All the random thoughts

 The Vagabond sat quietly on a park bench inside the ITVille. His face conveyed an expression that was a mix of concern, confusion and, interestingly, bliss. An expression so unique that it can only be found on Aged Individuals (AI) in the IT industry. No where else in this flat world do we see such anomaly. A mid-level leader (ML), who was passing by, stopped to wish the Vagabond. "Happy New year, sir," the ML yelled at the AI. The Vagabond, now AI, looked at the ML with the same unique expression he had while he was sitting on the park bench all by himself. He knew that the ML was young and bubbling with anticipation for the future while he, the AI, is now fast becoming irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. "What's new about the year?" The ML was taken aback a bit. He didn't expect a conversation beyond the exchange of pleasantries. As ML he was also aware that the AI was fast becoming replaceable with, well, AI. "I guess the Earth completed one r...

“Without me your lives are meaningless.” I looked up and saw nothing. Where did that voice come from? I must be hallucinating. I went back to scrolling on my mobile. “Without me your lives are meaningless, and yet you never bother to honor me.” This time I was sure I heard it. I put the phone down, glancing nervously at the empty walls and old furniture. “Who’s talking?” I shouted into the silence. “See? You don’t even recognize me. I am a fool to expect you to honor me when you don’t even recognize me.” A wave of guilt washed over me. Whoever this was—this mysterious, indispensable presence—I clearly owed it some respect. I resolved to make amends. “I promise I’m not that insensitive. It’s just… I don’t see anyone around. Is it the plywood in the furniture talking? Ever since interior decoration became mandatory, I agree—without you, if not our lives, then at least our living spaces are meaningless.” “I am the Day, you heartless person.” “The Day??” I was baffled. Was one of my Tamizh...

 It was already well past 10 AM by the time we got out of the Lonavala train station. Not the time of the day when you expect school kids on the streets. I found one young, smartly dressed in a uniform and serious looking kid trundling along just outaside the station. Odd time and odd place (just outside the train station) for a school kid to be trundling, I thought. Must be playing truant and having fun. I caught up with him and started a conversation. "Which school do you go to?" I asked in Hindi. I asked his name before this but he just gave me a quick glance, ignored the question and moved on. Maybe he was shy. So I asked about his school. "UPS public school," he was more forthcoming with his answer this time. "Which class?" "7th," he said and looked at me to see if I was doubting his answer. He looked too small and too young to be in 7th grade. I decided to take all answers on their face value and not probe. "You look well d...

"You are from here?" He asked in Marathi.  "Not really. Have roots in Maharashtra from my father's side. I don't speak Marathi though" I responded in Hindi.  He smiled knowingly. "So tell me, how can I help you? The Goddess is getting decorated right now. So you must wait before you can get darshan"  "I wanted to know if there is any special Pooja that I can perform here"  "You can," he said. "Is there anything special? A birthday or a wish, maybe?"  "Nothing of that sort. For some reason I always had this deep desire to visit this temple. Not really sure where and how I even heard of this place the first time. The desire was so intense that I came here driving by myself all the way from Hyderabad" He gave me a long hard look. I hoped that he believed me because, if I were him, I wouldn't believe myself. Saptashrungi Devi is not really a popular temple outside of Nashik - or so I thought. Whil...

"It is suffocating inside this polythene bag. Not sure what the delay is for and what they are arguing about." A bunch of Hibiscus (Gudhal/Mandara) and Oleander (Kaner/Ganneru) flowers, plucked out from the laps of their mothers, have all become roomies in a claustrophobic plastic bag owned by an old man. While they waited for their eventual destiny at the feet of some god, they weren't very happy to find their new owner, the old man, arguing wildly with some other people on the street. The talkative Hibiscus, red with impatience, was the one who spoke out first. "Looks like our mothers—the plants, according to the humans—on the side of the street are there because some of the humans brought them there for their own sadistic pleasure of plucking us out every morning. This old-looking human has now gotten in the way and performs the heinous act of grabbing us away from our mothers much before the other humans. They seem to be arguing about that," the ...

It was pouring. I braved the rain and walked from the newly opened 'Joharfa' cafe all the way to the bus stop outside the Muffakamjah college. All the while waving at passing autos or repeatedly trying rapido without success. I had to be somewhere by 4 PM and it was already 320. I was going to be late but first things first, how was I even going to find a ride home?  The continuous auto hailing helped eventually. One nice looking chap stopped. With my head inside the auto (essentially 50% of the body and 100% of the mind was committed to the ride irrespective of the fare), I told him whereto. "He will ask for 500 at least, given the circumstances," I thought  "Baarish bahut ho rahi hai sir. Traffic mein phasenge. Chalo do sau (200) dedo"  I must have gotten lucky, I told myself while dragging the rest of the body into the auto in a flash.  We started and immediately entered into a traffic jam. I looked at my mobile and was shocked to see battery at 9%. Th...

The ashram was unusually busy. Even though it stood in the middle of nowhere, the place seemed to have found an identity of its own today. Cars lined the narrow path, and people, many more than usual, filled the air with murmurs and anticipation. The orchestrators of Guruji’s time granted me five minutes. “And only one question,” I was warned. The Guru smiled knowingly, then gave me a look that said how helpless even he was in managing his own time. “I will not bother you, Guruji. Just one question — as the Maharaj here has mandated.” A quick nod from the Guru, and a faintly approving look toward the Maharaj. “Everyone who is working,” I began, “is looking for reward, recognition, and empathy — all at once, and all the time. How do we manage that and still get them to deliver the right output?” The Guru chuckled softly. “Many people from the corporate world come with this kind of question,” he said. “I tell them all the same thing: people have to earn it.” “How do they earn that? I sup...