Epiphany by the beachside

Was at Goa, so thought of completing the trip by indulging in a clichéd jog cum breakfast gig to Miramar,a revered beach there. Did a few stretches, ogled at a few goan chicks busy in their selfie spree before stepping  into the water with my playlist playing “Jingunamani” from Jilla last.

 I stationed my feet at a point where the boisterous waves were ranging upto knee level, from where the subconscious extension took over the onus of enslaving my sensory organs in all their opulence from my conscious persona without  prior notice. Also around this time, was a miserly visible incoming ferry teasing on my viewing perimeter.

The water accentuated by waves  suddenly seemed to have developed a personality of its own with mentoring abilities. what with regular objects and happenings turning into ponderous  metaphors and transferred epithets. My playlist started displaying artificial intelligence by playing “Maula Maula” from Delhi-6 as a mark of my state of bewilderment. Weird morning with every inanimate thing around indulging in soul-searching.

At that moment my predicament could be compared to that of a blind man stationed outside a palace eternally, who had got his vision back on his first step into it. The things I saw and felt were in the commonplace domain, but they seemed to have transcended beyond my epidermal level, to touch my Soul.

The same water that I’ve drunk to satiate my thirst, who’s temperature I've regulated in trivial pursuits and used at the deliverable end of my nature’s call on a day-to-day basis, felt like the Creator’s silk touch.

The cyclic waves caressing the feet firmly buried in wet mud  bringing along with it-shells,snails, conches,coins, artifacts with every iteration reminded me of the permanence of one’s personality with every other facet,manifestation and relationship undergoing a constant change along with the efflux of time, punctuated by a memory oscillating back and forth.

The initial raucous caused by rumbling of the waves, fine tuned into the virgin territory of the conscience, commonly flattered as a state of bliss.

I was enveloped in the warmth of the Sun’s untiring patronage.Its rays that stung initially, ended up gratifying akin to hickeys. I could visualise minute golden particles descend from the Sky, to dissolve into every pore of my body like from the palm end of Midas to his touched.

Maybe it wasn’t the Sun I was squinting at after all, but the powerful eye of the Creator himself. Wait, Am I singing peons in flattery of the almighty on the shores of the most materialistic of places.Well so long to being an agnostic in "about me" segments in social media,Goa does make you do things that you would not even dream of otherwise.

Meanwhile, the once scantly visible ferry was starting to appear in the viewing vicinity, metaphorical of my realisation I suppose. I found myself weeping profusely, inundated with gratitude and self-ridicule synchronously as the 8.00 minute something “Maula Maula” drew to an end marking the conclusion of the brief trance.

The waves,sky and the Sun continued to remain, but their soliloquies seemed to have ended with them appearing rightfully inanimate again like the blurred visuals of a 3D movie without the glasses.

My Guardian Angel

People generally wake up to the ruckus of an alarm clock, but my grandma used to wake up the alarm clock instead.Grandma it seems,who am I,Prince Charles?!
Pushpa Patti sounds personal, my edifice of love.

She was my preschool before my kindergarten who taught me beyond the building blocks and alphabets. She hooted with excitment every time I attended my nature's call with clothes on when the average adult would be peeved. She made me feel special about the birthmark beneath my rear neck as if it connected me to Cleopatra's lineage.

She was the third parent who doubled as a satellite around me apart from orchestrating the domestic chores with marked passion. She was an illiterate who felt proud about signing her name in broken cursive letters. The two things she was possessive were the jurisdiction of the kitchen and my company.

Being a surrogate mother wasn't new to her,born as the seventh of sixteen children she was forced to take up to raising toddlers when her mother's life was torn between spreading legs in the bed and the maternity ward. The rhythm of her childhood was lost in the chaos of domestic colonization. From the frying pan to fire, she got married to my Grandpa(an excuse for inhalation) to make the predicaments of her childhood look like summer vacation.

Maybe she was vicariously living her childhood through me. I was the flagship product of her medicated patience through decades of poverty,hunger and Grandpa.

Pushpa Patti was a natural giver. I've seen a lot of lives touched by her rudimentary acts of altruism from an impressionable age, that I attained my compassion before puberty. Now that she had a cement roof above her,this was her way of showing gratitude to all those unrelated good Samaritans who helped her make both ends meet back then.

I remember that period of financial crunch we underwent where my sister and I had an appetite bigger than our bank balance. Pushpa Patti's meticulous savings used to be our Santa every time we had a craving for empty calories. She funded my first multiplex movie ticket with provision for conveyance.

She had a sweet tooth,but sugar was eating her instead. Her blood sugar levels had gone beyond commonplace mark. That phase marked the start of her second childhood. She used to get caught surreptitiously attempting to nibble a sweet late in the night in a not so subtle fashion,every night.
Age was catching up with her,bartering agility for longevity.By then I had turned into a young man itching towards adult acceptance, who had outgrown the vestigial patronage of his favourite Pushpa Patti.I still feel guilty for my convenient ingratitude towards her during this phase when she needed me the most.

From a hyperactive plump woman with chubby arms, she had started to wane into a puny weak one who couldn't regulate her bladder. I will never be able to forget the look of helplessness on her face when she was in her death bed,every time she realised she had urinated before a crowd that consisted largely of grown-ups who's first ever urination happened at her behest.

I was praying that the suffering ended sooner than later as I couldn't see her decompose before my eyes with painful consistency.One morning the inevitable happened as my fighter of a  Pushpa Patti had succumbed to one last battle for her own good, her lifeless mortal remain lying collateral to that.

And the tears never stopped.

Valentine's predicament

Him: What's special about today?
Her:When's the  Kamal Hasan movie releasing?
Him:April 2nd
Her:When did ginger* come home?
*Ginger-his pet cat
Him: May 18th. See we could do this chronological rhetoric all day long.
Her to herself:Is he so naive about today's sanctity. Where does the child like awareness of men evaporate when no one's home!
Her: Ok pass. Got to go
Him: Unless your birthday is coming for the second time this year, I don't see a hallow around today.
Him to Himself: Now, how many liposuctions will my bank account go through?
Her:Valentine's Day duffer.It is omnipresent across social media upto an extent that porn sites have Valentine's promotional offer.
Him to Himself:damage control mode!
Him: Since when did you start watching porn?
Her:The only place you think from is between your legs. Is that the thing you've grasped from whatever I said?
Him to Himself: Atleast I think from some where,unlike some who function like festivities reminder app!
Her: Did I just hear something?
Him:Yes. Happy Valentine's Day
Her to Herself: Had to excavate it out of you
Him:Ya,like a stone out of the kidney
Her;Fuck...how did you do that.Telepathic?
Him: That's called an educated guess.My cat doesn't ask me for food,but I just know when it's hungry.
Her:Are you likening me to your cat?
Him:No.The only thing you both share in common is gender.
Him to Himself:Unlike you, my cat understands mating calls without prompting and is more sensitive.
Her: Even my parents wished me today.
Him:That's a weird family you've got.
Her to Herself:Only time his romance is on auto pilot is when he's got a boner.
Him:What can I do to make up for my screw up?
Her:I'll let you know in a while.For the time being,just dress up in red and send a selfie.Btw,have a bath.
Cupid overlooking them:Phew!That was barely romantic. Men and women used to romance better than that in times when they were clad in leaves and incest was prevalent. What has WhatsApp and Archies done to them. If she was going for his wallet, he was going for her pants on  a day widely pimped as epitomizing romance.No wonder my master health check-up results aren't flattering!
                                                     END OF CONVERSATION

He was having a banter about the predictability of romance with me after blogging about the generic excerpts from a hypothetical conversation between young things these days, when he got a call.
His pink cheeks turned pale white, ridicule making way for grimace.His explanations starting and stopping at a monosyllabic level,not growing beyond the stutters.The call got cut after a few minutes.
"All okay?",I asked
"No, she has read the blog.Much worse, I had almost forgotten my date",he quivered
"Hahaha.Men these days.",I said to myself, when my phone rang with her name.

And the tears never stopped.

Paranormal activity

 I was midway into a R rated activity on my plush bed, when I got this call asking me to come out of my house. What's it with bachelors and their wee hour woes. These two friends of my mine were parked outside my flat's gate threatening to step in, on the slightest hint of protest to their madness. I tiptoed my way out to the car and off the night took off!

These collaterals from unprotected sex dating a quarter century back were driving me to De Monte Colony at quarter to 3.00. For the uninitiated, De Monte Colony is one of the most haunted places in Chennai and 3.00 AM is regarded as time of devil widely. This is the thing with men,they would want to go on a date individually. But these types of activities seldom happen without bonhomie.
"What are we going to do incase the rendezvous with the spirit happened? And I don't think  disturbed spirits are that gregarious, to have a pep talk about the other side with us. We don't have a fucking back up plan dudes",I screamed.
"Chill dude,just go with the flow", the reply comes in chorus.

We were there before the red flagged house of De Monte colony. This one had turned from a residential structure to a monument of fear,looking down at us through the veil of wild vegetation with an air of mockery at our misplaced chivalry.
We jumped into the property, with the nervousness of a fish to its bait. It was a collage of horror movie tropes with broken doors, creeking windows, cobwebs, wooden flooring reverberating footsteps across the house.
Idle mind is devil's workshop, but here we were at the devil's workshop with idle minds. Talk about taking figurative to a whole new literal level!
We were moving together as a group to every nook and corner, as we were pretty aware about the fate of wanderers from ghost movies. After scurrying up the stairs and opening a few shelves, I managed to convince the guys about the impotency of the place. And they came to a compromise with a selfie by the doorway.Yes, the sore thumb of narcissism sticks its head out at the most uncanny places.

I was relieved that I was returning in a piece, when these two miscreants startled me with our itinerary.A cemetery in the vicinity was the next stop. I was so tired to even reason with them, that I decided to embark on this virtuous quest meekly snuggled in the back seat.

Funny how civilized men derive adrenalin gush out of annoying dead people rolling peacefully in their earmarked graves,lusting to turn into a valuable mineral some day to adorn a successor's neck as jewellery.

Blame it on James Wan for making Conjuring, that suddenly made paranormal look accessible and ghost hunting cool..
Fortune favours the brave they said. They couldn't be more right. We couldn't get inside the cemetery as its perimeters were adorned by beats cops.I was relieved that we weren't going to take inventory of dead people.Also, by then dawn was about to break and we were worn out,but redemption was around the corner.

South Indians have this fallacy, that most of the bad things which happens to a man like bankruptcy,balding and break-up happen because of an empty stomach.So we went to Ratna Cafe,one among the prominent restaurants founded strongly on this fallacy as the Sun woke up a little earlier than usual.
But have to agree that nothing cheers a South Indian like a mug of piping hot sambar scathing through the tender fabric of freshly baked idlis does.Given our relentless tryst a while back, it could be called-"baptism by idlis"
The morning was tantalising with saffron clad sky,boisterous birds chirping symphonies and dew drop clad virgin leaves But sometimes all isn't well that ends well. As just when we were about to leave,these two imbeciles came to a conclusion that every time we took this paranormal pilgrimage,it must end with a breakfast at Ratna Cafe.Phew!

Tirupathi musing

 There was a personal thing which I was hoping against hope to not happen and vowed a trip to Tirupathi in barter for its inoccurrence. As rational as we portray ourselves, when there are situations which manifest out of nowhere to catch you off-guard and the vulnerability comes from the uncontrollable realm, it is only fair to seek means to  mitigate from the same panorama.

As cool as I felt proclaiming myself to be an atheist and then an agnost for a while then, I could realise the crops of faith growing resiliently on the field of my indifference. It is humbling to accept the wisdom of self realisation to emerge out of the pretentious molar of false ego Meanwhile,my wish was granted and it was my turn to embellish my promise with honour of action.
I could have have gone to the safe confines of reason & karma over the arduous trip,once the miracle happened. The motion to honour a commitment from a position of strength in the future is a virtue that adds the dimension of gratitude, which serves as a beacon of reassurance on the face of an avalanche of uncertainity.

Superstition I could call this. To some touching the nose tip before switching on the PC every time at work, to some adjusting the abdomen guard while the bowler's in his run up and to others a trip to a temple. So what's the big deal?
Superstition is after all a speck of sentiment that snowballed under the impetus of emotions into its existence. It isn't fair to belittle sentiment in the quest for utopian approval, for the heart derives the very fabric of empathy from there to turn the otherwise collage of organs to what is generically called, being human.

Few years back I swore to never return to this cash cow of a temple peeved by the impersonal vice of commercialism. This time around the place was as cold as last time with fog & commerce, tonsured adults sweating it up to make a fortnightly bather like me feel secure about his hygiene. But this trip wasn't about ego satiation or ideal massage,this was for the favour of miracle bestowed upon in a timely manner-a thanksgiving of sorts.

The person didn't change, so did the adamant place. But what changed was the perspective. For perspective has made the holocaust of an entire race humane,consumption of fish vegetarian to some and fasting religious to others.
From seeing a stone in a deity , I had come to see hope & gratitude instead.

In Tirupathi, you witness this paradox of free men encaging themselves for hours together with the enthusiasm of a draught struck farmer to the first drop of rain. Call it subservience emulating out of the chastity of generations of unquestioned faith, but the meditated air of euphoria in the most challenging human circumstances for those few fleeting seconds before the deity kilometres away is contagious.

The almighty is a good place to invest gratitude, provided the awareness isn't overtly naive for it isn't desirable to relish indulgence in a way of life, overlooking the reason that led to it.
Every trip when embarked on with purpose kindles a hidden facet from within. This Tirupathi trip made a calmer person out of me who learnt to embrace things which he couldn't understand, without feeling insulted