Nothing left to burn

You, have made me bleed. Not my body, but my soul has bled. My body has only shed tears. Tears of private grief, uncontrollable howls and sobs wrenching my heart have pushed me into depression. I have lived in a state of darkness; I have feared the unknown future. I have not been able to stand up and accept that it was really happening to me. Hope, desperate hope had filled my heart at the time. I hadn't protested against all the wrongs that you did to me --- covering my weakness for you, perhaps. I believed in you, truly and sincerely. I had submitted to the slightest whims and the most outrageous and humiliating demands, somehow trying to prove my faith and loyalty for you. Alas, you only judged me: when I opened my deepest secrets and fears to you, all I got back in return was a judgement: that I wasn't good enough, wasn't man enough. I almost got it ingrained into my psyche that I was a coward, a fool and a squib. You had shook my conviction in the power of goodness.

But then, time healed my wounds. Only after I brushed and shook off the burden of your judgement was I able to see and judge for myself. I have been able to judge in my own light what life has been around me: what I did wrong, and when I was right. The separation was painful, but it was simultaneously a leap of freedom as well. I didn't know if I had lost something or gained my light once more. How, I wonder now, had my carefree spirit wandered into those shackles, and how had I not seen through the guise? Why was I begging to state what I felt to be true, knew to be true? Why did I think that the chains that kept me from flying were actually golden beads on a necklace? What the fuck was I thinking?

It is over now. A year past of tumultuous times, when I had had some of the happiest moments of my life, to one of the saddest ever: I almost killed myself one day --- remember? But now I'm free. And although you killed a part of me, you have also given strength to a new part of my identity. I have known now when to stand up and fight for what I hold true, even against my near and dear. You have been my Krishna, unleashing me from my own fears; and you have also been my Kansa, killing seven innocent alter egos before you came for me. The hurt that has been will remain inside, locked in the iron chest of my own soul. Outside, my spirit shall soar --- the free bird minus a few dead feathers. What happens to you doesn't affect me any more as it used to: for I have learned how to not care about people. At this dark hour of the Friday night, I resolve not to even acknowledge the wounds: for confessing about them would mean giving them weight and importance. I will not acknowledge, never... and I mean NEVER tell anyone or even myself that I have had a dagger into my chest. That knife is as much a part of me now as my heart itself. I am beyond you now --- there's no wood left to burn.

The book that was never mine

I was in Class 9 then. Very early at the beginning of the academic session, we had our annual prize-distribution ceremony for the previous year. Due to some mix-up, the person who had won the English recitation competition wasn't present that day in school and my name was printed instead on the cover paper. I had participated in that event, but I knew that I hadn't won the prize. Therefore, during the ceremony when my name was announced, I was so surprised! I ran a thousand theories through my mind as I went up to the podium to collect the book: "Did they tally the points later and find me to be the winner?", or "Maybe they ordered a special prize for me?". However, those thoughts didn't last so long in my head. I ran up to the podium, bowed and took the prize all shining and bright, and then returned to my seat in the audience all gleeful. Friends beside me slapped my back, a few people mouthed "Congrats" from afar, and one girl even shook my hand! I was having a very bright day of my life!!

I came back to my seat, and looked at the cover. I deftly cleaned a little speck of dirt on the cover, and watched with pride as the plastic cover on the book shone in the sunlight. I gently brought it up to my nose and smelt the book --- aah the smell of new books! I noticed the small card inside the wrapping, that said my name on it: "First Prize in English Recitation". I was so glad: "Mom would be so proud when I reach home and show this to her", I thought! I looked at the title of the book, "My Master as I saw Him", by Sister Nivedita. "Hmm... ", I thought, "maybe I will read it sometime: but it will definitely be something worth showing off on the bookshelf!".

However, the doubt in my head kept nagging me. And it didn't help matters that a friend of mine who was just a row behind me asked, "Didn't ____ win the prize? How come they gave it to you?". I didn't know: I shrugged it off. All through the rest of the presentation, I clung on to the book and kept it close to my heart. I clapped with double the glee whenever someone went up to get any prize --- I wished everyone had clapped like that when I went up for the prize.

Soon afterwards, we were back in the classroom for the second half of the day. I had forgot all about the book until the headmaster's peon came in with a little chit in his hand and gave it to the teacher. My name was called out, and all eyes turned to me. I was suddenly so self-conscious... being on stage was a different thing, but this was creepy. The peon came up to me, and asked for the book. For a second I feigned as if I didn't know what he meant. But there was no escape --- "You didn't win the prize, did you?", he asked, with the whole class listening, and held out his palm. Very slowly, my face turning all red, I reached into my bag and fished the book out. It seemed a little too heavy then: but I just gave it up and sat down with a sigh.

Oh, the eyes of my friends did not seem to leave me in the class. Whatever the teacher was saying, I couldn't concentrate any longer. Every single second I was conscious of some eyes from some corner of the classroom looking at me, as though asking what I had been sneaking up to. I felt as if I had stolen something and had just been convicted. And there was the dread, of what everyone will tell me right after the class, during the break. I sat uneasy and dejected, waiting for the class to get over. And it did get over after sometime. Most people had not turned up for the recitation competition itself: it was on some holiday and some had opted to stay at home rather than listen to recitations. And then now they had, within the span of a couple of hours, found that I had both won and not won something. Thankfully, they understood. Friends came up and told that it was surprising to see that the school had committed such a mistake; someone also commented that they should have let me keep the book. And the cordial way in which people actually sympathised with me made up for all the hollowness of the lost prize. At the end of the day, I thought, the book was never mine.

Blaarrrp!

A client was coming to visit our office. A British bloke, he had taken up our project very recently and was scheduled to visit his off-shore offices to check how the work was progressing here. Project excel sheets, slideshows were prepared, a cube identified for the man to come and sit right beside the manager (to shield us poor developers, that is) and the general mood of the whole project team shifted into a jumpy gear with the singular objective of getting the guy to be a little happy. Besides, with the client visit, there was definitely a party happening down the line: so the general mood was upbeat.

Along came the spider... err, sorry... the client. Hairy and bearded dude, this man seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. Our team had been doing better than the other teams at other global locations, but still there seemed to be this nagging dis-satisfaction on his face about everything. We had the regular client meeting, and our manager here introduced him and gave a general overview of the team. This man was sweating continuously as though someone had a gun at his head all the time. When his turn to speak came, you could almost see the misery in his face, and somehow that translated into a really jarred voice and a foul temper. Thickset glasses, dishevelled and stubbly beard with a coat that he had to wear because of his "business" status made a totally hairy appearance: nothing short of Hagrid's spiders.

The man had brought along some weird PPT (I think he was recycling an age-old PPT anyway), and so half of what he said made little sense to us. Who was interested in that blabber anyway? We were rather looking forward to the mmmmmm-ing pizzas whose smell was floating in from the corridor outside. When he finally finished, the atmosphere of the room wasn't exactly a cheerful one: like you had one of those Dementors nearby that had sucked all happiness out of the room (no points for guessing who, though! :P). And boy did those spicy chicken tikka pizzas make the man's face contort!! We had huddled into groups and were talking in hushed tones, somehow the man's overall body language had intimidated us!

Food was quickly over, since the usual chatterboxes were silent. I went into the men's restroom to wash my hands and contribute some liquid to mother earth when I saw my friend S there. A brief nod, and we got busy with our jobs --- men's restroom golden rule: don't make a single noise or utter any word. I was almost done and zipping up when guess who walks in? Hairy-man!! Oomph, that ugly look from his eyes as he went into the comode stall made me want to slink away as soon as possible! Why the hell could I not get another project? S too seemed to be having similar thoughts as he finished drying his hands.

I was about to dry my hands and S was headed towards the door when it happened. A monstrous, upheaving, thunderous "blaarrrp" sound came from the stall where the magical creature (errmm... I mean the client) had disappeared. It was a combination of a downward windburst, a sudden explosive dumping of semi-solid material into water and a belch. And add to that the acute cry of "Aaaargggh" that the man had shouted from the stall --- S and I were flummoxed as we looked at each other. And that bugger S, without a single care of the world burst out laughing right in the middle of the restroom, after which that &$#**% ran out!! And the laughter was so infectious... I stood there with water dripping from my hands while I desperately tried to control my laughter: going "Hmmp, khee khee khee... hmmmppp..." and I too ran away from the loo as fast as my legs could carry me! I ran and ran, straight on to the project bay!! And there S and I laughed our guts out. It took us 15 minutes to settle down properly before we could narrate that incident to the others. Apparently when our manager was told this and he went for another session of meetings with this Spider-Man, he had a tough time keeping a straight face. Thank God we didn't come face to face with this hairy "blaarrp" beast again --- I would've totally lost it!! :D :D

Road to Nirvana

Rishi was smitten by it --- simply smitten. He was in awe of the job, the company profile, the pay, the amenities and what it promised as a brand name. Most importantly, for him at least, everyone else thought that this job would be the crowning glory of their careers, and they were quite in awe of the job, too! Therefore, it had to be good.

Rishi tried then to find out all about it. He checked all the quick routes he knew: googling for question papers, looking at yahoo groups and firing off an email to anyone in any college he knew where this company had visited. He got hold of all the urban legends about the interviews, what they grilled about, what sort of dress code was expected, he wanted it all! And what he really wanted was a shortcut: somehow to trick the interviewers and sneak in. Rishi's time in the last few days oscillated between memorizing answers to questions they had asked earlier and finding out the latest rumours about the company. Who cared about the textbooks and what he had learnt? He knew the answers to the questions that they had been asking, and that was all that was going to matter! What if they asked him to elaborate the answer? Umm... he'll manage something.

Finally, D-day arrived: the company visited their campus. But fate had dealt the quirkiest blow to his dreams --- Rishi wasn't shortlisted at all! And why so? Because apparently his resume didn't show promise. He was on the borderline of the marks requirements, but the recruiters were looking for something else. "What the fuck else??", he echoed along with many of his friends. He never really understood how that uncool nerdy Kapil was selected! He even had lower marks than Rishi did! Yeah fine he asked a few intelligent questions in the class --- but how, just how?? How did they see promise in him whereas they didn't do in Rishi?

All his notions were disabused now. Rishi openly proclaimed his hatred for the company. How it made disasters out of its employees, how they had no social life. He hunted on Orkut for all the "I hate ___" communities, told everybody else all the rumours he could find there. When asked, he would say, "I don't care!". But he did care. Even though he never told anyone, he still cared. He expressed glee when the stocks fell even by a single rupee, he grinned secretly when he read a newspaper article about how that company might face competition in the future from some other startups. But he still knew its worth, and wanted to be a part of it. Oh, he didn't want to work for it though: "I'll sneak in" is what he thought and applied again, in secret this time.

When the second rejection came, however, Rishi was truly beyond caring. He had a job from another mass recruiter, and he was content. He had applied himself to his studies, he found the new concepts really interesting. He even succeeded in getting the highest marks in one subject! Oh, it was all so interesting to him now: he even wrote and presented a paper about it in the IIT Techfest. There was so muc to learn, to explore and find out. There couldn't be a doubt --- he liked what he did. Sometimes he even smiled to himself how he had hankered after a petty job. He had honestly stopped caring about the job now, any job! He wanted to go for an MTech, or maybe an MS in the USA if he could. There was a certain peace within himself now that he didn't want the job any more.

And then, one fine morning, he found in his inbox an email from the HR of that ____ company. "Dear Mr. Rishi, we are pleased to offer you .... ". They were offering him a job. Apparently their management had been very impressed with him during his paper presentation and wanted him to come and continue his work at their company. As he finished reading through the email, Rishi smiled. It had come to him only when he didn't need it any more --- his detachment had made him worthy of the job itself.

Changing perceptions

BoogerWormie pointed to a very old post of mine, where I had sort of declared that I will suck up to all bloggers by commenting on their comment spaces. Many of you might have noticed that I started commenting only off late. And regular comments --- I don't know when I will find time to write them as well. But this is something that needs to clarified.

As some of you might have noticed, I started my blogger account sometime in 2005, and then rarely had posts after that. I knew about blogs and blogging from then, just that I never commented. Neither did I write much, the reason behind which even I am not sure about. A couple of friends knew about this blog... but they have forgot about it, I'm sure. So, after long, I've started blogging. And commenting on others' blogs too.

The question is --- did I post comments on all your blogs to suck up to you? No, definitely no. I commented because I started commenting and exploring the blog space. If you are a reader of the 2 or 3 recent posts of this blog, you'll notice that the other people who are commenting here are the ones you usually visit too! And the reason is that I have been following your own friends' links. All of your blogs give such a nice window into your personalities. Your thoughts, your wishes, your fears and your cravings --- it is all out there. And I like reading them. And commenting on them. When you write a blog post, you don't know what kind of a person will be reading it, or how you may be judged. But still you write: unfearing and uninterrupted. And that is what gives your blogs the flow that I like to read. Because here on the cyber space there isn't much that you need to hide, except personal details maybe. The rest of your personality is out there on your blog. And that is what I like to read, and to identify as friends. I may never meet you in person, but it feels good to know that there is someone who thinks like I do, and someone who has the same convictions and way of looking at life like I do.

The other point is, I too want my own share of comments on the blog! If I spend time browsing and randomly hopping through other blogs, then I too will want that someone comes and visits my blog. I like to know your comments, your views and arguments on what I've written. It feels good, especially since as the blog author I am the one who initiates and leads the discussion topic. That is why I am trying to blog regularly. I may have had my accolades in creative writing all through as a student, but I am still a newbie into the blogging world. Thanks for all the welcome you folks have accorded to me.

Finally, it is interesting to see how my own perceptions have changed over the years. Only a couple of years ago, I used to look at bloggers and their blogs much more differently than what I do now. I may have only a couple of posts, maybe 5 posts in the last two years. But still as I read through them, I realise what I thought then was very different from what I think now. Maybe I would even have an argument with the 'me' from two years back over the whole issue of blogging itself. What do I believe in now? Well, you'll have to keep reading to find out.