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Archive for the ‘Life’ Category

Remembering Moksh….

Mate! I know you are up there in the skies looking at the foolish antics of the gang down here. Mark got married this week. Arul and Towfik could not make it to the party. It was left to me to enliven the proceedings. I sung a song at a gathering after a really long time. Mark joined me too to the surprise of everyone. He started playing the drums and suddenly the flow came back. I sung “I will be there for you” remember it was the first song that all of us performed together. At the end of it there was lot of applause but no one could figure out why Mark and me were crying.

Moksh! even in your death you signified that we could be good and help each other. It was horrible to watch you die, with me on the bed next to you. I could hardly move with all the tubes and bottles attached to me. I don’t know when I went into my anaesthetic-induced sleep. When my surgery had been done Arul said that you were dead. I wanted to cry but the tears did not flow. There was just silence and dejection.

The band broke, we went about with our studies, all of us have jobs now. Mark is in Bangalore. Towfik is in Delhi and Arul is in Sydney working on his research project.
I still look at the photos on Sunday afternoons and remember our jamming sessions. How Arul’s dad would join us and sing with us. Mark’s mother preparing sandwiches and cakes for us.

Mate! take care of all of us.
The gang salutes you as always!
Adios!

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Merry Christmas!

Another Christmas has gone by. An unusually calm and silent one. I did not visit any of my friends or go to a movie. I just stayed at home reading a couple of books. I saw some movies on TV in the evening.

Chrismom/Chrispa

I got a beautiful leather planner with a pen as a gift from my Chrischild. I gifted my Chrischild a figurine of a dog and a greeting card. My Chrispa gave me a pen-stand and I gave him a pen. Coincidence!

We are having a New Year Bash this evening organised by the office management.

A PRAYER

A prayer for all those who lost their lives in the Tsunami. Four years have gone by-the memories of that dreaded day still haunt me.

Man may make great progress and claim to have conquered everything. But when Mother Nature decides to launch her fury we are nothing but helpless puppets.

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Monday Morning Blues……

Waking up on Monday mornings and getting ready to start for office, I feel like Mark Twain’s boy-hero Tom Sawyer. It is not that I hate my job or I am bored with what I do. It is the sheer necessity to get up from my bed.

For almost two years I worked in a KPO and worked at the oddest possible hours and my whole physiological system went for a toss. To report to work at 6:30 AM I had to get up at 3:45 AM so that I could catch the 4:35 train and reach office on time. Night shifts meant sleeping from 11:30 AM to 7:30 PM boarding the 8:30 PM train to report to office by 10:30 PM.

Now when I have got a job with regular working hours it takes a Herculean effort to get up at 6 AM. I do not know if it is because of the winter or if I have gone plain lazy. Somehow I just do not feel like getting up in the mornings.

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Musings……

It is going to be hard,
But life has to go on,
So as a first step,
Towards forgetting you,
I am going to stop writing about you,
Then maybe I will stop thinking about you,
So one final farewell to you on this blog…….

Hey! hold on, someone just entered the periphery of my vision.
Hmmm……..
Life does have to go on:)

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Musings……

It is going to be hard,
But life has to go on,
So as a first step,
Towards forgetting you,
I am going to stop writing about you,
Then maybe I will stop thinking about you,
So one final farewell to you on this blog…….

Hey! hold on, someone just entered the periphery of my vision.
Hmmm……..
Life does have to go on:)

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In the Name of My Father…….

“Father” a word that means a lot for everybody. Someone who is one’s role model and superhero during childhood. There are so many things that come to one’s mind when one utters the word “Father.”

To me my father was just an individual of whom I did not have a clear picture at all. I hardly ever saw him. He was in the Navy and then on contract jobs across the Middle East. He was maybe for one year with us-when he took a break. Other than that it was just my mother who took care of me. Later when he left for Muscat we moved to my maternal uncle’s house in another city.

Gradually the image of my father faded from my psyche and it was replaced by the strong and contrasting personalities of my two maternal uncles. One was a strict and silent disciplinarian the other was a jolly man full of life always ready to crack a joke.

At the tender age of six or seven I failed to realize that my father had drifted away from us. As I grew up and adolescence brought in all its doubts and confusions, I realized that I was part of a broken family. A couple who were never meant to be together had been joined in matrimony by fate. By the time they found out their incompatibility it was too late and the offspring-my sister and me bore the brunt of their failed relationship.

My sister was twelve years elder to me and she was at my elder maternal uncle’s house from the age of ten. She was a sensible child and was hardly perturbed by the conflicts that I underwent.

No one knew where my father was, sometimes we would receive a card from some remote corner it would be a notification that he was still there. It was both mocking and reassuring. Years passed my sister was married and my father made a fleeting appearance so that no tongues wagged from the groom’s side. Then he went into exile once again-this time he left for Delhi.

Two weeks before my sixteenth birthday my uncle received a long letter from my father. My father wanted to start a life with his wife and son afresh. He had found a job in a small firm in Chennai and he promised to look after us.

As that academic year came to a close two train tickets arrived by post and finally the two of us reached Chennai and met my father. It was not exactly an emotional reunion. Years of suppressed anguish and feelings of hatred did not erupt immediately.

As the days progressed I realized that my father had a serious drinking problem. It was this alcoholism that was the primary cause of all problems. The problem continues till date. There were verbal-fights at home, swearing, threats, and all kinds of mental torture.

It did not help that my mother was always waiting to pick on my father. Not a single day passed without a fight.Ten years have passed since we rejoined our father. His tryst with the bottle continues, the number of verbal fights have gone down, but the mutual feeling of anger, frustration, and a strange sense of hatred fuelled by incompatibility continues to haunt both my parents.

I wonder what went wrong. What did my mother do to deserve such a life of torture? Why does my father continue to drink? Why do I continue to hope things will turn right? Why did we return to my father?

These are questions that will remain unanswered.

My marriage is on the cards. The astrologer is confident that I will be engaged in 2009 and by February 2010 the marriage will take place. Looking at the history of the failed marriages that I have witnessed the problems that so many of my friends and relatives have faced and are facing. I fear that I have lost faith in the institution of marriage.

If I indeed do get married and have kids. I hope that I can be a good father and an ideal role model for them.

Read Full Post »

In the Name of My Father…….

“Father” a word that means a lot for everybody. Someone who is one’s role model and superhero during childhood. There are so many things that come to one’s mind when one utters the word “Father.”

To me my father was just an individual of whom I did not have a clear picture at all. I hardly ever saw him. He was in the Navy and then on contract jobs across the Middle East. He was maybe for one year with us-when he took a break. Other than that it was just my mother who took care of me. Later when he left for Muscat we moved to my maternal uncle’s house in another city.

Gradually the image of my father faded from my psyche and it was replaced by the strong and contrasting personalities of my two maternal uncles. One was a strict and silent disciplinarian the other was a jolly man full of life always ready to crack a joke.

At the tender age of six or seven I failed to realize that my father had drifted away from us. As I grew up and adolescence brought in all its doubts and confusions, I realized that I was part of a broken family. A couple who were never meant to be together had been joined in matrimony by fate. By the time they found out their incompatibility it was too late and the offspring-my sister and me bore the brunt of their failed relationship.

My sister was twelve years elder to me and she was at my elder maternal uncle’s house from the age of ten. She was a sensible child and was hardly perturbed by the conflicts that I underwent.

No one knew where my father was, sometimes we would receive a card from some remote corner it would be a notification that he was still there. It was both mocking and reassuring. Years passed my sister was married and my father made a fleeting appearance so that no tongues wagged from the groom’s side. Then he went into exile once again-this time he left for Delhi.

Two weeks before my sixteenth birthday my uncle received a long letter from my father. My father wanted to start a life with his wife and son afresh. He had found a job in a small firm in Chennai and he promised to look after us.

As that academic year came to a close two train tickets arrived by post and finally the two of us reached Chennai and met my father. It was not exactly an emotional reunion. Years of suppressed anguish and feelings of hatred did not erupt immediately.

As the days progressed I realized that my father had a serious drinking problem. It was this alcoholism that was the primary cause of all problems. The problem continues till date. There were verbal-fights at home, swearing, threats, and all kinds of mental torture.

It did not help that my mother was always waiting to pick on my father. Not a single day passed without a fight.Ten years have passed since we rejoined our father. His tryst with the bottle continues, the number of verbal fights have gone down, but the mutual feeling of anger, frustration, and a strange sense of hatred fuelled by incompatibility continues to haunt both my parents.

I wonder what went wrong. What did my mother do to deserve such a life of torture? Why does my father continue to drink? Why do I continue to hope things will turn right? Why did we return to my father?

These are questions that will remain unanswered.

My marriage is on the cards. The astrologer is confident that I will be engaged in 2009 and by February 2010 the marriage will take place. Looking at the history of the failed marriages that I have witnessed the problems that so many of my friends and relatives have faced and are facing. I fear that I have lost faith in the institution of marriage.

If I indeed do get married and have kids. I hope that I can be a good father and an ideal role model for them.

Read Full Post »

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