What has the world come to?!

Sanity is difficult.But the world around is going crazy beyond limits. In the City section of today’s TOI,I read the following :

 The links to these stories can be found here:




I mean,what has the world come to! We are killing life like a piece of joke.All these three are so disturbing.Yes,this city has stress.But why are we so pathetic? Whom do you want to blame? Every single person in this city (won’t call them citizens.Its a fucking crowd.) is responsible for this,according to me.We are all smiling and happy,with dead souls inside.

Surrounded by lakhs of fake souls,one is set to be fake and crazy.The weaker ones succumb.The stronger ones are so happy that their lives are better now,that they will forget there are others! This is not the world HE asked us to make. And if you cannot do your bit to help it,don’t you ever crib when you do not get support.

Go ahead,be genuinely happy.I mean genuinely. Smile,cry,laugh – genuinely.Be helpful,kind understanding.In this universe,every other soul’s good or bad is gonna affect your good or bad. Atleast be selfish and help be good.

An Episode – Part 1

Anjali,Mayuri and Aadesh were in their college library,studying  “Limits” and the “L hospital’s rule” . Like all 17 year olds,their study efforts had intermittent professor-mockery-breaks.

It was a gloomy Tuesday morning,overcast conditions.Perfect for a mid-week break to have a marathon study-session at home.But pracs, as they called it,were to be attended early morning.And so they did.

Soon,it had got darker,and it had begun to rain.And then it was pouring.But such pouring was not unnatural in their part of the world.And so,everything was normal.

One of them suggested they must solve a few examples from Chitale-Joshi.Well,some liked to call that book Sheth Publications,simply. They tried,but the weather was brilliant for rest and not work. They were wondering if it would rain like that all day so that there is a holiday the following day.Something,that was so normal in their city. The weather ensured they weren’t left in any mood to attend those lectures. (which they would not attend anyway).  Soon,they decided to head north.The trio wanted to spend some time together,but again,they were weary of the rains.

As they walked towards the railway station to take their respective trains back home, their Anjali and Mayuri were busy pulling Aadesh’s legs over a variety of  jokes.The 3 were enjoying the moment to the fullest.What did they care about right now?! After all,they had just STUDIED.

Upon reaching the platform,they  took their respective locals. Mayuri  took the slow train.She was a town girl then! Anjali and Aadesh were from the northern end of the city,and had an hour long train journey.Or was it?! Naah.

Anjali got into the ladies compartment and Aadesh in the Gents one.Aadesh had got a window seat.But in the rainy season,it was of no use.However,it wasnt raining heavily by now.Just drizzling.But the sky was was as dark as Khushwant Singh’s humor.  He shrugged,opened his Chitale-Joshi and began to solve Limits. Question number 1.

From one station to another,the train moved in an almost constant speed. Sorry,constant average speed. It was raining,raining very heavily as they moved north.The windows had to be shut.It was then that Aadesh first saw a small unnaturalness.It was pouring.It was actually pouring.As if someone from the train’s rooftop was constantly poring drums of water on his window.He knew he will take a leave the following day.Not just the rains,he wanted to conquer Limits as well. The train had now entered slow-motion.But it didn’t stop.Marching North he had thought. It grew darker.

Two young gentlemen sitting next to Aadesh were discussing the first branch of the Raffles International Academy ,in their city.Aadesh,tried to take interest.And then suddenly the train halted.The public addressing system inside the train squealed.The motorman made a small notification.

This train will not go ahead.Because of flooding on tracks,atleast 14 more trains are stranded on the tracks,in front of this train.

And then he repeated.They pulled the shut windows and doors.It was drizzling.They were at a railway station.People began to vacate the coach.Aadesh had long back stopped solving the problems.But the books were still open in his lap.Using the pen as bookmark,he closed the books and kept them in his bag.He walked out to see if Anjali had also got down.Yes,she did almost at the same time as him.

They met each other with a huge smile and an “What is this!” expression.Their city trains had this habit of getting stopped during rains,for a couple of hours or so.So they thought it was just that.They did not have cell phones.It was time before they could inform their parents.

They were walking around on the platform for sometime. Then they slowly began to realize the severity of the situation.They understood it wasn’t a 2 hour stop.They decided to inform their parents n set outside the platform to search for a PCO booth.When they climbed down to the west side of the platform,they were stunned.There was almost foot-deep water.And it was drizzling.Anjali quickly donned her bournvita-milk colored windcheater.Aadesh wanted to avoid wearing his not-so- awesome windcheater,but was coaxed by Anjali on doing so. “Its more important to remain dry than (not)show your windcheater around”,she had said with her gentle voice.Aadesh gave in. As they struggled to find a PCO booth through the foot-deep water,Anjali squealed several times. After some struggle,they located a PCO booth with a dozen-sized queue and a hardly functional phone. Anjali let out a sigh. Now what?!

Aadesh suggested they could cross over to the eastern side and find a working phone there. The journey of excitement had begun. Aadesh and Anjali were both reknowned for their PJs. While Anjali had a very sensible collection of PJs,Aadesh was more impromptu and on most ocassions,sad. Top of the east-west railway crossing bridge,splashing through a dirty puddle,Anjali breaks into  a

Tairte Raho… Bas Tairte raho…bas tairo….tairo…tairo….

It was Anjali’s recent love for the hindi version of Finding Nemo,thought Aadesh.But no! Anjali had just seen the almost knee-deep waters on the eastern side where they were heading. “From puddle to pool”,they thought.

They found a queue and a phone in front of it.Upon their turn,she called her mom n explained the gravity of the situation.Then he did.And back to the platform. Both were hungry.A packet of Britania Bourbon was purchased from the busy stall and had. It took another couple of hours for both of them to realise that the situation was unprecedented and was largely out of control. Aadesh began to look out for a safe place and quickly recalled that his cousin had recently shifted to his bank quarters,a couple of kilometre from the station.He sprung in to action as he made last few calls from a dying PCO booth.Co-ordinating with his parents n cousin to get the exact address.The phone died before they could reach Anjali’s parents.He convinced her complete safety and that it was the correct thing to do,given the situation.The two set foot towards their refuge for the night.Scouring through the flooded streets,they reached their destination in an hours time.

It was getting dark.Very dark.

Its a women’s world.And thats how it is supposed to be.

Its a women’s world.And it was supposed to be like that.

Yes. I genuinely feel its a women’s world.No,I am not being sarcastic.It is.

If there is peace,it is because a woman understands your bad mood and stops propagating the pessimism.

If there is life,it is because a woman chose to bear the pain to bring you to this world.She chose to compromise her personal ambitions and thought of her family.She sacrificed her youth to play the role of God. Motherhood,some say is a gift to a woman.I say,it is a gift to mankind by women.

Men live under the impression that they protect their women.But in my opinion, a woman protects a man; both physically and mentally.She makes him learn and practice civilization.This serves the above.

Women are human.But men have either romanticized them into  beauty objects, or worshiped them into godliness.

Give them the respect and worship, a goddess deserves.Expect them to understand only what a human can.Love them the way you would love GOD.Give her the space to grow you would like for yourself.

She will always be patient with your shakiness.You be patient with her too.The women in your life; mother,sister,wife being most close; will take care of themselves.But if you do not,you are failing to express gratitude.

Airborne to Chairborne

This is a story of courage.It was a part of our Std.X curriculum for English.I found this copy from http://familyofdisabled.org/voice-magazine/hear-the-voices/airborne-to-chairborne.html


All my attempts to move my limbs ended futiely. The pain in the neck was excruciating and it intensified by the second. I was stumped for a moment but quickly recovered to realize the seriousness and significance of my inability to get up. I do not remember whether I screamed involuntarily. Then, in clean desperation on that abominable night, my mind was in a medley of intense frustration, utmost dejection and extreme disappointment. For some timeless moments, I wished I were dead.

On 28 June’88 at around 2300 hrs, whilst returning to the officers mess on my motorcycle after night flying, I drove onto a road barrier just ahead of the technical area gate inside Air Force Station, Pathankot. The impact of the helmet on the wooden bar wrenched my neck and broke the cervical spine. Fifteen minutes after the accident, I was taken to the Station Sick Quarters in an unconscious state. While being carried, my head was left unsupported and the base of the helmet (rear side), which was resting against the nape of the neck pushed the fractured vertebrae into the cervical spinal cord. (The casualty must be carried in a stretcher after immobilizing his/her neck with a cervical color) The resultant spinal injury paralysed me completely below the neck.

After overnight stay in Military Hospital (M.H) Pathankot I was transferred to Army Hospital, Delhi Cantt (AHDC). Neck surgery failed to mitigate my predicament. Though I had brief spells of consciousness during the fortnight hospitalization in AHDC, I am unable to recollect my fight for survival. On July 12,1988, I was transferred to the Spinal Cord Injuries Centre, of MH Kirkee, Pune.

Two weeks after admission, I gathered my wits and eagerly inquired about the prognosis. The medical officer looked up at the ceiling and motioned his hands skywards, perhaps he wanted me to adjure divine intervention. This charade instantly deflated my hopes but it lucidly conveyed the enormity and helplessness of the incurable nature of the incapacitation, inconstancies of life have always bemused me but not even the wildest nightmare presaged that one day I would fall prey to such a quirk of fate. The modicum of faith I had in providence got shattered when I failed to show even an iota of improvements.

The cervical spinal injury (quadriplegia) necessitated me to lead a totally dependent life tethered to the bed and wheelchair. Now I am like a man fettered for life: unable to use my hands and legs, incontinent and spoon-fed. Ironically, the most painful aspect of quadriplegia is the unpolluted painlessness! It is not mere loss of tactile inputs and outputs but absolute dependence on someone else to accomplish mundane necessities and domestic chores that yoked me; even for thing like swabbing ears and swatting flies.

Disuse atrophy had set in within couple of months and took its toll by altering the geometry of my torso and limbs. The mirror replicated the image of a human skeleton swathed in a layer of wizened skin. Two years stay in MH Kirkee taught me how to battle with the numerous encumbrances and how to conquer the bouts of depression. With a smile on the face I managed to dissemble the pang of the heart. The Indian Air Force (IAF) realized my uselessness and discharged me form service on 12 th April 1990. The silly accident dealt the coup de grace to my aspirations and career in the IAF. In August 1990, at the young age of 26, I got admitted in Paraplegic Home, Kirkee, Pune as an inmate to begin the second phase of my life � afresh.

I was born and brought up in a hamlet by name Chirayinkil, 35 kms north of Trivandrum. At the age of 9, I entered Sainik School, Kazhakootam. An unobtrusive student and a slow learner by nature, I had excelled consistently in both sports and academics. Later, I was found worthy enough to be adjudged as the best Air Force Cadet of 65 th course of National Defence Academy (NDA) Khadakwasla and as the best in Aerobatics of 134 pilots course of Air Force Academy, Secundrabad. In December 1984, I was commissioned into the IAF as a fighter pilot. I had 700 hours of flying (including 500 hours of flying in a magnificent flaying machine called Mig 21) during my truncated career in the IAF.

All my efforts to nationalise personal catastrophes have always mystified and at times stupefied me. To adapt to the new challenge posed by the debility I had to unshackle myself from the self-imposed stupor. Therefore in September 1990 I decided to learn the art of writing by holding a pen in my mouth (because of dysfunctional hands). I began by scribbling (illegible) alphabets but was chagrined to find little progress even after 3 weeks’ laborious efforts. Then I decided to change tactic and wrote a letter to Sheela George, the person who kept on chivvying to start mouth writing (earlier, I had paid very little attention to her exhortation). My joy knew no bounds when I completed the few lines which embodied my first mouth written letter. Initially, I found my hand work to be a pie in the sky but 4 to 5 months of assiduous efforts resulted in attaining a readable style of writing. This modest achievement enabled me in reviving the chain of correspondence and begetting new friends.

In May’91, I was presented with an electrically operated wheelchair, with chain controls for maneouvering (thanks to the benevolence of the IAF). Motorized mobility has, though only a poor substitute for natural one, enlivened my lifestyle considerably.

It was Wing Commander P I Murlidharan, my former Flight commander, who first mooted the way of a computer as a writing tool to assist me to utilize my mental faculty to the hilt. Unsuccessful attempts in getting a keyboard modified to my mouth operation hitherto have somewhat emasculated my resolve. Nonetheless, my hope of acquiring a PC remains undimmed.

In the meantime, I toyed with the idea of teaching. For some untenable reasons, I kept on declining the officers by bringing one imaginary reason or another as an ad-hoc excuse. Aforesaid setbacks not withstanding, I am very hopeful of converting the second phase of my life into something as meaningful as the one I would have had from the confines of a cockpit.
Believe it or not every dark cloud has a silver lining. To surmount seemingly insuperable obstacles one has to shun the thought of disability and master the remnant faculties and then canalize one’s slumbering energies purposefully, and whole heartedly. It is not just physical ability and average intelligence but an insatiable appetite for success and an unflagging will power that would texture the warp and woof of the fabric called human destiny. Greater the difficulty sweeter the victory. 

Few of my favourite romantic Bollywood songs

  • Rang Rang mere rang rang mein – Bollywood Hollywood
  • Mere Sapnon ki raani kab aaegi tu
  • O mere dil ke chaiin
  • Tera Muskurana,phir hanske paas aana -Jhankar Beats
  • Tera Mera Pyaar – Tera Mera Pyaar (Kumar Sanu)
  • Tu…bin Bataaye – Rang De Basanti
  • Khwaab ho tum ya koi haqeeqat
  • Chhap Tilak – Kailash her
  • Kar Kar main hara har jatan – Kailsah Kher
  • Dil kehta hai,chal unse mil…uthte hain kadam ruk jaate hai..

That boy in my school

We all remember the fun days of our school.We remember the studies,the play,the fights,the friends.We think of it as a brilliant memory of our life.We forget to understand that we have been indeed very lucky to be that normal.Yes,NORMAL!

I remember this not-so-normal friend of mine at school.No;his ideas,thoughts, wants,needs were normal.Like that of any school boy.But he was autistic.Back then,I didnt even know the term or the condition.He was trying hard to lead this life of his,with a ever-growing grin and cheerfullness.His mom was a sweet lady.She used to often look forward to me as a person to help him out in his problems w.r.t. studies.I  mostly used to be more-then-ready to help.But as years passed,the competition was making it difficult to help a not-so-normal person.How mean of me,No? SSC was done and I didnt meet him.

I went to college,saw the glam of South Mumbai,the people,the money.As I was finding it difficult to cope up with the glam,I used to think how my friend would be trying to cope up with it.Or,was he even going to college? I wasnt thinking every now and then.But time and again,I was thinking of him.Whenever I saw the world challenging my existence.Sometimes,simply.I dont feel pity for him.I feel respect.Somewhere,this not-so-normal-boy,only son to not-so-young-parents,is leading a life,not-so-cozy,not-so-happy life,with this beautiful grin,coz he knows to respect God’s gift.I sometimes think of that one unit-test where he scored a 50/50 in Maths.He is intelligent.Not quite an Einstein, but an intelligent young boy.Wherever he is,I wish him a beautiful life,sensible friends and a sensitive life-partner.Strength and wishes to his parents.

Hail Life!