Mud and weed...

I was on my way back from Lahiri resorts in Pathancheru, where I had been a volunteer for GHAC’s Hyderabad Mudrun 2013. After two days of awesomeness, fatigue seemed to seep into my body as I had a tough time negotiating the potholes on the road back home. I needed a small jolt of adrenaline to keep me running, and nothing works better than exploring the unknown. So, looking for that evasive adrenaline, I took an unfamiliar right turn on to the service road of the ORR.

The next five kilometers was effortless cruising on the smooth tarmac, at speeds that would make my mom unhappy and my bike proud, came to an abrupt halt at Kodur junction where the service road ended into two kachcha roads.

After enquiring from a couple of villagers, decided to take a kachcha road that would take me into the city. Thereafter it was a blissful, slow bumpy ride for five more kilometers with fields on both sides and beautiful landscapes.

I stopped after I heard someone cry out. In the mango orchard on my right a couple of guys were beating up a small kid. I am not a hero, and not really built to fight but I am no coward either. I used the whistle attached to my hiking bag and ran towards them after locking my bike. Am not sure whether it was my heavy army-style trekking boots or the loud whistle, but the two guys took off leaving the bleeding kid, one of them dropping a small packet from his pocket.

The kid was around ten or eleven years old, bleeding from his mouth and forehead, and wincing in pain. I carried him back to my bike where I administered first aid. One of the few advantages of being a doctor is having an extensive First aid kit, apart from the knowledge of using it properly.

“Nee perenti?” I asked in telugu.”What is your name?”

“Telugu goththilla, naanu Kannadiga” he replied in crisp Kannada. “Ninn Hesarenu?” I asked again. (Thanks to my profession I had mastered all the south-Indian languages except for Malayalam.)

He told me that his name was Nandu. He was twelve years old, from a village in Bidar district of Karnataka. He knew no one in Hyderabad. I went back into the orchard and picked up the packet dropped by one of the guys who beat up Nandu, and immediately recognized what it was.

I drove to the city as soon as I could and got a chest X-ray done for the kid. The X-ray confirmed my suspicion of a couple of rib fractures. Knowing there was nothing much to be done there I took him home along with a few medicines I bought at the pharmacy there.

My dad saw me park through the window and shouted “Aah, at last you are home! Was really bored for two days!” My mom opened the door and said “you were supposed to be home three hours back! Oh, who is this? And what happened to him?"

I got Nandu comfortable in my bed and told my parents about the incidents that happened earlier, showing them the packet I found. My mom didn’t seem to know but my dad asked “Is that what I think it is?” I nodded my head.

In my hands was a packet of Ganja, or (For newbies - also called Weed, marijuana, or pot). My job at the de-addictioncenter, NIMHANS hospital told me that the packet I held was worth a good amount of money.

After sometime, I started a conversation with Nandu. He told me that he ran away from home a three months back, and came to Hyderabad. While trying to find work, he was spotted by a person called Seenu, who promised him a job and took him to his house. There he met a couple of other kids and Seenu’s friend Yusuf.

The job was simple. Nandu had to carry small packets of weed hidden in his clothes, in city busses to different places, where someone would collect them and send Nandu back to Seenu’s house.
Nandu was happy with the food and clothes Seenu gave him and everything seemed fine, until today when he lost a small packet while getting down a crowded city bus. Seenu and Yusuf, who refused to believe Nandu, were angry about the loss and started hitting him until they saw me approach blowing a whistle. I enquired about Nandu’s parents and called them up. Nandu’s tears of joy replaced his pain as he spoke to his dad for the first time in months.

Nandu’s father and uncle took my address and started for Hyderabad. I then enquired if Nandu could recognize Seenu’s house. He replied affirmatively saying as he was traveling in city busses, he knew exactly how to get back.

Letting him take rest, I left for the Narcotics cell at mehdipatnam. Though I was initially apprehensive about getting involved with the police, all my doubts were laid to rest with a friendly approach from Mr Sreedhar, a sub-inspector I met there. It was already late in the night but he accompanied me home and spoke to Nandu , while I played the interpreter. Mr. Sreedhar told me that he needed Nandu to lead them to Seenu’s house in the morning.

The next morning, I spoke to Nandu’s father who arrived, and explained to him about the Mr Sreedhar’s plans. Though he was initially reluctant, he agreed to send his son with us.

That evening, all the regional news channels were abuzz with the daring police operation which apprehended a gang involved in drug peddling and rescued five kids who were being used as drug couriers. The police also seized a huge stock of Ganja and other drugs from them. The same night, Nandu left for his home town with his father.

It has been four days since I took that unplanned right turn near the ORR. And my face lighted up when I picked up my phone today. Nandu was home, recovering and very happy. We spoke for a long time about Seenu and yusuf being arrested. Just before I cut the call, he told me to tell my father that he will fulfill his promise.

“Dad, Nandu was saying something about him fulfilling a promise. What was that all about?” I asked my father.

My father, who is an accomplished journalist, raised his head through the book he was reading and told me “It was nothing. He said he wanted to be a doctor when he grew up, and asked me how he could do that. I told him to always follow what his father told him and study well, and that's exactly what you did. He promised me He'd do that” and slipped back in to his reading.

Courage...

My ICSE exams had ended a couple of weeks back and I was already getting bored. Youtube and facebook had nothing interesting on. So, I googled my name and was bombarded with search results about Abhishek Bachchan, the movie star. Happens when you share your first name with someone so popular.
I retried with my surname instead. One result made me curious, and I opened it. What I read stirred long repressed memories...

We used to stay in Hyderabad in those days. Our house was built when I was too small to remember, but what struck me as peculiar was that inside our gate, was a huge empty space, just beside the house. Something that wasn't in any other house in the neighborhood.
This 'empty' land , I was later told, was equal to the place our house was built and was sold by my dad to his sister, my aunt. The place was full of weeds, trees and rocks and full of moles!
I am a pet lover. My dad doesn't allow pets because the loss of his dog in his childhood had scarred him badly. But, I am terribly afraid of moles. Mice are cute. Moles are scary.

This fear was increased by the terrible screams my mom would let out whenever one of those horrible rodents wandered into our home.
I would suggest killing all of them, but being in 2nd grade, I didn't have a clue as to how to do it. But, my mom, wouldn't even think of hurting a fly (literally)and would reject the idea outright.
My dad, had a huge company, which used to construct a lot of buildings, and was always at office.
We had a huge roof top garden including a bonzai mango tree, a lemon tree and lots of roses.
One day, I saw a small but fat cat behind the lemon tree. It wouldn't budge when i tried to shoo it off, and my mom told me to leave it alone. She would in fact leave milk near the lemon tree for the cat.

"Mom, the cat so small yet has a huge tummy, like Raghu uncle. It doesn't need any more milk! " 

Mom said that the cat had babies in it's tummy and would, in a few days, give birth (whatever that meant) to kitten. She was worried that the moles (being so huge) would kill the cat.

The beautiful day arrived and i saw six cute kittens! And boy were they hungry! Lapping up all the milk poured by my mom in minutes! I wanted to touch them, but the small cat would scare me with her sounds.

The gardener came to mom the next day and told her all the moles were killed by the cat. He disposed off about 12 dead moles. I puked for a long time after looking at them. "Mommy, how did the small cat kill all of  them? they were so big!"

Mom just said "you will understand someday..."
 
The next day, mom and dad were whispering in the dining room. They stopped as soon as I went in. Mom looked tense, had tears in her eyes. I have never seen my mom crying until that day. I tried to ask  her, but she said that I wasn't going to school for a few days.

I didn't care about anything else after she told me that. I was so happy! I could watch cartoon network and pogo all day now!

Mom now used to lock the door all through the day. There was a police uncle at the gate sometimes. Mom wouldn't let me go out and play, but I could play Super Mario on her laptop as long as I wanted to.

The bell rang and I jumped to open it. Two uncles, wearing scarves, asked if my dad was home. One of them had a beard, sticking out of his scarf. When I said "no", they pushed me and came into the house. My mom came running as soon as she heard me scream.

The bearded guy caught me tight and showed my mom a big dirty knife. My mom started screaming but stopped as soon as she saw the knife. I was still crying, and had no idea as to what was happening.

They were about to take me to their white van outside when my mom said "Leave him alone, I have money and jewelery here. You can have it all, but leave my son alone!"

The other guy followed my mom and she gave him a bag. Then, she went into the kitchen where she had a lot of money in one of the steel boxes. After a few minutes, the bearded guy  took me into the kitchen. On the table was a bundle of money. The bearded guy said "Thanks for everything. Your husband can pay the rest and then we will let go of your kid"

Suddenly, my eyes started burning , and I could not open them. All I could hear was the men screaming. I knew someone was taking me out of the room.

I was out of the house, and realised I was with my mom. Trough my teary eyes I saw that her saree was full of red stains. Soon, there was a lot of police at home and I slept off.

It has been eight years since that day. We shifted to Delhi two days later. I was never told what really happened that day.

"Kanna, Dinner is ready!" my mom called out.

I snapped out of my memories, wiped my tears, closed the news page, with the title 'Housewife stabs kidnappers, using chilli powder to blind them, to protect son' , went down running and hugged my mom, and said "I love you mom".

My mom was pleasantly surprised and asked "what happened?"

I didn't tell her, but I knew now, how the cat managed to kill all those moles.

Mind games?

Am talking to my "someone" on phone. I think we all have a "someone" in our lives.. A few of us have more than one "someone"s...
It is that girl you love a lot. But she is kinda unreachable. For half of us, this is a choice. They chose to let go of this girl because they weighed their options, the pros and cons of turning this friendship into a relationship. For the miserable half, it is destiny. I know the girl likes me... maybe even more than a friend. But she's got her sights on someone else.
I don't know what she sees in him, but I hate that bugger from the bottom of my growling intestines. I know for sure that there will be a lot many things I can share with this girl than he'll ever get to know... IF their relationship lasts this winter that is.
I listen to her voice... sleepily requesting "Put me to sleep". "I can't sing darling (Oh yes, I do call her that... She doesn't seem to realise that I mean it.), My mom's in the next room!"
"Please?...."
I can see her puppy eyes, eyes that would put Milo to shame, though you would argue we are more than a thousand miles apart. I whisper "Okay! give me a minute.", and silently make my way across to the terrace. ( Now I know why all people in love talk on phones on the terrace. It is not the network, it's a place to getaway from moms!) 
I start crooning " Ye utthe subuha chale... Ye jhuke Shaam dhale... Mera jeena Mera marna.. inhi palkhon ke tale.... Teri Aankhon ke siva Duniya mein Rakha Kya hai?", meaning each and every syllable of this Rafi classic. I know she is not a huge fan of Rafi Saab, but everything I ever wanted to say to her was in his songs. She never really got it though.
A couple of minutes later I hear a "smack". Am I dreaming??? Did I hear a soft kiss on the other end of the phone? "Hello?" I wait for a reply that never comes... "Hello!!"...
"Yyeeeaaah." I understand that sleepy tone, wish her good bye, control all my urges to kiss her goodnight on the phone and hang up.
Maybe I was imagining that Kiss. Maybe I heard a distant rustle and mistook that sound.... Why would she kiss me anyway? She's with someone else now...
I come back to my room and slam the door in frustration. "How the hell am I supposed to live like this?", when I hear my mom shout from her bedroom to keep it down....
"Opps! did I just shout that out loud?" I just don't know what to believe.

Am on my way to meet Vaishu.

No, she is not my "someone". She could've been, but she got married last year. Vaishu and me go a long way back.
Seven years back, on a fateful day, we were informed by a circular that the college hours have been cut short, and we should all get home soon, in the wake of a Bandh call given by a political party. Most of the busses were stranded, and the few that were running were threatening to topple over to the left because of the crowd. How was I to get home?
All my troubles vanished when I saw Niha (She too is not my current "someone"). Those cute brown eyes, and her wavy hair.... I could just keep seeing her all say. If it weren't for some fatso who stepped on my foot, I wouldn't have noticed her calling my name!
"Hey Abhay! You okay? How are you planning to get home?"
"I don't want to go.... I mean I don't know... haven't thought about it.... what are your plans?"
"Meet my friend Vaishnavi. Vaishnavi, this is Abhay. ."
I didn't take note of this new girl at all... I had eyes only for that one girl.. (Isn't it always like that when you have your first crush?)
A few months later, I grew out of my infatuation, but ended up being best buddies with Vaishu.

"Abho!"
Vaishu's louder than that-fat-opera-singer's voice brought me back from that flashback I was having.
"God! you look gorgeous! I think you are actually cooking these days... there is certainly no other way you could've lost all that weight after marriage"
"Shut up! I am cooking, and that's the only reason I am still alive. You cannot imagine how horrible food is in Cuttack!"
She had been complaining about the food in Odisha for more than a few months now. She had to relocate as her husband was posted there on routine transfer. What else do you expect when you put a "I-swear-by-all-that-masala-in-this-Biriyani" hyderabadi into a state where sugar is the favourite flavour?
"Let's go to Shadab! I am really yearning for that Biriyani!"
"Okay madam! As you wish". I started my bike and was looking forward to the best Vegetable Biriyani that Hyderabad had to offer, drooling enough saliva to wash my bike for a month.

I was still waitng for her to get onto my bike when I turned right to see a Red SUV ram into my bike, in slow motion, the kind that Peter parker sees, the spidey-sense stuff. I wasn't quick enough to react though, and could feel a million blades cut through my right leg where the SUV impacted. I hit my head on the floor to wake up and half-realise that it was all a dream.

I could hear my mom shouting "He speaks on phone all night... and never gets up before 11a.m., He ought to take up some responsibilty for his life!!"
I was trying to get up when I realised I could not move my right leg. I blurt out "WTH??...@@$$)%($ " , and noticed that my leg wasn't just there! I swear I could have had a Heart attack if I wouldn't have realised that all this was a dream and I was in my room, on my bed with a terrible headache and (Thank God!) a healthy pair of legs.

Looked at my phone to check for messages or calls. None.
Not one from Vaishu, who got busy after marriage... neither from my "someone".
Woke up to start one more depressing day of routine work, when my mom shouted "You get out of that bed! It is twelve o clock , and you are still sleeping shamelessly??"

So, my dreams, or rather dreams inside dreams... (or maybe some part of it was real?), was all part of the games my mind has been playing with me?

One thing is for sure.... even these mind games didn't dare to mess around with my mom's impersonation.

A common man's genuine doubt : Burning the flag????

Like scores of other corporate slaves in the city of Hyderabad, I too get to read the actual newspaper only on weekends. And a good part of my day goes to Google news, and the other news websites it redirects to.
Was reading up an article on "Terrorists dressed as Pak soldiers attack Indian army post: 5 Indian Jawans killed", which was soon followed by a video by some news channel, showing a "protest rally" against Pakistan.
The people in the video belonged to a national political party and were shouting anti-Pakistan slogans and burning a huge flag of Pakistan.
That got me thinking.....

We should never burn flags! Whatever the reason, burning a flag is never the solution. Imagine the effect it has on the millions of people across the border who see this video. (Or imagine how bad you'd feel if the Indian national flag was being burnt in a video in Pakistan - Would you even care to look for why those people were doing it?)
Burning flags doesn't really make a difference! You think it will deter terrorists from planning other attacks? or will it awaken the government from it's power-crazy sleep to focus on these issues?

My Genuine doubt:  WHERE DO THESE POLITICAL PEOPLE GET THEIR PAKISTAN FLAGS??? DO THEY KEEP STOCK? I mean, do they order online and stack up say 50 flags?
"What ??? Pakistan terrorists killed our jawans? here take these two flags, burn one near the parliament, and one near Chandni chowk... "
"That Pakistani cricketer commented on an Indian batsman??? Here, burn this flag with an effigy of that Pak cricketer."
"We are running out of flags to burn... have e-bay deliver more of these in a couple of days!"

And do people realize that these are the same videos that are used by terrorist outfits to mislead kids and young adults in madrassas... "See that? They are burning our flags! Doesn't that make you angry??"
And young Kasab was filled with fury... He resolved at that moment that he would avenge this insult to his motherland!!!
 
Gandhi never burnt a single British Flag! Then how come people say they are Gandhians and are protesting peacefully, burning flags? Someone has to oversee these protests and tell people how not to protest!

Maybe the judiciary would take a look at it? Oh no... They are too busy denying bail petitions of a few politicians and acquitting a few others, telling med students that their hard work for a national exam is useless coz they can't rule against the millions earned by private medical institutes, telling the govt that it should not exercise influence over investigating agencies etc etc.....

I was about to say God save my nation from these fools, when a voice from the skies shouted "NO!!! That is too much to ask! I can't take such kind of pressure anymore!!"

Another life... another time.

I love the way you smile.

I love the way your eyes shine.

And when I shake hands with you,

I love the way your hand fits into mine.

I’ve been in love before.

I’ve seen people use that to score.

But when I see into your eyes,

I know I could never love more.

I know you don’t like the way you sound.

But when you laugh, you make my world go round.

You don’t realize that you are very special.

Trust me darling, you are divinity unbound.

I wish I could tell you all that I feel.

I wish I could ask you to be my amaranthine queen.

But you know my life's spinning out of control .

I wish we had met, 

In another life, another time.

A gust of wind.

"Sitaram, sitaram, sitaram jaya sitaram... chiththi aayi na pathri aayi... aaya na telegram re.." hummed Post Master Sitaram Rath Sharma, as he bicycled his way to the small shack people called the village post office in Banardal, a small village in the Kandhamal district of rural Odisha.

This song from Shyam Benegal's "Welcome to Sajjanpur" was one of his favorites  as he identifies with protagonist in the movie, who also happens to be a post master named Mahadev. Sitaram had recently seen the movie when he had to go to the district head quarters at Phulabani to meet the new Head Post Master who arrived there. Little did he know that it had already  been two years since the movie released.

Life has been very kind to this only son of preist Ramchandra Rath Sharma, as government jobs without having a caste based reservation or without paying a hefty bribe are a rarity in today's India. He had joined the postal department soon after his father's death about  two years ago. His father was a staunch believer of Swami Lakshmananda Saraswathi's policies against forced religion conversions.

The Swami's assassination was national headlines, so were the communal riots that followed gaining the events a notoriety of "the Kandhamal Carnage of 2008". Ramchandra Rath Sharma remained as one of "four others" who were killed with the Swami.

Sitaram who followed a strict routine, stopped at the tea stall near the village chowk. "Saar, Aabka Koufi"(Sir, your coffee) said Rajan in his madrasi accent, placing a hot cup of filter coffee. Rajan was a srilankan tamil, who had come to Odisha as a refugee. Sitaram was one of his very few customers who preferred coffee over tea here, and anyone who likes filter coffee gains instant respect from Rajan, the reasons of which could be deeply rooted in his tamil genes.

Sitaram was the only person in the surrounding villages to have entered into college. Though the government claims an average literacy rate of 57% in this district, Sitaram yet had to meet one adult who could write and read properly in this small village with a population just above six hundred people. "Maybe, the government is embarassed by the true figures and is just trying to inflate the number of literates in this region " Sitaram usually thought while he read and wrote letters for the village folk.
He also knew that many people who were literate had shifted off to cities like Hyderabad in search of a better life after the riots.

The 28 year old Sitaram now took care of his 60 year old mom, who continually used to complain about his suspended decision on getting married. "Zindagi ek hawaa ka jhonkaa hai - Kabhi bhi kuch bhi ho saktaa hai (Life is like a gust of wind, it can change anytime). Get married before it is too late." But Sitaram wouldn't budge. He was certain that he wanted to get married only after he has saved enough money to build his own house. He was saving a good part of his salary in the post office, on his mother's name, as the government offers better interest rates for senior citizens. The small amounts of money he charged to read and write for the village folk too would go into his savings.

He had reached the post office when he noticed the telephone ringing. He picked up and said "Hollo!". "Hollo! It is me, Gururaj Mahant. Listen beta, I know you are not in a hurry to get married, but you should at least start some trials to for your mother's sake".
Sitaram was about to say something when Mahantji cut him short and said "Tomorrow, November 27th, is Kathika Bahula Shashti, the ruling constellation is Aaslesha nakshatra, a very auspicious day, so, head over to the village school teacher's house and see his daughter, Sita. I bet you will change your decison not to marry soon once you've met her. I have already spoken to your mother about this. Make sure you reach before 10:51 a.m. as that is when YamaGanda starts" and hung up.

Gururaj Mahant was one of his father's close friends and had been like a God father to him since his child hood. Sitaram could never refuse him, and that maybe the same reason why his mother had asked Mahantji to speak to him about this alliance. Sitaram did not believe in the superstitious concepts like Yamaganda but didn't want to offend Mahantji. YamaGanda referred to an inauspicious time of the day which was under the rule of Lord Yama, the Hindu mythological God of death. Most people never started anything during that part of the day.

Sitaram reached home early in the evening, read a couple of books on current affairs, and noted down points of importance in his notes. This had become his daily evening routine since he started preparing for Civil services examination six months ago. He could not sleep well that night, weird nightmares stealing the peace out of his sleep.

The next day he woke up early, and planned to open the post office at 8 am, finish off any urgent despatches and then go to see Sita, the village school teacher's daughter. He skipped his "Kaufi" and reached the post office, barely taking notice of an old jeep parked nearby and a few masked young men waiting in the bylanes.

As he was about to open the lock, he was grabbed from behind by a masked stranger who muffled his mouth with his palm. The cold steel from the tapancha (a country made revolver-like firearm) aimed at his neck quickly taught him to quit all movements and stay as still as he could. He knew better than to fight against a group of Naxalites.

"Aap Whorry na keejiye panditji. Aap ka kuch nahi hoga. Bas hamaar saath chup chaap chaliye." said the masked guy loosening his grip on Sitaram's mouth. (Do not worry Panditji. We will not harm you if you do not raise your voice and accompany us.)

The masked guys led him to their jeep and drove him into the forest, just a few minutes from his village. A strong bearded young man, with an automatic rifle on his arm, greeted him at a make shift Camp in the woods.

"I am sorry for interrupting your routine Sir" said the young man in fluent english, at which Sitaram was genuinely surprised.
The Young man smiled at Sitaram, and said "I am Radheya Moitra, an IIT Calcutta alumnus, and am currently leading my valiant comrades in our cause for Justice."

Radheya was one of the many Naxalites who chose the life of struggle for social justice over the material comforts of a job. "I have written a few letters for my comrades' families and we would like you to do us a favor by safeguarding them , and posting them from the district head quarters when you visit Phulabani next week. We just want you to bypass the scrutiny at local post offices, so that we do not reveal our whereabouts to the police. "

Sitaram was badly shaken by the tapancha but was still wondering how Radheya had information on his monthly visit to Phulabani. He was about to walk towards Radheya when he felt a sharp sting on his arm. He looked down to see blood gushing out of his arm. Before he could say something, the whole place was filled with loud bangs from guns and Radheya was lying dead in a pool of blood in front of him.

He passed out, and did not remember much of what happened, but had faint memories of a policeman pumping bullets into the lifeless body of Radheya. He also had memories of another cop who bandaged his arm, and called an ambulance for him.

Sitaram gained consciousness in an Ambulance. The paramedic was asking him how he felt. Sitaram could not feel his left arm. He looked at his wrist watch on his right hand. The time was 10:51 a.m. Suddenly, Sitaram could sense himself being flung into the roof of the ambulance and bright light filled his eyes.

Sitaram remains as "a patient along with a paramedic and the driver of the ambulance were killed in the landmine triggered allegedly by Naxalite rebels, in Kandhamal".

"Zindagi ek hawaa ka jhonkaa hai - Kabhi bhi kuch bhi ho saktaa hai ".

Promise.

“I hate you Dad!”

My daughter’s words echoed in my ears even as I tried to concentrate on the project report I was reviewing.

It is truly difficult not to think about it. I know that my daughter loves me a lot. But I am worried of this increasingly wide gap between us.

I finished the report, called in Srinivasan, our senior manager-operations, suggested a couple of changes and asked him to mail it to me later in the evening.

My daughter is upset as I cannot attend her violin concert the day after tomorrow. I have to fly to Chennai for submission of the project report. And I cannot reschedule the submission. 

I did promise her that I would attend her concert a couple of months back, but I never knew that it would clash with the annual conference of my company. I offered to buy her the best violin available in the market, but she slammed the door of her room in my face.

Being the Health Benefits Chairperson of a popular MNC is not an easy job. My job is 24x7, just like the doctors and paramedics we recruit for our Occupational Health Centers (OHCs). We are also responsible to ensure proper treatment of medical emergencies that our employees may have. It is a stressful job, but it pays well.

I sunk back into the comfort of the back seat of my car, and asked my driver to take me home.

"Traffic in this area has come to a standstill Sir. The Chief Minister is inaugurating a new MNC nearby. It will take at least an hour before we can leave" he said. I cursed my luck and was looking around, when I noticed Srinivasan struggling to drag his bike out of mud beside the parking lot. I got down to help him and noticed that he was really anxious.

"Thank you Sir" Srinivasan said in a low tone. I had never seen him without a smile. Srinivasan was an ex-serviceman, and must have been about 10 years older than me.

After the bike was on concrete, I asked him “You don’t seem fine Mr Srinivasan, What’s troubling you?”

“I have to get home Sir. But because of these stupid politicians I have to wait for one more hour.”

I was taken aback by his words. Srinivasan is one of our oldest and most trusted employees. Not once in the past seven years have I seen him so disturbed. Not even when his job was in doubt during the recession.

“Coffee?” I asked.

“Sure Sir” he replied, locking his bike.

We sat down at the coffee shop in our premises and ordered coffee. “So, why you have to get home early?” I asked.

“My Son is giving his exams Sir. He is currently pursuing his engineering. I have to help him prepare for his last exam tomorrow.”

I never thought Mr Srinivasan’s son would be old enough to pursue engineering. But that was not what I was thinking back then. Srinivasan was a Post graduate in Biological sciences. 

“So, you teach him his subjects?” I asked, unable to control my curiosity.

"No Sir... My son was affected with polio, when I was posted in Arunachal Pradesh in the army. He cannot walk on his own. I help him exercise his legs and upper body, so as to help him use his wheel chair and crutches effectively, without requiring the help of others."  He replied with moistened eyes.

"When he was first diagnosed, he was about 4 years of age, and I promised myself I would never let him feel different than others. I took voluntary retirement from military service and started working with a MNC as an accountant. Studied at home and completed my MBA from open university and joined our company."

This was something I never expected. The guy who always had a smile on his face, even in times of severe office stress, had been in such emotional turmoil at home.

"I always stood by my son, in whatever he did. Never let him think that he was not capable of anything he wanted to do. I refused promotions, so that I could have more time to spend with my son."

"My son plays the guitar very well, and is performing at his school alumnus meet on Wednesday. That is exactly why I excused myself from the annual conference this year. I also met your daughter while attending my son's rehearsals at his school. You are lucky to have such a charming and talented girl. Apparently, they know each other since his school years. "

" Oh. Is it? I really didn't know that. Can I ask you something, if you don't mind?" I asked, still uncertain whether I should ask him what I wanted to.

"Please do" he replied with his trademarked smile, as though he knew what I was about to ask.

"Wouldn't you have been financially better off to care for your son, if you considered the promotion?" I asked, adjusting myself to the edge of my seat and ignoring the coffee that had been served.

"There were a few instances when I thought about it Sir. Money is important, but still is just a small part of Life. It is trivial when compared to a lot of things in life. I promised my son I would be there. And a promise is a promise."

The conversation ended abruptly when He glanced at his watch and excused himself.

I must have sat there for an hour after he left. The conversation made me brood on how easy it was to be happy. He was right. Money is just a small part of life. 

I opened up my laptop, rescheduled my tickets to Chennai, so that I could leave tomorrow, return on Wednesday for the concert and return back to the conference on Thursday morning. I would have to face a couple of words from my CEO. But, for my daughter, I'd do it happily any day.

I kept all this a secret from my daughter, and surprised her a couple of hours before her concert. Her performance was amazing. She looked less like a girl with a violin and more like Goddess Saraswathi with a Veena. Mr Srinivasan's son too performed very well, making his dad very proud.

My daughter accompanied me to the airport the next day morning, and while resting her head on my shoulder in the car, she asked me "Why?"

"Because a Promise is a Promise" I replied.

Before I switched off my mobile on the flight, I got a text message from my girl.. it said;

"I Love you a lot dad! Really a lot!"

కొఱగానివి పెమ్మయ సింగ ధీమణీ.

I was searching for these poems from jakkanna's pemmaiyya singha dheemani satakamu since a longtime...
got these two with the help of my dad and the internet.
if you know someone who might have access to more of these, kindly leave a comment here or email me on abhishekmalyala@gmail.com
i will be really grateful to anyone who can help me here.


వాసన లేని పువ్వు, బుధ వర్గము లేని పురంబు,
భక్తి విస్వాసము లేని భార్య, గుణవంతుడు గాని కుమారుడున్,
సదాభ్యాసము లేని విద్య, పరిహాసము లేని వాచ్య ప్రసంగముల్,
గ్రాసము లేని కొలువు, కొఱగానివి పెమ్మయ సింగ ధీమణీ.

గారెలు లేని విందు , సహకారము లేని వనంబు ,
తొలుత ఓంకారము లేని మంత్రము , అధికారము లేని ప్రతిజ్ఞ ,
వాక్చమత్కారము లేని తెల్వి, గుణకారము లేనటువంటి లెక్క,
వాసము లేని ఇల్లు , కొఱగానివి పెమ్మయ సింగ ధీమణీ.

credits to : http://prasadchitta.wordpress.com/2011/01/29/