A Samarian from far far away

My job involved travelling to accomplish the technical requirements. So, my writing centers around railway stations, bus stands, conference hall, exhibition centers around India. Once I did visited Europe and worked one year in middle east.

Few of the happenings goes into my mind and etched forever. One such moment which happened in Delhi railway station is narrated below.

Many view India as a place where there are beggars, poor people living in huts, poverty, unhygienic condition especially in public places. Well I have to accept the truth, yes it is there. But we are also rich remember once our Mukesh Ambani was ranked on top of the world. Even today many Indian feature in the top list.
So we are both good and bad.

Well this is not about an Indian but a man from aboard who is an african.
I was in the train and waiting for the train to start and as usual my gaze is fixed on the platform. I saw few kids in the age group of 7 to 10 probably going around begging. Many ignored them including me. Because I am of the opinion that encouraging youngster in begging is a crime. This concept was etched into my mind by one of my best friend Edward who is now in USA.

I kept watching them for some time and then forgot all about them. I was moving around a bit as there is still time for the train to start. I bought news paper, magazine and some eatables. I returned to my seat few mintues before the train to start.

The Indian railways keep their time, and they start right on scheduled time. So I sat down and placed my belongings nearby and again looked out of the window.
To my great astonishment I saw a black man sitting along with those little kids (who were begging early). I do not wish to call them beggars any more. This black man bought some foods and the kids were eating it cheerfully. They were just a bunch of kids having their food cheerfully. This black man sat nearby and providing food which he should have bought from nearby vendor. He was treating them as their own kids ensuring they taking their food properly.

My courtroom started. The case Me Vs my inner conscious.
Once again my inner conscious accused me the charge sheet was filed.

1. Calling those kids as beggars?
2. Not helping them because I though it is a crime to help begging.
3. Some strange black man has more compassion on the poor people of India and why not you? (Yes Mother Theresa has done it earlier and you…)

My mind kept on accusing me for which I do not have any reply and I accepted that I am guilty (as usual).


These kids are taking food from a total stranger and I can see the happy faces forget the brand name of "happy meals". But I declared them as beggars who are nothing but a mole especially in public places. But they need food, shelter and cloth. My kids have and I also have it. So I do not beg or is that really true that I do beg. In a way yes, I do beg. My begging results as my monthly salary without which I cannot survive.

Suddenly my mind registered something else. One of the girl got hiccup and she requested water by hand sign. This black man opened his water bottle which looked like a mini cooler flask. He opened the lid and poured the water into the lid which also acts as cup.

He gave the cup of water to that girl. She took the bottle and took the water by sipping. After that she returned the cup and he gave some more water to others. They all took water by sipping. After that he took back the cup and closed his water bottle with it.

I was bit shocked by that. In fact I was replying to my inner conscious that I could do what that black man did. Buy some food for those who are in need of it. YES.

But giving my water bottle which is not a through away and is a keg. Offering the water; to the kids who live on the platform. Some unknown kid’s drinking water from my cup. Ok. But sipping. No a big No.

If at all I allow that I would have washed to head cup before closing my keg. But this black man did not show any difference to it. He closed his keg as if his own kids took water.

The train started to move out but my mind was left behind with the good Samarian who not only provided food but did it with care. Though it happened long back he is still living in my mind. I do not know who he is nor do I do not his country.

My mind declared one thing, that I saw a good Samarian in real life. This I contribute to that one guy whom I do not know.

THE STAR OF CHRISTMAS

Achronology: 006
Start Date: May 21, 2012
End Date:

Christmas the most wonderful time of the year. Yes that is one of the most famous songs which we hear, year after year. But do we really cherish Christmas nowadays. Well since I see the world through me let me bore through me to find it out.

Christmas unlike in Europe is not mixed with snow man, icy-winter, skating especially in South India. Santa has become the addition now as every carol troop now brings one Santa now. When I am young Carols were there but no Santa with a ho ho merry Christmas voice. But others are there. Christmas tree, star, balloons, decoration, cakes, sweets especially a long leave. What is more delightful is the pleasant weather especially in Chennai which normally hot and humid. During this time the wind is chilly enough to breathe easily. Still we were forced to wear sweaters. Everyone must visit Europe to know what is meant by a “Warm Welcome”.

Well it is really good jolly time to spend the day. Though the Television was there it was not a 24 hours broadcast system. I remember my old house with a wooden green colour picket gate. I normally swing by standing to and fro much to the displeasure of my Grandpa and Father. However I love to enjoy myself.
I can recollect the incidence but not the time. It was the Christmas Eve and I am swinging on the gate with great joy in my mind. I told myself that tomorrow is Christmas and you are very happy. My inner mind suddenly woke up (who called it and why did he wake up?) . It raised a simple, stupid question. What is the difference between today and yesterday? What is the difference between 24th of December evening and 23rd of December evening.

My mind tried to figure it out. Yesterday and today? Well nothing in and around me the same weather, same location, same swing. But today why should I feel happy? Christmas! Well why on 24th evening why not on 23rd or 22nd. Well no answer from my mind. I felt an emptiness crawling up deep in my heart. There is no big difference between today the 24th of December to yesterday. Why should I feel happy. In fact that emptiness crept up to a sadness and the joy of Christmas is lost forever. This is more like the kid who could hear the jingle sound from the bell that was presented to him by Santa himself (Movie) whereas his parents could not hear. He goes on to say that his younger sister who could hear it also fails to hear its sound later. But he proclaims that he can hear the sound till today.
Probably I am a grown up who can not hear the sound of jingle, believe in Santa. Well to be honest I lost the joy of Christmas for ever, even today it is an holiday for me. Does people look at Christmas this way or do we have others too.

Well to be honest again, I am downright pessimist I normally expect that a piano will wall down on my head every time I walk out. I just forgot how to live happily leave alone the concept of joyfully. I am in the middle of a crisis for a long time (I should write that about too). This is a normal crisis which everyone has “finance”. Like all I want to be very rich and very famous. So I entered into stock market which is good and bad. The worst part is that I entered into trading there it was bad really very bad. I lost and still paying the penalty.

It was close to Christmas in the year 2011 and I was a bit gloomy. As the joy of Christmas long lost I was going home from office through a friend’s bike. He drops me at a near place there by my travel time is saved more than by an hour. Though it was Christmas we did not put up the Christmas tree, Star and not decorated our house. This is not because of my financial situation, which is rather better and improving. My father-in-law passed away in that year as per some old (I trust Indian custom) for a year all the celebration will be put on hold.
Well no Christmas inside me and there is no Christmas outside too, especially at my home in terms of decorations.

Our factory lies on the highway from Chennai to Bangalore on the outskirts of Chennai. The place where our factory has some shops where you can take some snacks and tea / coffee etc. In this busy area lives a man who is without a home. I know his place he made a small hut using thrown away plastic bag, bamboos. I just wondered how he made that house of his own and for him alone. I do not have any property leave alone a house of my own. But this man has built a small may look shabby but a small house. Indeed he has a house built on a ground closer to a nearby factory. We cross that everyday and goes home. We have to come to the main gate which is facing the highway but local bus facility is not available. So those who travel by their own vehicle uses main gate. For those who commute by public transport choose the rear gate.

So Christmas came and gone. I took some leave and returned to office. Normally I come by bus so I will enter through the rear gate. The day went on with usual works and chaos. Like all day it came to an end. Myself and my friend Varadhrajan left the factory in his bike. We went through the main gate and took the service road which will run side-by-side to the highway. We need to make a “U” turn where this man lives. A man who built his own house with his own hand for his own.

As we neared something got my eye. I normally look at this house and took pity in him. In fact I compared him with myself and felt how fortunate I am (really!) What I saw surprised me. He made a typical Indian hut with a arched entrance. Right on top of that entrance there is a STAR, a Christmas Star. It is not new, must be thrown out by some one, or the wind would have taken it off from its original place. It has no lights, there was no other decoration. But nevertheless it is a STAR a Christmas Star.

I was wondering how this man has done it. Is it out of joy or is it just that it is available and hanged it on his home. I called it home now, because he paid a little more attention than just a place to hide from Sun. His shelter will give little protection against rain. But still I am unable to understand this presence of this STAR in a most unlikely place.

I do not have the joy of Christmas and I do not have star in me. My home now is only a house where we parked our belongings. True my father-in-law has passed away. I was wondering whether he will be really upset that if we cherish the birth of Jesus. In fact my kids expected us to decorate which my wife summarily refused. In fact I tried my best to change her mind and as usual I failed and resigned. My father-in-law is very affectionate to my kids. I really do not think that he would have objected to it. But as per the custom we do not have the STAR and the day of Christmas.

My thinking went back to that man who put up his STAR in the most unlikely place. A place which is filled with dirt material some of which stink a lot. But still there is this STAR. Well Christ himself born on a place similar to this one and was layed in a crib. The STAR of Christmas shines over that place where the three wise men from east reached.

After seeing the star I kept quite and my thoughts were rolling. The star remained and I continue to saw the same. I even pointed out that to the guy who took care in bringing me to my home / house in his bike.

I told him I going to write about this, in fact I told him that I wish to write for a long time and will start. He was the only person with whom I reveled my intention of writing down my life and how I felt.


So the man who built his own home felt that he needs something more than a shelter. Like our heavenly master who came down did not worried out about shelter but he cared for more than that. He came for us. Are we ready for him. Are we ready to place the STAR. To be honest, I still remain unworthy of it.

DAY OUT IN DHANBAD

Achronology: 004

Start Date: May 15, 2012

End Date:

This happens to be my first official tour especially as an inspector. I am supposed to inspect and clear a supply of acid resistant bricks in Dhanbad which is at that point of time is in the state of Bihar. Now Dhanbad is the capital of Jarkand if I remain correct. I worked in an organization who is specialist in Corrosion Protection Engineering in Chennai. Being the first time one more person accompanied me on this first inspection. It was handing over the mantle of inspection for which I was recruited.

As part of this job we booked the ticket at the last minute and got some wait list tickets. These tickets never got confirmed. I walked with my mentor for inspection Mr. D Solomon and he walked very quietly. I was confused and bit of uneasy as we do not have confirmed ticket. But he walked as if he has got everything.
He simply walked into a reserved compartment and asked me to sit down. I remained him that we do not have confirmed tickets. He replied that it will be taken care. I was just wondering but then later found out that his part of the learning process on official tours.

He sat in a berth as if he has already the confirmed ticket. To cut short of the whole story we managed to get some unoccupied seat and reached our destination. Also the inspection was carried out jointly and final reports were made.
We stayed in Dhanbad for two days and the inspection went off really well. So I am quite happy and we planned our return trip to home. Coming home is always nice. Right now I am in a room far away from my home. Like usual I told him that I will take a walk around the place. This particular practice I do even now. When I move out from once place after a brief or long stay I normally walk around that place. Let it be my official tour, shifting jobs or home.
I informed my colleague that I will be taking a walk around the place. He advised me to remain careful. I also recollected all those many stories I heard about this area. However I decided to walk around. I took a walk in a street closer to my hotel. This road went on into, I saw people walking around, doing their regular works. Nothing to be worried about is what I felt at that time.

I took some cross roads and walked for about 15 minutes. Suddenly I felt uneasy. A group of guys I named them in my mind as gangsters were sitting nearby a tree and were having fun. They were conversing loudly with burst of laughter. They looked like the typical guys who will throw trouble on the passerby like what you see in movie or heard about. They also had gang leader who leads them in their bout of conversation. His voice booming over the rest of them and it hammered in to my head.

I was a bit scared and I thought of turning back and returning to the hotel. However I decided against it and went on. As I was crossing that little group my heart was beating up and I can feel my pulse. I deliberately walked slowly to avoid showing off that I am already panicked and wish to run away.
I started to cross this gang and I am almost through. Then I heard what I am quite afraid off. The voice of the gang leader called out in my direction. I can remember those dreadful words “HEY CHOKRA”. My heart stopped and my mind was in a whirlpool.

What is that I supposed to do now? I though these guys probably will rob me, hurt me or bear minimum will humiliate me. I was wondering on how to get out of this mess. I thought of walking fast ignoring their call. But these guys are huge and look to be rough.

Run. My mind commanded. But the question is where to. This is a new place for me and I do not know where to run. I am neither athletic who can stand up to a fight nor have the physique to do a spirit or marathon. Having known that I am trapped for now I decided to face my tormentors.
So I stopped and turned around to face them. I saw their gang leader face to face, eye to eye. He called out again with the same two words. I looked at him blankly not knowing what to do. Then he uttered the next two words which I was able to understand better. He said “NEECHEY DHEKO” meaning look down. I am in a state of schock as I am in far away place and did not know exactly where I stand.

So I simply obeyed his words and looked down. Then I saw it. A 100 rupee note is lying on the ground. Again his voice boomed. “KYA PAISA NAI CHAEEHEY” meaning what you don’t need money. To this his entire team burst into laughter. I picked up the cash and placed it in my pocket and thanked him. Now I walked again and took a turn at the next corner and moved back to the hotel.

My inner conscious filed a case. There was no summons, no warrants and the hearing and argument commenced immediately. The case is me vs the gangster. Or is he really a gangster or a jolly good fellow who is having a nice team with his friends.
My mind accused me that I called a team as gangster and a fellow as gangster. What he and his team did was having nice time. They might have or he might have seen that the cash has fallen from my upper pocket. This normally happens to me, especially whenever I am quite nervous. What he all tried to do is to help me out.
But I called him as a gangster and accused him off. I said to my conscious that I can not be blamed as I am in far away place. But it never agreed and the sentence was already passed. I am guilty of calling others guilty. Yet again I was improssoned within me for hours.

Later on I learned the meaning for “CHOKRA” it means little one. Yes at that point of time I was weighing only 45 kgs and was about 27 years of age. Even today I weight less compare to my height at around 58. So no wonder he called me as little one with his booming voice which shattered the daylights in me. However he did not do any harm.

I blamed him because of my prejudice on the place where I am. Because of my own mindset I accused others. This is also the time I thought I will write about the same similar to the day when I lost my Grandpa (The Day I Cried – my first writing). I thought of writing this and record it. This should have been my second article. But somehow I wrote it a bit later.
Having learned my lesson that one should not judge the book by its cover I came back from Dhanbad with happy memories. Whenever anyone tells me that places like Bihar are not good, I tell them that they are wrong. There are people, human guys with a great soul and booming voice live in all places.

The day at Bikaner Railway Station

Achronology: 005
Start Date: May 15, 2012



Achronology:

Being part of a team which involves inspection, approval, technical services means one thing. You need to travel a lot at odd hours and at a time when you really do not like it. I had tough time on this particular issue. When I talked to my mother about it she was wondering why I feel that way. In fact being a school teacher she taught all the historically important places. She also went on to say that she could not visit the places which she taught. However I have (or had now I moved away from that job) a chance to visit those places.

I travel to places like Jaipur, Bikaner which are tourist places in Rajastan. However I am not a tourist but on official duty. I find less time to visit places of interest. I have stayed close to about 3 months each in both Jaipur and Bikaner. Most of the time I was in Bikaner which I am sure is more than three months individually. But over all I have spent only three days on personal tour in Jaipur and Bikaner. One day tour in Jaipur, once and two one day tour in Bikaner. I undertook the second oneday tour in Bikaner as my reporting officer came to visit and we had a holiday in between.

I stayed in Bikaner for about a month at a stretch and was frequently travelling between Delhi and Jaipur to speed up my work. I was supposed to inspect and clear mineral raw material for one of the ongoing project in Gujarath. Finally I got what I needed the most. A permit to go home. I was happy like hell i.e. moving away from my cell (my hotel room) to my home.

I booked a ticket to Delhi and from there to Chennai and both are confirmed. So I am more than happy I am quite joyful. So on that happiest day I got into the railway station in the evening when there was still day light. I walked into my compartment placed my suitcase and changed to a comfortable dress, the traditional or non-so traditional dress called lungi. This is similar to dothi but it is stitched. Quite a comfortable outfit for a country which is both hot and humid.
As there is still time for the train to start I started to take a walk in the platform. I saw many happy faces around the train. There were sound of drums, singing and lot of laughter. Then I realized that it is a marriage party. I am not sure on the status of marriage but definiteyly it is a marriage party. A big crowd sourredns the train with drums and drinks, sweets were distributed. In fact whenever this train entered into a major railway station till late night, thee is always a cheerful crowd greeted the them. I just don’t how they managed to do it. They timed it so nicely and care got extended. It started with chilled drinks in Bikaner with some sweets. Then it went on. In fact in one railway station they were given hot milk. Even they offered it to other passanger who are not part of the marriage party. I somehow politely refused when offered. I am bit shy type.
This hospitality of these people still lingers on my mind. But what got my attention to write this down happened in Bikaner railway station even before the train started to move. This was the second article which I thought I will write. But there again it took me more time to pen it or type it down.

Back in the Bikaner railway station I am quite happy myself and I can see lot of happy placed all around the station. The marriage party is making a big hue and cry and visitors were pouring in. I am not really sure how many of them are travelling and how many of them came to see them off. But I think it must have been 50-50.
In that group I saw an elder person probably in 60-70’s and all those belonging to this marriage party took blessing from him. Everyone went and touched his feet and took the blessing. I was amazed by the site of it. I never did even at home. But these people do it in the railway station not minding that some guy is looking at them. This went on for long. My perception and respect for the people of Rajastan especpecially Bikaner went up. I took pride in the saying Mera Bharath Mahan. My India is Great. True my India is great who cherish their tradition and respect their elders.

I was thinking again how everyone irrespective of their age and size went upto him to take his blessing. That elederly person I would say a little over weight. He is of very good height must be above 6ft and has a big belly. He remained cheerful and he blessed young kids, teens, married couple and middle aged people also took his blessing.

It was a nice to see a bunch of happy people who gather around an elder person seeking his blessing. Also that they do are not worried much about the place but interested in doing what they like. I am also appreciating their nature especially the togetherness.

But the day remained young and is awaiting to show me more beautiful things which I need to see. There was some rustling and excitement happened in the railway station. I turned towards the marriage entrance and I saw a older man must be over 80 or close to 90. He is also tall but very lean and weak. He was supported by two persons on either side to help him walk on the platform.

The entire marriage party rushed to his side in a hurry. Once again the whole routine started they bend down touched this elder man’s feet for his blessing. He is more than eager to bless them all. My surprise climbed up. This elederly’ man paying a visit to the railway station to see of a marriage party. Wow! When I went on my honey moon trip only my inlaws family came to the railway sation numbering 4. So this is a great site to watch and I felt as if I belong to the marriage party.
Then I saw the other relative elder person from whom all took their blessing before. He also rushed to this old man. Must be old friends that is what I thought. But surprise again. This man though heavy with a big belly bent down and touched the feet of the most elderly person who arrived.

I was shocked to see such an act and never expected it. But it happened right in front of my eye. Though he blessed all others and he himself is around 60-70 but still he wish to pay his respect to his elder. He forgot about where he is. To be hones he was unable to bend completely but he still did it. The other elderly person did bless him.

My mind once again stopped and it tried to understand what is going on around it. I understood the true meaning of respect for elders there. These Rajastani people shoed their true color of joy and respect to me on that day. An elderly person needs to be respected applies to all. They did not carried their rule book which they referred when they did it. But all these things were in-built over years and years.

To conclude what I saw on that day I can only say My Bharath is Great and I found it and cherish in the railway station of Bikaner.

An Old Kid who I saw in train

Achronology: 002
Start Date: May 4, 2012
End Date: May 15, 2012
(Dates are only …..,)
I loved Bangalore from my school days. Our school organized a tour to Bangalore the charge was very limited. At that time I studied in Don Bosco (Vysarpadi, Chennai). Many of us turned out but eventually it was cancelled (that is one great joyous moment as we assembled only to be disappointed, I will write that separately). Instead we were taken a tour of Velankani and returned. Or it may be my mind is now clouded it might be the little Velankani in Santhome Chennai. However I remember or still believe that I missed my first chance to Bangalore.
The second was when we were in IXth standard again the plan was to go to Bangalore. This time I moved to a bigger school Don Bosco (Perambur, Chennai). But the program itself got cancelled. The third time I missed Bangalore was when we were in XIth in the same school. But instead we went to Octy a very memorable event (should write on that too).
So having missed the three trips to Bangalore made me more anxious, when I got the first opportunity to go to Bangalore I felt that I was a kid once again. I was sent by my Company Coromandel Prodorite at that time for an inspection activity. So I went by bus in the night and reached Bangalore. We never plan our return ticket as long as I was in Coromandel that was the basic thumb rule. You know your onward date normally it is either today or it should have been yesterday or even could be the day before yesterday. That is what my SMO ALS (Mr. A L Subiah) told me once when I requested him about my travel plan, he simply replied well prabhakar (my name is prabhakaran, but many use to miss that soft guy called “an”) you should have been there in site day before yesterday.
So I went to Bangalore and met the supplier made the first MOM in my whole life. I am just kidding; in fact I raised the issue you know like a very big inspector / surveyor. I proclaimed to minute the days activity. The other person who happens to be the MD of that company called upon his secretary. Then he looked at me pointedly and said will you give the note or can he take up the same. I was clean bowled, and I just gestured as sort of a good will and replied why not please go ahead. I know damn well that if I have done the minutes on that my career would have been on ruined on the same day. To be honest I did made one correction after all it is my call and I am there to audit my supplier.
So having done all the work I made a request to my customer if he can drop me at the railway station so that I can catch the train to Chennai which leaves by 14:00 hours. Indian Standard Time. Here I must salute the Indian railways that follow IST especially at the commencement of the journey. Unlike most of our guys who always looks for an excuse to start our daily work, that extra 5 minutes to punch in. So I take this time to salute my Indian railways I am really so proud of you. I always mention railways whenever I take training on subjects related to punctuality.
I came to the railway station got a ticket, went into the station. There was board which said “May I help you”. I reached that place and found that it was confirmed ticket booking on wait list or so I thought. The person who was sitting in the open railway corridor looked at me and asked do you want ticket. I showed him my open ticket which he took it looked into his papers and given me a confirmed seat. Wow I am in heaven now, confirmed ticket on the very last minute so I happily walked into train and sat.
So far I thought I was kid once again and enjoying my day in Bangalore but not for long. The train started to move out the railway station and people started waving to their friend’s relatives. An elderly person who must have retired couple of years ago sat just opposite to me. The train moved out of the railway station and the visitors and started to speed up. I was enjoying the view through the window as it is a day train and I got a window seat.

The total travel hours are about 6 hours so I settled down to enjoying my travel. I love to stand at the door in a speeding as it is a super fast express I went and stood at the door.
As the train passed I saw kids who cheered and waved to the passengers in train. They are quite delighted and joyful in their act even better than those who waved off their friends and relatives at the railway station.
But as you all by now know that I am a grownup who never wishes to cry when my Grandpa passed away. I just looked on them and kept watching through the window. After some time I went and sat in my seat opposite to that little old man. I saw that little old man (little old because he must have just retired) was waving his hand enthusiastically back.
I just wondered on what is happening around. Kids normally wave at train and even to air planes which flies way above your head. I have done exactly the same thing when I was a kid. But now, I was just wondering.
But this man he waved to every single kid quite merrily and quite happily. Probably that is the reason why so many kids are waving at the train. He was more cheerful than those kids who are watching this train go by. I am not very sure whether the kids can see this man waving them back, returning their joy, happiness. Probably the kids can see his hands which he kept outside the window and started waving.
Trust me he kept waving till there was no kid on the other side. The train started by around 02:00 p.m. from Bangalore and he was quite cheerful and waving. He did not failed to wave back not even to a single kid who happens to be watching these trains go by. In fact he even waved to kids who did not responded, but he did not mind it.
But I can see some happy faces on both side of the window a little kid who just retired and enjoying his life. Many kids who loved to wave at a passing train and for a change the train waved them back through a little kid. Most of the kids would have seen him waving because their waving gesture increased by seeing some response.
My mind once again recollected my travel time. The last time when I ever waved at a passing train, passing air craft. My mind was blank. The last time I really felt happy about Christmas, leaves, Sundays, hopping, singing while walking. No nothing came out. That little kid in me died long time back, but not in everyone.
Even today I do not wave not as cheerfully as that little old kid. But I do, if I see a kid who happens to wave when I travel I wave back a bit. The little kid in me should grow to become a real kid who can forget about everything and enjoy life as it is. I still have 20 years to get retired as per Indian standard so I wish, hope and pray that I will become a kid once again.

HOMELESS

Achronology: 003

Start Date: May 5, 2012 (Also this happens to be the actual date of the incident)
I got a job in Mangalore and had the facility of guest house where everything is taken care. But this privilege is only for two weeks as per the company norms. So I looked for a room and got one somewhat real cheap in Mangalore standard. Mangalore is a place for retirement since Mangalore sleeps by around 08:00 p.m. this includes shops, small vendors, eateries etc., I chose a place in the heart of the city Mangalore having pin number 575 001, near the famous Mangala Devi Temple. From this temple only the name of the city arrived.

Actually this place goes to sleep by around 07:00 p.m. I moved on 2nd of May 2012 and had a very tough time especially to find good place to eat out. Normally I reach by around 08:30 to 09:00 p.m. and was finding it very difficult for getting some food leave alone quality food. Somehow I managed with the available resources nearby.

On that day I reached pretty early on that Saturday evening and having done my cloth washing a day in advance I was quite free. I entered my room dropped all my belongings and switched to T-Shirt and walked out after locking out my door and the main entrance which is grill shutter. I went to a browsing centre and worked for about 1 hours looking at my personal mails and planned my outdoor program for Sunday. Then I had my food in a nearby fast-food which is just opposite to the net centre. I took my usual fruit salad that is again just opposite to the fast-food eatery.

As the day was still young I decided to take a walk around, especially to find some good place to eat. I took close to about 30 to 45 minutes of walking and literally made a circle around. I crossed a railway bridge named as the second bridge and walked around to cross it slightly in front over another bridge. This bridge is named as the first bridge. So I concluded that it must be a full circle. But this circle leads me very close to my room and I found that the only two shops available are already closed.

So I walked back to the place where I took my food and bought a two liter water bottle.. I started walking back and thinking about what to write from my life, the day at office etc.,


I was above to reach my house when I saw a small moment in the Bus stand. At that odd hour no bus will come. I saw on old lady sitting on the bench in the Bus Stand. She was fanning herself with some plastic sheet which would have been used to pack some fruits like apple. I also saw some empty and half empty two liter plastic bottles with her. They are of the same brand which I carry.

I felt sorry for her that she is homeless and has taken that bus stand shelter for her night stay. Then I compared herself with mine, I am also homeless but remembering that I have room with fan where I can sleep. I thanked god for one moment and suddenly something hit me. The key, where is the key. My brain screamed and I looked into my pant pocket and like many times before it was not there. I kept searching in my front pocket, back pocket my T-Shirt pocket. I was searching all over me and I know I lost my key. Now I am not just homeless but also room-less.

My mind went on high speed on what next to do. It started to throw many questions.

1. Where did I lose the key?
2.Where to spend the night? (the bus stand shelter is already occupied)

Question no. 1 had a logical answer to it. I went to the browsing center and then to a nearby fast-food shop. Fast-food shop I ignored as it was bit of standing. So the browsing center must have been the place. As they have kept nice chairs it was quite comfortable. I have the habit of keeping my belongings on the table while I browse. I normally do at home so leaving it on table became a habit. Now this raised sub questions.

1.Do I have to walk for a third time to the same place? (First for food, second for water and now)
2.What if the center is already closed?

Answer to first question is only YES because I have no other choice and I prayed that the center should remain open. Even before all this thinking I was walking back. But my mind was restless once again and was wondering on the second question’s, what if and where to.

I worked out few solutions.
1.To call up the person whose number is in my mobile and ask for a duplicate key.
2.If he is not available then book a hotel room.
3.Hotel room with just T-shirt and one water bottle looked ridiculous, so I thought of going back to the guest house and waking them and begging them for a night stay.

Having worked out some plan I reached the place and to my horror it is closed. My wind was already overloaded. But I already had worked out some solution So I took my mobile and looked for Nargis. But that number is not there. Then I remembered that I changed my SIM card and forgot to store the number of my house owner in the mobile. The number is in the other SIM card which is in the room along with my office bag whose key I just lost. I thought of hitting myself.

I am a bit proud I hate begging which included begging the house owner for a duplicate key. Now going to hotel is ruled out. I may be booked as a government guest and sent to jail for asking room at odd hour in a odd costume with a odd story.
My brain somehow struggled and gave me one more solution. It advised me to call the browsing center owner. Phone number is my reply to it. I got a reply look at the board. What if it is not there was supposed to be my reply since the board was near I looked. There are two numbers. My mind commanded call him, I saw that guy sitting in the counter. I thought it is close to 10:00 p.m what if he is asleep and if he is furious and what if said I don’t know etc.

But my mind said go and make the call, you don’t have much of a choice. So with a heavy heart I called and informed that I came for browsing and probably left the key there. I requested if he has found the same. His reply is something which I did not expect. He asked me if I can see a bakery next to his center. I said yes. He asked is it open. I said yes. His reply was simple that he has handed over the key to him. I jumped (my mind) physically I was solidly rooted on the turn up of events. So I said thank you and my mind is already brimming with pride with a look of I told you so.

I walked up to the bakery and requested for the key.
He is a little old man and he started to ask questions like where I came from and where I put up. Normally I would have replied negatively but knowing that I am both homeless and room-less. I said that I am from Chennai and has taken a room nearby. He again questioned me if I went to the browsing centre and I replied affirmatively. In between he had a call so he attended and then looked at me. He asked me to call the browsing center owner and hand over the phone. I did as directed.

He talked to him probably he gave a description of mine. One thing I could clearly catch is that he mentioned that I am wearing a spectacle.
Then with a very hearty smile (nice man who can smile at real strangers on late night, again in Mangalore standard) he gave me my key, my room and allowed me to sleep my mind in peace. So I took a walk back to my room for the third time within an hour. I was wondering how my prejudice are against me. If I did not walk back, if I did not called up and if…,

Well everything turned out well on that given day. As I reached the Bus Stand where I found that I am also homeless again I looked for that old lady. She is not there.
I just wondered. Is she really homeless I am not sure? She may be really waiting for bus, or someone to pick her up to home. I was thinking and prejudice her that she was homeless. May be she is really homeless but moved out. But I am not so sure. To be honest I thought she was homeless, but then she never sort of looked like a beggar.

Then it struck me actually on that night I am homeless and room-less, and God sent someone to remind me that I do not have the key. He also kept few of his angels working over time (in Mangalore everybody sleeps by 08:00 p.m.) to help me to get back to my room. When I reached my room it was 10:40 p.m. and I decided to pen this down. By the time I finished it was 11:10, if God has made his angels to work overtime then why can’t I.

p.s. That old lady must be homeless because the next day morning I saw her on the footsteps of an apartment will all here belongings. Probably she has vacated the bus stand so that one more homeless or roomless person can occupy that spot.

The Day I Cried:

Achronology: 001

Start Date: 19 April 2012

End Date: 24 April 2012

First review and correction: May 4, 2012

(The above dates are my actual writing date not exactly the day when this happened.)
I lived with my parents, the concept of Boarding school was always there but I refused to stay away from home. My mother used to say that I am like my Grandpa Mr. Thambuswamy who is my father’s father. I liked that idea of being referred to him but I know that I am not like him. He was a very silent but tough person who sits quietly in a metal chair (we have metal chairs made of thin tin sheets and chairs of metal wounded with plastic rope). He is quite pleased to sit in a corner and watch us over. The biggest part is that I am his pet. My brother always finds at the wrong end of his beating stick. If he makes any mischief he will be beaten up, if I make one still he will get some from him. I was protected by him he was my true guardian angel. The best part of my life was with him, I felt like the tiny Maharaja who has the privilege of sitting under the fan like in the “Kaithan advertisement”.

He took care of me everyday till I was in College; he passed away when I was in my Second year in Madras Christian College, Tambaram. He will take care of my books, wash my dress, prepare me for the exam. He does all the activities in our house starting from getting milk (standing in the quae for one bottle of milk), getting the ration, buying vegetables and groceries, preparing dough for the next day. This is apart from other activities like paying electricity bills, banks, Postal order, money order etc.,

I thought of buying him some gifts for his birthday which falls on 26of December the day after Christmas, but like many kids I failed miserably I didn’t gave him anything. I regret to till this day that I couldn’t do much when he was buried, as my father did not bought the place of his burial it is no longer belong to us. He now belongs to nature only in spirit and in reality. One thing I can take console his that my elder son carries his name “Thambuswamy” more reluctantly than with joy. I used to say that he own my grandpa’s name so he must be brave. But the name being old I know he was ridiculed by both his friend and by his younger brother. I was quite adamant in giving his name so that whenever his name is called up in Church for Birthday wishes I recollect the joyous moment when my grandpa names will be spelled out on Christmas mass.

The reasons for such long narration are just to give an idea how much that he took care of me. He became very sick once as he had high sugar and become diabetic. He won’t be able to control urinating and we kept a plastic basket which will be emptied as and when it fills up. My mother took care of him and we tried to treat him.

But Doctor has given the advice that he can be of little help and put him on strict diet. My mother received much advice and one such advice was that we should give him what he wants rather than what is suggested by the doctor.
So my mother asked him about his food and he preferred “Kellvaragu Kanchi” (finely ground ragi) so my mother prepared some and gave it to him. It was me who use to give him the food so I gave to him. He asked me for a glass of milk. I went to my mother and conveyed the same. She gave a glass of milk so I returned to him, again he asked for some sugar to be added in the Kellvargu Kanchi, milk mix. I got shocked as it was against the doctors prescriptions. So I again went to my mother and she handed me the sugar bottle.

My grandpa ate to his heart delight. We gave sugar and milk to a diabetic patient against the Doctors prescription. After about a week or so which I do not remember he became strong and is able to walk. The continuous urination also stopped. So again my mother took him to the Doctor and he was quite pleased with him and asked about how the prescription went. My mother gave the prescription namely “the Kellvaragu Kanchi-Milk-Sugar mix”. The Doctor looked more shocked than when I gave my grandpa the first dosage. He kept quiet for some time and said to my mother that for him only my mother’s medicine will work and asked us to continue the same.
He got up, started to walk well and did all the activities which he used to do earlier. So I did not have anything to do with crying when he was walking all around me. Even today he visits me when I sleep especially when I am really down mentally.

But all good things must come to an end and so it happened, my Grandpa’s elder sister passed away. The telegram reached us late as they mentioned a very old address. So he was unable to attend her funeral (that probably kept him alive for some more time). So my father and he went for the prayer meet organized at his native town Salem-Dharmapuri.

When he came back he was literally a dead man. A man who took the fight to diabetic with a dosage of sugar rich food decided to go on self declared hunger strike. He stopped taking food, he started to consume very little day by day. Irrespective of my regular insisting he refuses to take more and hands over most of the food back to me. He became sick day by day. He moved away from rich food to light food and then eventually to liquid food. It was my job to feed / provide food to him irrespective of whether it is liquid or solid. He was literally in comma or equivalent to it. He slept most of the time, we have to wake him up for any little food / liquid which he took. I was in my college at that time and one day when I came home a bit early by around 03:00 p.m. I looked at him and found he was sleeping.

My grandpa is a deep sleeper being; a hunter in his hay days his physique is lean and strong. His breathing will be very deep, strong and holds for long. So it is difficult to identify whether he is really breathing. I had this doubt for long as most of the movies talk about death when the breathing stops still. So I use to keep watch over him when he sleeps and will ensure that he takes his breath thrice before moving. It is sort of my own practice which I developed of my own.
On that fateful day I had a very bad feeling and my elder brother was leaving to his work. He just finished his technical training and was working as a company apprentice. Just before he was leaving I stopped him and asked him to take leave. Like usual he had scornful look in his faced and asked me why. I told him initially not to leave. He insisted again with the same look. I took some guts and told him that Grandpa does not seem to be looking good today, so I asked him to stay tonight. To be honest I was scared to be alone on that day, though my father was at home as he took voluntary retirement. My father normally lives in his own world, so on that day I looked upto my elder brother for some real support. He brushed me aside with remark “nonsense” and left the house.

As a default I asked my father about my grandpa. He replied as usual that he is quite alright and when I asked him about grandpa’s lunch. I got the usual reply “well he slept, so I let him”. I asked him again have you given him anything to drink. The reply need be given here, as usual my father’s reply remain more or less the same.

So I took up the job I prepared a small quantity of Horlicks and woke my grandappa. He struggled to sit but I managed to hold him. He started to drink his last drink of his life (so probably he would have lived longer if not for my poor preparation with that so called health drink). I felt something bad so I asked my father to be besides him. I walked out and sat in the stairs leading to our open terrace. I normally sit there when I am gloomy and confused.
I can hear my father’s voice saying to my Grandpa “be carefully while you lie back on the bed”. Something in me pulled and I did not move from my place. I want my father to confirm if anything went wrong. After a few minutes there was no sound from either of them. So I walked back to where my father was sitting and asked him about my grandpa. He replied with usual saying that he completed the drink and started to sleep again.

I went inside the room and look at him. True he was usual self; sleeping(?) deeply. I could not register his breathing. I just said to myself that it is usual that his breathing is very deep and shallow. I kept standing and standing but couldn’t register his breathing. DEAD?


But I am not ready for that not yet. So I went to my father and told him what I saw and asked him to look at my grandpa. I went back to where I belonged; hiding myself in the staircase waiting for the dreadful news.
Instead my father came back to me and asked me to come inside. My reply was simple “why” and the answer I got was schocking it is not that my father declared him dead but he wants to me check him.

Eventually I went in and stood in silence for sometime praying that he will take his breath once again; that deep shallow but steady breathing. But it never came, and then finally I declared to my father that he was dead.

I really do not whether he cried but I was empty like a stone, no emotion my grandpa who took care of me, who brought me up lied before me DEAD. I am his pet grandson was nothing but a stone acted like a Doctor who declared that one of his clients has just passed away. My father left home to bring my mother from school. I was alone with my Grandpa again, all alone for the first time ever in the world.

My mind was reeling on what to do. My mind rolled on such similar instances. One thing is to cry, but how. I just don’t know how to cry. Being born as a boy or been told that you are boy means one thing. A boy should not cry like a girl. I remember that I use to cry when I was a child for want of few things, when I am under pain. But having been told and brought up that being a boy means that one should not cry. Further it was said that I was more like my grandpa who never showed his pain. So I stood like a stone without any emotion. I went back to my hiding place the staircase.

After some time I heard my neighborhood aunty calling me up by my pet name “Cheecha” (meaning feeding bottle) so I walked up to the fence which is nothing but grown up bushes and trees. She enquired me one what is going on. I told her the same thing which I said to my father that I think that Grandpa is dead. She immediately said that I should speak in such manner and she rushed into our house. I also walked into the house she stood by the side of my grandpa for few minutes. The she said that he must have been dead and she left.

Again I am alone with my Grandpa, the one and only pet grandson standing like a carved stone. In fact I tried to even cry like in movies I placed two of my finger over my like some famous heroes do in movies to cry but nothing happened. I said to myself what is happening and why can’t I cry. Then it hit me. My Grandpa has just died and I am trying to fake crying. How absurd it is? I got angry over myself. Once again I walked out and went to the place where I can hide, in the staircase.
This time I walked out and went back to the staircase and sat fuming with anger on myself. My mind was still unable to accept the fact that I could remain in such a manner. Crying is sin, crying is what girls do, crying is what kids, toddler do. A young man in his college cannot cry, but how. All these are running in my mind.
Suddenly I remembered that my grandpa is lying all alone. So I went back to the house and started to think. What people normally do in such situations? At that time the usage of freezer for the dead person is not rampant.

People normally garland them and fan him out to whisker away the flies that normally comes. I thought about it and then switched on the fan and sat by him. He used to sit by me, when I read, write, play and while I sleep. When there won’t be any electricity he uses his towel as a fan. He was at my side always; on that day I sat by his side not able to cry but sitting by his side giving him company.
I saw my mother came in and she cried. As many say my grandpa treated my mother as his daughter and not as daughter-in-law. But his pet grandson still watching like a stone not even now unable to cry. Then I told my parents that I will go and bring my elder brother from his work place. I want to scold him when I met him, because I forewarned him before leaving. So I took the bicycle and went to the place where he said he was working. But I could find the factory which he named I searched in vain and returned.

In those days there is no mobile even telephone is a luxury. I still want to scold him so I was expecting him soon and the moment he comes I will bounce on him like a hunting leopard with a statement “I told you so”. As his shift ends by 10:00 he reached home and on his way he got the message from the neighbors. No soon he entered he cried with a very loud voice “Thattha” meaning Grandpa. He was crying endlessly and my mother joined with him.

I was shocked and could not understand why he is crying. He hated him (that is what I thought), he will be always punished for all his and my mistakes. I was the king, the Maharaj of my grandpa his great loving grandson. I am unable to cry, I could not even think of crying. Then I though probably my brother was faking because I know he was not his pet. He must be mimicking so that everyone else will think that he is good fellow.

Truly speaking he is the good Samarian there; this scoundrel who is writing this article branding his own brother as fake. It is because he himself is unable to cry. I am just a rogue standing like pillar thinking on all non-sense on about others. I tried to mimic, I was trying to fool others but I could not. I still could not understand how my elder brother manages to cry. He kept crying all night, I was just sitting and watching.

Only two thoughts were in my mind. One is that, why I am unable to cry. Is it because I am boy, a man, or someone who does not have a soul, a criminal who accuses others. And the second is how my brother can cry non-stop from the moment when he entered. Is he faking or am I really a rogue?
The day passed on. Family members, friends, neighbors’ came; paid their respect. My father’s office workers came last my mother’s school teachers came and left. Until such time I still remained what I am moving around with nothing inside. My soul on that should have been frozen or my mind simply refuses to accept what is going around me.

For the final prayers Church members came along with Church priest. I saw my mother still crying and my brother even still crying. My mother so long been surrounded by many of her school teachers who paid their last respect few moments ago. Now she is crying all alone sitting on the foot side of my grandpa.

I felt sorry for my mother if not for my grandpa whom I should have missed more. I went and sat nearby her. Preparations were going on for the last journey of my grandpa. The arrival of coffin was declared by someone.

The coffin was brought in I heard my brother crying getting louder. My mother followed it, prayers just started and my Grandpa finally my dear Grandpa was lifted and placed in the coffin. I could only see his feet; suddenly all of all suddenly was pulled right inside me. As if my heart broker into two, I was not worried about my anything now. It was a pull a great pull, and then it started.

I heard my voice of crying over the voice of mother, over the voice of my elder brother whom I know now is not faking, over than the voice of the parish priest. People tried to console me but my heart for the first time in more than 24 hours felt the pain and let out a roar.

I cried my heart out, tears flowing down my cheeks I forgot that I was a boy, I forgot that I was young man, I forgot the statement that being a boy one should not cry like a girl. I even forgot that I his pet grandson. I cried like a sinner, who just got his soul back, I cried as if it was the last day of my life. I cried and cried.

I never know what they prayed; I never know what they said to me during that time. I cried I cried and I was over with it. I cried and walked with my grandpa in his final journey. I carried the coffin cover I felt as if I am going with him to the grave and literally so as the burial ground is lower from the road side. My crying came down during the last few minutes. But I was more than a relived man, I was not faking, I did not doubt on my brother’s and I am no more carried on my guilty conscious.

Still people say that crying is for girls; great and let it be so.. But I cried after I did cried on many occasion loss of close friend in an accident, my own father and that too when I was far away in Middle East. I even cried a bit (with small tears swelling on my eyes when I wrote this). On that fateful day I was all a stone, a guilty grandson, an accuser, a sinner and then of course a man who could somehow find his soul to express his thoughts.

p.s: I thought of writing on that day to express how I felt, but neither my English nor my mother tongue was good enough for writing. My handwriting is the worst. Even today my mother tongue Tamil remains in the same status and so my English. However like that sinner who is able to find his soul to cry I find some guts to pen or type this down. So that is why I wrote this article first. I still have tears whenever I tried to re-read this for correction. Finally I can feel my soul over my pride. If you find it so, just let me know.