I am just a destiny's child, blessed but.

All that I am today - though ain't much - is because of one august educational institution. And, when I say institution, I mean every one who became a part of my life during my school days - Rev. Fr. Raphael, Ms. Winnie Isaacs, the rest of my teachers and classmates. Some have passed, some have moved on and some of my mates are still creating ruckus in the group by bickering and bantering, which I feel, some of us will never outgrow.  

As far as academics were concerned, I didn't have any aim, my dad had and I disappointed him. But life had other plans and circumstances thrust goals on me. And to achieve those, I assumed many roles on a wing and a prayer.

Most of what I learnt in the school syllabus and later during my intermediate and graduation days at Cawnpore have not been used till date and have been conveniently shelved (perhaps for use in the next life). But who cares? The Radiant Reader, Shakespeare, poems, prose and a smatter of tidbits imbibed from my school days stood by me through thick and thin, kept my head above water and ensured my daily Puttu and Kadala.  

The professions that I have been a part of except for copywriting - would have continued in that profession if it hadn't been for the meddlers - had standard operational procedures, rules and British established methods. To do justice to the work, all one had to do was study and follow them to the dot . And, that’s exactly what I did, coupled with all that I’d absorbed from my school days.

There's an old saying that even monkeys can learn to fly given the time. Therefore for an average, belligerent arsehole, sometimes selfish, at times fun loving, adventurous and mostly scared guy like me….the proverb stands justified. But, what I hold close to my heart are the memories of those whom I befriended, my mentors and the awareness gained in the precincts of my Alma Mater: ST JOHN DE BRITTO ANGLO-INDIAN BOYS HIGH SCHOOL, FORT COCHIN

…and life goes on.

Hickory Dickory…Balls

They want to judge our yield by the hours,

manipulate our country’s labour laws and

wind us up like a grandfather clock,

thinking it can shape our nation’s growth.

They want to tweak our working hours,

from seventy to ninety or hundred a week and

hold our life by the bloody balls, 

thinking it can shape our nation’s growth.

They want to corral us and drive us hard,

make us pitch in day and night and 

deny us our basic human rights,

thinking it can shape our nation’s growth.

They want to pay us less to cut the costs,

choke us all in a stranglehold and

turn us all into the living dead,

thinking it can shape our nation’s growth.

They want to deny us the intimacy of conjugal bliss, 

the warmth of our family time over tea and chips and 

the mirth of a tipple at the local pub,

thinking it can shape our nation’s growth.

These douchebags lead joyless and constipated lives,

complete with repressed emotions and forced self-denials, and

these convoluted ideas ooze out of 

their rear-ends to snuff out a nation’s life.