It s a Dog's Life

“What a day?” I thought!

What – a-- day?

Such a peaceful beginning?? Then I remembered that It was not one of those days of the week when the fat kid near my place would strut out early in the morning wearing his white shirt and white shorts...

His mother coo-coo ing him to eat. The already fattened kid getting pampered to become fatter. Then his dad honking for no reason at all as he took out his car to drop his baby hundred metres away from his house. Then the regular famished lady shouting at the top of her voice selling something. The hustle-bustle starting and invariably the guy in the khaki hitting me with his lathi daily to show his boss - the fat kid’s dad that he was clearing the way for his car. It did not matter where I chose to lie down. He made his boss assume that I was always in the way. This is how my day usually started… But today was different… Atleast for the other days, I wanted to get out of this place. But I did not have options.

I had to pull myself..one of my legs once got caught under a car’s tyre and it has not healed for quite a long time. I cannot walk.. I have to pull myself. And one more important reason – I prided myself on being the dog of the elite kind.. who lived near proper houses and clean surroundings. I could hardly stand the smell on the other side of the road with a nose that “talked” too much

All this did not stop me from going over to the “other side” of the road. The other side on all days was peaceful (like this one day of the week on this side). The other side did not have the hustle-bustle.
People were more serene than Ruffle herself. Ruffle... She was a friend.. A brown grizzly bitch she was.. with a dumb nose...or may be i was the peculiar one.. with the most talkative nose... I wanted to live near her place on the other side. But as i said, the strong smell of the river would kill me. And so would my pride.. I wonder how those humans and Ruffles managed to live there. “Those” humans.. they were very much unlike “mine”.

“Those”..they were relaxed and happy. You could see it on their faces. Mine were sick.. their brows would never part...there was no complete happiness.. as if they were always in pursuit.. They were in continuous movement. Either walking or cycling or on their bikes and cars belching out the choker smoke. Each one was to himself. There would be no happy chatter. Everyone was a world.Except for the khaki guy in the morning, no one would give a damn about me. Ruffle was the lucky gal. She had got friendly with a family in her place. She would hang out near their place almost for the whole day. She got to eat the crumbs daily from her people. Mine would dispose it off in the tall plastic green things. I once saw the cow getting caught inside it and i have vowed never to look into that food... never.. Moor was blue by the time they she managed to get herself out. She said she was about to die. Well.. I did not know how it felt like but it was not nice to die.. I knew that...

Well.. today was the comfortable day of the week. I could laze around without worrying about the mad rush in the mornings. These humans.. “My guys” as I choose to call them.. they are a peculiar lot.. Whatever they do, they mad rush and all of a sudden, I wonder how after every six days and six nights all that mad rush comes to a stop.

Ruffles was her cheery self as usual.. happily barking away and waddling around with a bunch of semi naked kids in the black river. As soon as I reached, she pranced on to me and bow-bow ed me to join their fun. She knew I would not join her but she nevertheless asked me. I excused myself telling that the river would spoil my fur. But I missed the fun.

The black semi naked kids were happiness personified. Their faces, though difficult for my eyes to recognise, were bloated with excitement and It seemed nothing in the world would ever stop their happiness. Their parents were looking at them with shining faces.. and amongst all the happiness, adding merriment to the party was Ruffles as usual bubbly and bounding with meaningless (or so it seemed) excitement. After the aqua excitement, the parents decided to treat their kids to a feast – rice with water and onions. The kids seemed to relish it. As Ruffles and I were looking at the food longingly, the lady gestured and asked the kids to offer us some food. The kids were overjoyed to offer us the food. Though we did not like the onions part, we lapped up the rice. Rice does something to the system. We cuddled up in a corner and we dreamt of having a kennel on our own.

After the nap, Ruffles offered to accompany me to my side.. and So we walked happily paw in paw and we reached our lane. All of a sudden, out of the corner there came zooming, a red bolt of lightning. The motorbike hit me on my torso and I lurched as I felt a mountain’s weight on my torso. I blacked out with a searing pain. I woke up with a start.. Blood all over… tubes had emerged out of my system. Ruffles was looking at me, yelping helplessly. The pain made me shout… it brought a few lookers but they were just passing by. The pain shot through my body. I wanted it to end and slowly I could feel the pain subsiding. I thanked my maker for relieving me of the suffering. “My people” were looking at me as they would look at a tree. The fat kid was looking at me with the same expressionless face. So did his dad from the car. His mom did not react either. The fat kid turned into the black kid who gave me his rice. My mind was playing tricks on me. May be it was sensing end. I wondered if the rice had got digested by now. I looked at Ruffles and thought if the people on the other side would let the same happen to her – “Die a Dog’s death”. I was almost beginning to stink by now and then there was Darkness.. and I “finally” thought “ What – a – Day ?”

The Music of Joy

I must say I am obsessed with the place I live. The interesting mix of people and the sights and sounds make every moment worth portraying. A scene that I witnessed remains frozen in my memory and this scene is the inspiration of this blog – “The Music of Joy”

In the angle created by my street leading to the arterial Anna Salai of Chennai and the trail of the famed Cooum is a hamlet – a rather poor one with people. They are a group of people with no particular kind of profession – some hawkers, some fishermen, some cart pullers, some rickshaw drivers, some “something– ers” and so on. Blame it on their birth, the society around them or their addiction to alcohol, they managed to stay poor and become poorer by the day. I seldom saw the end of the tunnel for this people who were dead-drunk. It seemed their state of drunkenness reflected the reality of their lives – with no purpose or sense of existence.

On a rainy night, I was walking past the angle, remembering a similar drenched bike ride, feeling happiness and sorrow both at the same time. I heard a loud cantankerous cacophony with a million vessels all beating at the same time. I heard a man’s crackling voice supplemented by a shriller stronger voice. As I walked further, I saw in a damp shade made by some of the “somethingers”, a scene that remains etched in my memory. A cold light from the fire created from a lucky few dry logs and the naked roof were keeping two families warm. A few vessels and their voices were creating the din. As the voice – one of the father’s – straining to create a tune caught up a tune, the other voices of the children followed and soon it had become quite a racket - a racket supplemented by the family’s enthusiastic response on their kitchen-wares(I doubt if they had a “kitchen”).. The bare minimum they had. It reminded me of my childhood when I listened in rapt attention to the tunes composed by my dad.

I was paying the same rapt attention again. The scene froze. It was me and the picture.. a moving picture.. a live picture.. It was me in the midst of a vast plain and with me was the picture peppered by drops of rain that was promising to become bigger. I cursed the rain. It would put out the flame. But it appeared the flame was leaping.. the tongues leaping as if to catch a fly out of thin air.. It was as if they were bracing themselves for astruggle against an uncertain future and stamping their authority that they would remain, survive and continue to fight. Quite similar to a puny rat who knows that he will be decimated but continues to fight the cat. The fire seemed to be dancing to the clanker of the vessels. The vessels no longer produced a cacophony.. or so it seemed.. The vibrations that the vessels propagated no longer hurt my ears. It conveyed a beautiful sense of hope - Of the courage to continue.. It seemed all of them.. The fire, the people and the vessels reverberated the same tune.. the same vibrations that had awesomely turned mellifluous.. They seemed to resonate and conjure joy out of thin air. A Joy - so pure and so kind.. Not indecent happiness, a positive feeling without a hard work and with a strong sense of continuation. It was Joy – an optimism that conveyed hope for the present and into aeons in future which could mean a struggle against unknown devils.

I was lost. I was drawn into the music - the cacophony that had turned mellifluous. The joy and the hope created by the people, their vessels and the flame were so awesome and magical. It could give hope to the most desolate person on the world. I never had an ear for music but could not help getting lost in this warp of reverberations – so much filled with hope despite the damp and dark that the future held for them. It was the best music I had ever heard. More meaningful and strong to me than the planned & methodical music that people seemed to sing and listen to with dedication. To me, it was music of the purest and kindest nature - “The Music of Joy” that filled their lives with hope like a flame fills a dark room with its unadulterated light.

RAMBLINGS OF AN INSOMNIAC!!

There are moments in life which are sweeter.. or should i call more sinister than dreams.. The almost real dreams.. The reflections of the hidden mind.. The hypothalamic tricks... The dreams we long for... The thoughts which with us for a lifetime...The reflections of an insomniac head..!!! The thoughts and ideas are more a reflection of the reality.. the sounds, smells have been smelt before or will in real be felt soon...

I lay on the bed.. fighting with myself.. to put my restless head to rest.. It wouldn’t.. “Extremely agitated.. for what..for what...?? Could nt quite guess.. may be it was a protection mechanism the head had made for itself so that its thoughts should not make sense.. But all the thoughts were crystal clear.. or did i think they were.. may be.. may be not.. Gosh.. I am like the lady.. the yellow lady..yellow flowing saree.. ‘turmeric’ised face... Huge red “Bottu” on her forhead.... I had seen her today as I walked on the lattice bridge.. down below on the dry coovum river bed.. by the sides of the decaying waste mixed with stagnant water.. Stinking.. I could smell it... The dance started.. the eerie dance... Hypnotic.. Hypnotic is the word.. She was dancing.. not the usual dance.. not even like the tribal rain dance.. She seemed to vibrate.. her vibration shook the parched coovum.. The drums were even more hypnotic.. I could feel them in my nerves.. In my head.. yeah. I was feeling them in my head right now.. that is why i couldn’t sleep.. My mind was so groggy just then.. I longed to jump into the crowd and do the same hypnotic dance... I was rescued just then by the dog.. Yeah.. a calm sleeping dog... quite quiet.. “Cute”..The voice woke me up.. Thanks to the sweet voice I have been longing to hear.. The desired voice woke me up from the hypnotism...”So Cute...” Someone called at the dog from inside my head.. Someone had called the sleeping stray “cute”.... Oh..C’mon....”The stray is cute”.. That voice ought to be kidding... Farcical..!!! I had always wondered how someone could be so silly as to call a stray dog with its plucked hair – “CUTE”.. well...the same voice suddenly turned around and said “U r cute”.. ‘Damn.. The mongrel is cute.. so am I’... May be the hair on my head had grown so much a that I looked like a mongrel.. Not so long ago.. the hair had been proud.. ‘Wind in my hair’ I had exclaimed..with happiness.. immense.... riding along the beach of Chennai.. Did i like the wind so much or my hair so much... or rather the happiness of the ride and the happiness i had created by the ride... well.. whatever long hair was not very appealing these days.. Surya did not have long hair..he had them short like the military guy.. but he had six packs too.. I tried that.. too hard.. may be like the sour grapes.. But surya had grown up in Anna nagar.. so wat?? I dunno.. But it felt clear sense now that since he had grown up in anna nagar in the movie Vaaranam Aayiram, it was completely possible for him to have a six pack and a short smart military hair..

But I lived in Srinagar colony... It was a good place except for my morning walk to the bus.. not only for the time at which the bus came... It is goddamned same like the many other million places of the country.. just a wall separated the extreme-haves and the extreme-have nots... Ah.. the smell of the agarbati and the ghee idly wafted.. so typical of the rich fairy fair Iyers(nothing against them.. but envious because they are fairy fair and get to eat ghee idly without even caring to offer the hungry guy who walks past their house daily).. I longed for the ghee-idly to become a reality.. Not that I couldn’t afford it.. It was so enticing at that time of the day.. Atleast I had a hope that I would buy it some where near my office.. or in the countless saravana bhavans all over the city.. As I crossed the small path past that house I saw a kid- a tender one with a huge malnourished head.. a bigger tummy.. wat was that symptom.. oh.. i had read it somewhere.. yeah Kwashiorkar.. Looking towards the house with its round eyes.. almost falling out of the socket... He had patches of hair.. repulsive.. his face was covered with phlegm.. nauseating.. I couldn’t do anything.. I dunno what is keeping me restless and awake now.. the happiness of wind in my hair, the “Cute” voice, the “hypnotic” dance, the longing to become like surya with the six-packs and short military hair, the unnamed desire for the ghee-idly or the repulsive face of the malnourished poor kid.. I long to put an end to the suffering of this troubled mind.. So lo.. out of nowhere comes this blog.. a way to throw my thoughts.. take it out on you.. am i being violent here.. may be.. may be not.. I count upto 1600.. still no sleep.. may be Insomnia is a gift.. “ha ha”.. laughs who? Now.. wat do i call this.. I was about to call this “anti-sour grapes”.. then suddenly remembered “anti-oasis”.. ok.. too much of repetityion will kill the fun.. So I think.. think.. and keep thinking... may be “dear reader”, u could come up with a name for it..

The Devil's Mind!

First blog..This is my first blog.. For a person who writes a lot of Diary & is also e-savvy, pretty late to start off my own blog. But "Better late than Never".. Here goes it...

An Apt topic for my very first blog would be “The Devil’s mind”. It better be good.

“It” started off with something like this..Most things usually start like this... Of course, a sad thought... the feeling of being deprived, the feeling of losing out on something that is very monumental for you but “one-more-usual-thing” for the others. Thats when, the whole stream of life which was running with the current comes to a stand still.. U feel like a water particle that has overcome almost everything- hard rocks, slopes, tiny crevices, huge waterfalls.. but suddenly it comes to face a dam. It knows it cant flow beyond that. It starts stagnating - rotting, becoming green. It waits for the dam to open.. waits & waits... In the meantime, it does nt know what to do. It just keeps rotting. Thats what can happen when someone is deprived and is idle. The mind keeps rotting and reaches a state when it can think of only the sad things, the bad things and the unfortunate ones. I know all these adjectives mean the same. But it does describe its motive.. Doesn’t it?!! The water particle(our hero) loses the belief in itself. It can no longer remember that it was once a part of the thriving fishes. It forgets how it used to dissolve oxygen and keep the life around it colourful and bubbly.A mind in such a state creates a mental block for itself. It doesn’t want to think of anything happy. It starts feeling guilty about being happy, about enjoying. It forgets the purpose of its existence – to keep oneself happy and the people around happy. It almost starts self-destructing. To be in this state, my friend, means the mind is the goddamned Devil himself. To realise that one is a devil then is truly a herculean effort. And to pull oneself from that state requires Samson’s effort.

To recover from the devil, the thought you have lost, means you must start looking around. Start enjoying the greenery. (remember the green moss on the stream barricaded by the dam?). The Dam served to create one heck of a sight. Greenery in the midst of the river – unpleasant? Oh, C'mon... U devil!!! You should no more be in a mood to look at the Unpleasant side of life. The greenery is almost like a green island in the midst of the boring continuous stretch of water. An anti-oasis, a relief from water, in the midst of nothing but water. Life is so boring when it is just the desert or just the water. You need an oasis or an anti-oasis at some point of time.

Well.. The blog’s devil realized the Anti-Oasis. And as the author truly says the devil aint always bad. The blog’s devil had the good mind – the mind that saw the anti-oasis and is resurrecting itself. A devil’s mind(“It”) aint that bad after all..!!! and It is a Wonderful Life after all!!