Of Friends In Need and other short stories..

I still remember sitting next to this dude with curly hair writing my entrance for what was going to change my life forever. I mean..how many people actually sign up to spend the rest of their lives working the hardest when the rest of the world is partying the hardest. I did that, and with me, another very curious young fellow.
It was at the Taj Coromandel in Chennai that this entrance test was held and just before sitting down to take the test, (a laughably easy one) I just asked him for a "rubber". He politely corrected me by saying, "You mean, an eraser?".
That was the start of the only love-hate relationship I've ever had or ever will. I used to laugh at people who used those words, love-hate. But to know Dr is to Love-Hate him.
A few months after this short conversation, I ran into him again at the Hostel. Ah, the Hostel. Some people probably get nightmares when they think about the hostel. But me, I get a feeling of warmth, with laughter bubbling up from my centre of gravity, ending up in a throaty cackle/laugh, only to be replaced by a long sigh and deep sense of loss. But I'll save that for another day.
So we kept running into each other more and more and exchanging(read giving one-sidedly) music. I remember, at one point, when I opened my drawer of tapes, I only found 4 or 5. A couple of Megadeth, an Ugly Kid Joe and a coupla nameless assorted tapes. This couldn't be happening. Besides my wit, charm and obvious eloquence, I'm nothing without my music. So I walk up to Dr.'s room and ask if I can have my tapes back. He responds by handing me two peices of plastic with a lot of casette tape wrapped around it and says, "I've got the rest as well, but they're all pretty much in the same condition. Do you still want them?" At that point, I'm thinking, "What do I wanna do with tapes that are not in their casing anyway?" But I shoulda known better. This is Dr. we're dealing with, here. He probably had kept them better than I ever did and made it part of his own private collection. Till I he got to see my CDs, that is.
Dr. is your typical mercurial madman/intellectual psychopath. I guess he's not so typical after all. But he is close to my heart. And this is an Ode to you Dr. The name Dr came about one rare evening when he actually sat up from his bed to roll a J. Rare because he barely did. Turns out, that when he did, he made fantastic, straight, cigarette like Js. These were consistently neat, standardised and a pleasure to toke. I mean, if you weren't in the room and you came in after it was lit, you'd know first by looking at it and then get assured when you smoked it. It was not so much the actual J that earned him the nickname, but his focus and organised preparation before and during the act. Like a scientist. Anyway, stories about Doc are plenty, but this one's about how he was by my side, during my toughest times. Like Bruno, the Doberman in Poona. I think our bond was stregthened when we went for our OJTs to the Taj Residency in Indore, for Kitchen and HK. We were the only ones who could relate to the other and we were both re-doing the year due to all reasons, but academic. Indore was crazy. We'd work hard and then party 42 times harder. Just the two of us. We even asked the HR Manager, whom we were sharing the flat with, by the way, for an advance on our stipends!!! He was like, "Hmmm..I've been in this industry now, 22 years and no trainee has ever asked me for his stipend in advance, but why not!!" And we got it! Bought a crate of beers, some good food and threw a party. We ran up bills with the STD booth, the internet cafe, the mithai waala, even the medic and we ended up telling everyone, "Nikhil paisa dega!" I'd go to one of these places and say the same thing and so would Doc. Now there was a third guy called Nikhil who never seemed to come in to pay these bills and we kept racking them up!! Hilarious. What a scam that was, huh, Doc!! I remember when I'd broken my wrist during a drunken, mock fist fight. Doc actually came to my room, asked me to get dressed and we took an auti to the hospital where they put my wrist in a cast and we came back to the Institute to convince everyone that we hadn't just bunked Front Office Theory class. There was a legitimate reason! Come to think of it, that might've been the reason he came, but it doesn't matter, cos I remember how that created a bond between us. He has been the same brash, foul-mouthed, callous prick throughout the time that I've known him, but times like this make me think. Another time, I got involved in a little drunken fight, which turned out to be not so little after all. I was hammered, complete, with a swollen, black eye and I couldn't raise my arm for over a month. Some nervous injury. Brachial Plexus or some other. He was the one who came with me to the hospital to do my tests. He'd offer to hold my books, pick up my chair, get me a smoke, a tray of food at the cafeteria. Doc just doesn't do stuff like that for people. Anyone.
Not that he's always been great and someone I can count on at all times, he's caused me quite a lotta damage as well, but that's just me blaming someone else for my errors in judgement.
Later, in Mumbai, we shared a few good laughs, fights and good, honest bloke talk and we still do. The occasional drunk dial and reminiscing about the good old days. The occasional wall post on FB.
We've even spoken about starting something together. Someday.
Doc, I know you'll agree with me when I say that this is one of the most biased opinions anyone has about you. Everyone else will prolly give you a lot less credit. And call you the prick you are. But then they don't know you as well as I do. Cheerio.

Sunday Cricket Games

The alarm goes off at 8, which I turn off, thanks to the wonderful snooze option that some brilliant dude invented. When it goes off again 15 minutes later, I know its time to go. But I sit up and my head is swimming with last night's revelry, and its a Sunday and I wonder what on earth I'm doing up at 8 on a Sunday. Then I remember that we've a game. The 3rd years.


They were a decent team, made up of bits and peices players. No one who can turn the game around on his own, but a formidable side, nonetheless.


So I trudge to the loo with a cigarette, bleary eyed and blank. But as the cigarette finishes and my bowels empty, it begins to dawn on me that we've a big game today. We've lost 3 on the trot and this one's more about pride than just numbers. I'm psyching myself up because I've an important role to play on the team. I'm keeping wickets, opening the batting, might roll my arm over, if required and I'm part of the think tank.


I finish up, put on my tracks, the quintessential white collared t-shirt and keds. Looking for my cap, I run into some loose change. Perfect. For a Nimbu Paani and some smokes at Mamu's Dhaba. Then, I head to my friends' rooms to wake the lazy bastards up. Well not so lazy as drunk. Then, its off to another, while I check on another friend on the way up. Its funny how little issues pale when it comes to a game of cricket, or any kind of game. There are people on this team I don't talk to, but when it comes to that game of cricket on Sunday, I feel like I have the right to walk into his room, kick his little butt and ask him to get kitted! And he doesn't mind.


We all know, without having to say, that we're going to congregate in the cafeteria in the institute building for a quick brekka. So we have a healthy breakfast of cornflakes, eggs and hot choc and have the minions of the team pick up the kit and mat and hail autos, heading out to the ground. This one's at the Jhalani tools ground. A beautiful round ground, with a turf wicket and tall trees skirting it. The wickets a belter this morning so we're hopin we win the toss. But as Mickey and Chandhok go out for the toss, I get the feeling that the toss is not going to go our way. And of all my predictions, most of which are never on the mark, this one is.


No matter.We run out on to the feild and are ready for the loud mouthed, sledging seniors. I'm opening the bowling with Anish. There's a big Surdy, Rutinder who's good with the wood, he times the ball well, got a good eye. Ashirwad is at point, Beri at cover and Mickey's keeping wickets. We're not allowed to sledge cos we're juniors. You might say it shouldn't matter in a game of cricket, but that's how it is. We can't sledge. Period. but that never stopped us anyway. We were scathing and relentless, often leaving the seniors fuming and actually breaking and bullying us into stopping. There were constant calls like "Khadda hai", "Milega, Milega"


Our team is made of astute cricketers. Beri's got nearly perfect technique and a wide range of shots and as a bonus is a fast fielder with safe hands, but a chicken wing for a throwing arm. Ashirwad, on his day can be lethal with the ball and more than useful with the bat and again, a pretty good fielder. Anish is tall, a good 6'1'' and has a nice, clean action and delivers the ball from a height of about 8 feet, getting good bounce.He's pretty nippy and gets good bounce. Rahul Singh was the suprise package. He was weak, introverted and a pretty fuckin good off-spinner. With a lovely arc, flight and decent length. Mickey is the captain. Good with a keeper's gloves and very good with the short ball, pulling everything a shade short of a length, well along the ground and usually in the gaps. More than any of his skill, it is his desire to win that makes him a good captain, with conservative and sharp field placements. He can go a little over board with that desire to win, but more often than not, his decisions are objective. Savio, the Goan, a solid, dependable opener who is more than handy with his medium pace.Siddharth, a fun guy to have on the team and a very decent bowler. Mahindra, again a helpful bowler and decent bat.


I'm the one with immense potential but no real weighty performance, yet! I'm handy with the gloves, a quickish, thinking bowler and a good long feilder with good hands and a nice flat throw. This is as objective as I can get.My batting was the most frustrating- good technique, decent range of shots, but no patience or shot selection. Opening the batting, there was a lot on my shoulders.


Back to the game. Anish takes the new ball and the first over passes without event. I bowl the second over and strike. Negi edges a ball outside off and it loops straight up to Ash at point. Lots of jubilation and the traditional Mithun Da dance in the middle of the ground with Anish.


Soon, wickets are falling all over. And before we know it, the pompous 3rd years are all out for 72 and I've got a 5 for. Anish's bagged 3 and two run-outs.


Rishin opens the batting. Very Very strong off his legs, glancing, driving and turning everything on middle and leg to the boundary. I opened with Rishin, scored a quick 10 or 12 and got out. But the ball was swinging a bit, but the senior bowlers were all over the place. Beri came in one down and with Rishin, finished the game off. In 11 overs.


This was a BIG WIN. We beat the thrid years and we beat them hollow.


So, we're sternly warned that there will be no trash talk and making fun of the seniors, just cos we're born a coupla years later. But again, like the sledging, it never stopped us.
We ended up putting the score board up on the Cafeteria Notice board with movie-like warnings about the next game.

While it was so much about the cricket then, its more about the ritual of it all, now. It was each man for himself, but at the same time, we were such a tight ship. I mean, we'd to find our own means of getting to the ground, or risk losing our place to the several hangers-on who came in the hope that they might play, but never did, cos none of us ever gave our places away. Neckless had a CBZ which can take three people at the most and he did the ground booking and everything because he was from Aurangi and he knew people. We'd fight for who's going with him, to get out of sitting in cramped autis and carrying the kit around. Whoever booked for the journey to the ground, basically had him for the rest of the day, till it was time to get back into the hostel.

The Hostel..another story altogether..

Pravasi Bharati

For someone who's spent a large chunk of his chilhood, teenage and now, adult life in the GCC, I cannot, for the life of me, understand why people like moving here.Especially us, Indians. I can easily broaden that and say Asians.

I mean, for white folks, this place is paradise. I don't mean that badly, but its just the way it is. They get cushy jobs in construction or marketing or hotels(nothing lower than assistant manager), everything is paid for- housing, cars, telephone, childrens' education, travel and everything but your own groceries. Actually, I wouldn't be suprised if these dermatologically 'blessed' species actually run to their secrataries with their Spinney's bills, that run into thousands of dirhams and re-claim them as 'Team Building' expenses.

They have fantastic social lives, thanks to their culture, affinity for partying, burgeoning bank balances and cost-free lives, as illustrated above. Most people you'll see at bars, nightclubs and fine restaurants are white. We all live with the advantage of not having to pay taxes on our incomes, true, but the difference lies in the positions and salaries that people from the western world receive.

They can be rude, incompetent, inexperienced, dull, and have worked only in their neighbourhood supermarket, but when they come to DXB, with their resumes all spruced up, some nicely cut suits and a couple of well rehearsed one-liners, they look for positions such as Director of Purchasing and Distribution or Area Manager for Retail operations. And they get them. But, reporting directly to these Area Directors and Managers are inconspicuous little Asians- an Indian or a Sri Lankan or Filipino, who's actually doing the work. These underlings are actually doing the work of an Area Director and getting paid a 5th of Ms. Tabitha Smith's monthly loot. Not to compare, or complain, but it seems a little unfair.
But, at the same time, I see why a lot of the people in question are in positions of power and money. They're professional and know how to draw a line between their professional and personal lives; they adhere to time and if they can't, are simply programmed to sms or e-mail in and tell the people concerned that they will be a little late or that they might have to cancel. More often than not, they'll party into the early mornings and still turn up for work on time, or if they don't, they'll admit that they had a drink too many the night before and promise for it not to happen again.
We must remember that this is a very general opinion and that I don't mean to offend anyone. But, if you'll look deep inside and be honest to yourselves, you'll slowly find yourself agreeing with me.
So, back to Pravasi Bharati. We, here are second citizens not entitled to a lot of things. If we hold a driving license, for E.g from another GCC country, like Qatar, or Oman or Bahrain, it is mandatory for us to go through driving classes (20 at least @ 120 AED per class) and then for the test; while for a European, American or Australian, they just have to pay a nominal fee, get an NOC from their employers and have it converted!!
I dont' see the logic in this because we drive on the same side of the road in all GCC countries, but in some countries in Europe, like the UK for example, they drive on the left side of the road, while we drive on the right side here. How does it make sense to offer licenses over the counter to people who've been driving on the left side of the road for half their lives and suddenly have found this Oasis where they get everything just on the basis of their passports?!
I guess its all political. But the fact remains that its unfair and illogical.
I think I've lost the plot, here..I meant to write about something else, so I'll just stop for now.

Changes

noWho'd think Ozzy, Geezer, Tony and Bill could write a meaningful, soul-felt, melodious and percussion-less(for lack of a better word) ballad. I can already see my Black Sabbath fans/friends shake their head and say, "I've read this kinda prose prose before, he's going to go on and expound on the virtue and individuality of songs like Changes and Laguna Sunrise!!Yawwwwn!! BORING!"

But think again, cos I'm not interested in going into the intricacies of the discology of Black Sabbath-you can find that anywhere on the net. What I AM going to do is just subject you to a heart-felt little peice that came to mind just before I was leaving for work this morning (where I am now, by the way).

Let me start connecting this peice to the title by referring to that very sentence that you've just read-I've started leaving for work, not just leaving work. Wordplay? I think not. That's probably the only way to look at it.

I used to work, so I had something to do all day, for a few days,or months at the most, but only so I could finance my vices(relative).Or cos the rest of my friends were working, and I didn't wanna sit home all day living off watered down tea, vada-paos and Charms. I used to work, till I thought I'd worked hard enough and then simply stop going to work. Managers and bosses would call and I'd ignore the call, thinkin "How can I answer a call when I'm not well. I'm supposed to be sleeping". I'll just call them back later.Right.
Day 2: I can't possibly feel better in just one day. Its gotta be two days at-least. Another day, wasted. More word play?Possibly.
Day3: More calls from work and more ignored. More revelry and oblivion.
Day15: Dude, if I don't go today, I'm going to get sacked!! Reality check. Waitaminit! Its been fifteen days of leave without reason or information. I think I'm already sacked, so that obviously means, they don't miss me so much, so might as well just forget about it.
And so on with several jobs, some plum offers among them. But like I said, that's changed.
I have only Bab Al Shams Desert Resort to thank. More on that later.
Change has come in so many forms. I thought I was the polar opposite of Dad. Turns out, I'm getting to be more and more like him.
His philosophy is what Kabir propounded-to do what you have to do tomorrow, today. I seem to've slowly grown into that.Albeit, not so obsessed with it. But for someone who procrastinates changing the calendar page at the end of the month, its quite a long way to have come.
I can go on and on about change, but then I think I've put my message across.