Somu - Part III

Foreword: This is the third and final part of the obituary. Read previous parts (Somu - Part I), (Somu - Part II)

In the beginning of 2005, I left India to steeple chase my MBA. This happens to be that second epoch, albeit lasting only 3 years from 05-08 where I was not in touch with my friend. Now and then, a mail or a fortuitous online chat was all that occurred between us. So herein again, some one else would be a better candidate for continuing the remembrance

When I returned to India in Aug 2008, the communication was re initiated. He had ventured out into entrepreneurship, much to my amazement. At first, my MBA infested mind all but laughed at this. “How would he do the kind of work he was attempting without an MBA?” But as always, I ate humble pie. When he used to talk, I saw that he had more gumption and understanding than majority of my Spjain batch mates.

As I access his linked in page, it reads Co-Founder of Unileap Associates. Some time ago, I recall he had sent me a draft webpage of some other startup which he had been incubating. I had reviewed it and provided my feedback. In all, he never appeared hapless to me. Success was in his blood which unfortunately stopped circulating way too early.

My friend got married in the month of Jan in the year of 2009. In a few months time, even I towed down the marriage lane. Although I could not attend his ceremony, my friend did not disappoint me, in fact he astonished me. The couple unexpectedly (he and Madhura) drove down all the way from Pune on his bike, with Madhura bedecked in a sari. It is also a personal footnote for my consideration that none of my other friends managed to attend the function. Not that it is of any importance to me, but if one among many friends does take the effort to attend then it does assume significance. The two stayed till the end and left for home, a 2 hr ride to Pune at 11 in the night!

I approach now the end. On my birthday, i.e. 28th Aug, I heard my phone ringing for the nth time during the day. To my utter surprise, my friend’s name flashed on the screen. This was the last time we spoke. In another month, he became history :-(

This one event gives me the creeps. Since the nineties, my friend never called me on my birthday. Forget calling, I can’t recall even an email or scrap or sms from him on the backdrop of my birthday. WHY THEN DID HE CALL ME THIS TIME? Am I sounding crazy when I say that his sixth sense gave him a premonition of his impending death? Did his mind direct him to speak one last time to me? I am no stranger to the often repeated stories of how people nearing their death get about doing strange things, which they normally would not have.

He spoke as he always spoke. He spoke of his plans at Unileap. He spoke of general gyaan he had recently acquired. He spoke of Madhura and her job. He spoke of planning to visit Bangalore someday. He spoke as he would not speak again.

There now remains one last chapter in my narration. On the day I got the dreadful news, one of my immediate concerns was to know whether my friend would be ‘happy’ in his afterlife. The only way to know that was if he ever appeared in my dream, so I was awaiting his appearance in my nightly slumbers. It did not happen, much to my consternation, for a long time. And then, finally, on the night of 28th Oct, some 20 days after he died, it happened. My friend visited me in my dream. On a side note, there is a rather queer coincidence here, I last spoke to him on the 28th and he appeared in my dreams on the 28th again.

My dreams are always weird and have never ever been happy shappy. I remember this segment of the dream very clearly in which he appeared, but I shall not disclose the contents here as they border around controversial. Was it a veiled message that my unconscious brain was trying to accentuate by creating my friend’s image and making him say those things to me, I wouldn’t know?

Whatever, but I am very glad he visited me in my dreams. If I were to hold the explanations given in the book “When Ghosts Speak” by Mary-Ann Winkowski (reviewed here) as gospel truth, then that would mean my dear friend has passed through the white light and moved on with his after life. His spirit does not lurk around, wander or haunt, unable to leave this material world still holding his near and dear. Mary-Ann says that those who cross over can only ‘return’ to our world through dreams. Since my friend came in my dream, he has crossed over into the world yonder. As I used to write it in maths papers “Hence Proved”.

Somu has moved on. One day my time will come, hopefully later rather than sooner. If ever any one of us established contact with his spirit, I am certain what it would spell out on the Ouija board…

“There I Go .. Turn the Page”

Somu - Part II

Continued from here... (Somu - Part I)

As and when the teenage began, our fellowship waned, although only circumstantially. By now we had grown into quite distinct personas, the initial subtle differences of boyhood getting magnified with passing age; I became an introvert, not-so-well-known, shy, unimpressive guy with select or no friends. He was the all popular, friendly, affable guy with a huge gang of buddies. When I reflect at these times, from Class IX to XII, it now appears to me that although destiny had set us rolling on different paths but it still had failed to deliver the ultimate coup de grace. The invisible umbilical cord which ran from him to me and me to him remained intact.

I really don’t have much things to say about my friend during this phase. There occurred two such phases of 2-3 years each wherein we were not greatly associated with each other, and accordingly I shall let these phases pass in my narrative. Some of my other good childhood friends who were close to him would be ideal candidates for taking over my pen for writing these phases. So, I fast forward into the year 1999.

It must have been the month of August ’99 when my mother’s voice on the phone informed me that my friend would be coming to Pune. He had taken admission in architecture. I had arrived a month back to pursue some devil called engineering in a city which I had never even heard of before (surprising?) and was nothing short of lonely. Our life in Pune marked the phoenixation of the moribund fellowship. This renewal of friendship lasted till 2005

On my own admission, I had all but frowned at his choice of architecture at that time. “What will he do becoming an architect?” my myopic view had questioned. At a time when every Tom, Dick, Harry and their pet poodles went to do engineering, my friend had chosen something unique. He was unique, didn’t I tell you? Today I stand humbly corrected. I have completely failed at living my life on my own terms and those select few who manage to break the archetypical boundaries of societal obligations, what-will-people-say etc evoke the deepest appreciation, praise and respect from me. How silly of me to have overlooked my own friend! What he did at that tender age required going against the grain, required guts, courage, gand mein dum. Attributes which I still struggle to find in the vast majority of our population, including myself. My friend… You are and will forever remain my inspiration.

It was the month of September (not sure) when I bumped into him during ‘Verve’ – intercollegiate cultural festival of Pune (wonder if it still survives?). He was surrounded by agreeable young women, apparently a choreographer cum make up artist cum man-of-the-harem for his college’s dance competition. His popularity had taken a new direction, and as later years would tell me, it would only grow.

During the difficult years of engineering, which were unfortunately marred due to my father’s demise, my friend supported me a lot. He visited our hostels as often as practicality would dictate. Today, as my hostel mates read this and call me saying, “Hey, I recall this guy, he used to come often” I realize the help you offered to me.

For the next years, I can remember disjointed events, things varying from sitting behind his scooter to listening to his unending stories of college Profs, all night stand while making those architect drawings on sheets. It was during this time that Madhura happened to him and vice versa. The contours of the first meeting, how, where, when etc I got to know only several years later when they were summarily committed. And for reasons of privacy, I shall skip drawing these contours any further and move on.

I passed out in 2003 and soon left Pune for a nationwide crazy vagabond lifestyle which, I admit, marked the metamorphosis of my manhood. After spending a year in various states, I was back to Pune in 2004. The 04-05 period was the time when my friend introduced me one of the best things I have had the fortune and honor of experiencing. “The Remand Home” as we called it.

A brief about the remand home is here, taken from a poster dated 2005 – “We, a group of youngsters, have come together to work for the betterment of underprivileged in our society. Our main activities are centered on the “BOYS REMAND HOME” in Shivajinagar, Pune where we carry out various activities during the week to develop these children and gather every Sunday to conduct various workshops and spend quality time with the children”. (Suggested reading: http://sixsixsixx.blogspot.com/2007/05/revelation-1-chap-13-verse-18.html )

On a warm Sunday afternoon, my friend knocked on my door. I was sleeping. He had come to meet and talk, among other general things, he had come with a specific request. That afternoon he ‘sold’ me the concept of what his group of friends was doing at the remand home, which housed child delinquents as well as lost boys from as far as Bihar, Assam. The group was looking for some contribution to fund their posters or something I don’t recall. I had willingly agreed to help out and was also invited to attend a Sunday session. Next Sunday, riding back seat on my friend’s scooter, I did go. That was it.

The one year I spent with the men and women (not boys and girls, they were too mature to be called B & G) at the Remand Home was one of the most influential experiences of my life. Having introduced me to such wonderful people and their thoughts is the single most important contribution of my friend towards my drab, purposeless life. My friend helped reunite quite a few kids with their families, many times going as far as shady slums to find out the child’s father! If only that kid knew today what hath become of the uncle who restored happiness back to his life, how would the kid feel? I wonder. Here I reproduce one vintage but apt photograph of my friend among the remand home kids. This photo, for me, sums up this extraordinary man’s life who I feel honored to call ‘my friend’ (centre in blue T shirt with the boys from remand home)

Then there were the lighter, fun moments too. I would credit my friend with initiating me into the company of the fairer sex, which hitherto, had completely escaped me. The age of early twenties consisted of brand building activities like having a girlfriend or as the purists would say having a “friend who is a girl”, going to discotheques and etc. My friend had exemplary skills in this department. He was already committed to Madhura (eventual wife many years later) so he used to play more of a ‘big brother’ or bouncer role. The babes of town felt safe with him. Looking back, I had my unfair share of disco parties which were in vogue back then and one memory amuses me a lot. I recall whenever me and some other ‘stags’ felt the urge to shake our ass in the disc, I used to turn to my friend for directions and more importantly gathering the fairer company. We needed entry and relied on him to collect single females for pseudo pairing. Incidentally, he almost never found any babe in town willing for a disc night whenever I found the urge to discofy myself. “Saale, jab mereko jaana rehta hai, tabhi tujhi ladkiyaan nahi milti”, I used to curse. He used to laugh his heart out.

to be continued...

End of Part II

Somu - Part I

I hate writing R.I.Ps. To sing like Bob Dylan, “How many R.I.Ps will I have to write, before one writes mine? The answer, my friend, is blowin’ in the wind…”

I don’t remember when or where I first met him. A rough estimate should be around twenty two years ago circa 1988.

My earliest memories of my friend are very vague due to two decades of silting of the memory. But I shall still dig down deep to disinter them. His house was across the road. For a small boy of 7 years, this was a major challenge for me. Getting to his house meant crossing the busy road. The house was big, old with a porch and garden. My earliest recollections are centered around this garden, wherefrom he had once picked up a snake mistaking it as a dry twig and brought it inside the house. In the years to follow, this act of bravado would remain his insignia among young boys trying to outsmart each other. Another early first encounters were our discussions on his name! He had a rather long and unique name, 12 letters long. Appended with his father’s name and surname the whole long train would have as many as 35 letters!

During the late 80’s we used to live in Kilburn Colony and he used to live across the road in (I think) Shukla Colony. I remember how he used to be one up on everything. That was the age of learning how to ride a bicycle. My friend could flawlessly ride even adult cycles while I had failed to progress beyond one sided riding (keeping one leg on one pedal and pushing the ground with the other leg). It was also during these times that he did something which only the ‘brave’ lads would venture out to do. He brought home a pup. The initial resistance of his family was of little use towards the boy’s resolve and Tony became an inseparable part of the family.

It was early 90’s that we shifted to Satellite Colony. After living for 2 years in a 900 sq ft apartment, we were desperate to move in the plush 1500 sq ft 3 BHK flats which the company was building for its officers. The flats were allotted at random. My dad’s draw came out at A-16. My friend’s dad got A-18. It was destined that we would be next door neighbours for the next 12 years. Our flat was the first floor; his was the top floor with a common staircase. Stairway to heaven?

No amount of writing can cover these 12 long years. During the years when we were in class IV to X, surely, I must have seen or spoken or referred to him EVERY DAY. Our moms became best buddies, almost like sisters. Our families got intertwined to the extant that we were inseparable. My friend’s elder sister tied rakhi to me every Rakshabandhan. His uncle, aunt, relatives dropped by our house, ours visited theirs. Special dishes, sweets, a unique cuisine prepared on the 3rd floor apartment often found its way to the dining table on the 2nd floor flat, and vice versa. Although, it’s impossible to remember all things which we as kids did together, I shall still cull out a few from this golden era of our lives. It was the best of the times.

During the early years at school, our mothers discussed and implicitly compared every single angle possible to their maternal instincts. Things from shoe sizes to marks obtained in the last Monday Test to the time taken to empty a glass of milk were compared. Almost on all fair comparisons, he outperformed me. “Look at him”, my mother used to scold, “…and look at yourself!!”. He especially beat me fair and square on extra curriculars. I was an extraordinarily dull, undecorated child with no feathers in my cap to be proud of, while my friend played the tabla, was good at sports among other things. However, the memory which is particularly painful is the reading of palms. As young boys, we used to every day invent a new meaning of some line. This line means denotes the number of children you would have! My friend’s palm was full of lines, a most unusual combination of tens of tiny strokes. In fact, whenever he presented his palm for reading, even the most ‘renowned’ soothsayers would frown. His lines were unique, just like him. After learning of his demise, I checked some pics on his social networking page. One snap struck me like Indra’s thunderbolt ripping through my heart. It was a self photograph of his left palm, all five fingers outstretched against the pristine blue backdrop of a lake. What really melted my resolve into tears was the caption beneath which read “Bright Prospects:-)”. The smiley hurts the most.

One particularly interesting episode dates from around Class V or VI days. It was on the occasion of Holi when he earned the famous nickname ‘Chandul’. Talking of names, it surprised me and even made me jealous sometimes at the number of pet names the lad had! His dad called him Shaheb, mom called him Bubla and granny called him something else! Goes to show he was indeed the apple of their eyes, the scion of the bloodline, his father being the only son. Coming back to the incident, some days before Holi my friend had shaved his head for his threading ceremony. On Holi, while we were gamboling in the colors and water, our group was ‘attacked’ by a mad, inebriated hooligan gang of adivasi boys intent on tearing our clothes and playing dirty. In the melee that ensued one of the marauders saw my friend fleeing and gave out a war cry. “Chandul, chandul… chandul ko pakdo” Although dear ‘chandul’ escaped, the name stuck with him :-). We boys discovered later that ‘chandul’ was a local adivasi word for a bald person.

My friend loved Karate and I chugged along with him albeit without the energy or interest or capability to pursue such an avocation. It meant getting up really early, taking out the cycle and pedaling hard in the chilly morning over dew laden barren fields to this drab hall and twisting, jerking, kicking, rolling the body in ways extremely distasteful. No surprises, but I quit within days, even before I got to wear the beginners’ white belt. My friend, in contrast, went the whole hog and was a 2nd dan Black Belt by the time he hung up his Karate shoes.

…to be continued

End of Part I

Remembering...

A very gutsy girl. May god blesss her.
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Love-triumphs-26/11-bullets/articleshow/5422142.cms

Refer this post to relate

Naxal Bad

One more bad news. Dont blame me for posting depressing R.I.P items. I do my tuppence bit by making the good guys know the bad things. One such atrociously absurd movement is the Naxalite or Maoist. Are these guys mad or something. I am willing to reads tomes on them, because I completely fail to fathom their logic or lack of thereof!
Anyways.. I wanted to talk about this horrendous act by the Maoist. Three things made me post this here
1. It happened at the place where I was born
2. My irritation with Naxalites in general
3. The Talibanesque leanings of this heinous act.

R.I.P

A Lone Bison?

A lone bison did this? Unfortunately that appears to be the reason.

I woke up today with this news which shocked me and saddened me a lot. Read the whole story here. What makes this tragedy more macabre, I was exactly on one of those boats you see in the pics only a few months ago! Its like visiting the Taj a few days before Kasab & Co. let loose their Assault Kalashnikovs. Such is the feeling whichs gnaws at you from inside. I can very graphically imagine the exact details of the boat, the lake, the surrounding and even the bison! (I had seen one as well and had clicked photographs). This tragedy would have a very negative affect on Periyar's image. I must add here that I am not compeltely surprised about the accident. Even when I visited there was complete chaos. There were like hundreds of tourists all flocking near the dock to get into one of those boats. The scant few officials were not even checking tickets. In fact, about 50 odd people boarded a huge double deck boat (like the one which capsized above) only to be forced to alight and board another one. Utter chaos. Bad. Sad.

Anyways, life will go on. I shall, as always, pause fleetingly to wish all deceased a great afterlife. One day I shall be dead as well. But till that happens, I shall check out a few more wobbly boats on deep lakes in verdant wildlife sanctuaries :-)

R.I.P

R.I.P

I first came to know about Randy Pausch from here and here. Randy died a few hours ago. R.I.P.

I dont know what made me write this post (maybe I do). Its basically to do with my abhorrence towards cancer. Anyways...

Its my earnest request (I dont know why), but ALL those who chance to wander upon this webpage please please spend a min or two and glance through Randy's homepage here. Its my way of making people understand, empathize and RESPECT those who go down fighting to that *uc***g disease.

R.I.P Randy Pausch.