Battle Scarred

The kid pattered around the patio chasing the cat. The feline was the master of this particular patch. Having a two feet munchkin chasing her was a new experience. She was tolerating it... But just about. Maybe the unique childish delight in his eyes was comforting. Enough to know that no harm would come to her.

But now again she stopped, regal on her haunches flicking her tail here and there. Suddenly the observer, watching the puzzled frown on the kid's face. He was chasing her, wasn't he? So she should be running, right? New thoughts crept into his mind as he slowly inched his way towards her.

Now they stood inches from the other. A classic duel. Weighing each other, tabulating lists of pros and cons. The dance had moved to a new playing field. He just wanted to pet her, maybe even hold her. But she was afraid, fearing the worst that this little child might do. Past memories of kicks and hurled stones whispered in the dark corners of her mind.

Yet there was the uncertainty of hope.

He reached out an unwavering hand, confident in his innocence.

With a hiss, she wiped a cruel paw at his advance and whizzed away. A pause and then the heart wrenching howl of anguish. He looked around to see if anybody had seen this wanton display of cruelty. There his mother sat with a faint smile. He ran and buried himself in the warmth of her legs. She picked him and looked deep in his eyes.

And staring back at her was an unspoken affirmation of the half-learned first lesson in the war of the sexes.

Zen and the art of keeping patient in traffic jams

It is inevitable that most of our day will be spent sitting in a car waiting for the traffic to move. This would be absolutely fine if only I weren’t gripping the wheel in frustration, alternating between the clutch, brake and the laughing labelled ‘go-fast’ pedal, while at the same time peering in both mirrors to make sure some idiot doesn’t try to inch his vehicle in the just-formed miniscule gap.

I would like to sit in the backseat while catching up on my reading and the irritating radio jock would become a mild nuisance at the most. But I won’t trust my driver to get me home in the fastest possible time. If I did let him drive then sooner or later I will take over, it’s a guy thing and correlated to our excellent sense of road direction.

So after a long time I have developed a blissful version of Zen meant especially for the urban-but-more-resembling-rural roads of India.

Step 1: I sit back and resist the urge to overtake every possible car in sight. I remember that it is akin to dogs chasing cars.

Step 2: I resist the urge to exercise my in depth knowledge of vernacular curse words every time a wheezing taxi cab tries to cut me off. When it gets stuck in a traffic jam I will intelligently pass it by with a maniacal laugh.

Step 3: I practice my maniacal laugh in loud and various tones. When the traffic starts moving I find that I usually get the right of first passage. (It helps if you lower your window while practicing, you will find fewer cars trying to overtake you. Something to do with harnessing cosmic energies supposedly.)

Step 4: I clear my mind of evil thoughts towards all the carzy idiots driving alongside me. I patiently take down their numbers, especially company buses, and aid karma in its wonderful work by passing along the numbers to various agencies like RTO and company admins.

Step 5: I go home and scream into my pillow.

May Zen bring light and peace into your life as well. Remember it’s not the fish that counts but the strawberry in the field.

In the beginning

So finally I have a blog... I don’t really know why since I don’t really know anyone who would read it. But it is satisfying to see your creation ‘published’. To log in and watch the random thoughts that just some time back were wafting through my mind have now been formally marshalled and aligned under a dictatorial heading waiting to be purveyed by the sundry.

Of course I don’t really know anyone who will read this so my thoughts slouch around like kids on a Sunday afternoon made to march under a grilling sun on some godforsaken Annual Day for the pleasure of their doting parents who sit in the not entirely unpleasant pavilion since several feet of faded cloth come between them and the afore mentioned sun which, so as to not put a point finely, is grilling.

It is raining now. Somewhere out there various species of rain birds are crying their throats sore. Possibly because their house has just been washed away (no one seems to be provide any explanation as to why these particular birds cry during the monsoon since it’s not even their mating season). There is a wonderful feeling of possibility in the air. As if all our sins have been washed away, we have been atoned and now feel free to put forth your foot with the sincere conviction that each step will encounter a blessedly pure world. Even the paan stained porch of the corner tapirs seen cleaner.

Dusk gathers mystery around itself. With a faint smell of magic night begins...