First, we are born. A lot of random stuff happens to us. Finally, we die.
Life doesn’t come with a user manual, does it? We don’t know how we got here, how long we will be here, or what we are supposed to do while we’re here. Nobody has life completely figured out. Nobody has all the answers.
Life is random and chaotic, and full of uncertainty. We have no idea what the future can bring. We have no idea what situation we may find ourselves in tomorrow.
Sometimes, you might find life proceeding exactly the way you want it to. Your personal relationships are going great. Your career is fantastic. Everything seems nearly perfect. You’re on a permanent high. Then, after some time passes, one thing starts to go wrong. And then another thing, and another thing. Before you know it, the bubble has burst and your ideal life starts to fall apart. You get plunged right back into chaos and uncertainty.
Conversely, sometimes in life, you enter a dark phase and things are just going all wrong for you. Your relationships are in tatters, your career is a disaster. You don’t know what to do and you can’t see any way out. You feel lost and helpless. Then, after some time passes, a small ray of hope appears. You grab on to it. Then, one thing starts to go your way. And then another thing, and another thing. A path emerges in front of you. Before you know it, the dark shadow has passed by. You feel relaxed, peaceful and happy.
And so it goes on and on. The wheel in the sky keeps on turning. The wheel of fortune that is.
King Solomon once had an exquisite golden ring made and he wanted to inscribe some words on it. He called the wisest sages of the land and asked them to come up with words such that they will always be true, no matter who has the ring, where they are or what time in history. If a happy person looks at it, he should forget his joy and if a sad person looks at it, he should forget his sorrow.
The words inscribed on the ring were: “This too shall pass.”
The realization that everything is temporary can be liberating. If nothing lasts, why worry about what will happen tomorrow or dwell about what happened yesterday? None of it will matter.
In our daily lives, we will feel joy, excitement, sorrow, pain, anger. We will find ourselves in all kinds of different situations. We will go through many varied journeys. However, in the background of our consciousness, if we can hold on to the realization of the fleeting nature of all things, it will give us a sense of peace.
So all you have to do, is to keep breathing. Be present in this moment. Enjoy the journey, whatever journey you find yourself on. And remember that this too shall pass.
Decisions
Decisions, decisions, decisions. We’re faced with so many of them every day. They range from trivial ones like what clothes to wear or what food to eat, to major ones like which college to go to or which company to work for.
Most people get overwhelmed by having to make all these decisions. Especially, the big ones. We’re told that a single choice we make will determine how the rest of our lives turn out. Oh my God, are you serious? The rest of my life depends on what I decide right now? Oh hell no. I can’t handle that magnitude of responsibility. How am I supposed to know what to do?
Say you come to a fork in the road and have to choose between option A and option B. You think long and hard, consult friends and family. Everybody says different things. You analyze pros and cons. You’re thoroughly confused. You want to feel assured that you’re making the right choice, but there is no way to be sure. Every time you lean in one direction, some doubts creep in. This decision will affect your whole life, after all. The grass suddenly seems greener on the other side.
You know where the grass really seems the greenest? Not having to make the decision at all. The problem is that picking one option, means not picking the other option. It means you will never know how things might have been if you had taken the road you didn’t go on. You can only know what happens on the road you picked.
Wouldn’t it be great if you had a time machine and could simply pick option A, travel to the future and see how the rest of your life turns out? Then, after a quick bathroom break, pick option B and again see how everything turns out. You would be in a position to know exactly which path will make you happier. That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?
The bad news is we don’t have access to such a time machine (yet). But, we have at our disposal a powerful tool that can act as a substitute for a time machine. It’s called our imagination.
Here’s what you do. Find a time when you’re alone, you have some peace and quiet, and your mind is relatively undisturbed. This could be early morning or late night. It could be in your bedroom or your prayer room or even your bathroom, if you can’t find any place else.
Close your eyes. Assume you have already picked option A. Visualize in your mind and feel with your heart, where you are, what you’re doing, who is with you, what the environment is like. Project yourself into the future: one month from now, one year from now, ten years from now.
Take no more than ten minutes to do this. Then, after a quick bathroom break of course, clear your mind, take five deep breaths, and repeat this for option B.
There, in less than half an hour, you’ve traveled to the future and seen which choice makes you happier. No need to talk to many people, or do a lot of research. Too much information is sometimes detrimental to decision-making. All the answers lie within. Learn to trust your instincts.
After making the decision, people frequently revisit it again and again, wondering if they made the wrong choice. This is especially true when things start to go wrong, which they inevitably do at some point or the other. You start to look back and chastise yourself for making an incorrect choice.
Don’t do that. It serves no purpose whatsoever. How can you know that things would have turned out better if you had made the other choice? Maybe they would be even worse than they are now. Or maybe, this struggle that you are going through now is exactly what you need to take that next step in your personal evolution and prepare for what lies ahead.
There is no way to say for sure that any decision you made was a bad one, since you can’t know what would have happened had you made the other choice. So, don’t go back and revisit the decision. Don’t ever do that. What’s done is done. There are no wrong choices.
Besides, it’s not just the decision that matters; it’s also what you do after that. The time when you make the decision is just a single moment in time. It is followed by many more moments in the months and years to follow. Once you make the choice, you have to handle whatever comes your way. How you face the situation from there on is equally important as the decision itself.
And if you truly start to feel that this is no longer the right path for you, you can always backtrack. Very few decisions are irreversible. In the words of Led Zeppelin from Stairway to Heaven, “Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there’s always time to change the road you’re on.”
Above all, remember to follow your deepest intuition. It already knows what’s best for you, before your thinking mind figures it out and gets with the program.
Most people get overwhelmed by having to make all these decisions. Especially, the big ones. We’re told that a single choice we make will determine how the rest of our lives turn out. Oh my God, are you serious? The rest of my life depends on what I decide right now? Oh hell no. I can’t handle that magnitude of responsibility. How am I supposed to know what to do?
Say you come to a fork in the road and have to choose between option A and option B. You think long and hard, consult friends and family. Everybody says different things. You analyze pros and cons. You’re thoroughly confused. You want to feel assured that you’re making the right choice, but there is no way to be sure. Every time you lean in one direction, some doubts creep in. This decision will affect your whole life, after all. The grass suddenly seems greener on the other side.
You know where the grass really seems the greenest? Not having to make the decision at all. The problem is that picking one option, means not picking the other option. It means you will never know how things might have been if you had taken the road you didn’t go on. You can only know what happens on the road you picked.
Wouldn’t it be great if you had a time machine and could simply pick option A, travel to the future and see how the rest of your life turns out? Then, after a quick bathroom break, pick option B and again see how everything turns out. You would be in a position to know exactly which path will make you happier. That would be sweet, wouldn’t it?
The bad news is we don’t have access to such a time machine (yet). But, we have at our disposal a powerful tool that can act as a substitute for a time machine. It’s called our imagination.
Here’s what you do. Find a time when you’re alone, you have some peace and quiet, and your mind is relatively undisturbed. This could be early morning or late night. It could be in your bedroom or your prayer room or even your bathroom, if you can’t find any place else.
Close your eyes. Assume you have already picked option A. Visualize in your mind and feel with your heart, where you are, what you’re doing, who is with you, what the environment is like. Project yourself into the future: one month from now, one year from now, ten years from now.
Take no more than ten minutes to do this. Then, after a quick bathroom break of course, clear your mind, take five deep breaths, and repeat this for option B.
There, in less than half an hour, you’ve traveled to the future and seen which choice makes you happier. No need to talk to many people, or do a lot of research. Too much information is sometimes detrimental to decision-making. All the answers lie within. Learn to trust your instincts.
After making the decision, people frequently revisit it again and again, wondering if they made the wrong choice. This is especially true when things start to go wrong, which they inevitably do at some point or the other. You start to look back and chastise yourself for making an incorrect choice.
Don’t do that. It serves no purpose whatsoever. How can you know that things would have turned out better if you had made the other choice? Maybe they would be even worse than they are now. Or maybe, this struggle that you are going through now is exactly what you need to take that next step in your personal evolution and prepare for what lies ahead.
There is no way to say for sure that any decision you made was a bad one, since you can’t know what would have happened had you made the other choice. So, don’t go back and revisit the decision. Don’t ever do that. What’s done is done. There are no wrong choices.
Besides, it’s not just the decision that matters; it’s also what you do after that. The time when you make the decision is just a single moment in time. It is followed by many more moments in the months and years to follow. Once you make the choice, you have to handle whatever comes your way. How you face the situation from there on is equally important as the decision itself.
And if you truly start to feel that this is no longer the right path for you, you can always backtrack. Very few decisions are irreversible. In the words of Led Zeppelin from Stairway to Heaven, “Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there’s always time to change the road you’re on.”
Above all, remember to follow your deepest intuition. It already knows what’s best for you, before your thinking mind figures it out and gets with the program.
Passing Through
A reporter went to the house of a famous rabbi for an interview. He noticed that there was no furniture aside from a small cot in one corner and a bookshelf in another. The rabbi had lived there for several years.
Curious, he asked the rabbi, “Where is all your furniture?’”
The rabbi paused, looked back at the reporter, “Well, where is your furniture?”
The reporter had a puzzled expression “My furniture? But I’m just passing through here.”
The rabbi nodded “So am I.”
*****
Everything in life is temporary. Nothing lasts. Wherever we are right now, we are just passing through there during a phase of our lives. So, we might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
Curious, he asked the rabbi, “Where is all your furniture?’”
The rabbi paused, looked back at the reporter, “Well, where is your furniture?”
The reporter had a puzzled expression “My furniture? But I’m just passing through here.”
The rabbi nodded “So am I.”
*****
Everything in life is temporary. Nothing lasts. Wherever we are right now, we are just passing through there during a phase of our lives. So, we might as well enjoy it while it lasts.
The Taxi
At the stroke of 9:00pm, Professor Dalal, as per his routine, closed his textbook, wiped the blackboard clean and dismissed the class. The fifty odd first year engineering students who had signed up for his tuition classes bundled out towards the door, eager to get to their respective homes.
Amongst them was Naveen, six foot tall and thin as a lamppost. He stretched his arms out and yawned. His buddy Prakash appeared beside him rubbing his eyes. Prakash was shorter and stouter, with crew cut hair and multi-colored contact lenses.
“Let’s go home.”Prakash said.
“Uh-huh,” Naveen looked across “You have an outstanding grasp of the obvious, you know that?”
Prakash blinked. “I’m too tired to respond to that.”
Naveen laughed. “Take your time. Send me a message tomorrow with your comeback.”
“Yea, I’ll do that.” Prakash staggered forward to cross the street.
“Where you going?” Naveen asked. “The bus stop is that way.”
“Bus?”Prakash shot him a venomous look. “What bus? We’re taking a cab.”
“Cab? You know how much that will cost?”
“Who cares, dude. I’ve been out of the house since six in the morning, dashing from college classes to tuition classes and what not. I’m done, man. We’re taking a cab.”
“But…”
“I’m paying.”
Naveen shrugged. Reluctantly, he followed Prakash across the street.
Prakash raised his arm and hailed down a passing black-and-yellow fiat, the trademark Mumbai taxicab. Both the boys sank into the backseat.
The taxi driver had a thick moustache and wore a crumpled brown shirt, with the top three buttons open. He turned to them and cleared his throat.
Naveen glanced up. “Breach candy.”
Without a word, the cab driver started the meter and pushed the taxi into gear. The traffic in Mumbai was congested even on a weeknight. Car horns blared all around them. Dust and fumes filled the night air.
The taxi bounced over pot holes and speed bumps. The two passengers were frequently jerked into the air. The taxi driver swore at the slightest provocation, at other cars, pedestrians, and anyone else in sight. He even cursed at traffic cops, although under his breath so that they couldn’t hear him. Naveen and Prakash, did however, hear all of his profanity, seated as they were on the back seat of his beat up old fiat.
At every traffic light, the taxi driver would turn the engine off, twist his moustache and spit outside the window. The car engine made a squeaky sound every time it was started up.
Naveen looked out and noticed that they were on Linking road instead of S.V. road, which was the normal route. He leaned forward and addressed the cabbie, “Why aren’t you going on Linking road, boss?”
The driver shot his head around. His index finger was deep inside his right nostril, digging around. He slowly withdrew the finger, whose tip was covered with black and brown particles.
Naveen flinched backwards, revolted. That finger was a god damn bio hazard.
The driver glared at him, and continued on his own route, without responding. Naveen looked down, and toyed with the dial of his wrist watch.
Prakash nudged him, “This driver is a bit weird.”
Naveen nodded, “Well said, Captain Obvious.”
They drifted off into silence as the cabbie continued his obscenities and stop-start driving. Naveen decided to try to take a nap.
At one particularly busy circular junction, the cab had to wait for quite a while as one direction of traffic was released and then another. When their turn finally came, the driver cranked the engine as usual. The car lurched forward, and then stopped abruptly. Naveen and Prakash were jolted alert.
The cabbie cursed whole-heartedly, and turned the keys again. The engine sputtered and coughed, but wouldn’t come alive. He tried again, but the engine wouldn’t co-operate. The old fiat had decided to take a nap too.
The cabbie banged his fist against the steering wheel and yelled loudly. He turned around to look at his passengers.
“What are you looking at? Get out and give it a push.” He commanded.
Naveen stared, “Ha?”
The cabbie grunted. “You heard me, give the car a push.”
Naveen and Prakash exchanged a puzzled look. Naveen looked around and noticed that they were in the middle of the junction. The cars behind them blew their horns and drove past their halted taxi. The taxi driver, for his part, let the passing cars have an earful. Then, the signal changed and traffic from the other side was released.
Every car had to slow down, change lanes and slide past the lethargic, old fiat. Some drivers just honked their horn and went on their way. Some would slow down and yell at their cabbie, who give it back to them, with interest.
Naveen felt embarrassed to be inside that cab. He looked at Prakash and shrugged his shoulders, “Let’s push it.”
Prakash widened his eyes, “Are you serious?”
Naveen nodded, “It’ll be quick. Besides, what choice do we have here?” He opened the door and stepped out. A bewildered looking Prakash followed him.
They went around to the back of the taxi. Car drivers and passengers from all sides yelled and gestured towards them.
“Get moving, man.”
“Idiots, you’ll are blocking everybody.”
“What are you morons doing? Just get out of everyone’s way.”
The taunts kept coming in their direction. Prakash looked dumbstruck. “I can’t believe this. You realize that we’re paying for this ride?”
“Actually, you’re paying for this ride.”
Prakash shook his head, still in shock. Naveen nudged him on the shoulder. “C’mon dude, on three. One…Two…Three”
Both of them bent down and pushed hard. Their cabbie stuck his head out the window. “C’mon, harder. You’ll are young boys. Push harder.”
“Young boys,” Prakash scowled. “Dude, this cab belongs in some ancient history museum.”
“Yea,” Naveen said. “You realize that the meter is still running? Let’s try again.”
They bent down, took a deep breath and threw their strength against the car in tandem. The car inched forward.
“That’s it.” The cabbie yelled. “A little more.”
They pushed further, and the car rolled ahead. The driver turned the key and cranked the engine again. This time, miraculously, the engine breathed into life.
“Alright…finally.” Naveen said, as they got back inside.
Prakash continued to grimace. "Dude, I still can’t believe this shit. We are the passengers of this cab...”
“Oh, get over it.”
“What do mean get over it?”
“I mean its fine. Whatever it is, it’s over. I just want to get home now.”
The taxi driver made no attempt to thank them. He grunted and drove onwards. As they resumed their journey, he continued to curse randomly, and dig for gold in the dark recesses of his nasal system. He did, however, keep the engine running even on traffic lights.
Naveen and Prakash sat in silence on the back seat, drifting off again. Several blocks later, their taxi stopped at a traffic light. The light turned green and their cabbie took his time in putting the dying taxi into motion.
Naveen observed a motorcycle on the perpendicular road struggle to maintain balance as he approached the traffic light, which should have been red for him. The biker wrestled with the handle, but didn’t appear to have it under control.
Naveen became instantly aware that the bike was screeching rapidly towards them. He felt his stomach churn. He looked on as the motorcycle skidded sideways and hurtled along to Naveen’s side of the crawling cab.
“Oh shit,” Prakash shouted.
Naveen ducked down, keeping his head low and his hand tucked behind his legs. It was the brace position he had seen so many times during airplane safety instructions. He never thought he would have to use that information.
A loud crash rang out. His body got flung sideways, and landed on Prakash, whose head was thrown towards the side door.
Naveen straightened himself out, breathing heavily. His body felt unsteady, but without significant injury. A moment of silence engulfed their taxi. Prakash squatted with his head down, his back hunched over.
The silence was broken by the loud shouting of the cab driver, who was on his feet outside the cab. The brown shirt had all of the buttons off now, as the cabbie shook his fist at the fallen biker. The biker’s helmet was off, as he sat on the ground massaging his legs, not appearing seriously hurt. The rear door on Naveen’s side of the taxi was bent out of shape from the impact.
Inside the cab, Prakash remained doubled over. Naveen looked across at him. “Are you alright?”
Prakash slowly raised his head. He had his hands on his face. Drops of blood dripped down from his nose. “Do I look alright?”
Naveen frowned, “Let’s take a look at that.”
Prakash brought his hands down. “Dude, my nose hurts like hell.”
Naveen took out a handkerchief, crushed it into a ball and handed it to his classmate. “Push this against your nose. Try to stop the bleeding.”
Prakash took the handkerchief. “What the hell just happened?”
“It was all a blur, but I think that bike lost control and crashed into us.”
“Holy shit, that happened fast.”
Naveen saw the blood still forming on his friend’s nose. “We have to get you to the doctor.” He got out and went around to help Prakash.
Prakash staggered forward, with a hand on Naveen’s shoulder. “What the shit, dude. What the hell is going on…”
“Shit happens, man.”
Their cabbie, who was still cursing in all directions, noticed them hobble ahead.
“That’ll be seventy.” He barked out to them.
Naveen turned around, “Ha?”
“The meter says seventy.” The cabbie grunted.
Naveen blinked. Seventy bucks for that ride. He slowly brought out his wallet.
Prakash mumbled, “Oh I have to pay for this, right?”
“Forget it, I’ll get it.” Naveen said, as he handed the cabbie the money. The cabbie grabbed the notes, counted them and grunted his consent. Without giving them a second glance, he got into his taxi, which somehow started up this time, and rolled away.
Naveen stared after the cab, still digesting everything that had happened. By his side, Prakash, rubbed his nose and muttered, “Next time, we’ll take the bus.”
Amongst them was Naveen, six foot tall and thin as a lamppost. He stretched his arms out and yawned. His buddy Prakash appeared beside him rubbing his eyes. Prakash was shorter and stouter, with crew cut hair and multi-colored contact lenses.
“Let’s go home.”Prakash said.
“Uh-huh,” Naveen looked across “You have an outstanding grasp of the obvious, you know that?”
Prakash blinked. “I’m too tired to respond to that.”
Naveen laughed. “Take your time. Send me a message tomorrow with your comeback.”
“Yea, I’ll do that.” Prakash staggered forward to cross the street.
“Where you going?” Naveen asked. “The bus stop is that way.”
“Bus?”Prakash shot him a venomous look. “What bus? We’re taking a cab.”
“Cab? You know how much that will cost?”
“Who cares, dude. I’ve been out of the house since six in the morning, dashing from college classes to tuition classes and what not. I’m done, man. We’re taking a cab.”
“But…”
“I’m paying.”
Naveen shrugged. Reluctantly, he followed Prakash across the street.
Prakash raised his arm and hailed down a passing black-and-yellow fiat, the trademark Mumbai taxicab. Both the boys sank into the backseat.
The taxi driver had a thick moustache and wore a crumpled brown shirt, with the top three buttons open. He turned to them and cleared his throat.
Naveen glanced up. “Breach candy.”
Without a word, the cab driver started the meter and pushed the taxi into gear. The traffic in Mumbai was congested even on a weeknight. Car horns blared all around them. Dust and fumes filled the night air.
The taxi bounced over pot holes and speed bumps. The two passengers were frequently jerked into the air. The taxi driver swore at the slightest provocation, at other cars, pedestrians, and anyone else in sight. He even cursed at traffic cops, although under his breath so that they couldn’t hear him. Naveen and Prakash, did however, hear all of his profanity, seated as they were on the back seat of his beat up old fiat.
At every traffic light, the taxi driver would turn the engine off, twist his moustache and spit outside the window. The car engine made a squeaky sound every time it was started up.
Naveen looked out and noticed that they were on Linking road instead of S.V. road, which was the normal route. He leaned forward and addressed the cabbie, “Why aren’t you going on Linking road, boss?”
The driver shot his head around. His index finger was deep inside his right nostril, digging around. He slowly withdrew the finger, whose tip was covered with black and brown particles.
Naveen flinched backwards, revolted. That finger was a god damn bio hazard.
The driver glared at him, and continued on his own route, without responding. Naveen looked down, and toyed with the dial of his wrist watch.
Prakash nudged him, “This driver is a bit weird.”
Naveen nodded, “Well said, Captain Obvious.”
They drifted off into silence as the cabbie continued his obscenities and stop-start driving. Naveen decided to try to take a nap.
At one particularly busy circular junction, the cab had to wait for quite a while as one direction of traffic was released and then another. When their turn finally came, the driver cranked the engine as usual. The car lurched forward, and then stopped abruptly. Naveen and Prakash were jolted alert.
The cabbie cursed whole-heartedly, and turned the keys again. The engine sputtered and coughed, but wouldn’t come alive. He tried again, but the engine wouldn’t co-operate. The old fiat had decided to take a nap too.
The cabbie banged his fist against the steering wheel and yelled loudly. He turned around to look at his passengers.
“What are you looking at? Get out and give it a push.” He commanded.
Naveen stared, “Ha?”
The cabbie grunted. “You heard me, give the car a push.”
Naveen and Prakash exchanged a puzzled look. Naveen looked around and noticed that they were in the middle of the junction. The cars behind them blew their horns and drove past their halted taxi. The taxi driver, for his part, let the passing cars have an earful. Then, the signal changed and traffic from the other side was released.
Every car had to slow down, change lanes and slide past the lethargic, old fiat. Some drivers just honked their horn and went on their way. Some would slow down and yell at their cabbie, who give it back to them, with interest.
Naveen felt embarrassed to be inside that cab. He looked at Prakash and shrugged his shoulders, “Let’s push it.”
Prakash widened his eyes, “Are you serious?”
Naveen nodded, “It’ll be quick. Besides, what choice do we have here?” He opened the door and stepped out. A bewildered looking Prakash followed him.
They went around to the back of the taxi. Car drivers and passengers from all sides yelled and gestured towards them.
“Get moving, man.”
“Idiots, you’ll are blocking everybody.”
“What are you morons doing? Just get out of everyone’s way.”
The taunts kept coming in their direction. Prakash looked dumbstruck. “I can’t believe this. You realize that we’re paying for this ride?”
“Actually, you’re paying for this ride.”
Prakash shook his head, still in shock. Naveen nudged him on the shoulder. “C’mon dude, on three. One…Two…Three”
Both of them bent down and pushed hard. Their cabbie stuck his head out the window. “C’mon, harder. You’ll are young boys. Push harder.”
“Young boys,” Prakash scowled. “Dude, this cab belongs in some ancient history museum.”
“Yea,” Naveen said. “You realize that the meter is still running? Let’s try again.”
They bent down, took a deep breath and threw their strength against the car in tandem. The car inched forward.
“That’s it.” The cabbie yelled. “A little more.”
They pushed further, and the car rolled ahead. The driver turned the key and cranked the engine again. This time, miraculously, the engine breathed into life.
“Alright…finally.” Naveen said, as they got back inside.
Prakash continued to grimace. "Dude, I still can’t believe this shit. We are the passengers of this cab...”
“Oh, get over it.”
“What do mean get over it?”
“I mean its fine. Whatever it is, it’s over. I just want to get home now.”
The taxi driver made no attempt to thank them. He grunted and drove onwards. As they resumed their journey, he continued to curse randomly, and dig for gold in the dark recesses of his nasal system. He did, however, keep the engine running even on traffic lights.
Naveen and Prakash sat in silence on the back seat, drifting off again. Several blocks later, their taxi stopped at a traffic light. The light turned green and their cabbie took his time in putting the dying taxi into motion.
Naveen observed a motorcycle on the perpendicular road struggle to maintain balance as he approached the traffic light, which should have been red for him. The biker wrestled with the handle, but didn’t appear to have it under control.
Naveen became instantly aware that the bike was screeching rapidly towards them. He felt his stomach churn. He looked on as the motorcycle skidded sideways and hurtled along to Naveen’s side of the crawling cab.
“Oh shit,” Prakash shouted.
Naveen ducked down, keeping his head low and his hand tucked behind his legs. It was the brace position he had seen so many times during airplane safety instructions. He never thought he would have to use that information.
A loud crash rang out. His body got flung sideways, and landed on Prakash, whose head was thrown towards the side door.
Naveen straightened himself out, breathing heavily. His body felt unsteady, but without significant injury. A moment of silence engulfed their taxi. Prakash squatted with his head down, his back hunched over.
The silence was broken by the loud shouting of the cab driver, who was on his feet outside the cab. The brown shirt had all of the buttons off now, as the cabbie shook his fist at the fallen biker. The biker’s helmet was off, as he sat on the ground massaging his legs, not appearing seriously hurt. The rear door on Naveen’s side of the taxi was bent out of shape from the impact.
Inside the cab, Prakash remained doubled over. Naveen looked across at him. “Are you alright?”
Prakash slowly raised his head. He had his hands on his face. Drops of blood dripped down from his nose. “Do I look alright?”
Naveen frowned, “Let’s take a look at that.”
Prakash brought his hands down. “Dude, my nose hurts like hell.”
Naveen took out a handkerchief, crushed it into a ball and handed it to his classmate. “Push this against your nose. Try to stop the bleeding.”
Prakash took the handkerchief. “What the hell just happened?”
“It was all a blur, but I think that bike lost control and crashed into us.”
“Holy shit, that happened fast.”
Naveen saw the blood still forming on his friend’s nose. “We have to get you to the doctor.” He got out and went around to help Prakash.
Prakash staggered forward, with a hand on Naveen’s shoulder. “What the shit, dude. What the hell is going on…”
“Shit happens, man.”
Their cabbie, who was still cursing in all directions, noticed them hobble ahead.
“That’ll be seventy.” He barked out to them.
Naveen turned around, “Ha?”
“The meter says seventy.” The cabbie grunted.
Naveen blinked. Seventy bucks for that ride. He slowly brought out his wallet.
Prakash mumbled, “Oh I have to pay for this, right?”
“Forget it, I’ll get it.” Naveen said, as he handed the cabbie the money. The cabbie grabbed the notes, counted them and grunted his consent. Without giving them a second glance, he got into his taxi, which somehow started up this time, and rolled away.
Naveen stared after the cab, still digesting everything that had happened. By his side, Prakash, rubbed his nose and muttered, “Next time, we’ll take the bus.”
The Cathedral
In the middle of the lush green countryside, a magnificent cathedral was being constructed. Halfway completed, it already dwarfed all other structures in the vicinity. Four stone columns rose high into the sky, with intricately carved patterns all around their surfaces.
The chief architect had a grand vision for the cathedral. Picturesque frescoes, stained glass windows, ornamented double-doors at the entrance were all part of his design. The hexagonal interiors would have a twenty-foot high vaulted ceiling. Rows of oil lamps would line the walls, with colors representing a rainbow.
The architect walked around the grounds, with a slow smile forming on his lips. Visitors would travel from far and wide to visit this cathedral. And they wouldn’t be disappointed. The cathedral would create a lasting impression on the minds and hearts of everyone who experienced it.
At one side of the construction site, the architect passed by three men toiling away. Each of them performed the same task over and over again. They took a piece of rock, placed it on a flat stone and hit it with an axe till it broke to bits. Each rock took several powerful blows before it could be broken. The strain showed on their arms and shoulders. Their breathing was heavy. Sweat poured down their bodies as the summer sun beat down on them.
The architect stood and watched them for a while. A task of such monotony and requiring so much physical effort would have driven him insane. He observed those three men labor continuously, without a word. Not knowing who he was, the laborers paid no attention to him.
When they took their lunch break, the architect approached each of the three men individually, and posed them the same question, “What are you doing here and why are you doing it?”
The first man answered, “I’m breaking these god damn rocks. I do it so that I can get money to buy some grub and a cold beer at the end of the day.”
The second man answered, “I’m making these small stones which will be part of that building over there. I’m doing it so that I can feed my wife and children.”
The third man answered, “I’m part of the team that is constructing this beautiful cathedral that is taking shape before you. When it is finished, people will come from all over the world to gaze upon this structure. I’m here to learn as much I can about how such a creation is built.”
On an impulse, the architect called his assistant and asked to take down the names of the three men, and to keep track of them over the years.
Four decades later, the first man, who had remained a laborer performing rough physical tasks, died after his body strength eroded over time. The second man had achieved a reputation of being a dependable though unambitious employee. He had retired and lived with his family in a simple house with modest comforts.
And the third man? There was no need to even inquire about him. He had grown to be a master architect who had created several constructions that had surprised and delighted people everywhere. His stature was growing by the day as was his skill and imagination.
*****
Don’t be the person who breaks rocks because he gets a paycheck. Be part of the team constructing a cathedral. Your perception creates your reality. Be conscious of the story you tell yourself about what you do.
The chief architect had a grand vision for the cathedral. Picturesque frescoes, stained glass windows, ornamented double-doors at the entrance were all part of his design. The hexagonal interiors would have a twenty-foot high vaulted ceiling. Rows of oil lamps would line the walls, with colors representing a rainbow.
The architect walked around the grounds, with a slow smile forming on his lips. Visitors would travel from far and wide to visit this cathedral. And they wouldn’t be disappointed. The cathedral would create a lasting impression on the minds and hearts of everyone who experienced it.
At one side of the construction site, the architect passed by three men toiling away. Each of them performed the same task over and over again. They took a piece of rock, placed it on a flat stone and hit it with an axe till it broke to bits. Each rock took several powerful blows before it could be broken. The strain showed on their arms and shoulders. Their breathing was heavy. Sweat poured down their bodies as the summer sun beat down on them.
The architect stood and watched them for a while. A task of such monotony and requiring so much physical effort would have driven him insane. He observed those three men labor continuously, without a word. Not knowing who he was, the laborers paid no attention to him.
When they took their lunch break, the architect approached each of the three men individually, and posed them the same question, “What are you doing here and why are you doing it?”
The first man answered, “I’m breaking these god damn rocks. I do it so that I can get money to buy some grub and a cold beer at the end of the day.”
The second man answered, “I’m making these small stones which will be part of that building over there. I’m doing it so that I can feed my wife and children.”
The third man answered, “I’m part of the team that is constructing this beautiful cathedral that is taking shape before you. When it is finished, people will come from all over the world to gaze upon this structure. I’m here to learn as much I can about how such a creation is built.”
On an impulse, the architect called his assistant and asked to take down the names of the three men, and to keep track of them over the years.
Four decades later, the first man, who had remained a laborer performing rough physical tasks, died after his body strength eroded over time. The second man had achieved a reputation of being a dependable though unambitious employee. He had retired and lived with his family in a simple house with modest comforts.
And the third man? There was no need to even inquire about him. He had grown to be a master architect who had created several constructions that had surprised and delighted people everywhere. His stature was growing by the day as was his skill and imagination.
*****
Don’t be the person who breaks rocks because he gets a paycheck. Be part of the team constructing a cathedral. Your perception creates your reality. Be conscious of the story you tell yourself about what you do.
Show Don't Tell
One of the first lessons that any writer or storyteller is taught is to ‘show-don’t-tell’. This piece will elaborate on this golden rule of good storytelling.
The writer wants to convey something, whether it’s the description of a place or an emotion of a character or sequence of actions. There are two ways in which this can be done. Telling the reader what the situation is and providing a clear interpretation; or Showing the reader the situation and inviting them to draw their own conclusions.
Let me illustrate this with an example.
Telling: It was an untidy room.
Showing: The room was more crowded than a New York subway at rush hour. But not with people, with things. Clothes, books, CDs, stationery, bags, chairs, and god know what else. Kevin searched for a spot to plant his foot without stepping on anything. He gave up the effort.
Doesn’t the latter version convey the same thing in a more powerful manner? Can you not feel the untidiness of the room, rather than me just telling you that it’s untidy? Did an image of the room pop up in your mind?
Telling summarizes the scene with a simple adjective or adverb. Showing paints a vivid picture and allows the readers to experience the scene for themselves. Showing makes the reader feel what the adjective was intended to imply.
The same technique applies not just to descriptions but also to emotions of characters. Let’s take another example.
Telling: He felt nervous as he walked up to the door.
Showing: He shuffled back and forth, looking downwards and then sideways. His hands fumbled about inside his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he advanced with measured steps as the wooden front door loomed closer.
Again, can you feel his state of mind as he approached the door? Wasn’t that more engaging than me telling you that he was nervous, and you take my word for it?
Showing is the key to good storytelling. It makes the reader a participant in the story. However the flipside is that, as you can see, showing takes substantially more words and sentences than telling. If we try to show everything, it will become rather verbose. The craft of the writer is to select what details to show and then tell the rest. So, telling has a place in the story too. For information that needs to be known, but is not as critical, telling is useful to summarize things for the reader.
A good technique for writing a description is to close your eyes and visualize the scene. Pick out few striking details that you see in your mind’s eye. Show these, then summarize or leave out the rest. The readers will fill in the blanks with their own imagination. We want to make the readers feel the scene. For this, the writer has to feel it himself or herself. Remember to feel first, write second.
The difference between a movie and a book is that in a movie everything is visualized for the audience. Every detail, every sight and sound is created for the viewers by the director, his cast and crew. In a book, readers have to exercise their own imagination.
For written works, the story begins in the mind of the writer and is breathed to life in the mind of the reader. No story is alive until it has been read. The reader is the co-creator of the story. In fact, no two readers will see the same picture. I’m sure everyone who reads this piece will see a slightly different image of the untidy room in their heads.
Remember that people read a story to be entertained. They want to get lost in the fictional world created by the author. They want to go on the journey with the characters. The writer’s job is to plant the seeds of the story in the reader’s mind and entice their imagination to do the rest.
The writer wants to convey something, whether it’s the description of a place or an emotion of a character or sequence of actions. There are two ways in which this can be done. Telling the reader what the situation is and providing a clear interpretation; or Showing the reader the situation and inviting them to draw their own conclusions.
Let me illustrate this with an example.
Telling: It was an untidy room.
Showing: The room was more crowded than a New York subway at rush hour. But not with people, with things. Clothes, books, CDs, stationery, bags, chairs, and god know what else. Kevin searched for a spot to plant his foot without stepping on anything. He gave up the effort.
Doesn’t the latter version convey the same thing in a more powerful manner? Can you not feel the untidiness of the room, rather than me just telling you that it’s untidy? Did an image of the room pop up in your mind?
Telling summarizes the scene with a simple adjective or adverb. Showing paints a vivid picture and allows the readers to experience the scene for themselves. Showing makes the reader feel what the adjective was intended to imply.
The same technique applies not just to descriptions but also to emotions of characters. Let’s take another example.
Telling: He felt nervous as he walked up to the door.
Showing: He shuffled back and forth, looking downwards and then sideways. His hands fumbled about inside his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he advanced with measured steps as the wooden front door loomed closer.
Again, can you feel his state of mind as he approached the door? Wasn’t that more engaging than me telling you that he was nervous, and you take my word for it?
Showing is the key to good storytelling. It makes the reader a participant in the story. However the flipside is that, as you can see, showing takes substantially more words and sentences than telling. If we try to show everything, it will become rather verbose. The craft of the writer is to select what details to show and then tell the rest. So, telling has a place in the story too. For information that needs to be known, but is not as critical, telling is useful to summarize things for the reader.
A good technique for writing a description is to close your eyes and visualize the scene. Pick out few striking details that you see in your mind’s eye. Show these, then summarize or leave out the rest. The readers will fill in the blanks with their own imagination. We want to make the readers feel the scene. For this, the writer has to feel it himself or herself. Remember to feel first, write second.
The difference between a movie and a book is that in a movie everything is visualized for the audience. Every detail, every sight and sound is created for the viewers by the director, his cast and crew. In a book, readers have to exercise their own imagination.
For written works, the story begins in the mind of the writer and is breathed to life in the mind of the reader. No story is alive until it has been read. The reader is the co-creator of the story. In fact, no two readers will see the same picture. I’m sure everyone who reads this piece will see a slightly different image of the untidy room in their heads.
Remember that people read a story to be entertained. They want to get lost in the fictional world created by the author. They want to go on the journey with the characters. The writer’s job is to plant the seeds of the story in the reader’s mind and entice their imagination to do the rest.
It's My Life
In an old, crumbling notebook, which somehow survived since my childhood days, I found this little poem that nine-year-old me wrote to my parents. What a strange feeling it was reading this. I wonder if traces of this obstinate and willful yet loving kid are still left in me.
To my parents
It’s My life
It’s my life
Stop nagging me
Stop scolding me
Stop instructing me
It’s my life
Don’t interfere with it
Let me do what I want to do,
How I want to do it
When I want to do it
Where I want to do it
But please guide me,
Encourage me,
Love me,
Care for me,
Help me,
Forgive me,
And don’t forget me.
And you will get all these things back from me.
Your loving son,
Varun.
To my parents
It’s My life
It’s my life
Stop nagging me
Stop scolding me
Stop instructing me
It’s my life
Don’t interfere with it
Let me do what I want to do,
How I want to do it
When I want to do it
Where I want to do it
But please guide me,
Encourage me,
Love me,
Care for me,
Help me,
Forgive me,
And don’t forget me.
And you will get all these things back from me.
Your loving son,
Varun.
The Professor
Raj darted forward, skipping over two steps at a time. He had four flights of stairs to climb. His lungs pleaded for air, but their request was denied. He had to be on time that day.
Professor Goldstein was not a man to be kept waiting.
Raj felt lucky to even have an appointment with the legendary scholar. Considered as the Godfather of natural history studies, Goldstein’s work in the field was admired by all and sundry. His research ranged from all varieties of plants to insects to micro-organisms to aquatic life forms. His published papers were widely acclaimed and lauded as a benchmark by many academic institutions.
Every year he selected two or three new students to help with his research. God alone knew how many applied. Raj was certain that all of the 200 students in his class at the university had applied. The same was probably true for many universities the world over.
Near-perfect grades, exemplary research work and a heartfelt application essay had earned Raj the chance to work with the reclusive Mr. Goldstein, whose picture rarely appeared anywhere despite all his fame.
As he raced along the final set of stairs, Raj couldn’t stop his mind from imagining what the professor would be like. Would he be genial or stern? How would he like Raj? Would there be further tests?
Raj paused at the top of the stairs to collect his breath. He strode forward towards the black wooden door at the end of the corridor. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a small rectangular name plate on the top right corner of the door. It read Goldstein’. No doctor or professor Goldstein, both of which would have been more than deserved. Just Goldstein.
Raj steadied himself. He checked the time. He was two minutes early. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Raj slowly pushed the door open and took a step in. His eyes took in a spacious room with numerous desks and sofas. All four walls were covered with shelves, lined with jars of samples: insects, plants, and every other creature. The glass jars came in all shapes, colors and sizes. There must have been close to a thousand of them filling the room.
At the far end of the room, sitting on a reclining chair behind a round oak table was the man himself. A white mane of hair reached just below his shoulders. His face was thick with beard. Behind a pair of round, black-rimmed spectacles, the professor’s eyes locked onto Raj. The eyes flickered up and down, seizing Raj up.
A wrinkled hand motioned for him to sit. Raj lowered himself. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Professor Goldstein.”
The professor nodded ever so slightly. “So, why are you here?”
“Umm…to do research.” Raj blurted. The professor’s eyes bore into his. Raj continued. “Actually, my field of interest is aquatic life, fish of all kinds.”
The professor continued to stare at Raj for a moment longer. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, like a sleeping child. He rose from his seat, retrieved a sample from a shelf and placed it before Raj.
It was a fish. A haemulon to be specific, the kind found in tropical waters. It was kept in a neckless glass bottle fitted with a cork, and immersed in yellow alcohol.
“Study it.” The professor said. “You will not use any instruments, you will not read anything on the internet, your phone will be switched off. Only your two hands, your two eyes and the fish. I will come back from time to time and ask you what you have seen.”
The professor rose again, his six-foot tall frame was lean and gaunt. He made his way out of the office. Just as he stepped out, he turned and called out. “Oh, and make sure you keep it moist. The instructions for how to handle it are on the jar.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Raj to the fish.
Raj stared at the little creature. He opened the jar and gently placed the specimen on a tin tray in front of him, taking care to replace the stopper. Bringing out a pen and paper, Raj started taking notes.
Within ten minutes, Raj concluded he had seen all he could of the fish. He put the fish back in the jar and waited for the professor to return.
Half an hour passed and no sign of the professor. Raj removed the specimen again and looked at it some more. New things began to appear to him. He looked intently at the fins, the tail, the mouth, the eyes. He turned it over and from side to side. He moistened its surface with alcohol from the jar.
An hour later, Raj decided to break for lunch. He made his way to the cafeteria and carried with him that unmistakable fish smell. The girl at the checkout counter pinched her nose closed as she collected his money, and shot him a dirty look.
After lunch, Raj returned to the professor’s office, and the round spectacles had re-appeared on the reclining chair. The professor wiped the glass of his spectacles with care. He looked at Raj, waiting expectantly.
Raj cleared his throat and began to recount all that he had learned and previously knew about the fish. He spoke about its body, its pores, it lidless eyes, it lack of canines, its forked tail. He finished his summary and looked at the professor.
The professor ran a hand down his white mane and waited, as if expecting more.
Raj paused. “And that’s all I had.”
The professor shook his head. “You have missed such obvious features. Keep looking.”
Raj’s eyes widened. What more could there possibly be to that little fish?
He looked up, but the professor had already stepped out. Raj sat down, and resigned himself to the task. He was not to use a magnifying glass or anything else. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish.
He brought out his tiny friend again. He began to examine it from all angles, wondering what all he had missed. He pushed it and poked at it. He began to count the scales in different rows. As time went by, he grew increasingly desperate.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. He took his pencil out and started to draw the fish. Just then, the professor returned and looked over his shoulder.
The professor nodded. “A pencil is one of the best eyes indeed. Also, I’m glad to see you have kept the specimen wet and the bottle corked.”
Once again, the professor left.
Raj drew the fish once, twice and three times. He drew it from different perspectives. He focused all his attention on it. To his surprise, he discovered one new thing after another. The afternoon passed quickly.
The professor returned. “So, have you learned everything?”
“No,” Raj replied, “But I realize now how little I saw earlier.”
“That is the next best thing,” The professor’s eyes approved. “Keep looking.”
So Raj did. He spent hour after hour with his specimen. The deeper he dug, the more he uncovered.
Finally, as evening turned to night, the professor addressed him. “That’s enough for today. Put your fish away. I will hear you tomorrow morning before you look at the fish again.”
Raj took one last, long look and put his fish away. On his way to his dorm room, his mind was pre-occupied by the fish. Everywhere he looked he saw its shape, he smelt its odor and felt its slimy surface. He lay on his bed at night, thinking of nothing else.
The next morning, the Professor greeted him cordially. “So tell me.”
Raj took a deep breath. “I had missed so much earlier. Firstly, the beautiful symmetry of it. All of its organs are paired and are exactly equidistant from the lateral line.”
“That is good.” The professor said. “Go on.”
Raj launched into a long discourse about all he had learned about each tiny part of the fish from its reddish mouth linings to its fringed gills to its fleshy lips.
The professor listened carefully. He waited for Raj to finish. “Good work.”
Raj felt pleased. He exhaled and sat down. He looked up at the professor. “So, what next?”
“Oh, keep looking at the fish, of course.” And the professor left.
Raj was mortified. Still more of the fish? But now, he set himself to the task with renewed will. The passing time brought more new discoveries, new nuggets of information.
Every few hours, the professor would drop by and hear Raj’s insights.
“That is good,” The old professor would say. “But that is not all. Keep looking.”
And so it went on. For three long days, Raj studied the fish. He began to feel an intimate connection with the creature. As he would with many of the specimens during his two year spell under Professor Goldstein’s tutelage. Raj would find out, to his dismay, that no amount of soap or perfume could cover up the fish smell. The smell would grow to be a part of him.
For all the knowledge and expertise, Raj acquired over the years, he still remembered those first three days. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish. Keep looking…
Professor Goldstein was not a man to be kept waiting.
Raj felt lucky to even have an appointment with the legendary scholar. Considered as the Godfather of natural history studies, Goldstein’s work in the field was admired by all and sundry. His research ranged from all varieties of plants to insects to micro-organisms to aquatic life forms. His published papers were widely acclaimed and lauded as a benchmark by many academic institutions.
Every year he selected two or three new students to help with his research. God alone knew how many applied. Raj was certain that all of the 200 students in his class at the university had applied. The same was probably true for many universities the world over.
Near-perfect grades, exemplary research work and a heartfelt application essay had earned Raj the chance to work with the reclusive Mr. Goldstein, whose picture rarely appeared anywhere despite all his fame.
As he raced along the final set of stairs, Raj couldn’t stop his mind from imagining what the professor would be like. Would he be genial or stern? How would he like Raj? Would there be further tests?
Raj paused at the top of the stairs to collect his breath. He strode forward towards the black wooden door at the end of the corridor. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a small rectangular name plate on the top right corner of the door. It read Goldstein’. No doctor or professor Goldstein, both of which would have been more than deserved. Just Goldstein.
Raj steadied himself. He checked the time. He was two minutes early. He raised his hand and rapped his knuckles on the door. “May I come in?”
“Yes.”
Raj slowly pushed the door open and took a step in. His eyes took in a spacious room with numerous desks and sofas. All four walls were covered with shelves, lined with jars of samples: insects, plants, and every other creature. The glass jars came in all shapes, colors and sizes. There must have been close to a thousand of them filling the room.
At the far end of the room, sitting on a reclining chair behind a round oak table was the man himself. A white mane of hair reached just below his shoulders. His face was thick with beard. Behind a pair of round, black-rimmed spectacles, the professor’s eyes locked onto Raj. The eyes flickered up and down, seizing Raj up.
A wrinkled hand motioned for him to sit. Raj lowered himself. “It’s so great to finally meet you, Professor Goldstein.”
The professor nodded ever so slightly. “So, why are you here?”
“Umm…to do research.” Raj blurted. The professor’s eyes bore into his. Raj continued. “Actually, my field of interest is aquatic life, fish of all kinds.”
The professor continued to stare at Raj for a moment longer. His breathing was slow and rhythmic, like a sleeping child. He rose from his seat, retrieved a sample from a shelf and placed it before Raj.
It was a fish. A haemulon to be specific, the kind found in tropical waters. It was kept in a neckless glass bottle fitted with a cork, and immersed in yellow alcohol.
“Study it.” The professor said. “You will not use any instruments, you will not read anything on the internet, your phone will be switched off. Only your two hands, your two eyes and the fish. I will come back from time to time and ask you what you have seen.”
The professor rose again, his six-foot tall frame was lean and gaunt. He made his way out of the office. Just as he stepped out, he turned and called out. “Oh, and make sure you keep it moist. The instructions for how to handle it are on the jar.”
With that, he was gone, leaving Raj to the fish.
Raj stared at the little creature. He opened the jar and gently placed the specimen on a tin tray in front of him, taking care to replace the stopper. Bringing out a pen and paper, Raj started taking notes.
Within ten minutes, Raj concluded he had seen all he could of the fish. He put the fish back in the jar and waited for the professor to return.
Half an hour passed and no sign of the professor. Raj removed the specimen again and looked at it some more. New things began to appear to him. He looked intently at the fins, the tail, the mouth, the eyes. He turned it over and from side to side. He moistened its surface with alcohol from the jar.
An hour later, Raj decided to break for lunch. He made his way to the cafeteria and carried with him that unmistakable fish smell. The girl at the checkout counter pinched her nose closed as she collected his money, and shot him a dirty look.
After lunch, Raj returned to the professor’s office, and the round spectacles had re-appeared on the reclining chair. The professor wiped the glass of his spectacles with care. He looked at Raj, waiting expectantly.
Raj cleared his throat and began to recount all that he had learned and previously knew about the fish. He spoke about its body, its pores, it lidless eyes, it lack of canines, its forked tail. He finished his summary and looked at the professor.
The professor ran a hand down his white mane and waited, as if expecting more.
Raj paused. “And that’s all I had.”
The professor shook his head. “You have missed such obvious features. Keep looking.”
Raj’s eyes widened. What more could there possibly be to that little fish?
He looked up, but the professor had already stepped out. Raj sat down, and resigned himself to the task. He was not to use a magnifying glass or anything else. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish.
He brought out his tiny friend again. He began to examine it from all angles, wondering what all he had missed. He pushed it and poked at it. He began to count the scales in different rows. As time went by, he grew increasingly desperate.
Suddenly, a thought struck him. He took his pencil out and started to draw the fish. Just then, the professor returned and looked over his shoulder.
The professor nodded. “A pencil is one of the best eyes indeed. Also, I’m glad to see you have kept the specimen wet and the bottle corked.”
Once again, the professor left.
Raj drew the fish once, twice and three times. He drew it from different perspectives. He focused all his attention on it. To his surprise, he discovered one new thing after another. The afternoon passed quickly.
The professor returned. “So, have you learned everything?”
“No,” Raj replied, “But I realize now how little I saw earlier.”
“That is the next best thing,” The professor’s eyes approved. “Keep looking.”
So Raj did. He spent hour after hour with his specimen. The deeper he dug, the more he uncovered.
Finally, as evening turned to night, the professor addressed him. “That’s enough for today. Put your fish away. I will hear you tomorrow morning before you look at the fish again.”
Raj took one last, long look and put his fish away. On his way to his dorm room, his mind was pre-occupied by the fish. Everywhere he looked he saw its shape, he smelt its odor and felt its slimy surface. He lay on his bed at night, thinking of nothing else.
The next morning, the Professor greeted him cordially. “So tell me.”
Raj took a deep breath. “I had missed so much earlier. Firstly, the beautiful symmetry of it. All of its organs are paired and are exactly equidistant from the lateral line.”
“That is good.” The professor said. “Go on.”
Raj launched into a long discourse about all he had learned about each tiny part of the fish from its reddish mouth linings to its fringed gills to its fleshy lips.
The professor listened carefully. He waited for Raj to finish. “Good work.”
Raj felt pleased. He exhaled and sat down. He looked up at the professor. “So, what next?”
“Oh, keep looking at the fish, of course.” And the professor left.
Raj was mortified. Still more of the fish? But now, he set himself to the task with renewed will. The passing time brought more new discoveries, new nuggets of information.
Every few hours, the professor would drop by and hear Raj’s insights.
“That is good,” The old professor would say. “But that is not all. Keep looking.”
And so it went on. For three long days, Raj studied the fish. He began to feel an intimate connection with the creature. As he would with many of the specimens during his two year spell under Professor Goldstein’s tutelage. Raj would find out, to his dismay, that no amount of soap or perfume could cover up the fish smell. The smell would grow to be a part of him.
For all the knowledge and expertise, Raj acquired over the years, he still remembered those first three days. His two hands, his two eyes and the fish. Keep looking…
The Dentist Appointment
I hate dentists. Well, it’s not personal really. I’m sure some of them are good fellows whom one can have a beer with. What I was referring to was the act of sitting in their chair with my mouth hanging open, waiting for them to do stuff to me. I hate the pain in my teeth, the uneasy feeling in my mouth, the high-pitched hum of their tooth-drill or whatever it is. So, to correct myself, I hate dentist appointments.
I had a dentist appointment last Sunday to get a cavity filled. From the moment I scheduled that appointment, a week in advance, I was cringing in anticipation. Dr. Edward, my dentist, is a decent bloke. He even supports Real Madrid, my favorite soccer club. But I dreaded being in his chair, a hapless victim to his assortment of needles, syringes and other instruments of torture.
The next day, I drove past Dr. Edward’s office, on my way to work. I found my thoughts drifting to the upcoming cavity filling. Images came into my head of me sitting back in the dental chair, gripping the armrests, blinded by the light on my face, waiting for the needles to strike. My hands began to shake at the steering wheel.
Then, I pulled myself back to reality. Chill out, man, Right now, you’re just driving your car. Nothing bad is happening to you. Focus on the road.
The rest of the week went along. Two days before the appointment, I was in the grocery store picking out some candy when I saw him. Dr. Edward himself. The chief tormentor of my thoughts. He was examining some cereal. I felt the muscles on my face freeze. I could see his syringe inching towards my mouth. In panic, I threw the box of KitKat, paid for my groceries and scrambled to my car. My mouth still felt numb from imaginary anesthesia and sharp syringes.
I snapped myself back to the present. Relax. You’re just standing here. There are no syringes. There’ll be time for that later. Relax now.
I woke up on Sunday morning and stretched myself. I looked out the window and saw it was a bright sunny day. Then it hit me. Today was the day. The sound of the tooth drill drowned out the birds chirping outside my window. My mouth felt full of saliva. I needed to spit out. I rushed to the bathroom and gargled.
Take it easy. You’re at home. No drill is touching you as of now. Enjoy the clear blue sky and make a nice breakfast. You can deal with the dentist later.
At 2:00 pm, I sat in the waiting room. My hands turned the pages of some magazine but I wasn’t really looking. My whole body had gone tense. I heard the drill from the inside room – the real drill this time. I clutched my jaw. The sharp end of the drill would pierce my molars. My teeth started to chatter.
I returned my attention to my actual surroundings. Why are you tensing? Right now, you’re sitting in the waiting room. There are no instruments assaulting your mouth. Why not read a nice article?
The dentist’s assistant came up to me. “We’re ready for you.”
“N-Now?” I stammered. I rose to my feet unsteadily. I walked into the office, feeling like a man on death row. This is the moment. I found myself lying on the chair. Dr. Edward smiled and made some joke about the soccer game. I nodded but I barely heard him.
I stared at the light above my face. I took a glance at the instruments on the table. The drill was there, with its tip facing upwards. It had me in its sights. I felt as though it was taunting me. I looked at the tweezers, the syringe, the forceps. The whole gang was there. Ready for war. I could already feel the solid metal forceps tug hard at my canines, the sharp probes poke away at my molars, and then the machine drill go in for the kill. My forehead knotted up in pain. The inside of my mouth, my gums, my lips started to recoil in despair.
I forced myself to take a few deep breaths. It’s alright, buddy. At this moment, there is nothing happening. You are not experiencing any pain. You’re sitting in an expensive leather chair. Why not lean back and get comfortable?
Twenty minutes later, my cavity was filled. It was over. I had felt tiny stabs of pain, which were trifles compared to what my imagination had conjured up.
I thanked Dr. Edward, and settled the bill with the assistant. As I walked out the door, I was reminded of an old saying, “A coward dies a thousand deaths…”
I had a dentist appointment last Sunday to get a cavity filled. From the moment I scheduled that appointment, a week in advance, I was cringing in anticipation. Dr. Edward, my dentist, is a decent bloke. He even supports Real Madrid, my favorite soccer club. But I dreaded being in his chair, a hapless victim to his assortment of needles, syringes and other instruments of torture.
The next day, I drove past Dr. Edward’s office, on my way to work. I found my thoughts drifting to the upcoming cavity filling. Images came into my head of me sitting back in the dental chair, gripping the armrests, blinded by the light on my face, waiting for the needles to strike. My hands began to shake at the steering wheel.
Then, I pulled myself back to reality. Chill out, man, Right now, you’re just driving your car. Nothing bad is happening to you. Focus on the road.
The rest of the week went along. Two days before the appointment, I was in the grocery store picking out some candy when I saw him. Dr. Edward himself. The chief tormentor of my thoughts. He was examining some cereal. I felt the muscles on my face freeze. I could see his syringe inching towards my mouth. In panic, I threw the box of KitKat, paid for my groceries and scrambled to my car. My mouth still felt numb from imaginary anesthesia and sharp syringes.
I snapped myself back to the present. Relax. You’re just standing here. There are no syringes. There’ll be time for that later. Relax now.
I woke up on Sunday morning and stretched myself. I looked out the window and saw it was a bright sunny day. Then it hit me. Today was the day. The sound of the tooth drill drowned out the birds chirping outside my window. My mouth felt full of saliva. I needed to spit out. I rushed to the bathroom and gargled.
Take it easy. You’re at home. No drill is touching you as of now. Enjoy the clear blue sky and make a nice breakfast. You can deal with the dentist later.
At 2:00 pm, I sat in the waiting room. My hands turned the pages of some magazine but I wasn’t really looking. My whole body had gone tense. I heard the drill from the inside room – the real drill this time. I clutched my jaw. The sharp end of the drill would pierce my molars. My teeth started to chatter.
I returned my attention to my actual surroundings. Why are you tensing? Right now, you’re sitting in the waiting room. There are no instruments assaulting your mouth. Why not read a nice article?
The dentist’s assistant came up to me. “We’re ready for you.”
“N-Now?” I stammered. I rose to my feet unsteadily. I walked into the office, feeling like a man on death row. This is the moment. I found myself lying on the chair. Dr. Edward smiled and made some joke about the soccer game. I nodded but I barely heard him.
I stared at the light above my face. I took a glance at the instruments on the table. The drill was there, with its tip facing upwards. It had me in its sights. I felt as though it was taunting me. I looked at the tweezers, the syringe, the forceps. The whole gang was there. Ready for war. I could already feel the solid metal forceps tug hard at my canines, the sharp probes poke away at my molars, and then the machine drill go in for the kill. My forehead knotted up in pain. The inside of my mouth, my gums, my lips started to recoil in despair.
I forced myself to take a few deep breaths. It’s alright, buddy. At this moment, there is nothing happening. You are not experiencing any pain. You’re sitting in an expensive leather chair. Why not lean back and get comfortable?
Twenty minutes later, my cavity was filled. It was over. I had felt tiny stabs of pain, which were trifles compared to what my imagination had conjured up.
I thanked Dr. Edward, and settled the bill with the assistant. As I walked out the door, I was reminded of an old saying, “A coward dies a thousand deaths…”
One Game Away
The tri-color flags fly high. The drums beat on. The ecstatic screams ring out loud. The fireworks light up the night sky. The arch-enemy has been vanquished and sent home. Victory is ours to savor. The moment seems to last forever.
At least we wish it does.
India have earned a place in the Cricket World Cup final after defeating neighbors and perennial rivals Pakistan. It’s been 28 long years since we have won this trophy. 28 years of agonizing defeats and bitter disappointments. Now, the cricket-crazed fans of the world’s second most populous country have another chance to hope, to dream, to wish upon a star.
Can this team cross that final hurdle when so many promising Indian teams in the past have flattered to deceive? Will MS Dhoni lift the same trophy that the legendary Kapil Dev brought back home in 1983?
This is the question in the hearts and minds of every Indian. This is the question that dominates our thoughts and our conversations. Has our moment finally arrived?
Nothing brings this vast country together like the sport of cricket. We forget our differences, our petty squabbles over religion and politics. We are united now in a common belief, a shared dream. Oh how we have longed for this moment.
Our opponents in the final, the island nation of Sri Lanka, have been brutal in destroying their opponents. They hammered the hapless English out of the park. They brushed aside the ordinary New Zealanders with relative ease. Their confidence is high, their form is solid, their cricket is exceptional.
Contrastingly, India have taken the scenic route to the final. The batsmen held their nerve and squeaked through in a tense run chase against the powerhouse Aussies in the quarter-final. This was followed by disciplined bowling and fielding effort to earn an emotional victory over Pakistan in a much-anticipated, high pressure game.
Here the Indian team is at the final then, one game away from immortality, amidst a fanatic home crowd in the country’s commercial capital. Mumbai. The home town of Indian cricket’s greatest legend. Sachin Tendulkar is worshipped more ardently and by more people than most Gods. On the verge of a historic hundredth century, he will have one last chance to win the ultimate prize for his country.
While I was growing up, my father used to regale me with tales of the 1983 World Cup which India won. They were tales of triumph against odds, of glory, of public elation. These tales always left me in wonder, wishing that I had been there. I followed the fortunes of the Indian cricket team for all my adult life. For years, Indian teams showed so much talent but failed to deliver. For years, we waited for victory, for glory. But the tales of 1983 remained just stories handed down from an older generation.
We, the battle-hardened Indian cricket fans, have suffered through enough painful disappointments and nearly moments. Our hunger for this trophy has built up over the years to a deafening crescendo. We need our own stories now to recount for future generations. We need our own moments of mass euphoria, of collective ecstasy, of prolonged jubilation.
Come Saturday April 2nd, 2011, our moment of reckoning has arrived.
At least we wish it does.
India have earned a place in the Cricket World Cup final after defeating neighbors and perennial rivals Pakistan. It’s been 28 long years since we have won this trophy. 28 years of agonizing defeats and bitter disappointments. Now, the cricket-crazed fans of the world’s second most populous country have another chance to hope, to dream, to wish upon a star.
Can this team cross that final hurdle when so many promising Indian teams in the past have flattered to deceive? Will MS Dhoni lift the same trophy that the legendary Kapil Dev brought back home in 1983?
This is the question in the hearts and minds of every Indian. This is the question that dominates our thoughts and our conversations. Has our moment finally arrived?
Nothing brings this vast country together like the sport of cricket. We forget our differences, our petty squabbles over religion and politics. We are united now in a common belief, a shared dream. Oh how we have longed for this moment.
Our opponents in the final, the island nation of Sri Lanka, have been brutal in destroying their opponents. They hammered the hapless English out of the park. They brushed aside the ordinary New Zealanders with relative ease. Their confidence is high, their form is solid, their cricket is exceptional.
Contrastingly, India have taken the scenic route to the final. The batsmen held their nerve and squeaked through in a tense run chase against the powerhouse Aussies in the quarter-final. This was followed by disciplined bowling and fielding effort to earn an emotional victory over Pakistan in a much-anticipated, high pressure game.
Here the Indian team is at the final then, one game away from immortality, amidst a fanatic home crowd in the country’s commercial capital. Mumbai. The home town of Indian cricket’s greatest legend. Sachin Tendulkar is worshipped more ardently and by more people than most Gods. On the verge of a historic hundredth century, he will have one last chance to win the ultimate prize for his country.
While I was growing up, my father used to regale me with tales of the 1983 World Cup which India won. They were tales of triumph against odds, of glory, of public elation. These tales always left me in wonder, wishing that I had been there. I followed the fortunes of the Indian cricket team for all my adult life. For years, Indian teams showed so much talent but failed to deliver. For years, we waited for victory, for glory. But the tales of 1983 remained just stories handed down from an older generation.
We, the battle-hardened Indian cricket fans, have suffered through enough painful disappointments and nearly moments. Our hunger for this trophy has built up over the years to a deafening crescendo. We need our own stories now to recount for future generations. We need our own moments of mass euphoria, of collective ecstasy, of prolonged jubilation.
Come Saturday April 2nd, 2011, our moment of reckoning has arrived.
Comfortably Numb
Naveen leaned back against the car. He wasn’t able to stand straight. Loud music still rang in his ears. His roommate, Marvin, staggered behind him.
“We are fucking drunk.” Marvin was a fan of stating the obvious.
“How many drinks did I have?” Naveen wondered.
“I stopped counting after my fifth.” Marvin declared. “The first two rounds were tequila shots, then a vodka, then two whiskeys…and then…” He paused and appeared to be thinking. He laughed, “Who the hell knows what else I had.”
Marvin skipped forward. “Tonight’s gonna be a good, good night….oh yea...tonight’s gonna be a good, good night…”
Naveen cut him short, “Tonight is over man. But, tomorrow’s gonna be bad, bad hangover…oh yea…tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…”
Both of them burst out laughing. Marvin rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Naveen nodded. “Thanks. The feeling is mutual.”
Marvin pointed at the car they were leaning against, “Is this your car?”
Naveen turned and stared at the car, as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh yea, it is my car. The good ol’ Honda Civic. I love this car.”
Marvin pulled against the handle of the door, “Open it.”
Naveen searched his pockets, produced a key and unlocked it. Marvin opened the door, leaned down into the car and let out a gut-wrenching sound.
Naveen’s expression froze. “What the hell are you doing? You opened the door to throw up in it?”
Marvin remained bent over, holding his stomach and vomiting out. Naveen grabbed his roommate’s shoulder and pulled him up.
Marvin had a broad smirk. “Ha ha ha ha…I got you….”
Naveen exhaled, glanced into the car, and then cracked a smile. “Not bad….well done.”
Marvin smiled, “Alright, let’s get out of here now.”
Naveen nodded. He opened the driver’s door and paused. “Are we gonna drive back?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like you mentioned earlier, we are fuckin’ drunk.”
“We definitely are. So what?”
Naveen shook his head. “Let’s take a cab. We’ll pick up this car tomorrow.”
Marvin grunted. “Don’t be such a wuss.”
Naveen raised his eyebrows, “A wuss?”
“Yea, a wuss. If you want, I’ll drive.”
“You?” Naveen laughed, “C’mon man, you’ll barely be able to make it into the car without falling a few times.”
Marvin frowned, “I fooled you with the fake vomiting, didn’t I? That shows how sharp my mind is right now.”
“I don’t know about your sharp mind and all, but yea, you did fool me, I’ll give you that.”
Marvin stumbled towards him. Before Naveen could react, Marvin grabbed the car keys from his hand and collapsed into the driver’s seat. Naveen stared at him for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and went around to the passenger’s seat.
“Alright, that’s more like it.” Marvin fired up the engine. “Let’s do this.”
Marvin backed the car out and picked up speed. “So, where we headed?”
“Umm…how about home? It’s 3 am man.”
“Home?” Marvin was offended, “Where are the others?”
“Everyone split after we left the club, man.”
Marvin frowned, “Fine, fine…home it is.”
He changed lanes and pulled onto the freeway ramp. Suddenly, he grinned and looked across. “We still have half of that whiskey bottle remaining, right?”
Naveen winced at the thought. “You really want to puke, don’t ya?”
Marvin sang aloud, “I got a feeling…tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…oh yea….tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…”
Naveen joined in, “Oh yea…tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…”
They cruised along, picking up speed as the freeway cleared up ahead. Marvin put on the radio and tuned to the classic rock station. The lyrics sounded from the speakers “Now, I’ve got that feeling once again. I can’t explain...this is not how I am…”
Marvin’s eyes lit up. He cleared his throat and started to hum. “I….have become…”
Naveen joined in, “….comfortably numb…”
Both sang aloud, out of tune and out of sync, “There is no pain you are receiving....”
Suddenly, Naveen noticed some flashing lights behind them. “Did you see that, man?”
“Shhh…” Marvin admonished. “A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon…”
Naveen shifted in his seat. He blinked and looked back again. A black-and-white police car appeared behind them.
Marvin continued on. “When I was a child, I had a fever…”
“I think the cops are following us man.” Naveen said.
“…Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying…”
Naveen nudged his buddy on the shoulder. “Seriously man, there is a cop car behind us.”
Marvin glared at him. “I’m sure it’s not for us. Here, I’ll show you.” He changed lanes, giving the police car room to pass.
“…now I’ve got that feeling once again…”
The black-and-white car changed lanes too and stayed on their tail. Without warning, the flashing lights blazed on. A siren rang out, piercing their ears. A voice bellowed over a microphone. “Please pull over to the side.”
Marvin shut the radio off, and pulled the car aside and turned off the engine. The two roommates exchanged a quick look.
“I told you.” Naveen murmured. He felt his heart beat faster.
Marvin sat in silence. He rubbed his eyes.
The police officer slowly walked over to their car, and demanded to see license and registration. Naveen fumbled through the glove box and produced them.
The officer shone a flashlight on Marvin. “Do you know how fast you were going?”
Marvin cleared his throat. “Must have been about sixty five?”
“You were doing seventy miles per hour. Do you know what the speed limit is here?”
Marvin stuttered, “Six-Sixty?”
“It’s a fifty mile per hour zone.”
Marvin swallowed. “I’m sorry officer.”
The office stared at them with unblinking eyes. The bright yellow light from his flashlight shone directly into their eyes.
“How many drinks have you had?” He asked Marvin.
Marvin paused to think. Naveen recollected his roommate’s impressive alcohol consumption chronicles from earlier. He cringed inwardly.
“I…umm…I’m not sure…” Marvin struggled for words. “Maybe just a couple of beers.”
The officer’s expression remained unchanged “A couple of beers, ha?”
“Please step out of the vehicle.”
Marvin looked up. “But officer…”
“Step out of the car.”
Reluctantly, Marvin obeyed. Naveen started to open his door.
“Not you.” The officer commanded. “You stay there.”
Naveen heard the office ask Marvin to take a breath alcohol test. He felt his stomach churn. He saw Marvin make an attempt to protest and then grudgingly blow into the contraption that the officer produced. The officer took it back to his car.
Naveen leaned out the window and looked at his roommate. Neither of them said anything. The officer returned towards them, along with his partner.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“Ha?” Marvin stood there, dazed.
“Please lie face down on the hood and put your hands behind your back.”
“But, officer...I didn’t do anything wrong.” Marvin protested.
“Like hell, you didn’t. You failed the breath test. Your blood alcohol level is above the allowed limit. You were driving under influence.”
Marvin’s face went ashen. The officer read him his rights. Marvin bent down on the car and put his hands behind. A pair of steel handcuffs snapped on his wrist. Naveen stared at them. He felt the blood rushing through his veins. He swung his door open and jumped out of the car.
“Please officer…” Naveen pleaded.
The officer’s partner looked startled by Naveen’s sudden movement. In a flash, he had his hand on his gun. “Get back in the car.”
“Please sir…” Naveen went on. “We are just kids…”
The partner’s eyes were locked on Naveen. “I’ll ask you again to get back in the car.”
Naveen saw the look in his eyes and hastily retreated to the car. He shrunk into his seat and watched Marvin being bundled into the police car. The officer’s partner got into the driver’s seat and pulled the car away. Naveen’s breathing became quicker and quicker.
The officer appeared at his window. “And how many drinks have you had?”
Naveen looked at him. “I don’t remember….not too many.”
“Uh-huh. Please step out of the car.”
Naveen obeyed. Without a word, the officer displayed the dreaded breath testing contraption that had already claimed Marvin as its victim. With a resigned look, Naveen blew into it. The officer took the device aside and then, came back to Naveen.
“You failed too.”
Naveen nodded, wondering how steel handcuffs felt like. Would they hurt?
The officer continued to gaze at him. “But you weren’t driving. We will, however, have to get your car towed. Another car will come around any minute and will give you a ride home.”
Naveen blinked. He exhaled slowly. So, no handcuffs after all.
“Where did you take my friend, officer?”
The officer glared at him.
“Please officer, tell me where you took my friend, so I can go bail him out later.”
The officer took out his walkie-talkie, said something into it. A voice said something in reply. Naveen couldn’t make out the words.
“Clyde hill station.” The officer said.
At that moment, another black-and-white car with lights flashing showed up and stopped next to them. The officer went over and spoke to the new arrival. He opened the back seat door and indicated to Naveen. “Get in.”
Naveen slid into the seat.
“Where do you live?”
“Bellevue, sir.”
The officer drove the car ahead. “Tell me which exit.”
Naveen felt his head nod. He blinked and tried to stay focused. He felt numb.
“Do your parents know that you’ll are driving around drunk like that?” The officer asked.
“Umm…our parents are in India, sir.”
The officer glanced at him sharply in the rear view mirror. “So, what are you’ll doing here? Students?”
“No sir, we work here.”
“Is this the exit?” The officer pointed ahead.
“Ye-yes. This is the one.” Naveen stammered.
The officer continued to study him in the mirror.
“Next left, after the signal, sir.” Naveen said. The officer swung into the lane.
“Umm…it’s the apartment complex up ahead and the last building to the right, sir.”
The car stopped abruptly. The officer glared back at him. “We’re close enough. You get off and walk from here.”
Naveen felt himself nod again. He opened the door and put one foot down. “What about my car, sir? How do I get it back?”
“Hold on.” The officer mumbled into his walkie-talkie and a voice responded. “King’s Towing Company. Look them up and call them.”
With that, the black-and-white car sped away from him. Naveen staggered towards his house. He paused and took a few deep breaths. He looked up at the black sky. Where was Marvin?
He brought out his cell phone and dialed his roommate’s number. No response. He left a voicemail. Then, he called another friend, Kaushal, and explained the situation to him. Kaushal listened and told Naveen to stay right there, that he would reach there and they could go get Marvin out of jail.
Naveen stood outside his house and waited. What a night it had been. The cold air penetrated his jacket, but Naveen felt nothing.
Kaushal arrived within minutes. “Not been able to get through to Marvin. We should leave a note for him on the door in case he comes back here.”
They scribbled a quick not and stuck it on the door. The image of Marvin being handcuffed was burned in Naveen’s mind.
“So, I looked up Clyde Hill station. Let’s go there.” Kaushal said.
They took off towards Clyde Hill. Suddenly, Naveen’s phone started ringing. The sound seemed unfamiliar. He stared at it. It was Marvin.
“Where are you, Marvin?” Naveen blurted. “We’re coming to get you.”
“Relax,” Marvin’s voice said over the phone. “I’m back at home. They filed the charges and released me without bail.”
Naveen registered this slowly. “So now what happens?”
“Now, my case will come up in court. I have to find a lawyer I guess.”
“Oh…” Naveen went silent. “But you’re okay, right?”
“Yea.”
“How do you feel?” Naveen asked.
“I….have become…comfortably numb….”
“We are fucking drunk.” Marvin was a fan of stating the obvious.
“How many drinks did I have?” Naveen wondered.
“I stopped counting after my fifth.” Marvin declared. “The first two rounds were tequila shots, then a vodka, then two whiskeys…and then…” He paused and appeared to be thinking. He laughed, “Who the hell knows what else I had.”
Marvin skipped forward. “Tonight’s gonna be a good, good night….oh yea...tonight’s gonna be a good, good night…”
Naveen cut him short, “Tonight is over man. But, tomorrow’s gonna be bad, bad hangover…oh yea…tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…”
Both of them burst out laughing. Marvin rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”
Naveen nodded. “Thanks. The feeling is mutual.”
Marvin pointed at the car they were leaning against, “Is this your car?”
Naveen turned and stared at the car, as if noticing it for the first time. “Oh yea, it is my car. The good ol’ Honda Civic. I love this car.”
Marvin pulled against the handle of the door, “Open it.”
Naveen searched his pockets, produced a key and unlocked it. Marvin opened the door, leaned down into the car and let out a gut-wrenching sound.
Naveen’s expression froze. “What the hell are you doing? You opened the door to throw up in it?”
Marvin remained bent over, holding his stomach and vomiting out. Naveen grabbed his roommate’s shoulder and pulled him up.
Marvin had a broad smirk. “Ha ha ha ha…I got you….”
Naveen exhaled, glanced into the car, and then cracked a smile. “Not bad….well done.”
Marvin smiled, “Alright, let’s get out of here now.”
Naveen nodded. He opened the driver’s door and paused. “Are we gonna drive back?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like you mentioned earlier, we are fuckin’ drunk.”
“We definitely are. So what?”
Naveen shook his head. “Let’s take a cab. We’ll pick up this car tomorrow.”
Marvin grunted. “Don’t be such a wuss.”
Naveen raised his eyebrows, “A wuss?”
“Yea, a wuss. If you want, I’ll drive.”
“You?” Naveen laughed, “C’mon man, you’ll barely be able to make it into the car without falling a few times.”
Marvin frowned, “I fooled you with the fake vomiting, didn’t I? That shows how sharp my mind is right now.”
“I don’t know about your sharp mind and all, but yea, you did fool me, I’ll give you that.”
Marvin stumbled towards him. Before Naveen could react, Marvin grabbed the car keys from his hand and collapsed into the driver’s seat. Naveen stared at him for a moment, shrugged his shoulders, and went around to the passenger’s seat.
“Alright, that’s more like it.” Marvin fired up the engine. “Let’s do this.”
Marvin backed the car out and picked up speed. “So, where we headed?”
“Umm…how about home? It’s 3 am man.”
“Home?” Marvin was offended, “Where are the others?”
“Everyone split after we left the club, man.”
Marvin frowned, “Fine, fine…home it is.”
He changed lanes and pulled onto the freeway ramp. Suddenly, he grinned and looked across. “We still have half of that whiskey bottle remaining, right?”
Naveen winced at the thought. “You really want to puke, don’t ya?”
Marvin sang aloud, “I got a feeling…tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…oh yea….tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…”
Naveen joined in, “Oh yea…tomorrow’s gonna be a bad, bad hangover…”
They cruised along, picking up speed as the freeway cleared up ahead. Marvin put on the radio and tuned to the classic rock station. The lyrics sounded from the speakers “Now, I’ve got that feeling once again. I can’t explain...this is not how I am…”
Marvin’s eyes lit up. He cleared his throat and started to hum. “I….have become…”
Naveen joined in, “….comfortably numb…”
Both sang aloud, out of tune and out of sync, “There is no pain you are receiving....”
Suddenly, Naveen noticed some flashing lights behind them. “Did you see that, man?”
“Shhh…” Marvin admonished. “A distant ship’s smoke on the horizon…”
Naveen shifted in his seat. He blinked and looked back again. A black-and-white police car appeared behind them.
Marvin continued on. “When I was a child, I had a fever…”
“I think the cops are following us man.” Naveen said.
“…Your lips move but I can’t hear what you’re saying…”
Naveen nudged his buddy on the shoulder. “Seriously man, there is a cop car behind us.”
Marvin glared at him. “I’m sure it’s not for us. Here, I’ll show you.” He changed lanes, giving the police car room to pass.
“…now I’ve got that feeling once again…”
The black-and-white car changed lanes too and stayed on their tail. Without warning, the flashing lights blazed on. A siren rang out, piercing their ears. A voice bellowed over a microphone. “Please pull over to the side.”
Marvin shut the radio off, and pulled the car aside and turned off the engine. The two roommates exchanged a quick look.
“I told you.” Naveen murmured. He felt his heart beat faster.
Marvin sat in silence. He rubbed his eyes.
The police officer slowly walked over to their car, and demanded to see license and registration. Naveen fumbled through the glove box and produced them.
The officer shone a flashlight on Marvin. “Do you know how fast you were going?”
Marvin cleared his throat. “Must have been about sixty five?”
“You were doing seventy miles per hour. Do you know what the speed limit is here?”
Marvin stuttered, “Six-Sixty?”
“It’s a fifty mile per hour zone.”
Marvin swallowed. “I’m sorry officer.”
The office stared at them with unblinking eyes. The bright yellow light from his flashlight shone directly into their eyes.
“How many drinks have you had?” He asked Marvin.
Marvin paused to think. Naveen recollected his roommate’s impressive alcohol consumption chronicles from earlier. He cringed inwardly.
“I…umm…I’m not sure…” Marvin struggled for words. “Maybe just a couple of beers.”
The officer’s expression remained unchanged “A couple of beers, ha?”
“Please step out of the vehicle.”
Marvin looked up. “But officer…”
“Step out of the car.”
Reluctantly, Marvin obeyed. Naveen started to open his door.
“Not you.” The officer commanded. “You stay there.”
Naveen heard the office ask Marvin to take a breath alcohol test. He felt his stomach churn. He saw Marvin make an attempt to protest and then grudgingly blow into the contraption that the officer produced. The officer took it back to his car.
Naveen leaned out the window and looked at his roommate. Neither of them said anything. The officer returned towards them, along with his partner.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“Ha?” Marvin stood there, dazed.
“Please lie face down on the hood and put your hands behind your back.”
“But, officer...I didn’t do anything wrong.” Marvin protested.
“Like hell, you didn’t. You failed the breath test. Your blood alcohol level is above the allowed limit. You were driving under influence.”
Marvin’s face went ashen. The officer read him his rights. Marvin bent down on the car and put his hands behind. A pair of steel handcuffs snapped on his wrist. Naveen stared at them. He felt the blood rushing through his veins. He swung his door open and jumped out of the car.
“Please officer…” Naveen pleaded.
The officer’s partner looked startled by Naveen’s sudden movement. In a flash, he had his hand on his gun. “Get back in the car.”
“Please sir…” Naveen went on. “We are just kids…”
The partner’s eyes were locked on Naveen. “I’ll ask you again to get back in the car.”
Naveen saw the look in his eyes and hastily retreated to the car. He shrunk into his seat and watched Marvin being bundled into the police car. The officer’s partner got into the driver’s seat and pulled the car away. Naveen’s breathing became quicker and quicker.
The officer appeared at his window. “And how many drinks have you had?”
Naveen looked at him. “I don’t remember….not too many.”
“Uh-huh. Please step out of the car.”
Naveen obeyed. Without a word, the officer displayed the dreaded breath testing contraption that had already claimed Marvin as its victim. With a resigned look, Naveen blew into it. The officer took the device aside and then, came back to Naveen.
“You failed too.”
Naveen nodded, wondering how steel handcuffs felt like. Would they hurt?
The officer continued to gaze at him. “But you weren’t driving. We will, however, have to get your car towed. Another car will come around any minute and will give you a ride home.”
Naveen blinked. He exhaled slowly. So, no handcuffs after all.
“Where did you take my friend, officer?”
The officer glared at him.
“Please officer, tell me where you took my friend, so I can go bail him out later.”
The officer took out his walkie-talkie, said something into it. A voice said something in reply. Naveen couldn’t make out the words.
“Clyde hill station.” The officer said.
At that moment, another black-and-white car with lights flashing showed up and stopped next to them. The officer went over and spoke to the new arrival. He opened the back seat door and indicated to Naveen. “Get in.”
Naveen slid into the seat.
“Where do you live?”
“Bellevue, sir.”
The officer drove the car ahead. “Tell me which exit.”
Naveen felt his head nod. He blinked and tried to stay focused. He felt numb.
“Do your parents know that you’ll are driving around drunk like that?” The officer asked.
“Umm…our parents are in India, sir.”
The officer glanced at him sharply in the rear view mirror. “So, what are you’ll doing here? Students?”
“No sir, we work here.”
“Is this the exit?” The officer pointed ahead.
“Ye-yes. This is the one.” Naveen stammered.
The officer continued to study him in the mirror.
“Next left, after the signal, sir.” Naveen said. The officer swung into the lane.
“Umm…it’s the apartment complex up ahead and the last building to the right, sir.”
The car stopped abruptly. The officer glared back at him. “We’re close enough. You get off and walk from here.”
Naveen felt himself nod again. He opened the door and put one foot down. “What about my car, sir? How do I get it back?”
“Hold on.” The officer mumbled into his walkie-talkie and a voice responded. “King’s Towing Company. Look them up and call them.”
With that, the black-and-white car sped away from him. Naveen staggered towards his house. He paused and took a few deep breaths. He looked up at the black sky. Where was Marvin?
He brought out his cell phone and dialed his roommate’s number. No response. He left a voicemail. Then, he called another friend, Kaushal, and explained the situation to him. Kaushal listened and told Naveen to stay right there, that he would reach there and they could go get Marvin out of jail.
Naveen stood outside his house and waited. What a night it had been. The cold air penetrated his jacket, but Naveen felt nothing.
Kaushal arrived within minutes. “Not been able to get through to Marvin. We should leave a note for him on the door in case he comes back here.”
They scribbled a quick not and stuck it on the door. The image of Marvin being handcuffed was burned in Naveen’s mind.
“So, I looked up Clyde Hill station. Let’s go there.” Kaushal said.
They took off towards Clyde Hill. Suddenly, Naveen’s phone started ringing. The sound seemed unfamiliar. He stared at it. It was Marvin.
“Where are you, Marvin?” Naveen blurted. “We’re coming to get you.”
“Relax,” Marvin’s voice said over the phone. “I’m back at home. They filed the charges and released me without bail.”
Naveen registered this slowly. “So now what happens?”
“Now, my case will come up in court. I have to find a lawyer I guess.”
“Oh…” Naveen went silent. “But you’re okay, right?”
“Yea.”
“How do you feel?” Naveen asked.
“I….have become…comfortably numb….”
The Empty Boat
The yellow sun illuminated the clear, blue sky. Gentle waves splashed against the shore. The church bells clanged. The birds chirped. A typical summer day in the floating city. Venice. A paradise to many, an abode of relaxation, a magnet to travelers.
Maurizio rowed his gondola upstream. He was headed home for lunch. His thoughts were occupied by the saffron aroma of his wife’s homemade risotto. He could almost taste it.
Suddenly, he felt himself being thrown back. A garish purple gondola had appeared from nowhere and collided against his boat.
Maurizio looked up at the mustached boatman. He waved his fist, “Watch where you’re going, idiot. Are you drunk?”
The boatman in the other gondola just shrugged his shoulders, by way of apology. Maurizio shook his head. He clearly had the right of way. Where did these morons come from.
Maurizio continued to curse under his breath as the two gondolas separated and continued along their way. He rowed ahead and gradually his thoughts returned to his upcoming meal.
Half an hour passed without further incident. Maurizio navigated past the central market district. He slowed down and steered towards the land. He was almost home.
Once again, he found himself jerked back. He lost balance and fell on his back. He looked up and saw that another gondola had collided with him. He face turned flush red. He could feel the anger rise up inside him. He gritted his teeth.
He stood up. “What the hell do you people think? You can do anything you want? Maurizio will teach you a lesson you will never forget. Maurizio will beat you so bad that…”
He stopped short. He found himself yelling at thin air. There was no boatman. The brown gondola that lay before him was empty. It had simply come loose from its mooring and floated with the waves.
Maurizio felt his anger subside. He laughed at himself. He pushed the empty boat aside and continued on his way. As he pulled towards the land and parked his boat, a realization struck him. Both the collisions were identical. But the first seemed to justify yelling and the other seemed to justify laughing. He smiled to himself.
From that day, he treated any offending boatman as if he were an empty boat.
Maurizio rowed his gondola upstream. He was headed home for lunch. His thoughts were occupied by the saffron aroma of his wife’s homemade risotto. He could almost taste it.
Suddenly, he felt himself being thrown back. A garish purple gondola had appeared from nowhere and collided against his boat.
Maurizio looked up at the mustached boatman. He waved his fist, “Watch where you’re going, idiot. Are you drunk?”
The boatman in the other gondola just shrugged his shoulders, by way of apology. Maurizio shook his head. He clearly had the right of way. Where did these morons come from.
Maurizio continued to curse under his breath as the two gondolas separated and continued along their way. He rowed ahead and gradually his thoughts returned to his upcoming meal.
Half an hour passed without further incident. Maurizio navigated past the central market district. He slowed down and steered towards the land. He was almost home.
Once again, he found himself jerked back. He lost balance and fell on his back. He looked up and saw that another gondola had collided with him. He face turned flush red. He could feel the anger rise up inside him. He gritted his teeth.
He stood up. “What the hell do you people think? You can do anything you want? Maurizio will teach you a lesson you will never forget. Maurizio will beat you so bad that…”
He stopped short. He found himself yelling at thin air. There was no boatman. The brown gondola that lay before him was empty. It had simply come loose from its mooring and floated with the waves.
Maurizio felt his anger subside. He laughed at himself. He pushed the empty boat aside and continued on his way. As he pulled towards the land and parked his boat, a realization struck him. Both the collisions were identical. But the first seemed to justify yelling and the other seemed to justify laughing. He smiled to himself.
From that day, he treated any offending boatman as if he were an empty boat.
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