Neighbour's Envy, Brother's Pride

Neighbour’s Envy, Brother’s Pride…
10th August 2001
We now resume normal service, with the blasts from the past.
The one person I’ve missed the most since I’ve come to Pune has been my little sister. The little tyke who terrorises and bullies me at any given time of day or night when I’m home. Last week I returned to Bombay for a flying trip, on the occasion of Raksha Bandhan.

Naturally, being full of keedas as I am, I gulled my sister into believing that I had been unable to get any gifts for her. The next morning, on the festive day, I handed her a necklace, pen and a stuffed toy. Purchased the previous evening on my way home.

My sis has certainly shown signs of growing maturity since I left home. I’d worried about not being around to guide her through her college days, but my fears seem to be unfounded. he’s having more fun in college than I did.

I have certainly influenced her with tales of my college life. She’s joined a couple of clubs and is an active member of both. Recently, she escorted her Principal to a function. She’d turned down the chance to host it, fearing stage fright. Something I hope she never repeats.

The confidence that seems to have developed in her is startling, but immensely satisfying. Joining dance classes with Shiamak Davar and performing on stage is one reason. The completion of her dental treatment is the other. Her teeth have been weak since childhood, due to her sickly nature. However, her dentists have rebuilt her entire set of teeth. She now upstages me as the person with the best set of teeth in the house.

The maturity is also evident from her behaviour with family and friends. Gone are the tantrums and childish behaviour. This was evident one night when some friends were over. I learnt later that Mom had been bugging her. A friend told her jokingly to reply in kind. Sis just said, "I can’t do that. Samit’s not here, I’m the only child Mom has around her. So I’ve got to be nice."

It’s an impressive start, one which fills me with a lot of hope. As recently as two months ago I had feared that she wouldn’t be able to come out of her shell. Now I laugh at myself.

It was, on the whole, a lovely trip. I spent my time with my family, catching up on news and sleep. And I’ve returned to Pune with a huge load on my shoulders.

I’ve just come off a 3-day work stretch – 72 hours of almost uninterrupted DTP work. And the exhaustion has manifested itself as fever. So I’ve taken a day off to relax and recuperate.

One other aspect of the trip was the fact that I was with friends. Bunny, Mallu and Groper. The four of us are gelling into a solid group. We originally planned to travel by local train – but ended up going to Bombay by bus. We returned together by train. The journeys were great fun. And returning with a group lessens the pain of leaving your family once again.

But this article is about my sister. Whose real persona, once hidden from the public eye, has begun to emerge and flower. The one person in the world who can claim to be closer to me than anyone else she knows. The one person to whom I’m currently the most important being on the planet.

I’ve no doubt the process of growth that began with her dance classes will continue unabated. I’m just waiting to see the finished product.

It’s an example of a brother’s pride.

Monsoon Madness

Monsoon Madness
29th June 2005
We interrupt the blast from the past for a special, topical update from the current season. We will go back in time from next post.


The monsoon’s here.

And since every columnist – from Mark Manuel to Shobha De to Busybee’s rehashes – is talking about the monsoon, it’s time for me to add my two bits.

Only, instead of talking about how much I love the monsoon, I’m going to talk about how much I hate it.

Yes. It’s true. I hate monsoons. The only columnist in the world who hates it enough to write a hate-filled piece about it.

Following are the reasons why I hate the monsoon (in proper logical, rational science textbook style):
The rain gets me wet.

• Days are dark and gloomy and depressing. I don’t want to work properly. All I want to do is laze around, reading books or comics, or playing Super Mario, drinking beer with music playing.
• The rain gets me wet.
• Gloomy and depressing-looking days have a tendency to make me gloomy and depressing.
• The rain gets me wet.
• It always rains when I’m out. Why can’t the rain be convenient enough and not rain when I’m in the firing line of the raindrops?
• The rain gets me wet.
• Colds. Really bad colds. Really bad infectious colds. Really bad infectious debilitating colds. Enough said.
• The rain gets me wet.
• Driving is impossible. Can’t see in front of me, the rear glass is too fogged up for me to see what’s behind me. The roads are slick, so I can’t even enjoy the drive. I have forgotten what fourth gear looks like, and what it feels like to cut lanes at high speed. Doc’s driving lessons are going down the drain.
• The rain gets me wet.
• It’s so gloomy and depressing that there’s not enough sunshine for me to wear my sexy new Fastrack sunglasses. Ask me about them sometime. Ask me to pose for you wearing them.
• The rain gets me wet.
• On the public service front, the monsoon is a breeding ground for disease. I hate disease. It means I need to call Doc for help, and we all know that I’m one of the four people Doc has sworn to kill during his medical career.
• The rain gets me wet.
• The emergence of so-called romantic notions of sipping roadside tea looking deeply into your sweetheart’s eyes. Yuck! Get a room!
• The rain gets me wet.
  

If this hasn’t deflated the sickeningly beautiful bubble of monsoon madness that those over-poetic wannabe journos have created, nothing will.

Except perhaps the sour look on my face.

When Viruses Attack!

When Viruses Attack!
19th July 2001

My classmates have been dropping like flies. One by one, all of them are being afflicted by this malady. They’ve been crashing for a few days, recovering and promptly passing it on to the next poor victim.

Who, in this case, happens to be me.

It started with a sore throat last night, which worsened this morning. I could feel the ache in my shoulders – still can – and my eyelids are heavy. I went to college and walked out of the first lecture. I headed for the Health Centre, hoping to obtain some healing herbs.

But instead of a smiling, sympathetic doctor and the Sanjivani mountain, all I got was a frown, three Crocin and a few Ayurvedic lozenges. For no additional charge, the doctor added a few cursory pronouncements about the diet I should follow, and then sent me packing.

Haggard, shivering, I made my way into the classroom. Picked up my bag and headed for the Computer Labs, hoping to print the dummy for the newsletter I had designed the previous night. The software seemed to be ill as well, for it refused to print. It also forced me to change some fonts and alignments. To compound my woes, I had two fans whirring at top speed above me.

I had no choice but to take a rickshaw home. I had to pick up a few essentials, which I did. Even the supermarket owner commented on my appearance. I personally feel that I am still irresistible. Just ask the girls, who were all over me with worry this morning.

Spoke to Mom, who initially thought I had returned to Bombay. After setting her straight, I prepared some soup – God bless concentrated food powders – which seemed like manna from heaven. And then, after dosing myself liberally with vitamins, cough syrup and Crocin, I curled up in bed with a blanket and went off to sleep.

I’ve been awake since 1530 now. Reading L. Ron Hubbard’s classic slugfest Battlefield Earth. Very entertaining indeed.

On the advice of my father, I made a trip down the road to obtain some booze. No, there are no sorrows to drown. It’s just that brandy has medicinal value, which I plan to tap in plenty tonight.
Believe it or not, the fresh air has done me some good.

I’ve been relaxing since then. Thinking about nothing, really. My overworked grey cells are finally getting the rest they need. As is the rest of my weary, care-worn body.

It’s amazing how much concern my classmates have shown. Chubby forced me to take a rickshaw home, even though it set me back 44 bucks. Snowflake, Ads, Bunny, Mallu and all the rest have been very concerned. No sign of Smelly. I don’t give a damn anyway, but the person I thought would be the most caring before I arrived here has been the least. What goes around comes around, I guess. The decency and kindness I try to maintain during interpersonal activity may be returning to me when I am in need of it. At least one of my life’s philosophies seems to be working out well for me. I’ll let you know about the other two later on – that’s another story altogether.

The sounds of Enigma echo in my head, playing off the CD as I type this article in. It’s altogether possible – 90% probable, in fact – that I will skip college tomorrow. Stay at home, get myself back into shape to face the uncountable, unspeakable horrors that our Director and his Deputy throw at us daily. But, as the song goes, I will survive.

I still haven’t been able to pin down the responsibility for this illness on anything. Fatigue or virus? Both? Who knows. Methinks it’s this virus that seems to be going around the class, rejecting host after host. And, for the first time in my life, I am praying for a rejection. From this entity anyways.

Laid low, I can only ponder upon this fruitless toil of existence that we go through. And then laugh as the poor philosopher inside me is buried once again under the natural me, the logical me.

Symptoms of what happens when viruses attack?