In the spirit of “When was the last time you did something for the first time”, we decided to give white water rafting a shot on our recent Dasara family trip to the Bheemeshwari Adventure and Nature Camp located two and a half hours away from Bangalore. Having been assured by our guides that it is a beginner level course, we stepped into our rafts with some trepidation that turned to confidence when the rowing went quite smoothly for the first ten minutes or so.
A kilometre or so downstream, we got our first taste of undulating waters, the boat shuddering over a series of speedbreakers. Still, we are hardly wet and the excitement comes more from the guide yelling “Fast for’ard, fast for’ard” like the captain from an epic seafaring movie, exhorting his crew to row harder, than from any demons in the water. How big was that rapid? someone asks our guide.
The rapids have not started, that was just a wave.
Uh-oh.
A little further, we see a crocodile, a hundred or so metres, away sunning itself atop a rock jutting out of the Cauvery. Er, do they attack humans? (translated as - how safe as we in these plastic rafts?)
They are harmless. The river has enough fish, and it only has to open its mouth for a couple of fish to swim in. These are not man-eaters. We occasionally have a dead human floating in the river, and the crocs don’t touch it.
Comforting. Still, my hands instinctively move up the paddle, distancing themselves from the possible outlier that may be looking for a change in diet.
We then go through the first stretch of rapids, a biggish mean-looking swell that lets us free fall a couple of feet and then staunchly resists our efforts to paddle over it. But somehow, we move forward, and cross one more swell, and then another. The team cries out in a collective yell combining fear- delight-wetness.
Hmm..that was actually good fun.
Deciding that we are now nicely into the spirit of things, our guide decides to show us “surfing”. We row forward, reaching a big rock, where the current splits up across the two faces of the rock, skirts it, and re-joins at the opposite end in a violent collision that gives our raft a nice shake-up. As a result of some weird hydrodynamics, the boat refuses to remain steady, and keeps keeling over to one side and then another, while spinning at the same time. Basically doing everything other than moving straight ahead. At one point, I find my hands and feet still in the boat, fingers clutching the lifeline along its edge, with the rest of me in water. It is hard to imagine there is no machinery involved in generating this unstoppable force. This feels like some sort of aquatic rollercoaster cum merry go round. At some point, the guide realises I am not having as much fun as the others, steadies our ship and hauls me in. Someone yells out that my paddle is in the water and drifting away from us. Our sturdy guides change course, and one jumps into the water to recover the paddle.
We make our way to a calmer zone, where we are invited to jump into the water. I do so gingerly, holding on to the lifeline for dear life. A strong current pushes my legs forward and under the boat’s belly. Not a very comfortable position.
How might my backside appear to a croc down below, I wonder?
The guides decide there has been enough build-up and it is now climax time. This is another stretch of rapids, about twice as powerful as the previous one. The rolls and lurches are pretty violent, but this is better than the surfing we were doing a few minutes ago. We have come eight kilometres downstream, and in a couple of minutes are hauling the raft to the shore at our destination.
The rapids on the Cauvery river at Bheemeshwari are graded 2 to 2+ (basic paddling skill with no danger). There are places, like Rishikesh up North, with rapids graded upwards of 4, where advanced skills are required and there is real risk of injury. I am not going there.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Friday, September 30, 2011
The Defeated
“While we were impressed with your background and experience, the business felt that the experience you come with does not does not resonate with any current positions we have open. We sincerely regret that we cannot take your candidature forward at this point in time.
We would however like to archive your resume & contact you when suitable opportunities do arise that match your experience. We wish you all the best in your career ahead.”
The words differ from one case to another, but the underlying message is similar. I am either too old, over-experienced or just not the right fit. Without my fully realising it, over the years, my CV has acquired a personality of its own. The person in it is headed in a particular direction, which, it seems, does not lead home.
So after nine months of unconsummated flirting with prospective employers (the last five of them here on the ground) and perhaps a dozen polite rejections (mostly from the other side and occasionally from mine, as in the case I was required to work night shifts), I am calling it quits. It is a bitter pill to swallow, after all we’ve been through these last few months, but I’ve expended my stamina to run against the wind.
I shall once again become the person on my CV and head out from home. Just another economic refugee.
We would however like to archive your resume & contact you when suitable opportunities do arise that match your experience. We wish you all the best in your career ahead.”
The words differ from one case to another, but the underlying message is similar. I am either too old, over-experienced or just not the right fit. Without my fully realising it, over the years, my CV has acquired a personality of its own. The person in it is headed in a particular direction, which, it seems, does not lead home.
So after nine months of unconsummated flirting with prospective employers (the last five of them here on the ground) and perhaps a dozen polite rejections (mostly from the other side and occasionally from mine, as in the case I was required to work night shifts), I am calling it quits. It is a bitter pill to swallow, after all we’ve been through these last few months, but I’ve expended my stamina to run against the wind.
I shall once again become the person on my CV and head out from home. Just another economic refugee.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Grin-f***ed in Chennai
My boss in my new organisation spent more than twenty years in the United States before returning to India for good. Like most who have spent a length of time overseas, he has found that re-adjusting to an Indian workplace isn’t exactly a breeze. Somewhere near the top of the list of challenges is what he calls our national habit of grin-f***ing people.
“Kartik”, he tells me, “I have been grin-f***ed so badly, it’s not funny. People will nod their heads and grin at you, when you explain what you need from then. Then they go and do the exact opposite of what you have told them.” I think I now know what he means.
This morning I made my first official trip in my new job. Up at four fifteen, out of the house at five and walking down Margosa Road a little after. Ears straining to catch the rumble of an auto that will materialise from somewhere, as autos usually do. Walking on the main road, and keeping away from the footpath to avoid the odd stray dog that may emerge from a side alley. I don’t know if there is any research on this, but I’m pretty certain the strays have got more territorial over the years. The same dogs that lie docile on the footpath inviting you to trample them over during the day transform into snarling hounds at night, in that lip curled display of fangs that can give the stoutest soul the shits.
Anyway, true to form, my saviour auto appeared soon enough, and the train trip to Chennai happened without too much event. Except that I had forgotten how cold Bangalore could get before dawn, and now made a mental note to wear a jacket the next time I made a similar trip.
After two customer meetings in Chennai, an excellent South Indian meal at Ratna Café, and an hour of report writing at the branch office, I left the office with my colleague at four thirty. We apparently had enough time on our hands to make the station by five thirty, being the departure time of my train.
Traffic was pretty heavy, and at five ‘o’ clock, when it seemed that we were still in pretty heavy traffic and the station a fair distance away, I glanced at my colleague and said, “Er…my train is at five thirty…hope I can make it.” He smiled back and said, with supreme confidence, “Don’t worry, Sir, we have plenty of time.” I wondered about his confidence when a minute later, I caught him stealing a quick glance at his watch.
5:03: A tempo brushes against the left side of our taxi, wrecking the side mirror.
5:05: Our driver has pulled the car up by the side of the road, and is engaged in a civil but forceful discussion with the tempo driver, seeking five hundred rupees as damages. The tempo driver does not seem like someone who has seen that much money in his life, let alone carry it around in his pocket.
5:08: Above discussion does not appear any closer to resolution.
5:10: I nervously ask my colleague again about the prospects of making it to the station in time. “We have plenty of time,” he smiles again and says. I wonder if he knows of some secret expressway that I don’t.
5:15: The driver steps inside the car, to my relief, having collected what looks like one hundred rupees and a phone number from the guilty tempo driver. We remind him that we are cutting it fine. Thankfully, by now, my colleague seems somewhat concerned as well. The driver cheerfully says, “We have plenty of time, it’s only four thirty, isn’t it?” We inform him that it is actually five fifteen.
The next fourteen minutes is a vague memory of our taxi straddling the footpath and the road, and making a series of continuous honks to cut its way through the traffic. As we near the station, the driver nonchalantly says, “ I will drop you near the side entrance. It will be easy for you.” The tone seems to suggest he is upgrading me from economy to business class at no extra cost.
“Easy, this is effing easy!!??,” I think.
At exactly 5:29, I am deposited outside Chennai Central, alongside platform 10. Thankfully, having made the journey a couple of times recently, I know my train starts from 2A. I run faster than I have in years, and see that the train on my platform is yet to start. Relief. No…there’s a green flag waving…it’s pulling out! I kickstart again, and somehow propel myself through the crowded platform to catch the rear end of the train. It is the generator van and the railway official at the door shakes his head and points me to the next carriage.
“I am never doing this again”, I think as I run and push open the door of the next carriage, hauling myself in. As I board the train, my progress is blocked by a bearded youth lying on the floor with a glazed look in his eyes. Bloody drunks, why do they allow them on the train?
Another passenger explains, “He came in running to catch the train just before you did.” I nod and the two of us exchange a weak smile amid the huffing and puffing, bonding in our shared experience. I place a hand on my chest, expecting stabbing pains to occur. A few seconds later, I am satisfied that there are none, and make my way to my seat in the next carriage.
“Kartik”, he tells me, “I have been grin-f***ed so badly, it’s not funny. People will nod their heads and grin at you, when you explain what you need from then. Then they go and do the exact opposite of what you have told them.” I think I now know what he means.
This morning I made my first official trip in my new job. Up at four fifteen, out of the house at five and walking down Margosa Road a little after. Ears straining to catch the rumble of an auto that will materialise from somewhere, as autos usually do. Walking on the main road, and keeping away from the footpath to avoid the odd stray dog that may emerge from a side alley. I don’t know if there is any research on this, but I’m pretty certain the strays have got more territorial over the years. The same dogs that lie docile on the footpath inviting you to trample them over during the day transform into snarling hounds at night, in that lip curled display of fangs that can give the stoutest soul the shits.
Anyway, true to form, my saviour auto appeared soon enough, and the train trip to Chennai happened without too much event. Except that I had forgotten how cold Bangalore could get before dawn, and now made a mental note to wear a jacket the next time I made a similar trip.
After two customer meetings in Chennai, an excellent South Indian meal at Ratna Café, and an hour of report writing at the branch office, I left the office with my colleague at four thirty. We apparently had enough time on our hands to make the station by five thirty, being the departure time of my train.
Traffic was pretty heavy, and at five ‘o’ clock, when it seemed that we were still in pretty heavy traffic and the station a fair distance away, I glanced at my colleague and said, “Er…my train is at five thirty…hope I can make it.” He smiled back and said, with supreme confidence, “Don’t worry, Sir, we have plenty of time.” I wondered about his confidence when a minute later, I caught him stealing a quick glance at his watch.
5:03: A tempo brushes against the left side of our taxi, wrecking the side mirror.
5:05: Our driver has pulled the car up by the side of the road, and is engaged in a civil but forceful discussion with the tempo driver, seeking five hundred rupees as damages. The tempo driver does not seem like someone who has seen that much money in his life, let alone carry it around in his pocket.
5:08: Above discussion does not appear any closer to resolution.
5:10: I nervously ask my colleague again about the prospects of making it to the station in time. “We have plenty of time,” he smiles again and says. I wonder if he knows of some secret expressway that I don’t.
5:15: The driver steps inside the car, to my relief, having collected what looks like one hundred rupees and a phone number from the guilty tempo driver. We remind him that we are cutting it fine. Thankfully, by now, my colleague seems somewhat concerned as well. The driver cheerfully says, “We have plenty of time, it’s only four thirty, isn’t it?” We inform him that it is actually five fifteen.
The next fourteen minutes is a vague memory of our taxi straddling the footpath and the road, and making a series of continuous honks to cut its way through the traffic. As we near the station, the driver nonchalantly says, “ I will drop you near the side entrance. It will be easy for you.” The tone seems to suggest he is upgrading me from economy to business class at no extra cost.
“Easy, this is effing easy!!??,” I think.
At exactly 5:29, I am deposited outside Chennai Central, alongside platform 10. Thankfully, having made the journey a couple of times recently, I know my train starts from 2A. I run faster than I have in years, and see that the train on my platform is yet to start. Relief. No…there’s a green flag waving…it’s pulling out! I kickstart again, and somehow propel myself through the crowded platform to catch the rear end of the train. It is the generator van and the railway official at the door shakes his head and points me to the next carriage.
“I am never doing this again”, I think as I run and push open the door of the next carriage, hauling myself in. As I board the train, my progress is blocked by a bearded youth lying on the floor with a glazed look in his eyes. Bloody drunks, why do they allow them on the train?
Another passenger explains, “He came in running to catch the train just before you did.” I nod and the two of us exchange a weak smile amid the huffing and puffing, bonding in our shared experience. I place a hand on my chest, expecting stabbing pains to occur. A few seconds later, I am satisfied that there are none, and make my way to my seat in the next carriage.
Monday, July 25, 2011
The planets - they are a smirkin'
It has been almost 4 weeks since we moved into our new home. In that period, it seems just about anything that could have gone wrong, has done so.
1. Our new microwave when switched on, unfailingly blew a fuse in the mains. On investigation, it turned out an MCB needed replacement, which was duly done.
2. Our fridge of six years, which has travelled from Mumbai to Sydney to Bangalore decided it had enough of our itinerant ways, and began heating up dangerously. It seems the beading needs replacement.
3. In the land of abundant labour, finding domestic help has proved unexpectedly difficult. When we finally found someone, she turned up for two days, and on the third day, announced she had fallen sick and would be absent for a week.
4. I went to a key maker to get a duplicate key made for our door. Having handed over the original, I told the key maker I would be back in ten minutes to collect my keys. On returning to the shop, I found the shutters down! This was followed by an hour of frantic telephone calling, tracking down one of the key maker’s colleagues, pleading with him to open the shop and hand me my keys.
5. After all of the above, the duplicate key did not work. It got stuck in the door, and when yanked loose, broke free with the whole lock in tow! The lock then had to be fitted back into place.
6. We got a new telephone cum broadband connection. We couldn’t make any outgoing calls for the first two weeks, thanks to an Airtel “backend server problem”. The silver lining is that the internet worked fine and as of yesterday we could finally make outgoing calls.
7. My older son, K, missed the assessment week in school, down with “tonsillitis and secondary chest infection”.
8. I had my first root canal treatment done by a dentist a couple of weeks back. After capping my molar, my dentist assured me this would last for about 10 years. The very next day, the crown popped out during my lunch, an off white garnishing glowing amidst a sea of sambar.
With all this, when M pointed out yesterday that the geyser in one of the bathrooms seemed to be dripping, we just nodded knowingly at each other, and muttered, “It’s the planets”.
1. Our new microwave when switched on, unfailingly blew a fuse in the mains. On investigation, it turned out an MCB needed replacement, which was duly done.
2. Our fridge of six years, which has travelled from Mumbai to Sydney to Bangalore decided it had enough of our itinerant ways, and began heating up dangerously. It seems the beading needs replacement.
3. In the land of abundant labour, finding domestic help has proved unexpectedly difficult. When we finally found someone, she turned up for two days, and on the third day, announced she had fallen sick and would be absent for a week.
4. I went to a key maker to get a duplicate key made for our door. Having handed over the original, I told the key maker I would be back in ten minutes to collect my keys. On returning to the shop, I found the shutters down! This was followed by an hour of frantic telephone calling, tracking down one of the key maker’s colleagues, pleading with him to open the shop and hand me my keys.
5. After all of the above, the duplicate key did not work. It got stuck in the door, and when yanked loose, broke free with the whole lock in tow! The lock then had to be fitted back into place.
6. We got a new telephone cum broadband connection. We couldn’t make any outgoing calls for the first two weeks, thanks to an Airtel “backend server problem”. The silver lining is that the internet worked fine and as of yesterday we could finally make outgoing calls.
7. My older son, K, missed the assessment week in school, down with “tonsillitis and secondary chest infection”.
8. I had my first root canal treatment done by a dentist a couple of weeks back. After capping my molar, my dentist assured me this would last for about 10 years. The very next day, the crown popped out during my lunch, an off white garnishing glowing amidst a sea of sambar.
With all this, when M pointed out yesterday that the geyser in one of the bathrooms seemed to be dripping, we just nodded knowingly at each other, and muttered, “It’s the planets”.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Getting there
This last eight weeks has been the biggest period of change for my family that I can recall. Re-locating countries, getting kids into school in a new environment, adapting to a new daily routine, living out of suitcases, re-uniting with family members we hadn’t seen for years, attending a beloved cousin’s wedding, hunting for house and job, getting accustomed to being without a car for a while, etc etc. Somewhere in this chaos, there was also a sense of deep personal loss with the passing of a dear friend.
Now, it seems, things are rather slowly, but steadily, getting back on the rails. The older kid seems to like school and the younger doesn't actively complain about it. Mo has found a teaching job in the same school, which is rather convenient. And I, after hearing the standard “Your resume is impressive, but we can’t find the right fit at the moment” responses from a few prospective employers, seem to have finally landed a job (yet to sign on the dotted line).
The shipping company informed me yesterday that our goods shipped from Australia would be in Bangalore any day now, and the boys should be seeing their Lego collection soon. We found an apartment to rent in the same complex where we have been living temporarily for the last few weeks. Hmmm…looks like we are finally getting somewhere.
My mom calls me three times a day, and I have a feeling I will be getting to hear a lot more about auspicious times to do this and that. It’s good to be able to check on the folks once in a while.
Change is never easy, but looking back, in my own past experience, it’s usually been for the better. I don’t know about this one yet – time will tell. But I do feel closer to where I want to be.
Now, it seems, things are rather slowly, but steadily, getting back on the rails. The older kid seems to like school and the younger doesn't actively complain about it. Mo has found a teaching job in the same school, which is rather convenient. And I, after hearing the standard “Your resume is impressive, but we can’t find the right fit at the moment” responses from a few prospective employers, seem to have finally landed a job (yet to sign on the dotted line).
The shipping company informed me yesterday that our goods shipped from Australia would be in Bangalore any day now, and the boys should be seeing their Lego collection soon. We found an apartment to rent in the same complex where we have been living temporarily for the last few weeks. Hmmm…looks like we are finally getting somewhere.
My mom calls me three times a day, and I have a feeling I will be getting to hear a lot more about auspicious times to do this and that. It’s good to be able to check on the folks once in a while.
Change is never easy, but looking back, in my own past experience, it’s usually been for the better. I don’t know about this one yet – time will tell. But I do feel closer to where I want to be.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Goodbye Australia
Farewells are not easy and the older one gets, the harder they seem to become. Last week we said goodbye to Australia, after living there for four years. The farewells at school, office and with family & friends commenced weeks ago. The outpouring of affection was overwhelming – the depth of friendships formed more than what we may have anticipated at the start of our stay.
We know we are taking back more than mere memories, although just these are quite awesome.
First day in Australia, moving into a serviced apartment and struggling with the keys. Finding the absence of human/personal service rather disconcerting. Watching the kids settle in and thrive at school, form friendships at school, Scouts and elsewhere.
Office Christmas parties, Great Barrier Reef, Indian grocery shopping, trips to Newcastle, New Zealand, Fiji, Canberra, Jenolan Caves, Scout family camps, Dubbo.
Parents of our children’s friends becoming our own. Many evenings spent chatting over tea/food at our second home in Sydney (uncle’s place).
Tennis on weekend mornings, New Year’s Eve under Sydney Harbour Bridge, having friends from India come and stay with us. Kids’ swimming lessons and “How’re you going?” at the shop counter.
Bushwalking, kids playing in the driveway, Macquarie Centre Food Court and our weekend outings there. Carlingford Court and walking the aisles at Woolies, admiring the variety on offer.
The rich flavoursome take-away coffee (blame Sydney for my mid-life caffeine addiction).
Hmm…it’s been a good four years. Thank you Australia, and we shall meet again.
We know we are taking back more than mere memories, although just these are quite awesome.
First day in Australia, moving into a serviced apartment and struggling with the keys. Finding the absence of human/personal service rather disconcerting. Watching the kids settle in and thrive at school, form friendships at school, Scouts and elsewhere.
Office Christmas parties, Great Barrier Reef, Indian grocery shopping, trips to Newcastle, New Zealand, Fiji, Canberra, Jenolan Caves, Scout family camps, Dubbo.
Parents of our children’s friends becoming our own. Many evenings spent chatting over tea/food at our second home in Sydney (uncle’s place).
Tennis on weekend mornings, New Year’s Eve under Sydney Harbour Bridge, having friends from India come and stay with us. Kids’ swimming lessons and “How’re you going?” at the shop counter.
Bushwalking, kids playing in the driveway, Macquarie Centre Food Court and our weekend outings there. Carlingford Court and walking the aisles at Woolies, admiring the variety on offer.
The rich flavoursome take-away coffee (blame Sydney for my mid-life caffeine addiction).
Hmm…it’s been a good four years. Thank you Australia, and we shall meet again.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Prick, my friend
I thought about whether I should refer to my friend by his somewhat rude nickname or his actual name, which he shares with me. I settled on the former and I am sure he would not have it any other way.
My first encounter with Prick was at the IIT Madras workshop. We had to fashion some sort of electrical circuitry on a wooden board. He had an innate knack for engineering, and turned `out something rather neat looking. His roll number was MT 91285 and I, MT 91286, was next to him on the workbench. Unfortunately, my effort paled in comparison and ended up as a twisted mish-mash of wires that appeared as though it had been chewed by a dog at some point. To make matters worse, Prick said something like, “Your circuit is really good – how do you do it?”, with all sincerity. “What a patronising ?#$%*!” I thought.
He was a born entertainer and this shone through even when we were all getting ragged as freshers. A standard question from seniors during this phase revolved around techniques of er…stimulation. Prick, obviously, had to stand out from the crowd and let it be known that he personally favoured a Venezuelan technique which, from what I recall, involved cutting holes in mattresses. The reaction of the seniors ranged from complete disbelief to howling laughter.
He never shied from telling any visitors to his hostel room about his digestive problems and had strategically placed some Isabgol containers on the window sill/shelf to advertise the fact. Whereas most hostel rooms featured posters of Madhuri Dixit and the like, his wall hosted a multiple-chinned SP Balasubramaniam, striking a singer’s pose. He worshipped SPB and reportedly fell on his feet and cried when the famous singer performed at the Open Air Theatre at IIT-M.
Prick was an enthusiastic jogger, and together we did many laps of the IIT stadium. On one such evening, after our run, he wanted to do sit-ups. Though hardly fat, he harboured aspirations of developing a rock hard physique and really pushed himself hard. He kept doing sit-ups until he went red in the face. After one sit-up too many we heard a click, and something in his shoulder had slipped out of its socket. We got him to Royapettah Hospital, where the doctors on duty literally twisted his arm and slipped his shoulder back in place. I remember his worried parents rushing through the corridor and heaving a sigh of relief on seeing their son smiling.
He had a real sense of drama, and was a fine speaker, wowing audiences with his rendition of a piece from My Fair Lady. He absolutely loved being on stage, and liked to stretch his performing abilities beyond the comfort zone. Although basically a Hindi/Tamil singer, he had the guts to sing Western before the ruthless IIT audience, and actually did pretty well. It’s no exaggeration to say that he excelled at whatever he did on stage.
His penchant for drama extended to real life as well. When I got into IIM-Calcutta after our engineering, Prick joined Telco. We joked about my good fortune at making it to IIM because with my suspect engineering capabilities I would never have been employed by Telco. Prick assured me that he would join me at IIM the following year. When I completed my first year in MBA, and the next batch came in, I was pleased to see that Mug, the 3rd Kart(h)ik in our trio, had joined. We chatted and made our way to the library, where I was strategically directed to a couch where, to my surprise, sat Prick. He looked up and gave me a Blue Steel look. Dramebaaz!
Prick - singer, SPB mimic, thespian, elocutor par excellence, born engineer and self-styled auto mechanic, friend and soulmate.
I can still see you - white banian, sacred thread, shorts, stubble, wide grin and giggle.
You leave behind a big emptiness. But there are so many who hold cherished memories of their time spent with you, and when I meet them, hopefully we can recreate some of those happy memories. Rest in peace, my friend.
My first encounter with Prick was at the IIT Madras workshop. We had to fashion some sort of electrical circuitry on a wooden board. He had an innate knack for engineering, and turned `out something rather neat looking. His roll number was MT 91285 and I, MT 91286, was next to him on the workbench. Unfortunately, my effort paled in comparison and ended up as a twisted mish-mash of wires that appeared as though it had been chewed by a dog at some point. To make matters worse, Prick said something like, “Your circuit is really good – how do you do it?”, with all sincerity. “What a patronising ?#$%*!” I thought.
He was a born entertainer and this shone through even when we were all getting ragged as freshers. A standard question from seniors during this phase revolved around techniques of er…stimulation. Prick, obviously, had to stand out from the crowd and let it be known that he personally favoured a Venezuelan technique which, from what I recall, involved cutting holes in mattresses. The reaction of the seniors ranged from complete disbelief to howling laughter.
He never shied from telling any visitors to his hostel room about his digestive problems and had strategically placed some Isabgol containers on the window sill/shelf to advertise the fact. Whereas most hostel rooms featured posters of Madhuri Dixit and the like, his wall hosted a multiple-chinned SP Balasubramaniam, striking a singer’s pose. He worshipped SPB and reportedly fell on his feet and cried when the famous singer performed at the Open Air Theatre at IIT-M.
Prick was an enthusiastic jogger, and together we did many laps of the IIT stadium. On one such evening, after our run, he wanted to do sit-ups. Though hardly fat, he harboured aspirations of developing a rock hard physique and really pushed himself hard. He kept doing sit-ups until he went red in the face. After one sit-up too many we heard a click, and something in his shoulder had slipped out of its socket. We got him to Royapettah Hospital, where the doctors on duty literally twisted his arm and slipped his shoulder back in place. I remember his worried parents rushing through the corridor and heaving a sigh of relief on seeing their son smiling.
He had a real sense of drama, and was a fine speaker, wowing audiences with his rendition of a piece from My Fair Lady. He absolutely loved being on stage, and liked to stretch his performing abilities beyond the comfort zone. Although basically a Hindi/Tamil singer, he had the guts to sing Western before the ruthless IIT audience, and actually did pretty well. It’s no exaggeration to say that he excelled at whatever he did on stage.
His penchant for drama extended to real life as well. When I got into IIM-Calcutta after our engineering, Prick joined Telco. We joked about my good fortune at making it to IIM because with my suspect engineering capabilities I would never have been employed by Telco. Prick assured me that he would join me at IIM the following year. When I completed my first year in MBA, and the next batch came in, I was pleased to see that Mug, the 3rd Kart(h)ik in our trio, had joined. We chatted and made our way to the library, where I was strategically directed to a couch where, to my surprise, sat Prick. He looked up and gave me a Blue Steel look. Dramebaaz!
Prick - singer, SPB mimic, thespian, elocutor par excellence, born engineer and self-styled auto mechanic, friend and soulmate.
I can still see you - white banian, sacred thread, shorts, stubble, wide grin and giggle.
You leave behind a big emptiness. But there are so many who hold cherished memories of their time spent with you, and when I meet them, hopefully we can recreate some of those happy memories. Rest in peace, my friend.
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