Genius Murdered....

Now that exam season is over, it’s time for results. Suddenly every parent whose child is in the 10th or 12th is having anxiety attacks and insomnia. For all those poor souls who have just completed their 10th, you have my sympathies. No really, all you poor devils are in a total quandary aren’t you? I’m yet to meet a tenth grader who has made up his/her mind on which stream they want to pursue. Add to that the age old Indian concept, “science is what you should take!!, commerce is for average students!! Arts???? That’s for losers who just want a degree, not smart kids like you!!”
If I ever manage to find the Einstein who came up with that theory, I’d love to siphon their brains through their nostrils, fry it till its burnt( yeah, actual bheja-fry) and blast it off to space!!! No, don't worry, I’m not a deranged psychopath, just another frustrated kid.
I admit I’m lucky my parents don't follow that ancient ideology but I still have friends and family who’ve been bound in the chains of yore. And it isn’t really fair is it?
Unfortunately, the education system in our country is such that intelligence is measured by the amount of facts you can cram into a bundle of nerve cells that rest a foot above your body. Every parent wants their kid to be the first in everything. But you’re not going to have a first unless there are people behind right? Ok that’s not what I meant. What I’m actually trying to say is, why not appreciate a kid for what he/she is? Why is art or sport or dance just a hobby? Someone who aces in sports may be average in class but so what? Isn’t the fact that he’s better at something other than studies count? Why is it so difficult for an Indian parent to accept musical genius over intellectual prowess? And I’m talking about Indians only because, face it, we have a major problem here and I’m sure all of us have seen this happen at some time or the other.
The burden of expectations that parents place on their kids has led to a generation that doesn’t know how to accept defeat gracefully. The fear of losing has led to two types of kids, the aggressive ones who can’t take defeat and those who give up with just one failure. Parental pressure forces many kids to take up careers that hold absolutely no charm for them. In the end, they either drop out, give lack lustre performances or in extreme cases (which have become quite regular these days) end their lives. Those who get through with it aren’t happy either.
For those who’ve been through it, you can’t change the past. But what you can do is make sure that you don't commit the same crime your parents did in the future. I know “crime” is a strong word. In the end our parents just want what’s best for us. But if suppressing a kid's natural ability isn’t a crime, then I don't know what is.
It’s high time we woke up to the fact that genius doesn’t have to be just intellectual. We always say each child is special, well, it’s time we believed it too. There was a time when being left handed was considered unnatural, now we know that a left hander is just as good as a right hander, sometimes better. If we could get past that, then this shouldn’t be that difficult should it?
Its common knowledge that Einstein and Edison were duds in school. They dropped out of school and yet, today we’re studying facts that the drop outs found out. We try to learn from others mistakes, so why are we missing the point here? Wake up people, can’t you hear the siren??

Books!!!!

There’s nothing much for me to do now that I’m home. My perpetual complain is that I’m bored. Mum gets really irritated every time I say that, so she decided the best way to keep me occupied was ‘chores”. Now household chores are one of the things about home that I do not miss. Not that I’m lazy, I just don't like it ;-) my task this morning was to clean out the bookshelf.

Now some of you may think it’s weird but I found this far more appealing than chopping veggies. Finally I get a job I don't mind doing. Why? Simple, I love books.

My love affair with books started when I was about 4 I think. Reading is more than a hobby to me; it’s something I’m totally involved in. Music and photography are still battling it out for a second place. Give me a good book and I’m totally oblivious to everything around me. Hey don't blame me, blame my parents. They’re both voracious readers and have amassed an amazing collection of books over the years. Yet both of them claim I’m the limit ;-) you could hurl all sorts of abuses at me and I wouldn’t hear a thing.

Coming back to the bookshelf, it took quite a while rearranging it according to authors and genres. The collection ranges from fiction to thrillers to self help books. You name it we’ve got it. I’ve often told mum that she might as well open up a library but let’s just say that my parents are pretty possessive about the books, after all it’s taken them years to collect and they’re proud of it. Nothing pisses them off more than someone not returning or losing one of their books.

What upsets me now is that most people I know have never experienced the joy of reading. Reading a book requires tedious effort which they feel is a waste of time. And I feel sorry for them. Because they’ll never know what it’s like to lose yourself in another world. Because their imagination is limited. And it’s not just about what you read. Books are a trip down memory lane at times. The fairy tales you read as kids, then moving on to Enid Blyton, Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew until you reach Sidney Sheldon, Archer, Deaver etc. Each set reminds me of different phases of my life. I’m sure there was a time when each of us wanted to be a character we read about. I still remember mine was to be a detective, thanks to good ol’ Sherlock Holmes. It’s a pity that soo many people are missing out on this.

A lot of us still read, but the numbers seem to be dwindling. Unfortunately, even those of us who like reading barely get the time for it. I know, because it’s the same with me. For a person who used to average at least one medium sized novel per week, I now manage only about one or two per month. I’m pretty sure I’ve read somewhere around 400 books so far if you include the ones I read as a kid;-) And till date no two books I’ve read have ever been alike, that’s the beauty of it.

I still haven’t read through my parents’ collection, though of late I’m the one who’s been adding to it. That’s just temporary mind you, I intend to build my own collection but since I’m still moving all over the place, I’ve loaned them out to my parents ;-) As for reading though my parents entire collection, that’s not going to happen. Not because it’s too vast but because our tastes differ but that can’t be helped ;-)

I could go on and on about books but that might just bore you so I won’t ;-)

So, when was the last time you read a book?

A Night at the Station

Ok guys after so many of you complained about my stories being too grim, i've made a desperate attempt to try something different. So please be honest with your comments. My mums already told me its boring straight on my face. And no she hasnt read my previous stories. If she does she'll be convinced i need help. Mothers tend to over react to such situations. A certain friend of mine beat me up pretty badly for killing off an entire family in the last story. The scars from the clawing are a grim reminder of my fate if i kill any more characters. So i earnestly request her to please de-claw herself before reading the story.
And yes, the idea for this one was not mine alone. Niyati was the one who got the idea and we worked on it together. Now i dont have the original script so had to improvise so in case i left out anything, sorry gal....

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Travelling alone by train can be boring, and its worse when the journeys long. Like last week. I had to attend a friend’s wedding, yup another one bites the dust that was the song on my mind all the way. But hey, I wish the guy well. Wait a minute, didn’t tell you who I am did I? Name’s Michael Kane, 5’10’’, medium build, late twenties, got me? Good....
So there I was on the train, overnight journey and boy was I tired. The meeting in office didn’t go that well. All I wanted was some shut eye but sleep eluded me. The train pulled up at some remote station somewhere round 2 am. Since it didn’t look like we were going to move for a while, thought I’d stretch my legs for a bit. I’m sea sick so walking on a moving train makes me rail sick I guess. I had to take a leak so I went in search of the washroom. Curse my luck, when I got out I was just in time to see the train disappearing over the bend. I checked the schedule; the next train was at 6. Had to wake the station master to inform him about my luggage. That done I had 4 hours to kill. And not a soul awake.........
With nothing better to do, thought I’d take a nap on a bench. Was just about to settle on one when someone startled me.
“Dude, that’s my bench!”
A quick glance around revealed no one, just a stray black dog who seemed unperturbed by any voice. Logic told me my tired mind was imagining things. I needed sleep.
“You deaf?” that voice again. Now I was beginning to get spooked.
“Who’s there?” I asked
“Don’t tell me you’re blind too. Look around dufus who do you see?”
“No one. Just a dog.”
“Just a dog? Excuse me!!”
“You’re telling me you’re a dog? Hog wash!! Dogs can’t talk!!”
“ True, most dogs can’t talk. I can though”
You must be thinking I’m nuts. I thought so too. But I was tired and convinced I was imagining things. A talking dog?!! That’s rubbish. I just needed sleep. I hear voices and I see a black Labrador. So I make a crazy assumption that the dog can talk.
“What’s with the incredulous look on your face?” asked the lab.
“I ‘m talking to a dog. You think I should be excited about it?”
“Ah! Humans....” sighed the lab. “You talk to a bit of plastic, watch glass screens and yet rubbish the thought of a talking dog. Didn’t you watch cartoons? Don't the animals speak there? Anyhow, what’s your name?”
“Mi...Michael” The hesitation was for fear of going crazy. “What’s yours?”
“The name’s Bond. James Bond”
Yea right, a dog named Bond. By now I was convinced I had to see a shrink ASAP.
“So this is your bench?” I ask Bond.
“Just my favourite seat Michael. You hungry?”
“Umm, yea a little”. A little was an understatement. I hadn’t had anything since lunch so I was famished. But having scraps from the garbage can wasn’t my idea of a meal.
Bond clapped twice, as if to summon someone. A genie appearing wouldn’t have surprised me now but I was expecting too much. A rat came scampering out of a hole in the wall and bowed before the dog!!
“At your service sire!” squeaked the rat.
Bond turned to me.” Michael, meet Max, better known as the rat that inspired the movie Ratatouille. He was a student of the renowned chef Sarla Balal. He’s worked with Ranjheev Kapoor as well. Max, Michael’s our guest today. Why don't you cook him something special?”
“Would you like some lasagne?” squeaked Max
Too stunned to reply, I just nodded yes. First a talking dog, now a rat that cooks. Maybe my mother was right. I’m getting too involved in my work. How else do you explain it? Garfield’s just a comic strip right? Max was off to cook. Bond was staring at me intently. And that was giving me the jitters.
“What?” I asked him.
“Oh, nothing. So Michael, what do you do?” This was one inquisitive dog.
“I’m a journalist. I work for The Times.” Feeling bolder now, I asked Bond, “If you guys can speak, then why not do it every time?”
“Some things in life are not meant to be known my friend”, said Bond with a very regal air. I was about to pester him further when out came Max followed by a lively bunch of rats carrying a platter of mouth-watering dishes. Corn soup for starters, followed by lasagne. And to finish it off, a delectable black forest cake. I won’t lie. Rats may have cooked it but it felt like heaven.
“Wow Max! That was totally out of this world” I gushed like an awe struck ten-year-old.
“Now that we’re watered and fed, it’s time for some entertainment”, declared Bond and led me to an alley behind the station. The place looked packed as if for a concert. From what the cat sitting next to me told me (yes, now a talking cat), the Pussycat Dolls were going to play today. Oh and this group had real pussycats no humans.
The concert was awesome but by now I was really tired. Just as I was about to doze off on my seat, Bond nudges me awake and rushes me back to the station.
“Hurry!! Its 6 already. You’ll miss the next train!!” Bond and Max made sure I was in the train. Just as it started moving Max scrambled atop Bonds head and thrust a packet into my hand. “It’s the black forest cake. There was some remaining. Thought you’d want some in case you get hungry again”, said Max. “Thanks Max”, was all I could manage. I soon drifted off to sleep thanks to my weariness. By the time I woke up. The train had reached my station. On checking I found my luggage intact. I realized I’d most probably dreamed up the whole episode. I was on the same train after all so there was no way I’d missed my train. I gathered up my luggage and decided to set out. And that’s when I found the packet containing the black forest cake.........

Back To Pavilion

IPL season isn’t it? I’m not much of a cricket fan but T20 I do follow. I’m just hoping the royals buck up soon or I’ll have to hide my head in the sand when I meet a few people after the seasons done;-) but that’s not what this post is all about. Right now I’m back to pavilion.......back home that is;-)
What’s it like coming home after a year???? I’m having a nice time I’d say. Like the last three years, this year was no exception, my flight was delayed by an hour, which is why mum and dad didn’t bother setting out early from home to pick me up. Off from the airport I thought I’d take a much needed nap on the 2 hour drive home to Sohar........
Now I’m sure most of you have never heard of this place. Trust me it’s practically Timbuktu, Google it, I’m not going to bother explaining where it’s located. Suffice to say it’s somewhere between Muscat and Dubai (there’s no way you don't know where’s Dubai). Where was I? Oh yes that nap.....it never happened. Why? Because I’m not used to a car that glides over a very smooth road at 120km/h..... I seem to have grown rather attached to the potholed, winding roads of Mangalore. Sleep on such a smooth road is a farfetched dream.......
So we finally reach home!!!!! Cramped legs, jammed back and all..... And I’m lost...... no kidding, long absence from home + a mum with a lot of free time on her hands = one lost kid whose home on vacation. I headed for my room to change only to open the cupboard and find it wiped clean. No trace of my clothes anywhere!!!!!! Seems mum bundled off all my old clothes to charity. “Well what do I wear? Pat came the reply,” Go hunt in dads cupboard!” so I’m now forced to swim and float around in oversized tees n shorts, all the while thanking my lucky stars that you guys aren’t around to see it ;-)
That wasn’t the end of it......while I was trying to locate the stuff I needed mum casually mentioned that we had to attend two parties that evening. “Which one are you guys going for?” I asked. “Both”, said mum. Parties here don't start till about 9 or 10 in the night so they’d worked out a schedule. 9-11 at one party and the rest of the night at another. My protests of being too tired (which I was!!) went in vain. I was dragged along anyway, bleary eyed, splitting head ache and all.
The a/c’s here are a truly welcome respite from the soaring temperatures back in India, but it takes some getting used-to to the ridiculously low temperatures that people here set it at. How low???Low enough to freeze the bottle of hair oil in my room. My fogged up mind kept imagining myself in the tundras. The Irish cream and wine wasn’t helping coz the blaring cacophony they called singing was, I’m sure, way above the permissible decibel for humans....
Thanks to jet lag and no sleep for over 24 hours, I was bushed when we got home at 5.30 in the morning, IST (jet lag remember??) slept 8 hours straight.
Right now I’m busy making the house habitable according to me and messing up according to mum. The remote’s missing from its usual place, sofa cushions are thrown about, novels all over the place, chocolate wrappers everywhere..... “It’s a mess!!”, shrieks mum. “face it, the kids are home!!”, I retort ;-) the house no longer looks like a museum or ones you see on those picture perfect descriptions on the magazines.....
Now if I could only find a way to speed up the ridiculously low net speed here.....ever tried working on a speed of 40kbps?? Its hell....... I better get those dishes done before mum enters the kitchen.......
Yup I’m well and truly back to pavilion......