A NIGHT TO REMEMBER

It was the summer of 2006. The gruesome “first month” of SCA2K5 batch had just got over and the season of entries to various erstwhile inaccessible amenities had set in. In a series of coveted entries to numerous sporting arenas of the hallowed Gymkhana, the treasures of Gym were slowly being opened to the ‘Special 13’ brave lads. Smile had begun to return to the mauled faces which, after the month long assault, were even more charged with indomitable courage to take anything and everything in their long strides. The pages of long-lived traditions were getting unfurled slowly and with each passing day, 2K5 and Gym were inching closer. The foundation for an eternal relationship had been well-laid.

It was one fateful, or rather ill-fated evening of that summer when the “visit to the graveyard” was planned. After the evening sports and the countless rounds in the twilight, the batch was ‘cooling off’ on the ET with ample refreshments in the form of dozens of bananas, eggs and cheese-cubes for each of the studs. The batch senior was asked if he could go to the graveyard at midnight alone. With a long banana adjusted in his mouth, his confused face replied, “the first month got over, didn’t it?” and the sound came “Yes”. After some dares challenging their manhood, the batch soon roared a big “Yes” for the trip, which was to be the experience of their lifetime.

It was a happy coincidence that Gym then had ‘seniors’ from 98E, 99, 2K, 2K1 and 2K3 batches all present. Few members 98E and 99 were there on some course after their probation, 2K was in probation and 2K1 was about to pass-out. With lots of seniors present and guidance aplenty, preparations for the trip went on high. Within minutes, the adventure freaks assembled and ideas poured in to make it a memorable night for the fatigued firstees. It was then that three of them got into some serious ghostly business. The adventure stalwarts (a present DM, a Hyundai tycoon and yours truly) arranged some props to ensure the forlorn firstees had nothing to fear in their life after that scary night at graveyard.

Soon after dinner, the three of us secretly receded to the graveyard while other seniors thickened the air around with horror for the already horrified yet contending 2K5. They were to begin from Gym at 2255 hrs (2355 hrs actually). Almost all senior fellows present were to escort them, with hockey-sticks, golf-clubs and three-cell long torches in their hands. In the dead of the night, the expedition began. Horrified firstees putting their brave faces on along with reassuring seniors as escorts, a group of around 40 people set off for the graveyard, which lied between the hills and the Gym. Only a couple of the senior fellows knew our secret plan, which was to reveal itself at the opportune moment, only after the firstees had frozen with horror.

            One of us was to hang upside down from a tree, the other was to roam from grave to grave in a white cloak and sob aloud and I was to lie between two graves wrapped in a white shroud. A white bed-spread was cut round at the centre to make the cloak. Ropes were hung from the tree, which were to oscillate along with the hanging ghost, the senior most of the three and the team leader. We had strategically positioned ourselves, each ghost around 20 feet apart, one on the tree, another jumping from grave to grave in the hindsight and the third lying and turning between two graves. The escorting senior, a SrCDO now, was given the signal of our readiness. And we waited for our prey.

Soon, we could see the large group slowly toddling towards us. The grill at the gate of graveyard remained locked and the group was supposed to jump over the four feet high wall to get inside. Then, each member of the 2K5 batch was supposed to walk to the tree alone and pluck a leaf from there. It was the same tree which had several ropes hanging along with a hanging ghost. With no moon light above us, the flashing torches indicated that they were now close to the gate. We could overhear instructions about the minimum size of leaf to be plucked from the tree.

At that very moment, an intense light showed at the gate. It was the headlight of a four wheeler which slowly cruised with its humming engine. WTF. It was a police patrol jeep. While I laid still, the jumping white ghost and the hanging one lurked behind the tree. The police was now making loud noises asking those fellows with hockey-sticks and golf-clubs the purpose of the late night loiter. My heart sank. It was the worst nightmare. The ghost prank had backfired. The negotiation took a few odd minutes, after which the policemen said, “this was not expected from the creams of the country”.

The worst was yet to happen. The senior escorting member called on the cellphone of the hanging ghost asking us to come out, as the plan had already ended in a fiasco. The police as well as the firstees saw us rising from the graves and falling from the tree, with their jaws wide open in utter disbelief. Even those senior escorts not knowing our plan looked bewildered. All three of us, along with our ghostly paraphernalia jumped out of the wall and joined the group with our hands up. With my face down, I could only sense the stunning silence. The policemen too were speechless. The surprises were too much to handle for all of us.

With sullen looks on our faces, we trolled back to Gym. The firstees really had a terrifyingly good time and the clandestine smirks on their faces were evidently obvious. We all had lived through a nightmare.

For me, that dark debacle still refuses to recede into oblivion. 

'KILLROACH'

Of all animals, the least accommodating are the human beings. The fact needs no testimony; however, it got verified once again last month by the project KILLROACH.

It was the special day meant to mark freedom. Having celebrated the 65^th anniversary of India’s freedom, I proceeded to my resthouse with the view of taking rest in the day’s second half. After all, it was supposed to be a national holiday. I hadn’t even finished my lunch when I picked the call from my SrDME. He seemed quite disturbed. I got to know that a serious complain had been made with the Chairman, Railway Board about the presence of pests in the AC coach of Capital Express. The extent of terror in my boss’ voice said aloud that we had run into some serious trouble. I tried to pacify him assuring that all efforts shall be made from our end and things will be alright. May be, he had got his worst ever rebuke along with some serious threats of transfer to some unknown place.

In bureaucracy, as in any hierarchical system, there are two kinds of admonishment or ‘fire’ , the latter being the more popular name of the phenomenon- one, which is initiated by you at your rung and goes down and the other one, which trickles down from the top rungs. The first one shows your involvement and dedication. It’s effectiveness is a measure of your efficiency. Contrarily, the other one is bound to produce results, that too, in proportion to the height from which it has started trickling. In this case, it had started from the pyramid’s zenith. I later came to know, that a copy of the complain letter was sent to the Minister of Railways too. The CRB had to hear a lot. He passed the dose along with added spices to the GM of my zone. Next in the line was my CME who had to undergo hours of classes by the honorable GM. In a typical setup in which you are doomed if your boss has to hear for your mistake, this was really grievous. After all, the senior-most man of Railways had to hear because of me, an officer on the junior-most rung. I could only wait for the ensuing nightmares.

As the train was mine, being maintained at my depot, the onus too had to be mine. It really took me some time to analyze what had actually happened. There had been complaints before too, but this one was special. The aggrieved party happened to be a very senior IAS officer. A small cockroach, which had been very well nestled in the grooves of AC 2 tier coach of Capital Express, went a bit too far for the after dinner stroll. Or as suggested by many learned friends, it must have been a tussle with his wife that had pushed him so far. The dude, in a bid to explore the unexplained, finally landed inside the ear of the wife of the Chairman of Human Rights Commission. The one responsible for defending the rights of every human, had been robbed of his own rights for safe and happy journey. He had paid to gain the right and thus now had every right to reclaim the damages. And who else knew the way better. It was like giving murder threats to the wife of Yamraj. Further, had the gallant dude entered the ear of the man, things would not have been that worse. It was now a question of pride for him. A bit of inaction now, and he would have lost all his glory earned till date.

The man did his best. He took his wife to the emergency ward of PMCH, called for the ENT specialist at 0500 AM, and while the offender was being extracted, he called the CRB. Later, he wrote a two page letter, most of which was in past indefinite tense, studded with many ‘if’s and ‘had it’s and attached the hospital slip. The letter demanded proper disciplinary action against the culprit and adequate compensation for the mental trauma his family had to face during the journey. I am sure the lady must have had a big heart, otherwise he would have lodged a court case.

The ‘action taken’ part had begun just after the information reached. The job of pest control had been outsourced in my depot and the contract was about to end in the same month. The firm, a renowned government agency, had been heavily fined by me in the past and hence was in no mood to participate in the next tender. In the wake of the things, it was decided to launch a special drive to kill the cockroaches departmentally. Officers from headquarter were allotted different rakes in which different chemicals were to be sprayed in their presence. The Coaching Depot Officer, which happened to be me, had to get all this done. After some internet based research to find most effective cockroach killing chemical, I along with my SrDME spent the whole evening of Independence Day in the wholesale markets of Patna finding the most suitable chemicals. Next morning onwards, the crusade was launched.

The chemicals were sprayed in double the recommended concentration. Every nook and corner was drenched fully. To monitor the effectiveness of the drive, all the killed cockroaches were accumulated and a coach-wise status along with the pictures of the decimated bodies, was sent to headquarter for every coach of every rake. The operation which continued till the calendar showed September, started at 5 in the morning daily and continued till late evening. To add to the nightmare, several senior officers came to inspect the rakes at different hours of the clock. The long hours of haul over the coals which CME had to go through, ensured that I was on my toes for the whole period. During the next fifteen days, several experiments were carried out to annihilate the little demon. Eight different chemicals ranging from propoxur to dichlorovos were used in heavy concentrations. Various pastes, tablets and boiling water were used too. The treatment frequency was made ‘every trip’ from the erstwhile ‘fortnightly’. The steel floors were opened out and the trough underneath was treated intensively. Even the undergear was not spared.

Keeping in view the hazardous nature of the job, I rotated the guys carrying the spray guns. The medically approved masks too had their limits. I had no replacement for myself though. All other important works were thrown aside both by the headquarter and the division. Everyone in the department had just one objective- to kill the cockroaches. As the days passed, the madness turned into frustration which found vent in the force with which the escaping cockroaches were thrashed by the boots. The religious ones keeping roja and other fasts too could not restrain themselves. A positive effect visible was that even the illiterate staff now talked like “1 in 15 solution of 20% EC cypermethrin has been used in WGACCN 00127”. The drive finally ended after consuming hell lot of efforts and money. Thousands of cockroaches were killed everyday, the number decreasing with passing days. The infestation level was fairly controlled as the little demon disappeared slowly.

Only for the time being. With every coach replacement in the rake, the devil returned, only to prove that it’s not easy to erase one’s existence. Though several thousands of them got killed, who won the battle is yet to be answered. Ironically, the fact remains that the probability of another complain has been attenuated but it still is not zero. The Humans could not win over the species albeit human rights did win over the cockroach rights. Didn’t it?

THE TRUTH PREVAILS

This post comes as a sequel to the earlier one. Hence, for better comprehension, please go through the post titled “THE ONLY TRUTH”.

It was near midnight when I had started penning down the previous post. And by the time it was finally posted, the sun had crossed the horizon of International Date Line, changing the date to 3^rd August 2011. The date has been an important one in my life for reasons galore. It was around 0100 hrs that I finally went to sleep. I was awakened in the morning by my ringing phone. Half asleep, I picked the call from my ‘home’. The next moment, all my consciousness sprung back when my dad told me about the death of my ailing brother-in-law. The burns had got the better of him.

I rushed to the hospital and while on way, informed my senior officials about my unavailability and briefed my subordinates regarding the important tasks of the day. Once inside the hospital, the similar scenes came before my eyes, the only difference being, I could relate to the ‘hopeless ones’ in a better way this time. I hurried to the emergency ward. While crossing the aisle, the pungent odor of dried blood and hospital refuge did irk my olfactory nerves, but now it somehow felt more agreeable. I reached his bed and found him lying in the same fashion I had seen him a few days back. The bandages looked the same as did his limbs. The swell in the neck had alleviated. The eyes had been closed. The breathing had stopped. Nothing else had changed.

My dad, mom, bhaiya, mamaji had all reached before me. My sister who had been crying on my mom’s shoulders started wailing aloud when she looked at me. She then hung on to my shoulders as I tried to console her. She had been devastated. Her in-laws were not there as they had returned to their village for taking a break the previous night. The kid was still there but was not very sure about the happenings. Maybe, he was still trying to assimilate the cause for this weeping business. Leaving them to my mom, I moved to the outer porch where the male members stood in clusters. While one group was trying to put pressure on the deceased’s employer for adequate compensation, the other one was busy arranging the formalities of the hospital.

I went to the first group which had two of my cousins and a few more acquaintances nabbing the employer for higher compensation. The fight for life had transformed into fight for money in a matter of hours. Both parties reached a compromise after about half an hour of heated arguments and counter-arguments. Meanwhile, the other group had zeroed on to nothing as the police officials responsible for writing reports before post-mortem had not yet arrived. It was only after 9 AM that the Sub-inspector came along with two other policemen. The shift changed at 0800 hrs, but the team signing off had left at around 6 AM, said another guy who had been waiting for the post-mortem of his relative since morning. We were third in the list.

Upon inquiry, one of the policemen said that the post-mortem form had to be purchased from the autopsy building which housed the department of forensic sciences. Two members rushed to get the form. They came back in half an hour, after they had paid the demanded commission for the supposedly out-of-stock forms. Another policeman came to us asking who would be giving the statement. He then took the deceased’s father who had arrived by then, to a corner and explained something in his ears. Later I came to know, it was a bid to explain him the complicacies that could arise if his demands weren’t met. I was taken aback. So were rest all members who had not seen the post-mortem process hitherto. The more experienced ones finally framed a statement. The sub-inspector after completing the report of two deaths went for a stroll rubbing tobacco on his left palm. This also was a bid to ensure their commission. I tried to stop him but to no avail, as this was his regular job. Incidentally, the MLA of the region was also there to visit his acquaintance and upon information, he also spoke to the policemen but it was only after another half an hour that the sub-inspector returned.

It took another hour to get the report lodged as the inspector kept asking so-called pertinent questions of which one was the clothes worn at the time of death. Feigning dissatisfaction at the reply, he asked us to go and get it confirmed by the people in the mortuary where the body had been locked. The in-charge there said the man with the keys had gone for tea. He opened the lock only after taking a hundred rupee note. The first part of the post-mortem thus got completed in three hours and after spending around thousand bucks.

The actual process of post-mortem took another couple of hours. This period at the hospital normally ranged from an hour to a few days depending upon the amount of bribe paid to each and every fellow of the department. The doctors changed the murders to normal deaths to get money. They even threatened the bereaved family members that they would change the normal deaths to murders unless they were paid adequately. The operated bodies would be returned without stitching back unless due share of every fellow was paid. Even the men with keys of lockers wouldn’t give the bodies unless they had money for chai-paani. These were tackled properly so as to get the body at the earliest as we were already delayed and the body had to be taken to village for the last rites.

Lastly, the ambulance-drivers put up their show refusing to cross the Ganga-bridge for Hajipur giving excuses of long distance and jams. One finally agreed at triple the normal fare. We moved out of the hospital at around 4 PM finally and reached the village rahimapur at around 5:30 PM only to be greeted by a hell lot of cries and wails. The ladies lost their well-preserved patience at the sight of the body.

Amidst all the cries, I felt an itch deep within. The death was a colossal loss for all of us, but we would soon get over with it, as happens with every death. These tears would dry in a matter of days or months at max. But how would the system escape its death. That day, my hopes for a corruption free India had a fatal jolt. I had seen people hailing Anna and still taking bribes at the DRM’s office. But extolling money from a grief-stricken family which had just lost a young earning member could not sound worse. One Lokpal cannot curtail corruption by 65 percent, nor can the supports to Anna on facebook.

As of now, I plan to raise the issue to the so-called reformer CM with the help of media, but I am not sure of the results. The panacea lies in reforming ourselves. The worm has percolated to the deepest layers and relates to the greed in the far nooks of the conscience of every individual. These suckers who suck money out of dead bodies are also one of us. Unless the worm gets weeded out of everyone of us, including that mortuary keyman, the struggle to free India of corruption would remain a lame one.

THE ONLY TRUTH

Life has a natural tendency to revert back to normalcy everytime some powerful wave jostles it. With increasing number of blows along with the flowing time, the “excitement” dwindles down. Or rather, the blows become a routine and the number of things that make us feel alive decreases. And so life becomes mundane and we, the pragmatic ones, call the phenomenon “maturity”.

To feel alive, one needs to react to every change, soft or harsh, pleasing or repulsive, expected or unexpected. Mature people take things in their stride or to put it differently, things hardly affect them. But somewhere deep inside them, this ‘urge to react’, ‘the will to feel alive’ dies. The outcome can very well be positive as it can be negative. They think rationally, without being moved and decide the best deed in any situation. But the will to act also needs a slight push deep within, and that’s where a little bit of emotions help.

Incidentally, I happened to come across something peculiar a few days back which made my “mature heart” feel again. The inverted commas should not be confused as an intended self-praise though. It was a few hours spent in the general ward of PMCH, the only hope for the cashless destitute of the state. I had been to the hospital earlier too when I was a child and had been sad even then. And since then, I have been to several hospitals in several roles. I have been a patient, his attendant, his relative, his distant acquaintance, his boss and what not. These stints in the ambulances, emergency of private clinics, OPDs of government hospitals, ICUs of sophisticated homeo homes had made me resistant to the foul smell of medicines, phenyl and human discharges. I felt assured of my patience and maturity to deal with the exigent maladies and their cure.

Only till that day. The extremes of my perceptions were pushed a lot further with that experience. It was last Sunday. I had taken off for the day and stayed at home, with my family members. One of my uncle was admitted in ‘Hathwa’ ward of PMCH since a week. The sugar levels in his veins were playing see-saw, scaling the count from 35 to 510 and back within hours. Among the various repercussions, the most annoying was a hemorrhage. My mom and dad had been visiting the uncle’s family staying in the ward daily, carrying their lunch along with them. The previous night, another sad news came that one of my brother –in-law got an electric shock and was brought to emergency ward of PMCH from the suburbs of Hajipur. My dad returned home at 3 AM along with the ailing cousin sister, only after the poor fellow got the primary dressing. In the morning I was given the task to carry the lunches as I was home, for a change. My sister who wept all night, woke me up insisting that I should take her along.

For the uninitiated ones, PMCH stands for Patna Medical College and Hospital. With around 1500 beds, it is unarguably the biggest government hospital in Bihar and has the best doctors of the region. The various departments have separate buildings spread across a wide campus. And on the sides of the roads, lie poor ailing patients who have been rejected as “hopeless cases”. A few of these hopeless cases leave the campus everyday for their heavenly abode, the only way to oust them. The hearse keeps roaming around picking bodies while the weeping family members run behind as if they forgot to bid the last goodbye. In many of the cases, the family members are not there as they already bid their last goodbye even before the poor fellow breathed his last. These lone crusaders, while alive, are taken care of by the big-hearted rickshaw pullers who seldom throw blackened bananas at them. Those who are physically more able, occupy the area where the garbage is collected before final dispatch through trucks owned by some benevolent trusts. This ensures adequate, if not proper, food supply. Like the garbage, the bodies are also cleaned by the government –owned hearses. And thus, the hospital works, keeping alive the hopes of thousands who outnumber the “hopeless” ones. Like it’s said, hope is a good thing and good things never die.

I reached the hospital along with my sister and her 4 year old son, carrying food in both my hands for the two families. While walking to the emergency ward, I saw many grief-stricken poor families on the sides of the pathway, which looked at the bags in my hand with yearning eyes. As I passed through them, the ‘hope’ in their eyes faded to dismal normalcy. The emergency ward had an aisle of around 200 feet with pockets on both sides each filled with around a dozen beds and squirming relatives. Sobs, tears, cries and screams filled the air. I mused if the most patient one among the crowd were the patients themselves or was it their malady which had arrested the outburst. We crossed the stinking aisle and reached the last pocket, where my brother-in-law was lying on one of the twelve beds on a side. The space was nearly the same as my room at my hostel, the difference being the fact that it somehow accommodated a dozen patients and attendants double that figure.

A look at him and I was taken aback. Not that I hadn’t seen badly bruised and mutilated bodies hitherto. The last time when the ARME was called for, I was part of the team which attended the passengers of the ill-fated marriage party bus which was dragged by more than a kilometer by a speedy train. For twelve of them, the journey proved to be there last. Four of them died while being moved out of the entangled bus while the rest twenty-seven were saved. I wasn’t moved a bit then. But this was different. The man had got the shock of 11000 volts, while working on an electric pole. Both his hands, from the fingers to the shoulders and both his legs right upto the hips had been burnt badly. The whitish flesh popped out, defying the bandage. He was constantly looking at the ceiling, as the fall from the pole had broken his neck. Apart from the face, the whole body had lost sensation and was stretched in a strange fashion. The high voltage threw him off the pole after burning his limbs. I had seen people getting shocks and even had it myself, but those were from 220 volts supply. This was awfully different. I remembered our last meeting in my brother’s marriage when we dined in the same pattal. During my school days, I had befriended electrons. Not anymore. I was little aware that the small electrons could bring such colossal changes.

He saw me and I could see he was trying to greet me. I fumbled for a response. All I could muster was a reassuring look in return. I touched his swollen neck and asked if he felt the touch. With mumbled words, he replied affirmatively, though I could see the swell was larger than the largest goitre. I looked around and saw his mother sitting beside the bed on the floor, sobbing continuously. My sister joined her while the kid kept looking at his dad with asking eyes. Things were beyond his perceptive abilities. There were three other guys including a cousin of mine, discussing the medicines that the nurse had just ordered. The case was to be dealt by three departments, plastic surgery and burns, orthopedics and neurology. My brother and I met the ortho doctor who confirmed the fractures. We consulted the neurologist too who said that nothing concrete could be said at the moment regarding the sensation. The doctor of burns, the best one in Patna, was yet to come as it was sunday. We came back and stood around the bed which hardly had a space of even one foot. The other patients on the adjoining beds were screaming ‘maai ge’ and every scream was accompanied by an even louder wail by the ladies around. On the other side of the aisle, a stark naked man lied on the floor, rolled in the fetal position. He had no bed, no attendant, no clothes; only wounds all over his paralyzed body with flies to accompany him. Some uncelebrated philanthropist might have brought him there. He crawled in the same position and reached near the dustbin. The next moment, he was eating a rotten banana on the floor with his mouth. He ate the whole of it along with the peels with the help of his beards, as his hands were futile.

I heard the dresser saying some DIG had met with an accident and the doctors on duty had rushed to him. This meant that the patients of emergency ward would have to wait and bear the throes till the DIG’s emergency was solved. The reality of this place shook me. I was brought back to the less real world by my ringing phone. My uncle’s family was waiting for the food to arrive. I looked into the eyes of my brother-in-law again with a gesture suggesting all will be well. He said “don’t worry, if I had to die, I would have died right there; am not going to die now”. He was a real brave man. I bade him goodbye and rushed to the other end of the hospital. I was quite relieved to meet them, as the condition there was much better.

While on my way back, I saw four people carrying a corpse walk past me. I followed quietly while they looked in hurry. I had attended funerals before but this one lacked the usual crowd chanting ‘ram naam satya hai’. May be, the ram naam would become satya once they reached their home for proper funeral. The four words, however, came out of my mouth. The past four hours had convinced me that these four words were the only truth.

Wish it could end in a tie !

It was 27^th Feb 2011. A pretty usual day but for the fact that team India was to meet England in a World Cup league match. The way team India had been performing in recent past, it wasn't supposed to be hot clash, especially considering the fact that England had been routed 6-1 in a recently concluded Australian outrage. Even Sidhu said before the start that it was 70:30 in India's favour. Still, being a cricket fan, I thought I would watch every ball of it.

It was Sunday and I decided it would be the first Sunday during my stint at Danapur when I wouldn't be going out to office. At 10 AM, it occurred to me that my driver Santosh would be waiting. I called him and said he was free for the day. He sighed a relief and mentioned something about his ill bua ji. I said "sure, go and take care of her".

Back in the cosy confines of my bed, I fell asleep in no time, following the age old adage "an open line AME should sleep whenever he gets time". It was 2 PM when my cook woke me for lunch. A sumptuous lunch, another century by Sachin, no calls from carriage control, a 300+ total posted by Indian batsmen.... it was going good. In the evening, my colleague AOM called asking for my driver. Upon enquiry, I found Santosh's bua ji had a brain hemorrhage and the whole family was in hospital with her. The name of the ailment struck a dismal chord in a far corner of my mind. I had lost two of my dear ones to this dreadful disease. Assuring him of any help needed, I pressed the end call button and apprised my AOM buddy of my inability to help. Soon, my eyes were glued to the TV screen.

As couple of hours passed, I could sense the lack of luster in the bowling and fielding showed by team India. It was slowly coming up, a defeat I mean. And soon it was pretty much evident. The ball crossed the rope more often than the ads which marked the end of overs. Like a devoted Indian fan, I said a small prayer to God asking him to wake up the bowlers and fielders. And the very next two deliveries sent back the two dudes who were troubling the whole of India. The game digressed from its normal path and headed towards a cliff. Though in the jiff of excitement, I was once reminded of another cliff-hanger, the old lady fighting the fatal hemorrhage - a tied battle. I prayed for her too and prayed again that this prayer be answered too. The match now hanged from the cliff as Shahjad, the number 10 batsman, sent the ball into the air beyond the rope. For a flash of a second, I remembered the match played by Aamir’s team in Lagaan. Was it the revenge of the English?

The match ended finally and it ended in a draw. It was a tie for sure but somehow I felt both the teams had lost it. India had lost it before the 25^th over and England lost it in the last ball. Amidst the losses, I felt the difference between a win and a tie was too big.

The doorbell woke me up the next morning at 8 with Santosh at my door. With a bit of discomfort, he blurted out slowly, “Sir, she was fine and stable when I left her at midnight. My brother just called me and said she left us. I need the day’s off.” I just nodded.

The difference between a tie and a defeat was much bigger.

Tide does wait for the moon, time waits for none !!!

Time has its own pace and there's nothing in the world that can alter it. And this uninterrupted pace, fortunately happens to be the best quality of time. With itself, it brings several changes to our lives, is what we all say. But, the truth stays that time is just a witness, a passing witness of every change in our life. Good, bad or ugly, time watches everything, every moment.
This argument will demean the wishes like "have a good time" or for that matter, even a "happy new year". That reminds of the year that just passed away... 2010. Time for some new resolutions, new promises, new objectives. But hold on, wasn't it the same day last year that many new resolutions were vowed. A quick review would tell all of us that not all the resolutions were attained in totality. So, renew the old ones??? Ah, how long will we do that crap thing. Have some new ones???
Don't know why but these new year resolutions don't work for me. When yesterday evening, I tried to recollect my last new year's resolution, I ended fumbling. The retrospection, instead, yielded some useful lessons. It's said you learn from your past. I bet past is the best teacher. But the lesson lies in learning from the past without staying in it. And with itself, time teaches us a lot.
To retrospect 2010, it wouldn't be said as a nice year in terms of the amount of joy and happiness it had for me. But in terms of lessons, I am a much learned man now, thanks to 2010. A dialogue in a recently released movie went "whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger". How true! Its like you become stronger every passing day, with more and more experience added to your quiver. If they are pleasant, jolly good; if they are pungent, you have grown resistant to another foul odour.
2010 was really not pleasant. On the very first day of the year, my whole batch was fighting hard the disgrace of failing in our probationary training. Consequent 10 days were the toughest we ever had in our training period. Soon after, the sweet little cosy batch was dispersed across the length and breadth of the country. The initial period in field did feel hectic. And since then, its been a brutal butchery that has been inflicted upon. Ofcourse the good thing is that I am alive, and hence stronger.. :)
Even on the personal front, it proved to be a terrible year. Had all sorts of experiences which I would never wish even to my worst enemies. Family relations, personal relations, career prospects, health .... everything went for a toss. And amidst the fiasco, I stood clueless, attempting my best to control things but for reasons unknown, things defied my control the same way sand eschews a fist. But again, the good thing is that I am alive and hence stronger... :)
I kindof liked it when 2010 passed into oblivion last night. It was not because the worst had passed as you can never be sure that the worst is over. It was more because I had emerged alive out of it, loaded with added strength and experience. I am not sure the time in future will show me positive changes, but am sure of my enhanced ability to tackle the worst that may come. Walking new paths, putting in my best, adding value to lives despite the adverse conditions, I would love to accept, endure and deliver. That's what 2010 has taught me. And it would go down the memory lane as the year that taught me a lot. Suffering brings priceless learning just the way joy brings priceless moments. You get to know the reality of it all, the way Tom Hanks knows it in 'Cast Away'. You stop for a while, look back, close your eyes, muse for some moments and all that your face shows is a soft, half smile. The next moment, you exhale it out saying 'huh', turn to the front and start moving ... with the time. Huh !

When it’s fair, its free !!!

Before the writer in me dies a sad demise, let me give ‘writing’ another try. That would summarise the fact that I have not written anything since months. And how would I? After all, it was my emotion that was put into words. Now, the emotional self has met its end, the same way ‘the good boy’ in me has suffocated to an untimely death. That left the writer in me yearning for content. Words I had but I lacked the matter, something that was quite contrary in the past.
The dying writer mumbled, “doesn’t matter if there’s no content, write anything. Use the words, else they will leave you. Don’t let the only form of expression left with you leave you.” And here I am, trying to write rubbish.
Okay, let us talk about a deep-rooted social evil called ‘corruption’. It’s actually a moral evil which has become a social evil because of its wide and deep reach into the society. While politicians are corrupt to the core, the bureaucracy too is deeply laden with this shit. The corporate world which started off neatly, too couldn’t keep the face clean. Scams and scandals have become a daily news item.
Years back, when I was in school, I once had to write an essay on corruption. I very well remember how, sitting in the exam hall, I tried to recollect the names of various scams I had heard about. And the best part of the day was the feeling at the end of the exam that my essay would help to attenuate the level of corruption. Sounds ridiculous today, doesn’t it? Since then, this has been a constant bugging news-piece. It’s as if I grew in a corrupt framework, conditioned by the society that permitted alarmingly high acceptance level. A mute spectator to the corrupt system, my questions always met the answer ‘aisa hi system hai, kya karoge’. At times before I went to sleep, I used to wonder ‘can’t we be ideal? Is honesty really utopian? Why can’t corruption be erased? and all the rubbish like shooting all the corrupt politicians after making them stand in a queue. These thoughts were followed by slumber which was again followed by the stories of corruption in the morning’s newspaper. And I guess most of the people of my generation have been nurtured by the same corrupt society in their formative years. No wonder more than half of the youth today very much resembles the character of Siddharth in the first half of the movie Rang De Basanti.
Today, I am a part of the same bureaucracy I myself blamed so furiously. And I have come to know that it’s really pretty difficult to weed out corruption from the system. Being an insider now, I can see the evil from real close quarters. And every day, some new façade of corruption comes before my eyes. Those who are really clean and honest, are painted black by the corrupt majority and dragged into the system forcibly. In such scenario, it really becomes difficult to stick to your honest stand. More than half of the accused booked under vigilance cases are really honest while the actual culprits bribe the anti-corruption squad and roam free, with a clean image. A staff of my concern had his name in headlines of the local news dailies as ‘corrupt official demanding bribe’ as the contractors and other people in the system had problems in their corrupt dealings because of his honesty. I overheard a guy who passed in a promotional exam, saying ‘when it’s fair, its free unlike last time when I failed as I paid only 10K against the standard of 20K’. The very next day I overheard another guy saying ‘the dealing clerk is taking money in the name of his officer’. You do good, and you will be painted bad while those who actually do bad hardly come to the fore. The most shocking part was coming across the ‘system of fixed cuts per chair’. I had heard of it since years but saw it today only when the offered cut pertained to the chair I hold. I came to know that people right from the clerks to the highest official have fixed percentages, the figure varying from 0.1 % to 4 %. Though I declined, I very well knew that this wouldn’t allow me to work on my own, as people above me were part of the shit too. And this is the reason why budding talents get absorbed into the dishonest sea and become a part of it. Not always is the titillation inviting, at times you are coerced into the sea too.
The other sectors too are not much different. Difference in the figures shown in the salary slip and the actual wage is pretty common. More than half of the tickets of movies are blacked. Instances are numerous. And counting them would only lead to a heightened frustration.
But it’s not that the problem doesn’t have a solution. The solution lies in our conscience. The conscience does warn the body before every ill-deed. It’s just that the greed overpowers the conscience for most of the people. Let us hear our conscience more often. Cleaning of the mud-laden system is feasible only when each of us remains honest to the core. And I believe it’s not impossible. We just need to rate moral gains higher than the mortal gains. Let us join hands for this cause. And remember, together we can.

Man and God

Once, Man went to God to ask for the Divine Bliss.

God smiled mischievously and tasting his shrewd lips, said," worship me and I will impart you the Divine Bliss".

Buoyed with utter delight, Man dedicated his mortal forehead in the feet of the God and kept worshiping faithfully for long. After it was long enough, he raised his head and looked at God with beseeching eyes.

God opened his lotus-eyes and with a smile weaved of the fabric of death, pointed towards the Man's forehead which bore the blot from God's toes. "See, your head has stain. You cannot be blessed. Worship more."

Man bowed again,his forehead touching the God's feet. The stigma on his forehead grew larger. Later, he raised his imploring eyes again.

God said," the stain has grown darker".

Man put his head in God's feet again.


Since then, the sequence of faithful adoration and darkening of the stain has continued endlessly.

Am still waiting.....

Its been almost 2 months now….. I have become a non-living body…. Hitherto, I hardly got to meet a dozen of my friends whenever I got the chance to stay at my home…. Ah…. Home sweet home…. Patratu. How I used to crave for it. How I loved staying for an hour extra while a whole group of enthused fitters n supervisors worked their minds n hands off to ensure that I complied with the forecasted time. The weary looks of disturbed AMEs touching me here and there titillated the mischievous self of mine. How happy I used to get at the sullen face of the Senior DME in the morning power meeting when he said… oh, 14167 won’t be going out today!!! These moments I used to spend at the home shed were really precious as my wheels got the time to sleep… a welcome respite.
But now, things have a changed. Each of my 99 friends have exchanged pleasantries with me more than twice. Its pinching me now. I really want to move on….. I used to define ‘locomotion’, a trait of living organisms…. And now, its like I am on a hospital bed for the last two months, dying a silent death. The treads of my wheels have got layers of rust … a shame for me. I have become a show-piece now….’ Here’s the WDM3B 14000 series loco…. It’s useless… waiting for a truck frame it lost in an accident’…. Its becoming hard to bear these harsh comments. I used to run 2873 up constantly on eighth notch for hundreds of kilometers, and now, even the dummy truck frame on which I was standing for so long has been taken away. I stand on one truck frame and two godforsaken whiting jacks. Cursed be fate.
It was that doomed day when I was hauling 2874 down back towards Hatia. I almost derailed but this info was never relayed. Don’t know what made the pilot do so. A day later, I reached Patratu shed where Toppo my friend came to me with troubled eyes. He knew at once that I was in pain. He called a sahib from the adjacent pit, a rather new one whom I had seen just once, to have a look at me. Soon, it was the talk of the day. One of my truck frame had been damaged beyond the repairing capabilities of the shed. Everyone seemed perturbed. I could sense somehow that this stint wasn’t going to be enjoyable. And it proved so. Its been two months now… n I don’t see myself running before another month.
The injured truck frame was booked to KGP w/shop, thanks to the efforts of the sahibs behind desks. But unfortunately, the cursed wagon got lost in the sea of wagons of SER. Even hundreds of phone calls could not trace my lost limb. After all these painful days, the idea of getting a new bogie flashed in someone’s brain. Teams were sent to DLW to ask for the same. The fact that I belong to the rare species of high load 3D locomotives with heavy motors and equalizer made the task more difficult for my AME sahib. Well, they have returned now and for the first time in the recent past could I see the brightness in the eyes of my admirers. They look confident of rolling me out and I am dying for that.
Blessed do I feel that despite all the misfortunes, I will soon be setting out on the rails again, carrying thousands of pairs of eyes… some sullen, some desperate, some full of hope, some carrying the only hope… but all waiting for the destination. I am also waiting…. waiting for the day I set out again. All I have for the moment is the hope that my caretakers might comprehend what an ailing heart of a ‘dead loco’ feels.

Introspection....

What is it that’s troubling me? I had set out on a spiritual expedition and all I had expected was amelioration. Didn’t I think I would go beyond all worldly revulsions? Didn’t I think I would attain eternal peace in the feet of that ever-serene Infinite? Then, why is it that I am fathoming deep in the troubled waters of pain and sorrow? What actually went wrong? There must be some folly at some point where I digressed from the desired path. Or is it that these dismays are the thorns of this great path, which are forced on the traveller. May be He wants all His pursuers to traverse through this tortuous terrain. Whatever be the truth, it’s very clear that this path is not a cake-walk. Seeking the truth requires the courage to seek it. It asks for the dedication, the willingness and the capability to take up the ordeal successfully.
I guess this dedication has dwindled down in me. I now feel less excited or shall I say less motivated to walk this path. What goes beyond my cognizance is the probable cause of this transformation. A couple of years back, this desire to attain peace was too much to handle. How very agile my mind was in its pursuit of eternal happiness. What is it that has changed now? Was it a hollow desire that has died down because I have been on this path and it’s the characteristics of this path that whosoever walks this way loses his desires? Or is it that I have been walking on some other path, in some other direction, constantly getting farther from my destination? It’s time now for a serious introspection. I must check my controls.
Looking back at the milestones I crossed could give me some hint, I guess. Before I started this sojourn, I was deeply laden with unwanted emotions that were suffocating me. I had run out of breath in that excruciating environment of expectations, grief, longings and pain. In the desperate attempt to inhale the freshness of eternal peace, I decided to take the path which the direction board showed as the ‘way to salvation’. I would better review that decision now. What was it that I actually wanted? Was it that I was unable to face life as it came to me? Was it that I was whisking off my responsibilities? Was it that I wanted an easy way out from the complexities that life came up with? I am still not sure that these were really false. Agreed that the desire came from within, but still, it was a desire. And desires lead to sorrow. Is that the reason why I am in this mess now? It is said one thinks of God only when one is in trouble or when one’s self enlightens and tries to reach to its destination. What was the truth in my case? It did look like the latter one, but was it truly the only cause? I fear it wasn’t. There was some bit of hesitation to take up the challenges of life too. I did feel that this way, I could stay happier as I would have fewer nuances to deal with. But does this path teach to run away from your responsibilities by calling them nuances? Not at all. This path teaches detachment from emotions, not from duties. This path never weakens you, it only strengthens you.
Then why is it that I am feeling weak now. It seems to me that I am not at all on the path to salvation. Rather, it’s a path which boasts of leading to salvation and takes you to the very world you ran away from. The reason obviously is the lack of conviction to shun the worldly bindings. On a positive note, I may be on the right path, travelling well and that has caused the desire that initiated me on this path to wither away. But this is not true and I don’t feel shy to accept that. This proves that I am not on the path I desired to traverse onto. That’s discouraging, but still that’s what it is. And I will have to accept that. Okay. Accepted. What next? I now need to know where exactly do I stand at the moment. I feel I have a fair introduction of that divine holiness. And I can at least recognise where I am. This in itself is a blessing from that Almighty. I know the differences between the worldly path to life and the path of renunciation to salvation. I have fewer desires now and I do know now that desires cannot take me to salvation. Save for some sporadic exceptions, my mind works as a part of my intellect. I do get SOS calls from my intellect in case my mind tries to run on its own. These are the traits of the path to salvation. This proves I had set out on the right path. Glad I am. So, where did I make the wrong move?

The worldly path to life and the renouncing path to salvation are essentially two extremes. I guess as I progressed on the latter path, it occurred to me that it would serve a higher purpose if I stay within the world, and attain salvation. It does sound truthful and I bet it is true. But the fact that the ratio of world and renunciation has to be intellectually monitored got lost midway. It’s like walking on the edge of a sharp razor, working out a fine balance between the world and the no-world. It’s like staying in the world physically with a constant awareness of the ephemeral existence of the same, realizing that the world is but a dream. The worldly component has to be limited to the body only, while the mind, the intellect and the conscience have to be devoted to the bigger cause, salvation. Renounce, not this body, not the world, but the thoughts, the mind. Work, not because it will yield you worldly gains, but because that’s your duty towards this world.
Expect not, refrain not. I guess that’s what I have been aiming. And, the digressions as they seemed, were just the check-points which He offered me to realign myself to the requisite path. Thus, all fears dispelled. I am doing it the right way, and I don’t care where all this would lead me to, as even that bit of expectation doesn’t remain. Happy, carefree, dutiful, unattached, I move on.

IT’S ALL HUMBUG

Digressed I was. Carrying on with the life. Had lost my aim long before. It was just an aimless ride, similar to the test drive of new cars. You keep driving on and on, riding the car onto whichever road that comes your way. Driven not by desire, not even by will.

I am still unaware of the force that kept driving me.

Anyways, then, I did not even think of pondering over the cause that led me astray, or shall i say, steered me to some latent goal that laid beyond the visible horizon, sheathed beneath the veneers of physical appearance. It was just that I kept moving wherever my legs thought of / led to. Footloose. Unabrest of the path, unaware of the reason, I kept lurching on.

People say, digressed are those who leave the path leading to their goal. And here I was, unconcerned of the goal. Did not know the goal itself; leave aside the path that would lead me there. That way, it would be wrong to say that I was digressed. I had no idea which way I was treading. I could have found my goal moving that way too. And then, people would have talked of my perseverance. Hah, isn’t it all a rubbish humbug. That, is realization. IT’S ALL HUMBUG.

Unlamented let me die....

It's a common wish for a number of people to die as a famous man. They feel that the more number of people shed tears at their death, the more secure would their path to heaven be. They dream of having a large meeting of morose faces condoling their own death. And what more to say, they even secretly wish the nation to mourn their death. Thoughts like " when you were born, you wept and the world rejoiced; make sure that when you leave, the world weeps and you rejoice" can be found in any "great sayings" book. But sorrily, I love to differ from the general lot on this very notion.
I intend to keep a low profile, and would definitely love to leave this world in utter silence. I must clarify here that I don't mean living a hermit's life and dying a hermit's death. I will live in this world and with this world till my soul finds a new guise. And more importantly, I will keep working towards my objectives till I stay here. But throughout the journey, I would like to be among the people whose lives I intend to ameliorate. Thus the low profile. And being constantly aware of the fact that it would be HIM doing things through my hands, I will evade the ever so dangerous 'ego', keeping a safe distance from it. In the very end, I would like to die a death which wouldn't pain anyone. For those who wouldnt be knowing me, the event wouldn't make a difference; but even for my acquaintances too, my death would only be a space time event. For, the people who will be knowing me, will also be knowing the deathlessness in my death, or shall I say, the deathlessness in death.

LAXO'S LIFE - A short story

Fortune liked it this way, I guess. After about an year of separation, I happened to ram into Lakka this morning. The whole incident took me by surprise. And it happened in a flicker..... beating my senses that laid fumbling for a proper response.
It was last april. We were a nice little group. Lakka senior, Khadim bhai, Sree, Lakka, Bata and me, Laxo lived happily together. We shared the same rack, and that made us not just neighbours, but very close friends too. The long chats we shared about our future, predicting the other's destiny as if we were the Almighty, the way Sree used to get jealous when people praised Bata, the way we all laughed at Bata when his admirer would find some fault with him, or with his own pocket, and drop him back, the way we prayed together for our eternal friendship, despite knowing that any potential buyer will end our camaraderie in no time, the grim face Lakka senior used to wear at the sight of fat customers.....all the memoirs flashed before my eyes within seconds. Alas, I couldnt even recognise Lakka and it was him who waved at me. And by the time I came out of that reverie, Lakka had disappeared. Cursed be fate.
I was the first one to leave the troop. So, I had no trace of any of my lost friends. A rich man happened to choose me, when I had least expected. I always used to think that any sensible man would go for the likes of Bata or Sree, and thus never bothered to think beyond the rack. But, my destiny was written in a different ink. Before I could say sayonara to them, I was put into a small carton. Darkness all around, I was left alone with my tears. The very next day, my owner took me out of the box and placed me along with some very worn out seniors. Their condition spoke volumes about the barbarism of my gentleman owner. However, I was proved wrong. My man was a sophisticated fellow in all respects. The way he cared for me, I could only thank my stars.
Since the day I was sold, I have seen enough of the polished world. I have been on aeroplanes, I have seen many high-level meetings, I have been to a number of formal parties..... But despite a so-called royal life, I have missed something. Something that I realised only today after that short meeting with Lakka. Although he started his worldly sojourn after me, he had seen more of life than I had. My world has been nothing more than a cocooned stretch. I never alighted from the tiled floors, never walked on the soil..... never did the shine on me fade. And Lakka, he seemed to have lived his life to the fullest. The wrinkles and the whitened skin said loudly about his rugged life. I had never run into others the way Lakka rammed into me today. Probably, my master was a bit out of his shell today, or was it that Lakka made his debut on the tiles today. Before I could regain my senses after the accident, annoyed as i was, I saw the familiar face of Lakka waving his laces shouting "O jesus, is that you Laxo.... you look so young..... Pardon me, I din intend to hit ya, its jus that I've been cursed with this ruffian master."
The incident left a longing in me, to run aimlessly on the grass, on the soil, to walk through mud, to drench myself. How unfair? I have been through a life imprisonment, jailed to live my owner's life, forced to wear the 'civilized' tag.
I am not sure whether Lakka would be enjoying his life, free of qualms. But then, destiny by nature, is cruel. It has only pains and spasms to offer. And in my case, it has been gruesomely hostile, snatching my freedom.Cursed be fate. Cursed be fate.
Now, I am desperately waiting for someone who will steal me from some temple and will let me live as Lakka, the rugged shoe.

Life to me....

I am less than 22 years of age. And still, I think I have seen more of my life than I should have. Don’t know the reason for that, but guess, destiny liked it this way. After all, its destiny that handles the things, not us. I have seen the ugly faces of life…. And I have seen the most lovable moments too. I have seen the problems, n I have been the solutions too. I have been a poor, and I have been a rich too. I have tolerated unsurpassable torments, and I have lived a so-called royal life too.
In short, I have seen what life takes a lifetime to show to its owner. And that way, it woudn’t be wrong to say that I own a right to write about life. After all, I am a veteran at the age of 22.
Life has different phases, and this makes it difficult to summarize life in one sentence. Every part of the classification has its own yardstick. To an infant, its nothing more than the closeness it shares with its parents. The quanta of love that the child gets from others, dominates his perception of life. His yelling being answered, his wishes being fulfilled, toys all around make him a happy face and the opposite holds true too. He feels the life to be ecstatic, if he gets what his nubile brain asks him for. Contrarily, life is hell for him if he feels deprived of luxuries.
As the kid grows up, he starts learning the relations- among numbers, among alphabets and among people. Thus entering into a more complex world, where human perceptions and emotions rule the definition of life. He starts comprehending the critical terms like studies, pleasure, anger, satisfaction, love, hatred, sex and more… its then that the complications arise. He feels entangled within the cobwebs of various emotions, and keeps floating on the undulating waves of pleasure and pain.
Slowly, he gains wisdom and becomes a learned intellectual. He shares his views about wide range of topics and feels bigger with every passing day. And then comes a day, when the road his life has been riding, comes to a dead end. The cruel life completes one cycle.
In between, a phase comes in his life, when he looks back at the life he lived. He scrutinizes all the decisions he took at the meanders. Having summed up all his life, he feels he did not live it his way. And thinks it better to write up his experience so that some other person may live his life his own way, by learning from the predecessor’s experiences. Alas, even after living full-length life, he couldn’t learn that it all belongs to destiny.
Things happen the way destiny decides them to. The codes are written up somewhere. Every moment pre-decided and recorded, waiting for its execution. It’s a set of events, a random selection from among the various event codes, put together in the form of a software program file. The files are distributed randomly to the life-owners. Owner he is, but not the administrator authorized to edit his life’s program. So, he lives it the life’s way and not his own way. He gets his wishes fulfilled if his life decides so. Better to say, his wishes are what his life decides him to wish. If he tries to differ, he gets punished. Pain, sorrow, revulsions, spasms…. all are the methods the life uses to make us learn that we are not the authority.
Life to me has been no different. I mean, the program file containing the event-list of my life, has a good mix of many ups and downs. I have been blessed with divine moments of delight, and also, I have been through tortures of hell. And at the end of it, I would only like to thank that programmer. U MADE MY LIFE.

How true !!!

Budhdha said “the cause of all sorrow is desire”. How true. Lot of people realize this fact, but not before they have been through an ocean of sorrow. People tend to have emotional attachment with other buddies. And this emotional attachment is followed by expectations and the so-called desire. We feel that we have a right over some other person, just because we like him, or because we are emotionally attached to him. We tend to build castles in our mind, and correlate many wishes. We even dream of those desires. This feeling that since we are related to some person, or since we love some person, we have a right over him, generates expectations. In the unexplored corners of our subtle mind, we start nurturing varied dreams. Our minds are carnal to the core. They are like free stallions that have just broken their tethers. The mind keeps roaming freely, and since it rules over our senses, we tend to develop attachments with things that are known to us. This leads to desire. meaning hereby, that to have desire is natural as it is a common trait of all the living beings. Even trees bend towards the sun. every animal cares for its progenies. Desire may also arise from need. A beggar asking for a penny desires that people passing by would drop a penny in his hat. That’s a need, but there again, deep inside his heart, he keeps wishing that the person in front would have a soft heart, and that he would be kind enough to understand the beggar’s needs. This is expectation. He expects a sort of inclination towards him. A girl in love with a boy keeps nurturing many small wishes. She expects her man to be there with her in her treasured moments and also, at times of pain. She expects him to care for her.
That is to say, that desires and expectations are natural phenomena. They originate in our mind and engross our thoughts. Thus its not easy to control our desires, though its not impossible either.
Coming over to the effect of desires, they create a sense of longing. If the wishes are met, we tend to become happy and if they are not fulfilled, either the longing grows, or we land in a state of utter sorrow. Thus desire leads to delight and dismay. The beggar feels awed if a passer-by avoids him. The girl weeps when in her own shell, just because her lover said once that they were just friends. So, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that all pleasure and pain are our own creation. This statement can be concluded from the following facts:
Its we who have expectations and desires.
Its destiny which decides whether the desires are to be met or not.
If they are met, we become happy; and if they are not fulfilled, we become sad.
Thus, it is we who decide our happiness. The secret lies in controlling our desires. We should keep working without having slightest desire of the end-result. Have the aim in mind, work tenaciously towards achieving that aim, but do not attach emotions and sentiments with it. Work like a self programmable robot, who is capable enough to think about its courses and actions, and who then keeps working, no matter how tough the job is. The robot doesn’t become happy when it gains its objective, neither does it get sad when it cant do the job. But it does put in the best effort towards the aim. That creates an ideal that we should follow.
Its said in Geeta, that we should act the same, in pleasures and pain, in losses and gain. That we should be one in response to all kinds of ailments and ecstasies. It would going a step further if I say that inspite of acting the same in all kinds of situations, we should not let such kind of situations arise. The pleasure wouldn’t be there if I don’t get attached with the job. Similarly, pain will only come if desire is there.
So, the essence lies in controlling the desires. Let us be like a guest here, feeling nothing to be ours. Well aware of our duties and responsibilities, we should be consistently working towards the goal. But working just like a robot. No desires, no expectations, no longing, just work; work for the heck of working and nothing else. That the ideal way, do your duties without getting involved in them. Feel yourself as an individual, not as a relative to somebody. Respect the relations, but don’t get attached to them. Have it known to your inner conscience that no one on this earth is yours, and that you owe a duty towards all the individuals. Agreed that there are some people closer than others, but you should get to think beyond these shelled perspectives. Know your duty towards all the people around you, and keep working.

Hark Hark !! here's the lark..!

Hi to all,
This is your friend. Don’t know how to introduce “myself”. The “my” in me is getting weaker with time thus attenuating the “myself” to a shorter version…. just “self”. So, to a world where “my” comes before “self”, introducing the “self” is not as easy as it looks at the surface. Still, I would take a trial.
I am a face that would go unnoticed in a crowd. I am a face that would hardly impress you in the first rendezvous. I am a face that you would identify in a group photograph only after putting extra strain on our eyes. I am a face that you wouldn’t care to remember for long…..
This should suffice for the introduction, as only faces are introduced, not the person. To know the person, you need to delve deep into him, beyond the limits of a superficial hello or a phony introduction. And going by this definition, its impossible to know a person fully. But at the same time, this statement too holds true that it is not essential to know someone fully. So, why take the tortuous path? Why bother about the finer details when only name is enough? Just say a hi, a hello; help him, ask for help… and its over. After all that is what is required. The whole social networking aims at making our task easier by mutual coordination. And that can be achieved just by our names as our identity. Knowledge of the person becomes secondary.
I guess, by now I have convinced you that its not important to know who am I? I will go a step further and say that even the name is not required. And I do have the famous adage to support me..”whats in the name?” So, please stop bothering about the author’s identity and concentrate on the text.
So, what is it that differentiates “my” from “self” and also, both “my” and “self” from “myself”? The question is graver than it sounds. And to know the answer, we need to know all the three terms. “Self” denotes the soul. It represents the character a person bears and has nothing to do with the name. Contrarily, “my” is the pronoun that replaces the noun, which in itself is the name. So, “my” depicts the name while “self” is the person’s nature, his character, his inner identity. “my” makes him known to the world, while “self” is the inner enlightenment. “Self” is what we ought to know, while “my” is the way others will know us. Knowing “my” doesn’t need effort on the person’s part as it is endowed to him by the world whereas knowing “self” is one of the most tenacious jobs.
“My” stands for the ego that we carry with us. The hindi word “main” literally means “aham” or ego. All the streams of spirituality intend to cause diminution of this ego. The journey starts from “my” and has “self” us the ultimate goal. The whole process has just one objective – to lessen the “my” thus leading to the “self”.
We being mortal, have an innate trait to relate our self to our body. It’s me who gets happiness in merrier moments, its me who laments at opportunities missed, its me who suffers the spasms….. Is it the reality? Let us assume it to be true for a moment. Then, it will be me who will be burned after I die. And since burning would reduce me into ashes, nothing will be left. The complete “me” will vanish into nowhere. The whole existence would cease to exist. But I would still have a bit of place reserved to my name in some faraway nooks of the brains of few people. Just the way Shakespeare and Gandhi have. That brings us to a contradiction. Presence even after death. This fortifies the hypothesis that the trait of linking our body to our self has no essence.
Its not the body that defines us. Body is the veneer that the soul wraps itself with, before taking a lively form. All happiness and revulsions are limited to the body only. The body is given a name for ease of recognition, and that name leads to “my”. On the contrary,“self” or “soul” is beyond the horizons of pleasure and pain. “self” defies the boundaries of time while “my” has a very limited life span. Every “my” comes and lives and then dies, but the “self” stays forever.
Hence my friends, its worthless to attach “my” to our real selves. Although, living amidst so many creatures on this earth necessitates a formal attachment between “my” and “self”. But this linkage is too ephemeral. It stays only till the body remains. Once the body departs,”my” and “myself” cease to exist. What remains is the eternal “self” or the soul. So, let us live our lives to the fullest, but with the cognizance that its only our body that lives.