“THERE’S NO MORE FUN , YOU ARE NOT THE ONE”

HE SAID, “THERE IS NO MORE FUN,

YOU ARE NOT THE ONE”

She said, “

My dad was struggling hard to keep his emotions at Bay,

my mom had tears rolling down all the Way.

My little brother had hugged me and wouldn’t let me Go,

but I left them all because I thought from today, it is you whom I got to Know.

And you say,

“THERE IS NO MORE FUN,

YOU ARE NOT THE ONE”

You go out of home at morning 8,

And return at midnight and very Late.

I come home early, to spend time with You,

But end up talking to loneliness, which is no more New.

And you say,

“THERE IS NO MORE FUN,

YOU ARE NOT THE ONE”

I come home tired but still cook delicious food and wait for you to come for Dinner,

because I feel like talking to you and making your life much Easier.

But you don’t let me know that you will be Late,

I would almost always doze off on the sofa or table, tired after all the Wait.

And you say,

“THERE IS NO MORE FUN,

YOU ARE NOT THE ONE”

Sometimes you come home very Drunk,

Shouting, screaming and calling me Junk.

I remove you shoes, and carefully put you on Bed,

Even though you murmur that you would like me to see Dead.

And you say,

“THERE IS NO MORE FUN,

YOU ARE NOT THE ONE”

Now, tears were overflowing from the dam he maintained in his Eyes,

He knew that he was a cruel beast and it wasn’t all Nice.

He fell on his knees and his head tilted down overburdened with shame,

Because he knew that its time to take all the Blame.

“Sorry, now, would be such a shameless thing to Say,

Because I know I have damaged your lovely heart in a great Way.”

With his hands folded as if he was begging for Mercy,

His eyes meet her’s like the horizon and the deep blue Sea.

“There is no fun, without You,

Please I beg you to help me to start all New.

I was such a jerk to say, you were not the One,

Please give me a final chance or you may shoot me with a point blank Gun.”

Listening to this, I think the river in her heart was overflowing with forgiveness,

She helped him to his feet and hugged him with that child like innocence.

Note:

For all those who take her love for Granted,

Believe me or not, she is your strength, without her you are Unwanted.

------ RAJ

A LOVE STORY IN BUS N32

Everyday I stood there at 8,

In formals and Straight.

I would wait for my bus N32,

If you don’t have a pass, the driver would ask,” Where 2?”

Most of the day’s she would pass by Me,

I knew, some day for her, I would fall on my Knee.

She was very pretty, beautiful and Sweet,

Drops of sweat would run down my face, I bet it was because of her and the Chennai Heat.

Her eyes were the prettiest of All,

Something that reminds me of my niece Barbie Doll.

She would look gorgeous on days when she wore Pink,

Now, I must admit, this is what made me a poet with the paper and Ink.

One beautiful day, as I got into bus N32,

I was surprised to look at her on seat number 2.

My eyes went red, white and Blue,

I could only hope that she got a Clue.

Next day I mustered all my confidence and Energy,

Asked her, “Can I sit here?” with perfect Synergy.

I guess she thought I was something like that boy on wrapper of Parle-G.

She said, “Oh? Sure.”

But I thought I heard, “Yes, my Dear!!”

I asked her out on a date,

She said, “How about breakfast? I can’t Wait.”

So, my first date was in cafeteria,

I don’t remember what I said I had, malaria, diarrhea or Lovearia.

Anyway, next few days N32 was the most cheerful Bus,

We spoke about politics, roads, people, work but nothing about my Crush.

Many a time’s I thought I got to tell her how much I liked her Here,

But it reminded me of the betrayal in the movie Primal Fear.

One day, she said smilingly and sweetly, “Finally, I am getting Married.”

I heard something inside me, thought it was my heart which just got Buried.

I looked into her eyes with an innocent and blank Face,

Consoled my heart with words like, “someone beat me in the Race.”

My eyes were damp, tears rolled down my Face,

But hey I couldn’t have cried, then what is this Maze?

I wiped my eyes, to see my mom with a half bucket Water and a Gaze,

The other half I knew was what on my Face.

Mom said, “You idiot stupid. Who is that Girl?”

I thought, “Am I still dreaming?” and said “mom, what Pearl?”

She said, “Get out of the bed, there is a GIRL waiting for you in the Hall.”

I ran my figures across my hair and rushed to the hall almost missing the Wall.

I saw a girl looking out of the Window,

“Hi, you will not find me there” said I, which sounded like a Kiddo.

She turned around to face Me.

I fainted screaming, “Oh my God, someone help Me”

NOTE :

Dedicated to all those who snore loudly in the Bus

Just to let you know that there are possibilities plenty and Enough.

OUTSOURCING E-WASTE or MAKING INDIA A CHEAP DUMP YARD ?

Alright, who is wrong here? You are dumping the garbage in your neighbor’s house or your neighbors who allows you to dump the garbage because they get paid for it.

If you ask me, both are equally at fault. But what about those innocents who are not aware of the consequences of staying with these dumps? They are the people who face the music for this idiotic act of some one else.



We all, at least most of them who cared, know about the French flag ship Clemenceau which was supposed to come into Alang ship breaking yard in Gujarat, to be dismantled. It was decommissioned from service many years ago This ship was full of asbestos (around 40-50 tonnes), PCBs (polychlorinated biphenyls), TBT (tributyltin), lead, mercury and other toxic chemicals, which France and no other European country was willing to or able to scrap due to expensive environmental costs.



Then why do the Government of France sends it off to India to be broken in a scrap yard where impoverished workers are injured and die every day due to various occupational health hazards?



I will tell you why? Strange it might sound but, few Indain’s sold their soul along with the lives of innocent thousands for some quick money. Now, can you believe that the government which on one hand talks about Global Warming, Environment and all b*** s*** sold their people for colored papers with some thick head printed on it. The Indian company had bought it and the union government supported it.



The workers who dismantle these very hazardous materials do it without any kind of protective clothing’s and very soon one out of the three land up with a cancer or die due to mishaps during the process. In addition to this, the worst part is that they aren’t covered under any labor benefits. I mean we understand that the workers are knowledgeable enough to know these things, yet they do it because surviving for just one more day is their only criteria. But isn’t it the duty of the government and these companies to stop preying on these people’s weakness?



The irony in fact is that, it was the Greenpeace and other three anti-asbestos groups which raised their voices against this movement and Indians were kept in dark until supreme court intervened.



On Saturday, as usual I was having a quick scan of the news paper when my eyes caught hold of this headlines, “Urban waste ‘imported’ from U.S. to be shipped back”



Three containers carrying URBAN waste arrived at the Kochi Port from the United States in the first week of October. Exactly what is this urban waste ? It means, 40 % of the 60 tones of the consignment contains plastic, glass, metal, cartridges of photocopying machines, food waste and gloves.



Now, it’s a shame that these developed nation’s brag about being technically advanced and superior but cannot fix their own waste. Instead they outsource it to the third world countries because it works out cheap. In other worlds what they mean is that, “The value of life in Developing and under developed nations is doesn’t weigh much compared to the life of their own people.” A real shame.



I will tell what’s even more painful. The consignments are had been brought to Kochi by selling the lives of our people for $130 a tonne. Our own traders are importing these materials for money. If I was given a choice then, I would have brought out a rule to have at least one of the close loved relative’s of these trader’s to work with those workers who survive only to die tomorrow. Then and only then, they would realize the value of life.



The developed nations who always boast about their superiority should realize that instead of dumping their waste on the lives of the million poor, they should find out the way to manage it at the source itself where it is manufactured. Every product manufactured, instead of filing for patent to copyright should also have a solid method to dispose their products safely after the life time of their products. This holds good to our nation as well.



We as a rapidly developing nations would not remain the same for long and before we start dumping our waste on someone else, lets set an example by designing a very effective, efficient and safe waste disposable system.

One of my friend commented, "Its really hard to imagine or face the grime realities of life. I hope we as collective force can do something about this. Like sign an online petition, arrange road rokos, spread awareness or file an RTI demanding an explanation for these acts from the Government. "

I agree that we could make a difference by raising our concern but the only problem that I see is that, the magnitude and the frequency of issues is so much that our life time will be spent on only in fighting these causes.


For example the Jessica Lal case received so much publicity but on the other hand there are millions who are still suffering judicial betrayal. I mean it would be almost be impossible to give the same amount of publicity to all.



Now, currently we have become intelligent enough to realize this and hence we create a general body which for example the Green Peace Activists who have an agenda and a common cause. One of its committee fights against all these instances and the other is responsible for creating the general awareness among people about what they do. Now both of these are equally important but I guess we need to fight the root cause, you know.
These waste materials that was being dumped since many years in Kerala was creating all kind of environmental issues. Though late, the Kerala govt. did well to stop it. However, all said and done, they fail to execute it because some how, some where, some one would know how to beat the system.

 

“Lets respect the value of the everyone’s LIFE. It’s price less.”

My First Experience as, THE SCRIBE !!

3 days back, on Friday I received a forwarded email from my collegue. The email clearly stated that it required a scribe for the visually challenged student’s exam. I wasn’t sure what scribe meant so as usual like 99 % of the software professionals I opened the internet explorer and google.




So now that I knew what scribe is all about, the next option was to choose to be one or not to be one. I didn’t have any problem with the timings because our work at office starts at 2pm so I could catch our cab somewhere in Adyar, I thought. Anyway, I was apprehensive about being a scribe because I had no experience at all with this and moreover I didn’t want to mess up someone’s exam.



But my theory “interested in everything and committed to nothing” was at stake. So took a plunge. I replied back to Suchithra Ramaswamy stating that I would be available at any of the mentioned dates provided she was willing to share her experience as a scribe and that I could catch my cab in time so as to come to office.



Now, it would be unfair on my part if I don’t give you a glimse of this amazing person with a beautiful and strong heart I guess. Strong? Yeah I will let you know in some time. I haven’t meet her personally but we did have few emails flying In and Out of Box’s interestingly placed in Outlook. Also, I did have a look into her blog. Now, isnt that too much? No it isnt. I am just interested in everything you see. Alright. This wonderful person has initiated many beautiful projects. Now I call it beautiful projects because it’s got something to do with bonding hearts and making this world a better place for everyone. Pay the Fee’s Campaign is something which I guess, she is proud off because in her blog she quotes : “Pay the Fees Campaign 2007 happens to be the most successful campaign I have done all my life. Once I knew where my heart was set the going was so much easier. This was one spending I wont regret all my life.” It was the campaign started to initiate a fund raiser for deserving kids who could not afford to pay fees for their studies. Now to know why I call her strong, you got to read her post, Blood Donation – My Story J



So, now that I have shared my interest to be a scribe, I waited for the reply, which I get in no time. She told me that she required people who could write tamil because their was an immense requirement but limited volunteers. But she had blocked my name so that I could be a scribe when the requirement arises. I was thankful for that and continued with my weekend weird story which of coarse I would not wish to share.



So on Monday I get this email with my name mapped to a visually challenged student whom I would assist in writing exam by lending my ears, eyes and hands which could write English, for sometime. To be frank, I don’t want to get too emotional with things, so I was happy enough to spend my half day as scribe outside of my room. I was happy enough to gain this experience and was happy enough to know that I could make this world a better place and share it with all. So, I replied to this email letting her know that I would be glad and am excited.



Now, finding addresses and reaching at RIGHT time is something which people don’t associate with me, especially when I am in a new city. However I try to make up for this good quality of mine by landing at this location a day ahead. I mean, at least 2 hours a head of RIGHT time. So again I do a google search to find the Queens Mary College. I get to know that it’s a girls college, so I think, being a scribe isnt that bad u know. Anyway, jokes apart. I leave my house at 7:30 and take a shared auto ( I had christened it shatadoor for some weird reasons when I was new to the city. But that would take another post.) to thriuvanmiyur bus depo. I get into wrong bus and get almost kicked out of it by the grumbling conductor( I hate those men in blue. Will let you know why ). So, next time without mistake I double check that I have got into the right bus and it goes to the right destination. I again get that grumbling from conductor for repeatedly asking the same question in different tones. One of the many good souls like me over there in the bus asked me to get down one stop after light house and then I was there. Time 8:15. Almost, 1hr 15 minutes before time. Gosh, I thought I would never ever get the RIGHT time, I thought.



Well, now I needed to search this college. But I used my super charged brain to follow the girls who had got down the same bus because somehow I guessed they were going to the same college. One of the girl in the group starred back at me as if I was really following them for reasons other than the one I had in my mind. So, gauging the unnecessary trouble that I would invite, I moved ahead of them hoping to cite the college by myself. So there was it. A man in his 50’s at the gate was having his breakfast. I couldn’t stop gazing at the white iddli’s and sambar. He didn’t look like a security guard so he must be a watchman, yeah the one’s who just watch and watch and yeah you got it. So called me and enquired ‘enna venu’. It’s been a year now in Chennai, so I could understand few basic tamil words and could efficiently guess the rest of the words spoken based on pure mathematics which I hate to explain.



“Err… blind… scribe..venu……. Me… exam…where?” is what I heard myself speak but some how I knew he was gonna bang me out of the gate. Miraculously, he understood what I said and I was happy about my new communication skill. I call it tamilish. Anyway, he lifted his right hand to point towards the temple. Arre, he was a lefty yar, remember he was eating breakfast?



So, I went near the temple. I saw many people, err girls I must confess reading as if its goona be the end of the world and only a word in that book if pronounced properly in right time could save the world.. It reminded me of my days in +2, of coarse not engineering. I meet this guy from Andra. He was as confused as me. So, as the saying goes, two confused make up a good company of entertainment. I learnt that he was there as a scribe for the first time as well and was looking for his person. Finally a lady arrived from a group of students sitting on the bench just a feet away from us and asked us if we were scribes and the names that we are supposed to write the exams for. I was wondering how blind we were. I mean all the girls on that bench were blinds and they were having their fingers on this braille script on the yellow pages or some fat book, studying. We couldn’t figure that out from a feet distance. How blind can you get, aint it. The lady told us that she heard what we spoke and thereby wanted to help us out to find the respective person. I wondered how sharp her ears were because she was partially blind as well.



I got to know who I am writing the exam for and THEY LEAD us to this place were we get the question papers. Along with these blinds there were others who could see and who would write the same exam. The teachers in their typical dictatorship style asked everyone to fall in line and they asked them to sit under the shade of the tree. We watched this from some distance. I thought then, that it was some kind of drill or something but guess what. They distributed question papers and asked to write exams. I had mixed emotions, obviously confusing me. I mean, I was happy that they have the opportunity to learn and write exams when millions of those don’t have this opportunity but on the other hand they didn’t have the basic facility of a desk or a classroom for that matter to sit and write exam without distraction.



They collected their question papers and came to us. We selected a place. Pushed and dusted some of the broken desk and chairs and started with the scribe business. The desk had an unequal leg so I was almost doing a see saw, but it was fun. Technically, there is nothing that you need to experience in order to be a scribe. Technically, all that you need is the ability to read and write neatly in the language specified in the question paper. Non Technically, you need a beautiful heart. I hope you get the funda.



Half way through the exam a teacher comes in with a strong voice she said, “Are you girls from 2nd year English literature class”. The girls replied positively in unison. “Your teacher told me that you have done very well in your last exam.” I saw few blushing and heads beaming with pride. The teacher continued, “So your teacher is doubtful about it. Have you girls given notes to the scribe or have the scribes used their own knowledge to assist the students?” I was shell shocked and so were the students. I mean, you don’t have the basic facility here. I know that these students are visually challenged and may be fighting even more challenges in their home and here is a teacher who doubts them for doing well in exam. I think my fellow scribe got really irritated by this stupid act and he said, “Ma’am I don’t think anyone of us could read Braille script here even if they had given the scribes the notes”. The teacher asked for it, I thoguht. I think she knew it was stupid of her so she said, “ very well then. But meet this teacher of yours before leaving alright?” and she left.



All these girls were staring at each other with little of disappointment on their face. For a second I thought they could see. What I could see was their disappointment because they told us that they had studied very well and if the admin was really doubtful about it then they could have placed a person to monitor during exam. Well, there is no room, no desk, no water near by to drink, how could they afford a person to sit and monitor, I thought. We finished the exam real quick in 2 hours. But I was happy they couldn’t beat me in that. My all time record was 1 min. I am sure someone would have broken it by now. It was English literature and all were bouncers for me. You would have realized that by now. It was all about Shakespeare and Milton all the way back to 1100.



I wished her good luck and told her that I learnt a lot today from the time I woke up to this very moment. I thanked her for that and waited for my friend or colleague from GMR, Arjun to complete the paper and join me. We left the place in no time as it was very VERY hot. And wondered, instead of sweat if it was blood that was flowing out of me then I would have died million times by then due to lack of blood. Since it was too early to catch the cab for me, we got into the bus to thiruvanmiyur. As I sat next to the window looking at the vast stretch of marina, I thought how wonderful and interesting life could be if and only if we could get the shoes on and step out of our home into the beautiful world of unknown yet beautiful possibilities. A gush of cool breeze blew right on my face as if it agreed with me.

“Be THE SCRIBE. After all, The BEST you can offer them is not the money, it’s your TIME.”

“The Man, The Hell, The Life, and His Journey through the Bad yet Beautiful World written in Blood, Tears and Love - SHANTARAM.”

“Why did you stop here?” I asked my friend, as he parked his pulsar next to the atm.



“I got to get some money”, he said.






I stood next to the bike gazing at the book seller on the street. I had a quick look at the books, neatly placed, but wasn’t interested to know the titles. I hated books. I thought, reading a book was one of those things done by the lazy and it didn’t fit me.






My friend comes back, pushing his wallet down the pocket.


“Hey you got nice books here.”, and he moves to the stall. I followed him, uninterested but helpless.






He picks up this huge book which could easily kill an average man or a woman for that matter, with a single blow on head.


“Alright, man. Now you don’t tell me you are gonna buy one of those WMD’s ( weapon of mind destruction.” I said, with bit of sarcasm in my voice.






He gave me a stare, and then looked back at the book. He raised his head to look at me and said, “What do you know about this book?” There was something strange in his voice. It was a mixture of anger and something more to it. I knew he was hurt. I didn’t speak.






We got on bike and rode off. I broke the silence, “What was that?”






“What? The book?” he asked.


“Yes. What’s it?” I enquired to know more.






“It’s a book that I hold close to my heart. It’s a combination of all the religious book’s that people follow. It’s the book about you, me and them and life.” He said and kept quite. I guess he wanted to speak more but he couldn’t find any point in speaking about a book to ME. What he didn’t know is that, I was gonna buy the exact same book three months down the line.






Yes. I thought, for every individual, a day comes when he or she will do exactly what he had thought he wouldn’t or couldn’t do in the life time. This was my day.






I was pretty much bored with myself, work and life though I didn’t have any reason to say so because nothing was wrong. Its just one of those weeks or months that happens to everyone when everything seems to be just still and motionless.






There were million question’s which couldn’t be answered which were chewing on my brains or may be heart, I don’t know. To understand this difference in itself, was a big question.






I read few quick books. “ Anything for you ma’am – Tushar Raheja” , “Five point someone – Chetan Bhagat” and “One night at call center by the same author.”






I liked them. Especially, One night at call center. I really loved the concept of call from God and following your heart. I had got few answers, but not all and not very clear. I couldn’t believe that book’s could answer anyway.






I looked at this fat book which I had named, WMD few months back. The words of my friend recoiled in my head. I still wasn’t sure I could read it, but I think my friend’s words got the better of my conscious and I opened the book without knowing how it would inspire and answer me.


“It took me a long time and most of the world to learn what I know about love and fate and the choices we make, but the heart of it came to me in an instant, while I was chained to a wall and being tortured. I realized, somehow, through the screaming of my mind, that even in that shackled, bloody helplessness, I was still free: free to hate the men who were torturing me, or to forgive them. It doesn’t sound like much, I know. But in the flinch and bite of the chain, when it’s all you’ve got, that freedom is an universe of possibility. And the choice you make between hating and forgiving, can become the story of your life.”


When the first page fires at you like that, its hard to put the book down. The weight of , almost 950 page book doesn’t bother you, no matter how long you hold it. You will just drift in to the ocean of real life experiences.






Gregory David Roberts, the man whose real life experience is such that it may not change your life but would surely beg you to look at the life for the second time, more clearly and more lovingly. The man who had dawned more than two names and meet incredibly strong and varied characters in his extremely thrilling real life adventure, painful and soulful life.






In the early 80s, Gregory David Roberts, an armed robber and heroin addict, escaped from an Australian high security prison to India, where he lived in a Bombay slum. There, he established a free health clinic and also joined the mafia, working as a money launderer, forger and street soldier. He found time to learn Hindi and Marathi, fall in love, and spend time being worked over in an Indian jail were he almost lost his life for the nth time.






Then, in case anyone thought he was slacking, he acted in Bollywood and fought with the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan. Soon he finds all the people whom he loved die one after another next to him.


Amazingly, Roberts wrote this three times after prison guards trashed the first two versions. It's a profound tribute to his willpower… At once a high-kicking, eye-gouging adventure, a love saga and a savage yet tenderly lyrical fugitive vision.






Shantaram, is the book and also one his many names. I am sure Gregory has written this with great passion and love. It couldn’t be better. And I am thankful to him for sharing his experience and my fate for letting this book slip into my hands. I am also eagerly waiting for the movie to be released(2008) which is in the production phase, rights owned by Johnny Depp, himself acting along with Amitabh, directed by Mira Nair.






I leave you with few of my favorite learning’s from the man and the characters that revolve around him in this cruel but true, thrilling yet beautiful journey.


“Justice is a judgment that is both fair and forgiving. Justice is not done until everyone is satisfied, even those who offend us and must be punished by us.”


“When the wish and the dream are exactly the same, we call that dream, a nightmare.”


“Sometimes we love with nothing more than hope. Sometimes we cry with everything but tears. In the end that’s all there is : Love and its duty, Sorrow and its truth. In the end that’s all we have to hold on tight until the dawn.”


“Prisons are the temples where devils learn to prey. Every time we turn the key we twist the knife of fate, because every time we cage a man we close him in with hate.”


“I remembered on of those Khaderbahi’s favorite phrases. Every human heart beat, he’d said many times, is a universe of possibilities. And it seemed to me that I finally understood exactly what he’d meant. He’d been trying to tell me thatevery human will had the power to transform its fate. I’d always thought that fate was something unchangeable, fixed for everyone of us at birth and as constant as the circuit of the stars. But I suddenly realized that life is stranger and more beautiful than that. The truth is that no matter what kind of game you find yourself in, no matter how good or bad the week, you can change your life completely with a single thought, or a single act of love.”


“Truth is a bully that we all pretend to like.”


“I don’t know what frightens me more, the power that crushes us, or our endless ability to endure it.”


“Some of the worst wrongs were caused by people who tried to change things.”


“It's forgiveness that makes us what we are. Without forgiveness, our species would've annihilated itself in endless retributions. Without forgiveness, there would be no history. Without that hope, there would be no art, for every work of art is in some way an act of forgiveness. Without that dream, there would be no love, for every act of love is in some way a promise to forgive. We live on because we can love, and we love because we can forgive.”


“One of the ironies of courage and why we prize it so highly, is that we find it easier to be brave for someone else than we do for ourselves alone.”


Happiness is a myth. it was invented to make us buy things


“Nothing in any life, no matter how well or poorly lived, is wiser than failure or clearer than sorrow. And in the tiny precious wisdom they give to us, even those dreaded and hated enemies, suffering and failure, have their reason and their right to be.”


“Luck is what happens to you when fate gets tired of waiting.”


And finally the book ends with this leaving you totally mesmerized if you did allow yourself to be,


“For this is what we do. Put one foot forward and then the other. Life our eyes to the snarl and smile of the world once more. Think. Act. Feel. Add our little consequences to the tides of the good and evil that flood and drain the world. Drag our shadowed crosses into the hope of another night. Push our brave hearts into the promise of the new day. With love : the passionate search for a truth other than our own. With longing : the pure, ineffable yearning to be saved for so long as fate keeps waiting, we live on. God help us. God forgive us. We live on.”


Here is SHANTARAM by one of those lucky who found him at the Leopold’s – the bar which became famous after shataram was published.

God help us. God forgive us. We live on