what's left of my four wheels

I walked out of this car last thursday with only a misplaced little finger. I had a one on one with god in a very long time as the clouds cleared sirens drew closer. I thanked him for fact that none of my dear friends was with me that afternoon and also for saving my dad from an awful situation of carrying whats left of me back home to my mother.

Please drive cautiously and use good judgement..... it will save you from a lot of heart ache.

and my whole life didnt flash infront of me !

Q-Jumping

I dont mind you butting in on the line @ Lulu and i dont mind it when you cut in on me @ the airportduty free. I dont mind when you barge in @ the barber shop. It's your country and i am just another hindi and aiwa.. entha omani, i dont have enough wasta and i am not a g0raa. But no, i wont let you do that @ the hospital you asshole fuckers even if you say you have a chilli up your ass.

Frustrated after a long day @ the hospital trying to get some treatement on time for my 58 year old dad.

With out a forwarding address.

I am sure most of you never came across the name A. Ayyappan. He was a poet in "malayalam" my mother tongue. A true Bohemian in every sense he lost his parents very early and started writing at a very early age. The last of the anarchists of his time he never built a home or did start a family. He slept on verandhas and bus stations and stayed with his friends whenever it pleased him.

He was a poet of the youth. May be he was the only poet in my land who was given a welcome in the local market. He was the most famous orphan of my land and yet he had no forwarding address. He was found unconsious on the streets of thiruvananthapuram 2 days ago and was recognised only when he was being moved to the mortuary. His last poem was found inside the folds of his shirt sleeve. Its in malayalam but i have attempted to transalate it ..here it goes

The Teeth

An Arrow will hit me

Any moment from now

I am but running for my life

The Hunters Shack is Behid ME

A gang after my flesh

And the trees gave me no refuge

I opened the door of the rock

Stood still while he roared

And i am his meal, with pleasure

River,Canal and the Wadi

Cut 1 : My Phobia

I dread heights, i used to be more afraid of water. As a kid i once had the misfortune of watching a man fall from our terrace in to our well and there was the incident when i got swept off by the current while washing our truck in a river and i woke up later in a hospital. I also remember falling in to a water cask head first and remaining there till saw my legs sticking out and saved me from drowning. So by the school going age i was really very very hydrophobic.

An irrigation canal ( Source : Google)

Cut 2 : The canal

I am riding a bike, sandwiched between two burly 3rd year seniors of my engineering college, i'm feeling numb coz the ragging had been going on for weeks and i was sick to the point of quitting college. The bike suddenly veered off the main road to a dirt road and we approached a pedestrian bridge connecting two banks of an irrigation canal just wide enough for a man to pass. I closed my eyes and i could hear the gurgling water above the din of the motorbike. The guy must have crossed that narrow bridge a 100 times on his bike he crossed the bridge with out reducing speed and i felt the fabric of my jeans scraping the wall of the bridge. Our college had no mens hostel then and most of the guys rented out villas near the college. It was customary to name the villas so as to identify them easily and names went like "triple x", "white house" ," Pentagon" , "Kryptex" , "saplee villa" , " buji villa" etc. This time around they were taking me to a particular villa named " Durandam". I thought about all the stories about "durandam" , of it occupants and their antics. Durandam is a malayalam word which means tragedy i hope i neednt explain further.

I was expecting the usual round of punches slaps and horrific abuse which were common in those days in engineering colleges as part of the ragging for first year students but to my surprise there is only shakehands and casual conversation. One of them introduced himself and took me along for a walk. We walked and talked and then he lit up a cigarette and hoisted himself up on the railing of the canal's walls and made me do the same. He asked me if i could swim to which i explained my phobia. He nodded and pointed to me a foot ladder and told me to make a good note of it. I was still asking myself, why he asked me so when he just pushed me in to the canal's gurgling,froathing swirls. I opened my mouth to scream only to taste murky water , i thrashed around, i tried to call for help when i came up for air , the current was pushing me along like a twig. I saw a lot of seniors by the bank laughing their heads off. All of them shouting at me to grab the ladder. I grabbed it somehow and made my way up slowly, i collapsed exhausted and vomited my insides out. I smiled to myself as i my ears and nose slowly cleared. They had much fun at my expense but i got cured of my hydrophobia.

Ragging is really good to break the ice and get rid of your inhibitions,if it is done by sensible seniors and as long as it does not involve abuse. I made a lot of friends amongst my seniors and juniors because of ragging. When i first came to muscat i felt very very alone but my life here changed for good when i met 12 other guys who studied in the same college.

As-Siffah wadi near quriyat : (Pic by me)
Cut 3 : Wild Wadi

I am navigating using a gps, with kevin (my colleagues 10 year old son) on my lap. we are trying to find a wadi near as siffah dam. I see a bunch of omani guys jumping off a cliff face as we park by the wadi banks. I walk over to them saying salam and i watch as they show off their diving skills. One of them says to me " sadeeq taal minni, leish entha kauf ? "(my friend come over here , are you afraid?). I smile and tell them " aiwa sadeeq , aana wagid kauff" (Yes my friend i am very afraid). Another one sneaks up behind me and push me off, i was expecting it and i do my perfect knife dive routine and come back up with a thumbs up sign laughing my head off to the loud cheers whistles and mabrouk calls from the omani guys.

So this is the story of how i acquired and got rid of my hydrophobia, now i have the fear of heights to overcome.

The only Vuvuzela in Muscat !

That's me blowing my vuvzela @ office . Bet's have been placed and a carton full of beer is standing by . Nothing like a worldcup to beat the sunday blues. ;-)

Water Colours : The young man and the sea

All those times i flew over it and the countless hours i spent being a beach bum . I never imagined the colours that lay beneath ..... the deep blue sea . Ofcourse i have seen enough underwater pictures and movies but you have to believe me when i say nothing will prepare you for that moment you first see a coral encrusted rock or swim along with a school of fish or fly in formation with a sting ray. 2/3rds of the world is under the sea and that the food for my thoughts ever since i dived for the first time in my life last weekend. Owing to lack of equipment to take my camera underwater there are no photographs i took this time but i hope things will change and this is the begining of something that's truely satisfying and calming as a hobby ..( only if it wasnt so bloody expensive ;-) like all things i like to do ) .

Each Second Counts

I am sure most of you have seen Slumdog Millionaire. Do you remember the slum shown at the beginning of the film beside the airport runway? I have been there and it was while there I tasted the most delicious Bengali food garnished with love made by a strong woman who fought all odds to raise her kids after her husband left her years ago. Her son is my friend and we were out celebrating at a restaurant in Muscat yesterday night. I ordered lobster and he was relishing a falooda, we were having a very good time until he had a seizure . He began rolling and thrashing about on the restaurant floor and all hell broke loose, men started shouting and the women screamed. I sat there unable to understand anything and was still munching on my lobster for about 30 seconds.

It is not easy when someone close to you looks like they are going to die. Believe me, it takes time to register. Then I revved up... tables were moved and space was made for him to thrash about freely, a spirited (what is it that you want to say here) and kind Omani gentleman poured iced water on his head while others rubbed his hands and feet, loosened his clothing etc.
Although I had long ago learned in my Red Cross volunteer first-aid course that there is no risk of him swallowing his toungue and there is no point in making him hold something made of steel, as it is traditionally believed is the way to minimise control during an epileptic attack.

I still gave him a fork and spoon to hold. It was a blur after that, paramedics, the ambulance ride to the emergency care, filling out forms, doctors, reports etc...

This incident left me thinking about how many of us know what to do in case of an emergency. It is probably more important to know what not to do than what to do. We always complain about the inaction of a crowd when they see some one in need, and now I am thinking how many in a crowd know what is the right thing to do. I urge all of you to get yourself acquainted with necessary first aid and other resuscitation procedures applicable to commonly occuring emergencies such as burning, drowning, heart attack, electricution etc.

At least show the presence of mind to call 999 because really, each second counts