There are two things that have never fascinated me. One is mobile phones and the other is automobiles. I've never even bothered to find out my own mobile model number and each time I am asked, I take out the back cover of my mobile to read it out. And each time I invariably forget it within the next five minutes of reading it. I have never felt that remembering my mobile model number is mandatory. I've often been ridiculed by shopkeepers, friends and relatives for this. Now days, remembering your mobile model number is as important as remembering your car registration number.
The other day, as I was speaking to someone from the restroom of my office, a friend of mine noticed that the cleaner there had a better and more updated version of Nokia when compared to mine. She found this extremely funny. I still don't understand the joke about the rest room cleaner having a better mobile than mine.
The only feature I need in a mobile phone apart from the basic necessity of making calls is that of sending messages and receiving them. And yes I don’t need a phone that hangs if I pressed the buttons too hard. I find it immaterial to have a phone worth forty thousand rupees, with a 7 pixel camera, hazar other features, and have balance of Rs.0.04. A phone should serve the purpose its meant for. I don’t quite understand the logic behind having a phone worth 40 or 50 grand and not being able to make an emergency call because you have a balance of 0.04 rupees. So technically, during an emergency if I cannot make a call from a phone worth 40 grand it is of zero value.
Another thing that never amuses me is cars. Ever since I was a child, I've never dreamt of owning the best cars. I don’t know the difference between a z-series and x- series Mercedes. My father often told me “It doesn’t matter how you travel from point A to point B, be it by a Porche, a Lamborgini, a Maruthi 800, or the MTC buses. There is no shame in travelling by something that takes you to your destination”. A few days back, when the prime minister visited Chennai for the opening of the secretariat,many roads were blocked and there was terrible traffic jam throughout the city. While numerous 'Honda Cities', quite a few Skoda's were stand still, I walked past them and reached home way ahead of all the cars present there.
As I walked, I wondered of what value was a Rs 25 lakh car, which earned the respect of the onlookers on the road, if it took you to your kid's birthday function four hours late.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Monday, April 05, 2010
Some nasty reminiscences
I always wished life was like a tape recorder. I wish I could just press the pause, rewind and fast forward buttons as and when I liked. I could undo my mistakes, never repent for being unjust, unfair or biased. Then I could live a life without a single regret and sleep peacefully on my grave. When I look back, I regret two things I did in my life.
The first one was when I was in class two. It was on my birthday. There was a get together at home and many close friends, relatives, cousins, and neighbours were invited. I quite don't remember who all were present back then. I was very excited and happy to get all the attention and presents. My mother had ordered a huge cake from Adyar Bakery and had made a variety of snacks. Among the various guests who were present, there was also Ramanujam. Ramanujam was the son of my neighbour's servant. He was a year younger than me. My father had invited him over as there were quite a number of children and he too could play with us. I didn't want Ramanujam to be there. I didn't feel comfortable. Ramanujam was a short, skinny boy who wore half overalls, which was his corporation school uniform. He was wearing that during my birthday party too. He didn't wear shoes and his legs were dusty with sand. Ramanujam often watched my friend Aparna and I play at her house. Aparna's father was a strict man and he never allowed Ramanujam to play with us. He didn't want us to mingle with the servants. As my father called me and asked me to include Ramanujam to the games we were playing, I began to cry. I didn't want to be associated with a servant's son. My father was furious and called me aside and tried to make me understand that my behaviour was unacceptable. I didn't care about what he told me. I didn't want to play with Ramanujam and I didn't want him to be at my birthday party. I told my Father "Appa he is not even my friend." Ramanujam silently watched what happened. He wondered why I was crying. He just stood there in his half overalls and kept staring at my father. He simply stood there, I wished he had some ego and just walked out, but he stood there watching and wondering why I was crying. He knew I cried because of his presence. The emptiness in his eyes and his silence is something that I can never forget to this very day.
My father realised it was futile trying to convince me and told my brother to play with Ramanujam. He played cricket with my brother and kept staring at my tears. While the snacks were being served my mother made sure Ramanujam felt comfortable. I knew he was not one bit comfortable. He sat at one corner of the sofa in the hall and kept eating his food as fast as possible. He didn’t look up even once. May be he didn't want to see me crying. Before he left, Ramanujam extended his hand to shake them with mine and smiled gleefully. He told me "Aaapy birthday Akkaaaa". I didn't want to respond. I didn't bother to shake hands with him. He hadn't even wiped his hands after eating the cake. They were all sticky and his nails were dirty.
Ramanujam's father got a better job and soon his family moved out of the neighborhood . All that I remember of him were those half overalls and the emptiness in his eyes. I had behaved in the worst possible fashion. I was mean, nasty, arrogant and what not. I just wish I could press the rewind button and undo what I did to Ramanujam on 14th of November 1994.
The second incident happened rather recently. In class 11, there were many new students who joined my school. One among them was KP. KP was a short, stout girl who wore specs. Her hair was a distinct feature, since it was light brown, incredibly straight, rough and dry. This called for a lot of ridicule I named her bottle brush. Where ever she went, everyone screamed bottle brush or Scortch Brite. She quite didn’t realise I had given her the name and used to crib to me about her hair. I used to tell her not to worry about external appearances and that her hair was unique. I shamelessly hid behind a veil of guilt and cowardliness. Soon the teasing got overboard and KP couldn't handle it. She left the school forever. My class teacher gave the class a big lecture about treating fellow students and how we must not make fun of one's physical appearances. The guilt inside me was killing. I prayed and hoped she didn’t hurt herself physically. I tried contacting KP after she left school but all in vain. She had changed her contact number and didn't want to get in touch with anyone from my class.
The other day, as I was crossing the road near Alsa Mall, I saw KP. Before I could cross over to the other side she was gone. I tried tracking her down on social networking sites, so that I could get rid of the guilt I was living with. Sadly KP isn't listed on any social networking site.
Sorry would not be the right thing to tell KP or Ramanujam. I just wish I could press the rewind button, then the erase button and fast forward my life to the present.
The first one was when I was in class two. It was on my birthday. There was a get together at home and many close friends, relatives, cousins, and neighbours were invited. I quite don't remember who all were present back then. I was very excited and happy to get all the attention and presents. My mother had ordered a huge cake from Adyar Bakery and had made a variety of snacks. Among the various guests who were present, there was also Ramanujam. Ramanujam was the son of my neighbour's servant. He was a year younger than me. My father had invited him over as there were quite a number of children and he too could play with us. I didn't want Ramanujam to be there. I didn't feel comfortable. Ramanujam was a short, skinny boy who wore half overalls, which was his corporation school uniform. He was wearing that during my birthday party too. He didn't wear shoes and his legs were dusty with sand. Ramanujam often watched my friend Aparna and I play at her house. Aparna's father was a strict man and he never allowed Ramanujam to play with us. He didn't want us to mingle with the servants. As my father called me and asked me to include Ramanujam to the games we were playing, I began to cry. I didn't want to be associated with a servant's son. My father was furious and called me aside and tried to make me understand that my behaviour was unacceptable. I didn't care about what he told me. I didn't want to play with Ramanujam and I didn't want him to be at my birthday party. I told my Father "Appa he is not even my friend." Ramanujam silently watched what happened. He wondered why I was crying. He just stood there in his half overalls and kept staring at my father. He simply stood there, I wished he had some ego and just walked out, but he stood there watching and wondering why I was crying. He knew I cried because of his presence. The emptiness in his eyes and his silence is something that I can never forget to this very day.
My father realised it was futile trying to convince me and told my brother to play with Ramanujam. He played cricket with my brother and kept staring at my tears. While the snacks were being served my mother made sure Ramanujam felt comfortable. I knew he was not one bit comfortable. He sat at one corner of the sofa in the hall and kept eating his food as fast as possible. He didn’t look up even once. May be he didn't want to see me crying. Before he left, Ramanujam extended his hand to shake them with mine and smiled gleefully. He told me "Aaapy birthday Akkaaaa". I didn't want to respond. I didn't bother to shake hands with him. He hadn't even wiped his hands after eating the cake. They were all sticky and his nails were dirty.
Ramanujam's father got a better job and soon his family moved out of the neighborhood . All that I remember of him were those half overalls and the emptiness in his eyes. I had behaved in the worst possible fashion. I was mean, nasty, arrogant and what not. I just wish I could press the rewind button and undo what I did to Ramanujam on 14th of November 1994.
The second incident happened rather recently. In class 11, there were many new students who joined my school. One among them was KP. KP was a short, stout girl who wore specs. Her hair was a distinct feature, since it was light brown, incredibly straight, rough and dry. This called for a lot of ridicule I named her bottle brush. Where ever she went, everyone screamed bottle brush or Scortch Brite. She quite didn’t realise I had given her the name and used to crib to me about her hair. I used to tell her not to worry about external appearances and that her hair was unique. I shamelessly hid behind a veil of guilt and cowardliness. Soon the teasing got overboard and KP couldn't handle it. She left the school forever. My class teacher gave the class a big lecture about treating fellow students and how we must not make fun of one's physical appearances. The guilt inside me was killing. I prayed and hoped she didn’t hurt herself physically. I tried contacting KP after she left school but all in vain. She had changed her contact number and didn't want to get in touch with anyone from my class.
The other day, as I was crossing the road near Alsa Mall, I saw KP. Before I could cross over to the other side she was gone. I tried tracking her down on social networking sites, so that I could get rid of the guilt I was living with. Sadly KP isn't listed on any social networking site.
Sorry would not be the right thing to tell KP or Ramanujam. I just wish I could press the rewind button, then the erase button and fast forward my life to the present.
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