It's Personal

• We, the Homo sapiens, have had a truly remarkable pre-history, one which is worth revisiting to understand our present. It has been established that we have been hunter-gatherers and foragers for far longer than we have been agriculturists and industrialists. If you were to imagine a forager and their daily life, it is a robust assumption, backed with evidence, that they needed to be the Jack, or Jill, of all trades.  An average forager would need to be adept at a variety of skills, in addition to foraging of course. A forager was expected to know their surroundings in detail to maximise the amount of food they could gather or hunt. Every person would know how to carve a stone knife, how to fix their protective clothing and shelter, how to keep away from poisonous flora, and how to avoid falling prey to other animals. Each day of their life was filled with very real achievements – managing to source a hearty meal, keeping safe, creating a weapon that could aid in acquiring nourishment/protection and so on. This sense of true personal accomplishment is believed to have held our forager ancestors in good stead.   

As we traversed through the evolutionary timescale, we did something truly unique and path-breaking as a species. We started collaborating. We discovered that if we were to divide responsibilties between individuals and groups, we could achieve more collectively as a species than anyone ever before fathomed. Hence, we ended up with someone being an expert in carving the stone knife, another in protecting the group, yet another in hunting animals for food, creating fire, fixing clothes and so on. As we became better at collaboration, we managed to achieve unimaginable feats. Although they had the privilege of existing and surviving on this planet for a lot longer than we have, there is a reason why our forager and hunter gatherer ancestors never managed to land on the moon. Their descendents did. Purely due to collaboration.  

Even though we have managed to achieve so much more collectively, the one downside of collaboration is the loss of that invaluable sense of personal accomplishment. The person who mined the metal that eventually became a tiny, yet crucial part of the spaceship that landed on the moon was probably unblissfully unaware of his/her contribution to the mission. It is likely that this person went about his/her job as a mundane daily routine without really gaining the all important sense of achievement, of contributing to society and the world around them.  

Most of us work in organizations that have multiple departments, teams and groups. We invariably become a cog in a massive and complicated wheel. The organization goes on to achieve great things and it may become challenging to see how your contribution has impacted the final result. It has. Every person putting in conscientious effort will impact the way a group, a team, an organization will function. It is important to recognize that. As incredible as Neil Armstrong was, it is a fact that he would not have been able to make it there without the person who mined the metal. 

Moreover, as a species, we need to learn to celebrate our collective achievements individually. At a personal level. It is most crucial to remind ourselves as individuals that there is no good reason why our personal sense of accomplishment should be sacrificed in the name of collaboration. On the contrary, we should be celebrating each collective accomplishment as a personal victory. The moon landing was a victory for Homo sapiens. Evolutionarily speaking, every member of our species has been instrumental in accessing the Moon. It is important to recognize where collaboration has taken us as a species. In modern society, personal fulfilment needs to come from this recognition as well. Go ahead, take it personally. 

Lose Control!

A R Rahman and I have been playing hard to get with each other for a few years now. You know, me, in my head, and him, in my head. A few years ago, he came to Birmingham and for reasons that I best not go into, I couldn't go. Last year, I booked tickets for his show in Wembley. And what do you know, as an act of immature and childish personal revenge, he couldn't "make it". So when Noor and I actually entered the SSE arena this year, with A R Rahman about to walk onto the stage any minute, I was visibly excited.

Our seats were in row K, in the Indian single screen theatre equivalent of the 'stall' section. Seats 1 (Noor) and 2 (me). Aisle and the one next to it, respectively. As soon as we sat on our seats, with me smiling enough for the both of us, we spotted an elderly aunty sitting in a separate chair towards the wall of our section, to Noor's left. She seemed nice, and it was apparent she either wasn't keeping well or had some mobility issues. Sure enough, a man probably in his mid thirties, walked up to us. For ease of description, let's just call him 'the best son that ever lived' or 'Best Son' for short. So Best Son walks up to us and says, "Hi guys, could I please ask you for a BIG favour? That's my mom over there. And we have seats 3 and 4, to your right. My mom isn't keeping very well, so could I please ask you to move a couple of seats, only if you wouldn't mind?"

This really was a no-brainer. "Sure no problem at all!", we said in unison and scooched to our right. Noor on seat 3, me on seat 4. "Oh god, thank you so very much, you are so so kind!", Best Son goes. "Please! Don't you worry about it!", Noor said in return. Best son walks to his mom and points in our direction. She smiles and waves. We smile and wave back.

Best Son walks back to us. "It's me again guys, sorry, I am going to get ice cream, and I am going to get you two some as well. Which flavour would you like?"

Noor - "Please, its not necessary at all!"

Me - "Seriously, we are fine, thank you though!"

Best Son - "Guys, we are all Rahman fans here! Let's enjoy together! And its the least I could do for you guys after what you did for mom! Please! Look, I am going to get you ice creams anyway, so better tell me which flavours you would like!"

Noor - "You are terribly nice, but really, we are fine!"

Me - "Chocolate"

Noor looks at me in shock.

"What?", I say under my breath "He might get me a flavour I don't like!"

Best Son - "Perfect, chocolate it is then! And for you?"

Noor still looking at me with disappointment - "Vanilla"

Best Son - "Great!" and he disappears.

"Which song will he open with?!", I ask Noor with unashamed anticipation! "If he opens with Jaage Hai from Guru, I am going to flip out!"

Best Son comes back and hands over the ice-creams. Nice!

I taste mine and immediately hand it back to him. "I wanted the one with chocolate flakes, this doesn't have any!", I say with a frown. I am kidding, calm down!

"Thank you very much, it really wasn't necessary, but thank you!"

Best Son brings aunty with some difficulty to seat 1. She makes it. We share smiles. Aunty is now on seat 1. Best Son on seat 2. Noor on seat 3. And you know the rest of the order. Don't want to insult your intelligence. Best Son looks back and spots seat 2 on the row behind to be empty. He very kindly moves to that seat saying to Noor "Let me move back. You'll get some extra space!". I mean, can he get any nicer! Told you. Best. Son. Of. All. Time. Alright, so... Seat 1 - Aunty. Seat 2 - Empty. Seat 3 - Noor. And you know the rest of the order.

Everything is now in place. We are just waiting for A R Rahman to walk up to the stage. His singers walk in first. I am getting positively delirious. Finally, the moment arrives. The man who eluded me for years was in front of me, in flesh and blood. He lifts up his mic. Without wasting a second and without intimation he croons -  "O Nadaaaaaaaaan!!".

I couldn't believe my luck. He started with "Nadaan Parinday"! I expected him to end with that song, he starts with it! What a legend! I look at Noor! "Wow!! This is where he starts!", I go. Rahman has all of my attention. I forget my surroundings. I am just too overwhelmed! He is half way into the song. Noor taps me on my shoulder. I take a few seconds to recognise it. I ignore it, as you do. The tapping gets a bit harder. I look at her with a 'What?' expression.

"You.............T", that's all I can hear.

"Sorry?"

"You.................T", she says again frantically.

"Can't hear you", I say.

I am about to look back at the phenomenon that was calling out to me on stage, when my eyes catch a little bit of aunty behind Noor. I move sideways to get a better view. She is convulsing!

'Oh my god!', I think. I come out of my Rahman coma, but only halfway. The power of his music still engulfs me. Several thoughts hit me at that moment. 'Shit... She is convulsing! Is she convulsing.. ? No can't be, she was fine a few moments ago! Maybe she is though. Hang on, what if she is just really enjoying Rahman. Yes that makes more sense. But she can't move though! That doesn't make any sense! Hold on.. Her head seems to be moving suspiciously with the rhythm of the song! Wait a minute! Is she........ Is she head banging at a Rahman concert??'

I feel Noor tapping me harder still. I look at her again -"What?", I say.

This time Noor screams at the top of her lungs so I can hear her clearly. Very. Clearly.

"YOU ARE SHAKING AUNTY! YOU ARE SHAKING AUNTY!!"

All of a sudden, everything turned to super slo-mo mode. I could see everything as if I was having a literal out of body experience. I could see myself so shamelessly engrossed in Rahman's rendition that my gigantic ass was involuntarily jumping up and down my seat. Excitedly. Ahem.. VIGOROUSLY.

In physics, resonance is a phenomenon in which a vibrating system or external force drives another system to oscillate with greater amplitude at specific frequencies. Yes, my ass was the 'external force'. Aunty was the 'other system'. She was not head banging. Surprise. She was resonating. Because of me. Vigorously.

I saw her again. God. What a sight. Her face was distraught. Lips pursed to cover a scream. Forehead creased. Neck slightly upturned. Sweat forming over her lips. Her right hand holding on to the empty chair. Holding on for dear life.

From deciphering what Noor said to this moment, must have taken about a couple of seconds. I came out of my Rahman spell. I stopped. I froze. A fraction of a second later, I saw Aunty fall back into her chair. With relief. Her right hand unclenched from the chair beside her. I could see she brought both her hands together, as if to pray.

'Ghar.. Aaaajaaaa', I could hear Rahman finish his song.

I looked at Best Son and he was staring at me with those eyes. "I am really really sorry", I said as I involuntarily placed something in my mouth. It was the chocolate ice cream. That he had bought me. As a thank you gesture. For making his mom 'comfortable'. I slowly removed the spoon from my mouth. I looked at aunty with apologetic eyes. She was unbelievably kind. She didn't say a word. Or maybe she couldn't!

There was no percussion in the world that could make me twitch a muscle for the next 2 hours. I enjoyed the concert, don't get me wrong, But I couldn't help but feel, what Rahman did to me with that first song, it wasn't fair. He should be more responsible.

Ghanana Ghanana Ghanana Ghanana Ghana Ghana

"Welcome, my Indian friend!", the lady at the immigration desk at Accra International airport said, while looking at my passport. "Thank you!", I said, prepared for the usual questions that are asked at these desks such as 'What is the purpose of your visit?' OR 'How long will you be staying here' OR, 'Do you have a return ticket' OR if the questionable question from a lady at an immigration desk at Heathrow airport is anything to go by - 'What is your salary?'

Not in Ghana. No. The lady chose to take a different direction - "So you are Indian?"

"Yes"

"I have a lot of Indian friends"

"That's nice to hear"

"Hmmm.. Indians are nice"

"Thank you"

"They always give me dollars"

"I'm sorry?"

"They always give me dollars"

"OK... Good.. I guess?"

"Do you have anything for me?"

"Sorry?"

"Do you have any dollars for me?"

"What.. Right now? At the immigration desk?"

"Yes, right now" - It was clear I had inadvertently been 'befriended'.

"Mmm.. I am not carrying any with me at the moment"

"Hmm.. OK.. So when will I get my share?"

"I am not share.. uhmm. sure....", nervous laughter

"How long are you here for?"

Relief that the question was more in tune with the expected "Oh.. I am here for a week."

"So when will I get my share?"

"Oh we are still on that.. Ok.. Don't know.. Maybe when I come back to the airport?"

"Ok.. You better not spend all your dollars in Ghana.. Make sure you keep some for me!"

"Ok! I'll call you!"

Thus making sure my intentions of entering the country were legitimate, she stamped my passport. As I was just about to exit the airport, a man stopped me this time and asked for my passport. He was wearing the airport staff uniform, so didn't look suspicious. I handed it to him. While browsing through it, he asked me some questions. In fact, the ones that the lady at the immigration desk should have asked.

"What is the purpose of your visit sir?"

"Business"

"What kind of business?"

"Well, we make instruments for the brewing industry, so I am here to visit a few breweries"

"Ok. I see from your passport you have travelled to Mexico and Brazil"

"Yes, that is correct."

The next question was more direct than I anticipated - "Are you into drugs?"

The directness of the question and the unashamed connection to South America and drugs made me laugh instinctively, but I curbed it soon "No, I am not into drugs, not even close".

"Ok", he said, handing over the passport.

I couldn't gather from his expression whether it was relief or disappointment, but I didn't linger.

I was picked up by the hotel chauffeur service. I kid you not, I sat in the car and these were the words that hit me after hello. "Do you have any dollars for me?". Now, I know I've been sporting a beard of late and if my wife is to be believed, I have put on a few, but I am as far away from Santa's look as Karl Pilkington's head is from an orange. I realise that analogy works against me, but I've come up with it now and I am too lazy to go back and delete it. Come to think of it, deleting that sentence would have been quicker than writing this one here. But hang on, I would have had to delete it and then come up with a new analogy, which would have taken more effort. Wow, that would have been embarrassing! So yes, we are good. Phew!

Reached my hotel room, which was decent. You know how in predominantly Christian countries, it is common for a bible to be placed in your hotel room. It's quite normal. Not in Ghana. No. Here's their conversion trick -

 I appreciate the help, but what do they expect people to say - "That's it! I believe! Convert me! You had me at future wife!". You have to admit though, it's a good carrot for single men.

Having said that, don't even think of using this excuse when you are presently married. Worse still, do not share this 'vision' with your present wife. The moment you tell her, there will be a bucketful of tears. For a full hour at least. Ok two hours (four). She may or may not join you. And you will have to invest in a new pair of glasses. It happened to a friend of mine, not a personal experience. Have I told you how clearly I can see nowadays? Wonder what it is. 

I also notice that this is a Christian magazine especially for Men - It is called the 'Full Gospel Business Men's'. You know.. Something for the pope to read when he's really feeling naughty.

"Bring me the Full Gospel Business Men's sister! I am feeling it today!"

"Here you go father, and if you are feeling downright dirty - I've recorded a few episodes of Gospel Girls for you"

Makes me wonder if they have an edition for other specific demographics too?

Maybe the Full Gospel Business Criminal's? - "God showed me my future wife in a prison"?

Or the Full Gospel Business Playboy's? - "God showed me my future wife in the Mansion"?

Anyway, visited a brewery in Accra the next day for work. Every brewery has its customary safety training, where they go through some basic do's and don'ts. You know, like 'Do not run', 'Do not smoke', 'Do not wear open-toe shoes' etc. Not in Ghana. No. Here's one in the list that caught my attention - 

The concerning thing is when you realise someone must have done this at least once (if not more) for it to make it to this list. But look, credit where it's due. We have to appreciate the graphic designer for designing the symbol for 'Do not urinate'. It could have been vulgar, but the diagonal line in the circle quite strategically goes over the standing person's unmentionables. On that note, I also think the representation of the activity is highly sexist (and does not represent most married men).

After having spent a week in Ghana - a week filled with nice, kind, well mannered, hospitable people - I was at the airport again. A guard just before airport security stopped and asked for my passport. As I was handing it to him, he went -

"Hmmm... That's a lovely perfume you are wearing there"

"Thank you!"

"Do you have it on you?"

"I have sprayed it on me, yes"

"No, do you have the bottle with you?"

"No, I don't. I checked it in since you are not allowed to carry liquids right.."

"Ohh you are so lucky!"

"Thank you... Mmmm.. Why?"

"You are lucky that you don't have the bottle. I would have made you give it to me. I would have either kept your perfume or your passport!"

"Oh ok! Thank you!" slowly collecting passport back "Lucky? Not really. God had already showed this to me in a vision. Also, on an unrelated note - Do you have a sister working at the immigration desk?"

Irony - Aren't you funny

I made my way to the airport,

Excited fingers wrapped around my passport.
To fly all the way to South Korea,

Only to walk straight into a faux pas.

The lady at the check in counter,

Although warm and friendly.

Her wrinkled eyes couldn't be clearer,

She wasn't into profanity.

"Where are we travelling today sir?",

The simple answer was suddenly a blur,
I thought aloud before responding,

"Aaaa Seoul", I went, my speech staggering.

I closed me eyes,

Maybe she didn't realise?

But of this I am certain,

My apology worsened the situation,

It helped confirm her suspicion.

Only a few days after,

Hosted by local friends,
I went out for an authentic Korean dinner.

"What will you have", they asked,

Oh how in my pride I basked!

"I am open to anything", I said smugly,

Thus impressing the table muchly.

"How about chicken", they enquired,

"Chicken sounds safe and nice", I replied

'Don't they think I am adventurous?'

Dejected, my ego cried.

The barbecue chicken platter was excellent,

But I couldn't take my eyes away,

From a few pieces that lay astray,

Something about them was different.

"What is this?", I asked, pointing to the pieces I hadn't earlier seen,

"Oh.. This.. Ummm is hen part of chicken"

"Hen part.. What does that mean?"

"You don't want to try it? It is very nice",
He said, challenging my pride, my vice.

I took a bite, and chewed on it with difficulty,

Its identity, it has to be said,

Was still shrouded in mystery.

"I'm surprised you tried", he commented,

"Foreigners usually never go near it!"

"Ummm what is the hen part of chicken again?" I squealed

"Oh not hen.. End part of chicken", he revealed

"End part?", my chewing now slow,

"How to say I don't know", he confessed,

"Aah of course, I got it yes!",
He said as if it were a given,

"It is but the anus of the chicken"

As my chewing came to a stand still,

I gulped it down against my will,

The first thought after made my eyes roll,

In true ironic fashion, I was, in fact, eating an 'Aaa Seoul'.

Excuse you!

1) "How come these awkward situations present themselves to you guys out of the blue.. Do you actually seek these??!"

2) "No that can't possibly be true.. Are you guys exaggerating?!!"

3) "Can you spot Ankit during a Solar Eclipse??!"

The answer to all of the above commonly thought of questions is "Maybe". What prevents me from responding with a resounding "Yes!" to the first two questions are experiences like the one I recently had in Singapore. No awkward situations being sought. No exaggerations.

I had just flown into the beautiful and super-efficient Singapore after a long and convoluted flight from London. I checked into my hotel room after receiving excellent hospitality from the staff. As soon as I put my bags down, my eyes fell up on the hotel facilities brochure. As if destiny had planned it, the first page that I happened to browse was all about a 'relaxing and soothing' massage. Yes. I know. Chirag, Shetty and I haven't had the best fortune with massages. You read the post. We experienced it. Against the voice of reason, I chose to give it a shot. I have to admit, my weary self had a lot of influence on my decision making then. So I went for it.

I won't wax eloquent regarding the actual massage, except that it was absolutely fantastic! The Singaporean masseuse was truly adept at her craft and I could consciously feel my body experiencing strain-drain. I was first gently asked to lay head down and after a while, head up. A warm moist towel was placed on my eyes while the ultimate relaxing experience ensued. Honestly. No complaints. No mockery. No nothing. I may even have had a gentle smile on my face, much like Krishna when he slept in Ramanand Sagar's version of his life. I recall thinking to myself as the massage continued on my feet -

"Wow.. This is amazing. I am so glad I pushed myself to this decision. What a decision it's turned out to be! And what the heck.. I am proud of being open. The last time it didn't go so well, but kudos to me for being open. To being open!"

My proud thoughts of 'being open' were interrupted by the masseuse.

"Mm What?", I asked with caution.

Strain was gained as quickly as it was drained. As you may have learnt by now, my sweat is not shy is these situations. In fact, my parents had taken me to a doctor when I was a kid, because of how much I perspired. The doctor had dismissed the issue saying it will get better as I grew up. For one, I think he meant mentally. And second, I don't think he accounted for situations where I couldn't confirm what the masseuse in Singapore was claiming to see, because of this stupid wet towel on my face! Don't know what it is with us being partially/completely blind in such awkward predicaments. Apart from mustering a meek "Sorry?" in response, I truly didn't know how to handle what seemed more like an accusation, or worse still an observation!

"WHAT!! NO NO! You want to massage wha... Oh hang on! Massage FINISHED!! FINISHED!! Not Pen... Well, why bring it up! Thank God!!! Yes sure!! Great! Finished!!"

"Yes" the oblivious masseuse affirmed.

I got the towel off my face as quickly as I could and was just about to get up when I was interrupted -

"Aacchooo!!", she sneezed right on my foot, adorned with philanthropic aerosols. As ridiculous and unrelaxing that gesture was, I bit my tongue and said "It's OK", only to realise that she wasn't really remorseful, evident from the lack of apology.

I attempted to get up once again, and what do you know!

"Aaaaaaaachoooooo!!!!", this time it was longer, bigger, wetter, leaving me completely and utterly distressed! This is why her defence after seemed that much more redundant!

"Hehehe.. I took all your stress inside me and released it! Now you are completely stress free! You are welcome!!"

"Thank you. Appreciate it".

"You are weelcccomme!" she said gleefully, teaching me a timely lesson about using sarcasm judiciously.

Wondering if the sneeze was actually a part of the massage, I decided to hurry my way out of the room. Another lesson learnt the hard way: If your foot has been sneezed upon - twice - and you haven't had the chance to wipe it off - remember to walk slowly - or else - you will slip - badly - and you will fall - on your behind - in slow motion - and the masseuse will see this - and she will laugh - and you will hold back your tears successfully - probably.

I then walked excruciatingly slowly to my room to take what turned out to be the longest shower of my life. While I was amputating my foot for good measure, I couldn't help but take a solemn vow, "Alright, you just barely walked out of a really awkward and unintentionally embarrassing situation. The silver lining is, no one you know was there! Let's keep it that way. This story goes to your grave. Never share it with anyone. Especially with a handful of people, who, I don't know, you can share an online link with or something. Never. Promise".

SAVE ME - Volume 2 - "The roll reversal"

If you are that ONLY person who has read all our blog posts, two things can be assumed -

1. Life deserves more from you.
2. You've assessed by now that Shetty has always been there. ALWAYS.

He was there to save Ankit when he accelerated and braked my kinetic simultaneously. He was there to save the spanking new Kinetic when this guy decided to gracelessly soil it by attempting a 45 degree turn in gravel. He was there in the rickshaw, when a mother wanted to save her daughter at the cusp of puberty. Well, half there. And from him. 

He was there when Ankit met me one evening, seething with anger and disappointment. Shetty had just revealed that he accidentally dozed off on the train back home, and woke up at Kalwa, which was one stop away from Thane. Ankit took particular exception to this, since he thought it was high time Shetty sorted his ways and showed some maturity, discipline and responsibility. Alas, Shetty was also there the very next day when both of them were travelling home. Both of them dozed off this time, but in true poetic justice, it was Shetty who woke Ankit up at Dombivali - 5 stops away from Thane.

He was selfishly there, when he saved himself from partial nudity by tucking in his shirt quick enough, when his untied massage trousers went down without intimation.

Most importantly, he was there when those innocent little red ants needed water-boarding when they were happily feasting on the biggest buffet they had ever been invited to - Chirag's thighs. Shetty responded to Chirag's "Save me guys!" cry with mass murder. That was the extent to which he was ready to go, just to save his friend. One can only imagine why Chirag's trust in Shetty skyrocketed. Shetty's act was certainly heroic, more so because of the diametrically opposite response from Ankit and me, as we decided to shamelessly invent the term 'ROFL' during Chirag's frantic 'SOS' call. But was it super-heroic? With great trust comes greater expectation, which Shetty found out the hard way a few weeks later.

Chirag and Shetty were at some train station on the Central Line, I don't quite remember which one. Doesn't really matter and moreover, when has this blog let facts come in the middle of a good story! The important detail here is that they were on the overhead bridge, about to take the stairs down to the platform. It was one of those structures where there were two flights of stairs separated by a small landing. It was about 2 in the afternoon, so the bridge and the stairs were characteristically less crowded. Also, I should mention that Chirag had a certain spring in his step that day, since he was wearing these new pair of floaters in which he had recently invested.

So both of them casually started their descent down the first flight of stairs. One step down, two steps down, all good. All of a sudden, Chirag's right foot got stuck in his new floaters. Before he knew it or could control it, he lost balance. Now this wouldn't have been funny, but for the manner in which he fell. How would you picture 'Jill', when I say - 'And Jill came tumbling after'? Now picture Chirag as Jill. He literally somersaulted down the stairs, rolling uncontrollably in shock. Now because of the rolling, Chirag quickly covered more distance than Shetty did, since Shetty was taking the more 'conventional' route. Not aware of how far Shetty was, Chirag's expectation got the better of him. As soon as he realised he was bouncing down like a zorb, he somehow made eye contact with Shetty, opened his arms towards him and in true dramatic fashion went - "SAVE MEEEEEE SHETTTYYYYYYY!!! SAVE MEEEEEE!!!".

Shetty, being Shetty, felt for Chirag then. The cry was familiar, but the eye contact and hand gesture made it worse. He really wished he could have done something to stop this awkwardly acrobatic exhibition of Draupadi's vastraharan. But what could he have done? He did attempt to run down the stairs, but gravity was being overtly possessive about Chirag then. For the first time in years, Shetty had failed to "save" something, or even attempt from doing so. As Chirag came to a harsh halt as he reached the landing after the first flight of stairs, Shetty reached a close second, almost catching up with him. With a guilt-ridden face, he helped Chirag get up, made sure that he wasn't hurt, dusted off his jeans and asked him sympathetically, while they continued to walk - "What happened there?! I am so sorry! Are you OK??"

They had almost reached the second flight of stairs when Chirag caught his breath and responded to Shetty's questions - "Man I don't know, it happened too quickly. Didn't even realise it. I think my toe got stuck in my...." - and Chirag went down again! Exact. Same. Thing! Chirag couldn't believe he was rolling again! It was like the first roll was a rehearsal for his final second performance. His religious reflex compelled him to call out to Shetty again, exactly as he had rehearsed seconds earlier - "Save me Shetty!!!!!!!! Pleeeease Shetttyyy!!! Save me!!! Do something! SAVE ME!!!!".

This time however, Shetty didn't even attempt to follow Chirag. The unexpected and unrealistic expectation filled Shetty with the ultimate feeling of inadequacy. The immediate reaction was not sympathy, but rage! He bellowed at Chirag, who was in the middle of his helpless roll - "How!! HOWWW!! How do I SAVE you! Howwwww!? You tell me how! You tell me and I'll do it! How!!?

Chirag was too busy seeing the world go around him.

But Shetty wasn't done yet - "Do you see me wearing my underwear on top of my pants? How do I save you! How?!"

Chirag had landed on the platform by now, thankfully in the upright position. He managed to get up on his own, this time without Shetty's help. He saw Shetty coming down the stairs and stand next to him. Shetty was still seething, when Chirag casually went "Chill dude! Why are you being so over-dramatic?!". There was silence for about 2 seconds.

"Me!!?", Shetty asked in shock. Both of them burst out laughing at the same time after and it continued when they narrated the story to me later.

Could Shetty have saved Chirag? Could he have done more to protect his friend? Could he have shown a little more intent, especially during the second fall? Would Ankit and I have managed to save him, if we were there? Are we better friends to Chirag than Shetty is? I don't know, it's hard to say, but yes. I think so. 

Busted

I have an aversion to buses. This is my excuse.

This was probably around 2001-2002, if I remember correctly. I had taken the train to Thane from college on a day when it was raining cats and dogs. It was one of those days when you wonder if people around you are relieving themselves without hesitation, with the assurance that the rain gods would wash it away without anyone noticing. Oh that reminds me.... During our BSc, Shetty and Ankit had gone for a class trip to some hill stationesque place, which was supposed to be really beautiful, with waterfalls and the works. I couldn't join them for some reason, but that's besides the point. Apparently, the class came across a water tank under the fall, and understandably everyone decided to jump in. Shetty didn't, only to be at the receiving end of a lot of ridicule from Ankit. You know the kind - "What a loser you are Shetty! Why are you being so asocial, look how everyone has jumped in and having the time of their lives! I myself have dipped my head multiple times and its a lot of fun! You've got to come in and feel the water, really experience to know how it tastes! What a loser! You've got to let go sometimes!". Shetty tells me he didn't give in to the trash talk, but I have my doubts. I found out later from reliable sources that a girl from our class had relieved herself in the water tank - or in other words let herself go in a completely different context - in the same water that Ankit had felt, experienced, dipped into and to our amusement and his disgust - tasted.

Anyway, I digress. So I was at Thane train station where it was raining cats and dogs. Usually, I would take a share-rickshaw back home, which worked quite nicely. Of course, considering the demand for rickshaws that day, it was harder to find one than it is to wipe the huge grin on the newly-married-to-a-Gujarathi Chirag's face when you mention Narendra Modi. My back-up option of walking back home was also not an option that day, since that would mean a sure shot bout of pneumonia and would have only helped prove Shetty's theory then that bad things happen to people who make fun of others.

So I decided to hop on to the wretched bus. I don't know what it is about buses, I feel I am in an unfamiliar territory. I'm guessing its the same feeling that Gurmeet Ram Rahim Singhji Insaan would experience at any respectable film festival in the world, especially if the event is black-tie compulsory (See it, believe it). It was no surprise when I found the bus to be completely crowded with soaking wet individuals. The thing is, the moment you enter the bus, you are subject to the gaze of the people already in it, which you can do very little about. My eyes desperately looked for an empty seat and I was surprised to spot one on the very last row - a window seat at that! Why was it unoccupied I wondered, but didn't bother mulling over it too much. The stares were making me too uncomfortable so I pushed my way through to the last row. Trust me, it was hard work. My popularity quotient in the bus kept reducing drastically as I squeezed through to the empty seat on the last row, thanks to almost stepping on an old lady, almost groping a man when I lost balance, almost elbowing the conductor and almost accidentally falling on an obese man's lap. Please take note of the word 'almost'. My discomfort was on the rise, while my approval rating plummeted. Somehow, I made it to the window seat and realised soon enough why it was not claimed. The window I sat next to was one of those longer sliding ones, since it ran through the last and penultimate row. And the window was open, thus allowing the rain to gush in to the last seat. In fact, the window looked like it had never been closed since the bus was manufactured as a tribute to Mumtaz, along with the Taj Mahal. To add to my distress, I was now being viciously slapped by the rain. You will also be pleased to know that this meant my vision was heavily impaired, since I couldn't see a thing through my glasses. I couldn't risk trying to get out and sitting on our obese friend again. I had to do something. I had to close the window.

Through my compromised vision, I somehow found the window edge next to me and tried to push it right across to shut it. It didn't move, not even an inch. 'Come on!', I thought. Obviously, I had to be more aggressive with the window, almost ruthless, in the hope of saving myself from being water-boarded.  I gave it all I had this time and after a few seconds, the window gave in, when it suddenly overcame its inertia and slid with lightning speed to close with a huge thud. Phew! 'Well done Aditya, well done! Well rescued! No harm done to popularit.... Wait a minute!' The woman sitting right in front of me started yelling in a 'convulsing but not really' kind of way.

I was flummoxed! 'What in the world is going on?!' The yelling only got louder with each of her 'Hey's'. I started perspiring. Considering how drenched I was already, nobody could tell. Multiple questions took birth in my confused head - "What is going on?? Is she screaming at me?! What's with her head? Why is it positioned that way? And why is she yelling!? Is she in pain!? WHAT'S GOING ON!?"

I wiped my glasses frantically with my dripping wet shirt. That's when it dawned on me. She wasn't yelling "Hey!", she was trying to tell me her "hair!" was stuck in the window when I mercilessly shut it. She couldn't turn around because her head was brutally pulled towards the window and was ALSO stuck! All of this - because of me - the Gabbar of the bus - the Gabbus. So much for being uncomfortable with people's gaze - everyone was staring daggers at me - EVERYONE. This was bad. Damage control was needed - NOW.

I went to pull the window back to open it right away. One swift motion and this will be over. Remember though, pulling is a lot more difficult that pushing. I tried, as god is my witness, I tried! The window just wouldn't budge. The woman was still yelling. People were still staring. My hand slipping off the window because of everything being slippery did very little to help the situation.

"Can you PLEASE help me!?", I asked the middle aged man sitting next to me.

"Sure", he said while placing his questionably stain-ridden handkerchief on me, assuming that I needed help with drying my hands.

"Oh no no! NOO!! I meant could you help me pull the window please!?"

"Oh sure of course" he said to my short lived satisfaction, since he then proceeded to dry his hands with the aforementioned handkerchief and placed his hands on mine.

Both of us worked together for about 30 long seconds and finally pulled the window back open. The hair came undone. The lady looked back at me with disgust. Her eyes joined the rain in slapping me. I apologised. She scoffed while massaging her sore head, only to find some hair strands come off on her fingers.

I got off the bus at the next stop, still far away from home. Pneumonia could be risked. Of all the places I thought of being unpopular and detested, a bus was probably at the end of the list. Was there a tear in my eye? Well, thanks to Indra, the rain god, that is up for speculation!

I have an aversion to buses. This is my excuse.