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Good old days…

I started reading books when my high school sweet heart was married to some body else. The very first book that I read was some thriller by Sydney Sheldon. It kept me occupied. That was nearly ten years ago. Had I read “The Great Gatsby” in those days, I would have known that rich girls don’t marry poor boys. In my case only, the guy she was married to was rich. Over the years I have been writing small blog posts that no one reads. The feeling of being greatest writer in me just comes and goes like a mood. Sometimes work keeps me occupied and sometimes I keep myself occupied with work.

In my childhood years, watching a movie was a greatest adventures available. You could tell how many houses in the neighborhood have VCRs and what movie they played. It would be the talk of the evening in the entire neighborhood. One of those houses was called “Masi Sakeena’s House”. Masi is the name of relation. Sister of your mother. As we call “uncle” with respect to every guys who looks as old as your father, same was the case with calling someone “Masi”. She used to sell children’s accessories in her house to amuse herself. She was crippled and spend the rest of her life on a cot for as long as I was going to their house to buy chocolates and marshmallows and candies and what not.

There was a small table in the corner of the small veranda right opposite of her cot. We would go, choose our articles, walk to her cot, show her the stuff and she will speak the price and we would pay. Her money was kept in a small tin box that was once bought with milk powder in it and now used for money.

On every Friday, there was a movie show in her house at 3 o’clock. We would of course pay one rupee to watch the movie and that would easily cover the rental cost of VHS tape of ten rupees from the one of the only two video centers in town. It would always be a Bollywood movie , and always a action thriller. I’m taking about 1990’s. Most of the movies would end with hero rescuing the girl by killing the villain. After the movie we would feel an immense energy and power in us. And we would tell each other that when I grow up, I’ll become like Sunjay Dutt and kill out maths teacher who always punishes me in the school. We would get into useless quarrels with our friends no less just to let out the hero that had just grown in us. After a while, we go about our routine and forgot all about that hero. This was when I was 9 years I guess.

Now, when I can buy tickets using my phone and go to luxurious cinemas to watch movies, I still bring someone with me on my way back from the theater. That is, the writer in me. Almost after every movie, I would tell myself, oh! This was such a simple story why I couldn’t think of that? Or, this movie was nearly the same as I had thought once in my mind. Of course that ain’t true. One of these days, I keep telling myself, I’m going to write for the screen and I’ll get my first book or a short story published and become famous.

My girlfriend always gets angry at me when I don’t tell her that what she has cooked is so delicious. I used to get mad at her but realized later on that it means a great deal to you. Writing is no less than cooking, after you’re done you anxiously wanna know how your work is perceived by others. Although it shouldn’t mean much to you, but something inside of us will become more and more happy if we hear what we do matters and what we do helps others.


I Dreamed A Dream…!

I have always believed that all the good  thing in life are recognized by knowing their bad sides. It doesn’t matter how dark may be the night; when you see stars you recognize that is the light. People change so that you can learn to let go, things go wrong so that you appreciate them when they’re right, you believe lies so you eventually learn to trust no one but yourself, and sometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together. Like a rainbow of life which is always colorful but sometimes it takes effort to understand the colors. Perhaps.

Wired up in my headset with audio-books playing, last night was no different from the many nights that I have slept. But it turned out to be different somehow as I fell asleep and I dreamed this dream. I dreamed this dream during the time gone by; I saw hopes were high and life was more than worth living; I dreamed about an undying love. Of all the dreams that I’ve seen, the ones that are now used and wasted; this dream made me feel young and unafraid. I dreamed that the world was at war and the cities and towns were scattered. People were dying and people were killing and mothers running here and there to provide the safety for their children and young men fighting for their pride. I saw you and I saw me, we both were unaware of such troubles and preparing to meet each other. In the mirror I could see you looking at your face asking million questions to yourself about how do you look and world was growing to be a hell outside. I still remember the feel of that dream exactly the moment when you slept beside me, it was a summer night and you filled it with endless wonder and you were gone by the time Autumn came. I remember the each moment that I spent with you from the summer to autumn.

I woke up in the afternoon and I heard your voice. I was scared and astonished I tried to close my eyes and go back into that dream again for the person was completely different from the dream than the one I called. I couldn’t go back to the sleep but as I closed the shutters of my eyes I was engulfed with million thoughts and feelings. I felt that I found someone who can completely turn my world around and that, I can tell her the things that I don’t feel like telling others. I can share with her my hopes and fears, the dreams that will never come true, goals that never can be achieved and disappointments that life has given. I felt that when something good happens I wouldn’t wait to share with her and she would never be embarrassed to cry with me during my bad times. I felt that my whole world is a quite bank of a serene river when she is around. That, she would always appreciate me and like me for who I am and not for who I should be or who she wants me to be.

During these confused thoughts there was time when I decided to share all the secret of my life with you because I though you’re my safest place on this earth. And then all the colors would seem brighter and all the smiles will turn in to laughter. I became so certain that a phone call or two a day will break all the tiredness of the working day and bring inevitable smile on my face and on yours. Your presence wouldn’t require continuous conversations but in quite moments I would speak loads of things with you. I imagined that things that never fascinated me before would now interest me because they are to your interest and I would never let go of a chance which separates me from you. Suddenly, this hope took place in me that one day you’ll open your heart knowing that there is a possibility that you might get it broken someday but instead you experience such a love and joy that you never dreamed of. That, you’ve found a true friend and possibly a soul mate who will always be loyal to you till the end of the time. But…but I woke up from the deep slumber and realized that I’ve gone too far but still I’ll dream that some of it will come true, not all but some.

So I just saw my life completely different from what it is right now and in the moment I felt that this cruel life killed my dream, brutally. But again, my dear, there are seas in this world that can not be sailed; there are mountains in this world that can not be climbed; But people out there are still trying their best to become legends.

Tricks of the Trade

July 20, 2011, I posted a blog titled “Locker number 49”. That included my experiences during my early days in Malaysia. I used to work as a part time banquet attendant in Grand Millennium Hotel in the heart of the city. I earned $5 an hour and I worked as long as 18 hours in a day. It was a hard earned experience during those days. I always told myself that someday I’ll get myself served on these tables. Someday.Last night, 26th June 2015, nearly 4 years after I went to Grand Millennium hotel and bought a buffet dinner $138 each in a fine suit. I was filled with pride and triumph of being able to see and feel the a dream come true right in front of eyes. I was on the other side of the buffet lane this time with a liberty of choosing anything I would want. Most of my hunger was filled with the surprising looks by some of the previous colleagues who were still working there; and some with happiness. I didn’t eat much but that was the best dinner I ever had. An Indian chef who knew me well, made me a special butter bread that made me feel so special. My old supervisors were still working there and they were glad to see me advance pass them. In short, it was an amazing experience of a dinner that brought me a vivid picture of who I used to be and who I am today.

The journey was not easy but I never gave up. I started to believe in courage, rage, hope, believe and expectations. It wasn’t easy. If it was easy, everyone would do it. I’m glad made it this far. I’m glad I chose not to give up and strive to make myself a different person today. I’m glad I took those decisions that were way too risky for me. I’m just glad where I’m today.

I wouldn’t say my life is perfect today but its contented. Struggles of moving forward are everlasting but to be able to find myself working in one of the top-ten multinational companies in the world from a small time waiter – well I would say it was an amazing journey and I’m glad I made it here. I’m glad I chose myself to be here.

Self-belief is most important thing in life. People would come and tell you that you can’t do certain things because they themselves can’t. One person’s opinion can never be your reality. You know in your head the truth of your life. Trust me, when you achieve a smallest goal that you’ve set in your life, it gives you the happiness and freedom that you would never feel again.

Some Roads Lead nowhere…

Moira Rogers once wrote,  “The two hardest things to say in life are hello for the first time and goodbye for the last.” It certainly brings smile and deep thought in our minds when we think how can a Hello be the hardest thing to say. We end up saying numerous hellos and goodbyes in a whole day and we don’t even remember them at the end of the day. It’ harder when it comes to someone who is on your mind.              Life is quite complex and complicated when it comes to meeting new people. it can be difficult to meet new people, however, sometimes, you might feel like you have to repress or modify your personality a bit, and stick your neck out there and expose yourself to some potentially uncomfortable situations. The effort tends to pay off, but oddly enough, the older we get, the more difficult it becomes to meet new people. And sometimes it is better not to ask an uncomfortable question or reveal the affection for someone who might bring unintentional pain. It is better to keep quite and preserve what you have left.            It is a general phenomenon that people push hard to become what they think is ideal to fit into a new society or a social group. I believe, it is better to stay the person you are and wait, until the environment recognizes you. The new environment may not be like the one you’ve been into in the past or something that you’ve anticipated. Sometimes one should need to step out of the person they used to be and try to become the person they are or the person they want to be. Certain situations really test your emotional strengths. Most of the times you say or do things that you never wished for and they lead you towards some unwanted results.          Expectations play an important role in one’s emotional state. It is never easy to decide what to expect from who and when. Generally the initial idea is that you’d want people to like you and you would try hard to make them feel the same way. I believe until you get yourself completely into an environment you are in sub-conscious state of mind. So it is very important for you to make wise decisions at good times. You need to speak words in such a way that you don’t feel like taking them back later on. Moreover, we would go and talk to someone very nice and would leave our heart and mind to that person or to that situation or the moment. Later on we start thinking differently and we regret our own generosity and we wish to take everything back and we fail. Such things appear when we forget our inner self and try to become someone you’ve ever been before.          At the end of the day you feel lost and lonely, which is normal but that doesn’t have to be the case all the times. But disappointment is gonna be there. It is difficult but yet ideal that the ‘Hello’ once you begin shouldn’t reach to a disappointing ‘Goodbye’. Sometimes goodbye is the only way but it doesn’t have to be so hard. But truth is you can’t do much about it. It’s a magical thing. You would wish to let them happen and in the end you regret. Regretful feeling is not permanent. All it takes is to stick on the road and make your way. Whatever is lost can be brought back. For, What goes around, comes around.

A rational truth… 


Yesterday, as i was writing on the greatness  of human beings, I was distracted by the noise outside. I went out to take stock. I saw men barking and each other and some dogs were busy having a sweet slumber. 

(Krishna Chandar)

The Last Cab ride…

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

“Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80’s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.”

“Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?”

“It’s not the shortest way,” I answered quickly.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.”

I looked in the rear view mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

“I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I don’t have very long.”

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to take?” I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she’d ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.

It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.

“Nothing,” I said.

“You have to make a living,” she answered.

“There are other passengers.”

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

“You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.”

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn’t pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don’t think that I have done anything more important in my life. We’re conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware—beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

A true story by Kent Nerburn

Can You Tell A Story?

So I have been giving a lot of thought on writing a short-story these days. When I come to think of it – it looks like a wandering maze where I feel like I’m lost forever but I never give up. Like every other writer in the world, I, too, wish to write my autobiography someday and it should be a bestseller while I’m on some hospital bed in my sixties. A book of my life, so to speak. I’m just waiting for the right time to do so, because the older I get and more I read, better gets my maturity and writing skills. There is no denying in the giant white and empty pages are the biggest enemy of a writer. So I keep writing the book of my life in my mind, every time of the day. On the go, so to speak.

Memory is a funny thing. When you’re in a scene, you don’t really pay no attention to the details or the importance of that moment. The idea of having to remember those details for you will have to write a book on them never linger about. All you think about is yourself. I believe inside of every human being lives a writer. Like in every village there is a crafted farmer who knows the causes and effects of farming and whole village relies on him in time of ploughing. Writing is like playing music on the keyboard. If you are pressing your fingers on the write nodes, the sound and the rhythm soothe your heart and soul. Isn’t that an art? Yes, I think it is. If you can turn a deserted land into some green fruit-bearing paradise then YES you can turn a blank white paper into a book of your life.

So maybe when I turn forty someday, I’ll apply a long leave if I’m working for someone or I’ll just retire for that matter, book a holiday, lightly pack my needful belongings and leave to stay somewhere very quiet. Where the silence hit you like the wind blows on a wide highway. On a lonely island or by the beach I’ll make the fire, watch the fire, keeping the unwritten pages of the book of my life, I’ll remember my days. I have to be careful of what to mention and what not to, as there is no secret that can never leave anyone’s heart. For there is some sorrow in every life. I’ll definitely find it challenging to write a book whose end is still unknown. It’s like writing a story and leaving the ending unwritten. I will jolt my mind to remember the promises that were made and the promises those were broken. Words of anger and fury, love and kindness and the words I was supposed to weep at and laugh at. Suddenly I would remember to add a chapter of secrets. I will be a little scared to reveal everything in that chapter and risk everything that I may possess. But I’m sure somehow I’ll be fearless and go ahead.

Next chapter would be on love and my ink would never dry on that chapter. I will watch the fire again and picture her face and write about it and about how I built the castle out of lies and broken the precious and tender hearts. I’ll write about the chances that I had for once and twice but I was too naïve to understand. I’m sure I’ll cry while doing that chapter. And I will make sure I don’t forget to mention the page where we estranged. Although the pages are numbered in advance but still no one can read till the end, for there is no end to be written in the book of my life.

Then I’d probably move to the chapter on family and friends and some tales of my childhood in it. The quarrels that never could reach to a verdict but the battles that I lost. I will also include some fiction in the book of my life. I would write about the things which I wanted to happen or have but I couldn’t. I will think about adding a chapter on politicians but I would quickly skip that part and move on to the chapter on God. This chapter, I could never have been able to understand. I’ll look in the sky and see stars shimmering and moon if possible. I will praise God in my heart but I won’t be able to write much about it. In the enigma of writing when I’ll get tired and look up, I’ll see the sky turning dark blue again and the sun rising from within the sea. The fire long finished but I would be too busy to realize it. I would be glad that I didn’t set the sea on fire.