Footrock

Tarragona, Spain.

The sky was clear and as blue as a swimming pool. The sun shone brightly, its rays illuminating every earthly object. The fifth day of our Euro trip was a perfect day for the beach. Soft, white sand stretched out for acres, ending at foot of gentle waves cascading from the vast, expansive ocean. The water was cool and clean. It sparkled in the sunlight.

My old college buddies and I had already had an adventurous trip so far. From football matches to drunken parties, from a backpacker’s hostel to foosball contests, we had a fair share of memories for five guys on what might have been our last bachelor trip before one of us got married.

Before reaching the beach, our lunch at a local restaurant had been another ordeal of communication, as we scanned through pages of a Spanish language survival book and hopelessly attempted to interpret the menu items. The hardest thing was getting something vegetariano. Despite our fast-improving Spanish skills, we could find no better food selection other than the usual Paiea, Tapas and Sangrias, all of which had become our staple diet for the duration of our stay in Spain.

Post lunch, we wasted no time in getting to the beach. The sand was adorned with colorful beach umbrellas, well spaced apart. Groups of people played frisbee, volleyball and various other games. We discovered that on beaches in Europe, the women don’t feel the need to wear a top. They were happy to put their assets on display. And we in turn, were equally happy to behold. After ambling along in sand for a while, taking in the variety of sights and sounds on offer, we finally settled on a spot where we spread out our beach towels and made camp.

“Let’s play.” Someone threw a football at me. The ball was brown like the rocks that lay by the side of the sand. I caught it and kicked it back.

We formed a wide circle and kicked the ball to each other. A few dudes, who had been standing by watching, approached us. They were visiting Spain from Saudi Arabia, and invited us to play a competitive game. We readily agreed. It was five of us against four of them.

Within minutes of kickoff, the Saudis ran through us with a series of rapid passes, before tapping into the goal. They yelled to each other in a language we couldn't understand. Our slight numerical advantage counted for nothing. They blazed past us again, and scored another one. It was 2-0 and time for us to regroup.

“We have to defend properly.” Prakash said. “We have to stop them.” He turned to me. “Naveen, you are on defense now. Mark that guy.” He gestured towards the tall, lanky Saudi who sported a goatee, and had scored the second goal. “Don’t let him get away from you.” Mr. Goatee grinned back at me, apparently cognizant of the fact that I had been assigned to mark him.

Play resumed and I stayed close to my target. If he moved left, I followed suit. If he moved right, I was there. I didn’t let him get more than a half-step away from me.

The ball was airborne and flew past to the left of where I was. I dashed towards it. Mr. Goatee was on my heels. But, I was determined to not let him pass me. With my eyes locked in laser focus on the ball, I stepped forward and swung my left foot towards the ball.

“Naveen…” I may have heard a warning cry. But it was too late. I had already made the kick.

Instead of striking a soft football, the side of my left foot connected with a solid brown rock. A bolt of pain darted through my leg.

“Aaaarghhh..” I screeched, clutching my foot and falling to the sand.

People gathered around me. I heard a cacophony of voices.

“What the hell happened?”

“Are you okay, man?”

“The guy just kicked a rock with full force.”

“A rock? Why would he do something so stupid?”

“I think he was going for the football.”

I heard muffled laughter. Blood oozed from the left side of my left foot. I blinked and took deep breaths. The foot was swelling up before my eyes.

“Dude, seriously, are you okay?” I made out Prakash’s voice asking me.

I gingerly touched my foot. I stood up and limped forward a couple of steps.

“Whoa dude, don’t go anywhere. Just stay there.” Prakash commanded. “Let’s get your foot cleaned up.” He emptied a couple of bottles of water on my leg to wash off the blood. The viscous red liquid trickled out from cuts in the foot.

“We need to get stuff from a pharmacy, like antiseptics and stuff.” Prakash said.

“Let me sit down a bit.” I grunted. “We’ll see then.”

So, I parked myself in the sand, with one hand on my foot. I stared at the wound, and didn’t say a word. Meanwhile, the Saudis were getting restless. They politely inquired if we would get on with the game.

“I can’t believe he kicked a rock.” Mr.Goatee shook his head. “Did he not see it?”

“This is foot ball, man.” He told me. “Not foot rock.”

“Yeah,” Prakash agreed. “What the hell were you thinking?”

I started to form a reply, and then stopped myself, thinking better off it. How could I possibly convince anyone that I was too focused on the ball, that I actually didn’t see the rock? Did it help my case that the ball and the rock were both brown? Probably not. A football and a rock aren’t objects that one generally confuses with each other.

They decided to continue playing while I sat there recuperating. It was now four on four. Few minutes later, I came to the conclusion that staring at the foot wasn’t actually healing it in any perceptible way.

I heaved myself up. “I’m going to find a pharmacy.”

The game paused, as my buddies turned to me.

“Are you sure you are up for it?” Suresh asked.

“There should be something back where those restaurants are.” Sohail chimed in.

“Do you want someone to go with you?” Prakash asked.

I shook my head. “I’ll be fine. I need some money though.”

Sohail, who was our official accountant, handed me a wad of Euros.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Suresh asked again.

I wasn’t sure of that, but I wanted the gang to stay there and get a few goals back against the Saudis. So, I just smiled and nodded.

“If you are going there, can you get us a few bottles of water?” Sohail said casually.

I nodded, and went on my way. I had been demoted from key defender to water boy. My friends watched me hobble off. They seemed uncertain whether to continue playing or to follow me.

“I’ll see you’ll in a bit.” I said, trying to sound confident.

My foot held up remarkably well. I felt sure there were no broken bones. But it was swollen and bloody. It took me ten minutes to reach the restaurants. I stepped inside the first one, and surveyed the scene. There were several circular tables with fours chairs around them, but no occupants. The only customer was making a purchase at a counter.

“Muchas Gracias” Said a lady, after receiving a strawberry ice-cream.

The man behind the ice-cream counter looked like an Indian. I hadn’t expected to see any of my countrymen in the small town of Tarragona.

I hesitated, unsure of what to say. I decided to stick to our standard conversation starter.

“Habla English?” I asked.

He beamed at me. “Habla Hindi?”

“Huh?” I was taken aback. He burst out laughing.

I smiled and recovered. “Ha, Hindi.” It was strange to be speaking Hindi to a Tarragona local, even if he was of Indian origin. I explained my dilemma to him, displaying the swollen foot as evidence. He sympathized and directed me to a pharmacy a few blocks away across the train tracks.

I thanked him, and trudged off. Now and again, I would check the status of the foot. I began to think of it as ‘the’ foot as though it was some defective equipment disassociated from me, like a torn shoe. But the throbbing pain reminded me that this was no shoe. It was very much a body part.

I saw a green plus sign up ahead, which I recognized as the global symbol for a pharmacy. As soon as it came into view, I saw that it had a shutter covering the entrance from top to bottom. I cursed aloud. Did the pharmacy also close for Siesta?

I ventured into the bar next door. A plump, middle-aged lady stood behind the counter, wearing a long apron. The bar had no customers, and she was busy cleaning the counter top. She took no notice of me standing there. I hobbled ahead and grimaced, partly from the pain, partly to catch her attention. But, the lady concentrated on her task.

I cleared my throat. “Habla English?”

She frowned, and gestured with her palm in the air. “Little.”

“Pharmacy?” I asked pointing to the wall separating the bar and the pharmacy. “When opens?” She shook her head.

I wished I had brought the Spanish language book. “What time? Medicine place?” She just shrugged and continued to wipe the counter top.

Still, I didn’t give up the effort. I took one step back and pointed to my foot. “Injury…Medicine…” I was gesturing wildly now.

She leaned forward to look at the foot. She nodded. “Si.”

I sighed. “What time opens Medicine place?” I pointed to a clock hanging on the wall, inwardly appalled at my pathetic, broken English.

“Cinco” She replied.

“Cinco?” I repeated, looking at the clock again. Cinco meant five in Spanish. It was only four thirty. I decided it was not worth the effort to go back to the beach, so I eased myself onto a bar stool.

The lady scowled at me. She mumbled to herself in Spanish. I figured I should buy something to justify my presence in her bar. Then, I recalled my new role as the water boy.

“Water?” I asked, pointing to a bottle of mineral water.

“Si.” She replied, handing me the water.

“Cinco” I said. We would need one bottle for each of us, five in total.

“Si, Cinco” came the reply. She continued with her cleaning. I waited for the remaining bottles, but they didn’t seem forthcoming.

I tried again. “Cinco” I pointed to the water bottle in my hand.

“Si, Cinco” The lady frowned, pointing to the clock.

“No, no,” I said. “I know what time the pharmacy opens. I want Cinco bottles.”

Her expression remained unchanged.

“Cinco, Cinco water.” I said. I shook my head in exasperation.

“Ok, Cuatro,” I said. “Cuatro water, please.” I would settle for four bottles.

She smiled, finally deciphering my code. She plunked down four bottle of water on the counter, and mumbled to herself.

“Gracias.” I exhaled heavily, and paid for them. I opened one bottle and took a few sips. The television set in the bar was turned off. There was nothing much to do. I examined the foot again. It was swollen, but stabilizing. I sat silently and waited.

“Dude, what the hell are you doing here?” A voice called. I spun around to see Suresh standing behind me.

“You were supposed to go the pharmacy to get medicines,” Suresh grinned. “Not go to a bar to drink.”

“Can you stop thinking of alcohol for once in your life?” I rolled my eyes.

“Vodka, please.” Suresh, ignored me and addressed the bartender. She promptly fixed him a drink.

‘That, she understands.’ I muttered.

“What?” Suresh asked.

“Nothing.” I replied. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you, man. You were gone for so long.”

“The pharmacy is closed.”

“Yeah man, just have a bit of Vodka, and you’ll be fine.” Suresh offered me his drink.

“Vodka is not the answer to everything.”

“That’s what you think.” Suresh shot back. “It always works for me.”

“So, how did the rest the match go?” I asked.

“It was awesome, man.” Suresh replied. “After you left, we attacked with a vengeance. Especially, Prakash. He was like, on fire.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, I was marking that goatee guy. I didn’t let him do anything, man.”

“So, who won? What was the final score?”

“We won,” Suresh beamed. “4-3”

“That’s great.” I clapped him on the back.

We sat there for a while longer, while Suresh finished his drink, and I waited for the clock to strike five. We stepped out of the bar at five, and I was delighted to find that the shutter had come up and the pharmacy was open.

“Habla English?” I asked immediately, going into the pharmacy.

“Yes,” The lady wearing a white lab coat smiled. “What can I help you with?”

Relieved to be able to communicate with ease, I showed her my foot, and bought bandages, ant-septic creams, cotton wool, scissors, and some other stuff. I paid for the supplies, and thanked her. We turned to leave.

“How did that happen by the way?” The lady pharmacist asked me.

“Well, I…we…umm…” I stuttered.

“We were playing football, and this dumbass kicked a rock instead of the ball.” Suresh said helpfully.

The pharmacist laughed. “Are you serious? Is that what happened?”

I shrugged, and made no comment.

“You actually kicked a rock? What were you thinking?” She asked.

“I wasn’t thinking, I guess.” I managed a smile.

“You are crazy, man.” Suresh said, as we exited. “Kicking a rock. You realize that we are going to make fun of you forever, right?”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll get used to it.” I replied.

Being a self-deprecating humorist, I have told this story to countless people since our Euro trip. Now, I’ve told the story to you.

I imagine after reading this, you will want to ask me ‘What were you thinking?’

And I still haven’t come up with a satisfactory answer.

Faith and Surrender

An old man and his son lived on a farm. They had only one horse to pull the plow. They were dependent on this horse for their source of income. One day, the horse ran away.

The neighbors sympathized with them. “That’s unfortunate. What bad luck.”

The old farmer replied. “Who knows if it is good luck or bad luck.”

A week later, the horse returned from the mountains and led five wild mares into their barn.

“That’s great news,” The neighbors enthused. “You have so many horses now.”

The farmer shrugged. “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?”

The next day, the son was trying to tame one of the wild horses, and he fell and broke his leg.

The neighbors offered condolences. “Very sorry for the poor boy.”

The farmer repeated again. “Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?”

After a few days, the army came to all farms to enlist young men for war, but the farmer’s son was spared because of his injured leg.

“Good luck? Bad luck? Who knows?”

The story introduces the premise of this piece. William Shakespeare once said “There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” We humans do not have the knowledge or wisdom to know what is good or bad, wrong or right. It is not our place to make judgments. Ours is only to accept what is.

The flat tire that got you late for that important meeting may actually have saved you from a nasty accident at the next intersection. But having the accident, could have led you to meet this beautiful, intelligent nurse at the hospital, whom you would fall in love with. The point is that we do not know.

Renowned mythologist and writer, Joseph Campbell says that we are all in a free fall into the future. We have no idea where we are headed, and this uncertainty leads to stress. All we need to do to transform our hell into a paradise is to turn our fall into a voluntary act. Joyfully participate in the sorrows of the world and everything changes. It’s a simple but remarkable shift of perspective.

To illustrate this shift of perspective, say you go to a restaurant and order the orange juice that you heard was good. The waitress says that they are out of orange juice but they have carrot juice instead. You can respond in two ways: complain about the lack of orange juice and that fact that it should be there since it is on the menu; or accept this and cheerfully say okay, actually carrot juice sounds good.

It is obvious which of these two reactions will leave you happier. Even a single moment of resistance to the situation causes stress. It’s not worth it. True happiness doesn’t come from getting what we want but rather from wanting what we get. Once we develop the ability to want, accept and enjoy whatever we have, then everything will make us happy. To change our perspective in this way, we can remember two simple rules: Rule No.1: Don’t worry about the small stuff. Rule No 2: It’s all small stuff.

It is not the situation that matters, but how we react to it. Mental and emotional suffering stem from resistance to what is, and from attachment to beliefs of what should or shouldn’t be. The first step to liberation is to resign as general manager of the universe. Life is God’s novel, let God write it. Letting go in this way will bring a sense of freedom and lightness.

Sure, it’s fine to make some plans for the future. Like a college education, for example. But it’s best not to get too attached to our plans, because they have a way of changing. There is a saying that goes ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell God about your plans.’

Once we let go of all our beliefs, assumptions and expectations, we will experience a sense of peace. All the burdens we have carried over the years will disappear, safely handed off to a higher power. The quality of our lives is determined by the quality of every passing moment. We must embrace each moment, and make the best of whatever new wave of pleasure or pain, success or failure, triumph or disaster that the moment brings. Quoting Morpheus from The Matrix “What happened had to happen, and couldn’t have happened in any other way.” To have faith is to surrender to the will of the divine, cosmic force that will always be a mystery to us.

The Illusion of Happyness

Happiness. Everyone wants to be happy, don’t they? But what is happiness really? Do we know what it is that we are after? Is it some kind of feeling? Or a thought?

Even the most articulate people aren’t able to define happiness effectively. All we can say is that it is a state of mind that we experience sometimes. We can’t always explain it, but when we experience it, we know that we are happy.

Recently, I heard the same thought about happiness being expressed by a Harvard psychologist, a comedian and a Buddhist monk.

Let me start with the Harvard psychologist, Dan Gilbert. He is a bespectacled academic who spoke in terms of data and averages. He explained about synthetic happiness, which is our psychological system’s way of reconciling ourselves to not getting what we want and ‘real’ happiness, which is what we feel when we get exactly what we want. His theory, which he substantiated with plenty of experimental data, is that both these types of happiness are the same. The most notable example was people who won a million dollars in a lottery and people who suffered an accident and became paraplegic i.e. lost movement in all four limbs. Research showed that six months after the incident, both these sets of people had the same level of happiness. Dr. Gilbert claimed that whether we win or lose, succeed or fail, it basically makes no difference because we can synthesize our happiness just as well. Another great example of synthesizing happiness is of Moreese Bickham, who spent thirty-seven years in Louisiana state prison for a crime he did not commit. After being released at age seventy-eight, he said ‘I don’t have one minute’s regret. It was a glorious experience.’ Dr. Gilbert gave several such examples and concluded that human beings believe happiness is something they are to go after and find, while in fact it is something they can synthesize anytime they want.

Next the comedian, the one and only Jerry Seinfeld, whose stand-up act I was lucky enough to attend live. He pointed out in his own jovial style that when something sucks and something is great, they are actually not that different. When we are enjoying a delicious ice-cream and it falls to the floor, this sucks a lot. We look up and say ‘Great. That’s just great.’ Seinfeld said that when he was single, he used to look at all those married men wheeling their strollers with babies who crap all the time and he thought such a life must surely suck. Later, he became one of those married and wheeled his baby son and changed his diapers, and thought it was all so great. When you are dating a person who digs their nose, you feel that the person sucks and you’ll never go out with them again. When you are married to a person who digs their nose, you say that your spouse is a great person and has a heart of gold. People have an uncanny ability of finding a way to be happy.

The Buddhist monk, Matthieu Ricard, who appears in public just how one would imagine a Buddhist monk to look like: completely bald, calm, smiling face and dressed in red and yellow robes. He said that people tend to chase after things they believe to be happiness, but it turns out to be a mirage. People say ‘I will be happy when I get that job’ or ‘I will be happy when I win that prize’ and so on. But when they get these things, it is just a fleeting moment. Much like the water that we think we see in a mirage that disappears when we get there. He asserted that happiness is an inner state of well-being that is not contingent on time, place, or any external object or any person. He elaborated on the value of meditation and mind training that can help you bring your mind to be joyful, irrespective of the situation or people around you. Every one of us can train our minds to be in a state of perpetual bliss.

Listening to these three quite different people who delivered what was essentially the same message in diverse ways, I asked myself this question: Can we really be happy whenever we want to? Let’s see what we know about happiness. It is a state of mind. So it is our mind, after all, and we should be able to control it. Just we like we control our hands and legs. Then surely, we can make up our minds to be happy.

So, whenever you are feeling annoyed, angry, dejected or hurt by the situation you find yourself in or by the people around you, stop and realize this simple fact. With each passing moment, you can continue to be annoyed, angry, dejected or hurt. Or you can forget all of that and simply decide to feel happy. The choice is always yours.

The Hershey's Trap

“We have a rat here,” Marvin announced, as he entered the apartment. His roommate Naveen walked in after him. They were Master’s students at University of Pennsylvania. Their rented apartment was a spacious two-bedroom place in West Philadelphia.

“Yeah, I know.” Naveen said.

“There is a rat living inside our apartment.” Marvin said, with greater emphasis.

“Yeah, I’ve seen it a few times. So, what’s your point?”

“What do you mean what’s my point? You are not bothered by this rat? What’s wrong with you?” Marvin demanded.

Naveen shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to his room. Marvin followed him there as Naveen began unloading his backpack.

“We have to do something about it.” Marvin said.

Naveen shrugged again. “It’s not giving me much of a problem. I’m hardly ever at home. I’m mostly at the lab till late at night.”

“But, the rat keeps showing up,” Marvin said. “Every time I have dinner, I see it scurrying across the floor to gather crumbs. I hear it at night also.”

“Didn’t you get a rat trap from the landlord?” Naveen asked. He ambled back to the living room, with Marvin behind him. Naveen gestured towards a black rectangular plate lying in a corner. It had a sticky-looking substance on its surface, and an upper plate tilted at an angled, ready to spring shut on the prey.

“Oh that glue trap.” Marvin threw his hands up in a dismissive gesture. “It’s useless. Two of those things have been lying around for a week, but the rat hasn’t gone near them.”

“And I also spoke to that exterminator dude who comes sometimes on Sunday mornings” Marvin went on. “He just sprinkled blue powder all over the edges of the floor and wall. He claimed it was poison or something.”

“But, this fucking rat is still here.” Marvin made a fist in the air.

Naveen went over to the kitchen cupboard and grabbed cookies to munch on. He noticed a small hole in the side of the Chips Ahoy packet. “I think this rat likes cookies.”

“Cookies? Yes,” Marvin nodded. “It is also eating our fruits, man.”

Naveen smiled. “It’s helping itself to our groceries. It’s enjoying our heated apartment. The rat actually spends more time here than I do. Maybe we should ask it to write a cheque for one-third of the rent.”

Both the roommates laughed.

“Yeah,” Marvin said, with a wry smile. “We should.”

“You know it even ate some of the chocolates my girlfriend sent me?” Marvin said, shaking his head. He frowned for a moment.

“I have an idea.” Marvin said suddenly. “My girlfriend sent me Hershey’s chocolates for my birthday. I’ll leave them on the floor inside a plastic bag. When the rat goes for the chocolates at night, I’ll be able to hear the rustle of the plastic.
Then, I’ve to just pick up the bag and the little bastard will be trapped inside it.”

Naveen looked at his roommate. “Ok, let me understand this. You are planning to use your girlfriend’s Hershey’s as bait and a plastic bag as the trap?” Naveen’s smile grew broader as he spoke. “I like it. Sounds like a good plan.”

Marvin stood with a hand on his chin. Naveen kept grinning.

“So, are you going to tell...” Naveen began.

“No, I’m not going to tell my girlfriend that I used her chocolates as bait for a rat.” Marvin cut him off.

Naveen nodded, unable to stop grinning.

“Shut up, it will work, I’m telling you.” Marvin said.

From the next night onwards, Marvin put his plan into effect. Before he went to sleep, he strategically placed a couple of chocolates inside a plastic bag on the floor, not too far from his bed. He tried to be alert for any sounds during the night.

It was during the third night that Marvin heard a rustling sound. It was soft, but distinctive. In a flash, he was off the bed and on his feet. As silently as he could, he tiptoed towards the packet. He could sense some movement there. In one swift motion, Marvin lifted the packet off the ground. There was a little squeal, and Marvin saw the brown-haired creatures inside the bag.

“I’ve got you now, you rat.” Marvin said aloud. “See, I knew this would work.”

He held the bag in his hand and looked around. He hadn’t thought about what he would do with the rat once he trapped it. The rat jumped inside the bag. Marvin could see it starting to pierce the bag slightly.

Realizing he had less time, Marvin put on his slippers and rushed out of the apartment. He raced down the flight of stairs, and out of the building entrance. Then, with a jubilant smile, he put the packet down to the floor. The rat crawled out. Marvin stared at the creature, relieved to have it out of the apartment.

He turned and faced the building front door. Then, it dawned upon him. He hadn’t brought the house keys. He twisted the door knob, but he knew that it was locked.

“Shit,” Marvin shouted. “Shit.”

He shivered in the cold and wrapped his hands around himself. He didn’t even have his cell phone to call Naveen. He looked around for help. But, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Except for the rat, who had stuck around to nibble the chocolates that Marvin had put as bait.

“Naveen is going to die laughing when he hears about this.” Marvin muttered.

He lowered himself on the ground, next to the rat. Here he was, stranded on the street in the middle of the night, dressed in his pajamas, in the sub-zero temperatures of a Philadelphia winter, while his nemesis the rat, enjoyed the Hershey’s chocolates that had been Marvin’s birthday gift.

“You screwed me again, you little bastard.” Marvin said, with feeling.

It was going to be one long night.