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/

The Cycle.

A doctor's night duty is usually 24-36 hrs or more. So, coffee is an essential part of my diet. I was having my regular coffee after my night duty at this small shop beside the Hospital, when I noticed a guy speeding past the shop on his bike.

The bike screeched to a halt a few feet from me. The Guy got down, bought cigarettes, lit one and vanished on his bike. The only thing I could notice was the ID tag of a software corporate he had around the neck of the blue tee shirt he was wearing. The corporate was housed in a huge SEZ a few km from my hospital.

It could've been the tee shirt or the stress from last night's duty at the hospital, I recalled my days after my tenth class.
"Don't be a Fool, Abho. You are talented, but engineering will propel you into a financially satisfying life. Medicine will stress you out. You will have to learn for thrice the number of years as that in engineering, and then work for much less salaries until you gain experience. Think properly before you decide." said my Grandpa, gifting me a blue tee shirt for topping my school in ICSE exams.

It was when i had spilled my coffee over my new white shirt and stethoscope, that I came back from my day-dreaming. (Apparently, hot coffee and introspection don't go really well together!)

How I wish I had listened to his words.

My life is full of stress. 
Stress about duties in the hospital, stress about the health of my patients, stress about the hundreds of obligatory calls to "come , see" a patient known to my relatives (though the guy is receiving proper treatment from elsewhere), stress from lack of time for personal interests, stress about my bulging tummy (read "Fat"!)...
The list never ends....

-----


I should've avoided that stop at the tea stall! Should've refrained from having one more cigarette. All I have been having since the last two days is tea and cigarettes!!!

I hate this job! The onsite co-ordinator is an idiot. He makes all these last minute changes in the requirements. I still have three store procedures that are not running and I have a critical deployment in six hours. The last thing I need right now is my team lead to tell me that I reek of tobacco.

I sometimes think of running away from this Life. It was the same in all the three software companies I've worked at. At first, we are told that the job profile is great, with a lot of opportunity to learn. 
In reality, we get to know later that that was an implication of things to come.(Imagine having to learn Visual Basic 6.0 in three days, when the major part of your work is based on C#.NET!)
And these software "Giants" are Masters of Disguise! All our stress is masked by a hoard of so-called recreational activities including Annual day, Family day, Ethnic wear day, Team Lunch, Potluck lunch, blah blah blah.
The gym may be useful, but I fail to understand the purpose of having a Fake tattoo artist or Tarot card reader in the office campus on Friday evenings!!!

I have to get down to the "Smoking Zone" and have a quick puff before my team lead logs in.

Was puffing off myself to death when I heard some one tap me on the shoulder and say "Excuse me boss! can I have a light?" in a heavy american accent. I looked at a guy in a tee and baggy jeans, and noticed his "pink" tag while I lent him my lighter.

"Pink" tags or "Pinkies" as we call them, refer to the Call center employees of our company , which is located in the east block of our premises. They have separate cafeterias, work space, and even parking space. The only thing we share in common is the time we spend here in these smoke zones. They earn almost as much as we do, and all they have to do is to speak to people on phone in those fake accents and tell the customer how to switch their laptops off!!

I would've happily switched places with one of those pinkies. All I ever wanted to be was a developer.... and now all I want to be is to be anything but a developer.

-----

That Software guy in the blue tee shirt was looking weirdly at me. Maybe, I should try harder to refrain myself from using my work-accent.
"Bhai, Whats the use of a cigarette, without Chai?" said my team mate Pramod. "Sure", I replied hopping on to my bike to drive to the nearest tea stall."
The Tea stall is a place that holds a lot of nostalgia for me. Not surprising though, having spent more than half of my life in one. My dad owned a tea stall right in the center of our village.
"Chotu! Do Allam Chai, ek mein sugar jyada!" I shouted to the tea stall owner, while I gave way to some guy who seemed to have spilled tea over his white Shirt.
I envied Chotu. He comes in the morning, sells chai for a few hours, has lunch, has a happy nap and comes back to open the shop again in the afternoon. No season affects his business, and he seems content with the work he does.
My dad was a happy soul. He always had a smile on his face, no matter how dull business was.

While for me, contentment has always been elusive. I was not suited to receive Formal education, nothing in it seemed to interest me at all. But I was quick to learn a lot of stuff that I thought was practically useful in life. I learnt driving, Swimming, and half a dozen languages including French and German. I had a good life, if you considered money as the only scale to rate life. I had my own bike, was saving enough to buy my own apartment soon. What else could a "tea stall" owners's son ask for?

A lot.

My work shift timings were in sync with the United States. So, as the whole city of Hyderabad starts to go home, at 4 p.m. I start my shift in office.
The only sunrise I ever get to see is if I have to work overtime. I sleep all day, because I work all night.

I can't comment on my social life because I don't have one. Can't remember the last time I had been to anyone's wedding. I see my brother once in a few months. The last time was when he was gifted with a baby girl... the girl is old enough now speak to me on the phone.
I wish I was like Chotu. I wish I could enjoy all the smaller joys in life that my father had. I wish I was.....

I don't think what I wish matters anymore.

-------------

"Here Doctor Saheb", I called out and returned change to this Doctor who spilled coffee on his Shirt at my Shop. I love the way doctors dress. Always in neat formals, and always well groomed.
I see a lot of people at my shop. A few even come in premium cars to have chai here. But I personally respect doctors a lot. They are the only people for whom "Saheb" comes from my heart.

I still remember the doctor who tried to help my dad breathe on his death bed. My dad passed away, but the doctor's effort to try to get him back even in those last few minutes was something I will never forget.

I repent every night on why I dropped out of school. I was in bad company and wasted a lot of years back then. My Dad wanted me to study and become a respectable man. But I ended up as a Chai hawker.

I wish I had studied well... Maybe I could've become a doctor too... I could've been a Nurse at least. They save people's lives and receive a lot of blessings from people. 

I have to start washing these cups, while I notice two white clothed traffic policemen come my way... 
Here go a couple of cups of chai, and a few cigarettes, down the drain of my free country.

Author's note: This short story of mine is an elaboration of a joke I used to crack, to address the stress that has become an essential part of our lives, during the smoking cessation / diabetes awareness seminars I take up as a part of my job. Hope it lets you introspect into the stress you are suffering from, and lead you to manage Stress in a healthy way.