I too had a love story: First Blood

High school and college is the spring time of human life. It is the time when young green minds are fertile with imaginations. Flowers are waiting to bloom in every young heart. Martian and Venetian Kids who stayed within their own tribes begin to appreciate the good qualities of the members of the other planet. Lot of film makers have cashed in by setting their stories in this time. Still college love stories with fresh young stars continue to be a sure shot recipe for success. The new class of Indian writers are also following suit and entering the fray. Can bloggers be far behind? After the spectacular success of my bride hunts series, this seems to be the obvious next step for me, right?

But then unfortunately during my high school, the intricacies of the concepts of physics took precedence over those of feminine features. I was keener to master the workings of the laws of external nature rather than letting the laws of internal nature assert their mastery over me. This resulted in me securing admission to one of India’s premier educational institutions. But Venus remained a dark and distant planet. However it is never too late. College still remained.

By the time I entered college, the fascination with laws of the earth had also relinquished their hold on me. But the moment earth let go, the heavens latched on to me with a vice like grip. While I was contemplating the purpose of life, many of my batch mates would have probably got the opportunity to appreciate the ironies of life. For the prettiest girl in my batch was my lab mate for the entire four years and I was too lost in my philosophical musings to even take cognizance of the fact. The girl in question herself was so frustrated with my singular lack of attention that she asked me if she should speak to the professor and get lab partners changed. While it is a well known fact that women do resent too much unwarranted attention from men, I discovered that complete lack of it also is not too well appreciated. I guess it does hurt a woman’s ego if a man behaved as if she were just another piece of uninteresting lab equipment.

People imagine Cupid to be a cute little cherubic kid with wings and angelic face. But his physical form belies the tenacity of a blood hound in hot pursuit of its prey. When I joined a leading IT company after my education, I had no inkling of the fact that I had become Cupid’s quarry. So I was not at all prepared for what hit me during the business presentation session that was part of the initial 4 months training. One of the instructions given by the instructor was to try to maintain eye contact with the entire audience. As I was making my presentation, my eyes scanned across the room from one eye to the next religiously following the instructions. And then suddenly they stopped at one pair of eyes. A pair of dark eyes towards which every word uttered by me were being drawn like iron filings towards a magnet. I felt a kind of light pleasant feeling as my eyes lingered on for a while and moved on. But though I was experiencing something like this for the first time, probably others have had these moments more often. And it usually just passes off after a couple of days or at most a week the first time I guess. But Cupid having tasted blood was not going to let go of me so lightly.

As luck would have it, she was assigned to the same group as me for the ‘C’ group work. As I already knew ‘C’, I was nominated the leader and I did a pretty good job. She clearly showed admiration for my technical skills and leadership abilities. This was getting to my head and I began to increasingly get the light pleasant feeling when I was around her. By now I had begun to recognize something was wrong. The light feeling was becoming addictive and she had begun to monopolize my thoughts. In some ways I found this crazy as I had never believed in the concept of love and even if there was some such feeling, I had considered myself above this kind of feelings.

Say you have been asked to cross a canal. It seems like a simple task. By the time you prepare yourself, the canal is widened, water is filled in the canal, crocodiles are released in the water and an elephant is tied to your back and then you are asked to cross it. That’s how this situation seemed to be heading. While I was struggling to sort out my feelings for her, competition had sprung up. There was this smooth operator who seemed to have a way with all women. I had begun to increasingly see her in his company. Then there was this fellow from her own college, who seemed pretty close to her. Nothing makes you want a thing badly like the fear of losing it. With the emergence of competition, all analysis and rational thoughts were thrown to wind. It was now full blown war and I had to rise to the challenge. I had to do all I could to impress her. One immediate change was I found myself suddenly paying more attention to my attire and grooming. I also discovered a hidden talent – the ability to crack poor jokes.

At times I felt all this was foolish and I was behaving like a jack ass. My close friends also had begun to notice the change. But I could not help it. For the next course group work, she landed up in a different group and Mr. Casanova was with her. I used to find it irritating everyday seeing them go together for lunch. Things were no longer pleasant. I found myself in a nasty mood most of the time. I had begun to lose interest in work. I wanted to just get rid of the feeling and be normal. But the feeling would never go. I was fully at the mercy of my mood swings. My friends suggested tobacco and alcohol could help. They did seem to have some effect. But the nasty feelings kept returning when the effects of alcohol and tobacco wore out.

Things just went crazier and crazier day by day. I had confided in my closest friends. They had initially tried to dissuade me pointing out that the girl was no match for me and pointing out all the flaws in her. She clearly had no strong interests or talents. She was just a simple girl who liked to watch movies and listen to songs, hang out with friends and shop. She generally chose to preserve her words. Generally of course it would be assumed that anything that is preserved would be valuable. But the few words that she did say, hardly displayed any evidence of possible value.  She was clearly no beauty queen either. Then they asked me what my intentions were towards her. But I had neither answer for any questions nor use for any logic. Logic goes only so far. Sometimes life reaches a point where everything breaks down to mere basics – the duality of pain and pleasure. One gentleman called Pavlov had done some interesting experiments with dogs to see how simple simulation of pain and pleasure can condition behavioral patterns. At that point I was no better than Pavlov’s dog. I relished every moment I spent with her. Time competition spent with her hurt. So life was reduced to two simple rules. Rule 1: Increase time I spent with her. Rule 2: Reduce the time competition spent with her as long as it did not contradict with Rule 1. Everything else was subordinate and anything I did beyond basic survival should only lead to enforce the two basic rules of life. I wonder if this state to which a man can be reduced is a result of original sin for I had done nothing to deserve this as far as I knew.

This post has hit 1300 words now. And from experience I know no one reads more than 1500 words at a time. And still there is lot of ground to cover – how my friends helped me enforce my rules of life, further complications that arose and the final resolution of the conflict. I guess it is no suspense that the situation was resolved as otherwise there would have been any Great Indian Bride Hunt. But all that deserves one more post. If you want to read that click here. Those who have not yet read my ‘Great Indian Bride Hunt’ series can check them out here. My other humorous posts can be found here.

Do people reveal their true Identity on social Media?

This post is being written for Blogjunta's THE GREAT DEBATERS, season-1, Debate-2

Do people reveal their true Identity on social Media? The answer seems straight forward. No they don’t. Simple, isn’t it? Then what is the need for a debate? But then I decided to look a bit deeper. What exactly is a true identity? When you start a chat with a stranger on an online chat room, the first question asked is A/S/L – Age/Sex/Location. Is that your identity? If you give genuine details there, then are you revealing your true identity? Is your mobile phone number and e-mail address your true identity? Most online forums prohibit sharing these details. So are they straight away preventing you from sharing your true identity? And now we have the government of India coming up with the unique identity numbers? Is that our identity?

Well, it might seem as if I am trivializing the question of identity. Probably identity means something deeper than A/S/L, mobile phones and ID cards. Identity as used in the clichéd phrase ‘Identity crisis’ probably means the essence of who you really are. But then first of all do you yourself know who you are? Isn’t it a question philosophers and saints have been trying to find the answer for ages and every upstart psychologist is pretending to have found the answer only to be proven wrong by the next one? Probably the identity we are talking about here is something in between the two, something in the dubious grey area. Why does everything finally have to end up in this damn grey area, though? I just hate grey. But then that’s life I guess, bitch though it is and we need to move on.

Talking of true identity is not some new fancy of the internet age. Rather than reinventing the wheel and going over age old debates, I shall leave the onerous task to two giants from the past, one from the East and one from the West. I will take up the easier task of summarizing, bringing in the social media context in and concluding.

Zhuanzi, the Chinese philosopher of 300 BC says,

Once upon a time, I, Chuang Chou, dreamt I was a butterfly, fluttering hither and thither, to all intents and purposes a butterfly. I was conscious only of my happiness as a butterfly, unaware that I was Chou. Soon I awaked, and there I was, veritably myself again. Now I do not know whether I was then a man dreaming I was a butterfly, or whether I am now a butterfly, dreaming I am a man. Between a man and a butterfly there is necessarily a distinction. The transition is called the transformation of material things

Shakespeare in his famous play ‘As you like it’ says,

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
I will not insult these great men’s lucidity of thought or the reader’s intelligence by trying to offer an explanation of the above. If one were to carefully read them through, one common theme clearly stands out. We wear various masks and perform various roles, some together at the same time, some in different periods of our life to say nothing of what we do within the deeper recesses of our sub conscious mind. The same person is the father and the son, the teacher and the taught, the boss and subordinate, the business man and the customer, the artist and the critic. Each role gives us an opportunity to give expression to a different facet of our identity. What we call as our overall identity is but an aggregation of these individuals expressions. So isn’t social media just one more arena that gives us yet another opportunity to show case yet another aspect of our personalities that the various others channels have not been able to bring out?

Having brought the point of social media as an additional channel to express one’s true identity, let me point out some unique advantages this channel offers. The old adage goes, ‘Do not book a judge a book by its cover’. But then that’s what we keep doing all the time. We go by looks and clothes and social status. Social media acts as a great equalizer in this regard. People can choose to be known only for their words and thoughts on the social media. Aren’t words and thoughts a greater expression of your personality than your looks and social status?
The second advantage that social media offers is anonymity. There are so many deep thoughts we fear to share with real life people in the fear that they might judge us and the effect that it might have on our future relationship with them. There is no such fear with an anonymous stranger on a chat room. Doesn’t this opportunity to freely share our deepest thoughts without any heed to consequences give a greater opportunity to be one’s true self?

Another advantage social media offers is complete control over the communication. We can have any level of privacy we choose. We can fully express our self without the fear of being interrupted. There is no fear of a private conversation being overheard by the casual eavesdropper. One can choose if one wants to communicate with just one person in complete privacy or relay out a message to 1000 people. One is free from the limitations of the physical world. Doesn’t that provide an environment that fosters an expression of one’s true self?

Last but not the least, social media offers one a reach unimaginable 100 years back. Till the internet came, the sample from which we could pick our friends was limited to those in our physical vicinity. Internet and social media has made the whole world our playground. Doesn’t that make the likelihood of finding like minded people with whom one can express one’s true self a thousand times more on social media?

To conclude, social media is just a media. A media is an inanimate thing with no motives of its own. But I must say it offers people a wonderful opportunity to express greater aspects of their true identity. But then it is up to the individual whether to use this media to reveal or conceal. But considering that lot of people will choose to conceal their identity, I would still say, social media helps in revealing the identities of even those who try to conceal. For don’t people often reveal themselves more through what they conceal? Think about it. As you ponder over this, I would like to leave you with a conversation from a Sherlock Holmes story

"Is there any point to which you would wish to draw my attention?"
"To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time."
"The dog did nothing in the night-time."
"That was the curious incident," remarked Sherlock Holmes.

Winner of contest conducted by BlogJunta

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Goose under Fire

Illustration: Elizabeth Webbe

When she came round the corner did I run

For held she in hand a hot steaming iron

Washing and scrubbing were making her weep

She threw down the iron and went off to sleep

Burnt it the table and set off the fire siren

This limerick has been posted for Monday's Child #42 Picture mem and Lots of Laughter April 2011 prompt: Fire

The Heart's True Music

Picture Credit: Veniamin at Deviant Art

The summer had lasted too long. The sun was blazing and the earth was parched. There was no sign of clouds. The workers at the plantation toiled on in the heat and the dust, collecting the tobacco leaves. But they did not appear to tire. They rather seemed to be enjoying themselves. One could see a blissful expression on their faces. The reason for their joy would have been evident to anyone there for she herself would be drowned in similar ecstasy. Divine music was emanating from nearby. Music from the heavens to invigorate worn out spirits! Soul’s true music that could even awaken the dead!

One did not have to look far to locate the source of the music. At the edge of the plantation, right next to the boundary wall was a dirty plastic chair. A weathered old man sat on the chair with a lute in his hands. He wore a dusty old dark suit and grey trousers. A ragged cap covered the white hair on his head. One leg was all he needed to bear the weight of the magical lute. He did not seem to have a care in life. The world could not conjure enough illusions even for his single eye. His music seemed to be his alpha and omega. Nothing more did he need. He was the music and the music was he!

The music paused for a while to allow him to take in a few breaths of dry air. Two minutes forward in the physical world gave his mind time to go two decades backward. The concert hall was packed to capacity. Graf von Zeppelin, known to be one of the greatest patrons of music sat in the front row. A handsome young man stood at the center of the stage, a mandolin in hand. He wore a shiny black suit and crisp new trousers. When he played the whole hall was held spellbound. There was pin drop silence. When he completed his piece, the whole hall broke into applause. He just loved it. It was so intoxicating.

He bowed to the audience and began to play his next piece. His eyes happened to drift towards the Count. The music seemed to have lulled him to sleep. He ignored the Count and tried to concentrate on his music. The show turned out to be another spectacular success for Gerhard. People crowded around him to praise him during the post concert dinner. Chief among them was von Zeppelin. He usually enjoyed listening to words of appreciation from the rich and the famous. But today every time he heard profuse praise from the Count, only the image of him sleeping through the concert came to his eyes. All the praise seemed so hollow. He began to wonder whether all these people truly appreciated music. The rich and the powerful were probably attracted to any success and glory as flies to light. They did not have any interest in the music as such but just wanted to bask in this glory. They wanted to enhance their own reputation by associating with him and showing themselves to be great connoisseurs of art and music. These thoughts stole away his appetite.

He silently bore all the empty words of flattery till the dinner got over and finally headed home. He threw himself into his chair and wept. His whole success story looked like a cruel joke - a cosmic tragedy. He did not know how many glasses of Schnapps he had before sleep finally embraced him. Mist swirled in front of his eyes and suddenly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen appeared out of thin air. She wore a single garment of lustrous material that seemed to reveal more than it concealed. She held a flute in her hand. She had a deep sorrowful look on her face. She spoke up, “Gerhard, I am heartbroken. You have not been true to me. You have forsaken your true love and taken on a treacherous mistress – fame!” She turned around and slowly began to fade away. He could not bear the thought that he would never again see those lovely naked shoulders; the shining hair adorned with a laurel wreath and those shapely legs of pure ivory. He cried out, “Please do not leave me. I promise from now on I am all yours. I will never chase hollow fame. I shall play for you and you alone” He suddenly woke up with a start. He had dreamt a dream.

He had got carried away in his memories. Two minutes had extended to fifteen. He gave a brief sigh and resumed playing.


If you liked this story, you can check out my other stories here.

This story has been posted for  following 3 prompts:
Thursday Tales prompt #55 picture meme
Carry on Tuesday meme : "I dreamt a dream! What can it mean?" 
Three word Wednesday Prompt: Evident, Tragedy and Illusion

Men of Mars

Being the nearest planet to Earth and having similar conditions, the Red planet has always held the imagination of astronomers, mythologists and writers of science fiction and fantasy alike. Edgar Rice Borough's Barsoom series was one of the earliest science fiction series based on Mars that inspired many later writers such as Ray Bradbury. Edgar Rice Boroughs was not a typical science fiction writer. He was more popular for his Tarzan of the Apes series. The way he approaches the stories in the Barsoom series is also closer to swords and sorcery fantasy than science fiction. But then the lines between science fiction and fantasy are not so clearly drawn. I remember asking my professor in my first class of a course ’Introduction to science Fiction' the question on the difference between science fiction and fantasy. His reply was, "When a fairy God mother waves her wand and transforms a pumpkin into a chariot, it is fantasy. On the other hand if a scientist bombards a pumpkin with fluoride ions within a matter replicator and creates a space craft it is science fiction." The import being that it is essentially scientific jargon that differentiates science fiction from fantasy. I personally would define fantasy as something purely based on imagination with no basis on reality whereas science fiction tries to marry imagination to the known laws of the real world.

Getting to the Men of Mars series, what I like most is the way Boroughs has managed to create a complex alien culture consisting of the red men, the green men, the yellow men, the white men, black men and Kaldanes. Writing a story set in the real world is a challenge as one has to research a lot and connect your story to the real life places and events. On the other hand fantasy/science fiction is altogether a different challenge. Here you need to create worlds with their own consistent history, economy, politics, religion and technology. And then if it is an alien world, probably one has to create the world's own flora and fauna and intelligent life. Edgar Rice has managed to live up to this challenge, in fact much better than many of the modern science fiction/fantasy writers who usually try either to create a purely human world or try to set their stories in worlds created by the writers before them, most often Tolkien's world. He has also tried to give it a ring of reality by making Mars a dying desert planet going along with some of the scientific theories of the time which suggested Mars might have been an inhabited planet where life had died out.

This series introduces lot of interesting ideas that are explored in depth in later science fiction/fantasy stories. One of them is the possibility of old world Gods being powerful aliens whose powers were thought to be supernatural and men accorded to them status of Gods. This is seen in ‘Thuvia, the maid of Mars’ and ‘War lord of Mars’. It is probably an allegory of the real world society where religion is used as a tool to consolidate political and economic power. We see this idea fully developed in the television series ‘Star Gate’. One more key concept in Star Gate probably originated from this series - the concept of intelligent species with only brains developed and limited physical development using bodies of other beings as their crafts, living as a parasite. This is seen in ‘Chessmen of Mars’. In the book ‘Chessmen of Mars’, Boroughs has managed to create altogether a new game called Jetan with its own complex rules. Quidditch probably was not the imaginary first game.

If the reader is looking for convoluted plots and subtle development of character, she is in for disappointment. Most of the stories in this series follow more or less the same pattern of a cow boy hero undertaking hazardous journeys fighting his way through obstacles posed by the terrain and monstrous life forms culminating in a battle of good versus evil. The goody good hero triumphs over the callous villain and rescues the damsel in distress. The journey ends in lovers meeting and they live happily ever after. Amen.

This series is an ideal read for the casual reader and those who enjoys mindless action and a slug fest. However a serious science fiction/fantasy reader would be making a serious mistake by choosing to ignore this work. This series scores for its sheer depth of imagination. It has been a pioneer for the more complex future works a must read for any die hard science fiction reader. The one who can give it a miss is the connoisseur of good literature who turns his nose down at sci-fi.

If you liked this post, click here to read the previous post in this series.
Published as part of ABC Wednesday meme : M

Glass of life

I have drunk

Deep into the glass

Of my life.

The last dregs

Still remain to reflect on

How I spent my days.

This is my first attempt at a Spanish poetry form called Shadorma (Syllable structure structure: 3/5/3/3/7/5)
To learn more about Shadorma and to check out other people's attempt do visit One Stop Poetry. The image is from Magpie Tales Mag 61 weekly picture meme.

A grey world

Everything today is looking so damn dull grey

The black and the white no longer in the fray

The green and the red fallen by the way

The blue and the yellow no longer so mellow

The light and the dark battled and battled

Eternity’s end brought victory to the dark

Dark ate light and the world turned grey

Lush green jungles our earth did adorn

Every single moment new life was born

Now stand proudly shooting to the heavens

On old green ruins, grey cement jungles

Lovely red the roses, deep red the blood in our viens

Deep seated passions for love or for war

The red fire burnt out leaving just grey ashes

The men in grey suits now call all the shots

Bright yellow sun smiled out of the blue sky

Through the open window on a lazy day

But the grey cloud has hidden both sun and sky

Only grey windows pop up on the grey lap top

No blue, no green, no red, no yellow,

No black nor white but grey, grey, grey

Grey steel, grey cement, grey suits,

Grey offices, Grey screens, Grey windows,

Grey ash, grey smoke, Grey clouds

It is all just one damn dull grey world.


Posted for Jingle poetry for poetry potluck theme: environment, evolution and survival



Click here for award details


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A ray of hope at last?

I had decided a year back that I would stop sharing my views on political topics as I felt they serve no purpose as I do not bring anything new to the table that is not in public domain and so many other bloggers are already doing the same. But Anna Hazare's victory has brought me so much joy that I wanted to make an exception and just express myself.

For the past few years the developments in the country have been really depressing. The governments cupboard opened and skeleton after skeleton began to fall out. I totally lost faith in the clean image of the prime minister. What is the use of being clean when all dirty work is being done in your name? The behavior of the opposition also did not instill any confidence at all. Opposition was showing interest in only stalling the parliament and scoring political points. In the past few years parties have been hurling corruption allegations against each other but I am not aware of a single instance of conviction and recovery of misappropriated wealth. Corruption allegations only served to weaken political power.

As a member of the middle class, one could just choose to turn a blind eye to these kinds of things and mind your own business. That is what I wanted to do. I even thought of stopping buying newspapers so that I do not get upset early in the morning. But I realized soon the wolf would be at our own doors with the implementation of policies like those on genetically modified crops and nuclear power. These are issues that can have far reaching consequences on our day today lives. The fact that decisions on issues that can threaten our lives are being taken by people governed by short term personal gains was really scary. The ministers won't be eating the genetically modified crops nor will they sit in the country and die of nuclear radiation. I was bewildered and puzzled what will happen.

Of course all the intelligentsia sitting in ivory towers keep yapping about democratic institutions and middle class not voting and the like. I have never believed middle class minority can make any difference through voting in a country where large majority are poor and illiterate and subject to manipulation by money, muscle and caste considerations. But anyways I ensured I voted religiously every time there was an election to avoid allegations that I am just too lazy to spend that one hour to choose my representative, though I did not find any suitable candidate with a serious chance to win worth voting for. The level of success parties like Lok Satta, Lok Paritrana etc. have attained gives little hope. There are those who would say, it is too early. Give them time. But how much time do we give them before they finally start playing a serious role in the country’s political landscape? 10 years? 15 years? By then all over forests would be mined and exported to China, our daily bread would depend on seed companies and we would be sitting on top of a nuclear time bomb waiting to explode.

When I saw revolutions happening in Egypt, Tunisia, Yemen etc., I wondered if there would be a similar revolution in India and what form it would take. But in India, there was no clear face to focus all the feelings against like the dictators in those countries. So I felt we may not be able to mobilize like that. But Anna Hazare's struggle showed there is a way that middle class can make a difference here too. I am not so sure what will be achieved by members of civil society being included in the Lok Pal bill panel. I am not so passionate about that issue as such. But what gives me hope is the precedent that this has set. Not sure if government will buckle on more serious issues. But now the silent middle class on whose shoulders the entire country rests has a means to express their will.

Anna Hazare has emerged as the new age icon behind whom the middle class can rally, co-ordinate with each other using social media and raise their voice. Even after his time, more like him will follow along the way he has shown. Of course the opportunistic will try to misuse his iconic status the same way they have misused Mahatma Gandhi. But that is unavoidable and it hurts me to read articles against his noble struggle, saying he is holding democracy to ransom and other similar allegations.  People for their own reason can choose not to come on to the streets to support this struggle. But people who do nothing themselves can at least be quite instead of criticizing.

This is not my typical blog post seeking readership. I have tried not to show my skills at framing arguments and analyzing issues or humor or language prowess here. If I had done that I would be trivializing the cause and misusing the noble struggle like some of the opportunistic politicians and other public figures have been doing. I just felt strongly about this and wanted to express my heartfelt feelings towards this great struggle and what it means for our country. And that I have done. Hopefully next time when there is a struggle for a more serious issue, I will be able to express my support out on the streets and not cozily in front of my computer screen.

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Sindbad The Sailor

Summer vacations are the best time during school days. Other than the relaxation, each summer vacation marks a milestone in life moving from one class to another making progress in life. In a work life, we don’t seem to have this kind of clear progression marked by a vacation. Time seems to come to a standstill. And when changes happen, one is not sure if one is progressing or regressing. Wish entire life were like school time. Getting back to school time, one of the excitements for me at the end of summer vacations was when I got brand new school books for the next year. One thing was that was the only time school books look anything like books. My books used to be barely recognizable at the end of the academic year. People like to get opinions right out of the horse’s mouth but my mother used to say my books look as if they have come right out of a donkey’s mouth. That aside still it was exciting seeing new books, especially the English books.

English typically consisted of a reader having collection of short stories, excerpts from large novels and poetry. Then there was the dreaded grammar, which of course was as exciting as plucking out every toe nails. But let us not talk about that now. The most exciting part was the non-detail which was usually a simplified version of a classical work. One of the years, the non detailed book was 'Adventures of Sindbad the Sailor'. And that was really my first introduction to the fantasy genre. Reading about the seven voyages of Sindbad the sailor gave me such a wonderful time I actually forgot to be sad about my summer vacation ending. Some might argue that Sindbad cannot be classified as fantasy in the strict sense of the word, but it does have strong fantasy elements.

Most fantasies are based on Celtic folklore and most children’s’ and fantasy books give a Euro-centric view of the world. So anything non Celtic with the center of gravity in a different part of the world comes as a breath of fresh air. Nowadays somehow a strongly negative view is projected of the Middle East as a backward region with regressive thinking. This book on the contrast gives us a romantic view of the region and showcases its glorious past. This book is set in Basra in Iraq during the time of Abbasid Caliph Harun Al Rashid. Most of Sindbad's travels are in the seas East of Africa and South of Asia. This book gives us a brief glance into the culture, civilization and prosperity in these regions.

The story is narrated as a first person account of Sindbad himself telling the story of his adventures to Sindbad the porter. The story is organized into seven parts giving an account of Sinbad’s seven voyages. The story does not have much use for character development. The book is more outward looking that inward looking, making it an excellent book for light reading. The stories are all about guts and glory. They are a celebration of the spirit of adventure. The reader is taken on an adventure of his lifetime in the shoes of Sindabad. One encounters fantastical creatures such as the roc, the huge serpents, the island monster and the Cyclops. Then we have human villains in the form of the old man of the sea who use lost voyagers as his steed till they drop to death and the cannibal tribe that feeds lost voyagers, fatten them up and then have them for dinner. The stories give a gripping account of how Sindbad through his ingenuity and initiative overcomes these various obstacles and comes up trumps in each of his voyages. The book also goes at length to describe the riches and wealth of the different kingdoms he visits. The reader feels a vicarious pleasure reading about them.

There are also some interesting cultural elements introduced in the book. One such element is a kind of reverse Sati that our feminists would just love. In one of the lands, Sindbad gets married and then discovers that there is a custom that if a wife dies the husband has to be buried with her. And as luck would have it his wife dies and Sindbad gets buried alive with food supplies for a few days. Of course since the story is being told in flashback by a Sindabad who is alive and kicking, we know that he managed to escape the burial alive. To know how, I suggest the reader to read the book for I am not retelling the story here.

To summarize, it is one smashing fantasy adventure. Though it does not have too much for the serious reader, it should be read for the overall positive spirit it infuses. And definitely a must read for children. Other than being a fun read that glorifies adventure, it can help in overcoming the prejudices about the Islamic world. At the least the book drives home the point that medieval Middle East was as much an interesting region as medieval Europe.

If you liked this post, click here to read the previous post in this series.

Puppet

He has landed on

the moon and planted his flag

Puppet's Talent

The choice of acompanying image may be curious. But I had my reasons and I feel it goes with the deeper meaning I want to convey.. Posted for Haiku heights prompt #37 : Puppet, Missed the deadline for Magpie Tales No. 59. But would like to give Tess Kincaid credit for the picture.

His Last words

Picture credit: Daniel Hayman

The tea was going cold. But tea could wait. Not his pen. The writing on the wall was loud and clear.  All the riches of the world cannot be as persuasive as an impending appointment with the firing squad.  He would not let his thoughts disappear from the face of the earth along with him.

This is my second attempt at 55 Fiction posted on Thurdsay tales #53 for the picture prompt, Three word wednesday for the prompt: persuasive, loud, riches and Friday Flash 55

A Journey

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 19; the nineteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

The mercury had hit the 40 degrees mark. It was one of the hottest days of the year. Lot of people had taken ill with sunstroke. Still that had not deterred the crowd at the Nagpur station. Around 100 people were waiting for the Grand Trunk express. Among them a smart looking lanky youth standing casually with a sky bag in his hand, smoking his Wills Navy Cut. Summer vacations were over and it was time to return to the institute. The heat was getting to him. Manish was glad that he was travelling in the AC compartment and did not have to brave the heat in the second class.


Nitish Kumar seemed to have really infused efficiency into the Indian railway system after all. For a change, nowadays trains were arriving dot on time. Sharp at 2.30 pm, the Grand Trunk Express chugged its way into the platform and Manish was soon on his way to Chennai. He did not like train journeys. They were so tedious and boring. But the minute he entered his compartment, he was in for a pleasant surprise. The seat opposite to him was occupied by one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. She was probably in her early twenties, had pretty blue eyes, hazel colored hair and cute little nose. She was wearing a smashing red sleeveless frock. Manish couldn’t believe his luck. But then luck has his limits for right next to the young lady, sat an older woman in a more modest frock, a white one with floral patterns. Manish could clearly see the resemblance between the two women. Clearly her mother he surmised. Next to her sat an upright gentleman in a striped coat. His hair was dyed black and his French beard was white and dyed in the middle. He looked rather stern and disciplined, probably an ex-service man. How this crazy fellow could wear a coat in this kind of whether, he wondered.

He then turned his attention towards the other passengers in the compartment. Next to him was an old gentleman in Safari suit. He was clean shaven and his hair had turned grey. He had the look of a business man. Next to him sat a middle aged man. He was rather diminutive in appearance and his clothes were rather plain. He held a book in his hand and seemed to be drowned in that book. Manish was curious to see the title of the book. It read ‘Financial Reporting and Analysis’ by Lawrence, Revsine, Daniel Collins and W. Bruce Johnson.
 “How boring!” thought Manish.
 "Probably a looser trying to gain brownie points at office by doing a correspondence MBA". 
 Though an IITian, books and studies were clearly not Manish’s forte and he looked down upon the bookish types.

The train set into a rhythm and began to loll along at a steady pace. Manish kept stealing sidelong glances at the girl. But she seemed to pay him no attention. She seemed to be intently gazing out of the window. He wanted to start a conversation with her. But a direct attack might be risky in front of her parents. So he decided to attack from the flanks.
“Hello Aunty. You people are travelling to Chennai?” The old lady nodded her head without any change of expression.
“You people boarded at Delhi?” Another stony nod! Clearly momma was not the talkative type. So he decided to try papa.
“Uncle, you seem to move your hand uncomfortably. You had some injury?”

This time the hook had fallen in the right place.
“Well, my boy, my arm had been paralyzed for the past 40 years. It had given me a lot of hardship over the years. But no sacrifice is big given in the call of duty for one’s motherland.” Manish decided to press his advantage.
“You fought the Indo China war of 1965?”

"Even before that. I served on the INS Beas under Lieutenant Arun Auditto during the Indo-Portuguese war of 1960s".
This was the first time Manish was hearing of an Indo –Portuguese war. He tried to remember where exactly Portugal was. He had not paid much attention to geography at school. But he was sure Portugal was definitely nowhere near India. The only thing he could remember about Portugal was Luis Figo the football player. But that definitely did not throw light on what this war was about. He did not want to display his ignorance in front of his dream girl’s dad. But he need not have worried for papa was not done yet.
“It was the most glorious moment for Indian Navy. We defeated a European Naval power and liberated our territory. We laid siege around the coast of Anjadiv island for 18 days. Seven sailors lost their lives and thanks to our valiant efforts, Goa celebrated its first Christmas as Indian Territory in 1961.”
Suddenly a bulb glowed in Manish’s head. “Ah, Goa!”
 Now he remembered. Goa had been a Portuguese colony. And he also seemed to recall a Portuguese gentleman by the name of Vasco Da Gamma.

The light had begun to fade. The train was now nearing the Maharashtra border. The train attendants had arrived with the pillows and sheets. Orders were taken for night dinner. Manish ordered a non-vegetarian meal. The red bombshell’s family had also ordered a non-vegetarian meal. The elderly gentleman next to him ordered a vegetarian meal. The book worm did not order anything.
“All these book worms were so alike. Dim witted! Unimaginative! Stingy!” Manish cursed within his mind.
 He had still not managed to evict even the slightest response from her. But he was clearly glad to have met a distinguished officer. He had always had deep respect for members of the armed forces. In some time, dinner was served and the berths were pulled up. Soon Manish was magically transported into a fairy world full of dense white fumes and women in shiny gowns. He was dancing a duet with the angel sleeping on the opposite berth with the other angels running all around.

The wonderful dream came to an end with the sound of clapping and someone touching his face.
 “In the name of God, give me 10 Rs, Sir”.
Those damn eunuchs! He took a 10 Rs note out of his pocket and gave it and got rid of the eunuch. It was still early in the morning. But he could see the family in the opposite seat was already up. They had had folded the berths and were sitting on their seats. The reading bug seemed to have caught on to his heart throb as well. She was reading through a business magazine.
“Hmm . Must be a MBA student”, he thought.

As they were having breakfast, the man next to him spoke up.
“Do your work for Infosys, son? Isn’t that the watch they had given for the Billion dollar celebration?” Manish looked at his watch.
“No, Sir. I am still a student. My elder sister works for Infosys. She gifted me her watch.”
The old man gave a hollow cough and continued to speak. “Ok. Since I have been with Infosys since its inception, I always feel a familial bond with any Infosys employee.”
 Manish’s eyes nearly popped out. ”A founding member of Infosys!”
He knew with his marks, he had little hope of a good campus placement. Maybe some networking on the train would help his cause. Here was a godsend opportunity.
 “Sir, I am so delighted to meet you. Mr. Narayanamurthy is my role model and my ambition is to work for Infosys.”
The old man smiled at him. ”So it is for every young man, my son. I remember the day 25 years back when Infosys was nearly closed down. All the founders wanted to concede defeat. But NRN alone wanted to stand and fight. He said he would buy out all the others’ shares and run the company alone if they did not have the heart to face up to the challenge. That swayed the others and rest is history.”

The girl who had busy with her magazine lifted her head up and spoke up.
“Sir, I have read all about Infosys and its history. I have seen the photo of all the founders. Forgive my ignorance but you don’t look familiar”. The old man seemed nonplussed.
 “When did I say I was one of the founders? I was the company driver.”
 Manish saw all his hopes going up in smoke. But at least the girl was speaking now and at last he had an opening.

“You seem to know a lot about famous people. Not surprising, eh? Being the daughter of famous war veteran?”
He knew flattery was the best weapon that made women defenseless. And appreciation of a parent was a safe approach which would look innocuous. But something was wrong. She gave a derisive laugh.
”My father and a famous war veteran! You fell for his stories of the Indo-Portugese war?” The girl was at last speaking to him but he did not like her tone at all. This was not his idea of a romantic conversation. But she continued
“Yes, Papa served on that ship during the war. But he was the cook. He slipped and fell in the kitchen and got his arm immobilized.”
The girl’s dad was glowering in indignation.
“Enough Maria. Shut up and read your Business world” The girl’s mother had at last condescended to open her mouth.
The girl’s mouth curled into a cute pout and she went back to her magazine. Manish was feeling like a deflated balloon. He looked around and noticed the bookworm still absorbed in his book, oblivious of the conversation among his co-passengers.
 "A cook and a driver, eh? The kind of people travelling in AC compartment these days! And what was this fellow at the other end of the seat? ", he wondered, "A janitor?"

It was not long before the girl was speaking up again.
“Sir, aren’t you Mr. Chandrakanth?” Manish looked up to see who she was addressing. The man in the corner at last lifted his head out of the book and looked at her.
“Oh, no. Not that bumpkin! And who the hell was Chandrakanth? He knew only Chandrakantha the fantasy serial that came on Sunday mornings. And definitely this fellow was not on the cast.”
He soon had his answer. “I have read about you, Sir. The story of how you founded Varun ice cream is a legend at our B-School”, she effused out.
She looked radiant with excitement. “And that too hailing from a lower middle class family and having had a mere school education”

He gave her a shy smile. ”Yes it was tough. But then I had the passion and I believed I could do it. I did not see night or day. I just put my heart and soul into it. And my dreams soon began to transform into reality. But I always regretted not having a formal business education. Now I have no time to attend a MBA program. So I indulge in self study in whatever little free time I manage to get.”

Manish felt ashamed of himself. He had been passing judgment on a person of such stature. He, who had achieved nothing in life! He, who squandering away the good fortune in the form of a seat at one of the country’s premier institutions! It had been a humbling experience for him that had taught him. The person getting out of the train would not be the same as the one that got in. The train journey had taught him a valuable lesson for the journey of life.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.