'Poorva, I love...'

He was, no doubt, a handsome man. Tall, good looking, well spoken with a heavy Brit accent, a nice broad smile. He was neither fat nor fit. He was quite particular about the way he looked. I think he shaved everyday because I never saw him with even a slight beard. I guess he used to get his eyebrows thread too. His hair was never out of place.

I never noticed him much till the time I noticed that he was noticing me a lot. Yes, he was way too much polite to me. He would make it a point to ask me everyday how I was. Depending on my mood, I would reply. But no matter how his mood was, his way of talking to me never became even slightly rude.

It was his birthday in a week's time. He made it a point to invite me every single day to his big day. He told me that I was special and he was looking forward to celebrating with me. A lot of his friends were going to be there. Everything sounded perfect, but my gut feeling said it was not.

For some reason, I could never think that he was special. I didn't go to his party. He rang me up at least 25-30 times, there must have been 40 messages in my phone, three of his friends came to my office to pick me up. But I didn't go. I didn't feel like going. I know I sound like a very hard-hearted person here, but I never do anything my heart says no to.

I thought he would be mad at me and won't talk to me for days. But my phone rang the next morning itself. It was him. His voice told me that he had been crying. A lot.

'I want to see you. Right now.'

'It's a Sunday. I am off, and have hardly got out of my bed. I don't think I can meet you.'

'I will come to your house. Give me your address. I must, must meet you.'

'Boys are not allowed here.'

'Ok. Come to the CCD near your office. If you don't meet me, I'll do something to myself. I want to say something to you. I have to. Please.'

'Tomorrow?'

'No. Right now. Please.'

I didn't want to be the cause for a grown-up man's suicide. Crime shows had taught me that police look for the last phone call made or received, the number of messages sent to one person, interrogate friends of the deceased etc etc. No boss. I didn't want to be grilled by the cops. And CCD sounded like a safe place. I crawled out of my bed, changed and left for CCD without having my breakfast. (Of course, who in the world would eat and go to Coffee Day?)

There he was. Smiling. Too glad to see me finally. His eyes were puffed. Too much alcohol and too many tears perhaps.

We went inside, my mind already set to order a Devil's Own and paneer tikka sandwich. But guess it wasn't my day.

'Poorva, can we go a bar please?'

'I don't drink. You know that. Tell me what it is. I have to rush.'

'Ok. Then can we at least stand outside? I need a smoke.'

He had started jumping on the sofa like a madman and everyone was staring at us. Embarrassed, I stepped out.

He took out a cigarette and two cans of beer.

'I got this for you.'

'You know I don't drink. And I don't like the smell of smoke. For God's sake, tell me whatever you want to. I want to go home. I am hungry.'

'Let's go to my home in that case. Girls are allowed there. I'll order anything you want to eat. Everything you want to eat. Just come with me to my home. Please.'

'No. I am leaving. Right now.'

He was on his knees by then. Yes, on the road, on the knees.

'Please Poorva, please. Don't go.'

At that moment, crime shows did not matter. Devil's Own and paneer tikka did not matter. Call records, messages, friends... nothing mattered. This guy was insane. I was petrified. I turned and started running as fast as I could. My athletics coach would have been so proud of me had he seen me then.

The next day somebody told me that he had left his job. A week later, I got to know that he was taking counselling at NIMHANS. After a month or so, he called me up for the last time.

'I am leaving India for good and going back to my parents in Britain. But before I go, I want to tell you what I wanted to, the other day. I promise there won't be any drama this time. I'll meet you whenever and wherever you want me to.'

'Okay. You can see me at my office at 4 pm.'

An awkward silence before I realised that I was losing my patience.

'You wanted to say something, I guess.'

'Yes Poorva. Just that I don't know how to say that. I have never said this to a girl before.'

Oh ya. And pigs fly.

'Okay. I am not going to waste even one more minute of yours. I will finally say this to you.'

I tried not to shift. I felt so uncomfortable. Believe me, I didn't want to hear what I thought and you think I was about to hear.

'I am in love. Poorva, I love him. So much.'

Go ahead. Read the above line again. I did not make a mistake.

'Poorva, I have been in love with him ever since I saw him first. We were a pair. I invited you to my birthday party because I was about to make a surprise announcement of our engagement that day. I hadn't even told him about it. I was forcing you to come because somewhere in you I saw a friend. You never tried to take advantage of me like everyone else does. I wanted you to be a part of my big day.'

I sat there, stunned. This was the first of its kind.

'The cake was ready. The champagne was there. All my friends had gathered in the hall. I went searching for him. I heard some commotion in one of the bedrooms and knew he was there.'

Tears had started trickling down his cheeks. He was shaking. I held his hand.

'I opened the door of that bedroom. He was right there... with my aunt, in the bed. I screamed. He turned and looked at me. Then he simply said, 'I am bi. Sorry for not telling you before.' I was shattered, Poorva. I wanted to tell you. I knew you would understand.'

He is with his parents these days. He has had counselling in London and is finally enjoying life again, thanks to his mom and dad.

I wrote this blog to apologise to him...

Sorry for not trying to understand you when you needed me.

KASHMIR oh KASHMIR!

The other day I was searching for an Indian map on Google to put on my blog along with my last post. But what I saw made me feel bad. Very bad.

I am not trying to boast, but I was quite good at drawing maps in school. My geography teacher would send in a message beforehand, instructing me to draw a huge map on the blackboard before class begins. I could even draw it blindfolded. But when I saw the Indian map on Google that day, I knew I could not draw it. In fact, I would never want to draw it.

Try drawing that Indian map I was taught in school, and you will always, always start from that solid head we have... Jammu & Kashmir. But look at the Indian map now. The head is half gone... as if it met with an accident. It's got a big dent. It pains.

On the left is India as it was given to us on 15th August 1947. On the right is the BBC map of India with Kashmir half gone. This and many such maps are available on Google.

I don't have much of Kashmir connection, except for two friends, a holiday plan and bhumbro-bhumbro. So why did half the Kashmir gone make me feel bad? Why did I fight tears? Why did I look at my Kashmiri colleague the next day and said sorry in my head?

This colleague of mine had once told me about the house he grew up in. It was huge. Enough for it to be converted into a High School now. He had told me that he learnt to swim in the Dal Lake. His first crush was a red-cheeked girl. They hardly saw the sun during winters. They actually used kangri which sounded like a weird thing when I read about it in my GK book in class 5th.

He also told me that he had wasted a college year because of migration. After that, he didn't say anything.

The other day I downloaded Google Earth on his laptop, and he took me straight to Shalimar Bagh on it. He was so excited. He hasn't gone back in 20 years. Only Google Earth takes him to his Kashmir now.

I know he is going to blast me for letting out his secrets to the world. But perhaps it's every Kashmiri's secret today.

That brings me to the same question again... why did it make ME feel bad?

I have always been a perfectionist. When I saw India's map that day, I realised the drawing had been ruined. My India can never be perfect without the perfect Kashmir, and I do not want to make an imperfect drawing.

For me, it was just a drawing gone bad. But what about those whose whole life... the past, the present, the future...

I am sorry. I really am.

Oh poor GANDHI!

Gandhi divided India. He could have done something to ensure a smooth partition. The Kashmir problem is because of Gandhi.

'Why don't you do a special feature on Gandhi for tonight's prime time?'

'Aah! It would be full of controversies, Poorva.'

I fail to understand why people talk about Gandhi without knowing anything about him. Or why lately people have started calling him a controversial man, blaming him for all things bad that happened to our country during the 1940s' phase. I thought he was associated to freedom, to goodness, to peace. In fact, as a kid, he was my favourite after Buddha. He still is.

When people around me started calling him names, I was hurt. I wanted to know who is wrong... those people or my favourite old man.

There is something very interesting about knowledge: if you know the full and proper version, it's good. If you don't know anything, it's ok. But if you know only half of it, it's the worst. It's like eating a half-baked biscuit which would cause stomach ache later. Either eat a full-baked one or don't eat at all.

My fondness for Gandhi grew when I was in nursery. I don't have a reason why. But when I grew up and got to know from people that the same Gandhi was a bad man, I was disturbed. This time I wanted to know why. Why do they say he was wrong?

I did some serious research that cleared my mind. Please read the next few lines only if you can read with a clear mind. Leave it if you can't. There is a lot of reading and only for those who can look at things practically instead of blindly following some rumour-mongers.

• Rumour number 1: Gandhi divided India

Gandhi never wanted to divide India. In fact, he was the only man standing when everyone else was hellbent on doing so. Gandhi had once famously said, 'Before partitioning India, my body will have to be cut into two pieces.'

The idea of a separate state of Pakistan was coined way back in 1933 by a man called Rahmat Ali (yes, it wasn't even Jinnah's idea). This guy wanted a separate state for India's Muslims so that they could be independent. The name Pakistan came from the five northern parts of India that he had in mind would constitute Pakistan: Punjab, Afghan province, Kashmir, Sind, BaluchisTAN. It was hence initially called Pakstan, and i was added later.

Rahmat Ali wanted Jinnah to take over this movement of a separate state of Pakistan, but Jinnah called it an 'impossible dream'. Later in 1937, Jinnah's Muslim League started having issues with Congress, and that's when he began working towards making this impossible dream possible.

• Rumour number 2: Gandhi should have divided India in such a way that Muslims should have gone to Pakistan and Hindus should have remained in India

Now this is something most people are not aware of and they don't bother to check the facts too: Sir Cyril Radcliffe, who was generally acknowledged as the most brilliant barrister in England, was given the task of dividing India and West & East Pakistan (now Bangladesh). And why did they choose him? Because Radcliffe didn't know anything about India, and that's why there was no chance of him getting influenced. The orders given to him were, 'divide the two nations based on the Muslim and non-Muslim populations, but keep other factors in mind as well.' He did exactly the same.

Now I don't understand how does Gandhi come in here. The man who did not want a divided India is being blamed these days for not dividing it properly. Seriously, irony couldn't have a better place.

• Rumour number 3: Kashmir problem is because of Gandhi

Two of my closest friends are Kashmiri Pandits, and that's why I particularly wanted to find the truth behind this rumour.

There is a little city called Gurdaspur in Punjab. While Radcliffe was on his mission Partition India on the map, he decided to follow the natural boundary line of the Ravi River. With this, he left Gurdaspur and the Muslim villages around it inside India. 

Had Radcliffe awarded Gurdaspur to Pakistan, Kashmir would have easily gone to them as well. Without this city, India would have had no practicable land access to Kashmir, and its Hindu Maharaja Hari Singh wouldn't have a choice except to link Kashmir's destiny to Pakistan.

So how did Gandhi come into the picture here?

There might be many other such rumours, but these three are the most common which I have heard so far.

Before I wrap, I need to talk about Gandhi's personal life as well. Nowadays, a lot of people say that he was a womaniser and that he slept naked with a few women or something like that. First of all, there is no proof of what happened inside his bedroom. Secondly, I don't give a damn if he slept with ten, one or none. 

All I care about is that he gave this country, this world a wonderful message of peace. He showed us the non-violent path. I am not against those who gave up their lives by resorting to violent means for our freedom, but why should I be against someone who did the vice versa?

Leave Hinduism or Islam, CRICKET is the biggest RELIGION in India

'I hope I marry a man who is not so crazy about cricket,' I thought out aloud seeing my whole office stuck to the India v/s Australia T20.

'Now that's a tough demand, Poorva. Such a man would be really hard to find,' one of my colleagues told me what I already knew.

No dying people, no political scams, no tragedies mattered today... because the biggest tragedy and the most important news was India's pathetic performance.

In my channel's newsroom, all the headlines were written in advance. The packages were ready. The shows were all set to go on air ten minutes before time! The reason was neither a sudden salary hike, nor the big boss' presence. Everyone wanted to get done with their work in order to catch the remaining balls.

Those fathers who could not make it to their daughter's birthday party on time, were home early. Those shopkeepers who don't shut shops well past 11 pm, had already downed shutters. Those students who finish their homework by 2 am, were free at 7:30 pm. The roads were empty, parking was full. Only one channel was on in every home.

As I absorbed that feeling standing in that unusually silent lane which leads to my home, I realised that no Hinduism, no Islam, no Christianity, no Sikhism binds India like cricket does. No festive season is as much awaited as the next series and no festival is as big as an India match. No result is as fruitful as a win. No failure is as bad as a loss.

Cricket is the biggest religion in India with eleven gods who keep changing. But mind you, these gods have a tough job in retaining their godliness in front of their devotees. Drop a catch or miss a ball, and their temple will start shaking. Lose a match, and prayers will stop. Defeat in a tournament means they are not gods anymore. Even the real God doesn't have such a tough challenge in front of him!

But even after the challenging nature of the job, everyone wants to become this cricket god. It's like what they once used to say about government jobs... your life is set if you become a cricketer. One match will give you a good bride, one tournament will be enough to open a restaurant, if you are good looking as well, advertisement offers will knock your door everyday. A cricket academy or a career in commentary is obvious. You see, this job comes with the best retirement plan too.

A close friend of mine who was an awesome athlete gave up the field. His father had told him... doctor, engineer or cricketer. No other sport is welcome in the Indian household. After all, what do hockey, football or athletics give you in this country? One or two medals perhaps. They are of no value. Nobody needs them. Nobody cares a damn about them. A thousand athletes can't equal one cricketer. Nobody will watch their race on the free-to-air DD Sports, but everyone will happily pay Rs 45 to catch the match on ESPN-Star Sports.

That friend is an engineer today. He is earning well, much more than he would have ever earned as an athlete. But I know he is not true to his job. His heart is on the tracks. It always was. But this cricket-crazy country didn't give him a choice.

And well, he is not the only one without an option.

Doctor V/S Doctor

It’s been more than four years to this incident. I had just shifted to Bangalore and was experiencing a lot of pain in my legs. Nothing was helping so I finally decided to visit the doctor. He sat in a big room in one of Bangalore's most prestigious hospitals. The setting looked 5-starish. I had a feeling the doc was going to be awesome too.

He patiently asked everything and jotted it down. At the end, he gave me a long list of tests I needed to get done. God! Was I so ill? He even gave me an offer to visit his friend's clinic for a good discount on those tests instead of getting them done at the hospital. He told me that the total after the discount would be somewhere around Rs 10,000.

Seriously, the leg pain was nowhere in front of the pocket pain that day. I had heard that doctors charge a bomb, but this looked like nuclear that day. I had never visited a doc without my mom before and this time the money was from my first salary. So obviously it hurt even more.

A friend advised me to take another opinion before going for the tests. But I was in no mood to pay more fee to one more doctor. She persisted, and I had to relent.

This doctor did not sit in a posh room. It was hygienic and more doctorish than 5-starish. He did not recommend any tests. He did not scare the hell out of my wallet. He just told me I need to drink more milk and eat bananas for extra calcium. I was fine in a week.

Had I not taken the second opinion, doctors would have remained money-eating mongrels in my mind throughout my life. That one experience taught me that it's very easy to form a bad opinion. But one man's wrongdoing cannot be implied to his whole community... be it professional or religious. 

I realised that not every doctor is a looter. Not every businessman is a cheat. Not every maid is a thief. Not every restaurant serves stale food. Not every girl has weird mood. Not every saint is a sinner. Not every prisoner is a killer. Not every Muslim is a terrorist. Not every Hindu is NOT a terrorist.

If you ever find a rotten apple, keep it aside and look for the healthy ones. Chances are you'll find some, only if you are not stuck in a government department where all the apples have become rotten after years of exposure to bad air.

Our country has gone to GODS!

I don't think Ganesha would be too happy with all of us... for polluting the rivers in his name. Year after year, putting POP down the lakes. Saying Ganpati Bappa Morya, and adding chemicals to the water-bodies.  He never asked for it. No God ever asked for it.

Today I was walking down a road which has a huge Ganesha temple at the corner. The biggest rangoli I have ever seen, the most beautiful idol, that agarbatti smell, the garlands... and the devotees immersed in a BRAWL! One of them holding the other’s neck, shoving him to the temple wall, calling him names...

Many a times I wonder if we actually fear God. We keep our phones on silent during a meeting with our boss, but attend calls in a temple. We build temple to encroach a land and then keep expanding it, because we know no authority would dare touch it.

We remember Him in trouble and forget Him as soon as we are out of it. We pray hard during exams and an hour before the result, but we would rather watch a movie during our holidays. When we are left with nothing, we leave it to Him.

We pollute His land on Holi, His air on Diwali and His water on Chaturthi, and we USE Him in doing all this.

You say it’s all written in the puranas. But can you tell me even one line from the same puranas which makes you do all that you actually end up doing on these festivals? They say Parvati created Ganesha from sandalwood paste. But did Parvati also ask you to create him every year from Plaster of Paris, paint him with some chemicals and immerse him in water? Ram returned to Ayodhya after 14 years of vanavas. But did Ram ask you to blow up thousands on useless firecrackers for his feat? When Prahlad sat on the pyre and Holika burnt instead, did he also ask you to burn trees each year and give the Earth a colourful chemical bath the next day?

God has become a commodity these days. Man uses it to take holidays, to enjoy, to blame, to kill, to hate. Seriously, God looks like the most pitiable personality I have come across.

But God, please don’t worry. Not everybody is that bad. Not everybody is trying to ruin your creation. In fact, some of those great souls have taught me the good lesson too.

My Ganesha is only clay. I double-checked. No colours added. And by God, it looks so beautiful! Even Parvati would be proud of it!!

I haven’t burnt any crackers for ten years now, ever since I took that oath in class 9^th. Yes, I stuck to it. Last year, I bought two sarees for my maid’s daughters for the same amount that an average Delhite burns on a Diwali night. She was so happy. Told me the elder one wore it at her graduation.

I don’t play Holi even if they keep asking me. They tried to drag me into the mess this year, but I am strong, you know.

God, I am on your side. Not only because I fear you, but also because I love you and respect you a lot. I know you painstakingly created the world where I live. I know how much it hurts when someone puts a minor scratch on my car. And look at you... they are putting major scratches on your model every day, every minute, every second! From my side, I can assure you I won’t add to your miseries. Promise. I don’t know about others though.

The SMALL BULLIES of Bangalore

It's not a big tanker. It's not a rickety local bus. It's not even a posh SUV. It's either a bicycle, an auto or a woman! If you have had the awesome experience of driving in Bangalore, then you know what I am talking about.

The most painful people on this city's roads don't sit inside huge vehicles. They are on two feet or on two/three wheels. They are those who cannot hear a honk, they can't even hear three, four, five, ten honks. They don't care about the world around them. They know if some big four wheeler *&%^$ dares to touch them, he would be blamed. After all, it's always the fault of the big guy. The small ones can't be bullies. That's the thumb rule.

Take for example the auto driver. He rules the city. He doesn't use one lane, he uses two... half of both. On top of that, his speed won't cross 30 kmph. So both you and your friend on the other lane are stuck. Buy a Mercedes here but you will be forced to slug at 20 kmph behind this auto. And for goodness sake, don't take that 6-gear car a company introduced sometime back. You will never even get to the 5th gear here.

I forgot to mention that you won't find parking space outside your office because that auto driver would have already used it. He is sleeping inside. Don't disturb.

I don't know why some Bangaloreans are demanding a separate cycle lane in the city. Sir, all the lanes belong to the cyclists only. I am not talking about those activist-types who wear cycle helmets, knee pads and all that fashionable safety gear to go to office on their mountain bikes. I am talking about that black bicycle that my laundry man used when I was a kid. Yes, that black cycle is still being used here... that too, on the main roads!

Our Mr Cyclist rides during rush hours. In the middle of the roads. I am so glad he doesn't have the size of using two lanes at a time like his auto driver friend. But well, he fills in the void by his sweet pace of 5 km per hour.

And parking? Aah! That's no problem at all. Find a two-wheeler parking and abandon your cycle between two bikes. It's poking out, huh? That's not his headache! His cycle does not get scratches.

Have you seen a cow on the road? And have you seen an aunty ji on the road? What's the difference between them? I would say none. Both of them walk as if they have earphones on and are listening to loud music. They don't hear traffic noise. They are not designed to hear traffic noise. You are honking, screaming... dear, you are actually wasting your energy. Sit back, relax, take a deep breath, try not to get angry. Let aunty ji enter a shop and then drive out in peace.

Just because you have a big vehicle does not mean you are big. Here in Bangalore, small is bigger than the big.