ONE HUNDRED DAYS OF SOLITUDE

Solitude has that irresistible pull that makes man explore his own hidden dimensions- Srinath Krishnamoorthy Solitude has that irresistible drive that makes man explore his own hidden dimensions- Srinath Krishnamoorthy

First of all wishing a very happy and prosperous Onam to you and your family!!! Hope you had a fabulous time with your kinsfolk and friends. Wherever you are, whatever you are…I can understand for the past few days your every heart beat said just one thing: Ente Naad (my land). Well, it is not the place or money that matters, but the emotion behind the celebration that counts. Well, let everyday of your life be a Onam in itself!!!

Having wished you, I’m also happy to share with you the fact that this blog is just one click away from crossing the 5000 views mark. As of today, the readership of srinathkrishnamoorthy.wordpress.com spans over 50 countries. Hats off to you my dear reader!!! ‘Coz this would not have been possible if it was not for YOU. The tremendous love and support you have showered for my words and stories is just mind-blowing. The credit goes completely to you.

This blog is running on a free platform. I have not written anything sensational or controversial to boost the readership and 5000 views is something I expected to happen in over two years. But to my surprise, it has happened in two months.

I’m really struggling to find words to thank you from the bottom of my heart. Without you, my dear reader…this blog would have died as soon as it was born. I’m indebted to you for reading each and every story. I’m thankful to you for each review you have written and each share you made over Whatsapp, FB and Tweeter. All this at a time when the world has moved a long way…away from words,books and authors…your support has given a new hope for me.

This Blog is more about you than me.

The story you are reading right now is about significance of ‘inspiring‘ ,the power of ‘solitude’ and importance of ‘networking‘.


Many have asked me:

“Man…when and how you started writing…we didn’t know…”

Well the answer I give is:

“Even I didn’t know…”

Today Jayashree Ma’m (who was my English teacher at school) asked me:

“What are you gonna pull out of your hat next…?”

That’s when I decided to turn the pen towards myself:

“Why not write a story about the story of this blog?”

So if I go searching for the roots of my words, I will have to take you back almost 15 years. To be precise, a crowded classroom of Kendriya Vidyalaya No:1 Palakkad dated 20-01-2001.

You may wonder why I precisely remember this date? I had problems remembering my own DOB during board exams wherein for each exam we were bound to write our Date Of Birth.

Looking back all those years I understand that a date is signified by the impact it has on our lives. It also marks an event that has influenced us deeply. For me it was a day that defined what a teacher should be. I mean anyone can teach you, but only a great teacher can inspire you to learn and tap that hidden potential in you.

Something similar happened that day. Thank you so much Jayashree Ma’m. You made us all pen down an instant article on comparing the stages of our lives with that of a river. I still remember you giving me this for writing a few lines :

Anyone can teach...but it takes a great teacher can inspire.
Ordinary teachers can just teach…but it takes a Great Teacher to inspire.

I will treasure this note-book all through this life and beyond. It means so much to me. Had it not been for that day and this little token of appreciation from you, the seeds of words would never have been sown. I was way too immature back then, but I have made most of the notes for my first novel in this book. The last page is nothing but the scribblings of a 14-year-old boy…so please do not take this seriously and forgive me for grammatical errors 🙂

A 15 year old scribble...Thank you Jayashree Ma'm!!!
A 15 year old scribble…Thank you Jayashree Ma’m!!!

Images of  our wonderful school library, Nagarajan Sir (our Librarian) and Jayaram (my reading partner) flashes in front of my eyes I’m typing this blog.

Library is the single most important place in a school that can transform ordinary students with an aim to extraordinary students with a vision.
Library is the single most important place in a school that can transform ordinary students with no aim to extraordinary students with a great vision.

Between then and now, my affair with writing have always been an on-and-off one. But my relationship with reading has always been steady and still going strong. How strange is it…LIFE!!!

Inspirational sparks by a great teacher, after so many years still burns like a raging fire in someone’s heart. Words and deeds of inspiration travel well beyond time, breaking every barriers physical and mythical.

I have no experience with teaching and I do not want to degrade the divine profession by trying my hand in that. And I’m not sure if I’m saying the right thing… but teaching has more to do with inspiring students to learn than just teaching them what is printed in text books for the sake of scoring marks.

In simple terms, this blog is nothing but a result of that single step my English Teacher took 15 years back. One step for her, but a giant leap for me!!!

Bottom line is, there is no fun in being inspired all alone… take a few minutes to inspire others as well. That is what makes you complete.

Inspire to get inspired!!!!


Now you may be wondering where this solitude part comes into picture…yeah??

Well, I would like to share my experience with silence and self exploration.

Life has been a big race. From passing exams in school, to cracking entrance tests, after that getting an admission in to an engineering college (even though my heart craved for literature), then finding a job at the peak of recession back in 2009, then being nothing more than a machine for another 3 years, shifting places, meeting people…life had become so mechanical and I realized I was nothing more than a robot (sad but true).

Like a sentence that runs pages without a full stop, life turned to be monotonous and  drab.

That’s when I decided to quit my job. Back then it was seen by many as a stupid decision, but I thought I need a break. A break that would enable me to look at life from a different perspective. To stop flowing with the flow, then stand aside from the chaos and watch what was happening around me. I had absolutely no clue as to what needs to be done other than a fervent desire to write. Write something good that would touch hearts. Even though my decision cost me dearly, delivering tremendous personal blows one after the other…I survived 🙂

That is when I understood the power of solitude. The power of seeking within. That’s when I perceived the idea of Regrets In A Coffin. I asked myself three very simple questions:

Q1. “What if I’m lying in a coffin with just 5 more seconds to live?

Q2. “What will be my greatest regret?”

Q3. “Is it OK to die with regrets in that coffin?”

The answer for the third question is one big NO ‘coz dying with regrets meant very well living with them.

The only solution was to write. ‘Coz that’s what I loved to do.

I just had three resources:

  1. An old Lenovo laptop whose battery won’t last even for a minute if unplugged.
  2. A crazy BSNL internet connection which works at its own whims.
  3. A few good books I had read in my life.  

But make no mistake, the most powerful factor above all was SOLITUDE.

It simply makes you prepared for this great battle with uncertainties and circumstances. And my journey with solitude took me from the isolated, rustic roads of Palakkad to the beautiful meadows of Kothamangalam. I’m, forever indebted to these two places for making me seek and find myself.

The beautiful campus of MA College of Engineering (where I’m pursuing PG right now) and the places around it has the power to calm down even the most perturbed soul.

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Sometimes a place can change the very way you look at life. As the saying goes ‘Beauty inspires poetry…’

Image courtesy : Neethu Ramachandran

But the problem was that again I was falling into the cycle of -eat, sleep and study. But those numerous long drives between Kothamangalam and Palakkad was so refreshing that I started falling in love with words & the stories that started weaving a kind of web in my mind.

Then over a period of three months or approximately 100 days between February 2015 to May 2015…I made lots of enemies…including myself.

I was shut out from the world. Secluded, lost and depressed. I was unable to fit myself into any kind of conventional schema of life. Away from Facebook, Whatsapp, social events, friends and family, I made a lot of enemies. But until I put a full stop to the last sentence of the last chapter of my novel, I really could not come to terms to anything that deemed social. It was one of the darkest and painful yet sweetest moments of my life. Relationships took a toll. But now I realize how lucky I’m to have such great friends who understand me perfectly well. I would like to thank you all for all the love and support in spite of me getting tangled in my senseless pursuits!!!

The point here is that…we all need to spare some time to look back and evaluate where we are heading.

As everyone says, life is a journey and the road is much worser than a jigsaw puzzle. If we forget where we are headed…be assured we are dashing for a crash. So take a few steps backwards…stand aside…let the others pass (don’t worry, it is the tortoise that won the race)…but make sure you are heading in the right direction.

By right direction, I mean the direction of happiness. It’s no one but YOU who can define happiness. Happiness gets as relative as it gets personal.

Here I’m not talking about your credit balance, the money you got stacked up in your bank account or the brand under which you are working for. I’m talking about the happiness inside you. Being rich is important. Yes..being rich from a material stand point is essential, but being spiritually and emotionally gratified is much more significant.

What is the point if you keep on doing something that does not satisfy your intellectual needs other than provide for systematically paying your bills?

What is the point in torturing yourself in a journey towards achieving what the society perceive as success?

What is the point in doing things day in and day out if we ourselves fail to define success and happiness in our own individual terms?

What is the point in going somewhere when all it gets you is a tag that says “Hey..he is working in such and such place…”

What is the point in flowing with the river when you are quite capable of building your own ship that can master the currents?

What is the point in living a life when it’s very goals and norms are set by a bunch of people who got nothing to do with you?

What is the point in shifting from a  4BHK Mansion in your birth place in India to a 1BHK house in New York?

Well we are all that we are right now. What’s done is done..and what has happened has happened. But you can make a change when you put a break and think where you are…what you are doing right now…and where you are headed?

Absolutely necessary it is. But under no circumstance do I mean you need to quit your job. NO. But you can take some time off. Explore and try expanding your vision and try living your dreams. It will do more good than harm.

Maybe I would have missed out a few bucks in the past two years…but there is a kind of solace and peace. All because of those few hundred days of solitude.

When I started this blog, I just wanted to write some good stories that people would enjoy reading. I also wanted to bridge the gap between the reader in  you and the writer in me. Well the bridge has been built and word by word, we have zeroed the distance between us.

All this would have been impossible if it was not for a powerful factor called SOLITUDE.

And Palakkad is a treasure house of infinite peace and solitude.

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Beauty of Palakkad lies in it’s Rural Soul. Palakkad is bestowed with western winds that whisper a great story in every ear…


Now talking of networking, which you may feel is strange since it is something totally contrary to the concept of solitude. Networking and reaching out is as important as contemplating in solitude.

First of all hats off to my dear readers who have read my stories travelling in a crowded bus, in between busy office schedules, while sipping coffee in their cafeteria, working hard in a kitchen and reading in between the whistles of pressure cooker and managing a husband and a kid. Thanks to all those who shared the stories to the world and celebrated the same as if it were their own…Words fall miles short when I try to express my gratitude to you my dear readers 🙂

That makes one thing clear. No one can achieve anything alone. Every progress in the society is a collective effort by individuals who want to bring a change.

Through out the course of human evolution if you see, great changes have shaped the history of mankind when millions stood for what they believed to be true.

This is a humble beginning that is not defined by a destination. But this journey of words should continue. Not only for us, but for generations to come. We need to continue this journey. And this expedition is to make the lost generations come back to words, books and reading.

Here I would like to pitch in a small story.

After I finished writing my novel, I got really scared. I did not know if it was worth publishing and that is when I decided to meet Shri. T D Ramakrishnan (creator of the iconic Francis Itty Cora). He is one of the most prolific writers in Malayalam today and an hour of conversation with him really had me pumped up. In fact, he was the first person to actually read my novel. If it was not for his honest and sincere inputs, my writing would not never shaped this way. Words of inspiration from the great writer made me feel like “yes…I need to take my words to the world…and be accessible rather than locking myself up…”. Have no words to thank him since he instilled so much confidence in my work that whatever little apprehension was there in mind vanished.

Well I mean to say is- reaching out is as as important as confining oneself to the cocoon of solitude.

Yet another story is about my dear friend Manju.

Manju Chechi is my classmate and an ardent reader of my stories. Thanks to her she meticulously reads each and every story of mine. But the bigger part is that she takes great pain to read while managing a daughter, a joint family, an MTech thesis and project to go with it.At a time when housewives generally prefer to get glued to TV serials and masala movies, she is a class apart. Not only does she read, but she shares it with her friends as well.  And this act of kindness and support inspires me beyond limits.

You cannot achieve anything by locking up yourself in a room. The room may be your work, your problems or even yourself. There are billions out there struggling with their life…questioning the very essence of their existence. I personally cannot justify my existance if I cannot touch people in a positive way.

The tremendous satisfaction that one gets when someone reads a story, takes home a message and drops-in a word of appreciation is unparalleled. And I have always felt that it is the only reason why I should be writing.

Either we can keep chasing our selfish motives or keep doing things that we love to do.

Making this world a better place is nothing but making ourselves and people around us feel better. I consider the purpose of this blog served if it has touched one heart. We have hit bulls eye if it made one person, somewhere in this world, come back to reading and has brought a smile on a single sad face. That’s all that I expect and nothing more.

My dear friend Soorej Sukumar who reads most of my stories sitting in the middle of an ocean, calls me as early as 3 in the morning from Huston to tell me how much he enjoyed reading them. He not only makes my day..but my night as well. He is a sailor in merchant shipping.

These are the small things that really matters big.

I would like to mention some of my very good souls who were pillars of support in the journey so far:

To my dear Amma who keeps saying:

“This writing is not gonna take you anywhere idiot…” So thank you for the daily dose of challenge my dear mom… I love it when you say that. 🙂


Keeping sarcasm aside, below are a some of the individuals I will always be indebted to:

Shri. Mohan Chettoor and family…the gravity of support you have rendered me cannot be fathomed in words. A pat on the back means a lot to me at this stage. And Vinatha your words have always been my backbone

Mrs. Preetha Vinayachandran…as always one of my finest critics.

Prabala is my friend from the GEC times and she is someone to watch out for. Prabala is a terrific writer and is working on her first collection of short stories in Malayalam. I have read a few of them & they are fabulous. She really supported me during the earlier stages of my blog.

All my dear friends of GEC Sreekrishnapuram easpecially Ranjeeth (a.k.a Paramu) and Vineesha (Vinu), Reshma (another great blogger of Trillionsmile.com), Miss Minnessota- Deepthi Mohana Kurup, Shankar, Vipin Mohan, Aneesh CeeCee…you guys have been simply awesome.

My dear dear friends of MACE MTech Batch… Especially Tigy- the wonder man who let me borrow his name for a few stories. Well the stories were huge hits…Thanks to that name. Then Thasri Bhai…for reading my blogs and telling me how much you enjoyed reading them. Sijin, Najeeb, Akhiljith (a.k.a Bruce), Riyaz Khan (King Khan), Arya, Nuna, Manju Chechi, Vinay, Unni, Roshni and Chandu.

Nandan and Anusha who have shown tremendous belief in me. You guys have supported me through every situation in life…thick and thin. We are more family than friends!!!

Thanks to Naveen who encouraged me to write as much as I want when I really got doubts regards the length of my blogs. Thank you for these words bro:

“The length does not matter….as long as you keep writing good stuff we will keep reading.

Thanks Madhu, Jawahar , Vivek Vaidyanathan, Nanditha Menon , Remya Mol and Uthara for your support.

Suman for reading my blogs while travelling to and from between her home and office in Malaysia.

My dear friend Vishnu Ramakrishnan, with whom you can talk for five minutes and you will be asking primary questions of existence.  Or you can say- “Existential questions of survival…”

Aravindan Uncle- The man who wrote Koundan Kallam. Who was the first novelist I ever met. You have been a great inspiration.

Nimitha Shajahan , Srichandra Mukherjee Venkataraman , Anand, Sabari, Deepika Kumaraguru, Sid and Deepa Chechi for being honest critics…Thank you so much dears!!!

Another great friend and singer Anoop asked me for links to my stories one night Only latter did I know that he was waiting in hospital eagerly waiting for his sister’s delivery. Happy that he is now a proud uncle of a baby boy…but that moment shook me.

My friend and junior in college Manu messaged me once while travelling to Delhi that he has started writing. Happy!!!

Thank you Shanty for reading most of my stories sitting in a crowded KSRTC buses and taking time out of your busy schedules. Your every word of appreciation means a lot to me.

Nuna who read all the stories on a flight from Kochi to Chandigarh and asked for more.

Another friend, Nayana started a blog that has cute stories about common things perceived fantastically from a different perspective.

Captain Praveen, yet another friend of mine calls up and tells me:

“Man you have woken up the sleeping reader in me…” Well he used to read, and I’m happy that in my own humble way I was able bring back his reading habit.

Few days back I met Ammu who was for the past few weeks shuttling between Palakkad and Aluva on a daily basis and I felt delighted when she casually told me that:

“Da TK your blogs were good time pass while travelling…”

I said “wawooo” …some one was finding home with the blog and that was the crucial moment when I realised that there are things worth more precious than money.

Gopu, my friend told me that he loved reading The Boy Who Dreamed of Booker. My dear friend Nirmal and his wife Prathiba…and there are many more…those invisible readers…Thank you one and all!!!

Last but not the least,thanks to those old, moss shrouded village walls that stand testimony to the most powerful ingredient to weave a great story…SOLITUDE!!!

The old village wall... A testimony to the power and beauty of solitude.
An old temple wall in Mannur… rugged mud bricks shrouded in mosses.  A testimony to the power and beauty of solitude…and gripping stories of generations in it’s heart…

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding goodbye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

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URBAN MATTERS

What is there in a city?
What is there in a city?

I always wonder what is there in a city? I still cannot figure out how people thrive in virtually inhospitable conditions and yet have a smile on their faces at the end of the day. But is it not true that people hate these cities as much as they love it? If life is a journey, some city seems to be ultimate our ultimate destination.(most of us having covered almost half of it…some crossing a quarter of it and some are striding the last mile).

And we all have, at some point in time, wondered what is there in a city? Why I’m trapped in this big, huge metropolis…with buzzing traffic, pollution and perpetual drought. Delhi. Mumbai. Chennai. Bangalore. Kochi. Kolkata.. the list goes on.

I find people from Mid-East, who constantly upload the pictures of black pines, mountains, rivers, farmers, cattle and infinitely green paddy fields everyday in their FB account. They do not shy away from explicitly conveying that their love affair with their native land still burns in their hearts. Like the first love…  Lost in time but a wound that still hurts .

Are they happy?

Maybe yes…maybe no. Whatever, the wheel of destiny puts us in a city…somehow somewhere.

Having said all this, one question that still beats many is that -why the bloody hell can’t I be in my own home town?

Why can’t I breathe fresh oxygen of my own village and let my children grow up exactly the way I did…listening to the stories told and retold by grandparents over generations?

Why can’t I be happy doing what I love and be where I really belong?

Why is it that I need to board a train or flight the moment I come out of college? What is the problem with Kerala (or whichever place you belong)?

Like a million questions that go unanswered in a billion heads…I too had my set of questions. Why we are not able to flourish where we really belong? I searched for an answer during my numerous journey’s and was unable to come up with an instance or a story that can substantiate my own theories about life, job, love and existence. Fundamentally our place of existence in the larger picture called life….

But time made me connect the dots.

It all happened a few days back.

It was a hot, humid, cruel sunny day when I reached Aluva railway station from Kothamangalam. My intended destination- Chennai. Now I hate going to Chennai since it’s super hot (no..not like Sunny Leone).I hate the noise and dust. This is the case with every other city in almost every other part of the world. I hate the crowd and pollution. (Even though I managed to hang on for three long years working in these Metros). Walking over to the platform I saw some other passengers as well who were waiting for the train to Chennai. I always wondered why people in thousands move into a city like Chennai that has huge scarcity of drinking water…is grilled by scorching sun and has  nothing but noise and dust. I just had a day’s business in Chennai…and I kept thanking god that I would be back next day.

So as always, I walked towards the Mathrubhumi Book Store, which stood welcoming nuts like me in platform No:1. There was hardly anyone in front of the store. An old man with a permanent frown and a lady who was counting cash sat inside the store.

With the curiosity of a four-year old kid, I started gazing at the books and reading the blurbs one after the other. I usually buy a book when I travel long distance. So I took a book written by Ayn Rand and read the title:

“Atlas Shrugged…” and then put it back in shelf. I was planning to buy a book anyway. So I took another. This time a Ken Follett…

“Oops this one I have read…” I understood and I put it back where it belonged. Likewise I continued my little rampage till I stumbled across MT Vasudevan Nair’s Bheema.

“Well…this one I need to read….hmmmm” but before I came to a decision, I heard a cruel voice:

Edukan udhesham undo…? (Are you really planning to buy?)”

I looked up and saw the face of the angry old man standing inside the store. He looked at me from under his spectacles as if I was a beggar who came to him for alms. I did not like the look in those eyes and retorted:

“Why? Can’t I just go through the books kept here?”

To which the old man said:

Edukundengil eduk…illengil…. (If you wanna buy just buy…else…)”

“…Else I need to get the shit out of his box-of-a-book-store….” I completed his sentence in my mind. I wanted to buy the book… but now my self-respect forbid me from doing so. The lady who was sitting inside the store seemed to be indifferent to what was happening between me and the owner of that Mathrubhumi book store.

My blood did boil… but I did not say a single word and walked on without looking at that old man. He was so arrogant maybe because they were doing great business. I planned to call Mathrubhumi office and drop an official complaint against their book store in Aluva Railway Station.

“How dare they kept staff who are arrogant and has no respect for customers…?” I fumed as I thought.

But again, I left it at that and wondered how lucky I’m to be born in God’s Own Country. We have surplus of everything. The only things lacking were proper job opportunities, business and industries. Due to some strange reason, these do not seem to flourish beyond limits.

Time ticked on and my thoughts kept wandering.

Well, thanks to Indian Railways, the train was gun on time. I boarded the train and well, I was on my way to Chennai.

***

I reached Chennai the next day. From Chennai Central, I crossed the road to catch a bus to R.K Nagar. The first thing that I saw was a man running behind a moving bus and in an attempt to get into the bus, he jumped over to the foot board. He slipped the next instance and fell right on the dust smitten road. I thought it was over. But he got up and again ran behind the same bus. Owing to the panic-stricken shrieks from the pedestrians and passengers, the bus by now had abruptly stopped. This time he was successful in his venture of risking his life for a bus ticket. The conductor simply smacked on the man’s head and shouted:

Thevidiya mavane…ariv irrukada unnak… (son of a bitch…do you have a brain?)” to which the reply from the man was a ridiculously embarrassing smile.

Again I wondered with a burning heart:

“This city has no water. There is dust and crowd everywhere. There are heart wrecking slums and people who risk their lives everyday for a few hundred rupees. Still people come seeking for Chennai…even people from God’s Own Country (Kerala) come here seeking a heaven. I mean…what the heck? What is it they seek? Why can’t people stay in their homes…back in Kerala.” I felt for people who strived to survive in Chennai and secretly was overjoyed since I was away from this messy hell.

And by then my bus; 175 B had come  and I was on my way to my friend Jayaram’s flat. He was working in RBS  ( Royal Bank of Scotland) and had taken a day off to accompany me to meet publishers in 4th Arlington Street, Chetpet.

I freshened up quickly. Myself and Jayaram gobbled our breakfasts. And we jumped into a OLA Cab. Thanks to the Android App and the jovial driver, the 45 minutes journey through the harsh Chennai traffic went of well like a short walk.

Time ticked off really fast and lo…by the time my meeting was over, it was almost 1:00PM. The meeting was fruitful and bore results. But our stomachs were growling by that time and we dashed out of the building in search of food.

The locality looked more residential than industrial. As a result we found it really hard to find a good restaurant. I was dying to have some good non-vegetarian stuff…but there seemed to be only one hotel in the vicinity and it was pure vegetarian.

We settled down in the far corner, under a brown ceiling fan that was rotating incredibly fast. And then we ordered two meals.

While we waited, I complained endlessly at the plight of the city and the hollow, objective nature of city life.

“What is there in a city Jayu? Look at this hotel…what kind of hygiene is this? You see, it is best to live in Kerala…why people live here man?I have no clue…” a kind of irrational arrogance exulted in my voice. It was as if my home town was the greatest and rest of the humanity that dwells in cities just deserved pity and nothing more.

The lunch came wobbling in the waiter’s palms. Halfway through the meal Jayaram asked a very genuine question:

“Man…what kind of opportunities do we have in Kerala? …moreover attitude of people matters a lot Sri…”

I did not reply since I felt that was absolutely bull shit.

“Opportunities are what we make… Life is what we make it…damn…” I thought but still I did not have a clue as to why cities in my state were not as industrious as their counterparts in Tamilnadu.

Why business do not flourish the same way as in Chennai? There is no water and except for few key areas, there was no proper electricity and people still lived here for generations.

‘What the fuck…” I kept thinking through the meal of white rice and an average onion sambar.

Once done with the meal, we proceeded to the counter to pay the bill. I had a 1000 rupee note and the gentleman (a middle-aged guy, in formal wear) sitting in the counter had no change. So in a humble tone he requested us:

“Please be seated here sir…will get the change…” he smiled at us and instructed a service boy to get the change.  We waited there in the lobby chatting and watching other people come and leave. It took almost 15 minutes for the boy to get the change and by the time we were loosing our patience.

Only after we paid the bill did we realize that we had a whole afternoon and an evening in front of us. So standing by the bill counter of that hotel, we started planning:

“Let’s go to some multiplex Jayu… I have still not seen Bahubali…”

“I don’t know which is the nearest one…lemme check…” And Jayaram started checking for nearest multiplexes in his smartphone.

“damn.. Internet is not working…” He complained

That’s when the man sitting in the bill counter intervened.

“Sir…if you wanna know which is the nearest multiplex, I will check out with my pasanga (boys) and tell you…” and he rose from his seat, put another guy in his place and went to the kitchen.

In less than a minute, the man came out of the hotel kitchen and told us there were two options:

” One is Padmas Theatre and another is in Abhirami Mall… first one being 4Km and the other being 6Km from here….” he settled down back in the bill counter as he spoke with us and mechanically started collecting bills from waiting customers.

“Ohhh Thank you!!!” we wished him good-bye.

“Will catch an auto Jayu…”

“Ya..that will be better…” we spoke as we got out of the hotel.

We waved our hands in an attempt to catch the attention of passing auto rickshaws. One did stop and the auto driver charged a ridiculously large amount for a ride to Abhirami Mall.

“Sir 120 Rupees sir…” he kept saying… and that’s when the gentleman from the Hotel’s billing counter came to our rescue once again:

Anne… Padmas theatre vandh 40 rupees… Abhirami vand 70… avalav tha (only 40 rupees to Padma Theatre and 70 for Abhirami. That’s all..)” he ferociously bargained with the auto driver and finally the driver gave in. He turned on the meter.

As I got into the auto rickshaw, I turned around and asked his name:

“Selva Raghavan…sir”

We shook hands… and as the auto rickshaw started moving towards the Chethak Bridge towards Egmore, I shouted at him:

“Is the hotel yours Sir…”

“No it’s not mine…” and he waved me goodbye.

Sitting in that auto I glanced one last time at the hotel and its name:

                                        “MSE Hotel. High Class Pure Veg.”

 A smile ran across my lips. As I watched the city underneath me, I wondered if I would ever meet Selva Raghavan or have lunch from this hotel in Chetpet again in my life.

But I was sure of one thing… I had answer to a very important question:

“What is there in a city?”

Other than buildings, dust and traffic jams…

“What is there in a city?”

And the answer is:

The People.

The incidence was an eye opener for me. It is the people who matter and not the place. With grit, determination and sincerity human beings have built heaven like cities in desert parch lands.

How and why…? Finally I got an answer to that question.

Why some people even with humble beginnings reach great heights? Why places having every favourable resource to its credit crumble and still remain under-developed? It is the people and their attitude that matters and not the place per se.

People succeed in spite of all odds. Why?

Because they touch hearts. I compared the arrogant man sitting in the book store back in Aluva Railway Station and the gentlemen who helped us a few minutes back. Maybe that made  the difference. For instance it may seem small…but an extrapolation would reveal that the contrast is in fact staggering.

And as the auto rickshaw driver started chit chatting with us as if we were friends for years, I gazed at the buzzing city that carried a million dreams… But this time around I was  very much conscious about why the  saying goes :

“Chennai is a city…Madras is an emotion…”.

***THE END***

Photo Courtesy:

https://s3-ap-southeast- .amazonaws.com/media.thrillophilia.com/Chennai-Dr._Mithun_James-Flickr

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding goodbye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

THE USUAL SPOT

Next time you pee behind a tree...beware.
Next time you pee behind a tree…beware.

It was six in the morning and Colaba was still asleep. Most of the residents were still cuddling under the blankets, refusing to come to terms with the fact that another harsh day was waiting for them outside.

Gopal Sundaram, a 25-year-old techie, unlike others, was already up and ready for his morning jog. He drank his usual dose of one litter of H2O before getting into his morning attire composed of a blue Adidas jogging suit and white Reebok running shoes.

As he jogged for half an hour, enjoying the fresh morning breeze, he felt really pumped up for the day. The customary scenes of boys delivering newspapers, Ramu Kaka distributing individual cans of milk, Alamelu Ammal putting kolam in front of her gate…touched and flowed past his eyes. They all knew him and he casually greeted them with a “good morning” and a smile to compliment to go with it. Like always, there were some foreigners taking a stroll. Most of them were high-profile tourists who stayed in Hotel Grand (a 5 star hotel in Colaba). Generally they came out to quench their curiosity regarding streets and tastes if Mumbai. Gopal cheerfully smiled at them. Some returned his smile, some did not.

He was just a 100 meters away from his apartment when he felt like peeing. There was a small park and there were not many around. This was the usual spot where he relieved himself after a long jog. But like everyday, Gopal conflicting thoughts battled in his mind:

“Shall I go to my flat and get the business done? Or shall I do it here in the park…in the open…?”

Options wrestled in the mind’s battleground. But finally the decided:

“Whatever…the eternal satisfaction of relieving oneself in the open air cannot be achieved in a small toilet….”

So Gopal slowly walked into the park and stood behind a huge banyan tree. There he closed his eyes and started urinating. The pungent smell of his earlier visits still lingered there. But, standing tall, with eyes shut…Gopal Sundaram looked as if he was a saint who was meditating hard to attain Nirvana.

“This is pure heaven…” Gopal thought in ecstasy.

But, little did Gopal know that there were eyes watching him and those eyes had a different perspective of looking at what he was doing.

Owing to the intensity of his stretched bladder and immense haste to relieve himself, Gopal seldom realised that there were other people in the Park…watching him.

To his far left sat a British Diplomat named Tony Flair.

Right behind Gopal, inconspicuous under the thick wines and broad leaves of Money Plant, sat a Chinese Spy named Mr.Jin Tan Cling.

And to his right sat an American tourist named Maria Peters.

The problem was that all three were first timers to India.

As the three watched Gopal in his act, three parallel thoughts ran in their minds respectively.

“Indian’s are the same….It has been 69 years since we pulled out, but there is hardly any improvement in their habits…” Tony Flair, the Englishman smirked with grim satisfaction. It gave him great satisfaction to see Indians in shades of their old colonial existence.

Tony Flair captured the images using in Xperia. He then shared those pics to his English friends back home so that they can all have a jibe at Indians and their way of life.

That is when a heavy wind stumbled across the park. The leaves and the trees started swaying under the fury of the wind. But the concentration of the Chinese spy was completely locked on Gopal and the Banyan tree. Jin Tan Cling hardly noticed the wind, but he was shocked to see the branches huge Banyan tree swinging mad.

“The Indian is drilling the tree with his cock… damn it!!! How the fuck can he rock the tree with his cock??? I need to get this to the authorities… maybe Damo (supreme authority) of Shaolin Temple can decipher the meaning of this…”

He immediately started capturing the images of a Gopal and the Banyan Tree using his Chinese version of iPhone, oblivious to the fact that he was capturing an Indian pee 😛

The American lady, Maria Peters was watching Gopal and as she watched, her blood ran hot, boiling her veins:

“How dare he does this in front of me….? Had it been in America, he would have been in jail by now…I need to inform the police” she searched for CCTV cameras, but there were none. So she took her iPhone (the real one) and started capturing the Video of Gopal shaking off his final drops.

But Maria was literally driven mad when she noticed that Mr. Jin Tan Cling was far ahead of her in capturing those images. Maria assumed that the images were already flying across internet.

And what more, she could never come to terms with a Chinese worm overtaking her in capturing the photograph of an Indian criminal.

“I will not let the Chinese overtake me in this….” she decided and was quick to jump into action.

Maria Peter immediately called the police and ran towards Gopal who was plodding away towards his apartment; happy and contended. He got the shock of his life Maria held him by the collar of his jogging suit.

“How dare you MASTURBATE in front of a woman? You swine….” Maria growled at him…

“What the…” before Gopal could complete his sentence, Maria slapped him. And before he could recover, officers of Mumbai Police was all over him.

Fifteen minutes from then, the entire episode was all over Twitter, Facebook and the e-versions of all the major dailies.

And without knowing anything…Gopal sat in the police station dumbstruck and clueless.


A morning jog that turned sinister taught him a great lesson :

“Never Pee In The Open “

***THE END***

Based on a real incident:

http://indiatoday.intoday.in/story/mumbai-man-who-masturbated-at-american-woman-arrested/1/459511.html

IMG_0893
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

Berlin Monroe & Tigy Kunju Mathai- The end

CLICK HERE to know the story so far…

There in the Palace Tigy stayed as a special guest and advisor to the king. For weeks together they discussed the issue of gender inequality and came to a conclusion that men were still not MEN in the village. They also deducted that men will become MEN iff women were forced to become WOMEN. There was only one way to do that and that was rape. Systematic…planned rape.

On the next auspicious day, Tigy Kunju Mathai was crowned the “God Of Rape”.

And from that day he came to be known as Tigy- the ultimate king of Rape.

But disappointment struck when Tigy found that women were meek and stood helpless only before him and not before the other men. Men would either pee or would never get an erection when they looked in the eyes of women who dominated them for so long. So he took classes for them on how to rape effectively and efficiently. He sent out special spies and agents to make a list of women who had earlier raped men. Tigy forcibly brought them before him. If they refused to obey his rules and be WOMEN, Tigy would rape them then and there.

But Tigy was gentle…even though his intentions were cruel, his touch was magic. Some women pretended deliberate belligerence so that they could experience Tigy. Summing up…Tigy was amazing at love making.

Slowly within a year, seeing even the strongest of their kind fall and perish, woman started really becoming WOMEN as per the norms set by men of the kind of Tigy. Women of Vallayoor never came out when Tigy walked the village roads. All the women covered themselves in gunny bags with just two holes that enabled sight. This was to hide their feminine appeal to escape from Tigy.

But Tigy had eyes that beat the best of X-Ray machines. He could calculate the geography and chemistry of a woman’s body from a good 400 meters.

When teenage daughters would not listen to their parents, they would tell the girl:

“Do as we say or we will call Tigy Kunju Mathai…” and the girl would loo in her skirt out of fear.

Tigy Kunju Mathai became a sensation and terror all at the same time in the village.

But men were still oppressed. There was hardly any change in their attitudes. They were still scared of woman. So in order to improve the situation, Tigy requested the king Ramanan Kartha to build a castle for him in the dark, evil forests of Koravan Mala. There he built elaborate torture chambers for raping women who defied Tigy’s commands and showed aggressive, arrogant attitude towards men.

Slowly, but steadily the oppressed men became mere suppressed. But Tigy knew for sure that it will take a lot of effort before the suppressed men became dominant. That was the law of nature. Then, one day  Tigy got an idea. He mounted his bullock cart and raced towards the King’s palace and the king was with his counsel. As soon as the meeting was adjourned, King Ramanan Kartha called Tigy Kunju Mathai to his chambers and asked him to sit. The King with his own hands served wine and fruits to the Great God of Rape.

“Tell me oh Powerful Tigy Kunju Mathai what brings you here? How is the business of rape going on in my province…”

” All is well your highness…but I have one suggestion…” Tigy looked at the king who looked a zillion times better than the first time he had met him. He looked plump, healthy and manly with two crescent moons for moustache.

“What is it? Your wishes are my commands Oh Mighty Raper…” the king had concern brimming  in his voice.

“I need to leave…” Tigy finally confessed.

“What…” The wine glass slipped and fell from the King’s hand. He could not believe what he was hearing.

“Yes oh mighty king Ramanan… I need to leave…” Tigy repeated.

“My province will be ruined by arrogant women if you leave…” King Ramanan bent his head in disappointment and fear seemed to infected his eyes and voice.

“Same land and same women have no appeal for me…oh mighty King… I’m a nomad… But I’m going on a journey that will solve all your problems completely…”

“How?” The king asked

“Have you heard about Abu Fakkir of Mysore?”

“No…” The king shook his head.

“Well Abu Fakkir has a secret tonic that brings back manliness to men who have lost it…. also we need to change the name of this province to something more manly… My journey would bring back MANHOOD to the men and the village alike….”

“This is such a noble mission … Oh mighty God Of Rape….” the king got up and fell onto the feet of Tigy Kunju Mathai. Tigy felt a little embarrassed watching such a great king stoop so low, but he had to endure this journey for the betterment and freedom of every man Vallayoor.

“It will be a big loss for the village..oh mighty God of Rape…” King Ramanan spoke in a very sad voice.

“I will be back…oh mighty King of Vallayoor and the seven mountains… I will be back with a manly name for the village and manliness bottled for the men of this village….bless me with good sped, fair winds and sunny days…”

And hence finally Tigy Kunju Mathai, with his bullock cart laden with food and supplies that would last months, began his journey into the unknown. With tears rolling down their eyes, the men bid farewell to their God of Rape and wished him a safe journey.

Also they prayed to their Bull Gods to give Tigy enough strength to rape every woman who crossed his path.

That night men wept and woman celebrated.

Months passed in monotonous routines. Both men and women tried to maintain an amiable existence. But deep within burned the inextinguishable fires of revenge.

Then one fine morning, 6 months after Tigy Kunju Mathai’s departure a new character arrived in the village from nowhere. Monsoon was relentless and it was pouring down when Berlin Monroe set foot over the dirty puddles of Vallayoor.

She was extremely beautiful and people mistook her for the goddess of beauty, who by mistake had landed into their village. Her curly white hair, red-hot lips and flawless white skin that glowed like full moon made every eye fall out of its socket and follow her wherever she went.

King Ramanan himself came down with his ministers to greet her. Latter on it was understood that Berlin Monroe was an actress and screen writer from Britain. She had heard about this completely isolated village called Vallayoor and wanted to make a movie on it. The King became happy since the name of his village would cross the seven seas and became famous. He instructed his ministers to make all the necessary arrangements for Berlin Monroe’s stay. Till she left Vallayoor, she would be the King’s special guest. A village girl name Kunji Paru and an executive chef called “Kanji Kadayile Executive” was assigned to prepare food and take care of Miss Monroe’s needs. Monroe soon fell in love with Kanji, Kappa and Kavitha of that innocent village.

Young Kunji Paru was the official village news channel and the secret that Berlin Monroe was betrothed to an Officer in British East India Company spread like a wild fire in that pouring monsoon. What was even more shocking to many was that Miss. Monroe had casually confessed to Kunji Paru that she was virgin.

The news passed between lips and ears in hushed whispers across paddy fields, temple grounds, toddy shops, canals and kitchens. The men of Vallayoor became simulated and pumped up all of a sudden. Testosterone levels slowly started to rise in men as they gaped at the tender flesh of Miss Monroe’s hips. She always walked around the village wearing short sexy costumes with Kunji Paru in order to understand the culture and people of Vallayoor.

Her sex appeal was too much to bear for many men and they fantasized their way to higher levels of manliness each night thinking about Berlin Monroe.

In two months, without using a single drop of Abu Fakkir’s magic potion, men of Vallayoor became MEN as men should be.

But like always, a woman’s real enemy was always another woman.

Jealousy crept through the veins of every woman of Vallayoor and they longed for more attention from their male partner. Women of Vallayoor became meek and obeyed the wishes of their husbands and male partners without uttering a word. And in another 6 months women of the village really became WOMEN as per the laid down norms.

As the paradigm of power shifted from the women to men…men started dominating the day to day affairs of the village. They would drink endlessly and beat their wives. It was the women who started taking care of household works when men went out for work. Every man secretly wished to bed and deflower the beautiful Berlin Monroe.

From Chindappan (the landlord) to Alvin Kuttapai (the toddy shop owner) tried their luck. What more…even the Executive Chef tried his hand a few times, but Berlin Monroe always kept them at arm’s length. The only person who got really close enough was King Ramanan. After his wife’s death, he never felt attracted to any women. But after a late night party (to which the young Miss Monroe was invited as a guest), the King lost his control under the intoxicating influence of alcohol and Miss Monroe’s heavenly beauty. And he moved his hands along navel and pinched her waist.

That was the only thing he remembered and after sometime when he woke up, he had two of his tooth missing. That day King Ramanan Kartha realized that Miss Berlin Monroe held a black belt in Karate and several medals in Kung-Fu.

It was not that Miss Monroe did not like men of Vallayoor. Even she had dreamed of meeting an able-bodied man and loosing her maidenhood to that man. She could find no other place on earth for the maiden experience than the beautiful village of Vallayoor. But the problem was that after listening to the stories of the Legendary Tigy Kunju Mathai, she desired no other man. Even though she had never met him or seen him, his brave sexual exploits and charisma made her wet every night before she went to sleep. She vowed herself that, if a man should deflower her, it would be the God of Rape, Tigy Kunju Mathai. Every day she would walk towards the entrance off the village to catch the glimpse of her hero riding merrily over his bullock cart… but luck was not in her favour those days.

Berlin waited for Tigy Kunju Mathai who brought revolution into the village with his cock, with anxious eyes.

But nothing happened for another 6 months during which she had completed the script for her new movie and had almost lost all hopes of meeting Tigy.

But then one fine day, the bells around the necks of Tigy Kunju Mathai’s bulls rattled the peaceful air of the village. The GOD OF RAPE was back. Even though women became more scared, men were not amused like before.

Even the king did not get up from his seat to greet him. Tigy could not fathom what changes had crept in during his absence and he kept wondering about the lukewarm response he received.

Soon he got to the root cause. Tigy boiled with rage as soon as he came to know that Miss Berlin Monroe, with her feminine charm had accomplished what he could not with years of violence and rape. Except for a few ardent followers among the villagers, no one paid any heed to Tigy any more. He was deeply hurt and spent his time in solitude brewing hatred and vengeance against Berlin Monroe.

Meanwhile Berlin Monroe was in cloud 9 knowing that finally her MAN had arrived in the village and she could not suppress her anxiety to meet him.

She spent endless hours on selecting the make up and costumes to meet Tigy. And finally when she was ready, she looked as if she was the most beautiful goddess who ever walked the surface of earth. But to her disappointment, when she reached Tigy’s castle in Koravan Mala, he refused to meet her. Tigy Kunju Mathai’s servants sent her back. Miss Monroe was initially shocked since no man had ever refused her. For the first time in her life someone had shown balls enough to send her back. This in turn fed her curiosity and her lust for Tigy multiplied in leaps and bounds.

From that day wherever Tigy went she followed him with Kunji Paru.

By the river side when he was taking bath, in front of toddy shop, by the banyan tree in front of the Kanji Kada (rice soup shop), by the temple ground where he sat watching sunset, behind the village club where he played cards and wrestling ground where he settled his scores….wherever Tigy went, Berlin Monroe would follow. But to her sorrow, Tigy spat repulsively every time his eyes fell on her. As if she was the worst thing he ever loathed in his life. Berlin Monroe’s fragile feminine heart was hurt due to this rude behaviour of Tigy Kunju Mathai…her hero…her god and her fantasy dream idol.

The biggest blow came on the day when she saw Tigy making love to Kunji Paru in the old shed behind her house. Berlin Monroe was out for a walk and when she came back to her old mud house, it was a bit too dark. As she went around looking for Kunji Paru, she heard a shadow of faint moaning coming from the shed. She crouched silently to see what was happening and through the window she saw Tigy making love to her housemaid. Tears rolled down her beautiful red cheeks and she cried endlessly that night soaking her pillows.

But by morning she made a dangerous resolution!!!

Berlin Monroe would either win Tigy in a fortnight or she would end her life.

She extensively studied Tigy’s behaviour by following him secretly and understood that next to beautiful women, alcohol was his biggest weakness. Berlin Monroe disclosed the secret that she had a big bottle of scotch whiskey to Kunju Paru and Kanji Kadayile Executive.

And as intended, her plan worked. The news reached Tigy somehow.

Next day morning when Tigy was taking bath in the river, Berlin Monroe went and sat by the banks. She wore a sexy two piece bikini in an attempt to seduce him.

Berlin Monroe wore a two piece bikini to seduce Tigy Kunju Mathai and sat by the river side.
Berlin Monroe wore a two piece bikini to seduce Tigy Kunju Mathai and sat by the river side.

As Tigy came out of the waters, she walked towards him and spoke to him:

“Would you like to come home in the evening for a drink…” she looked seductively at him.

But Tigy rudely spat and replied:

“No…never….You firangy (foreign) bitch…I hate your clan….”

“It will be my pleasure to serve whiskey to the God Of Rape… ”

“Your whiskey means piss to me…now get lost…” Tigy pushed her aside roughly and started walking away and that’s when Berlin Monroe shouted at him:

“You are scared Tigy…you are scared… if you are man enough…come tonight…I will be waiting…hahahaha”  The nasty blend of her sarcasm, laughter and challenge made Tigy’s blood boil. He neither turn back, nor did he utter a single word in reply. Nonetheless, he was not a man who would run away from challenge.

So by 9 in the evening he was sitting in the drawing-room of Berlin Monroe’s house. Tigy had to prove he was man enough and he would never get peace of mind turning down a challenge thrown at him by a woman.

Berlin looked sexy, clad in a glittering red gown and a lipstick that matched it. The dress gave ample room for her to expose her bare shoulders and most of her heaving breasts. But Tigy was there for a drink and nothing more. His hate for Berlin Monroe still burned fervently in his eyes.

Berlin Monroe looked sexy in a red gown and Tigy felt dazed.
Berlin Monroe looked sexy in a red gown and Tigy felt dazed.

But Miss Monroe simply smiled at him and poured whiskey into his glass. They sipped the beverage in silence. Tigy kept looking away so as to avoid looking at Monroe. But he ate the egg and chicken fry specially prepared for him to his heart’s fill. After 15 minutes and two pegs… Tigy started feeling giddy.

“I can drink 20 pegs and walk straight like a horse…but this is only two pegs…what the hell is happening to me…” he thought as his vision blurred and things started becoming obscure.

“Is this your stamina…Oh God of Rape???” he heard Miss Monroe mocking him…

“Noooo…no you fucking bitch…. pour me more and you will know the Real Tigy Kunju Mathai…” he yelled at her.

She served one more peg and after he drowned that, Tigy still sitting in his chair,fell down like a dead tree.

Tigy lost the track of time. He swam between reality and dreams. He felt a cold body pressing against him. Like a snake it moved writhing over him. He felt his manhood engulfed in a wet tide that moved up and down…up and down…up and down. Then he felt the cold tongue of a snake kissing the tip of his hardness. Tigy tried to shove the snake away from him…but it was persistent in giving him pleasures. The mutual suffering and pleasure of a snake swallowing another snake.

Tigy felt exhausted and his cautious mind lost all control as he got swept away into an ocean of erotic delights when she mounted him. Then as he shuddered in the extreme pleasure-waves that rose and fell…rose and fell….rose and fell… slow in the beginning…but faster as it went…he moaned and cried in carnal ecstasy…so did Berlin Monroe.

When the biggest wave rose and fell for one last time…Tigy groaned like a wounded bear. And then he lay still…

It was almost midnight when Tigy woke up. He was completely naked. He rubbed his eyes and as it adjusted to the darkness, he saw Berlin Monroe sitting in the chair and staring at him. Her eyes had the sparkled like that of a victorious lioness. Tigy understood he was doped…Miss Berlin Monroe had set a trap into which he fell like a helpless deer. She had mixed something in the whiskey…Tigy knew not what. Tigy’s head hung in shame of defeat. Suddenly he felt ashamed and he gathered his cloths, exactly like the Queen he had raped years back and ran out of Berlin Monroe’s drawing hall. Berlin Monroe held his hands as if to stop him and tell him she loved him. But Tigy was so ashamed of himself that he wriggled out of her grip and dashed away into the darkness.

The man who raped was finally raped.

Tigy realised he was not a God of Rape any more and that he had no right to stay in that village. Like a man marshalled in to exile, Tigy planned an escape from this shame.That very night he gathered his belongings and with some of his trusted friends, crossed Kuravan Mala and Krishnagiri.

Nobody ever saw Tigy Kunju Mathai, their beloved god of rape, ever in Vallayoor again. Stories turned to myths and myths turned to mythologies…and a temple was raised in Vallayoor commemorating the man who strived to raise the cock of men.

But far away, after months of perilous journey Tigy and team reached Hosur. When he finally entered the British out-post in Hosur, he went in and requested the British officers to offer him some land. Hearing his sad story they gave him a piece of land beyond Hosur.

But Tigy still loved Vallayoor and requested the British registrar to name the area by the name of his village. But the British did not understand the meaning of Vallayoor… so Tigy explained:

“Sir Valla means Bangle…Oor means village…”

“Then you keep it Bangleoor…” the British dismissed further appeals and that’s how it became Bangalore!!!

Tigy never raped or even touch another woman in his lifetime and people worshipped him like a saint.

Miss. Berlin Monroe never left Vallayoor. She lived and died there in fond memories of her only lover-Tigy Kunju Mathai who had gifted her a handsome son. To her delight and the villagers relief, Junior Tigy did not show any trace of rape -ing tendencies. He grew up to smart and handsome boy who went far away from the village to learn the craft of machine making.

Still somewhere in Southern Malabar….Tigy and Berlin live through folklores. There is no more gender inequality in Vallayoor.

The saying goes that it took Berlin Monroe’s capitalism to subdue Tigy Kunju Mathai’s fascism.

***THE END***

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

BERLIN MONROE & TIGY KUNJU MATHAI Part 1

Can Berlin Monroe's capitalism conquer Tigy Kora's fascism????
A clash of titans-  Berlin Monroe’s capitalism Vs Tigy Kunju Mathai’s  fascism!!!

Once upon a time in Southern Malabar there was a village called Vallayoor. The village was surrounded by beautiful mountains of Krishnagiri and was rich with rivers and streams. There was little transportation since the terrain was very difficult, so the village was virtually cut off from the outside world.

Vallayoor was a village lost in time…

Ramanan Kartha was the king of Vallayoor. He was a thin, long-haired, long-faced king for namesake. Ramanan Kartha’s wife Ramani Kartha  was was the real terror and the absolute ruler of Vallayoor. She held the reins of power and steered the administration form their Palace in the Kurumbi Mala (Naughty Mountain). Now this was the case with the entire village. Woman just ruled the place. From deciding the menu for breakfast to the construction of check dams, their decisions were ultimate. Men were just meek spectators and no one dared to say a word against the womenfolk.

But a few decades back the situation was the opposite. Men were the bread earners and had the supreme authority in Vallayoor. Even the name of their village was not Vallayoor (Valla- means Bangles, oor- means village). But since Ramani Kartha became their queen, as if by magic women took men’s position and vice versa overnight. The people even forgot the real name of the village. Then since woman wearing bangles ruled the place, it was called Vallayoor.

Even though men got accustomed to their new feminine ways of life, the raw wounds of oppression still burned. There was longing for power and thirst for authority. But any one who expressed his desire for change had his manhood cut and fed to the fishes of Kunjipuzha (little river).

A day in the village would begin with daughters crying for breakfast and fathers preparing it for them. If the breakfast was not up to the mark, mothers would slap the fathers and ask them to make it again. Daughters were given extra idllis whereas the sons were neglected. Women would go out and do all the otherwise manly work. Only girl children were sent to school and boys were forced to clean utensils, broom the courtyards and wash cloths.  If a woman felt like mounting a man of her choice, she would do so. If the poor soul did not oblige, she was free to rape him. Men squirmed and shrieked under the heavy thighs and breasts of powerful women in the village.

In granarys, behind bushes, in odd huts and isolated river banks, men were made to drink their own soup. There was free sex allowed for women but not for men. Every right for women were protected…at the same time, over the decades men became oppressed. They became weak…sad and started forgetting that they were MEN. Even the king started having second thoughts as to what really means to be a ‘MAN’.

The only luxury allowed for men were toddy and cards. They can drink but not too much. if a man came home in four legs, he was bound to get beaten and kicked out. But only in the toddy shop they complained about their problems and that to in hushed whispers.

Even butterflies could be spies in Vallayoor and if the news of dissidence reached the Queen…there won’t be a single cock left in the village to give a fuck… 😦

In this fashion days followed months which in turn followed years.

That was when Tigy Kunju Mathai, a dry fruit merchant accidentally lost his way and came rolling in his bullock cart to Vallayoor. He had headed for Mysore, but a cruel storm tormented the forest the previous night, his bulls lost the route.

Aimlessly Tigy wandered in the forest seeking the road and comfort of seeing humanity. He had almost given up hope of finding a village and that’s when he saw smoke raising from the far off. Tigy beat his bulls left, right and centre to make them run faster in the direction of the smoke. His aim was to get some warmth by a fire, tend to his tired bulls and get some refreshment. Tigy wanted to enquire the correct route towards Mysore and if lucky bed a woman for a day by shelling out a few coins from his purse. He smiled at the thought of savouring the village wench and licked his lips.

But morning was just taking baby steps and there was hardly anyone in front of the huts when Tigy entered the village. Odd skinny boys were cleaning the courtyards with eerkal chool (brooms made of twigs from coconut leaves). Tigy found it strange seeing boys busy doing a girl’s duty.

“What a strange village? Am I in some other planet…?” Tigy wondered slapping his own face.

Since he could not find an adult soul in the roads, he kept riding his bullock cart through the village. After fifteen minutes, he reached a dead end. To his left was a beautiful river with the bright orange sun raising majestically over it. And to his front and right was just thick dark forest.

Looking at the pristine river suddenly Tigy felt very thirsty and jumped down from the bullock cart.  He walked towards the river to take a better look at it.

Tigy Kunju Mathai, was almost 6 feet tall, with short wavy hair and a pencil moustache under his beak-like nose. He had wooden beams for arms, logs for legs and barrels for a chest. His tummy wobbled as he walked barefooted over the massive polished stones, smoothed by water running over them for years. A cool breeze gushed from east, pinning his cloths to his body. His brown skin and cat like eyes glowed under the vibrant rays of the sun.

As Tigy reached the banks of the river and suddenly stood still. As if he had been turned to a statue by some magic,he gaped at the sight that awaited him with bewilderment and disbelief. There, just 50 meters away in those glistening waters was a beauty like he had never seen before. Her hair was as black as a moonless night and her skin shone like burning ambers. Her eyes were clearly a work of god and her body summed up in divine proportions. Tigy lost all his control but there was nothing he could do but keep watching her.

The beauty swam towards him and stood her ground as soon as the water got shallow. The woman was still oblivious to the fact that a man was standing there and watching her. But Tigy’s heart banged against his chest at an incredible speed and blood gushed to his extremities even faster. He licked his lips in hunger when he saw her smooth black grapes seductively smiling at him.

Not once did the beautiful woman raise her head as she walked towards where Tigy stood. Only when she reached very close to him did Tigy realize that he was standing near her cloths.

The woman looked up for the first time and shrieked in anger. Tigy was jolted from the spell and stumbled back over the rubble. He looked around and there was no one. What was more shocking was that the women simply seemed to stare at him, anger shimmering in her eyes. She did not even bother to cover herself.

Tigy regained his composure and asked her:

“Wha…wha…why are you here alone at this time…??

To that she replied:

“Who the hell are you to ask me that? And why the fuck are you standing in front of me? That too alone…at this time of the day?”

Tigy was taken aback by the answer that only men dared to give. He got a bit confused and watched the woman closely. She had a perfect body, flawless skin, cascading hair, a beautiful bushy triangle decorating the junction between her thighs and what more, she did not have any shame. She was gorgeous from head to the tip of her toe.

“This is Vallayoor man…here woman walk alone and men dare not challenge….” she went on.

Tigy’s thoughts flapped their wings towards seventh heaven. He grew confident by the minute and assured himself that this was the village wench (prostitute).

“If the village wench is this beautiful…what about other women in this village?” he thought aloud.

“What is it that you said just now?” the woman asked raising her voice as she took her cloths and started wearing them casually.

“How much…?” Tigy asked her as he walked towards her

“What do you mean by “How much“..?” the beautiful woman asked him

Tigy now stood really close to her and asked her one last time:

“How much do you charge to warm a bed honey…?”

“Fuck you bastard…” she seethed and raised her right hand to slap Tigy.

That’s when he lost all his cool. Just before her palm touched his cheek, Tigy firmly held her hand. They looked at each other for moments that spilled into eternity.

Then without a warning Tigy kissed her wet,soft, pink lips. She pulled away from him but before she opened her mouth to shriek, he covered it with his massive palms. Tigy tightened his grip and lifted her off the ground. She kept beating against his chest and head as he carried her towards the nearest thicket. Still covering her mouth, Tigy laid her over the grass. Then he tore her cloths, forced her thighs apart and entered her. After a few strokes he understood that she was not crying any more but moaning. He slowly removed his palms from her mouth. Then he kissed her lips again and again till he came. Both of them moaned, roared and cried as they together reached the pinnacle of pleasures.

Quickly the woman pushed Tigy away from her body and ran away gathering her torn cloths. Tigy looked at the green canopy of the Forest with the grim satisfaction of fucking the village whore. Little did he know that he had just raped the queen of Vallayoor.

As soon as Rani Ramani reached her Anthapura (queens room), she hanged herself and committed suicide. Not because she was raped, but because of the sheer humiliation of having an orgasm when she was raped by Tigy

The news of rape and subsequent suicide of Rani Ramani spread like wildfire in the village. It was as if a civil war would erupt any moment in the streets. Men in thousands danced in the fields, jumped hysterically into the river and ponds and many rolled in mud over the temple grounds of the village. Dust of freedom and salvation rose from the earth covering the sky.

WHAT WILL HAPPEN NEXT? 

To know that –>CLICK HERE<–


The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

THE CLICK

A click that changed her life...
A CLICK CAN UNRAVEL THE FORGOTTEN HISTORY… THAT WHICH SMILES AT YOU AS AN UNSOLVED MYSTERY- BY SRINATH KRISHNAMOORTHY

It was during a two hour drive between Louisiana and Mississippi that she met him. And her life was never the same again.

The day looked perfect for a new journey and a new beginning. With the sun smiling bright and a mild breeze kissing the UCLA (University College California, Los Angeles), Vinatha happily put the final box containing her belongings into the trunk of her white Chevy. She looked gorgeous and full of life in a white Tank-top, faded deep blue jeans and green FILA sneakers. The sun rays bounced merrily off her  perfect, glowing skin and the diamond pierced under her lower lip glittered under the April sky.

Before Vinatha got into her car, she hugged her friends Anu, Vini, Andy and Catherine. She felt sad wishing goodbye to the campus and friends that had become such an integral part of her life for over an year. But good decisions were made always the hard way. There would be pain, but that is what sustains life…good decisions…

As she started the car, a second thought did cross her mind:

“Am I doing the right thing?” her inner self kept tormenting her with this question. But she decided to move on.

Vinatha pushed the accelerator and through the window of her car she waved adieu to her friends and UCLA campus. Her friends watched Vinatha move away from them leaving a nostalgic trial of smoke and dust. The dead maple leaves suddenly came to life and danced in the air as Vinatha’s car moved over them only to fall dead once again as she passed. Vinatha brushed aside some of her long hair that had fallen across her beautiful forehead and breathed the beauty of the campus one last time. Some students noticed her and those who were acquainted with her waved in her direction. She waved back at them in return. An army of 50 maple trees lined either side of the campus gate, bending and swinging their branches as if giving her a guard of honour… the sad thing was that it was for a melting farewell than a hearty arrival.

“Will come back here some day…and walk through this campus once again…” Vinatha made a mental note.

In less than 20 minutes the UCLA Road merged with the “Christopher Columbus  Transcontinental  Highway- I 10E” and Vinatha flared the gas full throttle. The Chevy surged ahead like a horse running a race and Vinatha increased the volume of the car stereo. The Metallica raised havoc inside the car with it’s ‘Seek and Destroy’ number and Vinatha grooved to it’s deadly beats by doing ‘bumpy dancing’ in the drivers seat. Vast stretch of barren land…flat, brown and thorny kissed the cloudless sky on either side of the highway.

She was just few miles into the Transcontinental and the traffic suddenly came to a stand still. Cars rallied behind each other and started moving like a long caterpillar. Vinatha sneaked out of her car’s window and found that there was some kind of renovation work going on in the highway. She kept drumming the steering wheel anxiously to the tune of the blaring stereo till she crossed the work site. The area under renovation was buzzing with bull dozers, men clad in blue overall wearing yellow caps and glows . And as Vinatha shifted the gears to pace up, she noticed that someone was standing by the road side asking for a lift. No one was giving him as much as a glance and the guy looked really desperate. A red Pontiac GTO stood behind him in the gravel and the car, she reckoned, was broken.

As Vinatha drove closer to the guy, he looked in her eyes seeking help. He was dressed in a white shirt, black tweed coat and stripped tie. His clean shaven plump face and neatly combed hair somehow made him look like a college professor. Vinatha applied the breaks a few feet away from the man and he rushed to her car with his brown leather bag. She lowered the window and the fragrance of his Brute Cologne came flowing into the car.

“Owweeee…the Ponti jus broke down dear…can you gimme a lift ?” the man requested in a deep voice…drenched heavily in New Orleans dialect.

Vinatha looked at him carefully chewing the bubble gum in her mouth as if she was churning zeroing her options. The man looked well educated, was dressed meticulously and looked very very professional. Vinatha assumed him to be in his early thirties.

“To where?” she asked looking in his eyes that seemed somewhat relaxed now.

“Biloxi… just an hour from here…”

“Ok jump in…” she waved the man in.

Delighted, the man got in and closed the door. As Vinatha started the car and shifted the gears, she glanced one last time at the old Ponitac through her rear view mirror. She pulled out her Ray Ban from under the dash board and wore it to escape the blinding sun as her Chevy picked up speed.

They travelled for almost a mile in silence and Vinatha kept changing the radio stations. The man looked irritated hearing the songs being played and she automatically reduced the volume. Vinatha observed the guy closely through the side of her goggles. Like his car, everything he wore looked perfect and polished but then she noticed that he was not wearing the seatbelt.

“Why don’t you pull on the belts sir?”

“Errr… I’m not used to it…and well you are riding pretty cool yeah…”

Vinatha nodded her head showing her disagreement, but she did not compel him further.

“Strange guy…” she thought.

They rode in silence for another few minutes that fretted off seeming like hours and it irritated Vinatha for some reason. Then, in an attempt to strike a conversation with the man she spoke out:

“You car looked pretty good…vintage yeah?” she broke the silence

“Yeah Pontiac GTO 1963…” he replied with pride brimming in his voice.

“Which bank do you work for?” Vinatha asked him

“Nope.. I’m not a banker…” the man replied

“Then…?”

“I…I’m a Professor…” the man replied as if he was shy.

“Wawooo…where do you teach..??”

“In Dominican College…”

“Heyyy that’s just great!!! I just enrolled in your college… Department of English…for the creative writing course… What is it that you teach..?”

Englush…bingaa…” the man replied with a big smile.

It came as a surprise to Vinatha that she was giving lift to a Professor on her very first ride to her new college. She went speechless… and searched for words but she could hardly find any. Finally she spoke:

“I… I just feel so happy to meet you sir…so will you be teaching me?” Vinatha offered her right hand keeping an eye on the road. And the man took her hand in his own warm, soft and sweaty palm and shook it. His grip was firm yet soft.

“Yeah I do take a session for the new students…” the man replied looking at her. His eyes glittered with intelligence and Vinatha was captivated by his perfect image. She had never met a man so well mannered. So well dressed and well spoken…No not in her 1 year of existence in the USA.

“Ohh by the by I’m Vinatha Menon…from India…” She offered her hand again…she did not know why..

Vinatha now enjoyed listening to his strange funny diction and New Orleans slang.

The man looked a little amused and shook her hand again and replied:

“John.. Professor John Kennedy…”

“Ohhh…so you related to JFK somehow…Professor?”

To this he started laughing heartily…

“No way…a lot of people ask me that … but No…we are not related in anyway…”

“So you happen to know Proff. Margaret Longwood? And did you happen to see my application” Vinatha asked him.

“Oweee…yeah I know her…I remember seeing your application…yeah..You are the only Indian enrolled this year…”

Vinatha was so delighted. And she increased the speed of the car.

“So why did you drop out of UCLA medical school… you can temme if ya don’t mind?” the professor started speaking freely now since Vinatha had successfully broken the ice between them.

But that question came as an unexpected jolt to Vinatha. She was not expecting this question from him. But she remained calm and replied:

“Well you know…I come from a place called Kerala in India…. there the people are all mad about becoming engineers and doctors yeah…Hence I was shipped to USA by my parents so that I will make it big with medicine…but I have little or even no interest in that…professor…”

“Ok… then wot happened..?” the Professor asked with mounting curiosity.

“…well as expected…I got extremely poor grades by the year end…” Vinatha replied with a sarcastic smile

“Ohhh… that ain’t alla bad..” the Professor cheered her up.

“Yeah… I got no regrets professor. This country has taught me one big thing… and that is DO WHAT YOU LOVE and you will be rewarded. Even though I went bad with the subjects out there, I did some fantastic stuff with the college Newspaper. The Dean suggested I take up a course in Journalism or creative writing in Dominican College and sent an excellent covering letter…Err..you would have read that sir..??”

“Covering letter…No…but I was amused as to why a medical student would drop out to enrol for a course in fiction writing…well you are a lot similar to me…I used to work for my school news paper…” the Professor looked at the road narrowing his prominent, long eyebrows.

By now they had crossed Tucson and was heading for their destination…

“So why do you wanna write…and whot ya kna ’bout literature…” the Professor asked her looking in Vinatha’s eyes. He seemed damn serious for the first time and somehow his expression scared her.

“I do not have much knowledge…but I can write some creative stuff that’s all professor…” she shrugged

“Are you good at anything then…?” the professor asked her.

Vinatha scratched her head in confusion searching for an answer.

“No professor… I need to find out what I’m good at..even I’m searching for that answer. Well how did you land up teaching… professor?”

The question seemed to irritate him.

“I was born to do this. Phewwww…. those were the real day my girl… I used to take a heavy workload …completed my MA English course in one year. In fact it was passion and it paid off. I came out with honours from Columbia University and was forced to join the army…but I loved writing…so I resigned. Life was a struggle and our family was relatively poor….but those were the days…”

“So you have published any stuff…” Vinatha asked wryly.

“I tried a lot…but it took me almost quarter of a century to complete and bring out my work… God was cruel but thanks to my Momma…she toiled hard to bring it out….A book is nothing but blood and life… buried deep down in it’s pages..”

Vinatha felt the man was getting emotional and doubted if he was crying. But he clenched his eyes with his fingers and brushed off whatever sadness was locked out there in there.

“Do you need a tissue… sir…?” Vinatha asked him concerned.

“No dear…no… Since you have finally chosen this path… I would urge you write as much as you can and take your words to the world…”

“Who gives a shit about the words Professor?:” Vinatha blurted out and immediately regretted saying so.

“This is an excuse for the old timers sweetheart…we who keep writing in remote corners of the world and for a better part of our life nobody gives a crap…but alas…now we have the technology and people like you can take literature to the next level. Remember…more people have died at the hands of WORDS than by the end of SWORDS…  Vinta…”

“Sir it is not Vinta…its Vi-Na-Tha…” she laughed heartily as she spoke.

“Owweeee… Win-Aa-Tha…right?”

“Yeah…”

“Will get it right on the go…the point I wanna hammer down is that I tried a lot but there were no takers for good work…by the time recognitions came it was all too late…” the professor smiled at her.

“Do you write a lot Professor…And what kinda stuff do you write….?” Vinatha hated philosophy and the the nutty Professor was saying things that pretty much sounded out dated. The guy was speaking as if he was a 100 year old southerner or mid western farmer rather than a young & dashing 30 year old college professor.

“No dear I do not write much… I wrote just one novel…and a stupid one though. It was rejected by every publisher in this country…” and he started laughing as if it was the biggest joke of the century.

“Professor…your life sounds interesting…feels like I’m gonna end up knowing more about you…You are young and you have a long way to go…” Vinatha spoke to him looking gleefully in his intelligent eyes.

“Owweee… I was the youngest Professor back then when I joined. My life is a rather grim one. Perhaps very soon I can describe it to you in great detail dear…but yeah…lot of stuff you can find about me over the internet…but I’m not that technology savvy you know…”

“Do give me the details Sir…so that I can have a look at your writings and your life…” Vinatha made a sharp right turn towards the Mississippi highway that headed towards the Dominican College.

“Yeah… will Whatsapp the link to you…OK… Gimme your mobile number?”

“It is 773-338-7786…Cheers professor…”

The professor showed thumbs up and seemed to make a mental note of her mobile number even though he did not physically jot it down.

Suddenly as if nothing was there to be said between them, silence ensued in the Chevy. The afternoon traffic was scanty and Vinatha kept checking the sign boards as she drove. She wondered why the professor was not helping her find the way. But she did not complain. And as the entered outskirts of Biloxi county, things rapidly went bad.

As she drove past a green signboard  with “Greenwood Cemetery” written over it in white, the Professor started shaking in his seat and his hands started shivering violently.

Vinatha did not notice that initially but the young professor started shaking violently in his seat.

“Professor…is there anything wrong…?” her voice shuddered with tension when she noticed there was something wrong with the professor.

The Professor looked at her with blood shot eyes and face swamped in sweat. His hair was completely messed up showing bald patches. He seemed a different man altogether. Then he shouted at her:

“Stop the car…” Vinatha was trying to concentrate on her driving when the sudden rise in the decibel of his voice shocked her. She stared at him in total disbelief.

“What professor…Don’t you want me to take you to the College?” she asked looking in his face.

“Stop the fucking car… I gotta get out…RIGHT HERE…Your one hour session is over…Remember you live or die by the words you fucking idiot…Literature is life not a boogie part time job….do you get MEEEE ” the man shouted at the top of his voice.

This time he his mouth was completely exposed  and Vinatha shrieked and applied break. The professor’s teeth, tongue and everything inside his mouth was black…pitch,filthy,deadly black. The car skidded out of the road and screeched to a stop just inches away from an Oak tree. Vinatha’s head hit the steering wheel and she became dazed for a moment.

In a flash of a second the Professor unbuckled his seatbelt, opened the door and jumped out of the car. As Vinatha lifted her head to see if the man was OK, he was nowhere to be seen. Vinatha looked around but in vain. Then as she glanced over rear view mirror, she caught a glimpse of the professor in his black tweed dashing through the front gate of the Greenwood Cemetery holding his brown bag.

Some passers-by slowed their cars to check if Vinatha was fine. She smiled at them saying:

“Thanks for your concern…I’m perfectly awright…”

Once she pulled herself back, she swiftly got out of the car and ran towards the entrance of the Cemetery. But all she could find there was an infinite extension of green lawns, thousands of silent tombs and trees that guarded the dead. There was no sign of the handsome professor.

Stunned and confused, she walked towards her car, she touched her forehead and Vinatha was really annoyed to find a small bump over her forehead.

“Damn it…” she cursed at the embarrassing thought of facing the Dean of Dominican College for the first time with a crazy bump over her frons.

Vinatha got into her car, closed both the doors and drove towards the college. Crazy thoughts ran through her mind in that twenty minutes drive between the Greenwood Cemetery and the beautiful campus of Dominican College.  She parked the car under the shade of trees in front of the administration block and walked in to meet the Dean. But unfortunately the Dean was out somewhere and the office clerk instructed her to meet Proff. Margaret Longwood, who headed the English department.

But all along Vinatha kept playing the conversation she had with the Professor in her mind. Back and forth…back and forth. There was something that did not fit…but she did not know exactly what it was.

As she stepped into the 200 feet stone walkway, lined with palm trees on either side it hit her. Staring at the the 18th century, white colonial 4 storey building that housed the English department, the words of the professor struck her like a boomerang.

“Holy shit!!!!” she shouted and ran towards the English department.

She had to tell someone what had happened… and as she raced through the walkway, her feet thumping over the stone tiles….the words of the professor echoed in her mind…

“I tried a lot…but it took me almost quarter of a century to complete and bring out my work… God was cruel but thanks to my Momma…she toiled hard to bring it out….A book is nothing but blood and life… buried deep down in it’s pages…”

” How the fuck can a 30 year old man work for quarter of a century on a book….damn it…why the hell did I not think of it before…..” Vinatha hissed as she ran.

She reached the entrance of the building, and stood there supporting her hands over her waist, unable to move any further and completely exhausted. She went dumbfounded and covered her mouth with her palms when she saw that the English Department it self was named after the professor.

Right in front of her stood a plinth that divided the entrance of the department in exact halves. There was a huge bronze statue of a man in tweed coat and stripped tie. As Vinatha gapped at the statue and what was written underneath it, her Motto G vibrated inside her jeans pocket. With a shaking hand she took the phone and swiped the screen to life. There was one unread message in her Whatsapp messenger.

She swiped down the notification that said:

“One unread message from 773-000-0000

She opened that message that had a simple link that said “click here”. She clicked the link with her right thumb and it led her to a wiki page. Vinatha then read the story of the man who travelled with her for an hour giving her a session on life and literature. Then she looked at the statue in front of her and remembered the face of the professor. They were one and the same.

Respect oozed out of her eyes in the form of tears for the man who paid the price of words with his own life.  Vinatha knelled down before the plinth with closed eyes and palms… and silently promised the Professor to take her words to the world….at any cost.

To know what Vinatha saw, just

–> CLICK HERE<–


#Blogging101

#johnkennedytoole

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

#Blogging101

THE LATE NIGHT CALL

Sometimes you don't have a clue 'bout what's happening at the other end of your call...
Sometimes you don’t have a clue about what’s happening at the other end of your call…

The party stretched late into the night and Tigy got drunk till his neck.

28 year old Tigy Mathews was the Junior Production Engineer at Mercedes Benz manufacturing unit, Pune. He was an MTech in Mechanical Engineering from IIT Madras and 6 months into his job, he had already caught the attention of the senior management from Germany. It was almost certain that Tigy would be shipped to Germany soon!!! That was big news for him and his family. Even though this was the case Tigy was a typical Thiruvalla achayan (a Christian man from place called Thiruvalla in Kerala).

He was innocent yet ambitious.

The company had chosen Radison International, a seven star resort in Mahabalipuram-Chennai, as the venue for the annual sales meet. Tigy and a few other recruits were given special invitations so that they gain some insight in to the demands and dynamics of sales in their company. And after the highly professional and serious sales meet, they had a blast. Whiskey, music and laughter flowed through the open air lawn of the resort that night. The waves of Bay of Bengal grooved with them nearby. Tigy lost track of time as he partied along with his friends and latter on got hooked up with a blond Sales Manager from Berlin. Her name was Judith Ann and earlier that day she had given a terrific presentation on how to boost sales in South Asia. Like her presentation, she too was mind blowing, beautiful, a finger taller than Tigy and an excellent dancer.

They drank, danced, talked and did the same all over again…and again and again. Tigy did not know when or how he reached his suit in the resort or who got him there. His heart was filled with the gorgeous sexy smile of Judith and he dreamed of making love to her in his suit…the fragrance of her perfume getting jumbled up with his sweat and her erotic moans enthralled him.

As Tigy lay dazed in his luxury suite with waves singing lullaby for him; he felt like he was swinging between realities and dreams. That’s when his iPhone rang. Initially he thought it was just a hallucination and ignored it. Then it started ringing all over again.

“What is it that I’m hearing…Is it my phone? No…No..Then who is calling me at this time of the night?” Tigy kept thinking as laziness started engulfing him like a fast growing termite hill.

Then his mistake hit him hard like a comet hitting the surface of earth.

“Holly shit… Reenu…”

Reenu Varghese was his ever innocent, possessive and complaining fiancée.

Though he wanted to marry a rich and fashionable modern girl, his parents compelled him to settle for an orthodox yet educated and beautiful Reenu. Reenu was really good looking with milk white skin and enchanting big, black eyes. But Tigy always felt she lacked the modern charm he found attractive in girls these days. As a boy who studied in top notch institutes, he felt it quite unbecoming to settle down for a small-town cow like Reenu. He had slept with many beautiful women since he knew how to charm them. Now beauty did not matter to him much, but class did. He was way to mature to fall for beauty and money anymore and at the same time it came to him as a paradox that he was totally helpless in Reenu’s matter.  But there was nothing more to be done. He was engaged and her family was rich. Destiny was destiny… that’s what his old grandma used to say L

Reenu had just cracked the SBI Probationary Officer Exam and was posted as the asst. manager in the Cochin branch of the bank. Even though this was the case, Reenu always sounded very religious and pious…this somehow seemed to put-off Tigy.  And that was the reason why Tigy drank, danced and flirted with the German beauty…since two months from then he would be married to the ever boring Reenu.

His hands stumbled around for the phone with little luck and he sat upright in his bed. It was completely dark. Other than the soft hiss of AC and a distant quarrel between the waves and rocks, it was dead silent. Instinctively he searched for his iPhone in the dark. That’s when the phone started ringing again and the bright glow of its screen helped Tigy locating the iPhone. He blinked at the screen in dismay and as expected it was Reenu’s gorgeous face smiling at him to pick the call. He attended it:

“Hello…” Tigy spoke in a clumsy voice.

“Hello Tigychaya… you completely forgot me…” there was disappointment in Reenu’s voice.

“I…I’m sorry… the party went too long…Reenu…” Tigy blurted and immediately regretted uttering those words. The usual excuse he gave was that he had a very important meeting.

WHAT? Partyyyy…why you didn’t tell me Tigychaya…and you did not even ask me about our office Onam Celebration and lunch…Our GM Sasikumar sir had come and he appreciated me for my work…I Whatsapped you that the GM complimented me but you did not even respond…you have completely forgotten me…please tell me if I’m not caring for you… You are my everything…and did you drink?? Ohh goddddddddd……” Reenu went on and on and Tigy did not know what to say. He felt as if his head would burst and his left brain would fly right and right brain will run left.

“Reenu…I’m sorry…it was a surprise party after rounds of hectic meetings. Please try to understand yar…”

“You could have told me ichaya…” she again started complaining…

Tigy wondered how a girl can be so loving, so possessive and compulsive all at the same time.

“Mannn…she got balls…” and it was not the first time he thought of Reenu  in those lines.

Anger started bubbling inside Tigy… that’s when Reenu suddenly winced as if in terrible pain…

“Ouchhhhh….” She shouted and Tigy became very cautious all of a sudden…

“Why what happened…” he asked her

“Something bit my legs…I guess there are ants here in balcony…” she spoke innocently.

“What the hell are you doing at this time in the balcony?” Tigy checked the watch and it was close to 3 in the morning

“Tigychaya… there is a full moon today… and I could not sleep without talking to you… I’m enjoying it standing in the balcony of my flat…can’t you see the full moon?” Reenu’s words touched him. He heard her sigh as she walked end to end in the balcony of the flat she and her friends had rented. The howling wind was hitting the mouthpiece along with Reenu’s heavy breathing.

“Hmmm… lemme see…” as Tigy got out from the blanket, he was shocked to realize that he was completely naked. Ashamed, he went back into the sheets and cut the call.

“What the fuck has happened to me??” He thought as he switched on the table lamp. By the far end of that big bed, he saw the face of Judith in all its beauty and charm. She was sleeping peacefully and Tigy’s heart exploded when he saw that she was not wearing anything on top of her. Her hands covered her supple mounts and the blanket covered the rest of her. He lifted the blanket and peeped inside only to find that she was not wearing anything below as well.

“So it was not at all a dream…” Tigy shuddered in shame and regret…at the same time he felt some kind of exhilarating triumph spreading through his body as well. It was his first time with a foreign woman. If Adolf Hitler’s words were to be taken true…the perfect Aryan Woman.

That’s when the phone started ringing again:

“Why did you cut the call Tigychaya?” Reenu asked in an irritated voice.

“Nothing dear…” Tigy replied.

But he was surprised to find a new kind of affection in his words towards Reenu. She always spoke to him lovingly…but Tigy never gave it back. He wondered whether sleeping with Judith had anything to do with his transformation.

He got out of his bed and went to the window. He parted the curtains and looked at the full moon glowing down over the black, restless sea. Judith sighed in the bed and turned around displaying her bare, curvaceous back.

But Reenu was talking non-stop:

“Tigychaya…I went to the nearby church today and prayed for you…prayed for us…Also I have promised a swarna kurish (golden cross) to Velankanni Mathav if your papers get readied soon for Germany…” and she went on.

Her sincere words were like iron nails. Tigy regretted his actions now and her words seemed to pierce deep into his heart like those nails.

Finally she asked Tigy:

“Will you take me to Velankanni before we fly off to Germany Tigychaya?”

“Sure dear…I will…”

“Ok Ichaya…sleep well…will call tomorrow…” Reenu bid good bye over the call.

She never asked for a kiss…since Tigy never felt like luring her romantically towards him. He wanted to kiss her for the first time…for reasons unknown. But he just said:

“Good night Reenu….” And cut the call.

Then Tigy went back to his bed. As he silently tried to crawl between the sheets, Judith opened her sleepy eyes. There was lot of passion still lingering in them. She smiled at Tigy and opened her arms exposing her beautiful bosoms. They longingly invited Tigy for a sensuous kiss and a strong caress. Tigy hesitated for a moment, but then with a deep regret still burning raw in his chest, he hugged Judith. Then he rolled on top of her and kissed her moist lips. In no time, their tongues met in passionate tangles and then Tigy pressed his body against hers…to enjoy her for one last time before sunrise.

“There are some things men can’t help…” that was the final thought Tigy had before he plunged deep into the eternal pleasures of Judith’s body.

Meanwhile, Reenu switched off her phone. She was lying in her bed and was not walking as she had told Tigy. Neither was she standing in her balcony. The howling sound of wind gushing from the ceiling fan seemed to pin her don on the bed.

It was only a make belief…a kind of acting done to make Tigy believe she cared, loved and longed for him. She had been to no Church. And Reenu understood that Tigy was not really interested in her.

Reenu loved simple things in life. A simple home, simple job and a simple husband. She needed someone to take her on a ride in his bike around Thiruvalla town and someone to walk with her to the church holding her hands. She dreamed of a husband who would accompany her to Chilanka Theatre when a Mohan Lal movie got released and who would buy her dinner from Chako Chettan’s thattu kada (food from small roadside vendor). Somehow she found her life strangled and buckled up after her engagement with Tigy.

Her fiancée never really cared about her and seldom did he appreciate her achievements. It was really painful for her to think about leaving the job she had earned after working so hard and flying off to a strange land with a stranger. There was no use of telling parents since they wanted prestige whereas she craved for love and meaningful existence. Both these ideologies confronted each others poles apart.

Life was simple and she loved it that way. But her parents forced her into engagement this guy seeing the prospects of flying abroad. But Reenu knew her game. She was an expert in making people believe that she was innocent and did not know anything. In fact Reenu understood everything. And she had no regrets with life. Before she got married, this was the only time she got to live her life in her own terms. This was her only chance to live her life to its full.

She threw the phone Tigy had gifted during their engagement to the floor of that cheap hotel room. And again she winced in pain…but a much sweeter one than before. She moaned in ecstatic pleasure as she spoke

“Enough kissing me there…now come inside…”

Then with both her hands she pulled up the GM of her Bank, Mr. Sasikumar , whose head was buried deep between her thighs. Like a starved bull, he came on top of her and swiftly entered her.

Reenu shut her eyes in pleasure…a pleasure with no regrets!!!

                                                                  *** THE END***

Thank you Riyaz for suggesting the name “The Late Night Call” leading to a rare instance where the title inspires the story and not the other way around.

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

#Blogging101

KOTHAMANGALAM CHRONICLES- Life of Thomaskutty

Indian-Army-Kargil-Victory

LIFE OF THOMASKUTTY


July 26, 1999-A KSRTC Bus from Perumbavoor to Kothamangalam

Captain Praveen Thomas was looking smart. With a clean-shaven face, close cut hair and tanned skin, he looked a commando officer in every sense. His broad shoulders that filled his sparkling white shirt seemed to completely occupy the seat he was sitting in. But there was a mysterious sadness in those eyes.

Praveen Thomas, who his friends and family lovingly called Thomaskutty, was on his way to Kothamangalam from Perumbavoor. Both his friends and family forbid him from travelling, but today was a day he could never miss. He was sitting alone by the window seat of the old, dilapidated KSRTC bus. Enchanting meadows, mansions and greenery ran parallel to the winding road between Perumbavoor and Kothamangalam. The sights were so beautiful that it took Praveen on a nostalgic journey to his past. He was a Civil Engineer from MA College of Engineering and that’s where he had met Neethu. Neethu Mary George. Neethu was exactly like that college campus…magical and gorgeous. Somehow he could feel the fragrance of the rain sodden earth and the rain-drenched leaves of the campus in the cool breeze that invaded that bus. It was like facing a nostalgic storm of memories. Memories that were fresh…memories that breathed life. Praveen still had no clue as to how much he loved Neethu. All he knew was that she was the love of his life and that was the only reason he was going to meet her today…for one last time.

As majestic churches and mosques brushed past his vision, Praveen walked down those memory lanes. How he had met Neethu for the first time in the survey lab… those big lovely eyes that kept smiling at him…Neethu looking fragile but cute…how he had proposed her during Sanskrithi (3-day cultural extravaganza)…The overwhelming moment of promising each other be together for a lifetime…His own constant quest for doing something adventurous, doing something for the nation made him an officer in Indian Army…He thought about his brothers of 18 Grenadiers Tiger Hill PVC Paltan… How he along with 6 others had gone on a patrol on May 3, 1999, and surprisingly found Pakistani militants holed up in Indian posts…heart-sickening memories of his fellow army men being gunned down and him luckily escaping death by a hair-thin margin. He shut his eyes tight and clenched his fist tight with regret of not able to fight the ongoing war in Kargil with the men of his battalion… even though a Pak shell had ripped off his left leg.

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Praveen was completely absorbed in his own world of love, friendship, action and tragedy that he hardly noticed the bus conductor shouting at someone sitting by his side.

Praveen looked at the conductor,a burly man with a potbelly and dark complexion, shouting at a teenager sitting by his side.

Kayil kash illengil irangi poda chekka… (Boy… if you do not have any money get out of the bus)”

Sire, kash edukan maranu…ivade kothamangalam vare ullu (Sir I forgot to take cash…I’m only till Kothamangalam…” the boy replied casually as if the bus belonged to him.

“Bus ninte appante vaka annoda…irangi poda… (Does this bus belong to your father? Get the fuck out of the bus…)” the bus conductor pulled the string and the bell by the driver’s side clinked.  And the driver applied the brakes and the bus came to a standstill.

Praveen looked at the thin boy with a fair complexion. He had neatly combed oil slick hair and a light shade of teenage facial hair. He had a red kurri (teekka) on his shining forehead and a thick orange string around his right wrist. The boy looked as if he was just 17 or 18, seemed quite innocent in a black shirt and brown jeans. Praveen felt like he had seen this boy somewhere. But he could not figure out exactly where. Praveen strangely felt compassionate for the boy.

“I will pay for his ticket…”

“Sir…no need for that…brats like him should be taught a lesson…” the conductor continued but Praveen took a five rupee currency note from his black purse and handed over the cash to the bus conductor. The conductor without a word slid it into his big leather pouch and returned the change and ticket to Praveen. The conductor then moved to his seat since his problem was solved. The bell clinked once again and the bus started its onward journey towards Kothamangalam.

Praveen handed over the ticket to the boy who took it from him and smiled sheepishly.

Surprisingly, the boy looked in his eyes and asked:

“How do you know Neethu Miss?”

Praveen was dumb struck for a second and he kept searching for his tongue for an answer. Finally he managed a reply that was in turn a question:

“How…I mean how you know??”

The boy smiled at him…

“I saw her photograph in your wallet, when you opened it to pay for my ticket sir…”

Praveen stared at the boy for a long time and then shrugged his head in disappointment. There was a searing pain in his body and soul. He gripped the crutches kept by the side of his seat in agony. Praveen recollected the final letter from Neethu.

Valiyaveetil George, her Appachan (dad) and Mary Kochanna, her Ammachi (mom) were against marrying Praveen and was brutally forcing her to marry Bastian ( a businessman based in Thodupuzha). Neethu was totally helpless under tremendous pressure from within and outside the family to give consent. She had urged Praveen to come and take her in that letter which was smeared in her tears.

But how could he? He had spent almost a month in an Army Hospital with no consciousness. For most part of the remaining days he wondered whether he was dead or alive. And by the time he had read Mary’s heart breaking letter, it was too late. Moreover, he had lost all hopes in life. The only option left with him was to let Neethu marry someone else and letting her live a happy life. Praveen was a true Indian Soldier who believed that sacrifice as the greatest symbol of love… be it for his motherland or be it for the woman he loved.

Somehow Praveen suppressed those tears welling up in his eyes and smiled at the boy. There was an ocean of sadness in that smile. But he managed to speak:

“How do you know Neethu?”

“She takes Strength of Materials for our batch…Errr… today is her betrothal in Cheriya Palli (a church in Kothamangalam…though it is called “Little Church” it is quite big and powerful) “, the boy replied with an understanding smile.

“Ohh…” Praveen sighed as he looked out and realized that the bus had already reached Thankalam. They were getting closer to their destination.

“Even I’m coming for the betrothal…So what is your name?” Praveen asked the boy.

“My name is Vishnu… and your name Sir?”

“Praveen…” he replied as he offered his hand. The boy reciprocated and shook his hand. Praveen felt the boy’s palm unusually strong, stiff and rough for an engineering student of that age. As if the boy sensed what Praveen was thinking he replied:

“Sir, you know Avarachan?”

“You mean the Timber Avarachan … in Perumbavoor?? Yess..”

“My father works there in his furniture workshop as the head carpenter…you may have heard his name…Balan Ashari (carpenter) they call him…”

“Ohhh… I heard of Avarachan…he is filthy rich right…about your father…maybe if I see him I can recognize him…” Praveen racked his brain trying to recollect the so called Ballan Ashari.

“…I work there part time Sir… We are not that well off you know…I have two sisters as well…”

Those words touched Praveen and he patted the boy’s hands. Vishnu smiled in return.

“Kothamangalam….Kothamangalam….” the conductor kept shouting instructing passengers to get down the bus.

“I think we need to get down Vishnu…” Praveen suggested and took the crutches from the side of the seat.

Praveen saw genuine sympathy in the eyes of Vishnu and some fellow passengers who were getting down. He just ignored them all. From the time he was back after the tragedy, he could see that hollow sympathy in the eyes of people. Those glares seemed to hurt his dignity somehow. Nobody had any genuine concern for an Army Officer in this land and to an extend that was true. With Vishnu’s support he got down from the bus. The duo boarded an auto rickshaw and Praveen instructed the driver to take them to Church where Mary was getting betrothed. The 5 minute journey between the Kothamangalam Bus Stand and Cheriya Palli went in relative silence. Praveen remembered how much he wanted to be in the battle front after being discharged from hospital. He even wired his then commanding officer of his battalion, Capt. Vikram Batra on the 1st of July. However Vikram Batra not only declined his request, but humbly instructed him to return home for recuperation. And on that very day Praveen was relieved from all his official duties. Praveen felt restless sitting at home when his battalion was ripping through the infiltrators from Pakistan.

But on July 7th he was shattered when he heard the news of Capt. Vikram Batra’s martyrdom. He had fallen while trying to capture point 4875. The operation would later be considered by war historians as one of the toughest operations in mountain warfare. There was disappointment and regret in Praveen’s mind…he felt like a coward who isolated his battalion during a raging war. Seldom could he digest the fact that he was not fit for action and it would be a great burden for others if he participated under his current physical conditions. But he was still an officer who was drilled and grilled to fight till death…somehow watching Neethu getting married to someone else would inflict enough pain to grant him redemption…that was what Praveen thought. Also he felt somewhat relieved since this boy Vishnu seemed to be understanding and most importantly, unlike other people, the boy was not pestering him with painful questions on how he lost his left leg.

The auto rickshaw stopped in front of the Church and the duo got down. Praveen paid for the ride and they both slowly climbed the steps that led towards the church. Already there was huge crowd. Neethu belonged to one of the oldest and one of the highly influential ancestral houses in Kothamangalam. Though they were planters basically, her family gave great importance to education. Kothamangalam was like that…it was rich and it had class.

He walked towards the church that was jam packed with people from in and around Kothamangalam. A 100 meter walkway separated the massive iron gates and the entrance of the church. There was a huge ground that bordered with a thick rubber plantation which belonged to the church itself.

Praveen checked his watch. The betrothal was supposed to be at 11:00 AM and it was already 10:55. He increased his speed by rapidly moving crutches back and forth and Vishnu walked by his side. Vishnu’s attempts to hold Praveen went futile since the soldier brushed off his hand whenever he attempted to hold Praveen’s forearms. Praveen somehow seemed to be miffed at the sight of the white Maruti Esteem Car, brand new and fresh out of the showroom. It was decorated with red roses and a pink ribbon ran across its length proclaiming it as a gift for the groom. In other words- an expensive dowry.

As Vishnu and Praveen reached the entrance of the church people started staring at Praveen. All three of the massive teak wood doors of the church were open to accommodate a river of invitees that flooded the church and the premise. The doors were unique in the sense when they were closed; they depicted the life of Jesus Christ in chronological order. The carvings over the doors just brimmed with life. Nobody knew exactly who crafted those doors because the church had a history that dated almost a 1000 year back.

There were people swarming in and around the church premise. Alas nobody was expecting Praveen to be there. Some of his old classmates saw Praveen heading for the church with the boy and immediately came to assist him, but Praveen rejected their offer. Even then they were kind enough to make enough space for him and the Vishnu to squeeze in.

Once they were inside Vishnu parted the crowd and they slowly moved towards the Altar. But unfortunately their progress was short lived. Praveen and Vishnu got completely jammed once they got to the middle. Vishnu looked around and found a healthy looking middle aged man sitting in the wooden bench wearing a white kurtha. He immediately requested the man to give his seat to Praveen who by now was squirming in pain. The man looked at Vishnu and Praveen in tandem…like a pendulum his little beady eyes kept glancing at the boy and the soldier. Then with a not-so-willing-heart he got up. But Praveen kept looking over the crowd to catch a glimpse of Neethu. There was no way he could succeed. Smelling an opportunity a fat lady tried to sit in the bench. Vishnu immediately blocked her stride:

avade nik ammachi…e pavam onnu irrunote… (you keep standing…let the poor man sit…)” he stared at her with anger boiling in his eyes and the fat lady backed off.

Vishnu then made Praveen sit in that bench. Praveen was sweating profusely due to the heat and throbbing pain that seemed to rip his body in two. He sat in the wooden bench, with eyes shut tight. In that excruciating pain Praveen blabbered:

“I have to see Neethu…one last time…” and thanks to the endless cacophony…no one except Vishnu heard those words. As Praveen clutched his fist around the iron crutches, the speakers came to life.

“Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep….”

The head priest, Reverend Father Kuriakose’s baritone voice came to life over the microphone.

“Silence…” his calm yet powerful voice somehow pulled the hall to a pin drop silence.

After a routine discourse of prayers he finally came down to the business. Vishnu kept looking left and right…as if trying to locate his friends. His attempts seemed to fail him. By now Praveen was experiencing an agony like he had never experienced before. He felt as if his mind and body would burst anytime. He sat there with his eyes shut and forehead declined over the crutches.

“Mr. Bastian, son of Pullikaatil Mathai and Elsamma…are you willing to take Neethu Mary George, daughter of Valiyaveetil Samuel George and Mary Kochanna as your rightful wife?” the sound of Kuriakose Achan (Father) boomed through the hall.

“Yes…” replied a confident Bastian.

“Neethu Mary George, daughter of Valiyaveetil Samuel George and Mary Kochanna …are you willing to take Mr. Bastian, son of Pullikaatil Mathai and Elsamma as your rightful husband?” the sound of Kuriakose Achan (Father) again thundered across the hall.

The church suddenly went silent like a graveyard waiting for Neethu’s answer. Seconds seemed to follow each other into infinity and then the reply punched the crowd:

Noooooooooooo” and it was not Neethu’s voice neither it was Praveen’s. It was a boy’s vocal completely on fire!!! It sounded as if an SFI student comrade had shouted a slogan. Every head turned towards the direction of the boy and Vishnu shouted again:

Noooooooooooooooooo” people were clueless as to what the hell was happening.

Almost everyone gaped in the direction of the boy with their mouth wide open and totally dumbfounded. The only exception was Father Kuriakose. Praveen lifted his head totally stunned by this unexpected twist of events. He searched for Vishnu, but the boy had already pushed his way through the crowd towards the altar.

Vishnu stood in front of Father Kuriakose and looked straight at George, Neethu’s dad and shouted at him:

“How the hell can you marry your daughter to another man when you had already agreed her hand to Praveen…?”

He glowered at Neethu who was already in tears and then at Bastian:

“How do you feel stealing the love of a man who lost his leg trying to protect you man?”

Bastian bent his otherwise high-held head. There was shame oozing out of his face.

Praveen by now had limped his way through the crowd and almost reached the place where Vishnu stood. He felt the marble floor slipping under his feet with each stride. And yes he was in pain.

The boy looked straight in the eyes of Father Kuriakose and roared:

“Father…Neethu Miss belongs to this man…she loves him still…the marriage should be between Neethu Miss and Praveen and not with this pig who has just money in his mind….”

But before Vishnu could finish his words, two burley men with hairy chest, massive arms and thick beard tried to catch hold of him. They were Neethu’s twin uncles Martin and James, the people who brought Bastian’s alliance. Like a panther Vishnu tried to evade them but Martin caught Vishnu by his collar. Vishnu turned with a speed of lightning and slapped Martin right across his face. The man fell down as if an elephant had wacked him with its trunk. But James headed menacingly in Vishnu’s direction and Vishnu kicked him on his chest…the man went down sprawling across the floor.

Orupad thadi edutha kaiya achayo…kalikale…( This hand has lifted heavy timber…don’t mess with me…)”

The people had no clue what was happening till then… but slowly they started grasping the situation and started to close down upon the boy. Vishnu sensed the tension around him… he aimed for the east door that was relatively free. He started retracting his steps…and as he turned and dashed for the door he shouted a question at Neethu:

“Neethuuu are you willing to marry Praveen…?”

That very moment Praveen’s crutches slipped from the floor and he fell down with a thud…and Neethu ran towards Praveen to support him. Meanwhile men crashed through the crowd trying to catch hold of Vishnu who had ruined the wedding. But Neethu did not give a crap and held Praveen’s head in her lap. Her never ending love for Praveen fell like rains of monsoon, cleansing his face completely with sweet salinity.

Father Kuriakose wanted no more nonsense in his Church and spoke over the microphone:

“Neethu Mary George…Are you willing to accept Praveen Thomas as your rightful husband?”

It was not clear if her reply was YES or NO…but clear as day light, her lips were on Praveen’s lips.

Valiyaveetil George had a stroke at that moment and Mary Kochanna fainted on the spot, but everyone in that church began to clap. It thundered for a good 15 minutes and tears flowed down the eyes of everyone…even Father Kuriakose.

Meanwhile, without knowing what had just happened inside the church,  men were running behind the boy who ruined a wonderful marriage. There were shouts and clamor from outside.

Pidikada avane…nikada chekka avade…(Catch him…stop you arrogant brat)” they kept shouting at Vishnu who was as quick as a rabbit and zigzagged around people who tried to catch him.

He circled the church ground, exhausting his pursuers before running through the main gate and into a crowd that was waving Indian flags. By the time people came chasing him, crackers were being burst right in the middle of the road. The boy was nowhere to be seen and adding to that the smoke from the firecrackers blurred their vision.

They saw placards carrying pictures of Sri. Atal Bihari Vajpayee waving the “V” sign. India had taken back the final peak of Batalik sector and had won the Kargil War. And people were on the roads celebrating the victory.

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NEW DELHI : PRIME MINISTER ATAL BIHARI VAJPAYEE SHOWING VICTORY SIGN AT HIS RESIDENCE AFTER HE ELECTED FROM LUCKNOW ON WEDNESDAY. PTI PHOTO

It was Vijay Divas for the Nation and off course a Vijay Divas for Praveen & Neethu. ❤ ❤ ❤

Inside the church, as people softly pulled up newly weds, Praveen asked Neethu:

“Your student is one hell of a guy Neethu…if it was not for him…”

“Which student?”

“The boy…who did all this stuff…he told me you were taking Strength of Material for his batch”

Neethu looked at Praveen for a long time and replied…

“I have no clue Praveen…I’m seeing that boy for the first time in my life…Do you know him?”

Praveen was shocked and closed his eyes in complete disbelief.

What are you talking about Neethu…”

She just shrugged helplessly.

***

Epilogue

Praveen and Neethu got married and in a formal ceremony and both the families reconciled. Her uncle Martin still had a shaking jaw and James felt a pinch of pain every time he breathed.

Neethu’s father, Valiyaveetil George tried his level best to make Praveen accept the Maruti Esteem Car, but Praveen would not budge. He fitted a wooden prosthetic leg and brought a second hand Maruti 800. He then customized the car to suit his physical condition. Praveen received award for his bravery in the battlefield and was re-assigned to a clerical profile in the MES (Military Engineering Service in Kochi Naval Base).

As for the boy Vishnu, it was like he had vanished completely off the surface of earth. Praveen went in search for him to Avarachan’s furniture shop. Sure there was a Balan Ashari there, but he did not have a son named Vishnu…in fact he did not have a son at all.

Praveen and Neethu kept searching for that one face that changed their destiny for good wherever they went but it would just not show up. Many a times Praveen racked his brain trying to recollect where he had seen that face earlier.

Exactly one year from that day Neethu gave birth to a baby boy. They named him Vishnu Das in the fond memory of the boy who changed their life. Father Kuriakose was shocked in the beginning, but he was a very liberal person who believed in belief and faith rather than names.

Neethu and Praveen were the last to leave the church after the mamaodisa (naming ceremony) function. Neethu got into the car with the baby and as Praveen opened the car door, father Kuriakose called him. Praveen limped back towards the entrance of the church, towards were Father Kuriakose stood.

“Sorry for making you walk son…”

“It’s OK Father…what is the matter?”

“Come here I need to talk to you….You always wanted to know who that boy was…right?”

“Yes…Father. It is so strange I keep getting the feeling that I have seen that boy somewhere…” As Praveen spoke, Monichan (the Church helper) closed one of the three doors of the church…the rightmost one that depicted Judas’s betrayal and   eventual end of Jesus Christ on a cross.

“The question haunted me as well…when the boy looked in my eyes for the first time…I felt the world just went empty…” Father Kuriakose put his hand lovingly across Praveen’s shoulders as Monichan closed the main and central door that had beautiful carvings of Jesus working his miracles and delivering his sermons over mount. Praveen and Father Kuriakose stared at its miraculous beauty.

Then Kuriakose Achan spoke:

“Strange are his ways my boy… When people are sincere and have true love in their hearts he will transcend and bleed for them… You call him Jesus, Allah or Vishnu…he comes in different names but he is one and the same…”

“Why are you telling me this Father?” Praveen was perplexed now.

“ ’coz I think we have figured who that boy was and where he came from…”

“Really?” Praveen was exuberant.

Monichan closed the third and leftmost door.

“Come let’s have a look at the first door…”

Slowly Praveen limped towards the first of the three massive teakwood doors. And then he stared at those beautiful carvings.

He saw men on camel guided by the northern star…then Birth of Jesus on a bed of hay, in a cave with virgin Mary, Joseph and lots of innocent cattle.

His childhood in the streets of Nazareth. And finally, a young Jesus helping Joseph as a carpenter. Suddenly the truth struck Praveen like a thunderbolt. The face in that carving had a very close resemblance to that of the boy who saved his love.

Praveen went on his knees then and there. He closed his eyes in a deep prayer of gratitude. The clouds gathered over the beautiful town of Kothamangalam and in seconds it started raining like heaven.

*The End*
Dedications:

To all the officers of the Indian Armed Forces who are risking every second of their lives for us. My friend Praveen who is serving the nation in Uniform (only his name has been borrowed)…Salutes to you officer!!!

himalayas

To Neethu who always urged me write Kothamangalam Chronicles…this is for you dear.

To Nuna… my classmate who keep complaining that my stories are too short. Hope you find this story long enough 😛

And last but not the least…the beautiful town and outskirts of Kothamangalam. To the gorgeous and romantic MA college campus. Both have wonderful stories hidden in their misty haze of greenery and eye candy landscape. It’s only that we gotta look for them in the right places!!!

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After bidding good bye to an eventful software career that spanned just 3 small years, he right now breaking his head working on his MTech thesis. It also comes as a surprise that in his lunatic quest for “figuring out life” he ended up writing a novel “Hope We Never Meet Again” which will be coming out soon…how soon only god knows!!!

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REGRETS IN A COFFIN

'Congratulations, your days of avoiding the real world are finally over.'
When we try to desperately become what we are not meant to be…we are killing ourselves. -Srinath Krishnamoorthy

Village of Fastiv, Kyiv Ukraine-1992

16 year old Jan had not taken a bath in 2 weeks. How could he? When there was not a drop to drink, how can he afford a wash? The lakes had all dried up and his house did not have a water connection. His country was under the angry glare of Russia for initiating the collapse of USSR. Heart wrecking poverty, cruel economic blockades and rampant corruption had pushed the nation to it’s knees. Jan’s serene, calm rural life was all but in shambles. Jan Koum was from a Jewish family and nobody would give job for a Jew boy. With no bread to fill his stomach and water to quench his thirst, there was only one option left with his life…MIGRATE.

He had decided that he won’t beg in the streets of Kyiv like most of his friends did. Jan’s father sold all his properties for their family to migrate to USA. So Jan along with his 40 year old beautiful mother Jenny and his sick old grandma of god only-knows-how-old flew down to Mountain View California on December 16, 1992. Jan’s Papa was a civil contractor and the army stopped him from flying off. Papa promised he would join them as soon as possible but he never did. With hardly any money left, and with no connections the trio were virtually trapped in a new country with strange people. On top of all this they could not speak English. Their only belongings were a suitcase that had a stack pile of cloths, a bundle of 20 odd Soviet Union school note books and some pen. Jan’s mother wanted her son to study, whatever be the situation. But she was intelligent enough to understand that they did not have enough money to invest in school supplies. Finally a Social Support program helped them find a small two-bedroom apartment. Jan’s mother became a baby sitter in the affluent neighbourhood of Mountain View. Grandma remained in their home, stitching and praying all day. And Jan started working as a cleaner in a nearby grocery store. He enrolled in a local American High-school. Soon he learned English and got attracted to programming. He brought books from used-books store and started learning intently his area of interest i.e. networking. He hated the superficial friendship of American students and missed those deep countryside friendships he had back in Ukraine.

Jan’s passion with programming made him spend almost every penny on used-books in computer programming and networking. He became an active member of “woowoo”, a no profit hacker community and often squirrelled into networks. He even chatted with Sean Fanning, the Napster co-founder. Exactly a year after he landed in US, his grandma died. 5 years into Uncle Sam’s world i.e. in 1997, his father passed away back in Ukraine.


1997-Corporate Office-Ernst & Young, Silicon Valley California

Jan was working in Ernst & Young as a security tester when he first met a no-nonsense guy called Brian Acton. Brian was a serious guy and what more, he was the 44th employee of Yahoo!. But they found a strange connection and started meeting often. Brian, who had a degree in Computer Science motivated Jan to enrol for the same in San Jose State University, California. 6 months from then and still in University, Jan got placed in Yahoo as an infrastructure engineer. Two weeks into his job in Yahoo, Jan was sitting in his classroom when one of Yahoo!’s major servers broke down. David Filo, one of Yahoo co-founders worked with a set of server engineers to resolve the issue, but with hardly any progress. David kept looking for the new recruit, the pick of them all. But Jan was nowhere to be seen.

Jan was sitting completely bored out in his classroom listening to a lecture in Data Structures. That’s when his mobile phone rang. He picked the the call:

“Where the hell are you dude..??” David’s angry voice punched Jan’s eardrum.

“I’m in class David…” he answered discretely.

“What the fuck are you doing sitting in a class… Jan? Get your dirty ass back in the server room…quick!!!”

Anyway Jan had begun to hate the course. The way the curriculum seemed to teach him nothing new. simply seemed to piss him off. He dashed to the server room in his bicycle and resolved the issue in less than 15 minutes. On the very same day, he decided to drop out of college.


In 2000 Jan’s mother died of Cancer and he ran into depression. With no one left in this world, Jan thought a bounty full to commit suicide and leave the bloody world for everything it had thrown at him. But Brian reached out to him. Like a best friend he supported Jan and pulled him out from the deep, dark well of distress.They went skiing, played soccer and played ultimate Frisbee for long hours

frisbee

Penniless and tired they came back. The first thing they did was apply for a job in Facebook. Both of them failed miserably and were disappointed to land up as entries in FB reject list.

But they did not give up and started Whatsapp.

Facebook-tmagArticle
Jan Koum and Brian Acton

They had a discreet office in California, just like Jan Koum who liked to maintain a low profile. His vehement distaste for advertisements was quite evident in everything he did.

During the entire negotiation process it is said that Jan Koum kept jotting down points in the good-old Soviet Notebooks his mom had given him.

And rest as they say…is history!!!

As of today WhatsApp has over 800 million active users and with over 10% of the total worldwide users, India is the largest single country in terms of number of users.

On February 19, 2014, the same company (Facebook) that deemed them unfit for a job vacancy, proposed to acquire WhatsApp for a mind blowing 16 Billion$. Jan Koum and Brian Acton choose a very strange place for signing the documents.

The old social service community building that once helped Jan with housing and a job, was chosen for signing the deal. They did not do it in a 7 star hotel, under the flash lights of a 1000 cameras and a global media stage-up.

Jan came a long way from the poverty stricken Ukrainian village, but he never forgot his roots.
Jan Koum had come a long way from his poverty stricken Ukrainian village to billion dollar life in California, but he still cherished his roots.

Jan Koum is today worth a whooping 7.2 Billion US$ (with 45% stake in the company) whereas Brian Acton is worth a staggering 2.7 Billion US $. Even though this is the case, WhatsApp still does not have a sign board in their office premise. Ask them why and they would simply say:

“We all know where we work… A big sign board is nothing more than a ego boost and a show off…” 🙂


Why this story? And you may wonder why this blog?

I felt like telling you the story behind something that has become an integral part of our day-to-day lives. Many still wonder how an Application, which can be downloaded freely and a few Mb in size went on become a $16 Billion procurement phenomenon. I mean, Microsoft procured Nokia for $4 Billion. That is including their technology, hardware and the manufacturing units with the manpower combined. But WhatsApp with just over 55 employees went out for a mind blowing 16 Billion dollars.

At the end of the day it is the idea that matters. It is the vision that counts. It is the philosophy that wins!!!

I will run you through some of the great success stories. And you will realize that none of them were born with silver spoons, instead most of them came from a background far inferior to many of us.

Larry Ellison- Founder and CEO of Oracle Corp. He met his biological mother only at the age of 48 and until recently, did not have a clue who his father was. Raised by his Aunt under poor conditions, he is a twice-university drop out. Today's Net-Worth $50 Billion.
Larry Ellison- Founder and CEO of Oracle Corp. He met his biological mother only at the age of 48 and until recently, did not have a clue who his father was. Raised by his Aunt under extremely poor conditions, he has dropped out of university twice. Today’s Net-Worth $50 Billion.
Yes...the MAN HIMSELF!!! Warren Buffet hailed as the most successful investor of 20th Century, Buffett sold chewing gum, Coca-Cola bottles, or weekly magazines door to door. He worked in his grandfather's grocery store. While still in high school, he made money delivering newspapers, selling golf balls and stamps, and detailing cars. In 2008 he was ranked by Forbes as the richest person in the world with an estimated net worth of approx. US$62 billion
Yes…the MAN HIMSELF!!! Warren Buffett praised as the most successful investor of 20th Century, Buffett sold chewing gum, Coca-Cola bottles and weekly magazines door to door. He worked in his grandfather’s grocery store. While still in high school, he made money delivering newspapers, selling golf balls and stamps, and detailing cars. In 2008 he was ranked by Forbes as the richest person in the world with an estimated net worth of approx. US$62 billion
Steve Jobs- The Man Who Changed Digital Business forever. Abandoned by biological parents and a college drop out. Took to hippie culture and did ood jobs to make enough money to visit India. He travelled the length and breadth of India to learn Buddhism. Went back to USA and started Apple Inc. Nothing more to be said...this man is a legend!!!
Steve Jobs- The Man Who transformed Digital Business forever. Abandoned by biological parents and a college drop out. Took to hippie culture and did odd jobs to make enough money to visit India. He travelled the length and breadth of our country to learn Buddhism. Went back to USA and started Apple Inc. Nothing more to be said…this man is a legend!!!
Richard Branson- Founder Virgin Records, Virgin Atlantic, Virgin Airspace. Branson has dyslexia and had poor academic performance as a student, and on his last day at school, his headmaster, Robert Drayson, told him he would either end up in prison or become a millionaire. Net worth $5 Billion.
Sir Richard Branson– Founder Virgin Records, Virgin Atlantic & Virgin Aerospace. Branson has dyslexia and had poor academic performance as a student, and on his last day at school, his headmaster, Robert Drayson, told him he would either end up in prison or become a millionaire. His second prediction became true. Net worth $5 Billion.
JK-Rowling Creator of the $25 Billion Harry Potter Franchisee. But the early phase of her life saw grave poverty and tragediesthat struck one after the other. The phase from 1990-1997 The seven-year period that followed saw the death of her mother, divorce from her first husband and relative poverty until Rowling finished the first novel in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone in 1997. Almost every publishers rejected her manuscript saying Harry Potter would never sell. Rowling has led a
JK-Rowling -Creator of the $25 Billion Harry Potter Franchisee. But the early phase of her life saw grave poverty and tragedies that struck one after the other. The phase from 1990-1997 The seven-year period saw the death of her mother, divorce from her first husband and heart wrenching poverty until Rowling finished the first novel in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone in 1997. Almost every publisher rejected her manuscript saying Harry Potter would never sell. Rowling has led a “rags to riches” life story, in which she progressed from living on state benefits to multi-millionaire status within five years. You can read her inspiring story in the following link : http://www.businessinsider.in/From-welfare-to-one-of-the-worlds-wealthiest-women-the-incredible-rags-to-riches-story-of-J-K-Rowling/articleshow/47333452.cms
Dhirubhai Ambani started his entrepreneurial career by selling Bhajias to pilgrims in Mount Girnar over the weekends. He moved to Aden, Yemen after completing his matriculation at the age of 16. He worked there as a gas-station attendant, and as a clerk in an oil company. He returned to India in 1958 with Rs 50,000 and set up a textile trading company. He is remembered as the one who rewrote Indian corporate history and built a truly global corporate group. His life and achievements prove that backed by confidence, courage and conviction, man can achieve the impossible. Ambani took Reliance Industries public in 1977 and by 2007, the combined fortune of the family was $60 billion, making the Ambanis the third richest family in the world.
Dhirubhai Ambani started his entrepreneurial career by selling Bhajias to pilgrims in Mount Girnar over the weekends. He moved to Aden, Yemen after completing his matriculation at the age of 16. He worked there as a gas-station attendant, and as a clerk in an oil company. He returned to India in 1958 with Rs 50,000 and set up a textile trading company. He is remembered as the one who rewrote Indian corporate history and built a truly global corporate group. His life and achievements prove that backed by confidence, courage and conviction, man can achieve the impossible. Ambani took Reliance Industries public in 1977 and by 2007, the combined fortune of the family was $60 billion, making the Ambanis the third richest family in the world.
Barack Obama
Barack Obama
No need to say anything...the picture says it all!!!
No explanations required…the picture says it all !!!
From a humble tea seller, a RSS pracharak who swept floors to a global phenomenon. Narendra Modi became the PM of India with a landslide victory. A clear majority has never happened in India since 1984. Sri Narendra Modi rewrites history at a time when every news paper, every tabloid both Indian as well as foreign were against him.
From a humble tea seller to a RSS swayam sevak who swept floors and served food to a global phenomenon. Narendra Modi became the PM of India with a landslide victory. A clear majority has never happened in India since 1984. Sri Narendra Modi rewrites history at a time when every news paper, every tabloid both Indian and foreign went against him.
Ohh..BTW that is Hugh Jackman during his clowning days!!!
Ohh..BTW that is Hugh Jackman during his clowning days!!!

Are we in a better position than any of them? Yes most of us are. Then what stops us? Fear of failure? Insecurity?

We always blame the government, the system and our parents for all our dissatisfactions. We expect the government or our college or our company to tiurn us into overnight millionires. Well that is never gonna happen. Our destiny is solely dependant on one thing and that is our actions. If we dream big and work hard towards it we can definitely be where we want to be.

If you are a teacher and if you want your students to be achievers, motivate them to do things that they love doing. Now do not get me wrong…I’m not talking about toppers, but achievers. They sound similar, but are quite different.

A topper may be one who scores in exams and has his name put on a wooden board for his examination answering skills. But an achiever is the one who has made a mark in his life by doing something different. I’m sure every school has a Toppers List but hardly any Achievers List. If you happen to pass by the Toppers List, just take a few minutes off and look at it. Then I would urge you analyse that list well. How many toppers really achieved something big? Yes most of them would have secured admissions in top colleges, got  great jobs with a salaries just a notch higher than the rest and by now 90% of them are not even in this country 🙂

But you will also realize that there are some other students…who always stood outside your classroom. Who hardly came to class on time and never did home works. But who started off a business or became great actor or a singer or a musician. Some one who really touched / changed thousands of lives. They would simply call you up and ask “How are you teacher?”. Now, I call the earlier ones as toppers and the latter ones as achievers.

Stop glorifying toppers…start motivating achievers.

If you are a parent never do the 3 C’s.

  1. Compel
  2. Compare.
  3. Crucify

Never compel your child to learn skills/subjects that he has no liking or aptitude for. From an early stage of his development the child in itself will send out queues as to what he/she loves doing.

Often parents are the biggest naysayers as far as children are concerned. If you are a parent or a teacher, keep telling your kid that “Yes…you can…the dream is your limit…” keep building confidence in them and guide them in the right path. Success will follow.

Most important, never compare. The words of Albert Einstein makes it clear:

“Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

And do not crucify him/ her for the mistakes they do. Remember the greatest teacher is nothing but mistakes. Well who does not make a mistake. You have any doubt? Read the life history of Thomas Alva Edison!!!

This is my question to you my dear reader; the answer for which only you can give:

“You are lying in a coffin. You just got 5 more seconds to live. What will be your greatest regret?”

I’m sure something flashed in your mind with a sharp pang of repentance. Well, you are destined exactly for doing that!!!

With the 2-penny-worth psychology trapped in my stupid brain, I can make a wild guess. Most probably you will be regretting about something you have not done till now. Something that you always wanted to do each second of your life  but you were so busy trying to meet both ends, you seldom got a chance to do it.

Another possibility is- regretting doing something you loved in the worst possible way. You loved doing it but your means to that end got screwed up. But its OK, it is somewhat less painful. Since you can go to heaven and boast to your inmates there – “I died doing what I loved…Grrrr”. Funny yeah…’coz it’s less painful.

Now wait… its not over yet my dear. There is this third kind of “YOU”.

You will be happy since you made a successful career out of doing what you loved. You tried but failed, but you kept trying and failing until you met with what you dreamed of becoming in life. People simply adore you for what you contributed to the society/art/science/literature/politics/business. But still you regret being a bit to early in your journey to heaven. Yes…you were late into the business of doing what you love. You will still feel repentant over lack of time to do more.

The most glorious remorse of all is when you think that you had so little time left on earth when there was a so more to be done.

Yes regret it is…but a dignified one…a happy one… and most importantly a meaningful one.

So if you think you can really make a change in your life or motivate some one else to do so…start right now!!!

The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After a brief stint as a software test engineer in Tech Mahindra, he is right now pursuing an MTech in Computer Science & Engineering in MA College of Engineering, Kothamangalam. His debut novel Hope We Never Meet Again is getting ready to be released this year.
The Author of this blog is Srinath Krishnamoorthy who like millions out there is trying to figure out what needs to be done with life. After a brief stint as a software test engineer in Tech Mahindra, he is right now pursuing an MTech in Computer Science & Engineering in MA College of Engineering, Kothamangalam. His debut novel Hope We Never Meet Again is getting ready to be released this year.

Reach him at srinathtk86@gmail.com

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DETECTIVE MODI & THE BIN LADEN VISIT

Detective Harish Modi took the call from the Sheriff’s department and right away he smelled trouble…

The period after September 11 attacks were one of the darkest in American history. A country known for free will was engulfed in dark cloud of fear
The period after September 11 attacks saw one of the darkest phases in American history. A country known for free will and happy citizens was for a long time engulfed in a dark cloud of fear

PROLOGUE


September 11, 2001 Tuesday  USA:

Four passenger airliners—which all departed from airports in the U.S. East Coast bound for California—were hijacked by 19 al-Qaeda terrorists to be flown into buildings. Two of the planes, American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines Flight 175, were crashed into the North and South towers, respectively, of the World Trade Centre complex in New York City. Within an hour and 42 minutes, both 110-story towers collapsed with debris and the resulting fires causing partial or complete collapse of all other buildings in the World Trade Centre complex, including the 47-story 7 World Trade Centre tower, as well as significant damage to ten other large surrounding structures. A third plane, American Airlines Flight 77, was crashed into the Pentagon—the headquarters of the United States Department of Defence—in Arlington County, leading to a partial collapse in the Pentagon’s western side. The fourth plane, United Airlines Flight 93, initially was steered toward Washington, D.C., but crashed into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, after its passengers tried to overcome the hijackers. In total, the attacks claimed the lives of 2,996 people (including the 19 hijackers) and caused at least $10 billion in property and infrastructure damage. It was the deadliest incident for fire fighters and law enforcement officers in the history of the United States, with 343 and 72 killed respectively.

By November it was clear that the master mind behind these terrorist attacks was a man called Osama Bin Laden. The same man who CIA mocked as an Afgan-tribal who lived in caves and travelled on donkeys became the most wanted man on earth overnight. His images kept flashing on television sets across USA.

Bin Laden becomes the most wanted man on earth
Bin Laden becomes the most wanted man on earth and he really scared the shit out of Americans post 9/11

Morning 5:00 AM, December 25, 2001, Tuesday New York:

There were strict orders from the Sheriff’s Department to keep a close watch over the neighbourhoods. They had unconfirmed reports from FBI of another attack from al-Qaeda on the Christmas day. So James Morgan , a senior deputy in the NYPD (New York City Police Dept.) was extra cautious while patrolling down town Manhattan. His friend and fellow patrolling officer Ryan Fisher was off-duty that day. The reason being his desire for a comfy X’mas eve with his girlfriend Roveena. But the 45 year old, barrel chested James Morgan was not bothered. For him duty was everything. After he meticulously patrolled the peaceful Manhattan China Town, he entered the “Curry Row“, famous for Indian Resturants, located in the East Village. He casually glanced at the closed doors with the Christmas stars glowing outside many of them. This was a peaceful place and was devoid of much trouble. Indians hardly looked for trouble unlike other Asian or Arab dwellers of NY. As he headed for the next street, he abruptly stopped the Patrol Car. Even now people were scared to come out into streets. The 9/11 had scared the shit out of them. There were hardly any people on the streets.The car screeched to a stop, skidding over the thin layer of snow flakes. Under the dim lit street lamps, he saw a poster with a strangely familiar face.  Around 10 houses in a row had the poster of a man with a beard stuck to it’s door. Morgan smelt trouble.

Deputy Morgan lowered the window to take a closer look as the cold December wind slapped his skin. But what was more shocking was the face of the person on the poster that teasingly smiled at him. He looked so much like a godly incarnation and the face of global terror at the same time. There was a strange glow in those eyes. Something divine which seemed to pierce even the darkness and touch Morgan’s heart. Morgan could not believe what he was seeing. Around 10 houses boldly carried the posters of the “most wanted man on earth”.The beard , those sparkling eyes and the pristine white robes that resembled prophet….

Morgan went for his radio in a flash.

“Patrol man Morgan here… there is a situation…over”

“Yes Morgan…wazzup there…” a sweet female voice answered his emergency.

“Be serious Martha… get me the Sheriff over the line…” there was a  kind of deadly urgency in his voice.

“What is the matter Morgan??” Martha questioned with concern in her voice.

“Give the fucking call to Sheriff…will you? There is an emergency situation out here on the 6th street…”

“OK Morgan..”

He waited for seconds that seemed like hours and then a sleepy voice broke the scratchy silence of his radio:

“Yess Morgan…What is it this time? Robbery or murder…” Sheriff Ricardo Thomson boomed over the speakers

“Sir there is situation here at the “Curry Row”, East Village 6th Street…”

“What is it..?”

“Sir almost 10 houses have Osama Bin Laden’s poster stuck over their doors … I can smell trouble…”

Sheriff Ricardo felt as if the Earth was slipping from under his feet.

“What the Fuck Morgan? Are you sure… ” he barked over the micro phone

“Damn sure sir..it’s him…”

“Morgan… can you see any activities there?”

“No Sir. but things look spooky Sir…no one in the streets and I can smell trouble…”

“Morgan… I will send a team up there… just move away from there to the next avenue… stay put down and keep an eye over there…be careful…”

And the radio went dead.The Sheriff was swift with his decisions and words.

Slowly Morgan drove to the far end of the opposite street, made a U turn and parked his car facing the Curry Row. He hid himself under the shadows and watched intently. Nothing happened for 10 minutes, then a car sped through the 6th Street. From the head lamps he gathered that there were cops inside that car. They slowed down near the houses that hosted the posters of Osama Bin Laden, but did not stop. They came towards straight towards him. His radio came to life.

“Sheriff Thomson here…it is HIM. Morgan remain where you are. Calling in more forces and Martha… you get me the FBI on this one…”

“Positive…” replied Morgan

“Right away Sheriff…” confirmed Martha.

“Who the hell put up HIS posters over their door Morgan?” Sheriff Thomson barked over the radio.

“Beats me sir…” was the only reply Morgan could give 😦

***

5:30 AM FBI Head Quarters, 26 Federal Plaza, New York

FBI agent-detective Harish Modi of the Internal Security Command was cheerfully having beer with his fellow american agents. He was over 6 feet tall, and well built. Wearing white cotton shirt, folded till his elbow and black formal trousers with the FBI badge glowing over his left waist, he meant business. His handsome stubbles, shrewd eyes and battle beaten physique reflected command and intelligence from top to bottom. It was Christmas and that called for celebration. But unlike previous years, this year’s celebrations at FBI HQ was kept low profile. Harish was an American by birth. Though his roots were still in Gujarat (India), for almost two generations his family members had lived, worked and died as Americans. He was an American to his core and hated terrorists.

As they were about to cut the X’mas cake, the phone rang and the emergency lights blared red. Sure there was some crisis as the caller ID indicated Sheriff, NYPD at the other end. Harish picked the call:

“Hello, Harish Modi… FBI HQ New York…” he introduced himself

“Sheriff here…there is a situation…” And Sheriff Thomson’s words gave the scare of a lifetime to Detective Modi.

In less than 15 minutes, a team of FBI agents led by Detective Modi were on their way to 6th street, down town Manhattan. He kept wondering why a peaceful Indian settlement would have Osama Bin Laden’s posters put up over their doors? It gave him goosebumps when he thought about the possibility of terrorist coup of American Indians who lived in the 6th street. It was only a few weeks since Al-Qaeda had threatened to attack Indians. Could this be it? Harish Modi found his body going numb with fear.As they neared the avenue, surprisingly Mr.Rudy Giuliani’s (NYC Mayor) voice cracked over the Radio.

“Detective Modi… Mayor here. Is everything OK on the ground? I’m here at the Sheriff’s office…”

“We are heading for the troubled zone Sir.. Will update you once we gauge the situation..over..” Modi was shocked to see the situation getting escalated now.

“Do we need to get the President’s office into this son?” There was grave fear in the Mayor’s voice.

Detective Modi thought for a moment and replied:

“Not until I get back to you Sir…” and the radio went dead.

The black GTA FBI truck slowed to a stop as it neared the houses with medium size posters stuck over their doors and Modi along with his 15 member commando team disembarked from the rear. They looked highly lethal in their black sophisticated commando suit.

FBI_Members_running_BOII

Modi with his team crouched towards the first house cautiously like leopards going for the kill. The sun had still not come out. But for the dim street lamps, it was still dark. As they reached the pavement of the first house, Modi suddenly stopped and lowered his MP5/10 submachine gun. He stared at the door and took off his helmet. His fellow commandos were surprised and asked him what the matter was in sign language. Modi did not reply, but he walked towards the house as if he was going to buy a Coke. While others watched in complete horror, Modi went to the door of the house and tore the poster. He looked at it for a long time and started laughing. He laughed and laughed as if he had gone mad. He fell down and giggled thunderously in front of the house as his team mates watched him completely clueless.

Suddenly there was movement inside the house and lights came to life over the porch. A middle aged man opened the door. He was literally shocked as 14 semi-automatic MP5/10 rifles stood menacingly aimed at his chest. He was equally surprised to see an officer rolling in front of the house with a poster in one hand and a riffle in the other.

Suddenly Modi realised he had gone a little overboard and stopped laughing.

“Sorry guys… this thing just beat the air out of me…this is…”but he could not stop laughing, then realized that a resident of the house was watching the show dumbfounded.

“Sir..is there any problem?” the middle aged Indian man muttered. He looked as if he would pee in his pyjamas any moment.

“Opps sorry sir…” Modi apologised to the Indian and instructed his team to lower the guns. Then he asked :

“When is he coming and what is the fee you are charging…?”

The Indian looked relieved now and replied with a sigh:

“Today around 11:00 AM sir and the entry is free…in case you wanna join us…”

“Sorry for bothering you sir… can I keep the poster?

“Off Course sir.. you can keep it…”

“Thank you sir…and Merry Christmas..” Modi thanked him.

“Merry Christmas officers…” the Indian man replied with a smile and closed the door.

Detective Harish Modi walked back towards the truck and his team followed the suit. Their nerves were relaxed and tensed at the same time. Modi spoke over the radio to the Sheriff

“Mr. Thomson…”

“Yes Mr. Modi… is everything all right?”

“Yes Mr. Sheriff… everything is A-OK… In case you wanna experience The Art of Living, feel free to drop by…the entry is free…”

“What…”Sheriff shouted over the radio, but Modi cut the call and was on his way back to FBI HQ.

The entire FBI team had a hearty laugh looking at the poster of Sri Sri Ravishanker, but made sure they attended his session. So did Sheriff Thomson, Mayor Rudy Guilani and most important of all, Patrolman Morgan.

From that day, till he retired from his official service, Partolman James Morgan was nicknamed “Bin-Laden Morgan”.

srisri1_0

**Based on a true incident from Kerala.

*The End*

***This is a story written with a good intention and please do not mix religious sentiments with this. The story showcases the level to which Americans felt insecure post 9/11 and many such funny incidents have occurred. Kindly read it and have a laugh. If possible forget this story. It is not my intention to hurt anybody’s religious sentiments.

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