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. 

Choice is yours
Happy Yoga Day - 21st of June 2022
Image Source: Google

 

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This was written for an associate - higher up the professional pecking order -  on completing 31 years of service in the organisation.

Hats off to a fruitful haul

Before...
the confetti flies, I disagree
with what you said the other day,
that survive is what you did, in
these three decades and a year.

Perhaps...
consciously modest, you’re trying to be
or truly humble that you downplay
the merit of your successes, of
these three decades and a year.

Yet...
as I look back, at the last
couple of months of our association,
my perception is different, of
these three decades and a year.

For…
it’s clear, from your nature
that every feather in your cap has been,
achieved through sweat and toil, in
these three decades and a year.

Therefore...
Despite the hiccups, it’s a
pleasure to be a part of your team,
congratulations on your achievements, in
these three decades and a year.

 

Between The Cup and the Lip

We had met after 28 years, my friend and I.

My college mate back then, he was now a US citizen who had cashed in on the magic of silicon chips and was in Cochin to attend his niece’s marriage. While in the midst of everything he wanted to take a break and get away from all the hullabaloo; Bangalore flickered on his itinerary. So along with a friend he caught the next flight to Bangalore.

Why Bangalore, I had wondered when I came to know of his visit.

Then I realized East or West, chimps are drawn to (silicon) chips besides dollars. What do you say guys?

When we caught up in the lobby of Lalit Ashok, memories were rekindled and it was like the old times again. He introduced his friend and since they had a few hours to spare before their flight to Cochin, we headed to the nearest pub.  While we chatted over beer and whisky at the PUB WORLD, my new acquaintance told me that he was a painter by profession (I should have guessed because most of his face was hidden behind the beard) and pointed out that the mural behind the bar counter was painted  by him years ago. That was a pleasant surprise and as we walked over to take a closer look, some of the old hands working in the pub recognized him and exchanged pleasantries. To him this might have been the recognition he deserved for a job well done. Anyway it brought in a sense of warmth and belonging.

After the curiosity died down, we resumed our drinks and animated conversation. But our creative friend’s contribution was irregular; he was busy chipping away at a something with the kitchen knife he had borrowed from the pub’s cookhouse. And then abruptly, he gave me the piece he had been working on and said, “Keep it as a memento of today’s meeting.” Shortly thereafter we headed for the airport and parted company.

Some gestures though spontaneous leave a permanent impression. To me it resembles Lord Ganesha and adorns my home – a priceless possession. Look closely and you might discover something new.

Thanks mate, wherever you are.

Transformation

After a long time, I watched a Malayalam movie last Sunday on TV. 

The story – a social drama – showcased the pristine beauty of Kerala, the uncertainties of life, the consequences of childhood waywardness, and the comfort of marijuana. But even while engrossed in the movie, random thoughts of my childhood flitted in and out of my mind like fireflies on a wet, dark, moonless night. And as the movie came to an end, I sat trapped in nostalgia. Then slowly, very slowly I saw my present form beside the reflections of my past. It was that of a stranger, disconnected from everyone and everything I once loved and cherished.

I had turned into a recluse, fashioned by circumstances in the sands of time without my consent or knowledge. To me everyone had become a potential foe or a threat. And I had either distanced myself or lashed out at anyone who tried to come close to me. As I sat stupefied under the weight of the revelation, I wondered: “Would I be able to enjoy life once again selflessly in all its innocence, trust, and sense of wonder?”

Just like the old times!

A Leaf From My Book Of Memories...

... reproduced at the behest of my friend Sudhir, being placed before my childhood chums.

Two decades and a couple of years back, Azad and I went for the 1st show at Sujatha theatre, which, if you remember was on the road behind Cochin College (I don’t know if it still exists).  As usual, Azad sponsored the tickets to king’s row - those days I was a perennial pauper - and we sat down to watch the movie. I don’t  recollect the name. The first half went off without a glitch but half way through the second half the power went off. The only options before us were to sit through the power cut and see the movie when the supply resumed or leave the theatre and head home to avoid a conflict for coming in late.

Azad came up with an alibi to save his arse, but I was worried. It was difficult to gauge my dad’s varying moods. Or, come up with a reason for my coming in late to suit his existing frame of mind. Anyway despite all my fears, I decided to stick through the movie come what may. I had 20 paisa in my pocket for student's ticket fare. With that we bought two blue bird cigarettes and puffed through the power cut. The power-supply resumed shortly and the movie was over by ten at night. As we had already sent up our bus fare in smoke, we half walked, half ran our way home after taking a shortcut at Pandikudy. Azad had some more distance to cover to reach his house, therefore we bid adieu in front of my gate.

When I opened the gate to step into my house, I found my father dressed up and  ready to step out. So, feigning innocence I asked him where he was going so late in the night. He said he planned to go to Gary’s house to check on me for being so late (I had told mum that I was going to Gary’s house for combined study). The power failure was a twist of fate, which I couldn't anticipate. Then, I reasoned with him and tried to pacify him by saying that it was too late to go to anybody’s house. “Does he have a phone?” was his next question. Since we didn't have a telephone, I tried to wiggle out by telling him that no booths will be open so late at night. It was the era of STD booths and late night calls and that stupid reason gave me away. He said, “You lead me to his house, I’ll follow you”! He added that Gary’s parents, being parents themselves, will understand his concern for paying them a visit so late into the night.

The rest, my dear friends is history - the circuitous route I took to find a secluded spot and spill the beans, which took us to the junction on 50 feet road before Dalton’s house, past Biju Peter’s house, St. Jude’s shrine, Joseph Sebastian’s house, even Gary’s house, and then the deserted stretch in front of INS Dronacharya, where I confessed, earned some sound whacks on the spot; the non-stop festivities that followed for a few days at home thereafter was the icing on the cake. I also recollect the frequent rests he took on the way due to his heart condition.

For all his efforts and worries, he left us very early and I am the president of Utopia.

Regards

Vincent Thomas

Weekend blues… in God’s own capital

Stepped out early,
on Saturday morning,
hoped to calm my restless state.

On my itinerary,
were some unique spots,

assured to calm my restless state.

Sat by the seashore,
but the rhythm of the pounding waves,
failed to calm my restless state.

Stood before the palace gates;
but the sight of the meandering pathways,
failed to calm my restless state.

Looked inside the museum,
but the splendor of the artistic depictions,
failed to calm my restless state.

Walked in the park,
but the charm of the planted flora,
failed to calm my restless state.

Peeked into the zoo,
but the twinge of the caged inmates,
failed to calm my restless state.

Listened to the folk-songs,
but the renditions of the street musicians,
failed to calm my restless state.

Bought a takeaway dinner,
but the taste of the spicy spread,
failed to calm my restless state.

Trudged to my hired space, 
but the loneliness within the place,
aggravated my restless state.

Took a sheet of paper,
put my restless state on it,
drifted off into a peaceful sleepppzzzzzzz……..

The Driftwood

The solitary piece of driftwood,
broke my stroll and my thoughts;
stripped of its bark and bleached,
it looked grotesque yet alluring;
a creation of nature’s vagaries,
or mankind’s insatiable need;
could be a part of the local flora,
or a drifter from distant lands;
wanderings and brief stopovers,
erased its identity and its roots;
mood swings of the elements,
built resilience and the will to survive;
its existence is spiced with variety,
yet mired in uncertainty and transience;
for tomorrow it may become kindling,
or part of an artist’s design;
it may even  merge with the shoreline,
or be swept-in for a new spell of roving;
its future therefore is a probability,
and fate is preordained.

A Pleasant Encounter

It happened by chance,

for between the query,

and the point of sale,

there were many goof-ups,

besides the waste of time.

Courtesy – an inept salesman,

and our many lingos.

Yet she patiently persisted,              

for her need was urgent,

and the computer Shoppe,

was the only one around,

that’s when I intervened,

to make the task easier,

for her and the salesman. 

“You a techie?” she asked,

as she waited for the bill.

”An underpaid writer,” I replied.

“What about you,” I asked.

“Pursuing my M Tech” she said.

”What do you write?” she asked,

” Just about anything,” I parried.

“Pick a topic,” I teased,

she tried but gave up .

“Can you write about me,”

she asked with a smile.

I nod ‘n’ wished I was younger,

by a quarter of a C or more;

as I reflected, clients drop-in.

Magic’s lost, moment’s broken,

she stepped out and so did I.

we bid each other no adieu,

and just melted into the crowd,

to become strangers once again.

Yet I had a word to keep,

and finish what I  started.

This here is to the comely one...,

What I saw when you walked in,

was brains and a sense of poise,

focus and a tad of prudence,

the more we spoke, I understood,

that before me was the reflection,

of my nation’s future… its hope.   

Remember… it’s all for the better!

God created successful people in two categories. People in the first category are born into the right circumstances with enough intelligence and talent to become successful, which they turn out to be.

Whereas, people in the second category are only destined to become successful; those favorable attributes are not a part of their hereditary kit. Therefore, God puts-in additional time and effort for years on end – works overtime, slogs on Sundays and other holidays, puts them through unusual and tough experiences – to imbue the right traits to become successful and also to handle it. God calls this process ‘testing times’. However, during these difficult periods, God stays by their side… always.

We may find the first category of people lucky and blessed; indeed they are. But, only God and people from the second category know the struggles and hardships they endured hand in hand to become successful in life. That’s why at the end of it, both cherish every moment of their journey together.

Maybe one day you will too, if God so desires.

This is a reproduction of my brother, Jon’s, pep mail to me to curb my habitual complaining.

Monkey Business

Scams aplenty, scandals galore,

steal headlines every day.
Anchors squeal, cameramen focus,
strive to keep ratings high.
Spin-doctors held, beans spilled,
more abettors in the dock.
Some quiver, others careless,
evidence blow the masks away.
Many more, lose sleep,
net widens day-by-day.
Unmerited choice, simian antics, 

blew the lid off the latest one.
Fables say, never trust,
the bloody monkey in the pack.

How long?

They debate, they dither, 

in the limelight and chambers,
anchors and intellectuals,
lawmakers and judges
for they have a purpose;
tanmoy, dayal, and hari join in,
though nothing worthwhile,
come from it.

Juveniles or adults?
harsh or lenient?
reformable  or incorrigible? 
life or death ? oh  so many questions,
phew……………………. bollocks! 
waste no time, show no mercy,
crush their nuts or slice their winkies,
just render them, rapers…Dick-no-bee(s)

Dare to deter

Carnal urge drove,

the cavemen to it.

Overtime it echoed,

some perverse facets

of an ‘evolving’ society:

power, oppression, bias,

depravity, anarchy, and

at times insanity too.

Today the motives

that lead to this,

heinous act remains

the same maybe more.

So if it is equal status

that ye maidens seek,

learn to fcuking  kick

some bloody butts too.

For as history has shown
it has happened before, 
and today is no different
so for the status you crave,
it’s time you fought
amidst all the apathy,
to realistically fashion
the morrow of your dreams.

Bum-Ba-Ra-Bum

Oh, they come in countless sizes,

and in many different shapes.

Oh, they come in varied colors,

and are a feast for the bloody eyes.

Those cute little cupcakes, 
the teenage missies flaunt.

Tightly wrapped in low cuts,

for a peek from passers-by.

Those round fleshy melons,

the curvy aunties flash.

Deftly wrapped in regulars,

for a gawk from passers-by.

Those ripe puckered papayas,

the weathered socialites bare.

Cleverly wrapped 'n' padded,

for a look from passers-by.

Oh, they come in countless sizes,

and in many different shapes.

Oh, they come in varied colors,

and are a feast for the bloody eyes. 

Chutki... a year later

A bundle of mischief, joy, and energy;
always curious, she's never still.

O Bangalore

Missies, pretty and well-endowed,
hunks, rugged and macho.
Wrap defiant attitudes in urban attires,
and prefer to live life in the fast lane.
Feel conveniently secure in,
dim-lit bars and noisy pubs.
Blow smoke rings between,
leisurely sips and tasty tidbits.
Zoom around in a drunken haze,
careless and carefree, they are.
Life begins through thy veins,
O Bangalore, even the metro!

Women, engrossed and trussed,
men, bored and seeking.
Wrap frustration in branded outfits,
and prefer to live a life of pretence.
Feel comfortably secure in,
ashrams and holistic retreats.
Take deep breaths between,
chanting mantras and yoga poses.
Walk around in a hallowed haze,
confused and piqued, they are.
Life moves through thy veins,
O Bangalore, even the metro!

Grannies, frail and wise,
grandpas, mellowed and patient.
Wrap loneliness in altered garments,
and want to live every moment.
Feel conveniently secure in,
old-age homes or with reluctant off-springs.
Stifles a sniffle between,
every step and flashes of reminiscence.
Wobble around in a submissive haze,
perturbed and glum, they are.
Life ebbs through thy veins,
O Bangalore, even the metro!

Woman

Beautiful among his creations,
blooms when nurtured in freedom.
So have fun and let her be; for change
is a part of her chemistry,
and of life itself.

The death knell?

People I knew left, one after the other
euphoria does not last forever.
One quit, as a nuptial favour;
had to happen someday or the other.
The Star-Spangled Banner took another;
opportunity and talent walk close together.
Soon followed, the only mentor,
interference had doused the fervour.
Another got the wader;
warped instincts lead to failure.

Hisses are getting louder and closer;
intent is clear, it’s all for power.
Indus bonds with Hoogly and Bellandur;
sounds surreal, it's the truth however.
Claps aplenty for all things mediocre;
mired in apathy lies the stickler.
Works are fiddled, just to bother;
zeal is lost, no creative fire.
Got caught, in a state of stupor;
road ahead looks rocky and obscure.

Curtains for some... close shaves for a few

Just recently...
an uncle, a cousin,
and a chum, shed
their mortal forms and
crossed over to the netherworld.

Another two buddies,
almost caught a glimpse,
of the pearly gates,
but a twist of fate,
brought them back.

Now, the departed...
are they reliving,
their earthly days,
with good old St. Pete,
over beers and cigarettes?

Or, are they getting
ready for another stint,
in a new guise,
on good old earth,
to savour life, yet again?

Now, the survivors...
are they thankful,
for the second chance,
the lord gave them,
to sip from the cup of life?

Or, do they remain
oblivious to the close call,
preferring to live life,
with a bit of virtue and ,
a lot of vice or vice-versa?