"When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains,

And the women come out to cut up what remains,

Jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains

An' go to your Gawd like a soldier."

- Rudyard Kipling

My quest to find an answer to the name of my blog has lead me into deeper realms of thought that I had hitherto never ventured to explore. Each story written by me has added a dimension to this search. Faith versus fatalism is a debate which has raged in my mind in my chase to find the answer. Faith led me into beliefs, beliefs into how far I would go to defend them, defending beliefs led me into the sense of belonging and belonging gave way to a sense of loss and desperation and finally all these gave way to the most sublime of emotions, love.

I am no stranger to failure, as I wrote in my first post. At the turn of the decade, I was left standing, facing my mirror. The picture of utter desolation. Even the people closest to me had written me off as one of those individuals with great potential and little to show for it. It was one of those times when you feel an unbearable weight relentlessly bearing down on you. When you no longer want to see tomorrow. All I had was me and my stubborn belief that I was good. It was then that an obvious realization dawned on me. Simply, that things couldn't get worse. Whatever happened next would be for the better. After wavering initially, gradually this realization made me stronger and finally I decided to keep the faith and 'die another day!'

So I still believed in myself. But this is just one of the numerous beliefs that drive the human mind. There is a lot each one of us believes in. But how far are we willing to go to defend these very beliefs? I realized that very broadly each individual defends his/her beliefs at three distinct levels when he/she feels that they are being violated. The first is for the self. Are you willing to defend your beliefs and assert yourself when you are challenged? The second is for someone close to you. Are you willing to fight for that someone when you believe he/she is right and is being wronged? The third is for a stranger. Are you willing to defend someone who means nothing to you because you believe he/she is right and is being wronged? Most would stop at the second level. So most are willing to look on as mute spectators just because it is not worth their time to defend a person they do not know. So most show that they are willing to go only that little bit to defend what they believe is right and not a step further. In my eyes, these people are mere cowards for man is answerable to only his own conscience and if that is not clear, he can never find peace.

We often hear clichés like 'what goes around comes around'. Yet a vast majority of us would not think twice before distancing themselves from people who they believe cannot help them in the present or the future. Some even forget the people who were by their side when they were at the lowest point in their lives when they are better off. Success is transient. Ephemeral. And success is never enjoyed alone. Why not take everyone with you? A time may come when it is they who are taking you with them. On the other end of the spectrum is revenge. All I can say is that those who have tasted revenge have never liked it. Never found it worth the chase. If you have been wronged leave it to the 'Mills of God'. They 'grind slowly' but 'they grind exceeding small'

And for those of us willing to have faith in their beliefs, create a sense of belonging with others based on their beliefs and defend these very beliefs to death, sometimes find it difficult to come to terms with the latter. Every individual is emotionally attached to every person he/she knows at some level or the other. There are always expectations regardless of how many cynics convince you to have none. And it is when these expectations are not fulfilled by people or by the almighty himself that we tend to lose faith. Why do some people die before 'their time', when they have such a lot to give to society or to their near and dear ones? I have no answer. But do people actually die? Physically yes, they are no longer with you. But every word they said when alive, every little witticism, every philosophy they propounded, is deeply ingrained in the minds of their listeners. So while they are not physically present, they have become an integral part of the lives they touched.

Finally, should we keep looking longingly at a closing door and not heed one that has just opened? The love that we have received from the people dearest to us is not just ours to keep. We in turn must love others and it is only those who have fallen in love, who will know how this most sublime of emotions feels. Even in the vilest of surroundings, even in the depths of despair, the mind is at peace. You can hear her voice in every beat of your racing heart! Every little association reminds you of her and you are filled with warmth with every thought of her. True love never is and never has been about possession. Even a song on radio reminds you of the home you love. At the turn of the decade, I realized that mine was a one-sided love but no matter what the future holds in store for me I will never regret falling in love! The fire will perhaps someday burn out but the scar will remain. But it will never remind me of the pain but always of the bliss I felt!

So my friends the reasons for living may be several but all I can say is that live out your dreams, live your beliefs and values and go to your God like a soldier! Live the child in you. The child you may feel is gone. For it is in the child that the truth lies. The truth of who you are and who you were intended to be!

"If you see the wonder of a fairy tale

You can take the future even if you fail"  - I Have A Dream, Westlife.

Vasco's Ring

"Watching in slow motion
As you turn to me and say...
My Love... take my breath away" – Take my breath away, Berlin

"Legend has it, or rather an old bearded man at a beach shack has it, that the great Portuguese sailor Vasco Da Gama once fell in love. So strong was his love for this woman that on learning that she was in love with another he promptly had her ring finger, adorned with the priceless ring he had presented her, chopped off and thrown into the sea in a fit of rage. Such an act would have hardly attracted attention, given his notoriety for barbaric acts, had the story ended there. But it did not.", I narrated. She already looked bored. "Should I continue?", I asked. She politely replied, "Yeah do go on. Maybe I could hear a little more." I knew she didn't want to hear a word more but alas! I am one of those vain mariners* who just can't stop themselves from telling their story to others. So I continued.

"Well, there was this parallel legend which said that Vasco had amassed a huge fortune from his exploits in the subcontinent which he had hidden somewhere near the coast of modern Goa. And the only 'treasure map' was this very ring. Obviously, there was a centuries long hunt for the lost ring. Whether it was ever found no one knows but the...". 'Koi Roko Na...Deewane Ko..' - Her mobile phone was ringing. She answered it and sure enough her supervisor wanted to know what she was up to since it had been more than an hour that she had gone for lunch. Her face grew angry and when the call ended she looked at me with the 'Sorry pal. Really gotta go now!' look. Poor old mariner!

I had met her a month ago. Lively and fun to be with, I had become addicted to her company. She already had a boyfriend. So we were to be 'just friends'. I had heard this for the umpteenth time. So I had hardly batted an eyelid. With me it was always the same. I was one of those guys who always remained 'buddies', always there for you when you are down but those you never remember when you think of love.

One day, all of a sudden she told me, "I'm going to meet Rakesh!” with a big smile on her face. I simply replied, "That's great!” Rakesh was her boyfriend and lived in Pune. She had been really missing him since they had last met nearly six months ago. So she had planned a trip to Pune and from there they would go for a short vacation to Goa. "Have you told your parents about this plan of yours?", I asked her. "Are you mad!?", she exclaimed. "Dad hates him and mom believes that he should come and visit me if at all we are to meet! I just told them I'm going for a company sponsored trek." A pause. "And don't you dare tell anyone about this!". I agreed to keep it to myself (as if I had any other option! She was the type of person who never took no for an answer). Then she asked me whether I had been to Goa and when I replied in the affirmative she immediately asked me to tell her all about the places of tourist attraction and the best spots for couples. I, of course, pleaded complete ignorance of the latter since I had gone there with two other guys and had no idea about couple hangouts. However, I did give her a lot of information about the most frequented destinations there. I promised her I would get a printout of the map of Goa and point out the locations to her. I kept my promise and we sat the following day pondering over the map.

* Reference to poem: Rhyme of The Ancient Mariner

A copy of the same map is reproduced below:

The conversation grew long and I went into interesting legends related to Goa, as well. It of course ended with the part I have related above. Several days passed and I managed to meet her again only the day before she was to leave for Pune. She seemed visibly excited and nervous. The first question she shot at me was, "What will happen if my flight gets hijacked?" I was in a rather naughty mood so I replied, "Don't give yourself airs, you aren't that important!" But she persisted, "What will my parents think if I don't come back?" The conversation was getting to be fun. I rubbed my chin with my index finger and thumb, screwed up my face and replied after a moment's thought, "Well, see. First you won't reach home and won't be able to call I presume. So your parents will get worried. They will call up office to find out if you have turned up since according to your plan you will report there on the same day you return. Your project lead will inform them that you are absent and haven't applied for leave. Eventually they will panic and report the matter to the police...". "Ok… enough." she said. She looked upset. I softened my tone and told her gently, "Why$ don't you simply give me your dad's phone number so that just in case you disappear I could let him know where you might be." "No chance. Suppose you tell on me! I'm just being stupid... nothing will happen!", she said stoutly. We talked for a while about other things and then I wished her 'Bon Voyage' and we parted. It was winter. It was foggy. I felt unusually cold as I watched her shapely tall figure disappear through the entrance of the building. Something just didn't seem right. After another moment, I shrugged and walked away.

She was expected back on the morning of Wednesday. I had no idea why but I was anxiously waiting for a message from her that she had returned safely. No message came. I tried calling her but her mobile phone was switched off. I tried reasoning with myself. Don't worry. She's probably enjoying herself. Too busy to receive a call. Or maybe she is just plain tired and sleeping at home. Everything is going to be back to normal tomorrow. I had a troubled sleep that night.

The following day my mobile phone refused to display her name for all the looking I gave it. Her phone was still switched off. Maybe she had grown tired of me. My anxiety morphed into anger. Why couldn't she just let me know if she had decided to stay there longer? I spent another night tossing and turning.

The first thing I did next morning on reaching office was to contact her project team to know if they had any information. But I was told that they had already been receiving similar calls from her parents since yesterday and they had not received any information whatsoever. I bit my lip trying to think hard. The matter was getting serious. What could I do? I didn't even have her home number. It was only that afternoon that I realized that the buzz in my head was nothing compared to the throb which replaced it.

Around 2 pm I received a call on my mobile number. A gruff voice at the other end of the line introduced himself as Colonel Singh. He asked me to come downstairs and meet him at the office reception. Singh. Her title. Damn! What now?

I rushed downstairs to find a tall well built man and a dignified woman waiting for me. The woman's eyes were swollen and reddish. Had she been crying? The Colonel greeted me coldly. I sat down on the sofa opposite them. He reached into his pocket and handed me a slip of paper. Scrawled on it was the following message:

Moinak C, SCT, 9835674564, Vasco's Ring

My blood froze as I saw my own name. Before I could use my IQ any further the Colonel leaned forward and with a menacing look asked me, "How do you know my daughter?"

I tried hard to keep my expression straight and from betraying the fear that was welling inside me. I explained that I was just a friend and I had hardly known her for over a month. Seemingly unconvinced, the Colonel went straight to the point. They had informed the police about her disappearance. The message I had just seen had been received by him sent from her mobile phone about an hour earlier. My name was clearly mentioned and without mincing any words, I was prime suspect.

I thought hard. I plainly admitted that I knew nothing and understood nothing of the message. Even in my desperation I didn't immediately want to betray the trust she had placed in me and inform them that she was actually in Goa with her boyfriend. I finally said, "Uncle I will try to figure out what she is trying to say". "Well, you better hurry up unless you want to spend time with the police". I pursed my lips. He went on, "Look son, I think it's better for you to tell us what you know." "On the face of it, all I can say is that she must be in Goa, since Vasco's ring refers to a legend from there." Uncle looked hard into my face trying to read something which I of course knew wasn't there. "You will go there and find her. We and the police will accompany you." My jaw dropped. "I can't...", I began. Uncle cut me short and said, "Have you been through a police interrogation before?" I replied, "No".

Never laugh at people when they tell you that they suffer from insomnia. I stared up at the dark ceiling all night. I was hammering out every possible scenario in my head. The only thing common to all of them was that I was a dead man. Despite the cool wintry night I was perspiring from the tension. God! What had I done to deserve this! I was more afraid of daybreak than I had ever been in my life. I had bought tickets to Dabolim at an exorbitant rate. I had requested a hurried leave from office from my Project Lead. I had explained to my parents that I was going for a company sponsored trek. I was following exactly in her footsteps. My mother was extremely suspicious. Why hadn't I told her earlier? Just slipped my mind I had replied.

***

I met her parents at the airport. They were with 2 others evidently policemen or detectives in plainclothes. I licked my parched lips and said a hello with a strained smile. They just nodded. I sat down on the aircraft seat. What on earth was wrong with me!? Why on earth did I listen to them? I am a software engineer. This is life! Not a movie! I was so tired that once the seat belt signs were switched off I opened my dinner tray and lay my head on it. An airhostess soon came and offered the complimentary lunch. I took it. I had blown a pretty penny on all this! After about an hour into the flight I stopped ranting in my mind and opened the map of Goa I had brought with me. Vasco's ring. What did the legend say?

Vasco's ring was never found. But some of Vasco's artifacts were found buried off the coast at Vasco Da Gama. They could hardly be said to constitute a treasure, in the common sense of the term, though they were of historical importance. So all I could figure out was that her clue could only point to Vasco Da Gama. We would have to go there first from Dabolim. I tried to think of anything else I had read about the legend. There was something about the wife's ghost being spotted on the beach searching endlessly for its missing finger. But I had read about it a long time ago and couldn't recall it correctly. I needed Google and badly!

No sooner had we landed than I found myself surrounded by my elite company again. After we had picked up our bags from the conveyor belt, I informed them of my hunch. We were supposed to go straight to Panjim first and check into a hotel. But since Vasco Da Gama was closer to the airport than to Panjim I suggested we go there first. Reluctantly they agreed and we were soon on our way there in a hired cab. Uncle asked what we were supposed to do once we got there. I looked at the two plainclothes men and said, "That's your job right?" They simply nodded. Maybe they were the kind of people who never spoke. Dumb!

The two detectives had asked for about 2 hours to interrogate the people in the neighborhood as well as use some of their 'normal operating procedures', whatever that meant. They would also probably request help from the local police. I kept getting the feeling that I was being cornered that too on a wild goose chase. Meanwhile, we waited at a restaurant. I tried to strike up a conversation with Uncle. Hate for me was so strong in his tone and dread so evident from his speech that we soon fell silent. After a silence, Aunty broke down beseeching me to just end this game! I swallowed hard and tried to show that I was in dead earnest as I replied that if I knew where to find her I would do so immediately as I had no pleasure in this game.

After an agonizing 2 hours they returned. Empty handed. No one had seen a person of her description. My head throbbed again. I was once again clueless as to what we could do. Goa wasn't a small town. It was a state! They all turned to me. I looked up at them and replied with great effort, "I need some time. I need the internet. Let's go to Panjim and I'll think of the next move."

I sat at John Fernandes' Cyber Cafe. Google! That absolutely mandatory part of a software engineer's life was open before me. I searched for hours. Read some hundred different legends. I was tired. I needed rest but the 2 detectives beside me constantly reminded me of my impending doom. At length I stared deliriously at the map of Goa. A lot of the legends referred to places and their locations. There was something in the map I was missing. I finally got up, shrugged and said I needed to spend sometime alone in the hotel room pondering. The faces of the detectives darkened. I had produced nothing concrete so far. They agreed but once I had shut the door to my room I knew they were still keeping a watch outside.

I cudgeled my brains. As per Google the ring was shaped like the mouth of a fish. Scholars believed that the original burial place may have been a fishing village. However, since the original designer of the ring had bequeathed his secret to others, before Vasco had him quartered, Vasco had removed the treasure to Vasco Da Gama, where the artifacts were discovered. But there were hundreds of fishing villages along the coast in Goa! Think hard. I kept repeating to myself. I was tired, sleepy and my eyelids drooped. I brought the jug and glass and poured out a glass of water in order to focus again. I gulped the water down and spilled some on the map. I cursed under my breath! I was losing it.

I stared groggily! A loud banging sound. The door. Someone was banging on the door. I looked around dazed. I had fallen asleep with my head on the table. I adjusted my spectacles and gradually I returned to reality. I got up and opened the door. The detectives were staring at me angrily. "So?", they had spoken at last. I slowly replied, "I have an idea." They showed plainly on their faces that they knew I was trying to buy time. Still, they played along for the time being and asked me to get ready. I returned to the table. The map was still lying there. The water droplet on it had dried leaving the paper wrinkled at the spot. Then suddenly like a flash of light it hit me. God had helped me!! The circle of the water droplet together with the coastline was unmistakably a fish's head. Where would one hide treasure in a fish's head? The eye? I hazarded a guess and looked at the spot which could possibly form the 'eye'. Old Goa Church Complex. The Basilica of Bom Jesus. Wow! The coincidence was too strong. It was worth a try!

I informed my elite escort of my latest 'bright idea' and we sped off towards Old Goa in a hired cab post a very very cursory breakfast. The complex again evoked in me the same reverence that I had felt the first time I saw it. Its immediate effect on people was a respectful silence. I once again looked at the information on the white stone telling the visitors about the church. Some of the letters were missing. I was about to curse Indians and their poor maintenance of the Church when on a second look I found that someone had actually used chalk to whiten a few letters here and there. I was disgusted. How could someone possibly deface a United Nations declared heritage site like that, although the informative stone was not technically a part of the monument? I again turned away. But something again caught my attention. Why just those letters? It didn't make sense. Maybe a kid. I moved a few steps back and then the words just toppled out of my mouth before I could stop them, "Oh my God!" The detectives had heard my exclamation and immediately demanded explanation. I swallowed hard and replied, "Orion". "What?” they asked. They clearly looked as though I needed a shrink. “Her favorite constellation. She told me she always has a lucky day after she sees the constellation in the night sky. She has been here. Let's look in the church.”

We entered the church in silence. Once inside no one spoke. People sat there looking up at the bronze sculptures, some in awe others in deep reverence. I looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. We searched hard for over two hours. There were lots of tourists. Many people admitted to having seen people of her description. It was difficult. Foreign tourists were tall and beautiful as well. She would hardly stand out in this crowd. Finally, tired out, I lost hope. Something about the sculptures made me feel like sitting down and praying. I motioned to the others to leave me alone for a few moments. I went and sat down on the first bench.

I closed my eyes. Involuntarily I put my head on my palms and bent down. I ran my fingers slowly through my hair in despair. I prayed hard. I reflected on all that had happened in the past few hours. I couldn't help it. Boys don't cry but a few hot tears trickled down my fingers. I wiped them with a handkerchief. It was a small ladies handkerchief. What!? As the realization dawned on me I turned my head in one swift motion and saw her sitting smiling at me. Before I could say a word, she put a finger on my lips and said, "I love you."

***

"What if I hadn't figured out your stupid Vasco's puzzle?” I asked her angrily. I was happy. I was angry. We were sitting on the concrete platform, back in office, chatting. "Simple. I had planned on going to Goa with my friend, Trisha, in any case. Mom wouldn't agree. I knew that. I wanted her to come too. I decided that I would any way let you people in on the secret once you had tried hard enough. I was following you ever since you came. Had Trisha call up your home and mine to find out. I also needed to know if you loved me. You came all the way to Goa to find me - a damsel in supposed distress. I'm proud of you." I tilted my head to one side, hardened my expression and replied, "Like I had a choice." "You know what? I think your problem is that you are too scared to let people know how sweet you are!"

THE END

Voices no longer heard

Death touches every mortal's life not once but many times. It invokes in its wake a myriad of emotions dictated by events and circumstances surrounding it. It has left in my mind the remains of many voices I shall never hear again. I'm writing this, perhaps my most claustrophobic piece yet, on the occasion of Diwali, a festival of lights dispelling the darkness. Yet this day has often been marked by darkness for me with regard to those people who lit up my life the most.

During the most difficult years of my education, those of secondary, I used to go to a particular tutor by the name of Mr. Ghosh for mathematics coaching. He had rented the ground floor rooms of a house wherein he taught some 10 or 12 students. This man was ill-tempered but a very good teacher. My being stupid annoyed him and evoked reactions in keeping with such annoyance. My turning up late for tution would have him enter into a long tirade. All in all I had a tough time there.

A year of toil later, one Diwali evening, I reached his place. It was completely dark with no lights on. Since no one occupied the first floor rooms the entire house was shut up. I was rather irritated. Firstly it was a Diwali evening and I had taken the trouble to come to study rather than have fun with my friends and to top it the stickler for discipline himself was late. I waited for sometime. He still didn't come. Half an hour later I decided that he must have got into the Diwali mood himself and abandoned the class. In those days, cell phones were not as common as they are today. At any rate, I had none.

So I reached home and the first thing I did was pick up the phone and call his number. It was picked up and a woman's voice spoke at the other end. I asked for Mr. Ghosh. The voice went silent and next I heard a young girl's voice. She asked me who I was. I informed her that I was a student of Mr. Ghosh. She heard me out and then said Mr. Ghosh has expired. I was taken by surprise. The tone of asperity hitherto in my voice was lost. I stammered, "Oh.. I see." and put down the receiver. I told my mom about the incident and she was rather upset. But all I had was this numb feeling in my head and my only thought was that of how I should react.

I joined the tution of another professor, a Mr. Sanyal. He was a 'stud' as we say in common parlance. A bachelor with a zest for life, he could solve any problem you could throw at him. I stayed with him till my board exams started and took his blessings for my entrance exams. It turned out that I didn't perform all that badly and did end up joining an engineering college. The first few months of ragging kept me tortured and distracted and it was only during Diwali that I decided I should go back and thank Mr. Sanyal for the great job he had done. So I reached his home with a box of mithai and rang the bell. The door was opened by a very old lady, his mother. I had seen her a few times before. I asked for Mr. Sanyal and for a moment her eyes seemed to glisten. Then she replied that he had passed away. "How?", I blurted out in shock. She explained that he had been suffering from cancer for sometime. And we hadn't even known. I handed her the sweets and walked away with a numb feeling in my head and my only thought was that of how I should react.

2 years ago on the evening of Diwali, while I was enjoying myself in Pune, I got a frantic call from home. My mother had collapsed in the bathroom and her already arthritis ridden knee was in a very bad condition so that she could barely move. Even a month and several sessions of physiotherapy later, her condition just got worse. The doctor prescribed a knee replacement surgery as soon as possible. I was forced to apply for a location transfer as handling of the entire thing was well beyond the capacity of my ageing father. I had to leave the place, the project and the people I had grown to love.

Last night I helped carry my grandma's body on the stretcher to the hearse. I touched the flame to her throat. It was over. All I had was this numb feeling in my head and my only thought was that of how I should react.

My boss

Imagine being a male fresher. Imagine having a female boss. Imagine having a major fight with her ending with her red teary eyes and you arrogantly asking her to take the matter higher up if she wanted to. Imagine the allegation being the use of abusive language and a lack of respect. Sounds like the perfect setup for a pink slip? Well, it won me one of my best friends.

I am one of those few fortunate or unfortunate people who has always had a female boss. And not one, but four, one after the other over my three years of work experience. They have ranged from lady-hitlers to smart managers to friends.

This lady who is the subject of my current post initially joined our team as a team member. She had a pretty face, a sweet smile and bright, shiny eyes. My immediate reaction was cynical and typical of me at the time. I concluded that she obviously would do no work and was just a placeholder in the team. To top it she was married. A real waste!

At that time our team was being led by one of those who could easily classify as a lady-hitler. To put it plainly this lady-hitler could get work done. We worked extremely hard for months including weekends to meet the deadlines but when I, in my usual blunt style, asked her for a 'comp-off' she simply replied that she herself had personally never asked for a 'comp-off'. I did eventually manage to get what I wanted but it left me with an inherent distaste for female bosses and supervisors in general. Incidentally, the only thing I liked about her was that she had made the pretty lady work hard as well.

A stroke of good luck freed us from our lady-hitler when she got herself transferred to another location for some personal reasons. But strokes of good luck must be followed by bad ones since I guess even God has his/her balance sheet to draw up each year and assets must balance liabilities! So the pretty lady was chosen as our next supervisor.

The whispers in the air told us she had probably not been a project lead before. Time to take the upper hand! (Remember the eternal tale of the new governess and the naughty kids?)

So I was plain biased towards the pretty lady. I have always been naturally a bit rude or rough in temperament. That day, I gave her a horrible frown and asked her harshly for some information which she had taken a little long to provide. She lost her temper. I don't blame her. I had been a bit of a thorn for sometime. Technically I hadn't said anything offensive but my tone had said enough. She told me off angrily that I was rude and lacked respect and how dare I behave so badly. I was in the wrong but I felt unusually stubborn and retorted angrily. Words led to more words and I took the stand that since I could not talk properly she could henceforth communicate with me by text only.

So for the rest of the day I tried a cold war. But she came to reason with me again. This time, I was even more rude and asked her to take up the issue with higher ups if she wanted but I simply couldn't work with her. But I had gone a bit too far. With red teary eyes she told me no one had ever behaved like this with her in her whole life. The words ring in my years even now, so strong was their impact. Something broke inside me. I tendered an immediate apology. I have tried to analyze what happened to me all of a sudden but I have found no answer. It definitely wasn't fear for I have rarely been scared of anyone barring myself. Was it because of the pretty face in tears? I don't think so for at that time I was still very cold deep inside.

It was a Friday and during the weekend I sent her an apology by sms. I wasn't feeling all right. I was in the wrong. I knew it. I hated having to admit it.

Throughout the whole of Monday I only communicated with her through mails and barely spoke. In the evening she again called me. I sat down in front of her and hung my head. She asked me what I intended to do. I simply said that I had apologized to her and I had been on my best behaviour all day. She said she didn't care about any apology. She just wanted me to be normal and realize where I had gone wrong. I replied that she couldn't have both. I could either be the perfect professional or my usual rough self, not somewhere in between. "As you wish." was all she said. She never went to higher ups. She would fight her own battles.

Over the next few weeks, things somehow changed because of a few little things she did. I used to always complain about the terrible food in the canteen on weekends. So one Saturday, she cooked some stuff along with her usual Tiffin for the rest of us. The work was always pressing and one Saturday her creche matron refused to keep her one year old kid, so she got a special permit and brought him to office. It was then that I realized the amount of effort that she had been putting in to balance work with looking after the baby. She gradually but surely won my confidence to the extent that I began to trust her even on my personal matters. I became my naughty self again though with no longer the need to be rude. She was a boss who cared. She has since become one of my best friends and one of the very few people I trust.

As I look back now I realize that those who really look beyond the facade that people present to others are the ones who understand others the best. She is one such person. She could see right through me. Even on little matters. One particular case comes to mind. The smokers at office typically took long breaks because they just had to smoke while I had no such excuse. So I convinced her that I had taken to smoking as well. I had thought myself smart till long after I had left her project, she let me in on a secret. "I know you don't smoke. I always knew you were lying!".

Answers to a young lady's queries!

Curiosity killed the cat. Or so they say. In any case cats do have nine lives! So I'll take one of those nine to satisfy the curiosity of one petite young lady.

It so happens that this petite young lady is a close friend of mine and also the person to whom I entrusted the arduous and boring (a tasteless effort at being humble!) task of proof-reading my posts. This young lady paid me a rare compliment upon reading my two posts. She told me that she had taken the extreme effort of reading my posts after a whole day of work and had been staring at the computer screen through drooping eyelids. "You must have written a nice post since I actually finished reading it before I fell asleep!", she remarked. For those who know her well, this remark was heaps of praise by her standards. So she had made my day and to show my gratitude I must answer her queries.

The first of these was why are you writing with this weird name, JBozz? It's really embarrassing to have to answer this question as I have no humble answer. Charles Dickens' first novel, The Pickwick Papers was the compilation of the pieces he wrote for a magazine with the title Sketches By Boz. Boz was the pen name Dickens used at the start of his career. I'm a great fan of Charles Dickens and vain enough of my own writings to choose my pen name as J(for junior)Bozz.

The second query was why my blog has this "stupid" title. That is the exact word that this particular petite young lady used. The answer is simple. It goes like this. I have asked a number of people what they look forward to, what they live for. The answers have never been satisfactory to me. Most spoke about marriage, having a loving family, becoming somebody of repute or even becoming the CEO of the company they worked for! So that's why we live? To attempt to leave our 'footprints in the sands of time' or to achieve the same quest for immortatility by having some part of us taken forward by our descendents? Somehow, I don't feel convinced and hence my quest to find an answer and hence the name of my blog.

Finally, I must conlcude this post with a very important disclaimer which applies to all my posts. Any similarity between the characters in my writings and real people is purely coincidental and unintended.

A Haughty Friend!

Over the past year I have been experimenting with an idea that gripped my imagination due to the fact that I was tired of myself. The idea put simply was to find heart in a heartless world.

Is the oft repeated phrase, that there is good in everyone, a truth or just one of the several untruths we teach our children just because they are "not old enough" to face the truth? My desire was to find out for myself. So I decided on a smile, instead of the frown I had grown used to, having on my countenance.

My first target was an old college colleague who had once thrown an unprovoked, harmless insult my way - that I didn't look as tall I was because I was far too fat! My reaction was typical of me at the time, I simply gave a weak smile and walked away, avoiding her in future. I was an introvert. A cynic. And far too shy to fight back, especially a female opponent. (A convoluted aspect of the all pervading chauvinism?)

This particular girl was tall, good looking and outspoken. She had a haughty air about her, typical of one well aware of her good looks and the effect she had on people, especially the men, who got either weak in the knees or looked up to her as one of the many things unachievable in life.

As fate would have it, we were now working in the same project. She was now a married woman and I was much bolder now having stayed away from home and having worked as a professional. I had been trying to change my hairstyle for sometime now. Since she had a very elaborate coiffure, I assumed she was the best person to ask for some advice.

I walked up to her seat and casually said 'Hi'. She looked up and said a civil 'hi'. I decided it would be best to get to the point so I told her I was planning to change my hairstyle and wanted her advice on what would look good on me since she was quite an expert. Her reply fazed me for a second or two. "I don't think any hairstyle is going to make you look any better." And she said it in the same matter of fact way that she had first hurled her unprovoked, harmless insult. But, I had come with a purpose and refused to be defeated. I said, "Still yaar I'm sure you could suggest something I could do to improve?" It was the first time I saw her expression soften a bit. She said I could try one of the new spiky hairstyles in fashion. I was thrilled! Maybe there was a heart in everyone! So I asked if she knew of a good place where I could get such a hairstyle. She told me of a place in the most up-market place in Kolkata and said that a guy called Rahman did a great job. I was making great progress. I had hardly conversed for a few minutes. Then she added, "But I doubt you'll be able to afford the place!" This was the second time I was fazed. I swallowed a small quantity of spit and replied, "How much does it cost there?" She told me the price and I managed to reply that if it was just for the one time it was okay.

The place she had mentioned was within a few hundred yards of my place of residence and the very place where I got my regular haircut! ;)

Since this is my first post I decided to provide an insight as to why I took to writing this blog.

I have always had this feeling that people find me distant, remote. There always seems to be something more they want to know about the man behind the apparent facade. So I decided to narrate a few varied incidents in my life in which I have played the part of the protagonist.

I've always believed that every little thing in life has a bearing on the future, its own place in the broader scheme of things. So every incident in life, however small, is important, special.

Deep down within me I am a dreamer. And it is against the stereotyping of "dreamers" and "philosophers" as being non-productive, and non-pragmatic, that I have always fought against. I am no stranger to failure but that has and will never deter me from trying to make my life a silver screen fairy tale. You may call me immature but I would rather call you faithless.

You may never agree with me and may find me unusual. I admit, I am a typically stubborn sort and I know I'm far too proud, but, in the hour of need, believe me that there's no one you'd rather have at your side than me. The sad part is, as I've learnt the hard way, once you're better off you'll most likely no longer be by my side.

Read on my friend.