Too long a Siesta!

I am out of “IT”, and back in business. This long break was well deserved and very well exploited.
You could say; I was in the “writer’s block” phase. When you feel writing will only trouble your fingers, and not help you free your mind; which leads to finding recourse in whisky and women.
A change is eminent.

SUKHA CHIKITSA

Away from Work, Bangalore and Internet for 2 weeks is no bliss or fun? YES; wrong answer.
I drifted to Cochin in the above-mentioned time and was in the luxury of laziness and motherly pampering.
All blames on coffee served hot by my bed.
Blame is on Papadams, payasam, paripu, aviyal, kichady, kootucurry, fish fry and curry, deep-fried chicken, and loads of gossip while I wash these down with hot karingali vellam.
Blame it on grandmothers’ special “maangai curry” her fresh baked cakes.
Blame it on untainted ripe mangoes from maternal home.
Blame it on my sister, who finds a reason to blame everything on me.

My stay at home has been no different, except that the duration is two full weeks and I am enjoying every bit of it. Occasionally the laziness catches up and the feeling of incompleteness or rather uselessness creeps upon; which is quickly pushed aside by the hot piping pazham poris and vadas amma makes for tea.

My fingers have been on the “grand rest festival” too, along with my mind; they did not have to flex even to mix rice and feed my mouth, it was taken care by my mothers’, oh what would I do if it were not for her. Hope that explains why I have not been posting. Damn my lazy fingers.
There is a lot of catching up to do, and after the sukha chikitsa, I do not think it will be a problem.

Few incidents in the past days have inspired me to writing a movie script; yes the typical Malayalam thingiee, boy meets girl; parents have a problem, that gets sorted out, but then the villain comes in; Horoscope this time and spoils it all; in the end… well I m not sure about the end… hope fully it will be a happy one. **sigh**
Talking of movies I got to catch up with some good Malayalam movies too; hey and I got a balcony seat for 40 Rs/-;yes 40 Rs it is.

**stretching and yawning**
Now, my fingers are hurting; after all, typing SO MANY words can get you tired.

It is time for my king size lunch. Today’s special Karimeen porichathu and Kaalan.
Please understand my plights and appreciate my effort at typing so much; so now, if you will please excuse me I have work to do.
BURP……….

Dedicated to singing and other acoustic pleasures.

Get home in the evening, after a whole day of technical and managerial folderol, for some tranquil and peace. But what you find is a whole bunch of the same kind all curled and mangled in a cocoon of complains and frustration. So I decide to find my peace in the loo, only the sound of flowing water and the newspaper ruffles and other unwanted bowel voices. All this and sound of singing….. ..
Singing????? Nooo…
But I was not singing, neither did I have a music player in the toilet!!!!

Is it my panicked mind playing games with me or the hallucinations at work? No this was for real, and for sure was coming from inside the house; it was coming from close vicinity. News papers, peace and my bowel can wait, like a lost soul in search of divinity I leave the tranquil of the toilet and step into the room, occupied by my friends Jayesh and Lazith, to find them sitting in front of a CD-Player; which was blasting a Hindi Karaoke CD. Both of them had their eyes closed and hands waving in a synchronized act. The sight reminded me of, two old, pot-bellied Bhagavathars lost in their musical trance during a performance.

Frrrrrtttttt…psssssssssss…frrrrtttttttttt.
Prrrrrrr.. frrrtttt……fsssssssssssssss

Oops,

The Bhagavathars were disturbed, they stopped the recital and looked very vexed.
I asked for forgiveness which was granted with one condition, I had to sit through the whole singing while the two of them practiced for the grand finale at office for some sort of singing competition.

That was the only time when I regretted farting so loud.
The rest of the performance every one had their hands covering their nose, wonder why.
___________________________________________________
I seriously appreciate and encourage the effort my friends are putting. Wishing them all luck, along with statutory warnings to their audience. GO GET THEM BOYS.

PS: This exaggerated write should not mislead the reader in concurring that my friends are bad at singing, they are really good; neither judge my hygiene and manners.

Tinku Tinku little star `do not kill me for posting this`

tinku tinku little star, how I wonder where you were,
right below my wriggly nose, all this while you were mine
when the galling horoscope is gone, when all blessings shine upon.
when all lights glow bright from high above,
tinku tinku little star how I wonder where you were.

PS: A cloddish effort at impressing 'tinku'.

Disclaimer: Any similarity with any nursery rhyme will be treated, merely as the reader’s delusion.

I still KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

***Curtain raises for part three***

The moment of fear freezes and it stays on and on and on… Sarala could feel her soul tickling her tonsils to escape. She faints, into the scarred left hand of Kochapi.

With startled face and shock defined all over him, Kochapi tries hard to stay on his feet.
Why did Sarala faint when he mentioned his favorite books name?
Why did Sarala feel so cold in his left arm; the arm bruised in a freak accident at work 3 months before?
Does that scar he got 3 months back look so hideous?

Clogged with all thoughts he did not notice Sarala had opened her eyes and was now staring at him.
She had a drop of tear in her eyes and was trying to say something, something that broke into a thousand pieces before it came out of her shaped lips. Something that sounded, “I em dho…rry”.

Kochapi was more worried of dropping Sarala on the floor, than figure out what she was saying to him. He kneeled down and rest Sarala’s head on his lap. Still in a daze he asked her,
“What happened?”
“Why did you faint?”

There was only the deafening noise of silence and a blank stare between Sarala and Kochapi for a while, till the cracking noise of the door interfered. There stood Mr. Kuriakose. The sight of his daughter in the lap of an outsider and the passion, with which Kochapi was holding her, turned Mr.Kuriakose’s eyes into a fiery ball of anger. He clenches his fist to lay on Kochapi’s naive face. Before all hell broke loose, the piercing screams of adulterated language from Mr.Kuriakose, got every one else to the room.

Mathukutty chettan trying his best to hold back Mr.Kuriakose and Mrs. Kuriakose screaming, how her daughter was molested filled the last scene in this melodrama of love, innocence and “kallu”.

By now Sarala was clinging to Mrs. Kuriakose, her starched sari had rippled in a million places, her jasmine lie scattered on the floor, her oiled hair loose; and Mr.Kochapi; he stood still with bulging eyes and bemuse.

But no ending the story without “one tight slap” on Kochapi’s naïve face.

FATAAASCH………………….

Kochapi still stood with his mouth open and bulging eyes.
But Sarala was bleeding from her mouth. The slap fell hard on her left cheek.

[silence]

[a voice from the dark, spot light on that one person]

“Oorama undo ee mukham?” [Suresh Gopi style]

Mr. Dizoza stood at an arms distance, pointing his index finger at Sarala [now clenching her bleeding face]

“Oorma kaanilla” [Still Suresh Gopi style]

“I was in the dark that day”
“…………. but my SCAR was not”

He had pulled back his jubba sleeves enough to reveal that distinctive SCAR ON HIS LEFT ARM.

“And you thought I will never recognize you?”
“I have Sarala, I have”
“At last, after so many years of searching, I find you”
“To finish what was started 2 years back”

Sarala could not believe what she saw. That was the scar she dreaded, the scar that gave her night mares, the scar that stayed. And today the same scar was back to ruin her life; in the form of her future father in law.
Mr. Kochapi still stood with bulging eyes and open mouth,…
That’s when his father Mr.Dizoza screamed again.

“You never paid me Saralaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……………”

Taan taaan tadaaaaan…………………


***Curtain falls.***

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER

Evening of April 1945. The sun was setting in the horizon, darkness was just setting in, and the last rays bounced off paddy fields and tiled roof tops. With a blanket over their face and enough masquerades to conceal their identity, they move stealthily towards the thatched hut by the river side. They wait at a safe distance from the hut, safe enough to go unnoticed.
Their intension: Errant and uncanny, never to be revealed to world.
Anticipated result: Intoxication.
They were to taste "kallu", from the local toddy shop by the river.

Only the jingle of bangles or cling of anklets would reveal their feminine identity but all that was taken care of. Sarala and Marraikutty had a long lasting desire to taste the divine nectar every mallayalie devours; the local toddy from coconut, known as “kallu”. But orthodox Christian family and strict domicile rules did not let the two young women even choose their own under garments, forget tasting “kallu”.

“Desire over demure“, they plotted their own way to get to “kallu”.
Two extra eggs and an extra serving of rice to the bullock cart driver was enough to pamper and persuade him to arrange their invigorating stint with “kallu”.
They were to be by the river at 7 pm and there, “somebody” was to supply them with a pot of fresh “kallu”.
As decided they reached the river side on time and there was “somebody” waiting for them with one pot of fresh “kallu”.

Gulping down the nectar with no exchange of words, Sarala did not notice the breach in her camouflage. Her head gear has slipped down and was exposing her beautiful young face. Her bangles clinked like the church bells; she was EXPOSED, and she did not care. She could not help but notice the big scar on the felt hand of that “somebody” who smuggled the “kallu” for them. It was hideous but in some way the scar was endearing. Anyways, gulping down the “kallu” with vigor, Sarala and Marriakutty left for home, satisfied and slightly inebriated.

****End of part one****

Fast forward 2 years.

Sunken eyes and drooling face, the look of a plausible bride?
No, this is what Sarala looked like on the morning of 25th Aug 1947. 2 years after the covert operation turned triumphant.

This was the day when “Karaaikudi Dizoza” family was supposed to have a thorough inspection of her;
oh or rather the only son of Mr and Mrs. Dizoza, Mr. Karaaikudi Kochapi was supposed to see his probable bride.
Sarala was awake all night excited and fretful about the deciding morning; wondering if Mr. Kochapi would look as smart as he did in the black and white Polaroid.

The day since Mathukutty Chettan, the obliging broker brought the alliance to “Kuriakose” family; every body was in a state of panic. If the auspicious event had to happen, it was to happen in a span of 2 months as Mr.Kochapi had to return to the Gulf. He was working at an oil rig in the Persia and his bio data contained all wanted details of his authenticity as a resident of the gulf.

“you knoooww……There were 5 BIG bags when he came this time”, ahhhh….

“you knoowww……. He got 25 perfume bottles and 6 watches this time; all GOLD”ahhh…

“you knowww…..He wears 42 inch bell bottoms..!!!!” ahhh….

“Aiyo, how can he afford all that cloth??!!!”

"you knoooww... He smokes only cigarettes and no bidies.." ahh.

“You see he’s a Gulf returnee…ahhhhhhh”

2 months is too short a notice for any typical mallu Christian family to put together a 'descent' marriage. From deciding on dowry to the number of chickens to be slaughtered it takes around 3 months, all this minus the delay with rumors and rain; of course the time wasted in lifting, folding and tying lungies.

Still Dizoza and Kuriakose decide on going ahead with the marriage anyway.

Honk of the 1912 Ford Impala gave shivers down Sarala’s spine. They were here.
Every thing was set for the inspection to start; from fresh coat of paint to cob free corners, from clean nails to colored lips, from new clothes to clean floors. The stage was set to venerate the team.

Sarala did her part very well. All the training provided by her mother was working just fine. She walks with grace and bowed head towards her future husband and his family. Never looking up and not wrinkling her fresh starched sari, balancing her piping hot tea tray, she flaunts her grace.
And then suddenly Mr. Kochapi blurts the unthinkable.

“Can I have a moment in private with Sarala?” [tadaaan….]

Among hush hush, turned heads and inquisitive looks the elders allow them 2 minutes in private. The probable bride and groom are shifted to another room with better ventilation.

Sarala was melting with shame, every hair on her skin was raised, that brush against her own skin and that hurt. Her knees were shaking and almost made the tap-tap noise.
Mr. Kochapi leans forward and whispered “I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER”.
That’s when Sarala noticed the divergent big SCAR on Mr.Kachapi’s left arm.

[tadaaaannn……]

To be cont………

****End of part two****

Will he still marry her?
Will he tell Mr. Kuriakose abt his daughter’s sordid deed?
Will Sarala survive the scare?

Wait a while for the nail biting, nerve wracking, balls scratching, dandruff free, mamamiya my neighboring cubical has a babe, ENDING of this nail biting, nerve wracking, balls scratching, dandruff free, mamamiya my neighboring cubical has a babe STORY.

I STILL KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER. [tadaaan….]

A passing thought...

"Sometimes, it hurts most when someone you love, do not hurt you."

I am Sorry.

I do not have a brain.

Fill in using YES/NO.

"_______ , I don't have a brain.

Eunglish is a phunny language, you see.

To VENICE via KAPPA, KALLU and KARI-MEEN.

A sudden decision and enough money; the right recipe for a getaway. What better place than Kerala for that.

Round of "puttu" + "kadala"..umm smack and a good hot tea with lots of do’s and don’ts from Amma; I was all set to explore the Greens of Vazhachal and Back waters of Alleppey with a group of 10 colleagues (non-mallus), for whom "water" meant a bucket or Hussain-Sagar lake and "nature" was a poster on the wall or a .JPEG in the numerous forwards.
They came only to corroborate the pictures in travel brochures about Kerala were not manipulated or fake. They went back satisfied; quoting “boy those pictures don’t do any justice”.

Vazhachal is one of the many exquisite falls in south India and Alleppey it is the “Venice Of East”.
Though it wouldn’t be my first visit to both these places; I was looking forward to it.

Rain patting on the glass, droplets seeping into the lap of Mother Nature, smell of fresh mud and green every where.
This was the menu for my friends to start with.
The habitually noisy crowd was evidently very hushed. It was not the dead beat journey or any kind of friction among them; instead it was all the copious beauty nature was giving them and they couldn’t find time to talk while they soaked in all that.





We started the journey with a visit to Vazhachal;

I'll let the pictures do the talking.




Latter that day, a boat ride to the sea mouth in Cochin harbor-"Queen of Arabian Sea" and brush with the Chinese nets; lots of fish and nostalgia. I had enough for the day to retire weary in my own bed, at home.

Next day was scheduled for Allepey; but truly I was a little weary about the specs of us hiring a house-boat. First they don’t come cheap, and second this being my third visit, will I get tired of the place!??

Thomichan at the wheel, Biju and Shaji in the kitchen we set sail to feel the cool breeze of Arabian Sea and calm of the back waters in our hired kettu vallam. The boat resembled a two bedroom apartment. Bath attached bedrooms, kitchen, dinning and a sit-out plus paradise around you.

Definition (Alleppey) : Paddy fields, Kettu vallams, ducks, poricha meenu, kappa, kallu, rossa kutty, her low cut blouse and loose lungi, and lots of coconut tree.

6 hours in the boat and suddenly…. "What it’s over?"

My finger is sore of all the clicking and I don’t want to go back :-(
but do i have a choice!..hmmmmmm, I always wanted to be a fisherman hmmmmm.


Our love boat and that's Thomichan at the helm

Thank a tone mates for that kari-meen pollichathu,
and that chicken curry and that aviyal and that....

and thank you GOD for all this..




only if i be a droplet and sink in the picturesque landscape, blend in the green;
only if i be a tree and stand still by the river
only if i be a ripple in that vast body of water
only if i be ........

Truly, I am proud to be minutely associated with all this;
I am a MALLU.
And I belong to this land of GODS

It's never "HIS" fault.

Today morning, we went through a grueling “HR-module” training.
A knowledge transfer session done by our Delivery Manager, who had come down from USA.
His primary tasks, when in USA were to, “UNDERSTAND”; “GATHER” client requirements, then get back and “GUIDE” us in functional/technical system-design specs.
[This is how an IT-Project starts]
He was at the client place for over 6 months working HARD and now back to do what he’s best at. “UNDERSTAND” “GATHER” “GUIDE”.

He spoke……

--The critical importance of the data is critically important

--When I were there low level design were never there

--This record is for hiring means this is for hiring

--The client wants the authorization given gives us the authorization responsibility

--Do remember to remind me about the other module [leaning forward towards a colleague]…………Remember

--Select this field and this field and put this there till this with that gives the result WOkey

[Punctuations have been conveniently avoided, to be on the safer side. I wasn't sure if he was asking, telling or threatening us]

Not able to keep up with his erudite disclosure, I stopped with these lines and went back to my dream “private island and nude women”.
zzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Typing this post, I wondered. Will I make it to the Delivery Manager post some day?
“Someday maybe I maybe a someday manager”

"THANK YOU", Jeeves.

The white ‘Sumo’ severed right, left, up, down, above-turn and sit-down; and all this time I was doing a good job balancing P.G.Wodehouse in one hand and my dad on the cell phone in the other.
The gruffly driver with his big, black mustache, twisted at the ends, was already in heat with only 15 minutes left to get a bunch of lazy software engineers to work.
He drove with vigor, passion and a good looking rear-view mirror to his left.
I liked the whole package the mirror came in. A fresh coat of white paint on its cover and huge, shiny, clean and very very reflecting; even ‘I’ looked good in it!

Book: "Thank you, Jeeves"
Page: 134
[Para 4, line 1]
I read

"And then there came a far -off crash of glass, and the Sergeant went bounding down the stairs."

Cling- bling -clang...swish...

My instincts took over; I closed my eyes and ducked with my hands on my head. A while latter realizing the vehicle has stalled, I come back to my senses. Every body the car had their eyes as big as a pumpkin and rigid on me. The gruffly driver with a back mustache, twisted at the ends, was half out of the car. His tongue and mouth was pouring a symphony of swear words at a truck driver in the front.
The good looking left side rear-view mirror was gone; it dangled from the side of the same truck.
And I rise, to find glass all over me and the front seat.

“Hope he’s alive”
“Good he ducked”
“He is lucky not to have any of that glass in the eye”
“Anoop, can you see?”

15 minutes in stun, a quick seek to make sure my eyes are in their sockets and no glass pieces are in my skin.

Composed and pacified by fellow mates;
I again open the book……

Book: "Thank you, Jeeves"
Page: 134
[Para 4, line 2]
I read

"This was followed by a sound which gave me the impression that Brinkley, feeling that he had done his bit, had galloped to the front door and slammed it after him. And after that another slam, as if the Sergeant, too, had made a break for the open. And then, filtering through the keyhole came a little puff of smoke."

"Puff of smoke" ?????

I shut the book. No, I cannot survive a gun shot now.

Cuckoo......

“Kandu” music blasting from my left.
Noisy, putrid “Bong” on my right. (strong gastric extravagance).
Flirty, “Bitchy Bitch” squeaking on the phone, in the front.
At the back; at the back an access controlled door to the loo.

I am expected to CONCENTRATE and WORK.

No sympathies,
thank you very much.
thank you very much.
thank you very much.

Jhai Chamundeshwari

To feel the wind on your face and your jacket flutter on your pillion mates face for 300 odd kilometers is something I want to do every day. All that with a flavor of quick decisions and make my mother say "WHAT??!!!, you are going to Mysore on a bike; that too at night!", makes the fun twofold.
Sense of soothe was absent for us as all. All the bikes were pulsar and cruise bike comforts were zilch, but we bike loving idiots were determined and really really motivated to do the idiot’s thing.


Driving with the green sugar cane fields passing by the corner of (both) my eyes and no worries of deliverables or con-calls made me want to freeze the moment and entrench it in a canvas; so that any time I want I could repaint it, only to make the picture look better.

130 kilometer fanatical ride and a hasty decision. All to be blamed on my crazy friends, those guys crazy enough to decide at the flick of the moment to visit Mysore on a bike.
With no spare under wears, tooth brush or money, we were on the road. Not that any of the above mentioned, except money, is a daily need in my dictionary of life, the above line does explain my haze and stupidity, if you think so.

Mysore welcomed us with open arms and closed restaurants by around 8 PM. Just enough energy left to find a lodge and spot a Malabar restaurant by the street corner to chew some "naiyee choru" with chicken curry. Guess what the "Malabar Restaurant" turned out to be owned by a fellow mallu, it never was a surprise for any of us. (These mallus they are all around the globe)

Please hate me for doing this, but I need to crack a mall joke NOW.

Never let the mallu take the corner kick in a foot ball match.
why why why???

Cos he'll put up a tea stall there.
geee.....
I feel better already.


so then where were we, ah the night in Mysore.
We loitered around the gates of Mysore palace searching for fags, then retired to bed.
I SLEPT LIKE A LOG, till 7 am.


Same clothes, a shower, tea, fags and we advance to Chamundi Hills, holly abode of Chamundeshwari, the tutelary deity of Mysore Maharajas. I was looking forward to that wondrous view down the valley from the elevation, I have missed since my last visit to Munnar and of course a divine bliss visiting chamundeshwari temple.

The temple conveniently had a paid entrance, which of course we took, considering the otherwise looong queue and the short time frame we had.
After a good darshan and the red "bhasmam" spotted between our brows, we take the descent.


Cold wind, twisted roads and a bike gave us the delight none can compare.
Yes we were there.


The "CRS Fun World" visit, I was NOT looking forward to rather my mates were, turned out to be good fun.
All crazy rides, fat people and desperate 'US' added to the FUN mood. We stayed in water long enough to gobble down chunks of food like hungry elephants at a road side dhaba.

Riding 130km back was tiring. Badly missing my bed, and not able to feel my butt, I was more than happy to get back home.

Every bone, muscle in my body aches and worse, I have to get to ‘Work’. With no regrets and all fervor I am looking forward to that ah...... [Clenching my back and tears in the eyes].

I deserve the Chamundeshwari award for "Dedication to IT industry" or what?

Jhai Chamundeshwari.

My Balls are missing

Once in a while the loathe software professional finds his peace, at the office basket ball court. A few shots at the basket and a few tedious jokes to keep the fellow loathe entertained; his day is made a little better. Shooting baskets and getting beaten up by fellow loathes who think winning is weighed against punches and broken noses.

Ah how I love playing at my office basket ball court.

Fridays you find a whole bunch of loathes around the court waiting to be entertained. Though they can hardly spell “Basket Ball” and once in a while shout “GOAL….” when the ball goes through the ring; these guys are at the court only to impress the caffeine addicted hideous fellow feminine loathes hanging around the court. Then there were a few who loved the game for what it is, they always found their way through to play some quality basketball; shoot some good baskets and polish their dribbling skills;

Ah how I love playing at my office basket ball court.
[You can skip the thought to decide if I played for the love of the game or the caffeine addicted hideous fellow feminine loathes; cos I am not sure myself].

Days went by, more loathes got disfigured on the court, caffeine addicted hideous fellow feminine loathes increased and more “GOALS” were happening. Then suddenly, just suddenly, out of the blue one day there was an onslaught on the basket ball court. A bunch of men with huge bellies, repulsive tits, thighs as big as me, flab all over to keep them hibernated for 100 years and a CRICKET BAT, came to claim their rights on the Basket Ball court. They wanted to play the Gentleman’s game to keep them fit and fine.
They wanted us to stop this idiotic game of basketball on a basket ball court so that they could play the Gentleman’s game.
When tried to explain that it was a basket ball court and basket ball is meant to be played, they came back and beat us all up with retribution, Gentlemen eh.
Their actions were quite understandable, considering that project MANAGERS and delivery MANAGERS and functional MANAGERS and ONLY MANAGERS were there to play cricket.

Ah how I love playing at my office basket ball court

Days passed by and the loathly cricket playing managers continue with their stint to keep themselves in shape and impress the caffeine addicted hideous fellow feminine loathes.

Till yesterday we the basketball loving broods, stuck to our fear of managers big bellies etc etc and trounce our basic urge for the game and love of court; but we could not take it any more and decided to stand up to the “GENTLEMEN”. Who by then had grown in huge numbers and bellies.
We move to get our weapons; basket balls and tadaan…….
The balls are missing………
The balls are missing…….????
WHAT…!!
The balls are missing…..!!!!
Oh.. my … god….. the balls are gone.

The "Gentle" Men are having a hearty laugh.
Managers always had the last laugh.

Oh how I LOVED playing at my office basket ball court.

[lights dim, only a spot light on me]
[Kneeling down, hands in the air, screaming, camera zooming upwards, away from my face]
“Vishnuuuuuu…......... gimme back my BALLS”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Basic mallu urge to exaggerate has helped me a lot.
But yes, the narration was inspired by an incident at the basket ball court at work and “Only big-fat-ugly men play cricket”]

My Appraisal is ‘DONE’

You seem to be very quite since afternoon Anoop.
Is it the appalling appraisal I gave you or the embittered feeling because of loosing your well deserved "star performer" to my would-be son-in-law?
Anything please talk to me, open up and I'll HELP YOU.
I am there for you Anoop anytime, anywhere.
Never hesitate to talk to me, ok dear.

It's all in the Blouse

The more I enjoy the polluted air and loud horns, more my heart was weeping for the lady on the sidewalk. She looked befuddled and miserable.
Was she new to the big city and mislaid from her family?
Got here to change her fortunes?
Find work; keep the army of hungry stomachs at least half full?
or was she waiting for the pledged time and place by the illusive lover boy?
or evaded from the clutches of her evil uncle, who's wife mistreats her and he; he takes advantage of her?

Flood of humanitarian thoughts overcome my instincts as a pervert, and I forget to notice her bodily bliss, especially below her neck; that huge bulge in her Blouse. Standing across the road, close to the bridge waiting for my friend, staring at her and fanning distort thoughts that clogged my women deprived mind, I was having my share of sweet time. Once in a while my eye strays towards her face; and comes back the deluge of “feeling sorry for her".

As minutes pass, a young man approaches her; no smiles just a cold stare. She stays unmoving with an air of ignorance. Staying close to her, the guy and she have a brief conversation after which, he pass her some money and she digs in to the depths of her Blouse, drawing a small packet. He happily strides away with the lil packet revealed from the divine depths; leaving the lady where she was with the bulge in her Blouse.
Thank you very much. The man stays intoxicated for the nite; and the bulge, ah the bulge works…... as always.

[how did I know about the packet????? hmmm.... who do you think the friend is, I was waiting for!]

SPOT WARS II Attack Of The POX

Long long time ago in a galaxy far, far away… somewhere close to Hosur....
A vast sea of green grass serves as the backdrop for the Hero's entry, followed by a rollup, which crawls into infinity stretching away from the main building of Satyam computer services Ltd, into the unknown.

War Vs love. There are heroes on both sides. Evil is everywhere.

ANOOKIN: Oh, POXtheCHICK! Thank goodness, you're back.

POXtheCHICK: BACK!!!??? This is the first time I am even getting close to you.

ANOOKIN: I missed you, POXtheCHICK. I've missed you so. There were whispers . . . they told me that you'd been killed. I've been living with unbearable dread.

POXtheCHICK: I'm back, I'm all right. It feels like we've been apart for a lifetime. And it might have been ... If it was not for that idiot who slept with me for two weeks and then touched you, we would have never been together.

ANOOKIN starts to give POXtheCHICK a kiss. She steps back.

POXtheCHICK: Wait, not here . . .

He grabs her again.

ANOOKIN: Yes, here! I'm tired of all this deception. I don't care if you are ugly, you stink and you are contagious.. Now we are married; at least for two weeks!

POXtheCHICK: ANOOKIN, don't say things like that. You're important to me... to keep me spreading, to keep me alive. I love you more than anything (for now), but I won't let you give up your life as a patient for me . . .

ANOOKIN: I've given my nights and days to other diseases, but I'd only give up my life, for you.

POXtheCHICK: (playfully) I wouldn't like that. I wouldn't like that one bit. Patience, my handsome patient . . . Come to me later.

ANOOKIN embraces her, and then looks at her.

ANOOKIN: NO, I want you, right here right now.

POXtheCHICK: Alright..right 'NOW', it is then....You asked for it.

They get even closer, just their breath keeping them apart...

POXtheCHICK: Are you all right ANOOKIN? You're trembling. What's going on?

ANOOKIN: I'm just excited to see you.

POXtheCHICK: NO, its not that. You have fallen for me and you have fallen hard. Now for the next two weeks you will be mine, you will suffer and stink just like me, you will be contagious and grow even uglier ... just like me... just like POXtheCHICK...... haha ha ha ha

tadaaan.... ATTACK OF THE POX.

[Back to business after a well deserved break at home, ah time to stretch my muscles and my spots]

Now I know why middle east is in DEEP SHIT.

It was too good a pic to be not shared.

Difficult to find a soothe news here.

"Turn off TV, turn on a women instead"; WHAT RUBBISH I SAY

Long long ago in the land of naked women and hot prostitutes there lived a young boy who stuck to his celibacy only because he didn’t watch discovery channel or Surya-TV Saturday nites.
His sister stayed dark cos she missed the "fair and lovely add".
His mom could never figure out when and where to cry cos she never saw any soaps.
His dad died thinking Sachin Tendulkar was his famous next door neighbour; who drove TVS victor.

Who to blame, me? you? or them? They create an electronic marvel like TV and then form a faction [turnoff network] to actually turn it off!! or invent a device [TV-b-gone turns off any TV in a range of 20-50 Ft] to deprive humans of their few worldly pleasures! These traitors should be made to sit butt naked in a upturned broken coke bottle till it’s full of blood
[Ahem excuse my sadistic approach; I get very emotional when it comes to my stuff close to my heart]

My friend Vinayak opened my eyes to the atrocities happening in this world, thank you buddy.

Readymade Bribe

The morning glory got in to me and I stayed irritated all day. Traffic on hosur road and Bangalorean's traffic sense added to the pleasure.
After cheating death, twice on the BTM road; just before entering Hosur road I witnessed the amazing act of “SERVING FOR A CAUSE”. We know traffic is controlled by cops, these two serve akin functions; craft trouble.

A car in front of me, obviously a software geek was in all hurry, must have been late for a white ass client meeting; he was driving like one of those Indy car racers only that a few innocent souls were on the road. We were at the signal waiting for the lights, as the counter ticked to 10..9..8.. zoom our racer made his way before the green light, almost running down an unwary cyclist.
A cop sprung to the road from no where (they should be in the army for their camouflage skills) and tried to stop our freak racer. He stood in the path of the accelerating car with his arms open as if that was the moment he was born for, to sacrifice himself FOR A CAUSE, TO SERVE US.

For that tweeni minie miniscule second I felt proud of all those traffic officers who stood in the HOT sun all day, with no safety cream to protect their skin, no cool goggles to shade their eyes and no filters to stop them from breathing the dark smoke; a job FOR A CAUSE, TO SERVE US.

The tweeni minie miniscule second passed and the next thing I know is our driver, while the car is on the move had his hand out of the window and waving to the officer; the brave officer was still standing in the trajectory of the car, but had a glisten in his eyes.

the car kept moving ..
the officer stayed on the road..
every body held their breath...
the car was still on the run...
the driver turned to his left....
the officer was on the drivers side now...
but he stayed where he was.. never to move...all FOR A CAUSE.. TO SERVE US
the car kept moving.....
the officer stayed tranquil....
suddenly their hands met.....
the moment froze in time....
the car kept moving and the glimmer in the cops eye turned to a broad evil smile on his lips.
he was richer by 100 Rs.

ALL THIS FOR A CAUSE….. TO SERVE US

Heineken to buy Russian beer firm....

Dutch beer company Heineken has agreed to buy Russian brewer Patra for an undisclosed sum.... some news, esp at the week end !!
yahhooooo.... jingi jakie chaaaaa jingi jakieee cha... jingi ghikidi aha....jhidi ghadi jakieeee.... jha
[doing a dappankuthu... and whistling]

"Let the Farce be with them".

God's own heater.

Was in Kollam since Thursday. Got back to Blore today morning; tanned and dehydrated.
Kerala is getting hotter every day. The last time I peed so much was at age 2 in my ammumas lap. She loves me you see, and I do it to every one I love.

"no no Merina, with you it was all that beer.....ahem of course my love too".

Kerala is only a step away from sun-strokes and coolers. Maalu chettans and chechis are growing darker, though not less beautiful.
If it was not for all that tender coconut and maalu kutties, I would have disowned my stature as Mr.Nair.

Spent some time at Varkala "Papanashini", an hour’s drive from my house in Kollam. It came as a reminder; why Kerala is Gods own Sweet spot.
They say, if you want to cleanse your soul take a dip at Varkala; I did. Wonder why it tasted salty??!!
The famous 2000 year old Vishnu temple was prohibited for me because of religious reasons (since there was a death in my family I am devoid of temples for the next 16 days)

The sea side was sprawling with huts and shops exclusive to the white skinned. “Kappa” “meen curry” and many other dishes, adoring my moms table every day, was an exquisite dish in Varkala; they were priced lofty too. The local tea stall had a board painted "café espresso" and spelled correctly too; they didn’t zimply say mallus have 100% literacy.

Though TAJ group was minting money by the cliff; the locals were having their share of cake too, a big one. Mr.Krishnakumar was running a "Exchange de currency here" from his 4X4 mtr thatched hut and mariamma had her "International hotel for Kerala spices" busy; talk about globalisation.
Marriamma getting all that spice with her loose blouse and low tied mundu is understandable, but Krishnakumar all that currency!!!...I wonder from where??

My MAN and SHE.

Though the day began on a usual note; project updates, dead lines and all those forwards containing cosmetic words like "love" "friendship" etc;
One mail stood out with a subject line "A fighter called Siddharth".

A quick search on Google and I present to you my “brave man”.
In recent times such a confluence of emotions happened was in a cinema theater; watching "BLACK".

This could be a right time to mention, my inspiration and the first person I pray to when I'm in dire-straits;
My God-Mother Rani aunty.
She was in wheel chair because of some disease I cannot pronounce and I don’t want to; had to undergo physiotherapy. She was provided with this help at “Jyothi” center for the specially-abled children. We were invited for a dance and light show hosted by them, this was in my class 7th; and trust me till date I haven’t forgotten the confidence and fun they had performing for us.
Rani Aunty extended help to the institute and donated a lump sum for their future activities. I could end saying, with puffed chest and bulging eyes "someday I will also so the same, like Rani aunty did"; I Sincerely pray, "God please don't change my mind".

Aunty, you may not be here with us, but your presence is always felt.

Reproduction... Only a reason

One evening Mr and Mrs decided to play husband wife and make kids.
Involve in the divine act of reproduction, to have an offspring, strong as Hercules, smart as Einstein, fast as Ben Johnson and witty as Jim Carrey.
He was born to the 'Somiahs" in the green slopes of Koorg; amid fresh smelling coffee beans and morning mist.

A few hours after his birth in the hospital, his grand dad let him taste the divine nectar, the nectar every Koorgy devours till death, the nectar they survive on.
Weak, tiny eyes of the infant opened to the real world and Vinay Somiah was born.




I wish my surname was "Somiah".

(Inspired by a conversation I had with my Koorgy friend, Vinay; obviously in a BAR)
PS: I love Koorgy’s.

Natures bliss a Goat's Leap.

Don’t feel like posting anything, Every joint in my body is aching after the trek to Mekedatu (Goat’s leap).

A real refreshing trip away from the crowd, I guess it got a lil too refreshing. The cancerian in me was lured by the gushign water and greenery. The hard, sharp and slipery rocks underwater reminded me that I was just another city dweling babu, and yes I was left with few cuts and bruises.All that, did not deter my love for the gushing water and clean air. This was at Sangama.

The 3 km treck to mekedatu from Sangama drained me out, but worth it.I am still on glucose boxes and bannans; so will post more latter (with pics).

The week-end that "BLEW"

Saturday came..
Sunday came..
The wind blew so did my nose.
The only one that stayed was my cold.

Ever felt like you could not stop what you were doing? It keeps happening over and over and over, and all you can do is keep doing it. The nostalgia goes through me every Monday. This Monday was no different only that it was worse.
The thought of going to office over flowed my mind, the only other thing overflowing was my handkerchief; thanks to the horrible cold, and news of my cousin getting admitted in the hospital.
My week begins.

All germs in my body must be having a feast. White blood cells are for sure, working over time, I sneezed a record 50 yesterday evening, and my roomies use my face as a catalyst for their bowel movement in the mornings.

Staying away from home and obviously deprived of mothers love and nutrition has taken its toll. My gastric system has been through all different atrocities; from Andhra pickles to street side Muniyandi villas "kothu-parathas", from bisibella-bath to "dog" meat camouflaged beef. All I wish for these days is for one evening when I don’t have to ask myself “where are you eating today?".

“Give me kanya and I’ll give you Food”;
A forum where you get to register for a set of healthy home cooked meal in exchange for invaluable company of Anoop (only unmarried women and those with no boyfriends are allowed) need to be setup. Through this, food deprived men get to devour food touched by the kanya while I get to be a humanitarian who care, worry for the destitute beautiful male-deprived women. A god man whose life will be an inspiration to impart respect and dedication to the feminine clad. An aberration from the typical male.

Help me reach my karma; my fellow sari clad inmates of this companionship deprived earth.
LET ANOOP INHERIT THE EARTH……amen



Achoooooo……

Corporate thamsha!

The day went fine except for the birthday celebration we had.
I was wondered stuck to see the amount of enthusiasm these software guys have when it comes to impressing their boss.
They don’t mind singing “pehala nasha…” in English…. Or eat a whole cake with pumpkin flavor.
Of course the corporate jokes fly in the air.

“…..Then they ordered a cup of shave and haircut not realizing they were in a Barber shop… ha ha ha ha ha “,
“.. oh Mr manager that was a good one… hahahahahah”.

Can you please move away from the window I’ll like to jump off.
Damn its 7 ..If I stay a little longer then I’ll miss the bus and the next bus is after an hour. So I’ll update latter;
Till then adios.

Gastritis, a "Canteen" away......

We work hard, to cater to our basic necessities and FOOD stands tall in the list, for me, and my company takes extra care when it comes to food. After all it is our heath that determine the NYSE quote of the company.

Past few weeks at my new office, tempted me to try the different culinary delights they serve in the office canteen. I’ll try and describe them to you. Though my descriptions won't do justice to the treat my taste buds have been through; I’ll try my best.
(just in case you did not notice the sarcasm)

9:20 AM --Read breakfast menu.
9:25 AM --Realise it’s the same menu, as past 5 days.
9:30 AM --Over heard a guy……. “I am just out of hospital,… no no this time I escaped death ……. Yes it was the biriyani I ate”
9:35 AM --Pray to God and get my idlies.
9:50 AM --I am still alive.

Parathas come with an axe-saw blade just in case you feel like eating them, or you could leave them to soak in the age old curd for 4 days before they become soft.

We have Karnataka specials every day. "chowchow bath", hah… nothing Chinese about this dish.
When the experts called the pan chewing chef to know what his new preparation was.
He said “go go, I am in the bathroom,”
The half deaf expert heard it “chowchow bath”.
(I am loosing my sense of humor so is my common sense, so please excuse the above drivel)

The Juice section in the canteen works 24/7.
They add a pinch of mango/grape/orange essence with the tall glass of water.
"Milk" is a cosmetic, also serevs as a camouflage in milk shakes.

Burp........ Can’t wait for lunch.

12:30 PM --lunch is served.
12:34 PM --I see the menu.
12:34 PM --LUNCH FINISHED.
Thank god the cooler water comes free.

Burp....... can't wait for tea break.

4:30 PM --The menu screams "Today’s Menu".
1) Asserted BONDAS.
Please excuse the mess boys English, that was meant to be assorted. But then, could that be a candid warning, maybe he meant assaulted.
These bondas alias "Killer bondas", come in blood shot red colour and looks obnoxious, like one of those aliens that suck blood from your neck in a cheap space fiction serial.
The day I buy them will be to puncture my boss’s skull.

2) Mangalore BU’n’S.
Some smart chap replaced the 'n' with a 'M' on the menu board.
This is a highly sophisticated dish which is made according to the secret recipe.
They have to go buy the buns, make it sound exotic, serve them. The rest is done by the hungry software engineer.
Plain buns they are, oops...not just any plain bun, soggy depleted "Mangalore Buns"; mind that.

3) Set Dosa.
Same as the breakfast dosas, only that count in the plate is increased.

4) Veg colizoniues
Please don’t ask me what they are or to pronounce this word.
The French client who thought Indian software professionals didn’t know how to kill each other designed it for us. It takes fifteen minutes to prepare, so you have enough time to decide whom to throw at.

5) Veg Pizzas alias flying disks.
Topped with exotic sauces and decayed vegetables, just the smell is enough to keep you in loo for 10 days.

6) Boanda soup:
The super combination of devil and her advocate.
Never tried them. Some day when I feel like I’ve had enough of life, I’ll order one.

4:50 PM—--Return to the cubical.

I survived another day.

"chupru"MAN

"Look up in the sky.....
It's a bird,
no it's a plane...
ahagn, its that idiot again."


Morphing isn't my piece of cake, I know.
But I don't care.

Non-sense Vs Some-sense.

Sometimes, you climb out of your bed and tell yourself.. you will do it, "yes I will";
but laugh inside loud; of how many times you have felt the same way.
You walk to the loo, do your thing and look in the mirror while you brush, wondering, why!!!
"Why should I have such horrible hair, such ugly gums, such horrid jaws and yet, that God given smile". Smile, the next door girl waits for, smile your colleague wish for, smile your boss hates.

It's true that every one of us is ugly, in a sense difficult to explain, but yes we are ugly. Even with all this ugliness there is something nice, some thing that could make someone else's day a little better, a little sweeter.

For some reason I find the snort my neighboring cubical guy makes pretty interesting; though it gets the heat out of everybody. They say it's disgusting; "hey have you ever thought about yourself?, he only snorts, and you......!!!"
All this so delightful yet so disappointing.

-Sunita i love your smile,
-Mahesh your hair looks good any day.. may be just 5 strands, but they are great
-Remya talk less sing more,
-and Yash keep snorting.

"Stay in Touch"...a surprising candour.

Is it necessary to “stay in touch”?
When a friend of yours, move out of your place or shifts his work to another town, is it important that you stay in touch?
I don’t think so. In my list of friends who have left me, there are many who complain through common buddies about my lack of interest to “staying in touch”, and then, there is this other kind, who don’t even care to speak to me. The latter contains a few, to whose bedroom I can walk in at any time of the day, and ask for a lump of money, and not return disappointed. My point is; if he/she is your friend then what is the necessity to “stay in touch”. You don’t have to call, mail or even spend your hard earned money to say hello, to some one who calls himself/herself your friend, so that when he/she comes back to town, they will have a reason not to meet or call you.
The few reasons for you to call your friend, is usually because.......
1) you need help (monetary mostly)
2) invite him/her to your wedding
3) tell him/her that u need a place to stay in his town.
Do you actually have to have a scheduled call or mail for this? I don’t think so.
Yes you could ring up your buddy when u feel corny , for support, to get that itch out of your head, to bitch about your Ex, to know what is hep-n-hap in Detroit.

Oh, and there are a few who behave like they were lovers, WTF!!!! .You could call your girlfriend or boyfriend to feel important once in a while, not your friends.

This is my sack of thoughts, it is not to exonerate why I don’t “stay in touch”, but it sure crossed my mind why my so called “friends” complain. I may have been explicit with an uncomfortable lack of candour about friendship, but what the hell it’s my blog.

You don’t have to call or mail me and you surely can’t walk into my bedroom; but I will be there to help you any time.....hmm any time except times I am sleeping, eating, working, playing, driving, swimming, painting, watching porn...............

When the tough gets going.. u burn your face.

When something has to go wrong it does; but bhagvaan karae not like, what happened to sankar; almost blinding him. A caracker burst right in front of his face (they call it the BOMB). He burnt most of his eye lashes and sustained minor injuries to the eye. Thanks to the spectacles, otherwise I would have had to make a "sequel BLACK" inspired by 'blind' sankar. Well all this happened inside a car, his car.

Since the day "GREEN GOBLET" ( Sankar’s car) crossed the Karnataka TamilNadu border, Sankar has been undergoing a spell of sweet revenge. Is it because he drove the car rough on Cochin roads? or is it because he keeps saying “the damn santro sucks".

As far as my memory goes, he drove the goblet on B-lore roads 5 times; once getting rammed by a blind auto guy; another time running down a beggar lady; and yes getting the wind shield cracked latter.
Other two times he drove in B-lore, he came back in a state of shock. Could not speak, neither could he feel his palm; paavam was scared.
I too have been driving the goblet but never had a problem; makes me wonder!! am I the psychopath inside the cars mind; that makes Sankar ... Spiderman......

Today is a holiday for me; maha-shivraathri. All the more reason for me to slug at home alone, albeit a basketball game scheduled for the evening, I am looking forward to. Roopa has promised me the CD s written, can't wait to listen them.

Birds didn’t chirp for spring, neither did my predictions.

Shockers do come but nothing like this; winning the critic’s and viewer’s choice for the best picture, “Aviator” never made it to the stage. Was the academy drunk when they judged?!!!
“Million Dollar baby” winning the "Best picture";.... was the academy right? I wonder..... Hilary swank winning the “Best actress”. now all this makes me want to see the movie even more. If only I had watched it before my last post, I would have had a different opinion and would'nt have lost so much money. Did that sound like an “excuse”; well a critic needs to explain why he wrote what he wrote, right!!

When the curtains fell there was a hush, Clint Eastwood and Hilary were hugging, congratulating and jumping around, they missed the cynical eyes prowling them; especially Martyn scorsese’s. “Aviator” was good; to add to his other classics “Gangs of New York”, “Raging bull”, “Casino” “Colour of Money” … damn he deserved the Best director… I know emotions don’t work; but I’m human .. above all a mallu…. Cribbing is in my blood.

Morgan Freeman; nominated four times and never won. His award poured some water on the fire;

Cate Blanchett’s role was undoubtedly worth a walk to the stage; her role as Katharine Hepburn was dealt very well; hey the director did his job well; is the academy listening!!! Martyn deserves an award!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Jamie Foxx – Never again cry on stage.

Chris Rock – I love you; you were great (at least that’s what I heard).

Though I lost my money, disappointment is for other reasons….. how could they forget Martyn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can’t wait to watch “Million Dollar Baby” ; in my list of boxing movies lets see where this one fits.

Spring is here, so are the OSCARS

Game of guessing and betting is back in town, with just hours left for the glitter and glamour to start,I place my predictions and rouge thoughts on the nominees.
This is my sack of bricks and roses. If anything goes wrong, I am not to be blamed, blame the Academy. Not to forget, this is a mallu's write.

Best Actress.
Annette Bening ("Being Julia"), Catalina Sandino Moreno ("Maria Full of Grace"), Imelda Staunton ("Vera Drake"), Hilary Swank ("Million Dollar Baby"), Kate Winslet ("Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind")
I say: Kate winslet; for she who did all the "anoop does not like" roles; was in a very different role.With “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” out of "Best picture" race i'll want her to be on stage.

Best Actor.
The Nominees: Don Cheadle (“Hotel Rwanda”), Johnny Depp (“Finding Neverland”), Leonardo DiCaprio (“The Aviator”), Clint Eastwood (“Million Dollar Baby”), Jamie Foxx (“Ray”)
I say: Jamie Foxx. A lure for DiCaprio still i'll stick to Jamie, for the character he potrayed, more his resemblance to Charles.

Best Picture:
The Nominees: “The Aviator,” “Finding Neverland,” “Million Dollar Baby,” “Ray,” “Sideways”
I say:“The Aviator,”; for the way it was directed the flare it has on the screen, for; give Martin Scorsese a god damn oscar.

Reading for those of you who think "Black" will make it to the Oscars; do look forward to a far shot at Indian presence.
"Village" is a nomiee for "Achievement in music written for motion pictures (Original score)". James Newton Howard is the contender though; not its director.

Safe After de Punch........ sequel "On-Bench"

One month "On bench" (software lingo) and 55 rounds of talk with my HR, who addressed me as Mr. Gummar; I had lost it. Felt like an idiot; nothin new , it was always an addundum with my designation; The 'Softbare engineer'.
I have been assigned to a new circle SAP for ABAP training.
Henceforth I will be addressed as “SAP Consultant”, ain’t no more a freakin softbare engineer.
We are being trained on ABAP. Will be working for a ‘sweet’ client NESTLE. I have been promised the best tech and newest architecture, something called the SPLIT architecture (not sure if I got that right) loads of chocolate, milk and noodles; I am very much lookin forward to this project.
There is more to all this tech wise but will be able to pen down when the actual training starts, right now rubbin my ass for a day at office, with some thing they call “The induction”; nice cover up for siesta.

I Almost forgot, my friend got a BP of 180 (normal is 120). For those with slow gray cells; BP happens to be his blood pressure, nothin to do with brain n stuff.
"Sandeep ass hole take care"; ah and just in case u are wondering, he is only 24.

Self-ish

Growing up in a port town (Cochin) in the State of Kerala; surrounded by family. Expectations and aspirations are limited in such an environment. I could have made a living exploiting the usual government jobs offered or stick to the software development job currently having, but prefer to do similar work as a corporate executive. I have one sibling, my sister who is finishing her undergraduate study in a reputed college in Cochin, specializing in ‘Family and Community Science’, my mother is a graduate who never worked and is happy being a house wife; her agenda of family activities is always packed with house hold chores. Most of my family is employed in the government services, which instilled in me at a very young age, the concept of work. The artistic instincts in me grew when I was exposed to the Art field on a professional level, by a guru who was known to my father. My father has always been an inspiration to me. He made it to a government job from a back ward village; all through his hard work and sportsman skills. He got selected to the civil body of Cochin Port Trust and from there he never shifted jobs.
You see, one thing that my father lacked was ambition; as a small town boy, my dad maintained many of the 60’s ideologies of peace, love and understanding. In other words, the establishment, rules, and the conventional way of doing things he avoided adamantly. For some reason, growing up, I grew to resent this. In fact, it angered me so much that after an argument that hit the very nerve of this resentment, I swore to make it on my own.

I joined college in a different town and started to grow away from my family especially my father; my dad and I did not speak to one another for a long time, despite his repeated attempts to contact me.
After all, I was focused. I had my career to take care of. I had my studies, my athletic activities, my money making schemes to pay back the load, my fraternities -- I had my future in front of me. I, indeed, intended to make up for years of ambition that my father squandered. I almost lost the feel and companion of my father.
I am stubborn. I sometimes allow my belief in my own correctness to do more harm than good. Most times, I don’t realize it. In this case, the realization of my stubbornness was like a brick in the face. I had allowed my own goals, objectives and beliefs to come between myself and probably the most important and influential individual my life has seen, and, to this day, I only regret it.