tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8744380930574198072023-11-16T19:50:26.201+05:30BackSpaceA hit on the BackSpace button of life; a glance at the past and a ride on high hopes towards an uncertain future...Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-48396793974578219682017-10-11T00:18:00.000+05:302017-10-11T00:18:51.416+05:30Wedding WoesEveryone who heard about her engagement came to her and asked, 'We didn't know you both were in love!'. She was tired of telling everyone that it wasn't. Nobody believed it anyways. After all, they have been in the same college for years now. So now, she just smiled at them in reply.<br />
<br />
"Love is the last thing that we have for each other', she mused.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Hyderabad, Telangana, India17.385044 78.48667116.9002155 77.841224 17.8698725 79.132118tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-864063782007915602017-03-13T14:21:00.001+05:302017-03-13T14:22:59.963+05:30DeathA few weeks back, on a lazy Saturday evening in Hyderabad, the out of sync beatings of drums brought me to my balcony on the fourth floor. On the road below me was a procession. A procession of about a dozen men, dancing to the discordant and incongruous thrashing on dead skin stretched around the hollow of wood, as they led a white clad body to its pyre. Cheap flowers adorned the body that lay motionless on the makeshift bamboo stretcher, the weight of death borne by four men in their damp loins. Petals of flowers were thrown into the air as the dancers screamed and celebrated death, the petals making a slow, gliding descend to be strewn on the hot tarmac. What were they celebrating? Death? Or the life after death?<br />
<br />
It brought back thoughts of <i>Rudaalis </i>in the <i>havelis</i> of Rajasthan. Clad in black skirts and cholis, face covered by black <i>duppattas</i>, they would wail and beat their bossoms out as they mourned for a loss that wasn't theirs. As they stripped the newly widowed woman of her jewels, and reduced the vermilion on her forehead to a distant smear, did they feel grief? Did they feel for the woman who was going to be shunned from public life for the rest of her life? What do they feel? Sadness? Sympathy? Empathy? Joy?<br />
<br />
Simultaneously, it brought thoughts of death. How do I feel about death? Scared? If it is fear that we feel about death, what do we fear more - one's own death or the death of a loved one?<br />
<br />
I watched as the drums faded away into the evening sun as a pyre somewhere far was readying itself to embrace death and burn itself to a handful of ashes.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0Hyderabad, Telangana, India17.385044 78.48667116.9002155 77.841224 17.8698725 79.132118tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-49110048814750573212016-05-16T00:07:00.000+05:302016-09-15T22:48:10.560+05:30GoodbyeThe key clicked inside the lock with a hesitation. Even the door didn't want to budge. It was drizzling outside, but the air inside was hot and suffocating. In spite of that, he realized that her scent lingered thick in the house. He moved inside in no hurried pace. He threw the wallet and the key to the car onto the bedside table. The bed was unmade and the sheet was still crumbled. And wet from her towel. He went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. And then he noticed the bottle of wine, half empty. He kept the bottle of water back and took the wine bottle instead. He moved to the kitchen to fetch a glass. The dishes weren't done. Their lunch, cooked but half eaten, was still on the stove. He took a glass and poured himself some wine. The red liquid splashed and swayed against the crystal of the glass. He moved to the living room. It should be called a dead room, he thought. He noticed the packet of cigarette on the table. He had quit smoking. There was just one left in it. He took it out and brought it to his nose. He smelled the length of the cigarette and stuck it between his lips. He went out onto the balcony and took a deep breath. Petrichor. Or a long reminder of that. There was a chill in the night and the sky was starless. He took out the lighter and lit the end of the lady in the white. He took in a deep drag as the end of the cigarette glowed in the darkness. Treat your cigarette as you'd treat your lover, he had said to her earlier that day. He exhaled a cloud of smoke into the unknowns of the night. He took out the cigarette from his lips with one hand and brought the tip of the glass with the other. He let the wine splash inside his mouth before letting it drown in his feelings. It's just the rain and me tonight, he thought.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0Sullia, Karnataka, India12.5580735 75.39076669999997212.527076000000001 75.350426199999973 12.589071 75.431107199999971tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-55581551106590284162016-03-26T17:59:00.001+05:302016-03-27T13:44:06.436+05:30Wedding Invitation<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Mr. I-Told-You-So and Mrs. Emotional-Dramabazi</span></b></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b><i>cordially</i> </b>(read because of society and because you invited us for your daughter's marriage) <i><b>request the pleasure</b></i> (yeah right!) <i><b>of your company on the occasion of wedding of their son,</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Mr Bechara Bakra, B.Tech </b><span style="font-weight: normal;">(Obviously)</span></span></h3>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>with</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Ms. Emotionally Blackmailed, B. Tech</b> <span style="font-weight: normal;">(Again, obviously)</span></span></h3>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>D/o Mrs. & Mr. Soon-To-Be-Kangaal</b></span></h3>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>Address Is Vague Because We Don't Want You To Enquire</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<h4 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>on Friday, the 13th of May 2016</b></span></h4>
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<i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>at </b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">That Big Marriage Hall in the City with Air Conditioned Halls and Little Parking</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>and for lunch thereafter.</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Please consider this as our personal invitation and graze the occasion with your esteemed presence. Please make this occasion memorable with your hushed whispers about the bride, her dress, her make-up, the amount of the jewellery, the food, what you heard about our family in the grapevine, and other gossips you heard in the rumour mill, because the food and the drinks are free, the hall is </span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">air-conditioned, and we are paying for everything.</span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Also consider this as our personal invitation to speculate on and/or discuss the future life of our son and our bahu from day 1 including when they should have a baby, whether our son is virile, or a gay, or whether the bahu should see your gynaecologist or any other matter you find worthy of your discussions during the next marriage of someone you know.</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><i><b>Your presence is the best present!</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(But yes, we are keeping a tab of the presents because we had our son's marriage in mind when we gave you all those presents on different occasions)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><b>NB: RSVP</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">(Because we have to inform the bride's parents whether they will have to mortgage the house too)</span></div>
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<br /></div>
Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Sullia, Karnataka, India12.5580735 75.39076669999997212.527076000000001 75.350426199999973 12.589071 75.431107199999971tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-86448223603814604452016-03-08T11:00:00.000+05:302020-01-17T22:46:57.851+05:30That One Time In Paris<i>"Why did we meet? I mean, the virtual meet. Why did you comment on my blog? What were you looking for?" </i><br />
<br />
She asked him, as she sipped her citrus crush from the comforts of her wicker chair. The joint was an extended balcony overlooking the balcony, with old and ruined red brick half walls, overgrown with vines. It was called Paris. Her eyes returned from the sea and stared into his eyes for a moment, searching for an answer that didn't matter.<br />
<br />
"<i>Nothing in particular."</i> He paused for a moment before continuing. "<i>Why did we meet? Maybe because of the Butterfly Effect. Maybe because, </i><i>somewhere,</i><i> a butterfly flapped its wings!</i>"<br />
<br />
And he smiled.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com3Sullia, Karnataka, India12.5580735 75.39076669999997212.527076000000001 75.350426199999973 12.589071 75.431107199999971tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-9314037519002619542015-09-21T23:18:00.001+05:302015-09-21T23:18:06.623+05:30DinnerMovements in the hall woke her up from her troubled sleep. She slowly pulled herself out of the bed and took a deep sigh. She slogged her way into the hall, leaning onto the walls for support. It was dark and the lights were all out in the house. She could make out his silhouette at the head of the dining table.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
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"What's for dinner?", she mumbled in a barely audible voice.</div>
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<br /></div>
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"Justice", he replied in a straight voice.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She looked at him, startled.</div>
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<br /></div>
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"I served justice for dinner", he clarified.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
She slowly walked towards to him. He nodded towards the plate in front of him. On it was a head, severed and bleeding.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Even in the dark, she could make out the face to which it once belonged. It used to belong to one of her tormentors. She took a fork from the stand on the table and poked it deep into one of its eye socket. It slid deep inside, as thick fluid oozed out of the corners of the hole.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She left the fork poking out of the socket and grabbed his face in her arms. She kissed it lightly with bruised lips and whispered slowly into his ears, "I'm still hungry!"</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com6Sullia, Karnataka, India12.5580735 75.39076669999997212.527076000000001 75.350426199999973 12.589071 75.431107199999971tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-53846817104324007462015-09-04T00:29:00.001+05:302017-01-29T02:12:53.386+05:30No, Not TodayShe looked at her reflection in the full length mirror one more time. The large, red bindi, dark kohl, bright red lipstick. She looked perfect, she thought. No, not perfect. She was not perfect. Not today. She corrected herself. But yes, she looked beautiful. She grabbed the <i>pallu </i>in a bunch and adjusted it around her sleeveless shoulder. A good amount of her cleavage was showing over the loosely thrown <i>pallu </i>of her white and red saree. But she didn't care. Not today.<br />
<br />
Eric Clapton was singing <i>Wonderful Tonight</i> in the background, in the old gramophone she had inherited from her <i>dadu</i>. She took a deep puff from the Black and stubbed the rest of it in the ash tray on her dressing table. She made a mental note to empty the ash tray when she got back. She took the bottle of perfume she kept on the table and opened its glass lid. She tilted it gently and took a little of it on the glass applicator. She dabbed the perfume on both her wrists and took a whiff of it. She looked at the mirror again and smiled at herself.<br />
<br />
"Look at you!", she said to herself.<br />
<br />
She turned off the record that was playing and moved towards the door. She slipped into her sandals while balancing herself against the wall. She took the car key from the key stand by the door. She paused for a moment. No, not today. She didn't want to drive. She hung the key back on its hook.<br />
<br />
She unbolted the door and stepped outside. She looked to either side of the veranda on the floor. No one. The next moment, she reprimanded herself for doing that. Why was she behaving like a thief? She headed straight towards the staircase. She didn't want to take the lift. She literally ran down two sets of stairs. She had a spring in her steps, a glow in her eyes, and the naughtiness of a 5 year old in her grin.<br />
<br />
The watchman on the apartment woke up from his slumber on hearing footsteps. He was very little used to hearing footsteps. Nobody took the stairs unless the lift was not working. Not even the people on the first floor. He could smell her even before he saw her. The evening breeze carried the scent of her perfume way before her. And then she emerged from the building. And she was a sight to behold.<br />
<br />
He ogled at her shamelessly. She looked alluring. Her sumptuous cleavage and high navel made him drool. He was so mesmerised and carried away that he forgot to look away when she neared him. Usually, she gives him a smile whenever she passes by him every day. But no, not today. Today, she didn't even throw a glance in his way.<br />
<br />
She hummed the lines from <i>Wonderful Tonight </i>as she moved towards the gates of her apartment. She wondered if she will get a taxi in time. As she emerged from the confines of her building and stepped into crowded street, she drew the attention of more people. A teenager who passed by her muttered some dirty remarks in Bengali under his breath. She pretended not to hear them. Not today.<br />
<br />
She stepped out of the footpath and onto the road and extended her arms out to hail a cab. An old, black and yellow taxi slowed but moved past her. It had passengers in it. For one moment, it looked as if the taxi driver was willing to ask his passenger to disembark then and there itself, and take this new passenger to her destination. She wasn't that outrageously beautiful for a Bong. Or bold. But today, she was different. She was voluptuous. She was vulnerable. And she oozed a boldness she had never known.<br />
<br />
A couple of minutes passed and a taxi slowed down to a halt in front of her extended arm. The driver was an old man. He peeped through the passenger side glass and asked, "<i>Kothay jabe?</i>"<br />
<br />
"<i>Dada, Princep Ghat</i>", She replied, leaning closer to the window. She didn't want to be heard by her onlookers. Not that anyone could hear her. But nevertheless, she didn't want to take a chance. Not today. You never know who will follow you.<br />
<br />
The greying old man nodded his approval. She twisted the handle of the old Ambassador and got into the bucket seat in the back. Old velvet, she thought as she brushed her hand against the seat. She leaned back onto the seat and closed her eyes. Thoughts came running towards her, and soon, she was drowned in them. She didn't realise that she had drifted into a sleep and was dreaming. She was in an open place; too crowded and noisy for her taste. Amidst all the chaos, she heard his voice booming over the others. Princep Ghat, it said.<br />
<br />
"<i>Meye,</i> <i>amra pouchhey gechhi.</i>" It was the old taxi driver's voice that shook her up from her dream.<br />
<br />
Did he just call her <i>beti</i>? Not <i>didi</i>, but <i>beti</i>. She smiled. For the first time this evening, someone had held her in a non-amorous way. She smiled and asked, "<i>Bhara kato?</i>"<br />
<br />
She paid the driver and got out of the taxi. The taxi sped away with a loud noise. Once again, she looked to either side. She prayed that no one she knew was out there tonight. Not today. Nobody was there. The ghat was deserted except for a few couples. She took a deep breath and walked towards the ghat.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>(Might be continued....)</b>Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Sullia, Karnataka, India12.5580735 75.39076669999997212.527076000000001 75.350426199999973 12.589071 75.431107199999971tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-33413244348263845182015-08-28T23:35:00.000+05:302015-08-28T23:35:08.892+05:30New MoonIt was the night after the eclipse. Though it was a new moon, the night sky had a strange glimmer to it. The time was close to midnight, and the beings of the night had come to life. A large group of fireflies danced near the edge of the forest, giving it a festive look. Crickets and other insects were also making their presence felt. In the distance, deep inside the thick forest, the loud thumping and the dancing hadn't stopped. For the tribals, it was a night to appease the spirits of their forefathers.<br />
<br />
The meadow at the edge of the forest sported tiny blades of green grass, announcing the end of the long spell of dry and the embracing of the monsoons. The grass bed was moist due to the dew from the night. There was a certain chill in the air and the breeze that gave him goosebumps. But at this moment, he didn't care. He lap in her lap, eyes closed, a look of peace on his face. She had a smile on her face as she ran her hands through his hair with love.<br />
<br />
The serenity of the night was interrupted by the shrill laughs of hyenas from a little far away. The smile disappeared from her face. She look in the direction of the sound and let out a long hiss. It looked as if her tongue slithered like a snake's. Her eyes had a strange glow; of fury and contempt. Suddenly, everything went silent. The hyenas were never heard of again, the crickets stopped chirping, the random cries of a night owl was silenced. It was as if the whole forest was muted. An eerie silence ensured. The vibrations of the drums, wood on animal skin, had also waned away into the night.<br />
<br />
He lay in her laps, half asleep, unaware of his surroundings, his face fumbling for something in the locks of her dress. Her glance returned to his face, and continued to stroke his hair.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Based on a vivid, recurring dream that I've been having lately. I don't think <b>The Interpretation of Dreams</b> can explain this.</i>Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.2778471 75.89171140000002 10.777436100000001 76.53715840000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-61116188259493053602015-07-19T22:37:00.001+05:302015-07-19T22:59:14.585+05:3028 Things I Learnt From LifeOn 4th of this June, I turned 28 years. I'm nearing the fag end of my twenties (though I don't look a tad bit my age), and anxiously waiting for the 30s tag. Also, this June, I complete a decade of blogging. What started as a craze for html codes and website building led me to blogging. Back then, blogging was mostly unheard of. Last year, around this time, I came up with <a href="http://aninfiniterealm.blogspot.in/2014/05/being-27-pre-birthday-random-musings.html" target="_blank">Being 27: The Pre Birthday Random Musings</a>, which was 27 random things about me. This year, on the realization that Age is a high price to pay for Maturity, I've decided to write about 28 things that I learnt from my life so far. And yes, Happy Birthday to me!<br />
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1. In life, contrary to popular belief and faith, a lot of people get by with shit. Accept it, and deal with it.<br />
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2. Admit it if you're wrong. It's never too late for an apology. Sorry might be a difficult word to say, but say it when you're wrong. And when you say it, mean it. Own up your mistakes. Never be a coward.<br />
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3. Money isn't everything, but it is really something. It's necessary to save some. And it's useless to cry over the money you lost.<br />
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4. Some things are not worth fighting for. Some things are better off when you let go.<br />
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5. Life is not always fair; in fact, on most occasions, it is grossly unfair. Learn to deal with it.<br />
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6. Back to basics that we learnt as a kid, but chose to forget. The basic necessities of man is indeed food, water, and shelter. He can do without internet connections, or mobile coverage, or social networking sites. But clean water, clean place to live, and clean, palatable food are the basics. Recent experiences reminded me that.<br />
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7. People do some crazy things for friendship. Much, much more than for love, or any other relationships. If you've a friend like that, treasure him/her, no matter what.<br />
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8. You’re never too old to need your mom.<br />
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9. Another basic lesson I learned while growing up - Health is Wealth. Even a constipated stomach can give you a constipated mind. Money spent on prevention, especially Medi-claims, is a wise investment.<br />
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10. Never lie to your doctor. Also, when it comes to health, always get a second opinion, no matter how reputed the first doctor is.<br />
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11. When in doubt, follow your gut.<br />
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12. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.<br />
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13. Never build a relationship based on lies. There may be times when you will have to lie about some trivial things. But the very foundation on which a relationship was built should not be one of stone. You'll find it hard to keep it from tumbling down.<br />
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14. Some of the best moments in life are best enjoyed with little or no clothes - childhood, cold showers, swimming, a good bowel movement, and yes, sex too.<br />
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15. A lot of things in life is like the stock market. You might incur huge losses in the run. There's no use crying over the losses. Also, clinging on to losing stock in hopes of a reversal is mostly in vain, and foolish. Move on.<br />
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16. Don't live in your past. Move on. Pain is inevitable, but suffering is avoidable.<br />
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17. Never get yourself a haircut on the day before an important or special day. Get it at least a week before it.<br />
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18. If you’ve made your point, stop talking.<br />
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19. Nothing lasts for ever. Nothing. BlackBerry, I miss you. No phone can replace the relationship we had. The things I've done with you! Why did you have to screw up the things between us?<br />
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20. When your friend says that she can never conceive, "Yaay! You don't need to worry about contraception anymore!" isn't an appropriate or expected answer.<br />
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21. When you’re with new friends/lover, don’t just talk about old friends/lover.<br />
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22. God is the biggest excuse Man has invented, and Virginity is the most overrated virtue on this planet.<br />
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23. In life, it is important to be passionate. Everybody needs a passion. If you've not found yours yet, it's high time you did.<br />
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24. When travelling, keep your wits about you. You'll need in more than on one occassion. Trust no one.<br />
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25. At least once an year, take a vacation without your mobile phone, internet, and TV.<br />
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26. Life is so much simpler without the so called social networking sites. The friends you've are for real.<br />
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27. There's no cut off age to be an asshole. They are found in all age groups.<br />
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28. Behave to people younger to you and your subordinates the way you'd want older people and your superiors to behave to you. Give and take respect.<br />
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<br />Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com2Sullia, Karnataka, India12.558056 75.38916700000004312.5270585 75.348826500000044 12.5890535 75.429507500000042tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-20599283786243166882015-05-07T22:50:00.002+05:302015-05-07T22:50:26.054+05:30Have you met Jack?It was late into the night. Weekend traffic was still heavy on the flyover that looked like a hurdles athlete who had taken a leap to bypass the city. The sky was still crowded with rain clouds after the surprise summer shower during the evening, and there still was the occasional glimmer of a distant thunder in the otherwise dark and gloomy night sky. The wind was chilly, and fairly strong. As I looked on from the balcony on the 13th floor, bright lights zoomed past each other on the six lane traffic, creating a distinctive sound each time they covered a concrete slab that made up the flyover, and moved on to the next.<br />
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I was leaning with my back against the steel railing of the balcony and feeling the chill of the metal seep into my body, which, combined with the wind, was giving me goosebumps. She was sitting on a rugged wicker easy chair which was probably seeing the last lap of its life due to the neglect and carelessness at the hands of its owner. She shook her head from the side to back, hoping the bang that fell on her face would go back to its right place. She brought the lighter closer to her lips, and lit the Classic that stuck out of her mouth. As the tip grew into a glowing red, she let off a huge puff of blue smoke into the night sky and inhaled.<br />
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She threw the lighter onto the small coffee table that came with the chair. It has cracked. Just like her, I thought. She leaned back onto the chair, and blew another round of smoke into the air, but this time slowly. Her gaze turned to me.<br />
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"So.... Have you met Jack?", she asked.<br />
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I was a bit confused. I didn't remember any Jack who was a common friend. Nor did I seem to recollect anyone by that name whom she had mentioned before. But I knew it better not to ask her then. I nodded in denial.<br />
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She leaned forward and reached out to the empty glass on the coffee table. She got up and walked a few steps to the table in the dining room. There was an almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the it. She titled the bottle and filled her glass with the golden brown liquid. Once she was happy with the quantity she had poured herself, she kept back the bottle on the table, never bothering to put the cap back on it. She removed the lid of the ice bucket, and dipped her hand inside it. She grabbed whatever she could with her hand, which was three pieces of ice that had already melted quite a bit, and dropped them with a plop into her poison.<br />
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She grinned at me, and danced her way back to balcony on her toes, doing an occasional turn with the glass raised high, as if it were her partner. She came to the balcony, and leaned on towards me. She reached till my chin. I could smell alcohol in her breath. And tobacco too. And above all that, the very distinctive smell of her. She grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, and pulled herself closer to me. She raised her other hand, the one with the glass, and began to swirl the golden liquid inside the glass in front of my face.<br />
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She looked straight into my eyes, and asked me again "So..... Have you met Jack?"Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-64980958390500364972015-03-25T23:34:00.000+05:302015-03-25T23:34:56.671+05:30Reflections...I've been away from blogging for some time now. To be precise, nothing after that one post in January. As usual, I put the blame on the hectic schedule and the lack of inspiration. Somehow, I felt the need to post today. A short one, maybe. But nevertheless, a new post. And I've decided that it will be a status update on 2015 and my life so far.<br />
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2015 has been full of surprises for me. Three months are almost over, and I've loved most part of it. Professionally, this new year has been productive. I'm expecting a transfer and I may have to move out by next month end. I'm hopping that it will be to some place far.<br />
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The year has also been awesome as far as my wanderlust is concerned. Three months, and I've already covered places in three states. Theatre festival, road trips, paragliding, Bangalore (twice, actually), it has already been a handful. And I loved every bit of it. And I'm expecting to go some place in the first week of April itself! And more states and countries by the end of the year!<br />
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My profile on <a href="http://www.tripoto.com/" target="_blank">Tripoto </a>is active now, almost one year after I joined the website. The link to my profile is <a href="http://www.tripoto.com/manish-9683" target="_blank">here</a>. It has travelogues for some of the trips I undertook. And a few more are waiting to be written. It's a nice feeling when people like your trips and add them to their wishlists. The feeling is incredible.<br />
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I'm slowing picking up on my lost interest for reading. I completed reading two novels among the dozens that I've been putting away. I hope to pick it up further, and return to the ways of voracious reading.<br />
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On the flip side, I've lost a ton of money on the stock market. Ironic as it may sound, since the stock market has shot up in leaps and bounds during recent times, one particular stock I invested heavily in tumbled down. Even though I tried everything to minimize the loss, I still lost heavily; almost all the profit I had made so far from the stock market over the years. And with that, my dream of backpacking through Europe this year.<br />
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<b>FootNote</b>: 28 is a couple of months away. The idea of being in my late twenties is finally dawning upon me. And that has left me wondering whether I waited a tad too long for making certain decisions.<br />
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<b>ToeNote</b>: Seems like the idea of me being in my late twenties is not my concern alone. My parents, apparently, seem more concerned than me. Long story short, I've a profile on at least one matrimony site. For those of you who know me, if you've got up from the floor and stopped laughing, I know it would be a pleasant surprise. But yes, its' true. I guess I'm already scar(r)ing the eligible women for life with the profile!<br />
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<b>NailNote</b>: I'm really happy that the Honourable Supreme Court of India decided to scrap the Section 66(a) of the IT act. My sincere salute to all those <i>aam admi</i>s who worked hard to achieve this. All those social media addicts, and media moghuls, shouldn't you all take a lesson from this?! Ideally, it would be "Barking dogs seldom bite!". Now, sue me!Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-40331490988926421602015-01-25T21:26:00.000+05:302015-01-25T21:26:42.471+05:30Dear Rahel.....<div style="text-align: justify;">
Since you've been gone for long, let me tell you. Do you know what time of the year it is now? It is that time after the sweetness of November, when December descends along with the chill and the winds. And in the air, hangs a special smell. A smell that went through a transition over the years. The smell of discovery. Something I've been in love with ever since.</div>
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It's now that Alstonia Scholaris, our good old pala maram, starts to bloom. And woman, isn't that smell heavenly?! Every day, I travel many a kilometers on a road that's spotted with huge pala marams that stand towering on the roadside. Every night, as I sit in the almost empty KSTRC and head back home, the smell of the bloom enthrals me, as if it were a celestial dancer. Or more suitably, one of the many Yakshis from the pala maram, who wants to lure you with the unmistakable fragrance. With the chill of December and the long winds, you could never say no to her even if you knew it could be last thing you would ever be smelling. In the mornings, the tarred highway would be pleasantly white at places; the deathbed of the bloom, the reminiscent of a one-night stand!</div>
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I said discovery because I always thought that Plumeria was actually what we call as Pala. And was I scared as a boy of going by the muddy pathway near my ancestral house because there was a Plumeria tree slanting on to the road! It wasn't until my third year in college, when we moved in to the Men's Hostel 2, the fort of SFI loyals, that I discovered the real pala.</div>
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Straight in front of the hostel was a huge Alstonia tree. And there were other such trees dotting the landscape around the college. During one winter, Estha was mesmerized by the strange fragrance that seemed to fill the insanely chilly nights near the college. Ever inquisitive that Estha was, he asked the workers in mess the source of this divinely smell, only to discover that this would be considered far from divine; that his beliefs were proved wrong. While everyone chose to stay away from the tree at night, Estha lied down on the small tarred road just beneath the ill fated tree and blew away blue smoke into the night, thinking his many thoughts, waiting for the beautiful Yakshis to descend upon him, take him to their abode, make sweet love to him, drain away his body fluids, and leave him a lump of flesh beneath the tree for the dawn to discover.</div>
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And then there were five deaths in the college, one after another, within a short span of a few months. It didn't help that the last one was a suicide, right inside the hostel that the tree over shadowed. That the body was discovered after three days, found hanging from the fan.</div>
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Sometimes, I wonder what the tree did to gain such notoriety. That such a heavenly fragrance can be considered to bring upon doom. But I was always in love with the tree and its call of love. Maybe, I love all things evil. But then, my dear Rahel, who are we to judge? We are just quite grown up children and pretty childish adults.</div>
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Love,</div>
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Estha</div>
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Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.2778471 75.89171140000002 10.777436100000001 76.53715840000001tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-62823585883843206032014-08-26T18:21:00.001+05:302014-08-28T12:40:10.363+05:30A Cup of Chai, Her Majesty's Way<div style="text-align: justify;">
To all the <i>chai </i>lovers out there, have you ever wondered how that hot, steaming brew reached your hands? No, no. I'm not here to explain the process of picking tea leaves and drying, and processing them into what you find in colourful packets in your local supermarket. I'm hear to rant about a trip that I took recently to one of the many tea estates in Kerala.</div>
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I took a road trip to Wayanad on 27th of last month. There were four of us and the destination was a tea estate bungalow in Wayanad that belong to one of the biggest business groups in India. The estate was one among the many the group owned in India. One among us had a friend who worked as the manager in one of those estates.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTufYJpOtjrAtiWy-IoK0ck0kLMCrod6j6wfeIzL-b0vfSkkE2aL-2kr-18ij8HmGTBF5kscJTN0oYNm7GisRLM9g8y-Bmbz0puyw1Uw17rS4aRxzHLWBuDjE0H2AbsqGQMbpP9j1mp0/s1600/DSC00169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgTufYJpOtjrAtiWy-IoK0ck0kLMCrod6j6wfeIzL-b0vfSkkE2aL-2kr-18ij8HmGTBF5kscJTN0oYNm7GisRLM9g8y-Bmbz0puyw1Uw17rS4aRxzHLWBuDjE0H2AbsqGQMbpP9j1mp0/s1600/DSC00169.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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The bungalow was in the middle of the tea estate, old style, with sloping roofs, common to every tea estate. It wasn't built by the British and the architecture declared it openly. A long, narrow, winding, stone paved path took one to the bungalow from the foothills of the estate. It drive was about one and half kilometers, but it would take one about 20-30 minutes to negotiate it and reach the top, especially if it has rained. </div>
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Surrounded by tall deciduous trees, the bungalow gives you a warm, cozy feeling. But the striking feature about the estate, the bungalow, and the need for this post is the culture being followed. It was the British who paved way for the development of the tea estates in Wayanad and Munnar. Even 67 years after the British left India, these tea estates still follow the British culture and hierarchy religiously. </div>
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The estate managers are pampered in true British style. You've a full time cook, a house keeper, and a gardener to cater to your needs in the bungalow. Hot, steaming food is served round the clock. And you've people to cater to every need of yours - to make beds, to do laundry, provide you clean sheets, clean the house, tend to the plants, and what not! And they stand with utmost reverence and look up to their "masters". The managers are provided with an old Royal Enfield, company maintained and serviced. Add to that the fact that the official uniform for the managers is shirt/t-shirts tucked in with company issue half trousers complete with leather belts and shoes!</div>
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The final touch is added by the fact that the company still follows the system left by the British. We still find a lot of British Raj existing here openly. For example, the estates have a strict hierarchy system, and you've access to people only on a need basis. There is the manager, the assistant manager, the supervisor, and then the different classes of plantation workers. The managers are not allowed to mingle with the locals, or make purchases from any of the shops near the estate! All your supplies are to be purchased from the company owned store some 20-30 kilometers away!</div>
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Sometimes, we take things for granted. The manager of the estate tells me that there was an uprising among the estate workers recently that saw a lot of violence. As a remnant of the struggle, I had noticed two red flags on either side of the main gate leading to the estate. As you take a sip of the hot beverage and read this, you didn't know that there are a hundred stories to be told about that <i>chai</i> in your hand and how Her Majesty still influences the lives of thousands even after six decades of independence!</div>
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<b>FootNote</b>: The break was a much needed one and the drive was lovely. The Ritz came as a surprise with decent handling on the ghat road and a good mileage even though a good part of the journey was in first and second gears. The stay was awesome, the company was great, and the climate, lovely. I really wish I could spend more time in the estate.</div>
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<b>ToeNote</b>: The post was a long overdue one. The British feel intrigued me and left me uneasy. But due to my laziness, I couldn't find the time or energy to write it. I've always been a <i>chai</i> lover. I wanted to be a coffee lover, but it always ended up with the <i>chai</i>. And now, as I finish this post, I'm sipping on my cup of <i>chai</i>!</div>
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<b>NailNote</b>: The past week has been so phew! Hopefully, a post on it would be coming soon - The Week That Wasn't! :)</div>
Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-53325590473849679312014-08-18T01:48:00.000+05:302014-08-18T22:30:45.597+05:30One of Those Nights...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is one of those nights when you feel like the whole world had slept, leaving you awake and lonely. Another bout of insomnia; you feel like your legs are warm. No. Not warm. They are hot. And sweaty. You get out of the bed and walk to the washroom. You take the health faucet and direct the jet of water onto your leg. You feel the coldness of the water hit you as you stand there with closed eyes, reveling in an orgasmic comfort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You get back to the bed, your legs still dripping the water onto the floor with each of your step. You feel dirty. I'm going to get all the dirt on the floor onto my leg, you think. You tip toe for the rest of the distance to the bed and jump onto it. You pull the comforter over your body. You can't sleep without a blanket, no matter how hot it is. You've strange habits. You know it too. But you decide to keep you feet peeping out of the comforter.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You stare into the roof, into the darkness that forms an oblivion at the moment. You can hear the fan but you can't see it. You lie there for a while to see if your eyes will get adjusted to the darkness and you'll be able to see the blades of the fan churning out circles. You can't!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You take out your mobile and go through your list of "friends" and acquaintances. You wonder how you define a "friend". Strange! You hadn't thought of that one before. Naah. You were always too lazy to define your relations, weren't you. You see no one to whom you want to talk to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wait! There's X. You haven't talked to X in a long time, have you? You ping her and wait for a reply. 5 minutes! 10 minutes! She hasn't replied. But then, it's 1 AM. She might be asleep, you tell yourself. OR she might be talking to someone else, tells the devil inside you!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You fight the urge to call her and see if her phone is busy or on call waiting! You didn't want to sound desperate and lonely. And more importantly, you didn't want to hurt your ego! It was already bruised, wasn't it? No, you say. Scratched, yes maybe, but not bruised, you explain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today. No no. Today is Monday already. Yesterday. Yes, yesterday she had got engaged. Who's she? One of the people whom you knew. Someone from a few years ago. She had invited you to the function but you had already told her you wouldn't come. She didn't ask for an explanation either. Now that you remember, you send her a message saying "congratulations". Full stop.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The legs are warm again. And sweaty too. It makes you restless. You move your legs up and down on the sheets involuntarily. You remember the movie, where they would use this to let the audience know that there's love making going on! Love making? Really? You're surprised at yourself! Okay. Fucking! Happy?!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Where did it all start. Wasn't the engagement. A couple of days earlier, you had decided to ping another friend whom you "knew"! Funny thing that she's always online yet you both haven't talked in years. You ping her. She pings you back. The pleasantries are over. Congratulate me, she says? What? Really? You're married?! You say congratulations. You knew she had a steady guy for many years now. But still. *sigh* Another one down! You're looking for the nearest exit. Finally, you say I'm happy for you. Really, she asks you. No, not really, you tell the truth. After all, you had nothing to lose. You find your exit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The heat is unbearable. You throw the sheets away and get out of the bed. You strip yourself off your boxers and tee and walks straight into the bathroom, naked. You turn on your rain shower. The cold water hits you like realization and you stand there soaking it up, your hands resting on the walls and the water trickles down you hair, to your face, your body, and onto the floor. One of those nights, you mutter to yourself as you drink up the drops of water on your lips!</span></div>
Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-61191204143257578662014-06-16T00:36:00.000+05:302018-05-14T20:20:02.018+05:30Because We'll Never Have Paris...<div style="text-align: justify;">
My seat in the office is towards the back of the premises, in its farthest corner. No wonder it is called the back-office. I saw him talking to the person in one of the counters and she pointed towards me. He had a packet in his hand. I figured he worked for some parcel service and waited in anticipation as he walked across the room towards me.</div>
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"Are you Manish?", he asked me.</div>
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"Yes." I replied and looked above on the wall behind my chair. My name and designation was displayed prominently in blue and yellow. He caught my glance and looked at the nameplate.</div>
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"You've a courier."</div>
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I took it from him and signed the acknowledgement slip he shoved in front of me. It was a small package and on it was a handwriting I had never seen before. I shook it to get an idea of what was inside it. Whatever it was, it was small compared to the size of the packet. I tore open one of the sides using a pen knife. Inside was a small, rectangular cardboard box, the kind that key chains come in, rolled many a times in a bubble wrapper. I unwound the wrapper and opened the box. Inside was a pocket watch in antique copper finish with the Eiffel Tower etched on it. To the right of the engraved tower were the words "Paris". The watch was placed carefully in the middle of the box, with wads of tissue paper stuffed alongside to cushion it from the possible jerking during its transit.</div>
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Lying in the bottom of the box was a note, handwritten on a small piece of paper, unsigned. It read, "Because we shall never have Paris???". I instantly knew the sender of this thought out gift.</div>
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**********</div>
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Have you ever met someone and instantly knew how it was going to end if you tried to get any closer to them than as a mere acquaintance? And then, in spite of knowing that it will, in all possibility, rake up your whole life, and the routines and the principles you've set for yourself, taken the plunge to get deeper into them? An year back, I did exactly that, and now, I am here, holding the pocket watch in my hand, pressing the little knob on its top to flip open its cover, and then closing it with a click, only to open it again, and again, and again. By now, the battery of the watch had died down and time had frozen at 11.19. Strange, I thought. Time seemed frozen when we were together too. But now, it had began to thaw and I could see through it, stark reality staring at me through a bluish haze. She was gone. Her last message to me was sent a few days back. In the wee hours of Thursday morning to be exact. Quite an irony that she chose that exact date! The day after our supposed first anniversary of discovering each other's existence.</div>
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**********</div>
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He often told her, "You're me with a pair of boobs!". And she would smile. So, he wasn't surprised about the fact that she was gone. It wasn't like she wanted to stay. Neither did he ask her to. But the fact remains that she was gone, for ever. She was bore down by the weight of small, golden band on one of her fingers, with a name inscribed on its outside, <b>the way he wanted it</b>. </div>
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She was entangled in a web she herself had created, and he simply stood there, watching, as she writhed and squirmed, weighed down more with each attempt to break free. At times, he thought of himself as a superhero from the anime she loved. He dreamt of jumping into the web, one hand holding tight onto the rope, while he grabbed her in his other, ultimately landing on the antagonist, Herr Doktor, as the sheer force of landing pushes him over. But alas, if only he realized that life is no superhero movie, and that you don't wear your underwear over your pants in real life!</div>
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While she was still there, she shook the very foundation of his life, the principles he had set out for himself and his self centered ego. As days merged into nights and the first rays of light dawned upon the night sky, every turn was a surprise to them. She talked about far away lands, of charming princes, of wars fought with a vengeance, and he lied there, listening, a gleam in his eyes, mesmerized like the king from The Arabian Nights!</div>
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**********<br />
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It rained that day. It started as a drizzle and later it poured. But it didn't matter. He claimed it was meant to be a surprise. But she knew it all along. And she was waiting for him from the morning itself. What happened next wouldn't have crossed either of their minds. Or did it?! But how, when, why? It didn't matter then, it doesn't matter now. They did learn some valuable lessons that day:</div>
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#1: You don't wear white when it rains and when he's coming.</div>
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#2: The smell of blood lingers for long, and sometimes it does smell good!</div>
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#3: Stupid is as stupid does.<br />
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#4: If you've got a gut feeling, then it's probably going to be true.<br />
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#5: Sometimes, it's good to be spontaneous and simply let go.<br />
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**********</div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">She was many a first for him, and she taught him a few things that were new to him. She taught him to express in hashtags. She showed him the difference between being a girl and being a woman. She showed him what depth meant. She made him realize what he had been doing all these years. She taught him all, because he was her M Boy!</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">All he has to say now is "We may never have Paris, but we shall always have <b>The Valley</b>!" #MissUs</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><b>FootNote</b>: The works on this post was started months ago, but the words were hard to find. Finally, it was promised for the 11th of June. And as always, promises were broken. Better late than never. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">This post is special, and hence doesn't have a <b>ToeNote </b>or a <b>NailNote</b>. </span></div>
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Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com2Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-76524620517688173702014-06-08T01:27:00.001+05:302014-06-08T02:03:45.618+05:30How Old Are You?On the onset, let me clarify that this isn't a movie review. It just happens so that Manju Warrier decided to return to the glittering world of cinema with a movie with a title similar to my blog post. But this post has got nothing to do with the movie. Or at least I hope so, since I haven't watched the movie and hence, am ignorant about what the hype about the movie is all about! Rather, this is in continuation of my previous post, a rambling about what Being 27 actually means to me.<br />
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<b>Being 27 and Single:</b> This is by far the biggest problem I've been facing since the past few months. Everyone's wondering why I'm still single. No no. They don't want me to have a girlfriend and flaunt her. They all want me to get married! Parents, grandparents, uncles, aunties, married friends, unmarried friends, customers, colleagues; seems like everyone want me to get married! Do I look like a social wreck that needs to be chained to shackles of marriage to undergo reformation? When I say I don't want to get married, they react as if they have seen a ghost! Oh come on. Give me this one. This is my life!<br />
<br />
I can't blame them either. It looks like everyone has caught this new frenzy of getting married early. No, I'm not talking about my female friends and acquaintances. I'm talking about the <i>darker sex</i>, the men! Most of my dear friends got married a year or two ago. And now, when I call them to find out if they are attending some function, I get replies like,<i> "No da, my kid had his vaccination yesterday and he might have body pain and fever. So I need to be here!"</i> And I go, <i>"Ohkay. Hey, you carry on. I'll call you later!" </i>They are more than happy to keep the call.<br />
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When I tried to find out the reason for this sudden change in the mindset of my generation, I received some interesting replies too. Some claimed that they wanted to get married soon since it would give them some time as a cushion while they "settled down" in life. Some tried to bang their married-funny-bone by saying that if they married early and had kids early, they could probably enjoy their late 40s sharing a drink with their son! Duh. I personally think that the main reason would be increased number of love marriages.<br />
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One friend, in course of conversation, said, "You too get married. Then we can go on tours together, like our good old days!" Yeah right! Like old times. Except that we all would be "plus one"!!!<br />
<br />
We, a group of bachelors, were sitting in our usual spot near Punkunnam. Seeing us, an Innova screeched to a halt and the driver rolled down his door's glass. It was one of our schoolmate. He had changed his car. We ask him why and he replies, "My wife had a second child last week and moving around in our old car was a bit clumsy. So, I decided to get a second hand Innova." And as he waited expectedly for our next question, we asked, "How much did you pay for the car?" !!! Probably not what the question he expected! Family Guy 0 - Bachelors 1.<br />
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<b>Being 27 and Smart-ass:</b> I commute to my office in buses. I rarely take my car. Hence, I've to catch at least two buses either way, every single day. Most of the time, the buses will be crowded and chances of getting a seat is a rarity. I prefer to travel by KSRTC and some of them tend to be almost half empty at times.<br />
<br />
I love the seat in the very front of the KSTRC buses, the loner seat, as I call it. I love it for a multitude of reasons. First is the view; you get an unhindered view of everything before you as you travel. And then, there is no one budging at your arms and breathing down your sides. The whole seat is yours and yours only. Finally, no one could possibly put their head outside the bus and puke in such a way that it lands on you! But there's always the chance of ending up hurt or even dead in case of a head-on collision or getting completely drenched in the rain. Nevertheless, the seat is worth taking these chances!<br />
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But there are some days when you won't get your favourite seat and you'll have to compromise on your seating. In such cases, I always choose a two-seater seat since it is the next best thing. Sometimes, I feel like Sheldon Cooper and his spot when choosing the next best seat available. I do a lot of math and calculations before arriving at my decision. Now, there are some bulky males who always chooses to ignore the empty seats elsewhere and sit next to me, seeing my less than athletic figure. I squirm at such moments and see it as an invasion of my personal space. At such times, I ignore the fact that the bus is in fact a public utility and gets all too defensive about it. And then there are the equally aggressive ones among them who try to take up your space too, pushing you to the corner just because you're frail! So, what do you do then?<br />
<br />
My solution is quite simple. Pick up your phone, dial a number and speak to your "friend" about the little boils that you noticed on your body this morning and how you're convinced that it's chicken pox and how someone you work with caught it a couple of weeks ago. While talking, it helps if you can manage to search your hands for any possible boils with a nonchalant face. Works every time. But there's always a risk of someone saying it aloud for others to hear it. But always worth taking the chance!<br />
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<b>Being 27 and Still Being Mamma's Boy:</b> I'm not the least bit ashamed to say that I've always been mamma's boy. Maybe not as per your cliched definitions of the term, but by my own derivations of the same. There was always one thing that I cared for and was careful of - not hurting my mother. I love her immensely even when she nags me about getting married. Or gives it an emotional twist by asking me who will take care of me when she's gone!<br />
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She isn't sad when you forget her birthday almost every year. She still wishes you in the morning, as soon as you wake up, on every single one of your birthdays so far. And even though it's 9 at night when you get back from office and she wouldn't be home then, she has made <i>payasam </i>and kept it for you just because it's your birthday. It feels good to be mamma's boy even at 27! <b><i>There are some things in life that money can buy; for everything else, there's Mother!</i></b><br />
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<b>FootNote:</b> I celebrated my 27th year of existence with very little fanfare. The best thing about being absent from social networking sites is that you know who remembers your birthday in spite of not having some weird app that remind them it's your birthday. I got a few pleasant surprises. For all those who wished me, just wanted to let you know that it was really, really special!<br />
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<b>ToeNote:</b> After a really long time, I received a couple of e-cards and a real birthday card too. A special "Thank You" to both of you.<br />
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<b>NailNote:</b> Even when you claim to be mature and nonchalant, the silences of certain someones hurt. And in spite of claiming to know that expectations hurt, you still expect.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com2Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-47539927120462235382014-05-31T11:30:00.000+05:302014-06-03T23:41:49.560+05:30Being 27: The Pre-Birthday Random MusingsI turn 27 in a few days; June 4th to be exact. I've been struck with another phase of writer's block after a good streak and I feel creatively challenged. So I've decided to blog about 27 random things about me, my life so far, and the random things that comes to my mind during the next hour or so. So, here we go!<br />
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1.) I'm a rationalist and an atheist since the age of 15.<br />
2.) I believe in the communist ideology but hate the communist parties in India.<br />
3.) I love travelling and I've a huge list of places which I want to visit/backpack through.<br />
4.) I still have a scar from the <a href="http://provogue.blogspot.in/2009/03/accidents-do-happen-but-u-hav-to-work.html" target="_blank">bike accident</a> that happened 5 years ago. My parents want me to get it removed by surgery. But I want it to remain, as a reminiscent of my college life and my first accident.<br />
5.) I've never written a blog post for partaking in a contest, howsoever tempting the rewards were. I believe in writing straight from the heart and not forcing myself to write about something because there is expectation of something at the end of it. And I write for myself, and no one else and when and only when, the words come out straight from my heart. I hope I do not change during the course of time.<br />
6.) I don't like the idea of social networking. I don't have a Facebook account. Nor do I've an Orkut/Twitter/MySpace/Whatsapp/WeChat account. My only social face would be this blog and my LinkedIn profile.<br />
7.) I used to be an old timer in the <i>A Smoke Filled Cafe</i> room in Rediff Bol Chat.I really, really miss those good old days.<br />
8.) I wrote my first piece of creative writing when I was 10 (that's as far as I can recollect). It was a single stanza poem with four lines which I still remember it. And one of the girls, whom I didn't like at the time, read it loud to the whole class. I still disliked her. And a year later, she did something for me that I'd never forget and would be ever grateful for. Thank you Jerin. I really wish I had kept in touch with you when you left the school a couple of years later.<br />
9.) During my yearly appraisal a month back, my office head asked me not to be too straightforward and outspoken but to be "diplomatic". I simply smiled.<br />
10.) I'm a sapiosexual. The ignorant among you, stop grinning. If you have to Google it to know what it really means, it probably doesn't concern you.<br />
11.) When I wrote sapiosexual above, Blogger didn't find it amusing or worthy enough of adding to its lexicon. Instead, it suggested homosexual!!!<br />
12.) The first thing I did when I turned 18 was to apply for a driver's license. I love driving and travelling. Happiness is driving a red car!<br />
13.) Talking about driving and travelling, I'm waiting to buy my own Royal Enfield.<br />
14.) I almost got thrown out of college for something that had to do with sanitary napkins!<br />
15.) I was the college debate champion for consecutive years. I'd a wonderful debate partner in Nanditha.<br />
16.) I started blogging in 2005. I left the <i>blogosphere </i>and quit blogging in <a href="http://provogue.blogspot.in/" target="_blank">my first blog</a> because one particular woman was keen on harassing me and shooting false accusations at me publicly.<br />
17.) I cut my first birthday cake ever last year in my office. It was a pleasant surprise and special too.<br />
18.) I window shop on e-commerce sites when I'm bored!<br />
19.) I'm a perfectionist and feel quite guilty when I've to finish up for the sake of finishing up.<br />
20.) My first crush was probably my classmate from kindergarten. From what I know, we even used to go to the toilet together! Years later, I tried to trace her whereabouts but was unsuccessful. I've no idea where she's right now.<br />
21.) After completing my bachelors degree in electrical engineering, I shunned two IT jobs to take up my present job in the bank even though it paid me less than half of what the IT companies offered me at that time. I hated the IT life and wanted to be in the service sector and reach out to people. But four and half years down the lane, there have been quite a few times when I introspected my decision.<br />
22.) A year ago, I met someone here on the <i>blogosphere </i>and my world was never the same. She is so much like me yet so different. It lead me to learn a lot and unlearn a few. And she taught me to express in hashtags! Thank you so much, <i>Kuch Bhi</i>, because there could only be one you! #TheSpecialOne #GoodTimes<br />
23.) I tend to be introverted in real life. I take a lot of time to warm up to people and I don't do that quite often too. So, generally, people have the impression that I'm arrogant and conceited. Not that I bother. I was voted <i>Mr. Jada</i> during my first year at college!<br />
24.) I love the colour black and the number 13.<br />
25.) I'm a die hard Chelsea fan and dream of watching them play from the stands at Stamford Bridge.<br />
26.) I used to be a die hard fan of John Grisham and have read almost all of his novels. I loved his novels so much that I wanted to take up law after my school.<br />
27.) When I die, I want to be remembered as a storyteller.<br />
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<b>FootNote:</b> This post turned out to be much harder than I thought. After a while, the randomness got stuck in nothingness and I was left wondering what to write next!<br />
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<b>ToeNote:</b> I realized that age isn't in any way related to maturity and that people can still be real assholes even when at 75! #MyFirstCourtCase<br />
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<b>NailNote:</b> There is one particular post that has been in my draft for a long time now. I fervently hope that something/someone inspires me to finish it soon enough.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com26Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-30277621332177836452014-05-02T01:00:00.002+05:302014-05-03T00:07:38.060+05:30Incredible India - One Bottle of WaterI had decided to blog about topics which, according to me, are socially relevant under the title Incredible India way back in June 2012. But the only two posts under this tab were<a href="http://aninfiniterealm.blogspot.in/2012/06/incredible-india-boy-called-irfan.html" target="_blank"> A Boy Called Irfan</a> and <a href="http://aninfiniterealm.blogspot.in/2012/06/incredible-india-aam-aadmi-boards-train.html" target="_blank">Aam Aadmi Boards a Train</a>. A third had been playing inside my mind for more than an year but it never came out as words. But today, something happened that made me realize that the post was long overdue. So, here it is.<br />
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Today, I was on my back from Haripad after attending my friend's wedding. It was a blazing afternoon and I was tired. Tired because of two reasons. For one, I had barely slept the previous day, courtesy of Chelsea's loss to Atletico Madrid in UEFA Champions League Semi Finals. Add to that the heavy intake of <i>Payasams </i>and <i>Boli </i>at the wedding feast. No amount of <i>achchaars </i>and buttermilk could tone down my tiredness and sleepiness. All I wanted to do was catch a KSRTC to Thrissur and doze off for 5 hours.<br />
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My wish was answered after waiting in the hot sun for 15 minutes. I got an direct bus to Thrissur. As it happens with all the long distance buses stopping at intermediate bus stations, there was a good amount of commotion to get inside it. After a good deal of tugging and pulling, I managed to get inside the bus and get the window seat in a two-seater row. But the seat would be facing the sun throughout the journey. I had no other go but to settle for what I got.<br />
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Soon enough, an old woman came and sat next to me. She was probably in her 60s or 70s and hailed from the lower middle class strata of the society. But I hadn't noticed all this until later in the noon. I didn't even know till where she had taken a ticket. Once the bus started, I slipped into a deep sleep. This was something I don't do when travelling alone. But today, I was too tired and sleepy to care.<br />
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After about 45 minutes, the bus pulled into Alapuzha (Alleppy for you non-Keralites) bus station. By then, I had woken up from one of my numerous bouts of sleep and was sweating profusely. The sun was beating down on the side of my face and I could feel my skin burning. But I didn't dare to pull down the window shutters because I knew that it would make me suffocate and sweat even more.<br />
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Men, women and children pleading for financial aid is a common site in this part of the country. The modus operandi is simple - they enter the bus through the front door, make a heart wrenching presentation of their plight from the front side of the bus, and then go about collecting their "earnings" and leave by the back door. I see a lot of this drama every day on my way to work and I never bother to look their way. I'm of the mindset that if they are healthy enough to roam around the bus station every day, from morning to evening, doing this same drill over and over again, then they are fit enough to earn their own livings! And because of the same reason, I never give them any money.<br />
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Today too, a middle aged man with some "problem" entered the bus. As usual, he did his thing and started going from seat to seat, collecting money. Soon, he came to my seat and my co-passenger gave him a coin. It was probably 2 or 5 rupees. It was then that I first noticed her. I gave him nothing and he moved on. Now that the bus was on a stand still, I was sweating even more. And I was longing for something cold to drink. As if reading my thoughts, a man came by the side of the bus, selling chilled mineral water bottles. As soon as I saw him, I bought one. It was then that I saw a sight. The man who had come begging for alms was standing a few feet away, at a small shop, smoking a filter cigarette and someone else was counting his "collection" and giving him currency notes in exchange for the coins.<br />
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I wasn't the only one who saw him at that moment. The lady next to me saw it too. She leaned forward and stared at him for a long, long time. What she figured would be a part of his lunch money was going up in the air as thin, blue fumes! She was obviously angry at the man. I smiled at myself, opened my bottle of chilled water and drank it to my heart's content. It felt like bliss! As I screwed the cap on the bottle, I heard her speak for the first time.<br />
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"<i>Ithinu ethreya koduthe?</i>" (How much did you pay for this bottle of water?), she wanted to know.<br />
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"<i>Irupathu roopa.</i>" (Twenty rupees), I replied. It was then I saw that the price mentioned on the bottle was fifteen rupees only. The smirk on my face vanished. But I knew I'd have paid even fifty rupees for such a bottle at the time. It didn't bother me much.<br />
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"<i>Ayyo.</i>" (Oh my!)<br />
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"<i>Kurachu velam veno kudikaan?</i>" (Do you want some water to drink?), I asked her. Even now, I'm not sure why I asked that.<br />
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"<i>Venda</i>" (No)<br />
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After a moment, she asked me, "<i>Mon evideya irangunne?</i>" (Son, where are you getting down at?).<br />
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"Aluva", I said. I had already changed my destination from Thrissur to Aluva due to some other reason.<br />
<u><br /></u>
"<i>Enna mon irangumbo baaki undenkil enikku thanna mathi</i>" (In that case, you can give me the bottle of water when you get down if there is still left some water left in it.)<br />
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I felt a flushing of a cocktail of emotions in my throat. I offered her the water one more time but she declined. Soon, the bus started and I slipped into another set of broken sleeps.<br />
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<br />
Now to the incident that made me want to write on mineral water bottles more than an year back.<br />
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I've a good friend who worked in the same place as my previous posting. She hailed from a typical middle class family, was married, and had two small kids. Once, during one of our long chats about nothings, she told me about what had happened that day. The reason why she told me it was that her kids were fighting in the background over a bottle of water.<br />
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Her house was 2 kilometers walk from the bus stop. That day, her older child and she were walking back home after running some errands in the town. Her son had agreed to walk the whole distance to home and not crib about it and ask her to carry him on the condition that she would buy him a bottle of mineral water! And of course, he was to share it with his younger sister when they got home which, he apparently had some issues with, and hence the fight in the background.<br />
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What bothered me then was the fact that while shifting from our house (there were three of us) of two years in Aluva, we had a hard time disposing off the empty bottles of mineral water which we had drank. Finally, when we could find someone, it amounted to three sacks of 50 kg size each and that was after crushing every single bottle!!! We never switched on the refrigerator since we didn't want to waste electricity over a couple of bottles of water. (Yes, we were energy conscious!). Instead, we bought bottles of chilled water and ended up creating a huge piles of empty bottles in the kitchen.<br />
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Hailing from a state where many a water struggles were staged in Plachimada and surrounding areas over potable drinking water, I felt so guilty at that moment. It felt as if I was taking away a huge chunk from the kids' future. Today, the lady in the bus reminded me of those two kids and their fight over a bottle of water. For someone who was ready to dig deep into her pockets to help a fellow human being, she found the bottle of water too expensive! What was a luxury to two small kids was merely a routine for us!<br />
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<b>FootNote</b>: As I was getting ready to get down at Aluva, I offered the bottle of water to the lady. It was still half full. She was hesitant for a moment but took it when I insisted. I didn't look at her face to see her reaction as she took it. I didn't want to. I just gave it to her and moved towards the door. Now, I've no face to remember her by. I didn't want that either.<br />
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<b>ToeNote</b>: I made it three posts in the month of April. That would be a new record on this blog since its inception. The new year starts on a new hope. For those of you who are wondering if I'd gone berserk, for us bankers, the year starts in the month of April! And in all probability, it has got something to do with the 1st being April Fool's day!<br />
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<b>NailNote</b>: The past week and month have been full of surprises and twists, most part of which were pleasant. Here's wishing myself that the rest of the year follows on a similar high note! Good night.<br />
<br />Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-83511626132309865552014-04-26T02:33:00.000+05:302014-04-26T22:49:06.213+05:30The One Time in the Bathroom<div style="text-align: justify;">
A typical day (or night) in <b>YOUR </b>life! </div>
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<b>Warning:</b> This post has been rated X. It contains graphical descriptions of nudity, obscenity, and violence that could scar your minds for ever. Read this only if you're above 18 years of age. If you're below 18, I request you to close this page immediately and clear your cache memory.</div>
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It is a few minutes past 8.30 PM. You have just arrived home after a grueling day at work. And the long travel? Oh even worse. You enter your room. This is the one place where you're the ultimate boss. This is your kingdom and you're The King. Errrr. Wait a minute! Let's make that The Prince. The King is probably downstairs, siting on the sofa, snoring away to the rhythm of the soap opera running on the television. The Queen, on the other hand, stares unblinkingly into the idiot box, engrossed in the woes of the <b><i>abala naari</i></b>, the reincarnation of Sita Devi herself, the epitome of selflessness and sacrifice, who loved one man, married another and gave birth to another man's child! She is quite oblivious to the snores of His Highness. A sigh escapes her nostrils.<i> Poor woman, what did she do to deserve all this in her life?!</i> The sigh reverberates through the house and finds its way to your room upstairs. A sigh escapes your nostrils too. <i>Polyamory, extra marital affairs, and the comforts and security of a marriage, and she's still the <b>abala naari</b>! Welcome to the world of soaps!</i></div>
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Errr. Where were we? Ah yes, you're in your room. Okay. Now, the room feels stuffy. The summer is at its peak but the nights are cool, and you sleep like a baby, thanks to the air conditioner that works hard to spit out cold air into your room. So, that means a strict no no to open windows. No wonder the room felt stuffy. <i>Wait a minute! Why do they use the phrase sleep like a baby when most babies, in actual, wakes up and cries a lot during the night?! Strange! </i>You decide that it is time for some fresh air to enter your province. It had rained yesterday night. Who knows? Maybe the atmosphere outside is cool. You forget the fact that you had just walked half a kilometer from the bus stop to your house in this very same atmosphere! You draw the curtains to either sides. Click! Click! Click! Click! And lo and behold, two windows are open. You stand in front of the open windows, waiting for a gush of chilly wind to caress your face. A moment passes. Two. Three. Nothing. The atmosphere outside isn't as Shimla-like as you imagined it to be. You feel like an idiot and decide to take your evening shower.</div>
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You strip out of your formal clothing and dump them in your laundry bag. You tie your Turkish towel around your waist to cover your loins. You see your reflection in the almost full-length mirror in your room. <i>Not bad</i>, you say to yourself! You try to do a little <i>Saawariya </i>in front of the mirror! <i>Jab Se Tere Naina, Mere Naino Se Lage Re.</i> Suddenly you realize what you're doing and stops yourself. You hear the Russell Peters inside you say, <i>Be a Man!</i> You think he's right. <i>It's macho time, baby!</i> And then, you begin to show off those little pecks of muscle that you have. <i>Ding! Ding! And here comes your hero, weighing a 130 pounds, from the God's Own Country, and the current heavy weight champion, The Yoooooooooouuuuuuuuu!</i> You can see Salman Khan in the mirror, rolling on the floor, laughing his ass out and peeing all over himself. You quit your antics and walk into your bathroom.</div>
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You strip to Adam state and hang your towel on the towel rod. You switch on the new vaporizer you had bought a couple of days ago. You've a bad cold since the past week. <i>Sneeze!</i> You take in the steam for a good 5 minutes. Wow! That's the longest stretch by far! If your Regional Head had seen this, he would instantly send an email to the region group. <i>Good Job, Team You for using the vaporizer for five minutes! Kudos! Who will be the next one?</i> Another sigh escapes. The steam has formed a layer of mist of your bathroom mirror. You write your name on it with your fingertip. <b>Y-O-U</b>. </div>
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Wait a minute! What's this? Your eyes fall upon the tube of clarifying mud pack on the shelf next to the mirror. <i>How did this get here?</i>, you wonder. You don't remember buying it. Yet, it is half empty. You must have bought it long time ago. <i>But why didn't I notice it till now.</i> You're baffled. After all, you stand in front of the mirror twice every day, brushing your teeth. <i>Okay. Now now! I agree that on some days it is just once but come on, give me the benefit of doubt!</i> You plead for your cause. After all, you wanted to be a lawyer, didn't you?</div>
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Anyways, you decide to try it now. You read the instructions on the back of the tube. <i>Apply evenly over cleansed face and neck, avoiding the area around the eyes. Allow it to dry for 10-15 minutes. Remove with a wet sponge and wash the skin with cold water.</i> Okay. You know it all by now. You open the cap and squeeze the tube. A gush of air comes out with a sound. <i>It sounds like a fart</i>, you think. You realize that it was more empty than you imagined. But you're no loser. There's no going back now for you're The Prince! Having lived in a hostel for 4 years, you know more than well how to squeeze the last bit of toothpaste out of a tube that's so thin and beaten that you could tie a string to it and fly it as a kite! You start from the bottom and gently work your way up towards the neck until you get what you wanted. It reminds you of something else. Something you did the same way. What was it? What was it? You try hard to remember. And then it strikes you - <b>Women</b>! <i>Silly me</i>, you think!</div>
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You have enough cream on the insides of your palm. You begin to apply generously of what was left in the tube. You didn't want to keep anything more for later. Suddenly, you start feeling a tingling on your face. <i>Okay, this is funny!, </i>you think. You check the tube for the expiry date. It is still in its safe usage period. You're half relieved. Then you see it, in tiny italics - <i>May cause a tingling sensation due to herbal active ingredients, which is normal.</i> You smile to yourself. <i>Silly me!</i></div>
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You sit on the crapper and relaxes. You look down and smile. <i>That's my boy! Who's your daddy?! Who's your daddy?! </i>The smile turns to a grin. But the <b>boy </b>looks uninterested! Suddenly, you hear your intestines calling out to you, <b><i>Hello! I'm trying to work here! And you're not helping the cause! </i></b>You're embarrassed and decide to postpone the boy-man thing to later. You lean back onto the flush tank and close your eyes.</div>
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You're brought back to reality by a strange noise. It is like something stirring against something. And then, it stopped. You can't place either of these <i>somethings</i>. As an instant reflex, you lift your legs from the floor and look around the toilet's base. Nothing. You keep your feet back on the floor cautiously while your eyes still search for the source. <i>Clear!</i> You look up on the roof of the bathroom. <i>Clear!</i> A third sigh escapes you. You throw a <i><b>are we done here?</b></i> look at your intestines. It nods back in denial. You lean back onto the flush yet again.</div>
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Then you hear it again. This time it lasts longer. It is from outside the bathroom. There is something outside that door and it is clawing at the bathroom door. It must be something fairly big by the sound of it. Mouse is your first guess. No way. It is a new house and there aren't any here. <i>What if it came through the window? Ah! Could it be?</i> Whatever it is, it couldn't come inside the bathroom through the narrow gap between the door and the flooring. But then, it will still be in your room, waiting for you to come out! The thought is somewhat creepy. You usually don't fear such small rodents or insects. But the fear of the unknown is inexplicable. </div>
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The thing is moving again. This time, you can see a black, long thing protruding from underneath the door. Now two! What is it? Tentacles? Legs? <i>Was it a scorpion?</i>, you wonder. <i>After all, it rained yesterday and the Earth had cooled down a bit. Or a cockroach? No. It wasn't as small as a cockroach. Besides, a cockroach, no matter how big, would have easily made it to the inside by now. Wait a minute! Is it what I think it is? I had thought it was just mythical. That Lilly and Marshall had simply made it up. That Robin had given in to it to make them feel good. Then it wasn't all cooked up, was it? Is it really the </i><b><a href="http://how-i-met-your-mother.wikia.com/wiki/Cockamouse" target="_blank">Cockamouse</a> </b><i>that is waiting for me outside??!!! </i></div>
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You start to hyperventilate. You quickly grab the health faucet. <i>Later honey, we've got a situation here</i>, you tell your bowels. It is a now or never moment. There is no escaping. This is when you face the worst of your fears. <i>If Robin could do it, so could I,</i> you decide. You grab hold of the long handle of the bathroom floor cleaner brush. <i>As soon as I open the door, hit it on its head,</i> you tell yourself. <i>Open, hit; Open, hit. No delay. </i>You sigh again. This is the fourth for the night. But this is different. This is a war cry. <i><strike>I don't know what I've been told. If I die in a combat zone. Box me up and send me home... </strike></i></div>
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And the door swings open. There it is. Huge and black. You hit it but misses by a few inches. But it falls onto the bathroom floor. And you get a good view of it. Thank goodness, it isn't a Cockamouse! But this is worse. This is a huge wood borer beetle, the size of your palm. <i>Okay, now that was an exaggeration! </i>Fine! Half the size of your palm. Happy?! Before you get a good view of it, it decides to test its wings to see the level of damage suffered in the surprise attack. And it flies straight at your <b>boy</b>! </div>
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You hardly have any time to realize what is happening. You are still busy staring at the beetle as if you could tell his scientific name by doing that. The beetle had attacked you at your most vulnerable spot. Maybe it could see that you were standing stark naked; both of you on equal playgrounds; no armors. The moment you realize what has happened, you shriek. Your shriek is muffled by the exhaust fan running at full speed. War fields are not for cry babies. You hit at beetle with your limp hand, forgetting for a moment where the beetle was resting. <b>Ouch!!!!!</b> The beetle fell to the ground so did you. You hit your elbow on the walls in the process. Luckily, your head is safe. You can feel fire burning inside you. Vengeance. <i>It really hurts!</i> </div>
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You decide to forget your pain for the moment and stands up. You arm yourself again. You search for your enemy. But the view is blocked by the tears that has formed in your eyes. No room for pain in the war field. You wipe off the tears with the back of your hand. There he is. He is pretty shocked too, it seems. He is lying on his back, unable to move or launch his next attack. <b>Everything is fair in love and war,</b> you remind yourself. You beat the brush in the general direction of the beetle again and again. And again. Tears and vengeance have blinded you again. By the time you regain your composure, the beetle is in a bad shape. Alive but hurt pretty badly.</div>
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Vengeance is such a bitch. You don't kill it. You leave it like that - injured, maimed, and begging for an quick death. You lift it by one of its legs. You are still a bit scared of a spring attack from his part. Your first thought is to flush it down the toilet. But then, you decide against it. You have seen a lot of Hollywood movie to convince you against doing that. <i>What if he gets mutated and comes back for revenge at your vulnerable worst, </i><i>when you least expect it</i><i>?! Don't forget, vengeance is a bitch! </i>You decide to throw it out of the ventilator. You open the ventilator and swing out the beetle. It falls two storeys down, into the lap of Mother Earth, where we shall all return one day. <b>Sigh the Fifth</b>!</div>
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You decide to complete what was interrupted earlier. You return to the throne a.ka. the crapper once again. You lean forward and hum a tune. It is the victory song. <i><strike>I don't know what I've been told. I know a girl dressed all in black. She makes her living on her back...</strike></i></div>
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And then, out of nowhere, something huge lands on the bare back of your body. It lands with a thud and you can feel it crawling on your back. You're so taken aback that you jump forward and collide head on with the wall. <i>Bang! </i>You vigorously shake your body and swing your hand over your back. Something falls on the ground. <b>It was him again!</b> You can't believe your eyes. Yes! <b>It was definitely him!</b> You could see his transparent blood oozing out of the part where you had broken him into two. And still he managed to fly two storeys high. But how did he get in? Remember the ventilator you opened? You were too proud and busy celebrating your victory that you forgot to close it. <b>Vengeance is definitely a bitch!</b> But you realize that it was all he had left in him. He couldn't launch another attack even if he wanted to. <i>It was time; time to go,</i> you tell yourself. You take out your sword and <i>swooooosh</i>! One blow is enough. He dies. A brave, warrior's death. You step back and give him a salute. <i>It was an honor fighting you!</i> You pick him again and return him to Mother Earth yet another time. But this time, you make sure that the ventilator is closed afterwards.</div>
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Those of you who thought that the story is over by now, brace yourself up. Because it isn't. You are quite happy with the final win but the bump on your head is growing. You realize that you need to rub a little water on it lest it grows huge! And you did exactly that. But you forget the fact the face pack is still on. And it drips onto your eyes. <b style="font-style: italic;">Oooouuuucccchhhhh!!!! </b>*clattering sound*<b style="font-style: italic;"> What did I break?!</b></div>
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<b>FootNote:</b> This has been an absolutely fantastic month for me, creatively and otherwise too. And with this post, I concede to the requests from a few dear friends to shed the serious crap and write something humorous in the lines of <a href="http://www.provogue.blogspot.in/2009/08/excuse-me-errr-is-that-my-crotch.html" target="_blank">The Barber Shop Story</a>. I'm not sure how much humor you found in this one, but I must say some serious <i><b>crap</b></i> was definitely <i><b>shed</b></i> throughout the story!</div>
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<b>ToeNote:</b> For all the die hard animal lovers, fanatic advocates of culture and heritage, and other self proclaimed "minorities" who were offended by my post, I present to you <b>The Bird</b>!</div>
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<b>NailNote:</b> To all those kids below 18 years of age who are still reading this, I'm sorry to disappoint you. But then again, if you actually "stumbled" upon this expecting something else, then you don't deserve what you were searching for to begin with! Kids!</div>
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Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-56568846776334905982014-04-16T00:35:00.000+05:302014-04-16T23:02:31.530+05:30The Three WishesThe afternoon was hot and humid. The sun was blazing on the tarmac covered parking area of the church giving rise to a mirage. It was completely empty. On any given morning, Sunday or otherwise, it would have been packed with cars. I pulled up the car underneath the lone tree that stood in the vast expanse of the courtyard. It looked as if the tree signified faith that stood the test of the sun, proclaiming aloud "O Come, Ye Faithful".<br />
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Both the doors opened at the same time. The first rays of the summer sun hit me like piercing arrows. We walked hurriedly towards the church's entrance, she led and I followed. The air inside the church was no different. It was hot and I instantly felt sweat forming inside my shirt. I felt an ease knowing that there was no one else inside the church.<br />
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She walked slowly towards the altar that stood empty. Her heels made a tapping sound on the wooden aisle, the sound resonating in the thick air of the empty church. Again, I followed her lead. She chose the second row of seats to the left. She knelt on the old, mosaic flooring of the church and drew a cross. Her hands automatically reached for her shawl and pulled it into a veil over her head. The non-believer that I was, I chose to sit on the wooden bench behind her while she got engrossed in her prayers.<br />
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The heat was getting to me now. I could feel the sweat drops forming along my collar line, later rolling down my chest, over my tummy and finally settling on my tucked-in shirt. I wondered how she could remain so oblivious to her surroundings. But then I knew the answer myself. She was a faithful, a firm believer. No amount of cajoling or reasoning could shake her faith. Boy, had I tried?!<br />
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I watched her as she stood kneeling, deep in her prayers. I looked at her lips. They weren't moving. But I could sense that a millions prayers were being chanted by her in the inside. I thought I could hear the hum of those prayers leaving her heart. Little beads of perspiration had started to form on her upper lips. The moment and her, both felt pristine.<br />
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I heard a sigh escape her. Tears were rolling down from her closed eyes. I was worried but knew it was best not to disturb her. Or ask her about it later on. She drew a cross again and opened her eyes. She wasn't looking at me. She stood and sat next to me, her eyes fixed on the figure high above the altar in front of her.<br />
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<i>"Is this the first time that you're coming here?"</i> She broke the silence in a timid whisper. I don't know why she whispered. Maybe she was afraid her voice would break the sanctity of the place.<br />
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<i>"Yes. Even though I've been here on a few occasions, I had never entered the church."</i> I replied in a whisper. What was I afraid of, I wondered! Being an atheist, I thought of myself as the equivalent of what the church called Satan. Shhh. I didn't want <i>them </i>to know that <i>I </i>was here! I think I had a smirk on my face then.<br />
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<i>"Anyone who visits this church for the first time should make three wishes. They say that it will come true." </i><br />
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I looked at her face. It reflected the purity of her heart; her innocence, and faith. I didn't want to make fun of it.<br />
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<i>"What did you wish for the first time you came here?"</i> I was curious.<br />
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<i>"I don't remember it. It was long ago, when I was still in school. It was probably about the exams or something similar. But I do remember that they came true."</i><br />
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I smiled.<br />
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We both returned our gazes towards the altar again. We left the church after spending some more time in total silence.<br />
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As we walked towards the car, she asked me, <i>"Did you make the three wishes?"</i><br />
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<i>"No."</i> I replied<br />
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She didn't pursue the matter anymore.<br />
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It was later in the afternoon. She was waiting for me by the curb as I bought cotton candies for both of us. She wanted pink, I wanted the white one. The mini truck swerved to the left. It was its outstretched rear view mirror that hit her arms from behind. The shock and pain made her swing, causing her to hit the metal advertisement board by the pavement.<br />
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She fell down on the pavement. The mini truck screeched to a halt. I stood transfixed to my spot seeing the sight unfolding before me. Another moment, and I regained my senses. But everything was like a mirage. I screamed her name. I ran towards her. I pushed the people away from her and lifted her head into my lap. She wasn't bleeding. She wasn't conscious either. I felt a faint heartbeat. I screamed for some conveyance. I shook her to wake her up. I fought the people who tried to separate her from me.<br />
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And then it happened. It took her in my arms and held her tight and close. I didn't want to let go of that embrace. <b><i>Here we go. </i></b><b><i>I wish I could hold her tight in my arms.</i></b> I felt a strange coldness on her body. I was becoming hysterical. I was screaming, shouting, crying. I pulled her closer and kissed her on her forehead. <b><i>Secondly, I want to kiss her.</i></b> Two pairs of arms took her from my fold forcefully and carried her to a car. They lifted me into the rear seat. Her head rested on my lap.<br />
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There were voices around me asking me things - Name, Phone Number, Address. I couldn't hear them. It was as if they were screaming from afar. I was in a haze. <i>Oh, I had forgotten to collect the cotton candies! What will I tell her parents? Was the mini truck driver detained by the people? Who will call the police? I needed cash to pay the hospital. Is there an ATM nearby?</i> And then I passed out.<br />
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<b><i>Third wish, third wish. I want her to be mine, in every sense, in every way. Pause. I'm such an ass, ain't I? Okay. I will change it. Hmmmmm. Let her have a smile on her face and be at peace, always.</i></b> She was in the comma for 33 hours. She had a severe brain injury and had suffered a concussion, I was told. There was heavy internal bleeding and tissue tear. </div>
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I stood there as prayers were chanted in the background. My friend received her last rites. I stood leaning against the pillar in the porch. I hadn't showered or changed in two days. I probably looked like a disheveled lunatic. There were faces everywhere. Some I knew, some I didn't. But I didn't want to look at them. The eyes, they were piercing at me, I thought. <i>He is the one who killed her.</i> I could hear them saying to one another. </div>
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I felt a hand on my shoulders. It felt heavy. I looked up. He nodded. I slowly walked into the front room of the house. In a moment, the cries from the inside of the house rose to a heart breaking shrillness. I felt my feet collapsing underneath my body. The hand from earlier still held me. It was as if he knew.<br />
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I took one look at her, draped in white satin. <i>She hates satin. And silk. Didn't they know it? Idiots!</i> She looked happy. She had a smile on her lips. And she looked at peace with herself. And the world. And they closed the coffin, preserving her smile for ever.<br />
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<b>FootNote:</b> This post is written exclusively for someone, in remembrance of the afternoon and the Three Wishes that were made.<br />
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<b>ToeNote:</b> Considering the dry spells during the past few years, I feel like I'm approaching the prime of my creative self. I sincerely hope that it last.<br />
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<b>NailNote:</b> During the past few days, I've fell in love with Thrissur more and more. It will always be on my Top 5 Destinations to Live In!Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-65859498561878000842014-04-06T23:52:00.002+05:302014-04-06T23:52:37.614+05:30VulnerabilityHave you ever felt vulnerable? Stupid question, isn't it? Everyone would have, at some point of time in their lifetime. I too have, time and again. But it never dawned upon me that vulnerability was multi-faceted until today.<br />
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<b>Incident 1:</b> It was around 10 in the morning. I was with my friend at Sree Kerala Varma College ground in Thrissur. Our bank's inter regional sports finals were being held here. On the eastern side of the ground stood a few old, time-worn buildings that housed the men's hostel. The path to the canopy put up by us was through the hostel compound. As he and I walked towards our colleagues, I saw someone coming from the hostel's direction. There was something different about him. As he came closer, I realized it. He was blind.<br />
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He had a bag across his shoulders and was dressed to go out. What struck me the most was the fact that he was without his walking stick. As he heard our approaching footsteps (or was it our conversation?), he asked us whether we would help him get to the road. Without hesitation, I volunteered. The main gates were closed since the college had closed after the end of the academic year. Hence, we had to take the side entrance which had a swivel gate and would take some effort to get past.<br />
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I never had any previous acquaintances with people with any forms of disability. So, in my eagerness to help, I grabbed his hand so that I could lead him towards the gate. To my surprise, he hurriedly freed himself from my grip and to my even bigger surprise, grabbed my hand instead. It took me a moment to realize that blind people held your hand when seeking guidance and not the other way around. I felt embarrassed at my over enthusiasm and felt painfully aware of my surroundings. Even though there was no one else around in the area, I felt like there were a hundred eyes piercing into me. And it left me wondering - who was really vulnerable here - him or me?<br />
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<b>Incident 2: </b>The cafe was on the third floor of the mall and overlooked a busy junction of Thrissur. Even with the air conditioner on and the fan running at full speed, the heat outside was getting to us. The menu card on the table proclaimed "the food, the view, the people". True I thought. The food (at least the cold coffee) sucked, the view was of cluttered traffic but the person was special.<br />
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It had been a year since I saw her last. Even now, she made me skip a heart beat!Things had changed drastically since our last rendezvous. The prelude to today's cold coffee were long spells of silence and general chit chat. And would you believe it, we actually made small talk about the weather! Finally, the blazing sun warmed up our cold coffees and the conversation. And in a matter of moments, we were talking, unaware of our surroundings, enjoying each other's company.<br />
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Here was someone to whom I could talk anything and everything. She had seen me at my weakest, when I was truly vulnerable. This realization gave a totally different dimension to our whole conversation. And I believe that it was mutual. Very few people know me by my vulnerable side. It is something I rarely open up before someone. But here, I didn't care. I could talk about everything - my plans, fears, apprehensions, problems, people in my life, to her. Sometimes, vulnerability is a good thing.<br />
<br />
<b>Incident 3:</b> I was back in Sree Kerala Varma College ground for the afternoon session of the day's events. It was close to evening. I was in the small shop next to the hostel's main gate when an auto came to a halt and someone stepped out of it. It was the same blind person whom I had helped in the morning reach the gate and get an auto. He was back after his errands in the city. He was asking the auto driver if he had got out in front of the shop itself.<br />
<br />
I went and offered him help and he gladly accepted. He asked me which year I was in. I told him that I wasn't a student and explained why I was there. Again, it took a moment for realization to strike me. I told him that I was the same guy who had guided him in the morning. I slowly took his hand and placed it on my arm. He held it in a firm grip and I guided him to the shop, all the while observing each and every one of his movements. This time, I felt like I was seated in a balcony, overlooking the scene that was being played before me. I went from my earlier vulnerable state to a dominant, shielded state. Later, I walked him till his hostel's entrance leaving me with a dozen unanswered questions.<br />
<br />
<br />
Similar situations might have played before me scores of times before too. But I hadn't realized the depth of the situation unlike today. Maybe I was too oblivious. Maybe I chose not to acknowledge it. Maybe my moment of truth was slotted for today. Whatever be it, it had given me enough food for thought for the day. Or the next few days to come.<br />
<br />
<b>FootNote:</b> This post is dedicated to you, Jinu. Thank you for supporting me through yet another period of writer's block and for showing faith in me. This is for you dear. You're a wonderful person. Things are going to brighten up. There is a rainbow after every shower.<br />
<br />
<b>ToeNote: </b>My first real experience with a blind person left me wanting to know more about how to interact with one. Looks like I made more mistakes than one! I humbly urge you to read <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Interact-with-Blind-People" target="_blank">this </a>for starters. You never know when this might come handy. <b>If it does, let's show them that they aren't anything special!</b><br />
<br />
<b>NailNote: </b>As I finish up my blog post, vulnerability strikes yet again. This time, it is yet another facet, leaving me.......vulnerable.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1Thrissur, Kerala, India10.5276416 76.21443490000001510.4027521 76.053073400000017 10.652531100000001 76.375796400000013tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-18128665765116766092014-01-19T22:22:00.000+05:302014-01-19T22:32:14.982+05:30The Man at Midnight's StrokeShe had been reading when she had slowly drifted to a light sleep. Her head was at right angle to the rest of her body, a horizontally propped pillow supporting her head. She still had her glasses on but they had started to slip on her oily nose and had reached the tip of her nose. She was woken up by the stirring under the blanket next to her. She slid further down and placed the pillow properly beneath her neck and head. Her hands reached backwards and switched off the bedside lamp. Her neck was paining due to the prolonged period of her acrobatic position.<br />
<br />
The covers stirred once again. She turned her head and took a look at the timepiece on the night table. The radium illuminated hands showed ten past midnight. It was time, she thought to herself. The turning back made a few breaking sounds inside her cervical spine. God, how much would I love to get a neck massage right now, she thought to herself. She was no more sleepy. She stared at the fan on the ceiling, churning out slow circles with the blades. Should I go back to reading, she wondered. Or a shower maybe?<br />
<br />
She was procrastinating her decisions, whatever it would be in the end, when she felt a hand reaching out from underneath the cover. It touched her waist. He is awake, she thought to herself and smiled.She turned on her side, facing his side of the bed. The hand climbed upwards and rested on her left breast. Men, she thought. In broad day light, they couldn't read street signs and find a bistro but at night, in the pitch darkness, they could find whatever they sought even without opening their eyes! She smirked.<br />
<br />
The hand once again came down onto her navel. This time it went right underneath her night dress and began to run on her navel. She was feeling ticklish. A head propped out of the cover. It still had closed eyes on it. Half asleep, she thought. She slid down further on the bed. The hand again climbed up to what it sought, as always. As it went up, the top too rolled up. She felt the chill on her exposed upper body and it gave her goosebumps. With one hand, she removed her top and while she pulled the cover towards herself with the other and slid underneath it.<br />
<br />
She could feel his breath on her chest right now. Her bra had hooks on the front. It just took her a couple of seconds to unhook them. A sigh escaped her as she undid them. The declaration of freedom. Instantly, she felt a warm wetness on her breasts. He had one of her breasts in his mouth and was sucking hard at her nipples. Her body arched towards him in response to the onslaught. She embraced him and pulled him closer to her. His breath was a panting gush of warmth on her body as he drank hungrily from her breasts. His hand, meanwhile began to play with the small crucifix locket she wore that rested in the cleavage. He did that every time, she thought to herself. Habits die hard!<br />
<br />
Moments passed. Her neck was paining more now and she was straining herself in this position. She wanted to switch positions. But he was still half asleep and she didn't want to wake him up. She weaned him for a moment. She crossed over to the other side of the bed, balancing herself on her hands while she did it. She made room for herself on the other side, pushing him a little towards where she had been a moment ago. He was awake now. She could see his two big, burly eyes even in the darkness. She instantaneously felt guilty for breaking his rhythm. Women, she thought this time! Guilty for a man's insatiable hunger! But she loved this man with all her heart. He meant the world to her. Even when she knew that eventually he would leave her for some other woman.<br />
<br />
No more thoughts. She had something to finish right now. And before she could initiate, she felt the warmth seeping onto her, again, this time on the other breast. But it didn't last long. He withdrew himself from her nipples, which had turned dark and swollen. She could feel the circle of saliva he had left behind slowly drying on her; along with the bite marks which had started to burn now. He lay on his back, a satisfied look on his still sleepy face. He had finished his job, she hadn't. She slid her arms underneath him and took him in her arms. She put him on top of her, his head resting in her cleavage, and began to pat his back. And then it came. Burp! Now she was done. She put him back on the bed and put an arm around him as he drifted off to sleep. She slid out of the bed, her bra and top in her hands, and walked towards the bathroom. She looked herself in the mirror as she washed herself - his saliva, her milk off her bosom. Motherhood, what a bliss, she thought!<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Dedicated to A, for her story and for her celebration of womanhood and motherhood.</i>Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-58716810732629501692013-08-12T00:16:00.001+05:302013-08-12T00:37:45.343+05:30Love, Sex aur DhokhaFor my friends who don't understand Hindi, the title means Love, Sex and Betrayal/Cheating.<br />
<br />
<br />
"Why do you love me again?", he <i>Whatsapped </i>her. He loved hearing it again and again. And she gave him a different answer each time. But it felt good.<br />
<br />
"Because.....I'm a sapiosexual. It's fun talking to you. I feel happy when I talk to you.", she messaged him back.<br />
<br />
"And?" He was smiling.<br />
<br />
"Hon...." Her words were like a partial moan.<br />
<br />
"mmmm?"<br />
<br />
"I love you"<br />
<br />
"mmmmhhmmmm?"<br />
<br />
"Yes! And I want to lie on your chest, listening to your heartbeat."<br />
<br />
"And?" He wanted to hear more.<br />
<br />
"Want to feel your stubble."<br />
<br />
"I love you my darling"<br />
<br />
"<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Feel your face with my fingers, kiss you on your chest, bury my face in your chest, get lost in you and not find myself...." She continued</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"mmmmmm. I love that."</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Want to entwine my legs with yours..."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Yes please. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">I want to bite your neck and shoulders and give you hickeys. Want to feel you, skin on skin.</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">" It was his turn to take the lead.</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Ohh yesssss." She purred</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"I w</span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">ould turn you around and spoon you as my hand feels your body, running along your curves, feeling its heaves."</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Oh yes! Do that please"</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"mmmmm" he purred back</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"Honey. What are you doing now?" She asked naughtily.</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">"What do you think?"</span><br />
<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span>
"Really?"<br />
<br />
"mmmhhhhmmm"<br />
<br />
"Want to continue with this?" She inquired<br />
<br />
"Yes. What do you want?" He shot back<br />
<br />
"I think I want it now." She was grinning<br />
<br />
"I want to feel <i>him </i>grow hard in my hands. I want to feel it. Warm and hard." Another message.<br />
<br />
"He's all yours, hun. Wet?"<br />
<br />
"Mmmm...yeah..kinda..."<br />
<br />
"Want me to do something about it?"<br />
<br />
"Maybe."<br />
<br />
*Pause*<br />
<br />
"I'm waiting" She pinged again<br />
<br />
"What would you like?" He asked.<br />
<br />
"Your call. I like a lot of things. :-P "<br />
<br />
"Like?"<br />
<br />
"Find out for yourself" She was taunting him now.<br />
<br />
"Why don't you lie down while I strip you down to nothing?'<br />
<br />
" :-) Already on my back"<br />
<br />
The frequency of the messaging was increasing.<br />
<br />
He - Pulls down your bottom. And looks at you with a grin on my face.<br />
<br />
She - Grabs and pulls your hair.<br />
<br />
He - Kisses you on your navel<br />
<br />
He - And then your knees<br />
<br />
She - mmmmmmmm<br />
<br />
He - Runs my tongue from your knees to your inner thighs<br />
<br />
She - :-)<br />
<br />
He - Bites into your thighs<br />
<br />
He - Bites you on top of your panties<br />
<br />
She - Mmmmn<br />
<br />
She - Hon...<br />
<br />
He - mmm?<br />
<br />
She - I want you.<br />
<br />
He - I too want you, my love<br />
<br />
She - :-)<br />
<br />
He - What do you want?<br />
<br />
She - I want you :-)<br />
<br />
He - And???<br />
<br />
She - And what?<br />
<br />
She - I want you here.. Now<br />
<br />
He - mmm?<br />
<br />
She - I m wet for you.<br />
<br />
He - I want to be there<br />
<br />
He - Not doing anything about it?<br />
<br />
He - Maybe I should slide down your..............................<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
"Did you wash up?" She asked.<br />
<br />
"Yes. You?"<br />
<br />
"I just did" She replied. "Baby. I love you sooooo muchhhhh. Mwaaaahhhh :-*"<br />
<br />
"I too love you. :-* :-* :-* "<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>She kept her phone aside as she had to take the Sambaar, which had been making till now, off the stove. She had been toiling in the kitchen till now. </b><br />
<br />
<b>He folded The Hindu and stretched his legs onto the railing of the balcony. And he took the other newspaper in his hands, ready to devour it from the first page to the last.</b><br />
<br />
<!--3--><!--3-->Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-86556286771796222452013-06-11T23:04:00.000+05:302013-06-11T23:04:25.245+05:30The RapeIt was dark and raining. The wind was blowing onto her face. She was running with all her might. Fear and despair filled her face. She knew that they were behind her and quickly gaining on her. Still running, she turned her head to see the two hefty figures behind her, running, ready to pounce on her. And then it happened. Suddenly, she found herself in a small puddle of water. She could feel the weight of one of her pursuers on her body, pinning her down helplessly. The stench of tobacco in his breath was unbearable for her. His hands moved on to the <i>pallu </i>of her saree. She screamed at the top of her voice. Her cry for help was silenced by the ghastly wind, as if it had joined the evil laugh of her other tormentor.<br />
<br />
All this while, another man was closely watching the scene from a little away. He knew exactly what was happening before his eyes. As soon as the man reached for the woman's saree, he screamed in a loud voice that was heard above the voice in the background,<br />
<br />
<br />
"Cut!!!! Pack up!!!!"<br />
<br />
And the director walked towards the actors with a satisfied smile on his lips.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-874438093057419807.post-21706171091134844852013-06-02T20:05:00.005+05:302013-06-05T21:40:30.394+05:30It's raining...It has been more than a month ( 5 weeks to be exact) since my transfer back to my home district. After spending the last three years in Alwaye with some of the best friends one could get, I was sure the change would be drastic. I also knew that it would take me quite some time to get used to the new schedule, to the new place, the new faces, new colleagues and everything. Most importantly, I would be staying with my parents and commuting to work from there daily. Now, after a month, when I look back, I must admit that I was wrong on many a things. Today, as I walked back home after a movie, I decided to pen down the changes that had happened over the past few weeks.<br />
<br />
* For someone who used to wake up at 8.30 AM in the morning on office days, I get ready and leave for job by 8.30 now. No more late nights too. All those days of late night football, movies and talking are over. By 10.30 PM, my jaws open wider than a hippo's and the very sight of the bed makes me fall onto it and romance it!<br />
<br />
* Earlier, I rarely used to go to the movies. I always liked them in the comfort of my bed and laptop. Even when my friends used to go for 2-3 movies every week, I always had excuses for not joining them. I used to average 1-2 movies per quarter (Yes, we bankers measure time in quarters)! Now, including the one I saw today, it has been two in a span of 10 days!<br />
<br />
* I've decided to get back in shape and stay healthy. Say bye bye to the pot belly. Today, I've bought myself a swimming cap and goggles. I'm thinking of taking an early morning swim EVERYDAY! Well, for that I will have to wake up even earlier. To take it notch higher, see the next point!<br />
<br />
* Hold your breath! I've decided to start studying!!! What or rather For What is still a question mark! But it would be preparations for either the Civil Services or GMAT. Only time will tell. And as usual, I've ordered a new set of books from Flipkart. They have made quite a lot of money out of my unpredictable nature!<br />
<br />
* My search for a fresh avenue is still on. Job applications are being forwarded at a very high rate. For someone who was arrogant that he cleared all the job interviews that he ever attended and that too with stars, I'm nursing the hurt ego from the last two outings. After flunking an interview and an MBA exam in the past one month, I've decided to be a little more serious while approaching things. Let's see for how long!<br />
<br />
* Finally, I've decided that I will get back to reading and writing. I've made a personal promise of publishing at least one post per week here.<br />
<br />
<b>FootNote: </b>The monsoons have arrived here in Kerala with a bang. Nothing is more beautiful than Kerala during the monsoons! But the daily commuting to work is a wet affair!<br />
<br />
<b>ToeNote:</b> I will be older by an year in a couple of days. Oh man, am I suffering from the <i>later half of the twenties</i> syndrome?!<br />
<br />
<b>NailNote:</b> I've been watching some really good movies lately including classics, Korean, Italian, Iranian. So far, I'm enjoying it to the core. I still have a lot more in my collection to watch.Manish Muralidharanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11424978524545805471noreply@blogger.com1