Heights of Joblessness

Having spent some time away from the corporate grind and the "rat race" does provide you with a few epiphanies(some my own, some from wise observers). Now that I have come back to normalcy, those epiphanies had to be put down.

1. A break is a really good thing.
2. You need to apply everyday to a whole lot of places before you like a job and the job likes you back. Had my daily time slot allotted for this.
• Apply if you like the place or the role. Worst case they talk to you and tell you its not possible. Best case they make a place for you as and how you want it.
• Interviews and projects keep you thinking.
3. Jobs are a lot like girlfriends:
• Someone's always got a cooler one.
• One of the previous ones was amazing and you shouldn't have left.
• You generally don't want to get married to either.
• Neither of them leave you with enough cash in the pocket.
• You always want one... Until the time you get one.
• Some relative is always going to disapprove of your taste in both.
• You may have rejected them but it hurts when you see someone else happy with the same.
4. Learn a language in the free time, Spanish to Java to Doublespeak to auto-driver. Any of them would not only be fun but also useful at some later point.
5. Build on your hobby. If you don't have one, get one.
6. Travel. Money may be low, which prevents those exotic vacations with fancy comforts but backpacking, or as a friend calls it 'slumming it out' has its own charms. 
7. Do some free work either for an NGO or the local good guys. Combine it with travel for better effects. Have seen a couple of friends do this during their state of joblessness for some fantastic feel good factor and sense of accomplishment. Can always add CV points.
8. Send across Resumes shamelessly. You are doing people a favor by giving them the privilege to refer you. They do get a referral bonus if you get through after all.
9. Video Games are awesome. Those addictive freemium games were made for people like you and times like these. They are a time machine with no reverse gear. Great to keep you busy.
10. Meet up with as many friends as you can. Helps with point 8 above and of course they are earning... you are not... hypothetical 'free lunches'.
11. Read. Whatever you like - comics, books, magazines, newspapers... Would have liked to do more of it but well time machines are a lot more fun.
12. Network. Points 5,6,7 and 10 cannot be reiterated enough.
13. Make your own decisions. Everyone has free advice and these can range from awesome to awful. This maybe true for life in general but then I'd call it a re-epiphany.
14. Follow all such blogs and share mutual wisdom
15. A movie a day... 
    

I guess it comes down to a simple choice, really. Get busy livin' or get busy dyin'.

A bus journey through hell

Taking a break from all the fiction I have been putting down in my assignments, I actually decided this story was worth a write. Sagar, my roommie back then had told me it deserved to go to the blog, but I decided I needed to wait until the post trauma stress had subsided before I made this public. It has been 8 months now since the incident so I am assuming I am either twisted for life or cured although most people who know me would say I was already twisted for life.

This occurred in late February when I had to travel back to Delhi for a function at home. Having lost some money in rescheduling the tickets to accommodate my IIM Trichy interview later that week combined with the my lack of any enthusiasm for functions in general and the fact that I would be busy with nothing for a whole week of vacation meant I was waiting at the bus stand in Silk Board for a bus to the airport in a fairly bad mood. The buses do take their own sweet time and music is a great companion, so when a man in his fifties, well dressed, wearing glasses and holding a briefcase asked me if we would get an airport bus there, I politely replied in the affirmative to just avoid any comment that could get me to snap.

The bus arrived in a while and as I took my place, this man sat next to me. The previous and the remaining conversation had all taken place in Hindi (despite my obvious South Indian name, there is nothing at all in my accent that says I am not from the north. In fact my accent varies depending on the person I speak to and is usually the Delhi kind). He started up the conversation again, as any other patriotic Indian does by cursing our politicians, in specific about a certain lady whose statues and garments worn by the statues on the lines of some reporter pulling her sari. I removed my headphones just to be polite. I have made some friends over my travel and met an amazingly diverse bunch of people so I figured it would be an experience if not anything else. Pretty sure now that Dante must have thought the same when Virgil started to give him a tour of the cooler. He had slowly moved the topic through to financial policies and the recession’s effect on local real estate cussing at a few other politicians along the way.

We then ran through the second most favorite topic of any patriotic Indian. You guessed it, the sport which actually puts religion on a backburner sometimes. He started off with how hard a cricket ball is, and when I told him of injuries from it, he decided a statistical analysis of all past, present and future “death by cricket ball” was a legitimate topic for study. This had a few alarm bells ringing in my head but then I guess if Satan has decided you need some head chewing with Brutus, Cassius and Judas for company, there is not much you can do. He asked me about a couple things which he could buy at the airport for a friend of his. Having been to that part of town (the airport) enough number of times, I told him to go find it after checking in.

At this point of time he decided that he needed to vent his rants out about the Southern part of the country. This with two guys from Andhra chatting in Telugu in front of us, a tamilian on the phone behind and a bus in Bangalore which I am sure would have at least the driver and conductor understanding Hindi perfectly. Way worse off than when a cousin of mine thought it would be a joke to call ourselves ‘sardars’ for a stupid mistake in a train to Delhi. Fortunately nobody except a nice Sikh heard it back then. Was just wondering now if my Tamil would hold up to scrutiny if any of them decided to teach us political correctness.

This was the nasty part; he starts off with how Southies wear nothing but a dhoti to marriage, about how they would give a chunk of gold or cash for dowry: about 16 lakhs he had heard on one case. He then gave me a break up of the entire dowry he had set aside for his daughters: a car, tv, fridge and some cash, all in all 8 lakhs per gal but well split up. One of them was a doc, the other in college. Of course neither was too far away from home and neither would ever work for a woman’s place was at home. I started to look around to see if there was a feminist anywhere near loading a gun. He had a son as well 18 years of age and cute enough to still share a bed with his grandmom. Norman Bates in training I would say for a Hindi remake of Psycho. He continues by more bad-mouthing of the food in South India. Either too spicy or too bland and the cost as well and of course like a few other North Indians, he talked about how much better the South Indian food tasted up in the north.

He stopped all of a sudden, with the look of a detective who had just bid farewell to his prime suspect at an airport, he asks me: Are you an Indian or a foreigner? He meant of course north or south, and for some reason I decided that the show needed to go on. I told him North Indian of course. Not convinced, he asked me my full name. “Arun Sharma” I said and his face lit up. I am also a Sharma, Yogesh Sharma (In the style of Bond only dubbed). Looking around he pointed at a metal fan. “These days children are crazy, look at the hair, you can’t even make out if he is a guy if not for his unclean beard. You are smart and decent. It is only the previous generation which was totally mad; your generation is very smart.” The conversation veered in the direction of my family. Told him parents were from Mumbai, me from Delhi unfortunately working in Bangalore, hint of settling in Mumbai added for some melodrama. That gave him enough fodder to go on.

Relatives are the greatest backstabbers, he started. He had a cousin who was like the rich evil guy from a bad 70s movie (not his exact words but this is how I remember it). Had infinite money but wouldn’t share it with this guy which is why the poor man had to work. Then he talked about his thoughts on love and arranged marriages. In short, love marriages were marriages arranged by the devil. He had apparently tortured other innocent souls like me on his other trips and one of them had gotten into a love marriage so he never spoke to the bride. Then he talked of how even the conductor in the local bus in Delhi recognized him and thought of him as interesting (choice of words I now reserve for my next trip to the loony bin). He then proceeded to tell me in detail the conductor’s love story and his part in giving unused ‘valuable’ advice.

With him talking about cooking and his recipes, by now I was contemplating on my options of suicide. The airport however was getting closer, and somehow he had time for one more topic on how tigers are disappearing off the country, its implications and his expert opinion in teaching birds how to migrate (this was purely my fault, should have never told him about my hobbies). He did buy me a cup of tea before we parted near the entrance but he made sure we exchanged numbers (missed call to ensure I gave him a valid one). I was just glad I was not on the same flight. I almost killed a person next to me in the flight for reading ‘Who moved my cheese’ but mostly I was just catatonic.

This is of course dedicated to Mamta Mittal who patiently heard me repeat the entire drama over phone in front of the boarding gate for half an hour before politely telling me to hang up as I had given her a headache. Also to my roommie and others who said it wasn’t fair that they were the only ones who had to listen to my rants.

Last month

I came back home completely drenched that day. The continuous Mumbai rain was just plain irritating; I wondered why the recent movies made a big deal out of it. However today even that would not dampen my spirits. I had been promoted and the additional income meant some celebration. I began to make a mental note of places for vacations as I walked up the stairs. Anisha opened the door and the look on her face told me things were about to go downhill. “I am sorry” she started.

She had an admission for a course. A course in fine arts. I wondered for a second why she couldn’t do it in India but then I already knew the answer. I had always believed there was not much we could disagree on. Petty squabbles are one thing but on any major decision we were always on the same page. I guess life loves to surprise you once in a while. We were to be engaged soon. I was doing very well. I had hoped to finally settle down. We talked about it all evening and well into the night. At least I talked and she listened. At the end when I had nothing left to say, she looked at me. There was a sad smile in her beautiful eyes as she said “But this is what I really wanted to do”.

I gave up. We did not talk properly with each other for the next couple of days. She hadn’t even told me she had applied. She was to leave in a month, which made it just that much harder. It seemed just yesterday that we had met in college. Engineering. Why she took it up, I have no idea. She had no interest in anything but painting. We moved in together a year after college. She quit her job soon after and just stayed home. She would paint every day. The paintings were lovely of course. And it was not just me who thought that. I had always asked her to make a self-portrait for me but that she always refused. She said she would do it the day she became famous. 

Work was going well. I could always shut my mind to everything else as I sat at my desk. As a week passed by I began to reconcile with the thought of her leaving. I would never let anyone stop me when I set my mind to it but for some reason I could not bring myself to tell her that. I came from a not so well to do family. It had been a long and hard struggle for me to reach where I was today. I could understand how she felt about her dreams but then I still could not see her go away. Two weeks to go before she had to leave she came up to me. I could see she was in a mood to settle things. Before she could say anything I told her we would really need to start shopping if she intended to not panic on the day of her flight. She had the look of a soldier who is cornered from all sides with just a bullet left. And just as he is about to shoot himself, he watches the enemy surrender. 

As we talked that evening, she told me she herself was having doubts about going away. I told her if she didn’t follow her dream she would regret it. She had never imagined I would be on her side. Well, others may recognize you when you doubt yourself. It is not that they know you better than yourself. It is just that you may not see what you mean to them. The next week flew past very quickly. I had taken the last week of the month off. I wouldn’t be seeing her for a while. I wanted some time with her. 

We were getting back in a taxi from a dinner yesterday in the pouring rain. The weather had remained gloomy throughout the month. If it wasn't pouring it would be drizzling and that night was no different. It had been a fun evening and although she was leaving in just two days, I was happy. Happy for her. She was confused, didn't know whether to really laugh or pretend that she was going to miss me there. She was clearly excited about leaving but she knew how much I would miss her. Just as the rain stopped for what I felt was the first time in ages, the car swerved off the road. I woke up in the hospital this afternoon. The doctor told me I was fine, a few bruises and cuts but nothing serious. I asked him about Anisha. He was silent. 

I feared the worst but then he said she was alive and stable. I was happy for a moment and then he continued; she was permanently blinded. Now as the entire month ran through my mind, I sat beside her on the hospital bed. The nurse was pulling the curtains away. For the first time in the entire month, I saw bright sunlight streaming through the tinted panes. As my eyes adjusted to the deluge of sunlight, I saw Anisha stirring. She was waking up and I really didn’t know how I could tell her that she was still alive but her dreams were dead.

Zombie infestation in a small restricted area – A practical experiment

Now I know the zombie infection spreads and preventions have been done to death (pun intended). However what I am trying to present is a variation of the spread through a more practical experiment with the use of minimal technology. Differences from most of the other experiments will include almost no interference from the external areas, no weapons and some realistic assumptions of the zombies and the virus.

For the experiment we will be considering a drenched person a zombie. Now the start of it shall be done by catching hold of one person and pouring a bucket or more of water on him and then letting him be. This is very much in line with a bunch of scientists catching hold of a person and infecting him with a virus. As any regular zombie, this one would like to infect others. So now he pulls out a bucket and douses people around, more specifically as revenge on the guys who did it to him. The others drenched of course, would like to spread it around.

As we all know zombies are slow moving and so are people with buckets. However in the dead of the night where the other inhabitants of the hostel, sorry I meant closed area have nowhere else to go, after running around for a while do tire out and give up. As the say in Transylvania, the vampire is at the top of the food chain. So at some point of time when the uninfected figure that out they decide to finally give in. Others maybe pulled out of their secluded rooms of rest to be converted.

Now there are many others in the area also, who are generally asleep and unaware of the spread of infection outside. Zombies of course would like to bring as many as possible to the dark side. Now few more basic assumptions, one that we have already used above that zombies do have limited memories of the past and hence would most likely firstly try to convert people they know. Secondly they may be physically slower than the uninfected (a completely drenched person carrying a bucket full of water cannot run) but unlike in the movies they also are slightly logical and tactical, ensuring maximum conversion rate. They maybe generally irrational (come on, anybody running about in a dry place with buckets of water to throw around needs to be that) as the classical zombie, but they are good.

Conclusions:

Eventually as most of the inhabitants are converted in a matter of 2 hours but there are of course a few exceptions. There are some that refuse to infect others, watching others fall or just resting in peace. There are some who look normal (less drenched), who draw out unsuspecting normals to get them infected and of course there are those who believe the experiment is a scam for childish behavior and remain uninfected while trying to stop the virus altogether (an extremely small and unsuccessful minority). Zombies also were rational in case of existing viral attacks and certain members were spared for already being down with another infection. A minimal few of course who slept through the ordeal had no idea of the sudden infection and disinfection. The area was suddenly all clean in the morning and most blood (water) on the floor had evaporated. Some even believed it was just rain.

The forest

It was pouring like the world was coming to an end. The professor huddled up trying to get every loose piece of clothing he was wearing back into the cover of the stones. His guide and the coolie sat further away under another stone jutting out of a solid column. They were hardly bothered by the winds and the stings of the biting rain. It had been sunny in the morning but the weather here changed quicker than the whims of a mistress. The professor sighed and then he prayed for a higher power to help him. Here he was in the midst of a paradise long forgotten. Only it was not his paradise, it belonged to the earth and for over centuries no man had set foot here.

They had discovered the ruins through a lost boy whose mother had been killed by a tiger. The boy had run away during the attack. When the search party from his village found him, he was almost dead from hunger, sobbing from fright and exhaustion clutching a broken idol in the ruins. It had been his last hope and it had pulled him through the horror. The doctor who treated the boy, of course told the story to his friends. To him it was the triumph of the spirit of a boy but to a friend of his it was the chance of a lifetime.

The professor was called so in part due to his demeanor, but mostly because he had never wanted to be a teacher. He was of average height, quite lanky and the glasses looked like a part of him. His unkempt hair too did not look out of place along with his weather-beaten suits. Life has a way of knowing our deepest desires and dangling them just out of reach. Or maybe life finds something just out of reach and plants the desire for it in us. The professor was stuck teaching a bunch of kids history when he truly wanted to show the world his view of the past. As a mockery of his fate, the nickname stuck and nobody really remembered his true name. The professor heard from his only friend about the ruins the boy was found. To him this was his chance at resurrection.

Nobody had ever heard of those ruins in these parts.It would be one of the greatest archeological finds in his lifetime. The professor knew the history of the region. An ancient clan before the time of the Mughals had a stronghold further north. The grand fort was beyond the forest, however another hideout in the forest was something nobody would have anticipated. The rulers then valued their knowledge over everything else. This must be a safe-house where they hid if they were overrun. It must have been here that they must have made their final stand as they were wiped out. The possibilities of what they would find here made the professor shiver with excitement as he let himself grin without realizing it.

"Sahib" the coolie shouted. The professor was rudely awakened from his thoughts. He wiped his grin away maintained his composure, brought a touch of irritation to his voice and barked out "What is it?"
"I can barely hear you in this rain"
"Sahib, Bubul has been bitten by a snake, we need to get him back to the village immediately."
"Oh my God. What was it?"
"It looked like a magamaruwa" the coolie screamed "If I can get him back to the village doctor sahib has his medicines"
"But in this rain"
"You do not worry sahib, I will carry him back. You stay right here, I will come back for you."

An hour later, the rain still had not had mercy on the professor. He thought about getting inside the ruins but the earlier incident with the snake had scared him. The torches offered little light and he was apprehensive about what else the darkness could hold. The professor cursed his luck. He had wanted to be the first one to announce to the world about the existence of the ruins. He wanted to see them with his own eyes before he said anything. When something you desire so strongly just falls into your hands, the first reaction is always disbelief. Everybody accepts bad luck without a question but any bit of good luck always casts the darkest shadows of doubt.

As evening fell, the heavens finally dried up. The coolie was not back yet. The professor certainly did not want to spend the night there. He did not know the way back of course. The bags would remain there. Everything that could be ruined must already be ruined. The rest would stay as it was. He saw the general direction they had come in. There were no trails but he hoped that if he kept walking in that direction, he would be back to the village. As the sun went behind the hills he knew that he did not have much time left. There was no point in waiting for the men to return.

As he started walking, he tried to look for signs that he was right or at least that he was on the right path. As he saw signs of neither, his thoughts went back to the snake. Every root, every branch looked like one. He tried to think of other things. That is when he remembered about the lost boy's mother being killed by the tiger. He tried to reason with himself that the tiger would not be around and all he had to worry about were the snakes, but then if we could control our thoughts we would all be happy. The sound of the rain had drowned the chatter of the forest, but now the professor wished for the rain again. The deafening sound of the crickets was unpleasant to say the least, the rustle of leaves and twigs under his feet unnerving, but worst of all was the incessant hooting of a distant owl. To the professor, that signaled the falling darkness and his own helplessness at dusk.

Switching on his flashlight he shook his head as he admonished himself at being scared during the daytime. "The night" he told himself, "does not really matter. I see the same with the flashlight as I saw in the day. The forest really is thick." He walked into a clearing, the grass was knee high but he could at-least see the trees a few feet away in the flashlight instead of hitting a branch he had missed with the torch. He decided to stop. It would probably be much safer to continue the journey at dawn. He could spend the night on a tree. If he managed to climb up high enough and stay there until dawn, he would be safe. As he climbed steadily, he decided he would not sleep. A fall from that height would certainly break his bones if it did not kill him.

As the forest went silent again, the professor thought of all the creatures out in the darkness. We all choose our own monsters to fight. The monster must be something we know, something we can beat, not too easily for there would be no satisfaction but it must not tax us till the last drop blood either. Dreams are achieved only after we defeat the monster. It would never be out of a nightmare. Nightmares are all the times we fail, fail to live our dreams, fail to fight for our dreams or when we have no dreams. The creatures from our nightmares cannot be beaten by most of us. Fortunate are those who battle their nightmares for they either die conquering heaven or they attain their zenith and fade away. The rest of us either do not have the opportunity or do not have the stupidity to believe that all monsters can be defeated. Isn't that what all stories teach us? That good always win in the end. The only problem is no one knows where the end to each one's story is, and sometimes who the evil is. Monsters somehow never fight fair. We only chose them because we believed we would win. They fight when we have already stumbled. The forest was the professor's monster.

A howl startled the professor from his slumber. He almost fell off but managed to hold on. It was not from very far off. He wondered what the sound had been but he was too scared to turn his torch on. The silence was now deafening. He wished for the crickets, or the wind or even the owl to start but they were all silent. The moonlight showed him shadows and shapes. They may have been deer or tigers but to him they were the devil himself.

The dawn came after ages. The beams of sunlight through the dense canopy were the most beautiful thing he saw. They were the gates of paradise. From the branch of the tree he had clung to, he could see above all trees. He could see a column of smoke rising in the distance. He could see his way back. He almost fell down as he ran down. He dragged himself as fast as he could towards the smoke. Everytime he fell, he would pick himself up and run faster. The sun crept above him, it must have been noon when he finally reached. As the villagers helped him and poured water down his throat, a woman came rushing.
"Where are Bubul and Jawar?"
"Did they not return?" he asked. "They had left yesterday."
"No, they did not come back. We thought you were together."
The professor suddenly remembered the howl he had hear in the night. It had not been a howl but rather a scream. He could now remember clearly, it was the muffled voice of a man. They must still be there. Probably injured, but they were certainly there somewhere near the clearing.
The professor stuttered as he replied "I do not know, I did not see any sign of them since yesterday."

A Farewell note

It has been a long time since I wrote something. I don't have a flair for writing, so if someone does read this please forgive my inexperience. I felt I needed to speak to someone before I left and somehow now I feel I cannot really speak to anyone. The past year has been particularly lonely. They tore down the houses behind and now they are replacing them with an office building. They did the same with the houses on the side a few years back. I had acquaintances there. They were not friends or people I knew but they were familiar. We exchanged pleasantries and always met with a smile. Now I am alone in a crowd.

Back in the days, the house was noisy. I remember shouting at the kids for a moment's peace so I could finish my work. Neetu would then push them out. They have now pushed themselves away. I have my peace today. Now I don't really know what to wish for. I truly do pity those who get all their wishes. That must be truly hell. I haven't spoken to the kids in a while too. They are busy with their lives and their families. My parents died in an accident soon after my marriage but I am quite sure with how I was juggling my work and the sudden responsibilities, they would have been pushed away. But then again my mother always wanted to help. I remember how difficult it was to see them struggle with the TV yet so easily they connected with people around.

I used to laugh when my parents struggled with the technology. Me being a mechanic in the initial days made me the smarter one in the family. Now my grandson laughs when I cant message on the phone. He must have grown a lot since I last saw him. Maybe he could teach me how to use the computer. I have lived in this city long enough. Moving from the village to here had been such a revelation yet I wish to go back. Somehow I know that wish would also turn into a curse. I know no one there now. My old friends have all gone. The village is in a time which I have long left behind. Even memories of it have faded and I am truly afraid that if I go back the nostalgia would be trivialized by how I remember nothing of it.

Life does move fast these days. The kids here have no time at all. I spoke to a boy the other day. He had school and tuition and coaching for tennis and whole lot of other things. We used to just play all day after school. All I do now is watch TV and take walks. Everyone else though always seems to be in a hurry. Just the other day at the market a man helped me out not because he was a good Samaritan but because he was really getting impatient in the line. I just feel like a stranger more and more everyday. At times I think I have even forgotten the language we all speak as everyone has so much to say and no time to say it. I am sure if you are still reading this, I have wasted some of your time as well. I am sorry.

I did not want to write about Neetu. It is painful which is why I kept it for the end but she did not get to say goodbye and so I must do it for her. It is late of course. Two years have passed since she left me. It had been abrupt and I still haven't recovered from it. The doctor did say a lot of things for me as well. I still think about the times when I wrote letters to her. She said I wrote terribly. She would still say that about this note as well I guess. The day Brownie died she wept like a baby. What a stupid thing to call a dog. She called him that only because I hated the name. I would have liked to keep a dog now but I can barely take care of myself. Neetu would have wanted me to keep one though. She would have probably called him Brownie jr.

I did not decide on this because of anything above. It is just that I feel like I am not meant to be here. I would say that I feel I am sitting on a train just because I have a seat even though my station has long gone. It is now time to get off. Maybe I will get a train back to my station. Maybe this time I will not miss my station. Maybe I can just walk to it. The journey had been good but now it is time I got to my destination. Farewell.

Here and now

I am the shadow born of the flame,
I am the thought that hath no name.
I see no God, no perfect one,
They foul the dreams with wicked puns.
Stroll through the gardens in autumn's fire,
Trudging through ice, unquenching desire.
Of beauty's passed and heavenly grace,
A whispered wish but grudging embrace.
Fear and pain of a forgotten time,
Floods of memories begging for a rhyme.
The future is a mistress grim,
The nostalgia is but a goddess of whim.
Many paths diverge to a Neverland,
Many more bring us to where I stand.
A rush to fulfill tearful smiles,
A sprint to overcome unending miles.
Ebbing are my faltering words,
No rustling leaves, no whistling birds.