It’s a small world… I’ve never actually realised how small it is till I came back to Goa in November. I’ve made friends here and then learnt that they are also pretty close to the friend who travelled on the bus with you to college when you studied in Mumbai, or the person who sang high tenors in your a capella group. Or when you walk into the local multiplex and the person you’re with tells you that she’ll just be a minute, she wants to say hi to a friend. That friend turns out to be someone you haven’t seen or heard from in 10 years. Yeah, it indeed is a small world.
The connections you make in life, ever so often, remain long after you abandon them for different reasons. Not many of us would stop acknowledging people, unless of course, there was a difference of opinion. You reap what you sow. And when you plant a seed, it continues to flourish. Maybe I’m digressing a little bit, but basically, what I’m trying to say is, good friends never go away for too long.
Take, for example, one of my best friends who’s now in Dubai - we’d lost touch for a couple of years. But when I ran into her about six years ago, it was like things hadn’t ever changed, and it really never did. All that happened was that we’d drifted apart due to the distance between us. She’s getting married in four months and I’m the best man. Some things never change. People stay connected, bonds are established and life goes on.
Growing up isn’t easy. I’ve had to deal with rents and payments since I was 18. Some have had it worse; some haven’t had it at all. Some people live sheltered lives; some people get thrown out into the big bad world, feet first. Some learn how to deal with problems, some learn by falling flat on their face and then picking themselves up and walking. I know of someone who lost her parents when she was 12 and had to bring up her younger brother and go through college and make a career for herself at the same time. Another friend of mine ran away from military school in America because he wanted to do something else. Today, he’s a great chef and he doesn’t regret working tables at a restaurant, because at the end of the day, struggle makes you what you are. The trick is to keep breathing.
You realise where you’re going only when you stop to smell the roses. Running through life, trying to prove someone else wrong is not the best way to do things. It’s only when you’ve been down and out that you learn to appreciate the good part of life, because you know how hard and how long it sometimes takes to get to a point where you don’t have to worry about your next meal. And then, the people around you, the people who pick you up when you’re down, who call you up way past their bedtime; just to make sure you’re ok, the people who selflessly watch your back, not because they might have anything to gain, but because they care. Then, no matter how dark it gets, they’re always there to turn on the lights. That light at the end of the tunnel — it’s them standing there waiting to pull you out of the depths of your own dark hole.
I’ve gone through life often for a bit hitching a ride on someone, leaning on someone’s shoulder, not just financially, but more so emotionally. And many of us have all done it the same way. To see a smiling face and an outstretched hand just when you’ve given up hope is a refreshing sight. And at the end of the day, I would count my riches, not by how much money I have in my bank account, but by how many people I’m connected to, how many people look at me and with a knowing smile, silently let me know that they’ve got my back. I’m there for them too and they know that. It’s a give and take relationship of a different kind. It doesn’t matter who comes out of it with more in hand, what matters is that you come out. This is a tribute to the people who care, the friends who’ve always been there when you need them and who’ve walked the line, no questions asked. Take a bow!
Jan 25, Gomantak Times, Goa
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
The Wonder Years - move over Kevin Arnold
I grew up on a farm. Well, actually, by the time I was born, there wasn’t much of the farm left. The rice wasn’t harvested anymore; the three acres were now just fields, but for us four little cousins, they were fields of fun! There were mango, tamarind, jambul, chickoo, guava and love apple trees and we boys could spend hours frolicking around underneath the open skies. I also remember filling the centre of green mangoes with a mixture of red masala, salt and vinegar, and either burying them underground all wrapped up in newspaper for a few days, or just keeping it somewhere safe. Eating those pickled mangoes was one of the highlights of our summers. We just didn’t care, band-aids were in good supply and we never got tired of having fun. There wasn’t much to watch on TV in the early eighties, so playing cricket, football, hockey or just running through the fields was the thing to do.
I remember catching snakes. Oh, that used to be another highlight of my childhood, especially during the summer holidays when we would scour the fields for snakes. We were terrors then too. One day we would be fighting, and the next day we would be laughing about it, making fun of what we said when we were angry with each other. It was a different bond then; the only video games we knew of were the little hand-held ones that had 'Donkey Kong' and the amount of fun and games we had outdoors surpassed anything else. Those were simpler times.
We had to break down the massive bungalow in the late 80s, owing to the buildings that were coming up around us, and the buildings that would soon come up on the fields where we played. Looking back then, I guess my mother and her siblings would have felt as if their childhood was breaking up into pieces. I wasn’t even ten then, perhaps too young to comprehend how good and valuable memories are. But little by little, these memories come back. When my cousin came down from New Zealand, where he’s now married and settled, we sat back and talked about all the naughty things we did, and how, as the eldest, he would prey on us from time to time. And we laughed about it now, those precious memories.
As we grow older we change, most of us lose that inner child as and when we start moving up in the world — some consciously, some unconsciously. I know of a few people, who at 26, act like they’ve just retired from their job of 25 years and love to sit at home in pure geriatric ambience. Or some who are so obsessed with their jobs that they can’t stop talking about it, even on the weekends!
Balancing responsibilities came early to me, more out of compulsion and necessity than anything else. I left home at 18 to go out there and learn what I had to. Today almost nine years later, in spite of the strife and struggle, I can smile, because it made me who I am. Those were the days, when I lost that child in me. Today, I can feel him, the little boy who didn’t care about material things, who just wanted to float through the green, green grass of home. Today, looking out over the hills in Goa, I get the serenity among the trees, the tranquillity at my parents little home amongst the Sahyadris, or the beauty by the river at Kala Academy. It brings back memories. Memories that I don’t ever want to lose.
It’s important to be a child sometimes, not act childishly, but just forget the bills that need to be paid, or the story that needs to be completed by five the next day and just envelope yourself in a different world, quite alike the one that we lived in when we were young. Back in the days, when we were carefree, living free.
So, here’s to the good times, wild and free, when we had a song to sing and a different life to live. When we didn’t know about the differences in religion, about black or white, about racism or communism. We cared only about today, and which tree we would have a party on tomorrow. I can still taste the fruit, I can still smell the fresh air, I can still see the four of us, frolicking among the trees…
I remember catching snakes. Oh, that used to be another highlight of my childhood, especially during the summer holidays when we would scour the fields for snakes. We were terrors then too. One day we would be fighting, and the next day we would be laughing about it, making fun of what we said when we were angry with each other. It was a different bond then; the only video games we knew of were the little hand-held ones that had 'Donkey Kong' and the amount of fun and games we had outdoors surpassed anything else. Those were simpler times.
We had to break down the massive bungalow in the late 80s, owing to the buildings that were coming up around us, and the buildings that would soon come up on the fields where we played. Looking back then, I guess my mother and her siblings would have felt as if their childhood was breaking up into pieces. I wasn’t even ten then, perhaps too young to comprehend how good and valuable memories are. But little by little, these memories come back. When my cousin came down from New Zealand, where he’s now married and settled, we sat back and talked about all the naughty things we did, and how, as the eldest, he would prey on us from time to time. And we laughed about it now, those precious memories.
As we grow older we change, most of us lose that inner child as and when we start moving up in the world — some consciously, some unconsciously. I know of a few people, who at 26, act like they’ve just retired from their job of 25 years and love to sit at home in pure geriatric ambience. Or some who are so obsessed with their jobs that they can’t stop talking about it, even on the weekends!
Balancing responsibilities came early to me, more out of compulsion and necessity than anything else. I left home at 18 to go out there and learn what I had to. Today almost nine years later, in spite of the strife and struggle, I can smile, because it made me who I am. Those were the days, when I lost that child in me. Today, I can feel him, the little boy who didn’t care about material things, who just wanted to float through the green, green grass of home. Today, looking out over the hills in Goa, I get the serenity among the trees, the tranquillity at my parents little home amongst the Sahyadris, or the beauty by the river at Kala Academy. It brings back memories. Memories that I don’t ever want to lose.
It’s important to be a child sometimes, not act childishly, but just forget the bills that need to be paid, or the story that needs to be completed by five the next day and just envelope yourself in a different world, quite alike the one that we lived in when we were young. Back in the days, when we were carefree, living free.
So, here’s to the good times, wild and free, when we had a song to sing and a different life to live. When we didn’t know about the differences in religion, about black or white, about racism or communism. We cared only about today, and which tree we would have a party on tomorrow. I can still taste the fruit, I can still smell the fresh air, I can still see the four of us, frolicking among the trees…
Jan 18 - Gomantak Times, Goa
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Of life, bike rides, and how to slow down
I finally made up my mind to make the move to Goa about three months ago. And since I didn’t want to cart down my beloved bike by train, (that’s blasphemy, bikes are meant to be ridden), I settled on the next best thing, riding down from Mumbai. Now I’d never ridden more than 100 kilometres before, and that too not at a stretch. So what was a guy like me, with a four-month-old Royal Enfield Bullet, doing on the highway to Goa? Living the good life!
I had company up to Chiplun, the halfway point. Zuri and me left at six in the morning, and began my first actual ride. There’s nothing like the wind in your face (I wore a helmet, but it was windy all the same) and a 350 cc, 18 bhp engine between your legs. We didn’t ride rashly, kept the needle at 80 (though there was a time when I tested her out and took her up to 110). I reached my little home on the hill, where my parents stay, the next day (we’d stopped for the night at Chiplun and went in opposite directions next morning). I was tired, dirty, and smelt of fuel. But, man, that was some ride! I was in Goa, (well, nearly there)… Why Goa, you ask? Well, it’s a difficult answer. But I guess I got tired of the rat race and wanted to actually live my life the right way, have some time to write, read, sip beer on the beach, or just see more than just two trees every 500 metres.
When I joined GT, IFFI was on a roll and the first week at work was a mad rush. The people were great, but it took time getting used to a whole lot of things and as usual, I did it the way I usually do things – nice and slow. (The nice and slow part is me, all me).
But, here’s something I didn’t really understand and I’m still trying to figure out - how can people, most of whom love to enjoy an afternoon siesta, take things easy and in their own time, jump into a car or onto a bike and zip through the roads at breakneck speeds? It looks like every second vehicle on the road is trying to break the sound barrier. Unfortunately, the only ‘boom’ anyone is ever going to hear, is of two vehicles ramming into one another.
Last Friday, I had an article on accidents published. I’d looked into the ‘where and how’, spoken to a few people including members of the police. I realised (also because I travel from Mapusa to Panjim every day) that something needs to be done about the way people drive here in Goa. I left work all excited and ready to head to Candolim where a friend had just opened up a new restaurant. And as I came down from the slope past the Porvorim tisk, I saw what turned out to be a pretty bad accident. The first thing that came to mind was, “Don’t these people ever read the papers?” I stopped, tried to see if someone needed any help, but there were already too many people shouting and gesturing, so I got back on my bike and proceeded home. But I guess some people never learn, no matter how many articles are printed, how many people die or get badly injured, there are always going to be speed demons out there who try to defy gravity and speed records. Sadly, however, the people they injure are sometimes bystanders and innocent, safe riders…
So, if you want to make a difference, and stop this needless drive to prove who is the king of the road, start with yourself (and a few neighbours if you can manage it) and ease off that gas pedal. It might just save a life and that life could just be your own. I thought of a way to start and this editorial was it.
Dec 21 - Gomantak Times, Goa
I had company up to Chiplun, the halfway point. Zuri and me left at six in the morning, and began my first actual ride. There’s nothing like the wind in your face (I wore a helmet, but it was windy all the same) and a 350 cc, 18 bhp engine between your legs. We didn’t ride rashly, kept the needle at 80 (though there was a time when I tested her out and took her up to 110). I reached my little home on the hill, where my parents stay, the next day (we’d stopped for the night at Chiplun and went in opposite directions next morning). I was tired, dirty, and smelt of fuel. But, man, that was some ride! I was in Goa, (well, nearly there)… Why Goa, you ask? Well, it’s a difficult answer. But I guess I got tired of the rat race and wanted to actually live my life the right way, have some time to write, read, sip beer on the beach, or just see more than just two trees every 500 metres.
When I joined GT, IFFI was on a roll and the first week at work was a mad rush. The people were great, but it took time getting used to a whole lot of things and as usual, I did it the way I usually do things – nice and slow. (The nice and slow part is me, all me).
But, here’s something I didn’t really understand and I’m still trying to figure out - how can people, most of whom love to enjoy an afternoon siesta, take things easy and in their own time, jump into a car or onto a bike and zip through the roads at breakneck speeds? It looks like every second vehicle on the road is trying to break the sound barrier. Unfortunately, the only ‘boom’ anyone is ever going to hear, is of two vehicles ramming into one another.
Last Friday, I had an article on accidents published. I’d looked into the ‘where and how’, spoken to a few people including members of the police. I realised (also because I travel from Mapusa to Panjim every day) that something needs to be done about the way people drive here in Goa. I left work all excited and ready to head to Candolim where a friend had just opened up a new restaurant. And as I came down from the slope past the Porvorim tisk, I saw what turned out to be a pretty bad accident. The first thing that came to mind was, “Don’t these people ever read the papers?” I stopped, tried to see if someone needed any help, but there were already too many people shouting and gesturing, so I got back on my bike and proceeded home. But I guess some people never learn, no matter how many articles are printed, how many people die or get badly injured, there are always going to be speed demons out there who try to defy gravity and speed records. Sadly, however, the people they injure are sometimes bystanders and innocent, safe riders…
So, if you want to make a difference, and stop this needless drive to prove who is the king of the road, start with yourself (and a few neighbours if you can manage it) and ease off that gas pedal. It might just save a life and that life could just be your own. I thought of a way to start and this editorial was it.
Dec 21 - Gomantak Times, Goa
A day of reckoning, introspection and sleep deprivation
I have a dream that in a country of millions we shall manage to elect the few hundreds that will run this rich country in the right manner, truthfully and honestly.
I have a dream that one day we will respect each other lives, value each others lives and not endanger ourselves or others in any way, be it speeding recklessly on the roads or committing heinous crimes. I have a dream that economically we will reach other upper echelons of this fourth rock from the sun that third world debt shall be done away with and poverty shall no longer exist. I have a dream that wars shall be outlawed, people shall live free and no mindless president shall wage war for oil under the pretext of eradicating terrorism.
I have a dream that one day we shall be free, because free we are not. How can we be free, if we can’t live freely, if we can’t get our basic amenities, if we have to struggle to put our children in the right schools, work all day and into the night sometimes and still have pending debts, not because we don’t spend wisely, but because our cost of living is high. High enough that we have to pay through our noses for the simplest of things, that our taxes are high and we just never get paid enough to survive.
I have a dream that we will not have to run around from pillar to post for our basic rights, that our roads will be even, and that our power supply will always stay on.
I have a dream that hospitals will not refuse patients, that we also get more hospitals, and we manage to live such healthy and fulfilling lives that we won’t have to go there anyway. I have a dream that we shall respect the authorities, and they learn to respect us, because at the end of the day, we put them there, and our taxes pay their salaries. That they don’t treat us as lesser individuals just because they have some sort of power, power which was bestowed on them to help us, not hinder our rights.
I have a dream that one day politicians shall not ask for bribes to grant us something that should be granted anyway, and that they shall bow their heads to the public in shame when caught, not turn around with an angel face and claim their innocence.
This is not a dream that will never become reality. This is not a dream that will never see the light of day. For as long as there is hope, love and brotherhood, we shall be able to stand together and fight for our rights. This is a call to arms, let us stand up and demand that our voices be recognised. It is not an easy task, and for this to happen we need to stand – shoulder-to-shoulder, arms linked, ready to face the onslaught of resistance - the resistance of the greedy and unjust. We need, not to sit in our chairs and criticise, but go out there and let the cry of the faithful and the voices of the common man be heard.
I have a dream, that since all men and women are created equal, we shall treat each other with respect and support each other in need. I have a dream today. That in this new year we shall realise what we haven’t realised before, that we can all live together in peace and harmony if we start from within, start with ourselves. I have a dream that one day we shall rise above the shackles that bind us, and go forth and spread the message of love and peace.
I have a dream that Martin Luther King does not turn in his grave due to part plagiarism, but smiles at the thought of his immortal speech making to the editorial page of a Goan daily.
Happy New Year! May 2006 be a wake up call for most of us.
Jan 4 - Gomantak Times, Goa
I have a dream that one day we will respect each other lives, value each others lives and not endanger ourselves or others in any way, be it speeding recklessly on the roads or committing heinous crimes. I have a dream that economically we will reach other upper echelons of this fourth rock from the sun that third world debt shall be done away with and poverty shall no longer exist. I have a dream that wars shall be outlawed, people shall live free and no mindless president shall wage war for oil under the pretext of eradicating terrorism.
I have a dream that one day we shall be free, because free we are not. How can we be free, if we can’t live freely, if we can’t get our basic amenities, if we have to struggle to put our children in the right schools, work all day and into the night sometimes and still have pending debts, not because we don’t spend wisely, but because our cost of living is high. High enough that we have to pay through our noses for the simplest of things, that our taxes are high and we just never get paid enough to survive.
I have a dream that we will not have to run around from pillar to post for our basic rights, that our roads will be even, and that our power supply will always stay on.
I have a dream that hospitals will not refuse patients, that we also get more hospitals, and we manage to live such healthy and fulfilling lives that we won’t have to go there anyway. I have a dream that we shall respect the authorities, and they learn to respect us, because at the end of the day, we put them there, and our taxes pay their salaries. That they don’t treat us as lesser individuals just because they have some sort of power, power which was bestowed on them to help us, not hinder our rights.
I have a dream that one day politicians shall not ask for bribes to grant us something that should be granted anyway, and that they shall bow their heads to the public in shame when caught, not turn around with an angel face and claim their innocence.
This is not a dream that will never become reality. This is not a dream that will never see the light of day. For as long as there is hope, love and brotherhood, we shall be able to stand together and fight for our rights. This is a call to arms, let us stand up and demand that our voices be recognised. It is not an easy task, and for this to happen we need to stand – shoulder-to-shoulder, arms linked, ready to face the onslaught of resistance - the resistance of the greedy and unjust. We need, not to sit in our chairs and criticise, but go out there and let the cry of the faithful and the voices of the common man be heard.
I have a dream, that since all men and women are created equal, we shall treat each other with respect and support each other in need. I have a dream today. That in this new year we shall realise what we haven’t realised before, that we can all live together in peace and harmony if we start from within, start with ourselves. I have a dream that one day we shall rise above the shackles that bind us, and go forth and spread the message of love and peace.
I have a dream that Martin Luther King does not turn in his grave due to part plagiarism, but smiles at the thought of his immortal speech making to the editorial page of a Goan daily.
Happy New Year! May 2006 be a wake up call for most of us.
Jan 4 - Gomantak Times, Goa
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