I first heard of Kurutham Kettavan from mom. She heard about this new Malayalam music video featuring Suraj Venjarammoodu and Ranjini Haridas on TV and alerted me immediately. Not exactly a fan of Ranjini, I didn’t show much interest. But mom seemed all hyped up about the video, despite not having seen it. Now, my mom’s the last person who’d follow a new music album or anything. So I really didn’t have a clue as to why my mom showed interest on Kurutham Kettavan.

Only until I saw the video myself.

Made in the ‘Palavattam’ mould, the album tries to undo (irreparable) damage done to the Malayalam Music scene by a juggernaut called ‘Silsila’ (incidentally made by a namesake of mine ). Sung by Anoop Sankar (Asianet Plus fame) and composed by Hariprasad, the peppy number has a tongue-in-cheek video featuring Ranjini and Suraj.

The song is about the travails of a random guy, played by Suraj Venjarammoodu, who is  a Kurutham Kettavan (one who’s upto no good) from childhood. Ranjini Haridas is Rosykutty, his love interest. Pepped with 3D animation, the video has a cartoonish-feel to it, making it quite endearing. The song’s also pretty-good, and matches upto the ‘Palavattam’ quality.

Kurutham Kettavan is a product of Vishraam Creations. Favour Francis is the video-director. Prakash Velayudan has handled the camera while Sushil has crafted the 3D visuals of the video. The video is edited by Dheeraj Warrier.

You’d surely enjoy the video, if you know the language. Do check it out!

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My blissful sleep was rudely disturbed by the ear-piercing “chirp” of the calling bell. My bedroom’s upstairs, and located right adjacent to the calling bells. Yep, you heard (or rather read) it right – ‘B-E-L-L-S’. There are a total of three calling bells at my place, two of which are ‘strategically’ placed above my bedroom-door. There’s this obnoxiously-loud bell that chirps (well, literally, if the sound(noise) emanated a cuckoo is “chirp”) at a few hundred decibels. Now, our chirping bell has its switch at the staircase and it successfully serves its purpose – to rudely shake me up from my slumber! The bell is the last arrow in mom’s quiver to get me downstairs. She’d press the switch for minutes on end, until my tympanum explodes to smithereens. Needless to say,  the arrow was spot-on.

Exasperated at having missed-out my afternoon-nap, I grouchily hobbled down to mom. It was about five thirty in the evening; my tummy grumbled and mouth watered as my biological clock sounded its alarm. Coffee time! The mental reverie of expected evening snacks brought me back to the high. Only to be thoroughly disappointed - we’d run out of milk and I was instructed to go get milk from the friendly-neighborhood grocer. Worse, mom wouldn’t pay me! If I wanted coffee, I’d have to get milk with my own money – mom rambled on about responsibility. I shrugged; Mom wins hands-down. I fished a hundred rupee note out of my jeans pocket and trudged out in pursuit of my evening snack.

I didn’t quite notice it until I opened the door. I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to bother. But then, it was so obvious, and I did notice it, albeit late:

A pigeon rested atop our Maruti! :O

Quite a sight, it was. A pigeon is not the first thing you expect to see on top of your car, especially when you’re still hung over with a two-hour nap. (Inception? I momentarily searched for my totem! ) It wasn’t one of those pretty-pigeons that you see in period movies. Mostly dark, its wings and beak were the only white parts of its body. Cliche talks about snow-white pigeons that delivered letters proclaiming love. But cliches were a far cry for our friend; she could barely fly. Dark pupils stared at me from its orange eyeballs, as it hobbled atop the car to catch a glimpse of me. The pigeon wasn’t magnificent, but it had its elegance.

Unable to suppress my awe, I gingerly moved towards the car. The pigeon had noticed my presence, and it moved away from me with quick, stuttering jumps. But I was too fast for it. I rested my body on the Maruti’s side-glass and reached out to the pigeon with both arms. The bird made no move to flutter its wings. Curiously enough, it ceased the unsteady hobble and paused the stuttering motion. It stood still and stared at my eyes, as I stared back. I gradually edged my hand forward and patted the tiny bird on its head. It didn’t move a feather, evidently hurt. It looked tired and it could certainly not fly. I reached out further and reached the pigeon with my palm, gradually lifting it. It was shuddering now, rocking its tired claws hither-thither. A part of it wanted to fly away, it was probably scared of me – for all it new, I could well be a predator. Sensing its fear, I eased the grip and moved slowly to my veranda, and rested it upon the concrete-granite platform by the side. I removed my hands from the bird. It still didn’t move a muscle. With its innocent eyes examining the red-granite floor and the plants behind it, it peered around the new environs. It walked about in tiny steps, nay, jumps. The bird seemed to trust me with its life, its body made no rapid movements. It looked calm, and there was no visible external damage to be seen. I first assumed that its wings must’ve been clipped or something, but no – the pigeon was about to fall as it missed a step near the edge of the platform – it fluttered its wings in full bloom and got itself back to position. I was both intrigued and endeared.

Taking care not to disturb the bird out of its idyll, I rushed into the kitchen and brought mom out to the veranda.Incensed that I hadn’t purchased the milk, she didn’t believe me at first, but I cajoled her out, and made her see the pigeon for herself. She was a tad too endeared than I was. The motherly affection took over; before I knew it, she was back with a few grains of rice which were carefully doled out to the birdie. But our chic was gracious enough not to accept the offering; it moved away from the grains, the tiny tummy was probably full. In the meantime, neighbours were informed and soon my verandah was a makeshift-menagerie. Dad,  who announced his arrival from work with a groan, dog tired, dumped his files to join the commotion. The pigeon was a mini-miracle that couldn’t be missed.

Soon, speculations were high in the air. How (or why) did the bird came over? Why isn’t the bird eating?  Is its tummy full? Why is it greyish-black and not white?  All questions were left unanswered. Some consensus was conjured-up on the arrival-reason though. The ‘injured-hurt’ theory (dad used some logic to put his point forward) won hands-down, beating ‘divine intervention’ (mom’s idea) and joblessness (yours truly). Neighbours were equally ecstatic about our visitor. They took turns to touch and caress the bird. The kids were super-excited – Aravind, a third grader, pulled its wings, scaring our bird into a momentary frenzy, in turn making its captor cry. It took a chocolate to pause the tears of the little ornithologist; he maintained the theory that the bird ‘bit’ him despite the lack of visual proof. The bird peered back at us, inwardly smiling at all the hullabaloo.

It was 7 PM, when the neighbours had left and I finally went out and bought the milk, an hour and a half out of schedule; not that I was complaining. I was pleasantly surprised when I returned, The bird-that-would-not-eat was now belligerently-pecking at the grains it once ignored! It was still seated atop the veranda-platform. I tiptoed close to it and watched. No sooner did I approach it, the incessant pecking halted, and the bird turned to me. So birds value their privacy! Interesting. I shrugged, delivered the groceries, and ran back to the drawing-room window to check  Li’l Ms. Pigeon out.  As expected, she was eating to her heart’s content in our absence. I called my parents and showed them the phenomenon.

All of us were beginning to love our uninvited guest who was turning out to be a bag of surprises.

After some brainstorming, we decided to allocate a safe shelter for our new tenant. The verandah-slab, on which she was still perched, wasn’t exactly safe for an immobile bird. We reached a consensus on building a temporary shelter for our bird. Now, there’s an attic (more of an plastic-roofed terrace guarded by metallic-grills) at my place. We decided to lodge the pigeon there. Dad brushed up his engineering knowledge and conjured up a makeshift-home from an old computer monitor cover. Mom gently grabbed the bird and took it to the terrace. Suprisingly, the bird cozied up to my mom, not showing the slightest attempt of protest. I smiled.  :) A pitcher of water, and more rice grains were brought, and the ‘shelter’ was affixed on the sunshade within the attic. Our little pigeon had her own home, complete with a tiny door. Yes, she could go out and grab some fresh air if she so wanted.  The pigeon seemed to love its new home – it resumed pecking the tiny grains, gobbling up water from the tiny pitcher, fully aware of our presence, this time. We were all happy. The pigeon was here to stay. The three of us dispersed. Dad returned to his laptop and files, mom rushed back to her cooking and I returned to facebook.

After dinner, I thought I’d pay our buddy a visit. I simply couldn’t get enough of her! I’ve always wanted a pet, but refusal was all I got whenever the request was made. When I was in the eighth grade, my uncle had gifted us an Alsatian pup, and it was an offer my dad couldn’t refuse. I was overjoyed! But the days of joy didn’t last – good ol’ Robin died a tragic death. Since then, I’ve been craving for a pet. Perhaps the li’l pigeon was God’s gift. The more I thought about it, the more joyous I became. Even though the pigeon wasn’t exactly ‘adopted’ as the ‘resident pet’, I had already done the honors in my mind. I actually was on the lookout for a good name for my good old pigeon.

With an involuntary smile pasted on my face, I opened the door to the attic and stepped out. I didn’t switch on the light, it was bright enough – full moon day. Besides, the light might actually disturb her meal, for, the flurouscent lamp was adjacent to her shelter.

“Chinnu kutti!” – I called out to the pigeon. No, that wasn’t a name I’d fixed – ‘Chinna’ in Malayalam/tamil means ‘small’. And our PYB (Pretty Young Bird), was tiny and small. So…

**BOOM**

A muffled ‘thud’ and a scamper.

Must be one of those coconuts – our attic is dangerously close to a coconut tree, and the roof routinely-suffers from the fall of stray coconuts.

I moved towards the sunshade. Curiously enough, the ‘shelter’ was missing from the sunshade. Duh! Did dad remove it or what? Dad has this fetish of ‘arranging proper things at proper places’ and he wasn’t exactly enamored about the sunshade being our bird’s abode. He was the one who suggested it in the first place, cause he couldn’t stand bird-crap on our marble floors, but he didn’t feel it was right too. He must’ve shifted the ‘shelter’ to someplace else. I decided to find out on my own. I got back into the hall that led to the attic and switched on the lights and returned, humming a mock-James Bond tune. Investigation time!

I paused on my tracks as I stepped into the attic. Before I knew it, I’d stopped humming too. My fists loosened, my eyes dilated as my heart started beating faster.

Something terrible had happened.

The makeshift-shelter lay collapsed on the attic-floor, along with the steel pitcher. Water was splayed across the floor, along with grains of rice. Tiny black and white feathers were spread out in different parts of the floor. There was a long, oval shaped, red stain on the floor, formed by droplets of blood, fresh-smeared.

The pigeon was missing.

My heart missed a beat. Panicking was not an option, though – it was quite obvious and there’s no turning back. The ‘thud’ noise was that of an escaping animal (a cat probably). The bird was too weak to retaliate, and…

Fate, it seems, is not without  a sense of irony.

I slowly trudged downstairs with trembling arms, to break the news to my parents…  What else could I do?

P.S.

True story. Down to the last detail.  :-(

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It’s been a week since the demise of Malayalam music director M.G. Radhakrishnan.

Image Courtesy: mathrubhumi.com

Brother to singer M.G. Sreekumar, Radhakrishnan was a stalwart in the Malayalam Music scene. His tracks had the simplest of tunes. Yet, they would capture every bit of your aural presence and take you to another level. The down-to-earth music director started-off composing music for the All India Radio. After the success of many songs he pioneered for the radio (including a popular radio show teaching music for listeners), he was invited to do the music for the Malayalam movie ‘thampu’. Soon, offers came pouring in, and Radhakrishnan churned out mellifluous tunes for many movies including ‘Manichitrathazhu‘, ‘Agnidevan’, ‘Devasuram‘, ‘Advaitham’, ‘Ananthabhadram‘, et al. He’s bagged the state award twice for ‘Achaneyanenikkishtam’ and ‘Ananthabhadram‘.

I’ve forever been a fan of the musical maestro. I find immense solace in some of his tracks, in times of despair. My favourite MG track is ‘Sooryakireedom‘ from Devasuram – a haunting song that talks about the transcience of death and the uncertainity of life. The news of M.G’s death came a day late to me. M.G. is one of my favorite Music Directors, right after Raveendran. I actually had plans to interview M.G. for the papers, and a friend had even given me his contacts. In that context, the news of his demise pinned me down with despair and shock.

I could not help but offer my tributes to the maestro who has continue to amaze me with his tracks. Here’s my cover a favourite M.G. Track.

Song Name: Vande Mukunda Hare.

Movie: Devasuram (1992)

Singer: M.G. Radhakrishnan

Vande Mukunda Hare | Music Codes

The video of this song has Oduvil Unnikrishnan‘s character (Peringodan Shankara Marar) bids his adieu to buddy Mangalasseri Neelakantan (Mohanlal) – A feudal landlord,who stands wounded and decapitated after an ambush. Marar can’t bear the sight of watching his once-healthy mate now in tatters. The lyrics of the song make references to mythology: Kuchela is bidding goodbye to Lord Krishna, who meets death by a stray arrow after the destruction of Dwarka.

Rest in peace, Radhakrishnan Sir. I know I haven’t done justice to your original rendering, but I’ve tried my best here. We’ll miss you!

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3. Kya Mujhe Pyaar Hai

Last night, a lot broke up at home:
Mom’s shattered cutlery was epitome;
The car-windshield and dad’s chart,
Left no trace like my foundered heart.

Money would replace the losses,
All but one, which was still in musses,
The broken heart shall take its time,
Yet, it shall tick, weak and sublime.

My heart was always brittle,
It always fell prey to battle,
Layers of flesh and bones,
Couldn’t stop the pelted stones.

I foresaw the onslaught,
But all precautions went naught,
Ignoring the aftermath at bay,
I gave my heart away.

I blame none but myself,
Fighting eventuality itself,
I lost out, and nearly killed,
The heart which now stands tilled.

I pop pills to blind the pain,
Wearing plastic smiles to attain,
Much-needed closure and faux joy,
Contrived, like a child’s battered toy.

Someday, into the future,
I shall rise, aroused and mature,
Then, I’d beam and past, now interred,
I was sure shaken but not stirred!

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The past week was a rather hard one for me. Something bad happened. Not that I would be beating the drums about it, but it did cause a wound deep in my mind; A huge gash, that shall keep hurting for long.

The gash was necessary evil. I did my best to escape it, but it eventually had to smash me to smithereens. And here I am, pinned down, scarred for life! How I’d use the ‘scar’ is yet to be seen, I could definitely wear it on my sleeve and look good (a la Harry Potter, if you may), or shun myself from the world, retracting myself into an impermeable shell. The latter option is just as impractical as it sounds –  it would jeopardize myself and everyone close to me. And the scar isn’t exactly something I’m too proud about. It’s eating me, bit-by-bit, minute by minute – the pain is so consummate, I can’t stand it any more; and I can’t afford to shout out in pain either, lest I reveal myself.

In retrospect, it all might be for good – I could learn to relish the pain, and be a masochist in the process, or I could fight back, and do my best to come clean, getting the wound to heal. Injury was inevitable, it would have happened, no matter what. And it’s a reality, there’s no escaping from it – it would (and it has) debilitated me for life. Remains to be seen how it shall turn my life around.

I’m just going to need a lot of luck and perseverance to get myself back in the groove, before the wound would have me amputate myself.

God save me.

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Excerpts from a chat conversation with a friend, circa December ’09.

Friend: dont get offended if i tell u somthing k
me:
yeah?
No, I wont. temme!
Friend: u saw wake up sid rit..i thot that whole character was like u..i mean not like the whole immature thing..
11:57 PM
me: yeah.


lol
I knew it long back!!
Friend: well the whole thing came up when i was talkin to my friends bot the movie and infy drive and stuuf
me: when I heard about this movie,
this was what I was telling people:
“This is my story.”.

11:58 PM
Friend: hehe.. i thot u r one person who shud get out of the whole BTech thing and do somthin creative
me: yeah.

Thus, my hypothesis was concurred by an intelligent friend – enough reason for me to see the movie. But, it had to wait. I had a lot of tasks to take care of.

Only until yesterday night.

Wake Up Sid is perhaps the most endearing movie I’ve seen in a while. Not because of the movie as such – alright, it’s a wonderful attempt, even though it failed miserably at the box office. I could draw a lot of parallels with Ranbir Kapoor’s character – the same childishness, the love for photography, “Living for the moment” – even the last minute ‘exam preps’ and the actual exam hall scene!

But no, I don’t have a super-rich “flowered bathroom fittings” dad who promises to buy his son a Porche if he joins office. Nor do I have an Apple Macbook pro, a Honda CRV, a Nikon D100, the PSP, and the iTouch to flaunt (but I soon will, if things go right! ). I’d die to have an Aisha (Konkona Sensharma’s character) taking me in, when I get kicked out of my place (that day ain’t far off, the getting-kicked-out day, that is )

Despite not having the goodies, the ‘Sid’ in me is perhaps more childish.  A born procrastinator and perhaps the world’s most complacent person, I can be at ease with any environment and spend virtually all parts of the day whiling time away. Which is not a good trait, if you didn’t get me. The worst part is that these traits have proved deeply pernicious, and the ‘wake up’ is quite imminent right now.

That’s when the question arises, should I wake up?

The movie set me contemplating. If I ‘wake up’, I’d have to change myself. No, unlike Sid, I don’t have an endearing friend to ‘take me up’, mould me, and get me a job once my ‘life support system’ gets cut. But, changing myself wouldn’t be without dire consequences. As all management/inspiration gurus very popularly plagiarize, change ‘for the better’ is good. I don’t take that, though. When I ‘change’, I’d have to lose myself to an extent – which, at the outset, might seem good. But in the long run, I believe, would be harmful.

Besides, having looked back upon the 21 years of my life I’ve lived, I’ve realized that this is ME. There’s no way of changing. No ‘wake up’ would suffice. Perhaps, I should go with the flow and enjoy what life has in store for me. But yes, some of the ‘bad habits’ have to be pruned, for “success”.

So,

WAKE UP HARI!!!

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Those magic eyes in perennial sparkling-glory,
And the vivacious smile that kills each worry,
Have abruptly muted their radiating presence;
Your face now betrays painful silence.

Perhaps fate played its game unfair,
Or you were overwhelmed with scare,
A blitzkrieg of failure broke apart,
All your hopes and crushed your heart!

Before you resign to tormenting depression,
Open your mind to the vehement realization,
That you’re now at the stepping stone of success!
So, learn from your losses and smash all duress!

Pluder that monster of pessimism,
Let hope fill your mind’s wide chism!
For, ghosts of defeat will forever haunt,
But your discerning grin will render them gaunt.

Find inspiration in every facet of life,
Bolster positivity to scrape all strife,
Your mind’s stronger than you imagine,
Equip it like a turbojet engine.

It’s high time you woke up to joy,
From life’s nightmares that made you a toy,
I’m sure you’d have the skies in thrall,
Simply ’cause you’re the best of ‘em all!

P.S.

Written for an enormously-talented close friend who’s going through depression, thanks to life’s myriad games.

Buddy, if you’re reading this – CHEER UP! I’m SO SURE about your success. These temporary setbacks happen for a reason. Just realize why, and come back in action! We miss you!

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Last night, I was pursuing some long procrastinated work. The job was quite tedious and I had to sit up late into the night to get it done. As always, Amarok was blaring my favourite songs through my Creative 4.1, while I worked away. I’m in love with the Amarok shuffle algorithm – it beats the shits out of every other audio player in the market, even iPod/iTunes player, for that matter. My recently acquired the habit of putting all songs on shuffle comes from using Amarok – the song selection is eclectic in the best possible way. Hats-off to the community for the brilliant work on the music player!

It was roughly 2 AM in the morning, and I still had miles to go before I sleep. Nevertheless, I saved my files, switched off the monitor and flopped onto my bed, with music still on – albeit in low volume. It was time to call it a day. The ending notes of “Wish you were here” were fading away, probably taking cue from my sleep-deprived eyes. I’d almost slipped away into the valley of deep slumber when the Floyd song had concluded.

That was when Amarok decided to do a back-flip.

The psychedelic notes of Floyd gradually crossfaded to early-nineties jazz beats – complete with trumpets. Any Floyd fan would die for an encore of the favourite track – hence, the crossfade proved jarring to my ears. Enraged, I woke up with a start and rushed to the keyboard to plus the “Ctrl+V” shortcut for the next song.

I stopped, midway.

The jazz beats gave strong deja vu. The trumpets, the generous use of nineties’-electronic guitar; it was one song I thought I’d never forget – yet, I couldn’t place it fully. I sat down on the bed, as my head lowered itself involuntarily, as my mind raced through the portals of my long-term memory, in search of the track. (I could easily have walked upto the monitor and switched it on to check the track out, but somehow, I didn’t.)  That was when the jazz beats paused momentarily, and a resounding male voice ensued.

The same voice that muttered “Aal izz well!” – the voice of Aamir Khan! I listened in silent recognition, involuntarily smiling in the process, as I listened to Aamir’s (famous) monologue from his debut-movie “Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak”:

Doston (Friends),

Aaj college ka aakhri din hai, (Today’s the last day of college)
aur aane waale zindagi ke liye sabhi ne kuch na kuch soch rakha hai. (And all of you would’ve thought what to do with the rest of your lives.)
Lekin maine apne liye kuch nahin socha hai! (But I haven’t done that!)
No, really I mean it.
Aur aaj, aaj mujhe baar baar, ek hi khayaal aa raha hai… (And today… Today, I this thought repeatedly comes back to my mind…)

As Udit Narayan‘s voice took over from Aamir to sing the rest of “Papa kehte hai bada naam karega…” (My dad’s told me that I’d be famous.) - I couldn’t help lip-sync and sing the entire song, prancing about the room – in elation and goosebumps!

As the song concluded, I realized that I was smiling incessantly. I felt so ironic and overjoyed. Turns out that even I’m at the fag end of my college life, and I’m still at crossroads regarding what to do with the rest of my life, while the people around me have more or less zeroed in on their futures.

And the best part is, there used to be a time, I emphasize, there USED TO be a time, when my ‘Papa’ used to constantly reassure me that I’d have a “bada naam” in life!

Not having a clue about life used to bug me big time – it used to inculcate this huge wave of depression in me. Having already chosen the wrong career option three years back, and struggling to escape from it, I couldn’t make another mistake with my life – this fact used to plague me badly. Constant thoughts about careers barraged my mind with needless anxiety and I was confused. Even though I’d reached an interim conclusion about the career that I’d (hopefully) be pursuing post-B.Tech, the daunting task of preparing myself for it still scares me – considering the fact that I’m a habitual procrastinator afflicted by the ‘lazybones-syndrome’.

But this song, made the confusion seem ‘fashionable’ and actually inspiring. The first stanza of the song literal translates to: “My dad reassures me that I’d do well in life, but I’ve no clue where I’d end up.” But unlike Aamir Khan, I don’t have an inspired, teary-eyed dad watching his happy-go-lucky son sing glory about his long lost father’s belief in his capabilities. In my case, well, circumstances (many of which were self-made) made my dad openly retract his assurances, which is the worst thing a dejected son/daughter could get. But the song kindled sweet, long-lost memories of doting-praise and patient, endearing-encouragement – I got my much-needed recharge!

Perhaps, my dad was watching at a singing-dancing me through my room door’s peephole, silently-inspired, with tears welling in his eyes!!

P.S.

Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…
The most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives,
Some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.

- From Baz Luhrman‘s Sunscreen

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A ‘ping’ was all it took;
Not a gesture, voice, or look,
Where books had many an angelic face,
Back then, I met my sis at amazing pace,

Adorable and cherubic, her smile,
Vanished my pains in absolute guile;
My tears evaporated in her voice,
That gurgled like a river with poise.

For many, she was a dear sister,
With brothers whose numbers stood sinister!
The diva of charm, she stretched her hand,
And did every bit to understand.

The epitome of beauty and elegance,
Her exquisite eyes depicted brilliance,
She made the random fashion statement,
In a calm shimmer of slurring enlightenment.

Today her love is all I seek,
In wondrous respect, silent and meek.
“I’m her bro!”, I shout out in pride,
For, she’s one in a million, with a heart as wide.

- 5th August, 2009 – (Rakshabandhan).

CC Credits: TiagoRibero

P.S.

G, if you’re reading this – you’re THE most special person in my life. Wouldn’t have lived through all this, had it not been for you. A torrent of emotions crossed me today, and I felt, I HAD to publish this.

I’ll be there for you, till my dying day.

And as I always assure you:

“You’re THE BEST, sissie!” >:D<

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I was having an extended conversation with my best friend, yesterday night. Now, she’s one person who has, perhaps, understood me the most,  ’cause we share a lot of similar traits. She also has this uncanny ability to lift me up from all the waves of desperation that I’ve been through – one conversation with her, and bang, I’d be back to normalcy again!

The tables turned yesterday night though.

Her voice lacked the usual vibrancy and gusto that usually cheers me up. She was all down, like an orchid withered by sun. On further conversation, reasons behind her depression dawned upon me, and I couldn’t help but smile at the startling similarities – turns out that I was going through a worse variant of her problem. Escapism. Yes, both of us shut out our eyes and ears to the world and to quote her: “went numb, totally.” The classic ‘ignorance-is-bliss’ situation. A long conversation and a heady employment of pep-talk later, I cheered her up (to some extent) and bade her a good night’s sleep. As I flopped onto my bed, my grin widened. It was a smile of self-realization and deep irony. I was a bloody hypocrite – the biggest one Planet Earth has seen yet! I was consoling her even when there was a worse situation pinning me to the ground and I had no clue, whatsoever to tackle it!

CC Credits: Felipe Morin

Things weren’t this bad in the early days of my life. I must’ve been a non-conformist, but certainly not an escapist! Even though I used to have this tummy-back-flipping problem from the very beginning, I used to face adverse situations (albeit with immature response). But then, at some point in time, the problems just moved on from bad to worse. And I panicked – I couldn’t help it. Outward, I’d still be the same ol’ cheerful guy, but a storm would start raging in my mind. Yet, I’d face the situations as they are. Somewhere along the line, the dam of self-restraint broke lose. All of a sudden, I couldn’t face adversities – and to top it all, my world collapsed to such extent that abruptly, there was a blitzkrieg of inter-related adversities – each one devolving to another. To keep my mind sane, I practiced the well-oiled ‘ignorance machine’ of my mind, and scraped out of it. But the problems persisted and multiplied in magnitude.

Right now, my situations are at a crescendo – and I’ve fully mastered the ignorance art. But sadly, the time has come to act – and my mind has stretched itself to such extent that any more non-action from my part would see the (already-battered) wall of my life tumbling down! Having woven carefully crafted aspirations for myself in obnoxious optimism, that’s the last thing I’d want to happen – to see myself engulfed in a cesspool of disaster.

Hope, it is the quintessential human delusion, simultaneously the source of your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness.

- Architect, The Matrix Reloaded

Hope remains to be my greatest strength. It’s high time I stopped my non-actions and get down to some serious re-work of my life. Else, as the architect rightly puts it, (and as things are, right now), It would remain as my greatest weakness. I take full responsibility for my non-actions – and I admit that they’ve affected many loved ones – including my parents. But I need my redemption. I need to quit the process of escape and revert to the reality of life. And fight for it – it’d be a dreary battle I’m sure, and I might have to sacrifice a lot as part of it. Adversities tower overwhelmingly before me, and it’s high time I employed the canon balls of my intellect to blast them off. I have to stop lying to myself – the technique I employ the most to escape from reality; and I have to pit myself against the myriad odds that face me.

I’m always optimistic.

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