Teenage Diaries - 'The woman'

Every guy during his teenage comes across women who remain in his mind forever. Some of them for their sex appeal, some for their physical beauty, some for their magical eyes, some for their smile and some simply because they are unforgettable. It was in 1995 that I first saw this woman.  She was tall, slim and had curves that could put a precision geometric compass to shame.

Right from the school going adolescent till the old men, al of them used to ogle at her as she graced the streets of my colony. Scooters would slow down, bicycles would stop to look at the wonder that walked the streets. But the most unbelievable thing about her was, she had a son in secondary school. And her daughter, was in high school. Nobody would have ever belived it.

Anyway, soon her daughter grew up and was in college. In the evenings, when the mother and daughter, one more beautiful than the other seemed like two sisters. Many youngsters, from all classes of the society were now behind this girl. Everybody wanted to give her a lift, befriend her, propose to her and a few, just wanted to see her. But then, she never responded to any of them. In this matter, she was as strict as God was on himself, while he crafted her.

From about 2003 onwards, I started spending less time in the colony. I had an MBA to deal with. Only ocassionally, the mother or the daughter or both together were seen - but when they did, they lived up to their reputation. One day in 2004, my last year in the colony, I got a news that the girl was getting married. On 26th December, the day Tsunami struck, we moved out of the colony. I never saw any of them again.

Yesterday, I was getting late to office and there was a huge traffic jam, I took a short cut from inside my good old colony. And coincidentally, turned inside the same lane where they lived. For just one second, when I glanced towards their home, I saw, a very cute young lad, about three years old swinging on the rusty gate which made a creaking sound. And feeding him morsels, was his mother. And standing by their side, was his grandmother. Both of them still looked like sisters. The daughter may have gained a few negligible pounds in course of her motherhood. But the grandmother, was exactly as she looked in 1995. There was no change. None whatsoever.

The only change was that the way I looked at them had changed. Now, a shabbily colored excel sheet was running in my head. I turned my head and drove away.

Sense of Humor

As long as there are pretentious and workaholic people around us, good sense of humor is soon going to be extinct. It's not the lack of it that bothers me. What bothers me is the quality. The other day I overheard two s/w engineers speaking to each other. The dialogue went like this, "Abe yaar, spouse ka female kya hota hai...". The other one replied, "Spice" and they both laughed as if Tim Sidell has just finished telling them three hundred jokes. It is for moments like these, that the phrase, "Fuck my life" was invented. 

Coming to movies. Especially in Telugu movies, sense of humor is great.. In the 1980s, a man called Jandhyala revolutionized Telugu comedy. I also consider him one of the greatest directors of all time. But of late, men who think they are funny have terra-fucked the comedy scene. I think it isn't their mistake either. The other day, I was watching a Telugu movie in a theater and there was a drunk man slapping another and half the people in the theater were laughing their asses off. On another occasion, in a scene where a man was hit with a stone on his forehead and he started crying. For this scene, people almost fell off seat. See, this is where the problem lies. Even Hindi movies somehow fail to be funny. Simply fail. 

After any insurance professional, the worst jokes ever are told at office team lunches. One such epic facepalm joke I heard while dining at Alex's Kitchen. A group of about seven came and occupied a long table along a corner. One of them said, "Ok, let's start the meeting. Aanad, note down minutes of the meeting" and they all burst out laughing. I wanted to throw the hot noodle soup on his face and walk away but our constitution came in my way. 

Sense of humor displayed by good trainers is always of the highest quality unless it is insurance. In my first job at an insurance company (which I quit in 2 months and have been abusing that industry ever since), a trainer told me the most disgusting joke of my life. It  was about a man shitting in his pants while trying to escape form a tiger in a jungle. I remember one of my colleagues laugh hysterically at that joke. That was the last I saw that trainer, but his joke still puts me off when I think of it. 

At office outings, ghettoization begins even before the bus for the venue arrives. There are people who have fun, there are those who crib and complain, there are those who eat and sleep and then there are those who keep thinking of work and discuss projects even when you are supposed to kick some ass. Beyond all of them, there are the ones who just find a tree, sit under it and hadn't enjoyed a joke since Ant and Elephant jokes were invented. They are as clueless as a pubic hair stranded on a public urinal waiting for something to take it down. These are the poeple who need help. They need to learn to laugh, to live, to have a great time while you are here as rightly suggested by a Hindi song 

"Haste Haste, kat jaaye raste, zindagi yun hi chalti rahe...khushi mile ya gham, badlenge naa hum....duniya chaahe badalti rahe!"

I laugh for 10 mins at least everyday. Do you?

- Deepak Karamungikar

Short Film: 'The Courier'

The Courier
Written & Directed by Deepak Karamungikar

Smile Life-cycle in the IT Industry (Click to enlarge)

The Marriage (Double-Click on the image)

This cartoon is based on a conversation I head yesterday between my friends!

Hitec Nijam - 2

The Bird

Bird flew high, how high how high,
Bird flew low, how low how low,
Bird didn't fly, how bird, how bird.
Bird died, what bird what bird.
Fly so high that none can see,
People will talk, but let them be
People will talk and people they'll be


- Deepak Karamungikar

The Pussification of the Modern Indian Male

Note: This post contains crude and recklessly used expletives. You may leave if you don't wish to read such posts. 

Since time immemorial, the male has been the head of a family among most humans. The man used to hunt, he used to fight, he was brave and was strong. Even in the ancient and medieval civilizations, you always hear brave stories about Men accomplishing tasks unheard of, they scaled newer peaks and bravery and courage had no limits. 

In India, even upto the 1970s and 80s, men were strong and had some qualities that they could boast of. The way men carried their pride in 1990s is still talked about. Ever since we entered the era of globalization, Indian male has lost his way. Wrong priorities, Continuous decrease in levels of common sense, increasing stupidity and computers have caused men to behave like complete assholes. Let us look at why - 

• In the 1990s and 2000s, when I was growing up, when a friend asked you to get ready to go out somewhere, all you had to do was wear chappals and get going. Now, the process has changed. Now the friend calls, then SMSes the change in the timing. In the meanwhile, this guy will wash his face with NIVEA for MEN and then apply Shah Rukh Khan's cream on his face, then apply gel on his head to give his hair a hard-on, sprays AXE deodorant hoping to attract some future call center employee's attention, plugs his iPOD into his ears and plays Akon on it.  Then, he waits for his friend. And then they go out. What are you? fucking pussy. 

• Everybody wants to look good. I agree. But it doesn't mean you spend Rs. 3000 per month on keeping your hair straight. You have curly hair means you have curly hair. Don't rape your hair and do things which make it look like as if ten Gautam Bhimanis are hanging from your head. 

• While I respect the fact that guys as young as 20-22 are earning money and supporting and in some cases starting their families, I hate the over-confidence that oozes out of his ass hole when he speaks. These days, men are covering their faces, heads and almost everything with a scarf. If at 22, you are afraid of the effects of pollution on your skin, then you are like a clitoris that cannot convolute. Then these drivers, especially two-wheeler drivers who wear three layers of head gear before wearing a helmet for the fear of hair-damage that leaves a bandanna knot hanging like a goat's testicle behind your neck - fuck you too.

• I remember my cousin telling me that in 1980s, love used to happen just with eyes. Boys and Girls, just used to look at each other for months and not say anything. On the other hand, a long stare could induce gang-wars. But now, we know of men who walk up to their cabin which is about 2 kms from the main door wearing sun-glasses even when it is dark outside and ensure that maximum people see them. Teeny boppers have started wearing sun-glasses at malls. Pricks even watch movies with their sunglasses on I guess. But you fools, a man's masculinity first lies in his eyes. Don't hide in your pick-any-Rs-100-sunglasses. Eyes in the past have undressed, not Ray-Bans. Be a man, show your eyes.

• We have read that Men in the past could sacrifice their life to keep their word. People would swear by such men of honor. Today, we have men who violate traffic rules as easily as they masturbate. Men have lost patience - They drive a two-wheeler on the footpath because there's a jam on the road. Men have no common sense - They know that an iPad is useless but they still want it. Men have no respect for themselves - They spend Rs. 1000 for a girl's birthday gift but argue at the parking for Rs. 10. Men have no sense priority - they speak harshly to their mother but are sweet to a stranger. 

This post can never end. But stage by stage, inch by inch, as days pass by, Men are losing all qualities that made them men apart from what lies between their legs. Over these years, this process can be termed as 'The Pussification of the Modern Indian Male.'

- Deepak Karamungikar

(The term Pussification was first used by George Carlin.) 

Hitec Nijam - My first Telugu short film...

The Floods

Pattiseema is a sleepy village on the banks of Godavari in West Godavari District of Andhra Pradesh. With the village on one side of a bumpy road and a levee separating the village from the river on the other side, it is difficult for English language to describe its grace.The river flows towards the west into the Bay of Bengal and on its way beautifies the entire Coastal Andhra region. Coconut trees, greenery, sand, laid-back life and air so fresh that you'd never want to get out of there make you feel jealous of the natives. 

But the picture isn't so glorious when it rains. Last month, there were heavy rains, the levee saved the village from being flooded. My friend clicked a couple of pictures and I have included them here. Also, he told me about his uncle, Mr. Kanna Rao who has lived in Pattiseema since his birth. The story he told me gave me goosebumps. I was speechless for a long time. This is what he had to tell me.

In 1987, there were severe floods owing to incessant rainfall. This was when the Douwleshwaram barrage built in the British era was damaged. And in Pattiseema, there was no levee and neither was there a road. The village just lay on the bank of the river. Looking at the relentlessness in the flow of the river, the villagers could guess what to expect in the next couple of days. That night, the water lever reached the edge of the village. As it kept rising, people in the first houses facing the river shifted backwards to their neighbors. At midnight, two rows of houses were in water. Whoever had pucca houses, ran to their terraces. Those who didn't, took shelter with the fortunate lot.The whole village was awake. There were two big bungalows where most of the villagers gathered and prayed for divinity to intervene.

That night, Kanna Rao, his wife (my friend's aunt) and their two kids - one nine and other seven stood on their terrace and watched nature unleash its fury. The rain had stopped. That was the only respite. They waited for the next morning on their terrace as their kids slept on their shoulders. The next morning, nothing much had changed. People could see household articles like utensils, chairs, even bicycles flowing away at breakneck speed. The water level had reached the top of Kanna Rao's main door and they could hear articles bang at their wall. Another family and a couple of men also managed to reach their terrace for company and shelter. They spent that day eating bananas which they managed to get. That night, the water level seemed to have receded marginally and this was the chance for making arrangements for food. He decided to wait for the night and by next morning, the water level reduced significantly and was up to shoulder level of a normal Indian man.

Kanna Rao, along with two of his neighbors, decided to go and get something to eat for the others. When they came out into the street, only thing they could see was water everywhere. No step was taken without stumbling upon objects under water. Sometimes, they were dead cattle or may be even humans. With a beedi katta and a match box carefully packed in plastic, he began his journey to Jangareddygudem, a town about 53 kms from Pattiseema, the nearest place where relatives lived and also was a place relatively less affected by floods. When Kanna Rao began his journey, he didn't care about 'what ifs' like more rainfall, water level, snakes, succumbing to the force of the water, pits, manholes, bridges and many other possibly dangerous things which were under water. He just began. After they walked in chest level water for about three kilometers, one of them gave up and walked back home. He was tired. 

The other two carried on towards their destination. At one point, water level rose and they began swimming. Taking a break wherever they could, they swam and swam and swam. This way, until that night, they covered thirty kilometers. They decided to stop on an elevated piece of ground for the night. A few men were on it already. They got to eat something from them for that night. The next morning, when Kanna Rao woke up after an insignificant nap, he found his neighbor had fever. He gave up and didn't want to continue the journey. Kanna Rao was all alone and had twenty kilometers more to cover. He went on. Wherever he could walk, he walked. Wherever he could swim, he swam and beating everything, he reached Jangareddygudem that night. There, he filled a huge sack with well packed rice, gram and other Kirana. He borrowed some money and with about 25 kgs of luggage on his back, fresh beedi katta with match box tucked under his lungi, the next morning he started his journey back home. 

On his way back, the it had started pouring again. It was quite a challenge to keep everything dry. He knew that everything was packed well in plastic, but then he was worried too... worried that his kids would stay hungry. Taking every care, he tied the large cement bag  luggage to his back and swam his way back. He stopped for the night where his friend had fallen sick, picked him up and also got a few vegetables which were being distributed by the government officials in a boat. This added to his luggage and responsibility of an ill friend. But he didn't mind. Taking a break wherever possible and lighting up a beedi under serene and unknown islets, he finished his journey and they reached home by midnight and then, they cooked a meal on the terrace  on a borrowed kerosene stove and their kids ate. 

It is awe-inspiring what a man can do for his family. To me, Mr. Kanna Rao, now about 60 years old, is a hero. I have met him and he is a very humble man. I asked him what made you go that distance and get all that stuff. He replied, "Pillalu Unnaru Kada. Vallaki aakalestundi ani vella" (Kids will feel hungry, so I went).

- Deepak Karamungikar

My book: Love at first sight & other stories - Now available here.

Beauty Kills.

I was 16 when I first saw her at a relative's wedding. Unusually, that was the only wedding where I didn't have many of my cousins for company. I had present at the function hall a day before the wedding. And like all Maharashtrian weddings, here too, there was a ceremony called the Srimanti Pujan which happens one night before the wedding. I was the only one from my family to attend as the rest were to arrive next morning. 

I was on the bride's side and had lots of things to do. After the pooja ended, at about 10.00 pm, I was introduced to a very beautiful woman, a relative of the bride I had never met before. She was may be about five years older than me. She was slim, had shoulder length hair, beautiful eyes and had there was something in her eyes that could enslave any man.  I was asked to accompany her to the STD Booth as she wanted to call her father. Yeah, in 1998, STD Booths were in great demand post 10.00 pm. And then, my walk with her began. 

As I walked through the dusty lane of Secunderabad that night along with her, she started a conversation with me and asked about me, my relationship with the hosts, then about my studies, etc. She made a quick call to her father and finished it in two minutes. Then, the next number she dialed was to the same town, but to another number. Because of the broken glass pane of the telephone booth, I was able to hear what she was speaking. In a minute, I could realize that it was her boyfriend. As a teenager, I could only feel jealous of him. After she came out, she looked at me and smiled. She said, 

"Did you hear what I spoke?"

"It was audible," I said.

"Don't tell anyone, he's my hero," she said.

"That's nice," I said. I don't know why but I was a little disappointed. However, as we walked back, she told me everything about her, how they met, how they built a relationship and how it grew stronger. I was a little too immature to understand all the she said. Only one thing was on my mind. I wondered how lucky that guy must be, to find a beauty like this one. 

The next day she wore a saree and looked so beautiful that she almost killed me. Since she was older and eying her wouldn't make any sense, I decided to enjoy her company. At about four o clock that evening, almost all guests had left. The marriage hall floor was full of flower petals and rice grains. Some chairs were racked one upon the other at every corner. Everyone looked tired. She came to me and asked me to accompany her to the STD booth, again. I readily agreed and like the previous night, I waited outside the same booth and could hear what she said into the microphone.

While what she spoke into that microphone is not important, when we returned to the bride's home that evening, women gathered in one room and men in another. Long discussions followed the dinner even after the tiring day. At about 8 pm, she came out with her mother and they had their luggage in their hands. As they left, she didn't even turn and look at me. There was no good bye, there was not even a smile, nothing at all. They just crossed the street and disappeared. I was a bit disappointed, I didn't even know why. 

Slowly, I forgot everything about it and never even bothered to ask my cousin about her.  

In 2007, I had the good fortune to travel to another town for a distant cousin's marriage. At the Srimanti Pujan, the marriage-eve ceremony, as I struggled to keep my eyes open at 12.45 in the night, I was shocked to see someone. It was her. Nine years had made no difference to her apart from a couple of pounds added to her weight. She was still the magic that I had once met. I had grown up since the last time I saw her. She had a kid in her arms. I didn't know whether to smile at her or not. But when I did, she smiled back too. I was glad and waved at her and she waved back. The next day, I saw her with a handsome man who had thick mustache. He was quite tall and they made a good couple. Their kid was cute too. But she looked murderously beautiful.

Two years later, in 2009, I came to know that in 1999, when she had declared to her parents that she wanted to marry her boyfriend (apparently from a lower caste), her father had passed away because of a heart attack. Within an year, she got married to this man, the mustached college professor. When her boyfriend heard the news, he left home. They tried to search for him but to no avail. Many years later, he was found roaming around in tattered clothes near a very famous temple. The brought him home, but he ran away again. Their parents don't search for him anymore. 

This winter, another cousin from the same family is getting married. I am not sure if I will go. 

- Deepak Karamungikar
 (My book, Love at first sight & other stories is now available online for purchase - Click here)

Whatever happens, happens for good - My 100th post!

I am glad to announce to you that this is my 100th post on Echoes. And the last few months have been amazing. I thank all my blog readers for pushing me past this milestone. Last evening, I was having a discussion with a friend about this concept called 'Whatever happens, happens for good'. I remember that in my other blog, 'Stochastic Chronology' (blog now offline as the book was published), I had written a personal experience on the same topic. I wanted that post to be the 100th post on 'Echoes' because it is one of my favorite posts and also one of my first. 

Here it goes - 

Whatever happens, happens for good

I was 8 years old when we shifted to the North-eastern part of Hyderabad which was pretty much a suburb in 1991. It was indeed a very emotional moment for me 18 years back. All of us cried when we left our home where our family had lived for over 25 years. For me, it meant only one thing. I will not be able to play marbles, fly kites, play I Spy with my friends. I had 4 friends to be precise Rahul, Anand, Praveen and Vijay Gangadar. Rahul was an immediate neighbor. Anand was the son of a rich doctor. Both of the Maharashtrians - like me. But Vijay Gangadhar and Praveen were from a Telugu families. Praveen was the son of a goldsmith. I was in touch with him until I was in college.

But, Vijay Gangadhar was the most popular among all of us. He was the leader and Anand didn't like him for that. For 9-10 year olds, leadership was too much to understand, but the guy who had the final say in what game to play was the leader!


I shared a very special relationship with Vijay. He always let me have more marbles. He gave me whatever I asked including his tennis ball, his toys, his stickers, etc. In fact I remember, there was this bubble gum called BIG FUN which used to have a cricketer's photo inside the wrapper. Whenever we purchased two BIG FUNs, he let me keep his wrapper too. He liked me. Last memories that I have of him are that we, for the first time had gone to eat Pani Puri in front of Shanti theatre in Narayanguda and we shared 4 pani puris each for a rupee.


We had vacated the house in 1991. My paternal aunt and her family moved into the same house in 1994. And, I got a reason to visit that place again and again. During these visits which were as rare as once every 4 months, over the years only helped the distance between my old pals grow. In fact I remember when I was in the 9th Standard, Anand didn't even ask me to come in and spoke to me sticking his head out of the door for a minute and shut it. I never understood why people took some old friends so easily, but I didn't mind. Rahul was a bookworm and his mom never allowed him out of the house.


But this story is of a boy called Vijay Gangadhar. His affinity towards me made him come home everyday. Nobody in my house liked him as he was not a very disciplined child and they warned me against playing with him. But once out of the house, I was with him - always. He met me almost everytime I went to my Aunt's place - my old home. Until one day in 10th Standard, when I visited his place, I saw his dad beating him with a long cane. He hit him atleast 35 blows and kept abusing him. His mom came out to me and said, "Your friend has started stealing money from home. God knows what he is doing with that money." As Vijay lay moaning and crying in pain, his dad kept kicking him. I was scared. I walked away and kept thinking about it for many days. I never went to see him again.


Later, my aunt revealed that Vijay had started taking drugs and was caught with some local ragpickers. I was surprised because Vijay was sharp, he was good at school and was the fastest runner among all of us. I kept wondering what had happened of a cheerful young boy. My aunt warned me against meeting him and so did my dad when he came to know of this. I spoke to Praveen and asked him if he knew something about this. Praveen said, "After you left, we slowly stopped meeting. Anand's dad got richer and he left all of us. Rahul is with his books always. And my mom would kill me if I met Vijay. "


Years passed by and I only kept hearing from my aunt and my cousins how Vijay got into trouble multiple number of times. There were stories that he was caught many times sniffing chemicals, injecting drugs into his body, smoking weird leaves, etc. He would collapse on footpaths after strong doses, etc. Local police station visits were routine for him.


This was the time when I had given up thinking about Vijay. I felt he was a lost cause now and any contact with him will not be appreciated by my parents.


Many years later, in 2002, I had gone to watch a Telugu movie called 'Manmadhudu'. It was in Shanti theater, the same one where I had my first pani puri with Vijay. I looked at the pani puri man who had grown old and smiled to myself. In the interval, as I came out with my friend Sarathy, a lean, unshaved untidy man with a pale complexion walked upto us and asked for a match box. As my friend handed him the matches and he lit up his cigarette, I noticed that his pants were unzipped. I told him, "Boss, your zip". He held his cigarette in his mouth and pulled up his zip. I keenly observed this man and suddenly realized that it was my childhood friend Vijay. He was in tatters. His eyes were about to pop out. He was in a semi-conscious state. He didn't recognize me at all. But, I wanted to. Then, something at the back of my mind stopped me. I just observed him and saw that he was shivering and was taking long drags from his cigarettes. He lit up another one, said something to himself, made a couple of gestures to himself, nodded his head, said, "Thuuuu" and put his hand on his forehead and walked away.


I wanted to speak to him. But, I was scared. I do not know why I felt the need to avoid any conversation with him. Later that day, I called up Praveen who told me that Vijay had lost his sanity and was completely dependent on drugs. In fact, their family had shifted from that lane unable to bear the insults. Vijay had stopped recognizing people and only thing he lived for were drugs. Chemical, Natural, Medicinal of whichever way it comes - he was always high. Three rounds of rehabilitation had no impact on him. His father was tired of beating him up and had given up on him. Vijay's mother had told this story when she came to buy some gold ornament for her daughter. Praveen's father had told him the story over dinner one day.


The picture of my last meeting with Vijay stayed in my mind for a long time. In 2003, I got admission into an MBA course and as life was going good, one day in the newspaper I read a headline


20-year old dies of head injury. Drug Overdose suspected.


The article below this headline made no sense to me as I knew what would have happened. I felt bad for a while, but then, it had to happen.


8th July 2009.
6 years after this news and 18 years after we had left the old house, my cousin is getting married and I am here at my aunt's place - my old house. As I look up to the old familiar ceiling, only one thing came to my mind - Vijay. As I wasn't able to sleep, I kept thinking of my childhood days. But, after a while, a thought came to my mind which stole all my sleep for the night. If we had not moved out of that house, could I have saved Vijay? Without a doubt, I would have remained his friend and may be, he never would have been introduced to drugs. I later learnt that a rag picker who played marbles with him, introduced him to drugs. May be if we had remained friends, he would have never played with the rag picker. He was good at studies and may be would have become someone important today. I am sure that it would have been different if we had stayed there.


After a while, I realized another thing which left my mind blocked. For an event which has two possible outcomes, there was an equal probability of the other event occuring. What if I had stayed back there and what if both of us, me and Vijay had come in contact with the ragpicker? What if even I had become like Vijay? I cannot imagine what would have happened to my parents in that case. My grandfather was the most respected man in that street as he was a retired headmaster. What would have happened to him?


Stuck at this difficult thought, I felt, there is nothing beyond destiny. I realized that there is a divine power which is watching every move you make and knows what to make you do and when and how and to what extent. I would call it the God's way of giving a bad danger, a slip. I still feel bad for Vijay. May his soul, rest in peace. But, looking at the larger picture, God is great and he knows when exactly to change your lane. He changed mine and that is the truth. And it took 18 years for me to understand JUST ONE of HIS scheme of things.


And probably that's why all elders say, "Whatever happens, happens for good."

- Deepak Karamungikar

  (My book, Love at first sight & other stories is now available online for purchase - Click here)

The Window - a true story

I wanted to share one of the most astonishing true incident my two decade older cousin told me when I visited his village. In the sleepy town of XYZ, in the 1980s, there was this teenager called Mahesh. Mahesh was mentally slow. He was a little slow to react to everything, couldn't add 2 and 2, stammered as he spoke and had an unclear voice. He was pretty popular and everyone made fun of him. His father owned a small shop and Mahesh, helped him often in doing simple tasks. When all the boys played cricket, he sat under a tree and watched the game. Although he could play well, he never was interested. Facing this ground, was a water tank and beside the water tank, was a two-storied house which was the quarters in which the supervisor lived. A small pathway leading to the water tank separated this house from the tree under which Mahesh sat.  

One of those days in Summer, someone prompted him to climb up the tree and he readily agreed. He had climbed the tree for the first time and he enjoyed it. The next day onwards, whenever there was a game in progress, he used to climb up the tree and sit. One day, the supervisor of the water tank changed and a new family had occupied that house.  The supervisor had a beautiful looking daughter and she, had occupied the room on the first floor, whose window opened towards the playground. The moment Mahesh saw that girl, he fell for her.  That day onwards, he continued to climb that tree and but faced the opposite direction - towards her window. He didn't even know her name and neither did he have the capability to go and ask her. He just used to wait for the game to start and when it did, he climbed the tree and saw her. 


I am not sure what must have gone through his mind at that time, but he surely was mesmerized by her. In about two weeks time, things changed for Mahesh. He didn't have anything to do with the game or any of the boys. He started coming to the ground at about seven in the morning and sat there till the afternoon. He went back, had lunch and then came back again. And in the evening, his brother would come looking for him to take him home. By then, everyone was aware of what Mahesh did on the branch of that tree near the ground. They knew he was mentally unstable. But probably, deep inside, he had fell in love with that girl. He spent about twelve hours on that tree everyday looking for her. As if it was a duty.

At this stage, no one was sure whether the girl looked at him or not.  Only Mahesh knew. One day it was raining heavily and the supervisor noticed the young boy climbing the tree despite the rain. He saw that after climbing up a few branches, the boy positioned himself facing the window where his daughter lived. He was enraged and screamed at him. He asked him to get down. When Mahesh heard him, he got down. The supervisor asked him, 

"Why are you climbing this tree?"

"I like it up there" he stammered in his hardly comprehensible voice

"What? But in this rain? What are you doing there?"

"I am looking at that girl"

"Which girl?"

"The one who lives in that room" and pointed it towards the window. 

The supervisor got pissed off to the core and slapped him. Mahesh stood there unmoved. He slapped him again. Yet, there was no movement in his eyes. He was slapped multiple times and was grounded. He found a stick and started beating him. But nothing pained him. Multiple blows and abuses later, the supervisor warned him and left. The moment he went inside and closed the gate, Mahesh climbed back onto the tree and stayed there till it was dark. But, the window was closed. He stayed there, hoping the window would open. 

The next morning, sharp at seven, he came and climbed the tree again. When the supervisor noticed him, he urged him to get down. This time, he gathered a couple of other workers and they all beat him up. One of the boys noticed this and informed Mahesh's father. He came rushing along with a couple of others and there was a huge argument. He tried to explain that his son was a bit abnormal but to no avail. Somehow, he managed to take his son away.

Two days passed. Boys playing cricket noticed that neither did the window open nor was Mahesh seen. Supervisor seemed to be satisfied. But the third day, again at seven o clock, Mahesh came and climbed the tree. He kept looking towards the window and hoped it will open. But it didn't. The mentally unstable teenager had a lot of patience. He kept waiting and waiting but nothing resulted from it. Suddenly, he noticed that a police jeep had arrived and stopped under the tree. They forced Mahesh down and took him away. For a whole day, he was inside the police station. Mahesh's father was called for and was made to sign a note saying that if his son is seen around that house again, he could be held responsible. When he took his son home and fed him, he begged to his son to stay away from that girl or that house or that tree. He seemed to have agreed and nodded his head.

But, the next morning, again, Mahesh was back on to the tree. He climbed onto his favorite branch and sat there, looking towards that window. The supervisor noticed it. He didn't say a word. He didn't even inform the police. He didn't nothing. He spent a couple of weeks in denial of Mahesh. Then, one day, a truck was parked in front of the quarters as Mahesh climbed up to his favorite spot. He saw that one by one all the items were being loaded into the truck and at about twelve in the afternoon,  the truck left. A cycle-rickshaw in which the supervisor, his wife and the beautiful daughter were seated, followed. Mahesh stayed there and kept staring at the vehicles until he couldn't see them anymore.

Nobody knows what the girl felt about Mahesh. After about two years, the water-tank was abandoned and a new one was built outside the village. But Mahesh continued to climb that tree for the next seventeen years, morning till night. One day when he was bout thirty five years old, he fell asleep on that branch and slipped. He fell down and broke his leg. He was lucky to survive that fall. Today, Mahesh is about forty-eight and walks using crutches. Nothing has changed. He doesn't speak much. Often, he goes to the ground and sits under that tree smoking beedis.

- Deepak Karamungikar
  (My book, 'Love at first sight & other stories' is available here)

I have met Mahesh (name changed) a couple of years back and have seen the playground, the window and the water-tank. Boys still play cricket there. Mahesh is still mentally unstable. I didn't dare to speak to him or ask him anything, but I thought that was quite a love story. 

Punishments

(Double Click to enlarge)

 

Ganesh Festival - The inconvenient truth.

Vinayak Chaturthi is a festival that excites the entire nation. It brings joy and happiness and decorates the entire country in festive colors. Lord Ganesha stays in your home for a few days and takes away with him, all the obstacles for the rest of the year. This is what Vinayak Chaturthi is supposed to mean to most of us. But then, there are these few things which bother me. In the name of Lord Ganesha, a few things happen which aren't supposed to.

1. Ganesh Pandals: I am not against Ganesh Pandals. But then, they cause serious traffic jams. In a city like Hyderabad, every hundred meters there is a Ganesh Pandal. And why do they have different pandals installed when all of them live in the same colony or society? I think there should be ONE PANDAL for ONE COLONY. Nothing more. It helps in controlling traffic congestion on the day of the immersion and decreases sound pollution. Also, it increases communal harmony. In one colony if there are four different groups, what kind of unity are we talking about? 

2. Youngsters: It is good to see young people managing the whole process of fetching the idol from Dhoolpet and then managing the pandal and then, the immersion. But, I have been a part of these groups too and I know exactly what happens in these pandals and around them - rivalry, ego clashes, fights, smoking,  eating Gutkha, abusive language, eve-teasing and so on. While all of them may not be like that, but most are. 

3. Chanda: I abhor the way funds for these celebrations are collected. The chanda-collectors (extortionists) set their own standards and don't compromise at all. In an average middle-class locality, each household has to give chanda three to four 'Youth associations' which comprise of drunkards, jobless, uneducated or college drop outs who have had a fight with someone or the other in the last ten days at any point of time. I believe that using 'religion' and 'God' is the easiest way to extract money from people. And it has been so for a long long time now. Chilkur Balaji Temple is the only GREAT exception where there is NO HUNDI at all. That temple re-instills the belief in me that God exists and he doesn't want money. 

4. Misuse of funds: Why the hell does one need to have an 'Orchestra' or a 'Dance' programme at the Ganesh pandal? Are they looking at appeasing him? What are they trying to do? Fat and ugly singers with harsh voices come and sing songs which have nothing to do with Lord Ganesha. Tum to Thehre Pardesi and those obligatory songs from Ashiqui are sung along with the latest Telugu so-called love songs are sung. Obscene songs are played and TV reality show reject dancers from the distant neighborhood are called to perform. Mimicry artists with little or no talent come and imitate Amitabh Bachchan, Dr. YS Rajasekhar Reddy, Chandrababu Naidu and Chiranjeevi. And they all charges money for that. I have no idea what this is turning out to be in the near future. I only hope they don't set up tables in front of the pandal like they do at a dance-bar. 

5. Immersion: 90% of the people in the immersion procession are drunk. Yes they are. Leading the procession is a group of young and old drunk people dancing in the most horrendous way possible with frequent onrushes of the Nagin dance. When they get tired, they sneak out into the dark and smoke a cigarette, swig another peg and they are back again. Some of the drunk men who suddenly become traffic constables and direct the traffic with excessive and unnecessary usage of body language are fun to watch. The song which Benazir Bhutto used at the launch of her party is played at loud volume either on a mobile outdoor high wattage audio system or is played on a piano by a man sitting in a single seater car like cart which resembles the ones used at a Golf course with two people pushing it. Also, in Hyderabad, they immerse the idols in the already polluted Tank Bund and it takes over two weeks for all the waste to get cleared off the surface of the lake. 

These are just a few things I could think of. There are no answers to these questions as yet. As a society, we have a lot that is left to be done as far as civic awareness and mutually convenient coexistence is concerned. And that, is the inconvenient truth. 

Anyway, Wish all of you a very Happy Vinayak Chaturthi. 

P.S.: I am as much a devotee of Lord Ganesha as all of you are. But certain things I feel aren't just right about the way this festival is celebrated outside of our homes. 

- Deepak Karamungikar
My book, 'Love at first sight' can be purchased here.

Swami - the one that got excluded...

The last few days have been exhilarating with the launch of my book 'Love at first sight & other stories' a collection of short stories which is out now and is available on eBay.in.  I'd like to post one of my favorite stories which couldn't be a part of the book. It is called 'Swami'. There is a  reason why I was not able to get this story included in the book which I can't explain. But this one is very close to my heart. Anyway, hope you will like it. Here goes!

Swami

Obscured by clouds, the Sun looked like the Moon that December morning. A rare fog though not too dense had engulfed the city. Men and women wore ironed clothes and rushed to their workplaces. School children dressed smartly in their uniforms took little steps to cross the street. Shopkeepers prayed for a good day as they lit up incense sticks. A green grocer sprinkled water on fresh vegetables as he pushed his cart. Light was a little low for 9 am. College students gathered at the bus stop and chatted as they waited for their respective buses. Dinning noises from the accelerating vehicles and the restless honking made little difference to Swami who slept like a log.

At 10.40 am, Swami woke up lazily from his bed still stinking of the Toofan brand whiskey he had last night. With his eyes still half shut like shutters on a Bandh day, he looked for something in his shirt pocket and then under his pillow. When he found his Gutkha, he tore open the sachet and poured its contents in his mouth and tried to open his eyes wider while still lying down. Swami's seventy two year old father silently prayed as he saw his thirty-seven-year old son lay on his bed completely useless. He had become immune to the guilt of having given birth to a son who was an epitome of a wasted life.

Swami had a planet sized ego. Though he never managed to pass in any exam after the ninth standard, he had the confidence of an IAS officer. Also, what surprised people most when they met him for the first time was the command with which he spoke. He proclaimed expertise in women, sex, relationships, cricket, medicine, politics, bureaucracy, international relations....well almost everything except computers. He shaved and had a haircut only once in three months which made him look shabby. In the last twelve years, he had not worn clean clothes. The last time he looked good was in his marriage. But, his most remarkable quality was his ability to praise someone to an extent that the person would get ready to be his slave for life. No one knew how he managed it. 

After his bath everyday, Swami prayed like a priest. It was the only sight that had kept Swami's parents alive. Otherwise, they had given up on him. He had been at home for the last twelve years without any work whatsoever. He had married once and not surprisingly, his wife left him. No one else in the building liked him and there were a few who waited for some miracle to come by and take him away forever. 

In the afternoon, after a heavy lunch, Swami slept again and woke up only at five in the evening. This was his routine everyday, till 5 pm. But once the clock struck five, he would get ready in his Gutkha stained shirt and trousers and wait for someone or the other to take him out and buy him drinks. He adopted the same strategy everyday...Praise & Hunt. There were also a few who would come periodically and take him out. One of them was Jacob. He was his only consistent friend for the last twenty years. Also, he was the only one who had the good fortune of being offered drinks by Swami. Jacob was unmarried and was Swami's classmate at school. He worked as a clerk in a private company and lived comfortably and had enough property to take care of. Once in a week, he would meet Swami and  they would sit over drinks and most commonly end up in an argument over an issue which was concerned with neither of them. Swami, in a fit of rage would break bottles at the bar and then they would be thrown out. Outside the bar, the fight would end and they would hug each other and return home. This happened almost every alternate time they met.  

At 5.10 pm that day, Swami was on his terrace. He looked around like a spy and scanned  the vicinity for women like an automated CCTV camera. He reached out for his pocket, took out a cigarette and lit it. As he took the first drag and was about to blow it  into the misty dense air, someone hit him on his head. He coughed and almost choked. 

"Bastard..." he said as his voice almost died.

"Sorry Sorry. I was just..," said a voice.

"Jacob! After so many days? Where were you?," asked Swami

"My company had sent me on a small tour. Anyways, keep all office shit aside... what's the plan today?" asked Jacob as he snatched the cigarette from his hand. 

"I have no money today. You have to decide," replied Swami.

"You don't worry about money. Where do you want to go today,?" asked Jacob.

"Anything, up to you," said Swami

"Ok. Let's go to our old bar. What say?"

"No. I will never come there again. Remember we got into trouble last time when I almost hit the owner," replied Swami. 

"Ok. Now listen, there's a new shop they opened on the other side of the lake. Not very decent, but its ok. After 3 pegs, all bars are the same," said Jacob as he pulled out a Rs. 500 note from his pocket and put it into Swami's pocket.

"Keep this with you. I will cover all the expenses today. Don't worry." he said.

"Thanks man," said Swami with moist eyes.

And thus, another evening full of excess drinking, needless rant, unsolicited free advice by the unemployed man to the employed one began. Swami tore a sachet of Gutkha as he entered the new bar they had planned to visit that evening. 

The new bar looked anything but new. It wasn't even a bar. It was a large hall behind a wine shop with scores of men and women mostly from the labor class sat in groups and created a chaos as they gulped down bottles of local-made alcohol. Regular liquor, though available, sold very less. There were snack vendors on one side of the hall who sold spicy snacks made of a goat's intestines, limbs, tongue, brain and liver. Pungent sneeze inducing odor arising from the vendors' frying pans dominated all others. Swami and Jacob found a corner and sat down on two stones which had a natural arrangement of another flat stone in between them which served as their table.  

There were no waiters. Jacob bought the drinks and two plastic glasses. They poured themselves two large pegs.

"Cheers," they said and put the glasses to their lips.

Two more rounds followed and Swami was back into his form. Like almost every time, the topic was again women. One man who had never married and the other one whose wife had left were discussing ways to deal with women when they get irritating. When they were at the peak of their discussion, suddenly Swami stopped as his eyes were fixed into one direction. Jacob was a little late to realize Swami had stopped speaking and when he did, he turned around to see what stole his attention. A saree-clad dark woman was sweeping the floor. When Jacob noticed clearly, he realized that she indeed was worth all the attention Swami paid to her. 

She was dark and was reasonably tall. She had worn an old saree and looked tired. But, there was a glow on her face that Swami couldn't ignore. Swami had never seen such sex appeal on anyone before. With every movement of the broomstick on the floor, her hips swayed. She had tied a portion of her saree above the regular length which exposed her right leg's shin and left leg's calf muscle. She had worn silver anklets which shined in the low single phase lighting of the public bar. Her bosom, though not clearly visible, looked very promising. 

"What a lady!," said Swami as he continued to ogle at her.

"Yeah man. She is so good," said Jacob.

"Ok, so what else, when is the next cricket series?" added Jacob.

"I don't know. This woman is amazing man," said Swami.

"Yeah she is. But, she is a sweeper in a wine shop cum bar, leave her. Let's talk something else." said Jacob.

"Hmm. But I think I love her," said Swami.

"What rubbish. Let's finish this drink and head home," said Jacob.

"I am not going anywhere. I will speak to her," said Swami who seemed to be out of his senses half because of the whiskey and half because of the lady at the bar.

"Look at her man. Whoa...she is so sexy." said the thirty-seven-year-old loser.

"What will you do? Marry her?," asked Jacob

"If she agrees, I will. Right now" said Swami.

"All I can say is that you are drunk completely. Let's go home" said Jacob.

"Fuck off. I am not going anywhere. I am here to stay and I will speak to her now." said Swami. 

With these words, Jacob sensed imminent danger and knew that getting beaten up in a cheap unisex bar for eve-teasing is more insulting than anything else. And all this, at the age of thirty-seven. 

Before he could say anything, Swami was gone. He was about seven feet away from the woman and was about to make the mistake in a couple of seconds, a man wearing an old man wearing a white dhoti and banian  appeared out of nowhere and said, "Pushpa, O Pushpa, sahib is calling you."

At once, she dropped her broomstick and ran towards the bar counter. Swami followed her. The Sahib was the owner of the wine shop. He said, "Go to the first floor, it is in a mess. Clean it up fast."

"Ok. Sahib" she said and rushed to the first floor.

Swami returned to their place where Jacob waited in anxiety.

"What the fuck? where did you go? You will get us beaten up," he said. 

"No. I can handle this. Don't worry." he said and in a very rare move, bought another half a bottle of whiskey. 

He looked around for a long time. But, she didn't appear again. Swami wanted to go to the first floor. But, Jacob convinced him to stay. 

Swami and Jacob continued with the drinks and at about 11.45, with both of them about eight pegs down, a discussion on Indian Political System began. But, subconsciously, Swami was still searching for his new found sweetheart.

"Do you know who takes all the money in this entire corruption network?', asked Swami as if he was the chief of Anti-Corruption Bureau. 

"You have no clue," he smirked.

As Swami looked up to answer his own question, he heard a voice.

"Sir, the bar is closing in 5 minutes, also I have to clean up this place. You have to leave now," said Pushpa, the glamorous sweeper.

Swami kept looking at her as he struggled to sit upright and involuntarily, he swayed like a flower in a wind.

"Quick. You have to leave now," she ordered.

From corruption in Indian Politics, Swami was back to where he belonged.

"Ok. Ok. We are leaving," he said and picked up his glass to finish it in one go.

They were the last customers to leave the bar. On their way back, Swami only thought of Pushpa. 

The next morning, Swami woke up at 11.00 am. At 11.30, he was ready after a bath and prayers. At 11.55, he was at the bar, alone. He had determined to make a move to get this woman. As he sat there waiting in anticipation, he was reminded of the day when he angrily hit his wife with a pan on her head and she left him. His father had to catch his in-laws' feet and managed to keep him away from jail. 

He had only three hundred rupees left with him from what Jacob had given him. He probably didn't remember that he bought the last round of drinks last night else he would have regretted it.

He took a beer and sat at the messiest place. The sweeper would come to the messiest place first. he thought.

At about 1.45, Pushpa appeared, and as Swami had expected, she came to the corner where he was sitting first. Swami observed her more carefully. He noticed that she had easily crossed thirty and praised God for making someone as beautiful as her.  He noticed that she  didn't wear any silver toe-rings which meant she was not married. He also wondered how she remained unmarried for this long. As Swami kept looking at her, her phone rang. From inside the folds of her saree at her waist, she took out an old mobile phone and spoke. During the conversation she had under the only light bulb in that corner of the bar, she smiled. And that smile, made her face glow brighter than the bulb above her. She looked like an angel to Swami. This image of Pushpa smiling as she spoke on phone haunted him forever. 

He couldn't gather the courage to say anything. He just kept looking at her. At about 3.00 pm, when only ten rupees were left with him, he decided to return home and scout for someone who could get him back to the bar for the evening session. That day when he reached home, he had lunch and slept only to wake up at 1.00 am and cursed himself. He slept again and woke up at 10.00 am the next morning. 

In the next one week, Swami paid three visits to the bar, alone. 

It was Saturday again and as expected, Jacob arrived at 5 pm. He, as usual, gave Swami Rs.500 for expenses and they headed towards the bar again. They bought whiskey and sat discussing Indian Cricket. Swami looked around but he couldn't find his dream girl. She appeared after an hour and made his day. She wore a green saree and had put flowers in her hair. As usual, she tied her saree a little above her ankles. 

Swami couldn't control his emotions and said, "Jacob, I want this girl. I want her," he asked.

"What will you do with her?" asked Jacob as he downed his fourth peg of the day. 

"See boss, think practically, apart from the fact that we can get beaten up here if we attempt any mischief, I'll remind you that for the last twelve years, you haven't earned a single rupee. All your property is in dispute. You are dependent on the money that you get as rent, that's Rs. 1400/- per month. Your dad takes care of your all other expenses. With this kind of a profile, how will you marry anyone ?"

"Jacob. Shut up. This is the last time you are telling me all this. I agree that currently I have little cash with me. But, I think I can manage it," replied Swami angrily.

"What nonsense. She sweeps the bar and manages to earn more than you do, " replied Jacob with a wry smile on his face.

"And, my property will soon be mine. I think I can pull it off. I also plan to start my business soon," said Swami.

"What business? In the last 12 years, I haven't seen you move a single sheet of paper you lazy ass. Rubbish. Don't give me crap. You are drunk that's it," said Jacob.

"And, if you start a business, will you still ask her to sweep the floor in your office?" said Jacob and laughed out loud. 

"HAHAHAAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH....," he continued.

"You are useless. Just go home and sleep," said Jacob.

Swami stood up. He screamed loudly and gathered attention of the everyone in the bar. In a quick move, he lunged forward and gave Jacob a tight slap. The bar was as calm as it usually is before a storm.  Swami, at the top of his voice said, "Don't you fucking insult me you bastard,", and slapped him again. 

He broke the bottle (quite traditionally) and held a broken piece of the glass by Jacob's neck. 

A brave man from the nearby table rose to his feet and before Swami could do any further damage, he took control of him from behind. As Swami struggled to free himself, he accidentally cut Jacob on his forehead. But, it was a minor cut. Swami was beaten up and police was called. The next day, though Jacob didn't want to complain against Swami, since there were eye witnesses, he was kept in custody. After a week, because Jacob said it was an accident, Swami was given a six month sentence in the central prison. Else, he would have been inside for longer. 

He had a luxurious life at home. But, at the prison he was asked to clean toilets, help in the kitchen and cut wood. These were things which he never imagined he would ever do at home. Hardships in prison had taught him many a lesson in life. After he was released from the prison, Swami had changed. He had given up Gutkha, Alcohol, Smoking and spent most of his time in pursuit of God and religious activities. 

Jacob never came to Swami ever again. Neither did Swami attempt to meet Jacob. Six years passed.

Six years later

One day, Swami's land line phone rang. 

"Swami, this is Jacob here. My father passed away this morning. I wouldn't have called you. But, last night he asked me about you and how you had been. I thought I should inform you," said Jacob in a sad voice.

"I am sorry Jacob. Very sad to hear that. My deepest condolences. You were my only friend and because of my ego and anger I fucked up. You were right Jacob. You were always right. I will be there in 20 minutes," said Swami as tears rolled out of his eyes. 

Swami reached the cemetery and saw many people who he recognized from his childhood. Jacob's sisters, his mother and his uncles. As children, they had all played together. 

They bid a tearful adieu to Jacob Sr. and one by one people walked out of the cemetery wiping their tears. 

When Jacob saw Swami outside, he hugged him and cried uncontrollably. Swami consoled him and said it was the time be brave. Both men had crossed forty and their hair had greyed.

Swami felt someone pulling his trousers. It was a young boy who looked almost five years old. 

"Daddy, where is Grandpa?," he asked Jacob. 

"He has gone away Peter, he will come back when you grow up," replied Jacob 

"Jacob, you got married? Didn't even tell me. Anyway, very smart looking boy," he said and lifted him up in his arms.

"What's your name?" asked Swami. 

"My name is Peter," he said and smiled.

That smile struck Swami like lightening. It was the same smile that had haunted him for six years. He didn't want to believe what he knew had happened.

"Mummy!," said the young boy as a woman approached Jacob. It was Pushpa. 

- Deepak Karamungikar

To buy my book on eBay.in, click here