Close Encounters with the Terrifying Kind

This happened about eight years ago, but the entire episode is imprinted in memory with a kind of clarity like it all happened yesterday. It was an evening; I was driving around for sometime and was just beginning to enjoy the summer breeze, when I spotted an old friend of my mine, Dinesh. He was walking hurriedly along the pedestrian path looking almost lost. I slipped in front of him and stopped my bike and we struck up a conversation about old times. At the end, when I enquired what he was doing stalking the streets? He quipped, “I am searching for a Clinic – an ENT specialist’s.” As I had barely anything important that evening, the Good Samaritan instincts sprang up, and I offered help even though he hadn’t asked for it. I guess, that’s how people foolishly play into the lion’s mouth, in my case, it was the Great Danes’.

To top it all, Dinesh didn’t have the exact address of this clinic so we were literally going in circles. For sometime, we looked more like the door-to-door salesmen knocking on every door, checking if it was the doctor’s clinic. The only difference was that it was dark anybody could have mistaken us for thugs instead of salesmen. After sometime, to avoid being mistaken for any of these two, I stayed on the bike, while my friend went around enquiring.

Halfway through our search, we came across a small rundown joint which looked like a carpenter’s makeshift. I saw no possibility why a doctor would run his clinic in such a ramshackle. But Dinesh, who was aggressive by nature, barged in without second thoughts, in other words, without any thought.

Inside, sat a man in front of a small table on which one bottle of RC (Royal Challenge) and a glass rested. Both were empty, indicating that the man had consumed the full bottle, and was now under the complete influence of the drink. Unmindfully, my friend enquired if it was the doctor’s clinic, the man nodded that it was and ushered him inside. Once Dinesh stood standing where the drunken man wanted him to, he screamed, “Tozzo!” and out came a four-foot high canine – a Great Dane. It emerged with a hungry look in its eye and its tongue licking its mouth obviously thinking that his master had bought some special delicacy for dinner that night. Looking at the size of the beast, Dinesh lost his cool, then his guts. Sweating profusely, he started addressing the drunken man as “Sir” and delivered apologies for intruding on his quiet time with his drink.

One glance at the beast, one part of my heart begged me to kick-start the bike and scurry away while the other enquired if it was ethically the right thing to do? Torn between the two, I held on to my bike like a lifeline, hoping that the dog owner wouldn’t notice me. This man started interrogating Dinesh on what made him think that his place was a clinic. My friend, after a few moments, along with his guts lost his speech too. His speech suddenly turned staccato and his face paler. It was while answering these questions that he shot a glance outside at me. The drunken man immediately sensed I was also an accomplice in disturbing his peace, summoned me inside. Though I didn’t want to become another victim of his drink, I obviously didn’t have another choice.

I thought, come rain or hailstorm, I will defend my friend with my life. But I realized that was foolhardiness when I stepped in and stood a few feet away from this lean but muscular dog. On watching the dog’s height and weight up-close, I suddenly had a strong urge to run. Bolt away to southern or northern hemisphere where there were no dogs! Under the circumstances, I would have even raced against Ussain Bolt and won and never give a damn about it!

Caught in this terrifying situation, my mind raced, trying to figure out a plan to escape the place unscratched, which on all parameters looked impossible. I heard the drunken man ask some questions, which I intentionally didn’t answer. I thought any answer would aggravate his temper, which I sensed, was precariously perched at the edge of a precipice. Unfortunately, my silence only challenged his drunken stupor. He rose. For a minute; I thought he would strike me. But instead he screamed, this time, “Bozzo!” I didn’t know where this creature was lurking till then, but out it came. Another Great Dane! This, built-wise, was stronger and looked more ferocious than the other one. Shocked, my heart did a quick summersault in my ribcage while I stood dead in the tracks gulping down fear.

Whatever fight was left in me simply evaporated as beads of perspiration quietly descended down my side locks. My thoughts raced. Body stood paralyzed. I thought Dinesh and I could fight one dog. But definitely not two. Then realisation dawned. Our lifelines were now in the hands of this drunken man. One pull at them, if not dead, we could easily end up in a hospital. I shot my prayers up. I guess Dinesh did too. We hoped for the dogs to pounce on us any moment. We waited. Nothing happened.

I didn’t know what came over the drunken man but he had a sudden change of heart. He smiled at us. “Since this is your first time, I will excuse you both” he cried. So relieved was I that I felt like hugging this very man, who, a few moments ago, threatened to throw us to his dogs. With his words came the assurance that the dogs wouldn’t harm us. Before he changed his mind, Dinesh and I quickly but cautiously made our way to the door. It was after a good 5-minute drive from this place did any of us speak. Dinesh cried, “What does this idiot think of himself? I will report him to police.” All along the way Dinesh let out a relentless list of abuses. I, for one, was too shocked to say anything. Even when I dropped him at his place, we hardly spoke. We were that overwhelmed with fear.

After this, I couldn’t meet Dinesh for various reasons. Later, I heard he moved to Dubai. But it was at a recent Christian concert that I noticed him talking to somebody. I quickly walked over and said, “Hello.” He turned around and flashed his usual smile and shook my hand vigorously. Looking me in the eye, the first thing he said was, “Do you remember that day?” Even before he said anything, I exclaimed, “How can I ever forget it?” Then both of us burst into a hearty laugh.

Because you loved me!

Many years ago, while I was on the way from a client meeting my eyes fell on Celine Dion’s cassette in a music shop. I immediately stepped in to grab a hold of it. Then, Celine Dion was quite a new kid on the block (This was before Titanic song happened to her) as such not many knew how good a singer she was…at least on this side of the world. But still there was a fear that she could be a hot property among music lovers, hence, the hurry to get hold of the cassette. Once, I had gone through the list of songs at the back of the cassette cover of her album “Falling into you” I bought it with no second thoughts. Because the list had a song that secretly haunted my memories ever since I first heard it on MTV. The song was, “It’s all coming back to me now.”

Every day, after I returned from work, I would listen to this diva of music and her other contemporaries. After having heard all her songs my preferences suddenly took a change. The song, for which I bought the cassette, slid to a second place as another of her song replaced the first slot. The other song was simply fabulous! It was called “Because you loved me.” The song had a kind of depth, which I haven’t found in any of her other songs. Not just the voice but the music and lyrics too blended in extremely well.

Later I came to understand that “Because you loved me” won a Grammy Award.

But sadly, my joy was short-lived. While I was away, one of my brothers’ friends borrowed the cassette. And that was the last I ever saw of it. How much ever I searched for the album in the stores I couldn’t locate it. But I guess internet has its ways of throwing surprises at you. When I Google-searched for the song “Because you loved me,” it also gave video versions of it. So, here is the song I love the most along with my other Celine Dion favourites. Go ahead, check them out!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ve4XD4LveU0 (Because you loved me)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QAKpu72Kugw (It’s all coming back to me now)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtFS0Lw1FB0 (That’s the way it is)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yd1uEvyzCmM (My heart will go on)

A Trip to Gulbarga

Music is something that has always eluded my mind. Although I have tried my hand on playing several musical instruments, I have actually never been able to master one completely. To top it all, as if its fate’s way of rubbing salt on wounds, all my close friends are brilliant musicians. One of them has even released a music album. Another is teaching music in the Middle East. Still another is a music director for the films. Sigh.

Amidst this trauma, what is a little consoling is that I manage to play a bit of guitar and keyboards. But that’s it. Beyond that I am a dunce. Therefore, it was a bolt from the blues when a University in Gulbarga sent a letter requesting me to come and judge their music competitions. I remember them sending me a similar letter two years ago. After much coaxing, I agreed. But I thought that would be the last time. But I guess I was wrong!

Besides, the situation had been different last year. I had relatives in Gulbarga. I had time to splurge. I had my friend who rolled out a music album accompany me as a judge. This time, everything was haywire. I didn’t even have the choice of tagging my friend along as the authorities had already arranged judges from other states. What was relieving though was I had to judge Western music and not Carnatic or Hindustani classical music, which could have made my life miserable, unless I knew all the ragas, which I doubt.

Since the professors knew me on a personal level, I was compelled to take the trip. Stricken with fear about the role I would don, I undertook the journey to Gulbarga. When I hit the city around 2 am in the night there wasn’t a soul in sight. The roads looked curfew-laden. Not wishing to barge into the university and wake up authorities, and declare my presence at that unearthly hour, I scouted for a hotel to stay for the night. I found that all the good hotels were taken. I cursed myself for not reserving a room in advance. Finally, just before the crack of dawn, I located a place. The hotel wasn’t any great shakes, but just enough to sleep away the tiredness.

The search had me exhausted totally. So, I crashed immediately. Crazily, I had a bad dream involving music. It was all hazy, couldn’t make out what it was about. That apart, when the alarm went off, the ghosts of music returned to haunt me about the competition that lay ahead. Suddenly, my hands and feet turned clammy. I wished I was dead.

Next day, we received a hearty welcome at the university. I was introduced to other two judges. One guy, Yousuf, who supposedly did vocals for a Bangalore-based band and other lady, a very good looking one, was a classical singer herself. Both were from Bangalore. That put me at a definite disadvantage as they frequently chatted in Kanada of which I could make no head or tails. But in the end, we three hit it off well as we seem to be bond by one common “cord” – music.

Unlike what I expected, the competition turned out to be a pleasant experience with singers doling out songs of Celine Dion, Back Street Boys, Abba and other groups…but unfortunately nobody sang any of MJ’s numbers. Sad! Although the participants picked up good numbers, either they jumped the scale, or their voices cracked, or they were completely off key. Only a few were good. Moreover, there was this group that appeared on stage dressed in immaculate suits but sang the entire song out of tune! I wondered what they thought it was: a fancy dress competition or a singing competition.

Since there were only a few groups which sang professionally, it made our judges’ work dead easy. We could narrow down the winners quite easily. Once satisfied with the outcome, we all loosened up. We took a short break for tea before we dispersed for good.

Even before I realized the competitions were over, I was heading home. With the dreaded contest coming to an end, my tensions disappeared. After living life on the edge, the return journey filled my heart with a lightness that can only be explained by an individual whose death sentence has just been pardoned.

Mirza Ghalib

Currently I am half way through Salman Rushdie’s Enchantress of Florence. The book is slow-paced but profound. What I like about Rushdie is his extraordinary grasp on the English language. No wonder his writing is laced with smoothness akin to running one’s work-hardened and weather-beaten fingers through finely spun silk. Exquisite!

The book, Enchantress of Florence, opens on our own Mirza Ghalib’s words that have neither lost the charm nor the beauty even after being translated into English. A.S. Kline worked on the translation. Here is the piece that stole my heart.

If there is a knower of tongues here, fetch him; there’s a stranger in the city.
And he has many things to say.

The sphere.

"Congo" was the first movie I ever bunked college to watch. It was a bold move considering that I hadn’t done anything of that kind before. Inside theatre, my eyes were shifty, afraid that someone might locate me! However, I enjoyed the movie. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Shot in the dense African tropical rainforests, it was all about transporting back a friendly Ape to the Congo basin in South Africa and searching for the Solomon’s temple where the promise of discovering diamonds loomed large.

However, what the expedition troop didn’t know was guarding this hidden treasure were apes. Apes trained to ruthlessly kill anyone who comes near the diamonds. The entire movie was gripping and fast-paced. I might have seen the movie like 5 times and over. Not just because it had a wonderful plot but also to watch Laura Linney on whom I had a huge crush then.

But only later I came to know the movie was an adaptation of the book “Congo” by Michael Crichton. My respect for the author swiftly rose. Crichton also authored Jurassic Park and The Lost World, which, we know, were later converted into big-budget movies that kept box-office registers ringing. This in itself is self-explanatory of Crichton’s abilities as a writer with superb imagination.

But his bulky books always dampened my reading spirit. I thought who has time to kill on such voluminous tomes? But the other day, when I read the blurb behind his book, Sphere, I found it very absorbing. I couldn’t stop bringing this book home.

Expectedly, Sphere turned out to be mind-blowing. Hinged around Einstein’s theory of relativity, accentuating on refraction of time, it’s about an alien spaceship that has suddenly showed up on the Pacific Ocean bed. Moreover, the unique mix of metal and plastic alloys on board speaks of a technology that is clearly not of this era.

With control manuals unmistakably scripted in English, it was imperative the spaceship has time-traveled from the future. But the crew on board somehow seems to be missing. What further remains an indecipherable puzzle is the existence of a Sphere on board. No one takes notice of it initially. But when it starts sending hostile messages onto the computer screen, that’s when complete chaos sets in.

The book was phenomenal. Hooked on to it, I didn’t realize it was 3 am and pitchy dark outside when I finally finished reading it.

Michael Crichton sure knows how to keep you glued to the book.

Remember me? Made me remember the author.

When someone I know, after sensing my penchant for reading, handed six books of various, distinguished authors. I was dumbstruck at the generous gesture. But what took me by surprise was I have barely known this individual for two months. Yet, he heartily gave away the books. May his bighearted tribe increase!

“Remember me?” by Sophie kinsella was one among them. When I grasped the blurb’s essence at the back, I realized the book would suffocate me by immersing in an overwhelming tub of emotions. I still can’t really get to the root why women are controlled by and sometimes swept away with emotions. Frankly, I really can’t. And god help me for that! ;)

Nonetheless, I decided to take the emotional trip offered by Kinsella. For one reason, the book sounded unusually different. Secound, it promised an element of mystery that could be unfurled only after spending considerable time. Moreover, the person who donated the book lavished praise on the writer. Naturally, among the six books, my first read began with “Remember me?”

The story opens on the heroine having a faint recollection of a minor accident. Further down the pages, we find the fall had unfortunately blacked out her memory of last 3 years. During which she had actually managed to steadily climb the company’s corporate ladder to become one of its powerful board members, become a yoga and gym-crazy individual, got a dental job done that made her look coy, married an achingly handsome man, and not to say the least, drawn a bulky pay packet.

Unfortunately, she remembers none of these. The complete turmoil that floods her mind at this stage is what the whole story is about. While she is still sorting out her disjointed memory, there steps in another individual with a bombshell. When he drops it, all hell breaks lose for her. Her whole world is suddenly upside down.

Sophie Kinsella scores good points with her compelling book. The thought behind such a solid storyline undoubtedly raises her IQ bar a few notches up. Honestly, how many could really think of stories that are whacky at the same time gripping? After having read "Remember me?", my trust in Kinsella’s narrating skills has sky-rocketed. I am confident that her other books would also be equally intense.

Next time, I am out scouting for books; I’ll ensure her name is infused in memory along with other authors I generally keep my eyes open for. Watch out Kinsella...here I come.

Mango Juice Trickling Through Fingers.

After a long time, I had the opportunity of relishing sliced pieces of a sweet mango. My mom handed them on a plate with a tiny fork. Munching on these, my mind quickly wandered to childhood days.

As kids, we used to fight tooth and nail over a mango seed. That is because the seed almost always contained a larger portion of the mango pulp. This, consequently, stood as a contest. The kid who finally got his hands on the seed had won. Hands down! Hands gooey! When I think back on those days I only smile. Then, there was no fear of being taunted. No fear of getting your hands gooey. No fear of looking silly slurping on a mango seed. Only the delight of eating the mango.

As grown-ups, I find we are suddenly straight jacketed with rules and regimes. We rarely follow our heart. Most often we follow what others think is right. We don’t set trends. In a way, we have lost our own true identity. We have become another cog in the wheel. That’s quite sad.

While I was still munching on the tiny mango pieces a strange thought crossed my mind. I smiled to myself. I yelled to my mom in the kitchen. “Mom, do you still have the mango seed.” As expected the answer was yes.

So, before I could stop him, the kid in me leaped and dashed to the kitchen…

Rules? Who cares!!