Like all useless souls, I am extremely lazy. And have no ambition to change that. I usually don't read back my posts and if I do, the horrible grammatical errors and murderous typos, plus the extremely poor language, prompt me to close the blog immediately. I hope you would do the same. But if you are headstrong and plan to continue, you do that on your own risk. Opinions and suggestions are welcome, but will not be worked upon.
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Life is so short. Why can’t we keep aside all our ambitions, apprehensions, jealousy, caste, creed, and religion…cultures? And just live for each other…just as two human beings in need of each other, two human beings dependent on each other. Like a servant and a master at the same time…why can’t we live for the sake of love itself?
--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya. (audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king) Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo… (a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”) Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile) -Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man) Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”
Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.
--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.
--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …
I became a father on
18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up
and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least,
that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to
me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation
theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the
first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and
she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too
much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not
waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my
wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater
must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after
bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut,
I later got to know.
The realisation of
becoming a fathe…
About a dozen years back, I started writing blog posts out of sheer boredom in office. The work was repetitive and the bosses were menacing. Not the fault of bosses as much as the systems put in place. It was a real-time world and you perish in seconds or become a hero. No, I was not a stock market trader, but close. I was perhaps in deep agony. I had left my family members, my root, my friends and my culture. Those years were the most important in my life, the early twenties. I was free for the first time. Free to do whatever I wanted to do. It was a lot of pent-up sexual energy really looking for an avenue to be released. I found my moksha in creativity, especially as my office colleagues started appreciating my writing, albeit with no hint of grammar in it. Slowly strangers came to my blog and I visited theirs and we became friends. And then I started connecting with people far away from my place, across oceans. With one I became friends for life – Ian Vincent Mulder. But that’s ano…