

Dozing off and waking up in fits of boredom induced stupor, it was difficult to ascertain what was real and what was imaginary. The ambiance had played a perfect foil to eliminate whatever little chances there were of keeping awake and alert. The centrally air-conditioned conference hall lit comfortably and in a sleepy tenor by chic fashionable lamps coupled with a comfortable chair far away from the main speaker who had an extraordinary capacity to maintain a singular drone gave a perfect setting to doze off and fly away from what i was 'officially' supposed to do - attend a presentation by the Chief General Manager of MEBI as part of an JRS delegation on a study tour of Capital Markets.

It is incredible how bureaucracy has increased my patience and my capability to tolerate and survive hours and hours of conferences, seminars, presentations and other such members of that horrible array of nouns used to describe a group of people often sitting and wasting a lot of productive time , the net result of which is a big CIPHER.

Initially as I sat through one of the many seminars and meetings that we were regularly supposed to attend I would feel suffocated and after a point of time I would feel a total loss of control over my motor abilities and find myself on the verge of a violent and uncontrollable outburst. I would feel an irresistible urge to pounce on the main speaker and beat him to pulp or strangle him.

Needless to say it often led me to wonder whether I was suffering from some mental malady, especially since a couple of times after an interminable monologue by an 'expert' on some esoteric topic of finance , I had felt the urge to bite him and claw him.

But gradually over a period of time I was conquered by that iconic dulling process which is such a voracious predator that hardly any member of the bureaucracy survives unscathed.

Thus, I developed an ability to sit through absolutely motionless broken only by regular intervals of knowing nods and informed glances through hours and hours of acoustic torture. I also developed quite a few more enviable skills, the best among which was undoubtedly the ability to sleep with my eyes absolutely open.

Needles to say, it has stood me in very good stead ever since.


Disclaimer : The work is to be treated purely and completely as (il)legal fiction and the author suitably distances himself from any opinion or the lack of it evident from the piece.

They say I cannot tan. But I believe that there are different shades of black too. And I did move from one shade to another thanks to the relentless efforts of the down-south-sun. The problem though is the fact that now I seem to be stuck in the shade I moved into.

Oh life's so unfair...

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If laziness were to be a continuum I would surely be placed somewhere in the far far east. Often in one of my severe bouts of extreme laziness I am forced to wonder why we could not outsource breathing also. After all it sure looks an arduous task requiring our attention and effort day in and day out...

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Well why bother... even that requires thinking...

Thoughts on the Republic...

Years ago a lot of young men and women had a dream. And they also had the will and the courage to follow their dream. It took them through a treacherous path... a path full of seemingly insurmountable challenges. And yet the dream lived on and finally culminated in a dawn when a country was born. A country of their dreams... imperfect and yet beautiful in its various flaws. India was born.

Years later a lot of water has passed beneath the bridge and today’s youth cherishes a dream to conquer the moon. India has moved on.

Have the gaps widened between the haves and the have-nots or have we bridged the divide substantially...

Have we achieved the manifestation of the idea that our founding fathers nurtured in their defiant dreams...

It’s easy to jump to conclusions and lose oneself either in jingoistic affirmation or negate everything and wallow in self-pity. But the answer, if any, to the above questions is as mysterious as the idea of India itself.

Only time will tell.

Reverie...

After a weary day as I walk back in the fading sunlight I close my eyes and hold my breath ...and I can feel it.

Far away in the realm of the unknown I can feel the warmth of the lamp that’s just been lit and placed on the window sill. I open my eyes and I can see the flickering light of the lamp at a distance. My feet sense a strange energy as I start approaching the light. My heart warms up with the joy of homecoming.

Now I’m closer and I can feel the touch of the early evening dew on the grass. Like a thirsty traveller my heat parched feet drink it all up and rejoice in contentment. I look up and in a sky sparsed with white tufts of woolly clouds I see the moon... clear and bright. Far off the hills cover themselves with a blanket of darkness and go to sleep... dark giants... gentle and lazy.

The air is bathed in the sweet aroma of the evening flowers freshly bloomed and full of youthful vigour. The cricket rattles off a busy song as if it woke up suddenly to find that it was already too late for riyaaz. As the gentle breeze brings on its wings the evening mist I close my eyes...

I open my eyes and I see concrete mammoths all around me. I shudder and look up...the moon’s gone and the sky is a mix of a sickly neon and halogen. A screaming mass of metal rushes past me honking madly. The air is still and heavy with the stench of the rotting mass that lay by the roadside. I am scared and I want to run away... but all around me I see an ocean of artificial lights. And amidst this I see people... but they are not alive. They walk in a deathly stupor and with a predestined motion. And I realise that I too am a part of this. A cog in this gigantic wheel of illusion.

And yet the heart is unconquered. It still beats in a silent protest and I realise that all is not lost... all is never lost. My far away land in the realm of the unknown is ...just a blink away...

The Truth...

I now firmly believe that this is an axiomatic truth:

The amount and intensity of rain is directly proportionate to the number of clothes you have washed.

(The correlation works even better if you have woollens to be dried.)

[ Nevertheless it’s fun to have the rains here... jamke barso :) ]

Wish...fulfilled...

Finally and after a fairly long and painful wait lady-luck yielded and blessed my abode with wondrous drops from the sky. It’s hard to express the joy and that strange euphoric feeling when the sky was suddenly taken over by visitors from the land of rain. And unlike some of the previous occasions when to my utter dismay the visits were woefully short and ended without a chance of even the initial pleasantries, this time we had a long and wonderful conversation.

There is a strange beauty in rains after a long and seemingly endless summer. The dark skies, the fierce wind, the roar of the furious clouds, the lightning flashes across the length and breadth of a cowering sky...and finally with a sublime suddenness the sweet downpour. The trees getting drenched and swaying in the wind ...maybe there’s a song on their lips... tiny puddles on the ground growing bolder with each little drop...little streams flowing along happily with often a dry leaf hitching a merry ride on it...

And nothing can match the joy of sipping a hot cup of tea (with a hint of ginger of course...) and nice little onion pakodas while chatting to a group of friends or reading your favourite novel sitting in the verandah listening to the sweet song of the drizzle outside. Again nothing can be as soothing as the sound of raindrops on your terrace and on the window-panes when you are going to sleep...cosily wrapped up in your favourite quilt.

Ummm... I think I can smell the tea and the pakodas... bon appétit...

A Rain-wish...

Day after day, as a scorching summer sky bereft of even the tiniest speck of cloud imaginable greeted me in all its horrifying glory, my heart yearned for a dark rainy afternoon with dark grey rainclouds jostling for space in the sky... trees bathed in the sweet drizzle swaying gently in the intoxicating monsoon breeze.

I yearned for the wet cold feeling that you have when the sky that’s opened up generously drops big drops of rain on your outstretched open palms. I yearned for the sound of the drizzle as it hit the window panes dancing wildly in the wind outside. My eyes were parched and in some corner there was still a hope that in some distant realm there was an army of clouds which was getting ready to sweep in and quench my eternal thirst.

As the evenings stumbled in bringing in its wake a numbing darkness I fervently wished that in the utter blackness of the night the sky would conjure up silvery tufts which would soon grow up into dark rainclouds...

Rain...I’m waiting...