tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28337792179734969902024-02-19T04:50:05.600+02:00My MusingsAkshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-56309092247160162392020-04-17T20:22:00.000+02:002020-04-17T22:09:36.736+02:00For what it's worth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">O</span>ne thing that I like about the year that I was born in, is that it was mid decade. That gave clear demarcation to what has been a chaotic life. I clearly spent my formative years in the 1990s, finished my education in the 2000s and wallowed into mid-life in the 2010s. Like our big governments, I could plan my 5 year plans and exactly like them, I could watch how my best plans would come undone in the most spectacular fashion.<br />
<br />
I had a theory growing up in the 90s that every even year would work in my favor. Fewer trips to the principal's office, lesser complaints captured by the teachers for my parents to acknowledge and grades that reflected my optimism more than my hard work. I lived each year by the skin of my teeth, the patience of my teachers and the fervent prayers from loved ones for my redemption. Hurtling to the end of the century, my hopes rested on the end of humanity guaranteed by prophesied destruction and software failures. <br />
<br />
I woke my disappointed self into the new century, realizing that nothing had changed for me and everything did. While the rest of the world discovered the advent of terrorism, I found myself arrested as well, basking in the innocence of love and infatuations. I coasted through my education like a rudderless boat, searching for new horizons that lay comfortably close, demanding low effort and providing lesser returns. When the joy of the first pay check, the sheen of the first promotion and the thrill of the first pay hike vanished, I found myself left empty and wanting. And then I found myself a student again, exactly how the decade started<br />
<br />
The end of the 2000s saw me at my lowest, with fortune's fair winds finally abandoning my sails. So the first birthday of the new decade found me wrestling with uncertainty and doubt, far from home. A student again, broke and broken, I remember sitting at the stroke of midnight wondering what the world would have for me in the decade that lay ahead.<br />
<br />
And what an absolute mess the first half of the 2010s was . My actions met consequences for the first time. Like a fumbling toddler, everything I picked up was at the expense of another shiny bauble crashing into the ground at my feet. I found myself a single man once again and I reveled in gleeful abandon. I travelled to the strangest of places and I lost myself in corners of the world I never expected to be in. I found myself in strange company, left to my own devices and a battered moral compass. I discovered my inherent dishonesty, my darkest vices, my cruelest convictions and my remorseless conscience. <br />
<br />
Like my birth, my redemption was also fortuitously mid decade. As cliched as it was, the redemption was through the structure of marriage and the tenets of faith. Just when I thought I lost my bearing completely, I found myself all over again. I found friends, I found interests, I found a long-lost lust for life and a yearning to be whole again. I sought solace and lumber to mend broken bridges. Through my mistakes, I learnt the conviction not to judge and not to submit to judgement ever again. Work brought me peace, travel brought me contentment and love brought me purpose.<br />
<br />
As I sit now watching the clock tick to midnight back at home, I am tempted to look forward and speculate what the 2030s would bring me. Would l read this again and laugh at the naivety of a man or would I be tempted to add onto this as fodder for my inevitable old age ? Would I marvel at how easy the 35 year old man had it, not knowing the crushing weight of the years to come ?<br />
<br />
Whatever it may be, I am grateful for what I am and what I have with the ones I get to share it with. I hope my 45 year old self reaches the same conclusion.<br />
<br />
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</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-49931591690809846252015-10-10T19:16:00.000+02:002015-10-10T19:16:43.498+02:00The Indoctrination of Akshay<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"Promise me you will not drink".<br />
<br />
I took a deep breath and let the silence sink right back in. The phrase "pin drop silence" started to resonate louder in my head. While I plotted my next move, the static rose again as the skype call brought her voice back to life.<br />
<br />
"Akshay, promise me".<br />
<br />
I never give my word because I always end up breaking it but there was something persistent in that voice. She never calls me Akshay unless she really means it.I knew she would not give up and she knew I could not ignore her. Alcohol had become my refuge over the past few months and I could already feel my throat ache for more.<br />
<br />
" Maybe if I could drink perhaps one a week" I pleaded hopefully.<br />
<br />
"No No No"<br />
<br />
"Once in a month, then ? " The pause on the line was either a skype buffering failure or a faltering and weakening resolve. " So just once a month then" I pushed on, more confident this time.<br />
<br />
"Yes but no more than two pegs" she stated firmly. Then, knowing me she proceeds to define the measurement of a peg, in accordance to the nature of drink consumed. Damn that smart woman, I think to myself as she rattles on to define the permissible alcohol levels. With her strict instructions, I knew there was no way I would get drunk again.<br />
<br />
"You promise" She questions my resolve gingerly<br />
<br />
"Yes" I give in to the woman I owe everything.<br />
<br />
"Thank you" she replies crisply but failing entirely to conceal the gloating triumph.<br />
<br />
It was the early half of May when this conversation came to pass. Months of debauchery had blessed me with a paunch and a serious hankering for alcohol. With winter fast approaching her request could not have come at a better time (sarcasm). I gave up the remaining bottles of alcohol to my friends after symbolically dumping one down the kitchen sink in mournful and respectful silence.<br />
<br />
It was hard the next few months as I worked hard to avoid alcohol and events where I knew I would find my favorite elixirs. My friends did absolutely nothing to help me in my predicament. The reactions ranged for bewilderment to disgust as their alcohol laced minds refused to digest this juice-less titbit from my life. Some tried to question my intentions - Did I do this to get the woman ? Did I do this to win her affections ? Others thought this was some weird stunt for me to shed weight or improve my financial situation.<br />
<br />
As months passed, I remained single, sober, fat and financially unsound with impulse purchases. Slowly people began to accept my sobriety and ensure that there would always be some juice box around for me at parties. I started to host parties at my place unperturbed by the alcohol that freely flowed around or the stacks of bottles that remained in my fridge afterward. I am free of my need for alcohol once again.<br />
<br />
I wont say that I see things clearly now or that there is any change in my life. Year ago I took up drinking due to a woman in my life and now I have given it up for another person. I conformed with the needs of one woman to fit into her social circles and expectations. Now I have given it up to honor yet another request that however has my health only as a core interest. Conformation seems much easier and my resistances are much weaker. I am the willing and the indoctrinated<br />
<br /></div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-1811846385106293242015-02-15T21:22:00.000+02:002015-02-16T21:57:44.009+02:00Debasement<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
How
I wish life was structured like an operating system! When things get cluttered
and performance lags, all you need to do is a quick reinstall and all is well
again. Unnecessary programs deleted and all junk removed. You get that pristine
pine fresh feeling that gives tingles of excitement coupled with that beautiful
speed.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
Unfortunately, life is built quite like a house instead. We work on a foundation and
build bottom up. Even if everything crumbles down around you, there is only a
finite and fixed amount of space and time to start all over again. Quite often,
you are forced to recycle ruins that remain; repurpose bricks of a broken wall
to build a kiln to make more bricks. There are those who come to see your ruins
and even haul some of your broken stuff out. Maybe they would bring a lampshade
that goes with the new furniture that lies scattered across the room. But in
the end, when the dust settles and the hustle and bustle of life fades out,
it’s just you lying awake in the middle of a makeshift bed in a broken house,
trying to fight the urge to get up and search for that drip sound that
permeates the gloom.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
And
when you are done building somehow it never feels quite the same. The walls are
crooked or something creaks. It is still your space but you do feel alien in
its midst. It is still your four walls but the coat of paint is not what you
chose and it bothers you. You gingerly take steps around the room, testing the
floorboards to ensure that you don’t fall through again. You don’t go down to
the basement anymore because like every basement it is spooky but more so for
you. Here in the basement where walls didn’t cave in, is something familiar and
something that remained. Remnants that did not get damaged in the tumult but
damaging to behold. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
It
pains you to stay in the basement but once you are there, you linger. Maybe
it’s the odd familiarity, the presence of things that have been discarded a
long time back but retained without an afterthought. You want to run your
fingers thought the musty walls, you want to pick up a knickknack that lies in
the corner and reminisce. There is part of you that wants to run away screaming
to the heavens but there is that perverse side of you that forces you to remain
and review all that remains despite the pain.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
It's
then that the air gets to you, thick, heavy and toxic. Your chest begins to
hurt with every breath and all objects in the room swim around your very eyes.
A loud crash upstairs brings you back to life and you stagger out of the
basement choking and coughing as the air rushes back into you. Winded but
curious you look for a sign of the commotion. Something has fallen on the
floor- nay something has been thrown down. You trace the carnage back to the
two feet that start firmly in the shaky ground and stares you down, arms
combatively folded across the chest.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
From
the frying pan into the fire !</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
"What
were you doing in the basement? "</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
You
don't have an answer and you can see the white of the knuckles across the room.
Somewhere the bugle of an incoming onslaught blares and you brace for the
opening salvo. You fight back feebly but your arguments are moot. There was no
purpose in the visit to the basement nor an excuse that could get you off the
hook. Fight or flight - the question rattles your brain but you stay rooted to
the very spot.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
You
will not throw the first punch nor will you place the last blow. The victor of
the battle will wipe your blood from the gauntlets, only to know that in
victory lies the greatest defeat. Because like the game "Jenga", the
basement is all that is keeping you up. A tantrum can be thrown and a few more
punches thrown but there is no joy in that anymore. The only question that
remains is whether you are helped to clean up the mess or you listen as the
door slams shut and the victor shuffles away from your desolation.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
With
all luck, you place a padlock on that door to the basement and you move on to
furnish the house. But more often than not, it will remain open, a siren call
that spirals you into depression. Maybe you will end up on the floor of that
basement, wrists slit, silently hoping as your blood coagulates through the ground, all this will end and perdition will not be an infinite loop that
throws you back into this again. Maybe you'll take a sledgehammer to the walls
and try to work through the clutter. Maybe you will leave a little chair and a
bottle of wine down in the basement so that you spend a quiet night ruminating on the
items left behind.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
Whatever
you do, remember the basement is never for living - its where things go to die
or be forgotten. Go back up the steps. </div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-85614755015755060922015-01-17T21:08:00.002+02:002015-01-17T21:08:40.383+02:00 The Resurrection of Akshay <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Two continuous posts on alcohol, have got the few people who read my blog talking. There are two sets of people who call me about this- those friends who chose to remind me all the lengthy sermons I delivered against inebriation and the others who insist I must join them for a drink. To the first set, I do tell them that I stand by what I said and by stand I mean sway from side to side as I catch up with all those in the second set. "Bottoms up"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am no longer that sanctimonious doofus who would remind you that long term binge drinking would seriously damage your pea sized brain. I am just the doofus who firmly believes that if you can drink when you are happy while avoid driving and resorting to violence, you should and must have a pint in your hand - Heck I will buy you one.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I insist that you shouldn't drink when you are upset and here's why. Back in March 2013, the 3rd of the Month to be precise, I received some really distressing news over Whatsapp - No less. It was disturbing information and multiple conversations over Skype and phone refused to convince me otherwise. The information was difficult to fathom and hard to swallow, but try I did, like a terrible movie cliche, I took several swigs out of a Jack Daniels. I blacked out after downing over half the bottle at one sitting without the benefit of dilution. I woke up on 4th morning, pale faced, wobbly and still crushed, vaguely remembering that I was already late to work.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
At office, the girl next to me, sized me up and whispered - "You look like hell". I nodded back at her while noting that the single nod of my head felt like my brain dislodged itself in my skull. Minutes later, I was called into a meeting room for my scheduled annual performance review. I thought the day could not get worse but it did rapidly descend into chaos. Reaching home, the overpowering stench of vomit and bile that I spewed all over my living room floor nearly had me gagging. I got straight to cleaning up the mess, after swearing to myself to stay off binge drinking for a year until I got my head screwed back up right.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Exactly a year later, I wake up from a dream of the very same night but in my comfy room in the hills of Johannesburg. I resolutely tell my friends that we should hit the "Office" a local pub in "Joberg" that night.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Really ?" Raised eyebrows and quizzical stares meet me across the breakfast table. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It's the middle of the week". Quipped the other Doubting Thomas</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"We should go"- I firmly state and it was settled.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
What followed was a three day bender which can be aptly summarized as such</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Day one - The Anniversary - Reach "Office" at 8 - Start drinking - Meet the off duty waitresses - Buy them drinks - Move to the next pub - Drink More - Come back to the original pub - Drink Even More - Head home at 2 - Wake up nursing a terrible Hangover with a smile</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Day two - The Reprisal - Reach "Office" at 7 - Start drinking by exclaiming this would be a night to remember - Summon more people to the pub - Several shots of Ouzo, Tequila, Whiskey, Cocktails, Flaming drinks - Later find yourself laughing and screaming to the music with complete strangers - Reach home high as a kite - Review the booze bill next day to realise that 9 blokes had over 120 drinks over the course of 5 hours - Realize that 4 of them had spent most of the night eating food.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Day three - The Grand Finale - Take a roll count of people willing to step into the bar - Others sick or nursing themselves back to health with comfort food - Two of us reach the bar - The bartender politely refuses service and offers water instead - Acknowledge concern but toast the night with a beer nevertheless,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I left for Sudan the very same day but not before confessing to my friends the reason for all excessive drinking. I wanted to drink again only if I was really and truly happy. On March 4 2014, I realized that I wasn't drinking to forget, rather I was drinking because I wanted it to be night to remember.I didn't want to dull any residual pain but rather lower my inhibitions. The night was so perfect that I went for two encores. It was my resurrection and it was beautiful - One of my finer memories</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
That's the only way I let myself drink nowadays.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So if you want to drink to the good times, I will be there in a heartbeat. If you need to drown your sorrows, I recommend hot soup,croutons and a funny movie. That got me through most of the year. Invites for that are welcome as well,</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Cheers !</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-63374665127047214382015-01-05T15:29:00.000+02:002015-01-06T01:26:19.997+02:00The Child's Lament<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wake up to the sound of a baby bawling. In the hazy sleep after an all-night bender, I look to my side as if half expecting a cradle or a nursing wife. The fog clears enough for me to realize that none of my mistakes in recent past would have such immediate repercussions. I foolishly endeavour to climb out of bed but my sufficiently high blood alcohol levels render those attempts futile. As objects in room continue to swim around me, I unsuccessfully attempt to gauge the extent of my debauchery in the previous night. I run out of fingers for the drink tally process as the aforementioned bawling resumes.Enraged, I summon all remaining strength I can muster and storm into the hall. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There on the floor, sprawled between several toys in various stages of destruction, she sits. With pear shaped tears welling up in those eyes, she stops mid-brawl and regards me in terror. I hadn't realised how scary my messed up hair, wild blood-shot eyes and orange kurta would look to a two year old African girl. For the next few seconds she look at me in shock as I survey the room. There are 5 kids in it, with ages ranging for 2 to 6, staring back at me and I am suddenly transferred back to the play-school run in my family house. However in the place of that compassionate guy, is an alcohol fuelled barbarian with no patience for nonsense. I look at the baby sitter and she grins sheepishly. We don't speak a word of each others language but my discomfiture was evident enough for her. She picks her up in one swoop and wipes the tears from the shell shocked girl. I grumble a half hearted "Merci" and slink back into my lair. Pin drop silence ensues in the house hall as the children digest the gravity of my appearance and remain quiet to prevent an encore performance.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I am cross as hell, angry at the parents who are out on a Sunday morning, leaving me to the mercy of their children. I blame the careless fornicators, the ones who believe that their happiness is exponentially multiplied by the number of offspring. I conspire to furnish contraceptives to the couples I know and spend the new few minutes defining a comprehensive strategy that included emergency contraceptive delivery, free i-pill delivery drones, anti-procreation social media schemes built by organic tie-ins with contraceptive companies. I pick up my phone to research my cause further, only to see a message on Skype - "come online - she wants to see you"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I wipe away the sleep from eyes,smoothing my ruffled hair and change my shirt before turning on Skype. Poor bandwidth results in an apparent violation of physics,her sound reaches me before I sent my sight on her. She jumps on her little chair in glee and blows me a few kisses as I point to my cheek. I am then served the entire day's eventsnin a heady cocktail of English words- real and imagined and an entire language that is her own creation, peppered with a thick anglicized accent. I feign understanding and laugh when she does. 5 minutes into the conversation, my head is clear and my body rested. I stay on the call for another hour enjoying her frequent interruptions, dances and antics.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I step out of the room for a bowl of cereal and the little baby looks up at me from the floor. I no longer look like the zombie that terrorized her earlier. With recognition, comes a cute smile and a hesitantly raised hand. I hold her hand as she coos at me, I smile at the other kids and high five the nearest before I step out to the kitchen. I take a bath and head off to my friends house, where his five children dance around me and hug me joyfully greeting me in broken English phrases.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I return home and sit on my bed re-evaluating my anti-procreation strategy. The love and laughter that filled the day surely did elevate my mood and I cherished the unadulterated love showered on me by the tiny tots. Perhaps procreation was for the best as all the children around me have been a welcome diversion in an otherwise drab location. I retrace my steps each day from work, awaiting the pitter-patter of tiny feet and the peals of laughter that greet me excitedly as I step into the hall. I consider logging onto Skype with the fervent hope for a few more kisses. I..I..I...</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The wails start again, louder,unyielding and strong. She has most likely fallen down and hurt herself and these tears would go on for a while. The sound of her tears echo in the room beyond. I furtively search for my noise cancelling headphones to drown the noise out. Now it will be her parents turn to stay up and deal with the crying child.Grateful that it is not my problem to deal with, I lie down and soak in the music.</div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-56906143181330707542014-08-28T07:48:00.000+02:002014-08-28T12:31:39.965+02:00The drunk babysitter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I should start this post with a disclaimer. I am not a drunkard. Sure, I spent an inordinate amount of time during a three week visit to Johannesburg, soaking alcohol like a sponge but that was me straining at a self-defined leash of abstinence.Knowing that I would spend two months in the alcohol free land of Sudan may have further contributed to the wild nights in Johannesburg and I may have gone overboard a couple of times. I however reiterate - I am not a drunkard - not yet.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Back to my story. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I spent my last night in Johannesburg, predictably downing glasses of alcohol that were placed in front of me by a sweet and persistent waitress. A couple of shots and cocktails later, I was comfortably smashed and heading to the airport with a hastily packed bag having bid a fond farewell to South Africa. The airline staff were as supportive as I was generous, pocketing bribes that helped me take my excess baggage through to the flight. I even ended up paying a lady to wake me up in time for my flight and I really consider myself lucky to make it to flight given the state I was in.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
My flight to Khartoum on Kenyan airways was an 8 hour journey broken by an unfortunate 8 hour stopover at Nairobi airport.As I staggered through the corridor hauling my cabin baggage, I noticed to my dismay a burly lady tightly wedged in my pre-booked window seat. The middle seat was majorly unoccupied, if you discount the tiny tot that was bouncing in one corner of the seat. Chivalry,drunkenness and a realization that the bathroom would be my constant companion for the night lead me to heave myself into my corner seat for what I hoped would be a blissful siesta till Nairobi.<br />
<br />
If only I knew then how wrong I was.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As soon as I settled, I could sense a scramble near my feet. The tiny tot was pulling and yanking something that was lying on the floor. I shuffled around to help her, only to realize that she was yanking at an in-flight headphone packet - my in-flight headphone packet. The headphones was extracted in a flash and soon found its way into her mouth. It may have been a flash or my slow drunken responses exaggerated them but munch on the headphones she did.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It's then that I observed her carefully. A pink dress, curly hair, big eyes, cute smile and a nice little laugh -that's what made Bunny (my name for her) what she was. A little more than the age that required a separate seat for her, she was in stark contrast to her sober looking burkha clad rotund mother. Sensing my slow and wobbly drunken moments as an open invitation for friendship, she was up on my arms in seconds.From staking claim to my magazine, headphones and the book in my hand, to giggling and muttering in her baby tongue in my ear, she took to me in such a ridiculously short period of time.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I on the other hand, drunk and tired, could view all this only as an assault. I was getting bullied by 10 kg of soft pink brute force that chortled every 5 seconds. I put the squirming kid into her seat-belt the first chance I could get, using exaggerated motions due to inebriation and so that her mother could mimic my actions and put on hers. However the minute we were airborne, bunny had squirmed out of it, giggling laughing and drooling on my shoulder.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Noticing the kind stranger in the airline who was playing with her child,the mother did what any mother would in such a secure environment that I was a captive in. Leaning against the window, she was asleep in seconds leaving me to the mercy of her child. I ended up babysitting bunny all the way to Kenya. From letting her sip my water to playing a ridiculous game of peck-a-boo, we did it all. As the night dragged along, my inebriation eroded as the effort needed to keep up with bunny began to improve my mental faculties.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Soon after midnight, she settled down leaning against my shoulder, all spent and cosy. Her mom lay in the nearby seat snoring to glory. With my blood alcohol levels returning to normal, insomnia kicked in and I ended up spending the rest of the journey ensuring that my hand was an effective pillow for the little one. To the outward eye, we would have looked like the perfect example of a travelling family. The mother asleep on one end, the father taking the first watch through the night and our child comfortably cradled between us.Of course we were a weird couple - Me wearing a black T shirt with a slogan extolling my inebriation, the kid a pink bundle and the mother a rotund black snoring pillow.<br />
<br />
As the first rays of dawn hit us and the plane began its gradual descent to Nairobi, the kid refused to wake up, one hand obstinately clawing into mine. My plane-wife and I decided to let my plane-daughter sleep till the plane landed. The air-hostess helped us with the pram for the child and we emerged ahead of businessmen and irate travelers, the tired family moving on the wet gleaming tarmac of Nairobi.<br />
<br />
At the end of tarmac, a beautiful lady with a board announced my impending separation from my African family. It was a quick farewell - the burkha clad woman may have expressed her gratitude for all the help in the flight. However all I could discern were her eyes narrowing into thin slits within that purdah. The little pink bundle gurgled and gave me a half wave, comfortably ensconced in her pram. I gave the lady a warm smile, held the little girl's hand for a while and set off in the opposite direction to my next flight to Khartoum.<br />
<br />
I entered this flight sober, eager for some polite conversation, gladly noting that my co-passenger seemed my age. I settle into my seat and after a while politely ask<br />
<br />
"What are you going to Khartoum for ? "<br />
<br />
He looked back and solemnly declared - " I am a bomb disposal expert travelling to Darfur". He goes on to tell me how anything and everything could be made into a bomb and how unsafe a lot of things permitted onto a flight are, much to my consternation and to all the passengers around us.<br />
<br />
At that moment, I suddenly realized how i missed Bunny,my little bundle of joy and did the only thing left to do.<br />
<br />
"Ma'm Can I have something to drink? "<br />
<br />
This flight cant reach Khartoum soon enough.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-17834660619453840872014-08-26T20:57:00.000+02:002014-08-26T21:04:11.145+02:00Heal a broken heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13px;">The basis of this poem was not angst, rather the word play of cello tape, glue and clue. Random words that perched in my idle mind at 4.00 am today. I may revise this poem or scrap it all together but for now it holds my fancy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">How do i heal a broken heart? </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">With cello tape and glue? </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">They may initially play their part </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">but will it last - I've got no clue </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
So maybe i'll bind it together </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">with rope, thread or twine </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">depending on damage altogether </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">will choose it coarse or fine </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">But balance between loose and tight </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">is needed for heart to beat just right </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">And knots can hold only as much </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">as the hand that created them by its touch </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">So I’ll need to find a hand that's steady </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">to loop the knots and get it ready </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">A hand so delicate and with powers such </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">that the broken pieces barely feel its touch </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">So when the knots come undone </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">all pieces stay together as one, </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">neither stress pressure nor sun </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">can weather the repairs done. </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;"><br />
And i'll look for that hand to clasp </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">and move on with life</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-size: 10pt;">The healed with healer in his grasp</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: inherit; font-size: 10pt; text-align: justify;">marching away from strife</span></div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-33987843069180481082014-07-02T09:33:00.001+02:002014-07-02T09:33:21.855+02:00The Bed<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Been a while since I written a poem. There have been several false starts, drafts that gather digital dust in my inbox that would not see the proverbial light of day.<br />
<br />
So this is one that did. It started out like a lament to the lonely but halfway through took a twist for the romantic. Not my best effort by any stretch of imagination but a poem it is.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This night has reached its end </span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">How much longer should I pretend</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">that the pillow resting beneath my head</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Is pulling me back to sleep instead</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I should get up and lift the shades</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let the light in, so the night fades</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Watch the blue sky burst into light</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And dispel all traces of lovely night</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But its still warm and cosy in my bed</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">With you in it,your arms around my head</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The day beckons and the hour hand turns</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But it is to your smile my gaze returns</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I try to rise but our bodies are entwined</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My feeble attempts you have divined</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Within you in arms I remain entangled</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Any tighter and I might get strangled</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our eyes meet and you flash a smile</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That tells me,I will stay here for a while</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I cease all struggling and kiss you instead</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And spend all day with you in bed.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">-</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Akshay</span></div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-87107026534058614692014-05-09T21:49:00.001+02:002014-05-09T22:04:56.609+02:00Baggage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrOsLTHbHljQ6BVqR1J-Us6berb_tIjZ7K_hDu4Kk4QAKdu_bg52OYHUj1NSpeUoqhfy_N25B20d9tXLsxa6WMA6O-XiNP68sfy0b1195TpbWvicUJZQoV7L6xGEw2iYPHq0mMW3_Nzux/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrOsLTHbHljQ6BVqR1J-Us6berb_tIjZ7K_hDu4Kk4QAKdu_bg52OYHUj1NSpeUoqhfy_N25B20d9tXLsxa6WMA6O-XiNP68sfy0b1195TpbWvicUJZQoV7L6xGEw2iYPHq0mMW3_Nzux/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="229" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Hey, I've written something new on my blog and you should read it." I send her this message seconds after I punch the orange publish button on my dashboard.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
There is radio-silence for a while and then I see a lot of typing and stalling going on. Maybe she is so stunned by the intensity of my blog post that she is seeking the correct adulation for me or maybe she is composing the worlds's longest WhatsApp message. This goes on for such a long time that I decide to switch over to the mobile version of my blog and admire my handiwork. As I pour through my post and marvel at my own genius, the message finally comes through and it's way too short and straight to the point.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Is it about HER ?"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was my time now to maintain radio-silence and ponder over an answer for her. Was it about HER ? Well the core context of that blog post was to establish my attempt at destroying all HER photographs but failing to do so and retaining a memorable album that did include HER. As I mulled over my options over how to communicate to her effectively the background of the post, brainy vixen that she is, replies to her own question by saying</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"It must be about HER. Anyways, will read it and tell you what I think"</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
While chat is one of most impersonal forms of communication and there is an inherent limitation on the range of emotion that is possible through it, I could sense the crushing disappointment in that message. There was no anger or outrage in the response, just sadness and acceptance.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
With my deflated ego in place, I scroll through the few posts in my blog and realise that each post was either alluding to HER or referencing HER directly.She must find it really difficult to read about HER and perhaps it is a tad bit insensitive of me to go and on about HER like this.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
However the truth really is that these are not just topics for me to blog about. These are experiences or instances that I would like to share with a psychiatrist on a couch but I am too lazy to find one. These are incidents that I would gladly drown with a good friend but unfortunately I don't have many of them either lately.In the end, these are painful thoughts that torment me to this day, filling my sleep with nightmares, my days with guilt and my heart with sorrow.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So in a way, through this blog, I sometimes attempt to get them out of my system. I have been carrying so much emotional baggage lately, that it has begun to impair my ability to function socially,emotionally and romantically.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So my dear,if you finally decide to read this, by writing it out, I am trying to clear out some of that emotional baggage that has accumulated over the last few years. There is a selfish purpose to it and I hope you do realise that by clearing so much space out, I am actually freeing up valuable real estate for you.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I hope that makes you happy and less inclined to beat me up the next time you read such a blog post.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
To the others who do read my blog, thank you for helping me let go.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
PS: Due to an excessive fondness of my privacy, please note that I do use more pronouns than actual names. So that you do have an opportunity to differentiate between the usage and thereby the individuals in question, I have used "HER" and her through the post. You will differentiate between them if you know me well enough. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-49751151018276898892014-02-22T15:06:00.002+02:002014-02-22T16:00:15.366+02:00Photograph<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a scene in a Hindi movie
that I remember. The suicidal hero talks about his previous love to a random
stranger he met on a train. She convinces him that he would feel better if he
took a photograph of his former love and burned it prior to flushing it down
the toilet. After draining the remnants of the photograph, said hero flashes a
brilliant smile and proclaims to the woman how fantastic that crazy act made
him feel. Watching that scene in that little house in Mysore, I never thought
that years later I would try to enact something equally ridiculous in real life
and the tragic unfunny outcomes it had.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because when you are with someone
for the better part of a digital decade, you don’t just have a few photographs
conveniently placed with matchsticks adjacent for that burning ritual. You have
albums and photos strewn over a digital wasteland of Google albums, hard
drives, pen drives, phones and emails. And trust me, deleting a picture from a
computer, is not as satisfying as burning one up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My digital clean-up was such an
extensive activity. It started off with me carefully selecting pictures of her
and us from albums and patiently deleting them to avoid loss of photos of
friends. However this sieve-through process had the additional disadvantage of
forcing me to relive those long-gone happy memories and watch the smiles, hugs,
laughter and happiness that seemingly dissipated from my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10 minutes of painstaking and
pain taking effort later, I told myself- screw it and then began the bulk
deleting process. Whole albums, folders, digital albums found themselves being
gobbled up by my digital recycle bin as I went on a virtual spring cleaning
session. Months later after all was said and done and the court finally snapped
all residual ties, I still kept finding images in places I least expected. In
my office laptop, in my computer at my home, synchronized Picasa albums in
phones. I kept deleting them, without a second thought as I feared the
consequences of ripping through the scabs of an ugly but healing wound. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then in the month of December,
during a visit home, I came across a photo album in my cupboard.Blue with an
oval cut-out in front, to show a smiling happy and thinner me, the album lay in
the shelf. I opened the album to realize that this was the album of my 18th
birthday. Beside me was the woman who I adored and lovingly called my sister
and in front of me was the woman, who I didn't adore yet and I had no idea
would become my wife. Surrounding me, were friends - new ones and old who
joined in the celebration and force fed me buttery cake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In each photo were friends and
loved ones, most of whom are not in touch with me any more. And in the midst of
it all was me enjoying what was a delightful birthday. I sat gazing at the
smiling visages, reliving that heavenly day aptly spent in a restaurant named
Ambrosia. It was a beautiful birthday and the 10 birthdays that have spanned
the decade in between had not yielded one with such beautiful memories. However
when I was done reminiscing over them, I couldn't make myself tear and throw it
all away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because It is really easy to
destroy and rip things apart and run away from things that hurt and it’s really
hard to find something you really care about to hold on to. Through my
overzealous action of erasing her from my life, I had wiped out the better
parts of a decade of my life. Gone with all the evidence of her, was
unfortunately the existence of me. Pictures of friends, loved ones and pets,
all now just reference points in the unreliable and ever fading repositories of
my brain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked back at the last image
of me in that album. It had me posing, with a ridiculous cone shaped hat
outside the restaurant surrounded by friends and smiling with not a single care
in the world. By my side, she stood wiping her eye unaware that the photograph
was being clicked by the woman who few years later was forced to sever all ties
with me. I didn't know then that the woman by my side would marry me years
later. I didn't know then that that beautiful wedding would end as horribly as
it did. All I know now is that the smiling chap in the photo was happy and blissfully
unaware of all the machinations that were sent in motion. It was his innocence
that I wanted to hold on to, not having any left in my life. So I dusted that
blue album and returned it to its rightful place in my shelf.</div>
</div>
</div>
Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-28219521821270073232014-02-01T15:16:00.000+02:002014-02-01T15:16:16.703+02:00Life Assurance<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The lady across the table, refused to meet my eye and that surprised me. This was the same woman who talked to me incessantly for an hour and nearly held my hand to ensure that I signed the papers. However this time, she seemed to shift in her seat and the conversation moved along slowly. She seemed aloof and the fact that I was abroad,making more money didn't seem to interest her the way I thought it should. Sensing the lull in the conversation, she makes an abrupt gesture and pulls out a wad of papers that she slams on the table.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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Finally, I think the lady's back to business and I waited for the pitch that I had priming myself for the minute she called for a meeting. But that pitch never came and the awkwardness continued. Did she need help from me ? Was her new marketing style desperation and self loathing?? I was trying to focus my eyes so that I could read those papers in front when she finally drops it on me.</div>
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"You need to change your nominee !"</div>
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The statement takes some time to register and I look blankly at her face. Then it hits me and everything about the meeting makes instant sense.</div>
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"Your life insurance policies still have her as nominee"</div>
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She looks me in the eye for the first time and I knew exactly what that look meant. It's been a year and I still get that look. Friends and family walk on eggshells around me, trying their best not to say something insensitive to me. When the conversation tends to meander itself to the previous year, the look happens. Its that intense search for a change in expression, stance or tone in me, to see if I stiffen, get flustered or lose my cool. Its a look I've learnt to counter and quite masterfully may I add. </div>
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I look her back in the eye and keeping an even tone I coolly ask her </div>
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"Are those the forms to update the nominee? "</div>
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"Yes, but since your premium was split over 21 policies, it will need you to sign that many forms" she apologetically replies.</div>
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"Lets get to it", I respond as I grab my pen and begin what was the most number of times I signed my name in an hour.Years back on the day of her birthday, I decided that there should be something that is immediately available to her if something did happen to me. That and terrible financial planning made me listen to this lady sitting in front of me who for a better commission sold me 21 insurance policies. </div>
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Each change of nomination form required 3 signatures and as I went through them silently, she tried her best to strike a conversation. Something about her understanding my situation,asking me to stay strong, reassuring me that there are more fish in the sea and the usual spiel on moving on with life. She then brought up the story of own personal life and then I realized that she was divorced as well. Just when I felt that her eyes were turning misty,I questioned her regarding the signatures and I managed to divert the conversation from that path completely.<br />
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I know I should have shown more empathy at that point of time and listened to her story and taken her advice. However listening to people telling me to move on and live has started to sicken me a little. I do not have to prove that I have moved on and they have no right to assume that I haven't either. So I resort to my standard smile and thank routine that gets me through such conversation.<br />
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I hand over the signed papers to her and thank her for coming over to fix this personally.<br />
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As she leaves she turns and gives me a crafty smile.<br />
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"Call me the next time you want to change the nominee" </div>
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Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-49568074403301629212014-01-25T20:34:00.001+02:002014-01-26T10:07:55.350+02:00Diet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Like every other person with an eating disorder, I have my weaknesses when it comes to my metabolic intake. In times of stress and distress, I find solace in fast food and biryanis which I wash down with large bottles of aerated drinks. Roughly around November, 2012 when my personal life started to unravel, I embarked on what was an exercise in gluttony. Restaurant owners knew me on first name basis, delivery boys would greet me with a knowing smile as their fingers ached under the weight of my routine orders and friends would struggle to hide their dismay at my ballooning figure.</div>
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The year 2013 did not bring anything better in my fortunes.Work was hectic,my marriage was in shambles and I never felt lonelier in life.I took my binge eating to an entirely new level. The effects on me was more prominent than ever and I began to closely resemble the Michelin Man. </div>
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Round about that time, an incident occurred that changed my perspectives for the better. During a lunch, while observing heaps of food on my plate and the large beef dish lying next to my plate, a friend casually asked me whether I'd checked my cholesterol lately. It was a simple innocuous question, innocently asked and without an attempt to sugar-coat reality and with the pungency of smelling salts, it jolted me up.</div>
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I went on a diet the very next day and it was the most faithful I've been on a diet. My No Carb - No Sugar-Low Fat diet went on for roughly 7 months and what a world of change it made to me and my life. I dropped 17 Kg, I shrunk 7 inches off my waist and I dropped a shirt size. My clothes began to resemble hand-me-downs and I fit into clothes I wore during my school days. Friends were amazed, foes turned green with envy and best of all I felt like a million bucks.I credited the weight loss to my amazing levels of self control and basked in the glorious world of narcissistic selfies which I sent to everybody I knew</div>
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Then in the month of October my divorce was finalized, my trip to South Africa crystallized and the thin healthy and happy me made my way across the globe to South Africa. A week into my stay in the new country I found myself downing chicken wings,drinking soda and resuming gluttony again. </div>
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How did I succumb to my old ways? What was the reason for my downfall ? Three months later, the answer is as apparent to me as my re-emerging tummy. No, I did not diet as some believe to look good for my divorce (Yes, that crazy opinion was actually given to me !!) The reason I managed to exercise self control and lose this much weight and stay healthy was not what was on my plate but what was across the table. It was the people around me that motivated me to get healthy, who made the droll food on my plate palatable through their good humour,and egged me on to be a better version of me. Without them around, the only solace I find is in the food that I eat.</div>
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Yesterday I did realize that I cannot go on this way. I can't always depend on the people around me to carry me through life. I am on the look out for a fresh start and being a few stones lighter would be a great way to go about that.</div>
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Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-50246084676558891092014-01-02T18:35:00.002+02:002014-01-18T14:18:30.610+02:00Prayer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Neither am I a religious man nor am I an atheist. I find myself comfortably ensconced in that middle ground, where I decry that religion is at the root of most evil while I occasionally indulge in a quiet prayer to that unseen force. Don't get me wrong, I do not pray for personal gain : not directly. I visit temples and churches with family and friends to pray and its always the same prayer, a repetitive mantra I have indulged in for over 15 years.</div>
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You see, I learned something early on in life. Prayers for personal gain always go unheeded. When I have prayed for better marks or holidays or gifts, I somehow never got what I wished for. Therefore I decided to give up on my materialistic requirements and pray for others. My prayer would be just for friends and family, the flawed logic being that my happiness depended on them and if they are blessed, indirectly so am I.</div>
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So the last time I was in a temple, as usual I stepped in front of the deity to begin my one line prayer.</div>
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"Dear Lord, Please take care of Mom, Dad, Bro and ...". The name slipped out before I could stop it and suddenly I felt like the wind was taken out of my sails. It was a name I hadn't expected to say and yet the ease with which I said it shocked me and saddened me instantly.</div>
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As I made my familiar round around the deity, my mind was abuzz with numbing and lingering doubts. Deep down did I still love her or did I subconsciously care enough for her to keep her in my prayers, however short. I move on to another idol and I faced the same problem. My prayers were laced with her name. Each chant seemed to inevitably end with me praying for her. To say I was perturbed, would be putting it really mildly.</div>
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Its only when I left the temple and turned around to face the idol that I realized why. My path around the temple was a rigid exercise. I enter, pray at the main idol and then step out to every other idol till I finally end up at the main idol to complete my prayer. I leave the temple, face the main idol, pray again and I leave. The same path that I have tread for over 25 years whenever I made my way to the temple.</div>
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Similarly my prayer was altered over 8 years ago when she came into my life. An addendum to an existing prayer for someone significant enough to find her place in those few words : A practice that I developed over time, that has become more muscle memory than out of actual intent. And like every habit, unlearning it will take time and effort.</div>
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So I am taking that effort now to alter my prayers. Do not get me wrong : I don't mean her harm now that I no longer pray for her. It's just the realization that she should form part of somebody else's prayer : just like somebody else should now form part of mine.</div>
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Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2833779217973496990.post-12906205642269392832014-01-01T23:12:00.001+02:002014-02-01T15:24:22.933+02:00Love <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lYk0JXW0M7vkYvet4HesbS8YchU3-e0xvs_JkP-msDYBUbMZNC9EKPG8sGwwdFoN6OaUS0chH6zbvwkLPwddJQk9LXZm-_gkMHhR4hHOhUKS2DQClZTFL_7dNNn8ZESoCw52505yC9Li/s1600/20140126_123936855_iOS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lYk0JXW0M7vkYvet4HesbS8YchU3-e0xvs_JkP-msDYBUbMZNC9EKPG8sGwwdFoN6OaUS0chH6zbvwkLPwddJQk9LXZm-_gkMHhR4hHOhUKS2DQClZTFL_7dNNn8ZESoCw52505yC9Li/s1600/20140126_123936855_iOS.jpg" height="293" width="320" /></a></div>
A few weeks back, I was sprawling on the sofa and watching TV with a few colleagues. Since there was nothing interesting on TV, we ended up watching a chick flick. Of course, at the opportune moment, when everything was steadily going downhill, the hero makes this passionate appeal and swoops the woman off her feet to a rousing and lilting symphony of stringed instruments. They kiss, the crowd cheers and I just stared blankly at the screen, outraged. </div>
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" That does not happen in real life, whoever wrote that script is proof that love is not just blind, its dumb !! " I ranted at the screen. That was followed up by an expletive driven tirade about the banality of love and so on and so forth. My colleagues patiently listened to the outburst and gave into the occasional chuckle at my very vivid rant which i completed satisfactorily with another innuendo driven joke on lovers. Pleased with myself, I leaned back into the couch, having spewed all my vitriol at the notion of love.</div>
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Later in the night, the absence of an audience and the cold comfort of my bed got me thinking. When did I begin to hate love this much ?? How have I been so wronged by love ? And most importantly had the last year gone any differently would i have such a nihilistic approach to love ? I have always been a romantic at heart and my poems always flirted with love or the notion of love. How could I form such a poor picture of love and share it with the rest of the world ?</div>
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Just because things went horribly wrong for me, does not mean that I should take my frustration out on what gives so many people so much joy. If i wasn't in love, i wouldn't have taken the events of the last year so hard and if it wasn't for love, I wouldn't be back on my feet.I have always been a lover and i always will be a romantic at heart. I may not wind up with what i expect out of love but i vow not to insult it ever again. No more puns on the institution of marriage, the foundation of love and the joy of being in love. A bad experience does not give me such a license to sham lovers and love. </div>
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So tell me your tales, of passion and heart</div>
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Of love long lost with now a fresh start</div>
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Of young love and hot blood that should and must</div>
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Fill heaving bosoms and warm chests with love not lust</div>
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And I hope in each story, the lovers will find</div>
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A man or woman for the ties that bind</div>
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That ends it all with happiness joy and bliss</div>
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Through a magical journey that starts with a kiss</div>
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Akshay Sudhirhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07436558854387996556noreply@blogger.com3