Accused everywhere!!

I call myself @accusedengineer on Twitter! One of my close friends, calls himself @accused_iyer! Oh yeah, after the infinite amounts of plagiarism, I shall absolve myself by citing him as the source of inspiration for my Twitter handle! Inspiration nevertheless, I was intrigued by some of the memes doing rounds, “What, my parents think I am?”, “What my freinds think I am?”, What my girlfriend thinks I am!!

When will people ever know what I am?! Not that, I care. But sometimes, It hurts when people have a notion of me which is better than my real self. And obviously, I wont live to please their idea of me. And the vicious circle of people getting hurt starts!

But seriously, my introduction itself builds a wrong image in people’ s heads! Hi, Am Rahul. I am from Bangalore! All is fine till then.Then the dreaded question: Whats your native? Am a Tamilian! Therein, forms the image of a Sun TV watching, sambar loving, Hindi bashing image of mine! But heavens, I am anything but this. Yeah, I do have many Tamilian streaks. I love filter coffee. I love curd rice.I do love Vadivel, Vivek, Santhanam and yeah, am a Vijay fan too. But more than, am proud of the fact that I share my blood with the genius of Ramanunjam, the Anands and the ARRs.

Err, did I tell am full bred Bangalorean? Not really, there too! Somehow, people from all places except Bangalore have mapped the image of  a Bangalorean to a gum chewing, Manchester United jersey wearing, blond streaked dude with some hot gals for company. Oh yeah, did I forget people assume us to possess some costly gizmo and with near zero disdain for money! Sorry once more! I am a Bangalorean. Yes, My English oozes Bangalore. However, thy respect for Victorian English shall persist, love the da’s, the le’s , the chumma’s and the ganchalis!As a Bangalorean, love the Darshini hotels more than the fancy malls. But being middle class, am willing to walk the extra mile(yes, i mean it literally from college to home!) to catch an ordinary bus than travelling by the volvo!

In India, another prejudice is caste. In some ways, its not totally away from reality. And as my friend’s dad rightly calls him, accused iyers we have become! Mom calls at 8,”Dai, today Saraswati Puja da! Thala ke ellam kulli da! “. All we hear is Saraswathi and Puja! Pun intended!

But seriously, being Iyer does not mean no-world knowledge knowing, ghee eating, Veda reciting no-girl seeing nerd. Neither are we any good in maths. Again, am a fuzzy iyer. Once in a while, I do my sandhya Vandhanam. Once in a while, I watch Shakeela doing her jalwa!

And last but not the least? Engineering? Am ghanta engineer! The other day, my aunt was trying to get her vehicle to start, when my gracious grandfather interrupts! “Fret not, my dear daughter, I have a grandson, equal to a thousand lions, who has mastered the Vedas, err, sorry engineering. Thee shall transform your vehicle into a 1000 horsed chariot, now”! Aye, dude. I am no mechanic! Not that this has happened, but I can very well see my cousin in a year’s time asking me to solve the Towers of Hannoi problem given a C compiler! Wonder, if he really knows what I did during my engineering.

Not that I really fret over what people think about me. Perhaps, everbody lives in a parallel world. Perhaps, being accused is better than being convicted.

 

Yahppa, Finally He retires....

Lord's, Eden Gardens, Rawalpindi, Adelaide. Isnt it obviously evident that in this soil and the honourboards of these stadiums has The Wall etched his place in history. I have missed two more important places. One, St. Joseph's school,Bangalore and second, in my heart. I know, am just amongst the countless writing a tribute to The Wall, I would be immensely guilty if i failed to do so today. I know I can never match the elegance of a la Rohit Brijnath nor can I measure upto the brilliance of a Sidvee.

Yet, Dravid, I dont know how much you have influenced world cricket and how much lesser will cricket be a gentleman's game from tomo? All i know is, you are responsible for getting my grades from A to B in a couple of exams. You made me the most boring batsman in my gully. Did

i stop? Do you realise, how many times I had to be the object of ridicule when you struggled to save the match for India? Yes, you played your heart out. But, for an area where I spent my childhood, you were just another good player.

When I started watching cricket, you were never my idol. I think I was 6 when I really started watching cricket. Sachin was my idol,yes he too he is still today. I was rather forced to become your fan. In those dusty gullys of Pune, where all the kids had to watch cricket together in a certain shop or hunt for a home where 'cable' was provided, when you made that 96 in Lords, I was converted into a Rahul Dravid, quite forcefully by my friends. I should have been 7-8 then. We both share our first names. And from therein, I became the Dravid of my area.

That evening onwards, I started behaving like you. However, I saw you on the stadium. I tried the crouched stance. I avoided audacious shots. I stopped getting out. Years later, during the summer holidays of 8^th standard, with my cap firmly on head, just the way it decorates your head, I did not get out for 3 and half hours,before our moms yelled at us to get back into our pavilions! My 'Dravidification' was complete that day.

Dear Dravid, Why did you have to be so perfect?You are just not the perfect idol. There is not a single instance where, I can bunk my studies and reason it to mom, saying Dravid did this too. We know, you were the best allround student at St. Josephs. I wish, you were like one of those other overpaid starlets, who could do anything for money. We know, you shot your first ad for your dad's company. Jammy, my boy! I wish you were one of those who sported a tatoo. I never got into an argument for a run out or a catch, even in my local cricket for I never saw you drop your gentlemanliness a bit during the game. Oh yes,and how do I forget this? You've bowled, batted and even kept. You've done every thing that your team wanted. Why? You could even sit out of the team if they ever wanted you to!

But still, these are only the fringe effects of my obsession with you. The bigger malice, The bigger damage is I have stopped watching cricket these days. Slowly, one dayers started getting boring.How much ever, the adage that cricket is bigger than individuals, Its not enough to convince me. I fear for my passion today. Test cricket was. Every time, an opener fell. I was nervous. I was not happy to see you on the pitch soon. That frentic energy to see you. That nervous prayers. That relief to see you go past every milestone. That gasp when you teach us what discipline means by grinding out each bowler. That unmeasurable feeling of seeing the opposition bowler frustrated. That feeling of pride when I could tell the person sitting and watching next to me, “This is how you play the shot, my boy!”.

I dont know when I shall watch test cricket again. I might have scored a few lesser grades, wasted a few more hours. Yet, you have made my teenage and the two years after it, much much better than how it could have been.

P.S: This blog post is for my 10th std. benchmate Alisha Shah, whom I have troubled her much during my 10th. I can understand how much you would be pained.

Yo Baayce, I no Soup Boy, I playBoy!

Back in 1973, 10 years before India won the first World Cup, you would be forgiven if you didnt know what Mark Grannoveter first said. In a seminar paper, Grannoveter challenged the world to publish in the American Journal of Sociology that its through weak links that important decisions like jobs, marriage decisions are made. And boy, he made some solid arguments in his defence. So said he, folks within our inner circle are exposed to similar kind of information and are interested in similar things. Its only through 'others' that new inventions flow in.

Neither are my shoe's size big enough to challenge him,nor my tiny brains smart enough to do it. But for a past few days, I have this vague thought running through my mind. Who makes you *happy*? Your parents? Siblings? Best Friends? Probably, you might think in the affirmative.But,i beleive these are the people for whom you exist. These are the people who make life meaningful. But its the new crushes,the new friends make life happy,more exciting than the previous night.

Infact, I find the dearth of literature on the impact of new friends or rather newer people in our life appalling. While we have spent reams of paper, glorifying, celebrating, reminiscing and singing peans about the beautfy of the best friend, often undeservedly, wonder why we have not had the time to acknowledge the time to the new friend! Infact, more often than not, best friends always have tears associated with them, either by joy or through tears of seperation.

In fact, I beleive a teenager's life is not made interesting by the numerous girl friends that he professes to 'maintain' but because of that new crush. That crush who just recently smiled at you in the canteen, on whose sight your heart misses a beat. About whom you can bitch about without being scared of being caught. That period when you get to know her, when you have all the topics in the world to talk about. When “whatelse?” never entered our conversation. When you only ask for a treat, knowing fully well that it was not going to come any soon. When you start the lightest flirting without knowing her reaction?When you have to impress her to garner attention! When you have to put on your smiling cloak to mask the tears inside. To impress her. Those are the times.

With a best friend, i find it strange when they miss them. We know them too well to evenr miss them. We know exactly their reaction in certian situations. But its in the uncertainity lies the thrill. Its in these moments when you do not expect anything from anyone, that you are really on your toes. Being new, sometimes, you find their jokes absolutely pathetic. Sometimes absolutely brilliant. Its infact, this uncertainity which makes it so romantic. So beautiful.

So, the next time you say a hi! To me, Be careful, here is a guy who knows your importance.

Noteplease: The writer of the blog is a handsome young man of 23. :P

When I was a duffer....

I hail from a lower middle class family in India. And am, proudly kanjoos. But,am even more proud of the fact that I have always returned back people's debts. She gave me love. I gave her my life. She made me her close friend. I made her a part of me.

But, Ive never done something that she has done for me. Writing a blog post for me! Never wrote it for the fear of our friendship of becoming jinxed. I have heard a lot about people saying that the enormity of a friendship is percieved only when it becomes a memory. Perhaps, I wish it were this way. I knew, how much she meant even when we were the thickest of friends. And that enduring fear of losing someone close finally drove to losing her, atleast I guess so. Would'nt I love if God had other plans?;)

Today, I am not scared of losing her. And this is not an obituary piece to our friendship. When people say, someone has become a part of you,its probably because its just 'cho chweet' to say so! I mean it. Listen to my questions, “tired eh?” That eh, comes from her. The next time, I say uh huh, you know whom to blame for. A part of her is living in me. And I will probably, keep it till my receding hairline becomes grey.

Do i miss her? No, I do not. Have I 'got over' her? I do not know what that ever meant. Friendships are never made to be forgotten. The next time,I meet somebody with her name, I shall not fail to mention , I once had a best friend with your name. I miss her not, because I am not going to talk to her. I would miss her, if i knew, if all this was only a void in time and she would one day come and tell me, “Everything will be fine dude!”.

Never have I met a person, so honest.So brutally honest. That was the thread on which our frienship was built. A thread which resembled a rope in full gait. Sometimes, we were like puppies. Cute and sweet. Sometimes, I was chalk and she was cheese. Sometimes, I was rude and she was sweet.Most times, she was rude and I sweet..;) (After all, I am writing it.). Sometimes I felt, she should have been called Meenakshi, for those beautiful fish like eyes. Yes, to sum it all. When she was the fish, I loved to be the water.

Is it ego that I do not apologize for 'something'?(something,because there is nothing to apologize for!)Nope, and she knows it better than most of you who will read this. Do I hate her? Nope, you never hate your best friends. You only hate the times that made us apart! Am I scared to talk to her? Perhaps.

People say,rather she says this a lot. Whatever, happens, happens for good. True, these days I no more fight. Infact, the guys in my college are frustrated after all their rudimentary attempts to infuriate me. I have good friends now too. They have always existed. A mistake,I made then.

Yet, there is nobody to call me a duffer now....

To love or to not to.

"Any intelligent fool can make things bigger and more complex... It takes a touch of genius --- and a lot of courage to move in the opposite direction." - Albert Einstein

If Noah Webster could browse the blogosphere today, the tubes in his thought machine would have probably suggested him to erase words, whose meanings have been thoroughly abused by the folks who sound English when their lips move and the fingers press. And probably, he would have had to stress himself to love love. Infinite reams of paper later, thousands of routers away, cultures which have heard of others only through the idiot speak, love is still spoken by all, understood by none.

Neither am I going to try to define love,even if you let me do it. Yet, love to me is belief. A belief which transcends the boundaries of logic and rationality, a belief more powerful than the mersmising words which teach you love. And belief in a human is a curve which wants to hug the ground every passing day.

I am a cricket fan. Long ago, when the only thoughts that disturbed the dance of cricket in my mind was the stick of my Hindi maam, when girls were “other” students in class, I loved cricket. Back then, when I didnt know what was form or class, I believed Srinath would hit a century every match. I loved Sachin off course, but that was not due to the majestic cover drive or the other worldly pulls. A reason for which I did not know the answer.Never, felt why I had to justify why i loved Sachin.

Sometimes, when we are drowning in the sea of pessimism, which we so easily mistake it to be the river of statistics, logic and common sense, to see the day is refreshing. Makes you feel, there is life outside the sea too, where you can mistakes and still live. One such day was 72 hours ago. Down under, dusted, obituaries written, the bodies of the once revered Indian superstars were waiting to be recieved in the Indira Gandhi National airport New Delhi. To say,they rose like the phoenix from the ashes would be cliched. It was something else. I had to bribe myself to believe that this was the same team which was so pathetic.

While, the logicians and experts will formulate a theory to confine the Indian victory to their words, I am happy to believe. Love, i thought is similar. It was as simple as the game played on Hobart soil. Sometimes, its good to grow young. Throw a tantrum. Love someone. Tell her the same. Its a new sun that rises everyday. Forget the dark moon which engulfed you yesterday night.

To live, you have to love, to beleive.