The New Avtar

Before you dismiss my attempts at getting a new avatar, I plead that you consider that humans were apes before they become humans. It was early this year, when I found myself unable to stare at my toes straight down. Not that it has ever alarmed me, but I found solace in the fact that neither could Garfield do it. He was my hero and I was content to follow my idol. Society being an interesting group, forces you to review your own perspective often. You are thrown amidst well built and sharply dressed folks and you see a glow around their faces. I saw a mirror nearby and caught my own reflection. Ironically, there was an old newspaper cutting just behind me and it read something about the size of Sumo wrestlers.

I also noticed that people recognized me instantly despite not having seen me in a very long time. My hair style has not changed, not because of the want of creativity, but because of the want of hair on my scalp. I continue to be high on the criminals list of the fashion police and the less said about my looks the better the world would be. So in a very different way, I managed to create my own niche. If you want to know me in a party, then look out for the worst dressed and worst looking. Chances are that our acquaintance would be short lived. None the less it would be a great entry in your diary of having met the worst looking person in your life.

After thus ridiculing myself for many years, I learnt that it is indeed getting monotonous and there are no takers for this barb any more. So I started to run. I live in a house that could be Goliath's matchbox. Across this wandering meadow I would run for twenty minutes each day and feel like a marathon runner by the fifth minute. Thankfully my neighbour in the house below my own works sane hours and he is not at home when I am upto my antics. Thus devoid of any persistent protests, I carried on persistently. A few weeks later, I found that my toe nails could indeed be seen. A few weeks more and an old trouser that which would threaten to tear even if I looked at, seemed to condescendingly accede to my request of wearing it. A triumph to the spirit of human determination I thought. That weekend I had beer and the trouser revolted again.

So lessons learnt that you either keep at it and keep buying new trousers with bigger sizes. As always my friends had a great laugh when I told them with great pride that I ran around the house to get into shape. Earlier I used to be happy to let them have a great laugh. But this time things were different. I was determined to lay some old ghosts to rest. I visited the office gym and noticed that there were no one around at midnight. I devised a plan that could help me avoid embarrassment and also let me do some justice to my sides. So at midnight on many days, the security guard outside the gym noticed a weird creature running around the treadmills instead of on it and then try some feeble arm swings. He must have had a great laugh! Again, happy to bring joy to the world.

My bone chilling antics took better organized shape post humours narration with my friends. They realized that the intentions were genuine and gave me tips on better arm swings and better tread mill usage.

Well, it has been some months now and I do look very different from the hippopotamus that used to roam the urban jungle until sometime back. I am not exactly a gazelle now, but have trimmed down to a hyena atleast. This new avatar has not changed my luck with the opposite sex one bit. I guess that time is done and over with. I have many loved ones call me a loser trying to get fresh with some gorgeous creations of God. But hey! I cannot stop trying, I cannot stop being me! :)

So the next time some one I know sees me, I hope they are not alarmed, the body might be trying to change, but the brains are just under developed and spirits are just as high!!

Nuances of Silence

A lot of the times, we think that we understand a person very well. We form opinions based on our experiences with them. We consolidate our thinking about them by predicting their behaviour. If we are right, we think we know it all. It is funny, considering that we are only right a few times and yet we think we know everything about that person. This breeds what I think is the doom of relationships or friendships. Somewhere down the line we start to take the person for granted. We predict that they would react in a certain manner and are readily surprised when they do not behave as we predicted.

I have come to realize that understanding a person is an ongoing process. It takes years of spending time with each other and then anticipating each other's behaviour before you can be sure. But perhaps there is a better way to know someone. I think we should not spend our time trying to learn about somebody. People are not objects of interest that need to be read like a prescription or a technical guide. They are at the end of the day, people and the only thing constant about people is that they are always unpredictable. It would benefit immensely if the time spent with an individual was done with only happiness and companionship in mind. They say that you learn more when you are having fun. Then knowing a person while having fun should not be an exception. 

There will be things you like about a person and dislike a few more, but when the mind is clear and is happy, many things will be overlooked for that moment but will be learnt for life. If someone has clumsy eating habits, it can be laughed off in that moment of joy, It can also be corrected at a more appropriate time. This learning process could take a while and may not work miracles from day one. But I am sure that it will surely help in understanding a person better.

I have been taken for granted a few times and things have turned sour often. And I have also returned the favour a few times and things have soured. In both cases as you saw, things turned sour.

I wish that people I knew were more open and communicative to me. There have been times when I have accused of not knowing the reason for a trough in the relationship. I want to correct that and I often seek help by asking where I went wrong and what I did, was wrong. Silence or changing the topic at those times has not really helped anybody. Well, there are lessons learnt all the time and this one is no exception. 

With hope that there is room for understanding and time aplenty with the loved ones that you so dearly care for.

The Really Fake first day at the IPL

The contract was signed and I was to represent the Thanjavur tigers. It was literally a rip roaring team. All of them spoke very loudly and inconsolably at all times. Given that my connection with Thanjavur was very ancient, I quickly got into the stride and started talking loudly as well. All of my team mates were decidedly well built and very muscular. It was very easy to identify me in the first team picture. All you needed to do was to sight the lamp post amongst the trees. 

A day later we were given our official dress. Pink t-shirt with Thanjavur written in gold. Ofcourse the trousers were purple. The tailor, it turned out was colorblind. After seeing us, most of the photographers who gathered also turned colorblind. Not to be outdone, our team sponsorer also put a tinge of lipstick on our lips to make us look like Tamil Matinee Idols. We even had a team punch line of sorts a la Nike style. It was written in Tamil on the front and back, loosely translated to "Keep doing it". I still have not been able to figure out what we are supposed to be doing. Post the photo shoot, our mascot, a pink tiger, fainted due to sun stroke. I am not sure it was a great idea to conduct the photo shoot outside a temple at two in the afternoon. Even worse considering it was the peak of summer.

We reached Johannesburg and quickly after alighting, there were many security guards running towards us. I soon realised that my zealous team mates were falling on the ground and praying at something. They soon realized that it was a mistake. It was covered in black alright, it was certainly huge alright, but it certainly was not "amma". I might possibly be killed for reporting this but you sure know whom to interrogate in case this happened. Mr. Vel Well Muruku, our team manager managed to find out the only hotel in town that strictly adhered to vaasthu. It was run by a man queerly named "Sube se Maniyan". I thought he was a local, but when he started to welcome us, the volume decided his origin. He was one of us.

Our first game was against Mizoram missiles. Thapa, their captain gave us a strong thapad by sending us in first to bat. I was busy savouring the sights of the stadium that I forgot that I was the opening batsman. They timed me out and we lost a wicket even before a ball was bowled. I was interviewed by enthusiastic reporters and was very happy that I had started making headlines. I was determined to prove my worth. My princely contract of five rupees and twenty five paise per game was at stake. I think I earned back a lot on day one.  We made great progress and very soon all our batsman progressed to the middle of the ground and back into the dugout.

Not to be outdone, our opening howler, sorry bowler - Searing pace muthukrishnan seared in and flung the ball hard. He had to be reminded that he needs to bowl on the pitch. The injured spectator was carried to an emergency ward where to our great relief he recovered. The missiles thrashed our bowlers around. It was a savage attack. I could not bear to see it. I promptly pulled a muscle in my head (Yes, with legends it is possible) and went back to the dug out. There I flexed my arms and showed off my muscles. The children started crying and women ran away. 

During the strategy break, I gave my ideas to the captain. They needed motivation and I told them that there was a great idly joint and they served sambar to the table through hose pipes. The effect of my genius was seismic to say the least. Our chief spinner Tension Natarajan spun out the Mizoram Missiles and we won with lots to spare. We then had to unwind Tension as he himself had spun into a bundle after spinning so much. The Idly joint did great business and the hose pipe ran dry. We only paid half the bill and ran away after they called the cops. 

We are preparing for our next game, this is going to be a real nasty one. It is against our arch rivals, Guntur Gunners. We saw them at practice.... at a nearby shooting range. I only hope they miss their targets.

In the meanwhile, please do popularise this team as you have done to other blog about Fake IPL players. How he got my variginal idea is beyond me. My arms and legs are aching from standing at that dugout and flexing them to unflattered audience. Got some work ahead of me. Catch me sometime soon.

Really Fake IPL Player

I got knocked up pretty early in the morning. From my standards, blasphemously early! 6 AM!!! It did not exactly help that I had been relishing vodka till about 4 AM. But my fragile constitution has grown tired and weary of the same drink going in since circa 2004 AD and hence did not resist too violently. I joined my friends on a cool Saturday morning for a game of cricket and decided that it was today that I am going to reinvent myself. By what measure and by how much, the day would later add those details.

Since I missed my car very much, I threatened by much larger friend with hours of boredom and my singing if he did not let me ride his car. With a sinking feeling of realization, I saw that the threat worked. It seemed my dreams to top Indian Idol was going down the drain. I held some solace that may be "Indian Idle" might still be up for grabs. May be I could send in pictures of my fielding skills to back my claim :)

The old car listened to me and often I felt like driving a truck as I struggled to change the gears. Onlookers looked in awe... not at my driving, but at the various distortions that I was making with my face. I did not win too many friends on the ride to the stadium. And by my guesses, I lost a few I had made in the car that morning. We reached the ground and fell out like logs out of a truck. It is not often a very pleasant ride when you have six people crammed in a place barely enough for four. Added to that, their chauffeur was not exactly Micheal Schumacher. 

I have been going to the gym and hence was very insistent that I have remodeled my shapeless body into a fine piece of aerodynamically designed piece of weapon. I swung my arms and pelted a few stones into vacant spaces to pronounce my newly found power. Some of the audience duly dispersed and others said I was very funny. I felt a searing pain in my shoulders. To my great joy, I got to bat a few minutes later. Mostly because the kid who was to bat at that number had gone searching for smokes. Ever the great opportunist, I jumped on the bandwagon and raced to the middle. 

I can imagine the sinking feeling my partner must have had when I walked in instead of his regular partner in crime. He came and did the customary bat tapping and told me to look out for his call. He also asked me to go for my shots and that he would stay put. I smiled to myself. Go for my shots??? Yeah.. nice good phrase.. I must try that sometime.. I did not get the strike for almost an over. My clever partner made sure that I was always at the non-strikers end. I made many cricket poses and chewed a gum and made a face when spitting it out. At last I got my turn to face the music.

To my great horror, a young chap tumbled on and decided he was going to do a warney! I could not have hit a bowling alley ball, leave alone a ripper on a spitefully turning track!!! As it spun past me, I made the legend acknowledging  a rookie "look". The bowler responded in kind. Fiercely determined, I swung my bat hard at the next one. The ball went about 60 degrees away from its intended direction. As far as I was concerned, I did not intend anything. I ran as though my life depended on it and got a run! My day was made. So if friends called me later that day, every run can easily be multiplied by about 2 or 3 and be told with great tales of the effort that went into making it. For those who know me..... "Big Fish" :)

My increasingly irritated partner gestured that I need to get a move on. He was afraid that I might bat out for more than an over or two. Inspiring partnership. When he got the chance, he played to the galleries. I did not because..... guess there were no galleries in the ground :) Well finally after about three overs since I started to bat, I realized that I had far exceeded my expiry date on a cricket ground. Something had to give... I was run out backing up too far from the bowlers end. It turns out I was the only one the whole day who was run out like that. 

Honest to god! I did get into double figures... Ofcourse you need to keep in mind inconsistencies that might creep in, especially since I was the one counting my own scores. Okay! Lets settle it! I made about 5! And comeon! every run counts! 

Thanks to the heroics of a great player, we made a good score. They chased it very well. It was very nice to see, especially when you quietly sneak into a part of the ground where there was ample shade and the ball was rarely hit in that direction. I think the captain was happy thinking that I had gone home. To his utter dismay he found me lurking in the shadiest part of the ground. Perhaps realizing that I would do the least damage from there, he let me be. :) Then it started to happen.

A high catch resulted in my colliding with another fellow and left my fingers very sore. I brought upon myself the great burden of bending my lithe frame to pick the ball up, it hit a stone and then hit my face. Greatly embarrassed, I tried to throw it back. I found that it bisected the wicket into half. I could see that my chances of playing in the IPL was fast diminishing. Never one to loose hope, I thought I was still due a great bit of fielding. It did come, as I fielded one ball properly. It was the one they made the winning run from. Then I put on my "Legend congratulates rookies" look as I went about shaking hands with my opponents. Some were smiling when they shook my hands. I had a strange feeling that they were mocking at me. How was it possible??? Twenty five overs in the sun (and shade) and then three overs of mind boggling histrionics with the bat. Some Jonty-be-proud fielding.... What am I missing???

I waited that day till about six in the evening. There was no call from Priety Zinta or Shilpa Shetty. They are my favorite IPL players. After that I had important appointments to keep with Ms. Smirnoff and Mr. Sprite and ofcourse where there is wills there is gold flake. I did get a missed call, but being the legend that I am, I do not talk to people who miss their appointments.

Watch out for more.. from the one true legend.. The Really Fake IPL Player :)

The courage to be your own Janitor

I recently watched a movie titled - Seven Pounds. I am not at any rate promoting or demoting the film. All opinions here are my own and infact have nothing to do with the movie. Perhaps just with the message that it brought out to me. It is a story of a person who impersonates to help people he affected in the past. As I watched the movie, I realized that the protagonist was actually trying to clean up. Atleast that is what it appeared to me. Trying to clean up after his own mess. Whether accidental or by design.

It takes a lot of courage to be your own Janitor. "Cleaning" up situations created in the past is often a task that many humans do not attempt to try. They fear the repercussions so much that they often give the responsibility to time to heal them. However, time is what you make of now.  A more closer look at the task is not what we need to do in these situations. Perhaps a more closer look is needed towards your own courage. The repairs might be simple enough and may be the tools are available too. But if you have trembling hands, your repair work can be quite clumsy and you may end up creating a bigger mess than the one you set out to clean.

A more pertinent question is - what are you afraid of? - The cleaning up task or the time that it would take to complete it or the difficulties that you would face when cleaning up.

Cleaning up should ideally not be a major problem, that is, if you know exactly what you want to clean up. So if there are pieces of your life that need mending, then you often also know how to mend them. The task of cleaning up is more about purpose than intentions. Before you choose to clean up, you need to know what purpose you are doing it for. You do not have to justify it, just be sure that it will help bring a sense of peace into your life.

I cannot know or prescribe a time frame for such emotionally draining and sensitive clean up acts. It may take a day or a life time, there are no guarantees. As long as there is a sense of purpose as mentioned above, time will not matter. As they say - Rome was not built in a day. Your clean up act might take the toll of your life as a price. Just be sure of your purpose I guess and I think you will be just fine.

It is not the two above that cause much heartache when such clean up acts are conjured up. It is the sheer fear of the difficulties in the path that make the task more onerous that it actually is. Mending the fences of the heart is a very tricky business. Not everyone will think alike and not everyone will understand you. As you mend the fences, you may end up breaking some other fences that you did not count for. Guess the only way to look at it, is to be very careful and level headed. Else you not only increase your difficulties manifold but also increase the number of things you now have to clean up.

So being your own Janitor needs a lot of courage, purpose and time. If you do not have either of these and you have had a messy trail behind you, then pray for a miracle.

I HAVE THE POWDER!!!!!

To my great joy, I find that there has been support to my continued literary pursuit! Well, I stand clear of all charges hence forward. I have sent out subtle warnings that have not been received. So let us all suffer in this happy mess! :)

I used to be a very plumpy child. The credit for the dollops of flesh I had around my cheeks and hands were purely due to the loving indulgence of my mother, who never knew what a healthy diet was, clinically atleast. Apparently and much to my delight, I remember that being a fat little waddling mass meant that you were in the "sooooo cute" bracket. My friends now will surely not believe it, but there have been stranger truths. I was happy to be the center of attention and perhaps became quite a "Ladies man". All of them wanted to hold me and fondle me :) Even though these are nice memories, there is only one that I am reminded of most often.  It is funny how I remember it because I was very young at that time. Perhaps about a year old. Don't ask why I remember it, I just do.

After giving her first child a nice warm bath my dear mother proceeded to empty a whole box of baby powder on me. So much that passersby could have easily mistaken my house for a kid store. I sneezed half of it off and the remaining, I decided to roll on the floor and get it off. My heroic efforts came to nothing since all the cleared spots were filled in again. My mother is a very resourceful woman, she kept another box handy. Tired of my attempts I decided to laze around. Laziness was an art that I had acquired very early on. My mother narrates with horror of how I could sit still in one spot for hours where as other kids would be as fidgety as they can get! She once thought I had died since I had not moved for about half an hour. 

With the baby all decked up, I was given or let us say shown a choice of two pieces of cloth to wear. One of them was a thick looking red coloured baby t-shirt, and the other was a flimsy piece of undergarment. For all her care to cover her child from prying eyes, my mother knew that if I got into that t-shirt, I would have melted. So me the little Tarzan had only my underwear for moral and physical support. Since I was a messy eater right from that age, my mother knew better than decorating me with nice clothes. So after half the food was fed to my cheeks and some to my neck and some to even my eyes, I was full. I must have been thinking, ahhh, nappy time!

But woe betide my cuteness :)) I was to be paraded around for the neighbours to take a look at the talcum powder baby! Like He-Man would say, I must have said - "I HAVE THE POWDER!!!" :) Soon my cheeks were mercilessly pulled and I was passed on from hand to hand. For a moment I thought I had forgotten who my mother was! But thankfully maternal instincts are hard to let go off and soon I was in her secure hands. I was hoping the parade would end. But when babies are done parading, it is the talk that resumes amongst women. 

I was a heavy child and my mother did not want any more burden on herself than I was already. So I was made to sit on a small wall with many hands around me to prevent the fall. They need not have bothered if they had known my immense powers of concentration to stay put on my ass for hours together. As they chatted around me in an alien language, I sensed danger. I looked around my legs to see if there were ants. Nope all clear. Ok... what else do we have.... any sticks or thorns... no sir.. clean wall.. hmm... what else??

Little did I know that I was to be attacked. Can you imagine, poor me, all sweet and cute to be attacked, who would even have the heart to do that. Well, dont bother thinking.. It was a sly crow! The fiend circled above me for a while and dived down and scratched my head first. He must have known right then - "Hey! there is nothing in there!" He came back to take a second look at my genius head. This time he pecked. I yelled as loudly as I can. The poor crow was not ready for what came next. He was driven away by all the fury summoned by women power. I was defended that day by the four bravest crow fighters I have known :) The eldest one even offered that it was one of my ancestors checking on me. He must have been disappointed.

I was rushed to the hospital and the doctor cleared me immediately. My defenders were happy and that evening there was a meeting held to clear the area of crow menace. I think it must have been a hard task to clear Chennai of crows, but anyways, there was a resolution taken and it was passed without opposition. Six to none. The other two ladies were not in town that evening.

I still dab some powder on, blame it on the old habits, but they still remain. I have not been pecked since then and I am sure as hell that there are still crows in Chennai! Ofcourse, fall from the cute, I do not even fall in the yuck bracket! I am a little below that now. But hey! What the heck! my Mommy dear still loves me just as much! :)  

There is a crow circling my house just now, perhaps it is one of my ancestors. I am sure he is not planning to scratch my head or peck it. Guess he knows that I may just about survive on the powder and my mother's undying love!

I love you Mom! :)

The Greatest Critic

The narratives are particularly long and often seem to loose relevance towards the end of the sentence. It appears that the author has taken a particular liking to using words as and when they pop up in his mind. Its forced use in a sentence where it has no relevance can be quite excruciating to the reader. This is perhaps the first of the many follies that has prevented the author from being popular. Further, all of his writings being lengthy proses do not lend itself to a generation that finds its calling in more pictorial representations of a message.

It is very evident that the author is hardly well read. I cannot see his book collection extending beyond Sherlock Holmes, a few comics and some well meant but hardly read inspirational books. If it was not the case, there would be interesting anecdotes that could have interjected his miserable ramblings. There are even the sporadic smileys as if telling the reader that the sentence that was just read was supposed to be funny. At any rate, a book like "Kamsin Kali" will no doubt enjoy a better audience than his writings will ever attract.

There is almost an exasperating attempt on the part of the writer to spread optimism. While the intent is good, the repetition is alarmingly diabetic. The author appears to be trying to tell the world that he is one of the most positive guys in the world. His life has had his share of tribulations but he always has had his chin up. One reading may pass, but repeating the same message through various stories kills the goose. Talking about stories, it is a trial to read through some of them. The best way to get a person to read a story is to make the beginning very compelling. The only thing compelling about these writings is the urge to click the mouse out of the screen. I suspect that the only readers of this writing would be those who either patronize his non-existent talent or stumbled on to it and were consigned to read it because there was nothing else to do.

Often times, a gist of the writer can be found in the confines of his literature. However, the author cleverly (in this case, knowing his abilities, Inadvertently) hides his own true self. All stories are attempted to be as generic as possible. Thus leaving little clues about his own self. I am completely certain that the author is a very boring person and possibly aimless. One of his pieces of literature has his photograph and it more than confirms my suspicion. There has been an attempt to try and write about too many things. This is a clear evidence of a very unstable mind with extremely low levels of concentration. There is hardly any continuity to this thoughts. This robs the writings of those few readers expecting something from the author. Guess with literary abilities like his own, I can understand that there is hardly anything that the few readers can look forward to.

His sense of humour is a damp squib. Clearly the author chooses some kind of physical activity in every story to try and even get a smile to the readers lips. Subtle humour is unknown to him. Apparently thinking that by laughing at himself, others will also have a laugh. Little does he know that they only smile thinking - how true.... He is very ugly indeed or like - How true..... he is one of the most dim witted people I know... and so on and so forth.... He has taken self pity to an all new level. So low that only he can be there. All the best to him.

Funnily enough there are some comments here and there. I found this very interesting. For a time I really thought he himself posts them, but the fact there are so few of them means that there were actually from readers! Gosh! I truly pity them. I am sure that each one of them has been only a one time reader of his writings. If this site were to have a visitor count, it would get into double figures after the machines take over the humans Ala The Terminator. So quite some way I would imagine.

I would say that there has been a terrible misuse of technology and it must be stopped before the faith in blogging evaporates. All due to the indulgence of an outright amateur with skills lesser than those possessed by young children who have just learnt how to write. I urge you to visit this site to see and understand for yourself how this mischief monger continues to linger like a bad smell from the loo, long after the task has been done!

Site - http://karthikinblogs.blogspot.com

Critiqued by - Karthik Krishnamurthy

:) - You are your own best critic :)