Excerpt from Urban Shots- FATHER OF MY SON

SLAM!

Over the years, I’d learned all the sounds my front door made when various people opened it. Its silent creaks after my late nights out; the mild thuds when my kid threw his school bag at it and ran back out to play; its prolonged squeak as my wife slowly entered, wondering what mayhem her favourite men had created while she was gone. After all these years here, I’d come to trust the door’s warning cries.

This was the door’s way of telling me to hide. I glanced again at the window, wondering whether I could survive a fall from the tenth floor of a multi-storey building. I thought I could, but I’d hate to think of what would happen to anyone on whom I landed. I hurriedly picked up the paper and pretended to read it. ”Oh. Lindsay’s getting engaged to her girlfriend, but she says she isn’t gay...nice.”

”Stand still.“ The familiar voice surrounded me. I fell in love with that voice a long time ago... I should have just asked for a voice recording instead of taking the whole package home. I pretended not to listen.

”This is all your fault, you know? You never scold him and let him do anything he wants and ... I told you to stand still!”

Okay. I wasn’t standing yet, so who was she talking to? I peeked through the pages... ah yes! They were both here--my wife and kid. From the looks of it, she’d picked him up from school. From the looks of it, he didn’t like that. From the looks of it, I would pay for it. I tried to get back to my newspaper, but Eagle-eye Mommy saw me peeking.

”Roshan, put that paper down. We have to talk.’

I hoped there was another Roshan in the room reading a paper. I peeked through my sheets again, looking for him. Nope. No one but us loving family members... snarling mommy and grumpy junior.

Oh well--time to face the music. I put the paper down.

”Hi honey, you’re home. How was my day, you ask? Oh, the usual. A couple of deliveries, an appendix, a quickie with the nurse, another appendix...”

There was silence. Mind you, this was not the silence of lovers beholding each other after a decade. It was more like the silence that precedes that Jaws tune that warns you the shark will bite in the next ten seconds.

I decided not to continue with my earlier line of conversation. She had learned karate as a teenager. Damn you, Dad-in-law.

”Roshan, I’m tired of being the bad guy. You never shout at him when he makes a mistake. You act as if it’s okay and spoil him. I always end up looking bad before him. Now, look at what he’s done. I’m not going to be the bad guy here. You’re going to fix this. Do you understand?”

”Sheila, why don’t you relax, dear? I can see you’re upset and whatever it is, I’ll handle it. Now why don’t you go take a nice hot shower...?”

“I’m not going anywhere. The moment I leave, you’ll go easy on this kid of yours. I’m staying, mister.”

I found it charming how he was always ”my kid” when he was in trouble. If he does well in school or babysits the neighbour’s child, he was ”her angel”. But if he scribbled ”SEX” on the wall, all of a sudden, my genes were to blame.

”Okay, fine. You can stay. But no, I mean absolutely no, interruptions. You get it?”

She harrumphed, which meant that I would have to deal with four interruptions at the very least. I counted that as a moral victory. Beggars and husbands can’t be choosers. I looked at her with my ”I wear the pants in the house” look. She glared back with her ”I’ll tear your pants to shreds and leave you in the garbage bag” look.

Ah, romance was in the air.

I made junior sit beside me. The love of my life hovered in front of us.

“Okay, son, did something happen in school today?” He shook his head.

”Did you get into trouble with someone in your class?“ Another shake of his head.

”Did you forget your homework again?“ No--I wondered if I should ask for a hint at this point of time. Luckily, junior volunteered:

”Dad, I’m getting married.”

”Cool--is she hot?”

“Roshan!”

“I mean WHAT? You’re getting married?” He nodded. Alright, I made him nod yes. Who’s the man? It only took four questions and a hint.

”Renjith, I don’t want to be a party pooper and all, but you know, you’re seven years old.“ He looked at me quizzically.

‘What’s age got to do with it?’ he asked me in an adorable childish voice. I was like butter in his hands already. I moved to hug him, but a pull at my receding hairline from fingers above reminded me what I was supposed to be doing.

”Son, I just think you’re a little young for marriage. Love too, for that matter. Besides, we didn’t even know you were in love. Tell me about this girl. What’s her name? How long have you known her?”

”She--her name is Teena. She’s in my class. We’ve been in love since last Tuesday. We’ve been sharing our lunch since yesterday.”

”Hmm--that is a big step in a relationship, I agree. But don’t you think you’re rushing this marriage thing?”

”Why, daddy? We both have the same pencil box, we both like Ben 10 and she’s got really good lunch, not like Mommy makes.“ I prayed the moment would pass unnoticed. That maybe Mommy was lost for a moment in the newspaper picture of John Abraham. I prayed for a lot of things that God sent to his spam mail directly.

”Oh, now my cooking is also not good enough for you. Your dad eats it daily and you don’t see him complaining!”

”Daddy eats anything,“ he said simply.

”Hey!” That damn fridge door always gave me away. I stared at my child. He stared back at me. We both knew he was right.

”Okay, kid. Getting married isn’t that easy. Where will you two stay after the wedding? And the honeymoon?“ A sharp pull at my hair reminded me that Sweetiepie was above and didn’t approve of the direction this conversation was taking.

”Daddy, Teena and I will stay in my room till we finish school and college. Then I’ll become an astronaut and build a house on the moon and we’ll live there with our kids. Don’t worry, Dad. There’ll be a big room for you and mom too.“ Awww... he would build a room for me too. This adorable little psycho I call my son loved me.

”And where will you go for your honeymoon?”

”We’re going to Disneyland.“ What better way to spend private time than with a mouse with no shirt and a duck with no pants? There was nothing creepy there at all.

”What will you do for food?“

”Her mom will send us tiffin for lunch and we’ll eat from the fridge for dinner.“ The kid had thought of everything.

”You know... your mom believes in horoscopes...”

”It’s okay, daddy. Ours fits.“ 

“What...? You checked your horoscopes?”

My wife intervened. “Show daddy the horoscopes.” I looked up at her. What was going on? Renjith rummaged through his Johnny Bravo schoolbag (which I selected.. man, that Johnny Bravo was a  cool dude) and took out a piece of paper from his drawing book. He handed it to me.

I had to smile. Damn. This was my son. There was no doubt about it. There was no one else who could have thought this up. Definitely not a child by the damn milkman! I lowered my head so that my wife couldn’t catch my grin. I almost didn’t make it. But the phone rang and she left to answer it. I was saved by the bell. I glanced back at the picture.

He’d drawn a little crab holding a bull’s hand. I imagined my wife, after years of being with me, picking up its significance immediately. Our child was drawing sun signs. He was a Cancer, like his mom. I knew the answer but I still asked so I could hear him say it.

”What’s Teena’s sign?”

”She’s a Taurus, daddy. That’s the bull one. I’m the crab one. See, both fit nicely.”

”Ah! I see. Did you draw this?“ He looked at me and smiled in a manner that recognized that he had noted the hint of pride in my voice. It was a smile that said he knew I was on his side.

”Roshan!“ Milady again in falsetto broke the moment.

I turned around. She held the cordless in her hand. Her palm covered the speaker end.

”It’s Teena’s mom. Your son and she apparently decided to tell their parents at the same time. She’s pretty angry and she’s saying our son’s putting silly thoughts in her head.”

I held out my hand for the phone. My wife looked at me beseechingly. I signalled her to trust me and then took the phone.

”Hello, Ma’am. Yes Ma’am. I understand how shocking it must be to hear this from your child. Yes, I realise this is an innocent age and you don’t wish to corrupt your child with such thoughts. Yes Ma’am. Yes, I understand.“ I doubt if she even heard a word I said. She was a talker--no doubt about it. She was the type that wanted to establish herself by talking about her status and morality. This would go on forever unless I did something, I realised..

”Mrs Bharati...Bharati isn’t it? Well, I understand all that you have said, but I think I must make myself clear. What’s done is done. But there is one issue that’s yet to be discussed. You see, as the father of my son, I must inform you that I demand one crayon set every year till high school as dowry for your new son-in-law. And I mean Faber-Castell, lady--not that cheap local stuff. My son doesn’t settle for cheap stuff. After all, he’s a purebred Ezhava. That’s high class blood running in him. And yes, he’d like a new Pokemon toy too every month. Hello? Sheila, is this phone charged? I’m getting static. You think she hung up on me?”

I turned around to see Sheila smiling at me. I wish I could tell you it was the coy smile of a love struck Madhuri Dixit, but it was closer to the smile of that child from the Exorcist movie. I wondered if perhaps I should have leaped from the tenth storey when I had the chance. She said little when she smiled like that. I preferred it that way. God alone knew what language her inner demon spoke when she was possessed. Heaven knew I could not reply if she started to speak Hebrew. I could barely communicate when she spoke in her regional dialect. She raised her hand towards the phone. I gave it to her. She walked into the bedroom and shut the door.

Slam.

She would be busy doing damage control with our new in-laws for the next hour. I would  be “dealt with later”. I guessed I would have to sleep in the guest room tonight. I looked back at my son. He smiled back at me. With that smile, he could get away with murder. I asked the only thing that came to my mind at that moment.

”So what does Teena’s mom make for lunch?”

Eight hours later, the door to the guest room creaked open. I felt her move into the hollow space beside me. Those cuddly arms wrapped around me from behind. Her smell was like rain in an arid desert. I pretended to be asleep. I heard her breath beside my ear and then a whisper.

”I know you aren’t sleeping. I just want you to know you aren’t entirely forgiven yet. We’ll discuss your punishment in the morning. For now, go to sleep. And I swear to God, if you say one word about my being scared to sleep alone in the dark again, someone will lose two important anatomical parts in the morning.”

I yawned. “I hope it’s that stupid Mr Singh in apartment 304. Have you seen his dhoti? He looks as if he’s hiding a dozen of them in there.”

She tried hard—she really did. But it was tough not to laugh even at the dumbest jokes of someone you loved when you’re in love. After all, that’s the rule of love. That’s the joy of loving someone. They can make dumb into funny. They can make hell into roses, darkness into daylight.

In the end, she managed to stifle it down to several coughs. I turned around and hugged her back. She didn’t resist. Neither of us won the battle that day, because there never was a battle in the first place, just a never-ending skit of crazy time–a madness we call our family, which I would never give up for anything in the world. Not even for little Teena’s salami and mayonnaise sandwich.

-Roshan Radhakrishnan

On Bitter Chocolate...Words-worth

I went to a bookstore after a long break of four days. The last time was Monday and today is Friday.  Wordsworth at Janakpuri has been a favorite ever since I have moved to New Delhi. Crossword and Om Book Shop are other favorites and are a great collection.

Browsing through books is more fun than browsing on the internet (for book lovers). So I started my job- browsing through books. Lately, I have started reading Indian author's non-fiction category. Have read a few books and they have amused me, delighted me, disturbed me and many such emotions that come to mind when one reads a nice book. They were all nice books, written well, dealt with passion for exploring into human lives, their attitude, their nationalism, their soul-stirring raw emotions, etcetera. I don't say that I have read a lot, I am still in the process, but whatever I have read, brought me to a conclusion that reading an Indian author gives you an advantage of landscape visualization, provided you live in India and experience it. The situation, the canvas, the characters, the politics is such a visual treat when you read any Indian author. Be it Rushdie, or Gurcharan Das or Vikram Seth or Tharoor, Lahiri and so many others. Visualizing Ayn Rand or Orhan Pamuk or Dominique Lappierre misleads us sometimes into un-intended territories, movies of the same make it clear. For example, when I read the climax of The Fountainhead, the under-construction building that I had visualized was very different from the one that has being shown in the movie. John Nash was an entirely different body language from what I had perceived while reading A Beautiful Mind. I know many people will have difficulty in accepting this, but this is how I feel. You don't need to comply with me, after all. I am an amateur reader, still exploring the world of books, and wish to keep on doing that for my entire life, till death does me apart.

So, I was browsing through the books. The shelves started with Khushwant Singh, then R K Narayan, Rohinton Mistry, Jhumpa Lahiri, Ruskin Bond, Anita Desai, and many more. I moved past them and reached the shelf with some new Indian authors. At once, my eyes got locked at a book- Bitter Chocolate by Pinki Virani. Maybe it was the after-effects of Chocolate Day, I had consumed more than usual chocolate yesterday and it was payback time for my body system, haha.. I pulled out the book, white paperback cover with the title written in chocolate brown color. It looked nice. I have loved books for their physical existence too, and so I condemn soft copies or e-book readers and Kindle. They are just keepers of technological advancements, they cannot replace a physical book in a hand with the specific textured pages and the unique kind of reflection that they show against different kind of lights. Books will be forever. A book will never die. And that’s why I wrote- "till death does me apart" in the last paragraph.

My next move was turning the book to read the back-cover. That is like a reflex action for me, I can do that even in sleep, trust me. The book was about Child Sex Abuse in India (CSA as abbreviated In the book). It dealt with the horrors of child sex abuse, presenting stories from Indian households, cases of CSA reported and observed by the author and others. The next thing I remember was pulling the cube-shaped stool and sitting down to read more about the book. I was entrapped by the subject of the book. The back cover also boasted of the book being first of its kind. So I sat down and started turning the pages of the book, came to the Contents page, saw that the book had many short stories. I decided to read the first story. Page 3 to page 5. It took some 5 minutes to go through the story. A 3 months old infant girl child, in an Indian household, abused sexually by a 17 year old male domestic help. He, in the absence of other members of the house, had tried to mutilate the 3 months old infant girl's vagina. All that was given in the form of punishment was a slap and removal from the job.

I snap-closed the book, with both my hands. I felt the air that escaped from the snap on my face. My face, was distressed, lines on my forehead, eyebrows shot-up, and me gulped down a breath that was waiting since the last few minutes. I took a deep breath and let the air out loose. My heart was beating fast. I was angry, I was disturbed. I was disturbed by the first chapter of this book. My facial expression had changed completely from when I had entered the bookstore, Wordsworth. I wanted to see that 17 year person, I wanted to look deeply into his eyes, piercingly, I wanted to shake down his soul, I wanted to ask him- why? I wanted to put a 12mm bullet into his head at point blank range while looking piercingly into his eyes. I wanted a reform in the world judicial system, right there-right now, to legalize killing of such people found guilty of crime so in-human. Now I was breathing deeply. I turned the book to see the front cover again. Bitter Chocolate. The title was words-worth.

I left the bookstore without buying anything, not even Bitter Chocolate. I wasn't feeling nice anymore. I couldn't change my heavy facial expression. I walked out. I looked at the surrounding marketplace. Nothing bought my interest. I started walking towards the metro station to catch a train and go back to my flat. I was not in a good mood.

While walking back I recalled the conversation I just had with a fellow passenger in the metro train. His name is Mbiki (I hope I spell it right). An hour ago, when I had boarded the metro train to come to this place, Wordsworth at Janakpuri, I sat beside an African black man, whom I didn't notice at first. I was carrying the book with me which I have been reading since the last couple of days- The Elephant Paradigm by Gurcharan Das. It is a nice book. India observed crossing the 20th century and entering the 21st century, and the changes, huge ones. I sat down, removed the bookmark and started reading. After   a couple of minutes, this African black man asked me which was the next station? I couldn't understand because of his lingo, but got it when he repeated his question.

"Hi! I am Mbiki."

"I am Avinash", I said, smiling back. He extended his hand with golden palm for a hand-shake.

"Indians speak very good English" was his next comment to extend the conversation.

I was not so interested, but I replied- "thank you sir, we like speaking English." I wanted to go in the details of the racial anatomy of the human tongue on why some races in the world can speak a language more clear than the rest of them, but  decided not to. As I was already facing difficulties in contemplating his words, he was not speaking very clear, or maybe because it was the first time I was talking to a South African man, so I was not used to their accent.

"India is a very nice place" he said.

"Well, thank you again sir. It surely is. What are you here for sir?"

"Sorry?"

I had spoken my last sentence quite hurriedly. My clear English was not so clear this time.

"What  brings you to India, sir?"

"I am studying Mass Communication at DU."

"Oh wow! That’s great."

"Bachelors. I'll finish my course in two more years."

"That’s nice." I smiled and came back to my reading. This book has kept me glued ever since I started reading it.

After a few paragraphs Mbiki's destination arrived. Before getting up from his seat, he looked at me, smiled and did a tight warm hand-shake again.

"Nice meeting you, sir", he said and left the train. I looked at him. He was bulky, black, wore a loose fitting t-shirt and a baggy jeans.

"Nice man", I said to myself and resumed my reading.

Now I was walking back to the metro station, shaken by the first chapter of Bitter Chocolate. Goodwill and the Devil, contradictions, both had showed me their faces in the last one and a half hours. Good and the bad, acceptance and rejection, choices, decisions, solution or resolution; I was looking for a balance.

Eliminating the bad completely does no good to the Good, because for the Good to be good, the Bad needs to be bad. They both exist and should exist for the smooth running. The point is, where to draw the line of acceptance and non-acceptance (not rejection) for the good and the bad. A question I leave to be answered by my life experiences.

Av Nash

Dil Ka Bhanwar Kare Pukar...

I was driving back to home, humming a tune from one of dev anand's song- dil ka bhanwar kare pukar. Had been listening to this song since morning. Its dev anand's birthday today. Facebook, radio, news channels, all flooded with wishes for him and his songs, beautiful songs he has acted for. Remember Guide? Wow! Another beautiful movie by dev anand. I was lost in the beautiful duet- dil ka bhanwar kare pukar. A beautiful girl overtook me in her scooty. This girl I have noticed a number of times near my home. She is a big show-off, tries to be a diva, but unfortunately is not. She has an East-Asian orientation, fair, dresses like a mannequin in a lady-garment shop. Honestly, I don't like her. And moreover, I don't like her overtaking me at high speed. She had done this a couple of times, and I have never liked that. Maybe, it was my reaction to her overtake that invited her to do it again every time she would encounter me on my wheels.

But this time I decided to ignore her. I wanted to keep enjoying my humming. Beautiful song! Isn't it? So I successfully withdrew my attention from the overtaking-conflict and slowed down my wheels, back to normal speed. She slowed down too. Yes, she wanted me to react in the usual fashion. She wanted me to overtake her  so that she could overtake me again and the overtaking-race would continue till I turn right for my home and she moved ahead for her's. But this time, I had decided to break the tradition and follow my suite. She waited for me for some time. I did not react.

In the meantime, another car came in to do my rituals and pressed her down to her side of the road, honking and racing the accelerator to the aggressive limits. She lost her balance for a while, but then regained it, and thankfully did not fall. I was watching all this happening in front of my wheels. Remember, I had been over-taken! I felt glad. Chalo! This would teach her a lesson. I was also thankful that she didn't fall.

Anyways, she regained her balance and her senses and kept driving, me behind her. I still had no intentions of not breaking the tradition. You go your way! I am not in the mood today! She probably got it. So, she speeded up and drove off. I was back to my humming. Ha! Ha! She was already pissed-off over being overtaken by a car, almost losing to her senses. She was feeling subjugated, defeated, humiliated. She needed this.

Humming the song and driving smoothly I reached the signal, which was the end point of the first lap of our overtaking-race, traditionally. The predator- car was at the signal and the prey-scooty beside it, at the driver's window. And wow! They were having a nice argument in the middle of the road. I took my wheels close to them so that I could listen and enjoy their heated-conversation. The girl was in complete revenge-mode. So she was fighting with all her energy and enthusiasm, of course without making any sense. Women usually do that, actually mostly. Watching her funny argument with the car-driver, the dialogue from the movie Pyar ka Punchnama came to my mind- hum ladkon ki ek basic si need hoti hai, to make sense in an argument. Ladkiyon ko koi fark nahi padta, sense jaisi bekar si cheez ke liye wo argument haar jayein?  

10 seconds were left for the signal to go green. They had fought for the last 100 seconds or something and I think that the car driver had lost to her. Of course he had to, there's no point arguing with a girl, probably just off her teenage, about the way she should drive on the road. Ha! Ha! Clever man. She adjusted her rear-view mirror to my face and instinctively I looked into her mirror, our eyes met. She gazed at me like I was responsible for all that. But I was so determined to avoid her today that nothing on earth could get me involved. The signal went green. The car driver waited for her to lead, as if trying to show his etiquettes to a lady. Or maybe he was. I followed her, smiling at the car driver. That must have encouraged him.

She was now driving calmly, probably in a shock. Pissed off by the incident. How could a car driver insult her, such a diva, in the middle of the road. Her mood was completely bruised. I kept driving, not humming anymore. Trying to observe her reaction to the incident that had just taken place, her humiliation. Her ego was grinded. She could not even think of any overtaking-race at this point of time. I didn't like that either. The car driver had done his job, and had now disappeared.

A kilometer before the right-turn to my house is CCD. She pulled off at CCD. Her boyfriend must be waiting there, I thought. I slowed down to make sure she was fine and was actually going to CCD. I saw her waving to someone inside the shop. Her boyfriend. I have seen her pillion-riding on his bike a number of times and pillion-riding in a way that only girlfriends can. I drove ahead, back to my humming. Dil ka bhanwar kare pukar, pyar ka raag suno, pyar ka raag suno re! hoon…hoon…hoon…

I was happy, glad. Ha! Ha! Not because of what just happened. But, because it was going to be a tough day for her boyfriend. Bechara! Aaj toh baji uski band!

Yeh Dobara Kab Hoga…

Raah dekhi thi is din ki kabse,

Aage ke sapne saja rakhe the naajane kab se.

Bade utavle the yahaan se jaane ko ,

Zindagi ka agla padaav paane ko .

Par naa jane kyon …Dil mein aaj kuch aur aata hai,

Waqt ko rokne ka jee chahta hai.

Jin baton ko lekar rote the Aaj un par hansi aati hai ,

Na jaane kyon aaj un palon ki yaad bahut aati hai .

Kaha karte the …Badi mushkil se do saal seh gaya,

Par aaj kyon lagta hai ki kuch peeche reh gaya.

Na bhoolne wali kuch yaadein reh gayi,

Yaadien jo ab jeene ka sahara ban gayi.

Meri taang ab kaun kheencha karega ,

Sirf mera sir khane kaun mera peecha karega.

Jahaan 2000 ka hisaab nahin wahaan 2 rupay ke liye kaun ladega,

Kaun raat bhar saath jag kar padega ,

KAUN MERI gaadi mujse pooche bina lejayega ,

Kaun mere naye naye naam banayega.

Mein ab bina matlab kis se ladoonga,

Bina topic ke kisse faalto baat karoonga ,

Kaun fail hone par dilasa dilayega,

Kaun galti se number aane par gaaliyaan sunayega .

Thele pe phuchke kiske saath khaaoonga.

Wo haseen pal ab kis ke saath jiyoonga,

Aise dost kahaan milenge Jo khai mein bhi dhakka de aayein,

Par fir tumhein bachane khud bhi kood jayein.

Mere gaano se pareshaan kaun hoga ,

Kabhi muje kisi ladki se baat karte dekh hairaan kaun hoga ,

Kaun kahega saale tere joke pe hansi nahin aai ,

Kaun peeche se bula ke kahega..aage dekh bhai .

Movies mein kiske saath dekhhonga,

Kis ke saath boring lectures jheloonga ,

Bina dare sachi rai dene ki himmat kaun karega.

Achanak bin matlab ke kisi ko bhi dekh kar paglon ki tarah hansna,

Na jaane ye fir kab hoga .

Doston ke liye professor se kab lad payenge ,

Kya hum ye fir kar payenge,

Tez gaadi chalane ki shart kaun lagayega .

Kaun muje mere kabiliyat par bharosa dilayega,

Aur jyada hawa mein udne par zameen pe layege ,

Meri khushi mein sach mein khush kaun hoga ,

Mere gam mein muj se jyada dukhi kaun hoga…

KEH DO DOSTON YE DOBAARA KAB HOGA

18 things i wish someone told me when i was 18...

I was reading this fantastic book today morning, when I was given a surprise visit by a cousin of mine. He sat down next to me and said, “That’s a great read, ain’t it?”  So we started chatting.

He told me he was getting ready to  pass his school in a year and then immediately starting his college soon.  “But I have no clue what I want to do with my life,” he said.  “Right now I’m just going with the flow.”

And then, with eager, honest eyes, he began asking me one question after the next:

• “What do you do?"
• “When and how did you decide what you wanted to do?”
• “Why did you do this?  Why didn't you do that?”
• “Is there anything you wish you had done differently?”
• Etc, etc, etc…

I answered his questions as best as I could, and tried to give decent advice with the time I had.  And after a one and half-hour conversation, he thanked me and we parted ways.

On the drive home in the evening, when i finally found some time for self-inquiry, I realized the conversation I had with him was actually quite nostalgic for me.  He reminded me of me six years ago.  So I started thinking about his questions again, and I began imagining all of the things I wish someone had told me when I was 18.

Then I took it a step further and thought about all the things I would love to tell myself if I could travel back in time to give my 18-year-old self some advice about life.

So after a few cups of coffee and a couple hours of deliberation, here are 18 things I wish someone told me when I was 18:

1. Commit yourself to making lots of mistakes. – Mistakes teach you important lessons.  The biggest mistake you can make is doing nothing because you’re too scared to make a mistake.  So don’t hesitate – don’t doubt yourself.  In life, it’s rarely about getting a chance; it’s about taking a chance.  You’ll never be 100% sure it will work, but you can always be 100% sure doing nothing won’t work.  Most of the time you just have to go for it!  And no matter how it turns out, it always ends up just the way it should be.  Either you succeed or you learn something.  Win-Win.  Remember, if you never act, you will never know for sure, and you will be left standing in the same spot forever.
2. Find hard work you love doing. – If I could offer my 18-year-old self some real career advice, I’d tell myself not to base my career choice on other people’s ideas, goals and recommendations.  I’d tell myself not to pick a major because it’s popular, or statistically creates graduates who make the most money.  I’d tell myself that the right career choice is based on one key point: Finding hard work you love doing.  As long as you remain true to yourself, and follow your own interests and values, you can find success through passion.  Perhaps more importantly, you won’t wake up several years later working in a career field you despise, wondering “How the heck am I going to do this for the next 30 years?”  So if you catch yourself working hard and loving every minute of it, don’t stop.  You’re on to something big.  Because hard work ain’t hard when you concentrate on your passions.
3. Invest time, energy and money in yourself every day. – When you invest in yourself, you can never lose, and over time you will change the trajectory of your life.  You are simply the product of what you know and what you do.  The more time, energy and money you spend acquiring pertinent knowledge, the more control you have over your life.
4. Explore new ideas and opportunities often. – Your natural human fears of failure and embarrassment will sometimes stop you from trying new things.  But you must rise above these fears, for your life’s story is simply the culmination of many small, unique experiences.  And the more unique experiences you have, the more interesting your story gets.  So seek as many new life experiences as possible and be sure to share them with the people you care about.  Not doing so is not living.
5. When sharpening your career skills, focus more on less. – Think in terms of Karate: A black belt seems far more impressive than a brown belt.  But does a brown belt really seem any more impressive than a red belt?  Probably not to most people.  Remember that society elevates experts high onto a pedestal.  Hard work matters, but not if it’s scattered in diverse directions.  So narrow your focus on learning fewer career related skills and master them all.
6. People are not mind readers.  Tell them what you’re thinking.– People will never know how you feel unless you tell them.  That cute girl you haven’t talked to because you’re too shy?  Yeah, you guessed it; she hasn’t given you the time of day simply because you haven’t given her the time of day either.   In life, you have to communicate with others.  And often, you have to open your vocal cords and speak the first words.  You have to tell people what you’re thinking.  It’s as simple as that.
7. Make swift decisions and take immediate action. – Either you’re going to take action and seize new opportunities, or someone else will first.  You can’t change anything or make any sort of progress by sitting back and thinking about it.  Remember, there’s a huge difference between knowing how to do something and actually doing it.  Knowledge is basically useless without action.
8. Accept and embrace change. – However good or bad a situation is now, it will change.  That’s the one thing you can count on.  So embrace change, and realize that change happens for a reason.  It won’t always be easy or obvious at first, but in the end it will be worth it.
9. Don’t worry too much about what other people think about you. – For the most part, what other people think and say about you doesn’t matter.  When I was 18, I let the opinions of my high school and college peers influence my decisions.  And, at times, they steered me away from ideas and goals I strongly believed in.  I realize now, six years later, that this was a foolish way to live, especially when I consider that nearly all of these people whose opinions I cared so much about are no longer a part of my life.  Unless you’re trying to make a great first impression (job interview, first date, etc.), don’t let the opinions of others stand in your way.  What they think and say about you isn’t important.  What is important is how you feel about yourself.
10. Always be honest with yourself and others. – Living a life of honesty creates peace of mind, and peace of mind is priceless. 
11. Talk to lots of people in college and early on in your career. – Bosses.  Colleagues.  Professors.  Classmates.  Social club members.  Other students outside of your major or social circle. Teaching assistants.  Career advisors.  College deans.  Friends of friends.  Everyone!  Why?  Professional networking.  If you start building your professional network early, you’ll be set.  Over time, you’ll continue talking to new people you meet through your current network and your network’s reach and the associated opportunities will continue to snowball for the duration of your career.
12. Sit alone in silence for at least ten minutes every day. – Use this time to think, plan, reflect, and dream.  Creative and productive thinking flourish in solitude and silence.  With quiet, you can hear your thoughts, you can reach deep within yourself, and you can focus on mapping out the next logical, productive step in your life.
13. Ask lots of questions. – The greatest ‘adventure’ is the ability to inquire, to ask questions.  Sometimes in the process of inquiry, the search is more significant than the answers.  Answers come from other people, from the universe of knowledge and history, and from the intuition and deep wisdom inside yourself.  These answers will never surface if you never ask the right questions.  Thus, the simple act of asking the right questions is the answer.
14. Exploit the resources you do have access to. – The average person is usually astonished when they see a physically handicap person show intense signs of emotional happiness.  How could someone in such a restricted physical state be so happy?  The answer rests in how they use the resources they do have.  Stevie Wonder couldn’t see, so he exploited his sense of hearing into a passion for music, and he now has 25 Grammy Awards to prove it.
15. Live below your means. – Live a comfortable life, not a wasteful one.  Do not spend to impress others.  Do not live life trying to fool yourself into thinking wealth is measured in material objects.  Manage your money wisely so your money does not manage you.  Always live well below your means.
16. Be respectful of others and make them feel good. – In life and business, it’s not so much what you say that counts, it’ how you make people feel.  So respect your elders, minors, and everyone in between.  There are no boundaries or classes that define a group of people that deserve to be respected.  Treat everyone with the same level of respect you would give to your grandfather and the same level of patience you would have with your baby brother.  Supporting, guiding, and making contributions to other people is one of life’s greatest rewards.  In order to get, you have to give.
17. Excel at what you do. – There’s no point in doing something if you aren’t going to do it right.  Excel at your work and excel at your hobbies.  Develop a reputation for yourself, a reputation for consistent excellence.
18. Be who you were born to be. – You must follow your heart, and be who you were born to be.  Some of us were born to be musicians – to communicate intricate thoughts and rousing feelings with the strings of a guitar.  Some of us were born to be poets – to touch people’s hearts with exquisite prose.  Some of us were born to be entrepreneurs – to create growth and opportunity where others saw rubbish.  And still, some of us were born to be or do whatever it is, specifically, that moves you.  Regardless of what you decide to do in your lifetime, you better feel it in every fiber of your being.  You better be born to do it!  Don’t waste your life fulfilling someone else’s dreams and desires.

But above all, laugh when you can, apologize when you should, and let go of what you can’t change.  Life is short, yet amazing.  Enjoy the ride.

Benaam Sa Yeh Dard

Benaam sa yeh dard thahar kyon nahi jaata
jo beet gaya hai vo guzar kyon nahi jaata
benaam sa yeh...

Sab kuch to hai kya dhoondti rahti hain nigaahein
Kya baat hai main waqt pe ghar kyoon nahi jaata
jo beet gaya hai voh guzar kyoon nahi jaata

Vo ek hi chahra to nahi saare jahan main
Jo door hai vo dil se utar kyon nahi jata
Jo beet gaya hai vo guzar kyoon nahi jata
benaam sa yeh....

Main apni hi uljhi hui raahon ka tamasha
Jaate hai jidhar sab main udhar kyoon nahi jata
Jo beet gaya hai vo guzar kyoon nahi jata

Vo naam jo barson se na chehra hai na badan hai
vo khwab agar hai to bikhar kyoon nahi jata
Jo beet gaya hai vo guzar kyoon nahi jata
benaam sa yeh....

-Jagjit Singh (Rayavat-09)

i thought i was dead

I want to write about an experience that I had when I was travelling in a train Hatia-Howrah Express bound to Kolkata on the 3^rd-4^th June’10 night, in a sleeper class lower-berth. After a lot of bad news and speed breakers, unusual omens, all keeping me off boarding the train on the 3^rd of June ’10, I somehow boarded the train at just the departure time. I could see things stopping me from doing what I had planned to do. Let me tell you, I started letting myself believing in omens only after I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho. It’s a beautiful book, one among my a-must-read-in-a-lifetime. Omens are not that I am talking about superstitions; it’s physical, it’s present, and happening around us, every time we act our lives out. They always keep warning you, indicating what you should do and what you should not. It tries to stop you from going into paths that have dangerous thorns ready to pierce into your feet, and shows you the correct path like a guiding star. Anyways, let’s not get deep into this broad faceted fact of Omens; only that they have always in my life, with me. Getting back to my current experience I was talking about. It’s both related to and not related to Omens, whichever way you take it. Let it be my perspective here, it’s me who’s writing, not you, so follow what I write. 

Despite all the Omens that were warning me, strictly, from boarding the train, I was all ready to disobey them. And mind you, those were some of the most serious and dangerous Omens I had ever seen. I restrict myself from mentioning those as it would surely change the mood and tone of my writing and may add a feel of both hate and sympathy, to the writer as well as the writer. So, I boarded the train just when it started to roll down the rails. Happy to find my place neat and clean and not a solace, I occupied my seat and started making the have-to-do phone calls every child and adult, irrespective of their age or experience, do as a ritual after boarding a train or a bus in India. Thankfully, the transport system around the world has made people realize that people travelling in aero-planes are smarter enough. After that I took out my I-pod and tuned into Enrique Iglesias’s Hero. Beautiful song with just the correct tempo for all kinds of situation. I listened to all the 5 versions of the song, and decided to go to sleep early. Seldom do I sleep early, but with just an I-pod to listen to and no book to read, no one to talk to, I had no other choice.

It was about 12:45am or somewhere around, something woke me up. I was drenched in sweat, in and out. The train had stopped at some station. The weather was humid like anything, temperature around 29-30 degree Celsius, no air blowing to cool me off. I raised my head to peep out of the window. The yellow light of the railway station added to the hot sensation of the sweat. I was not ready to compromise on my sleep, and getting up meant no sleep for the next hour or two. I went back to my wet luxury, avoiding a very light sensation of heaviness in my stomach. Mamma’s aaloo-puri was too delicious to reject, and as a matter of habit, I ate plus 2. Bringing to thoughts the yummy deliciousness of the mamma-cooked-food, I neglected both the sweat and the heavy stomach, closed my eyes and went to sleep.

The next time I woke up, the heaviness of my stomach had grown into a sort of mild pain. I am always used to such mild abdominal pain because of my greed for good food, and more of that food, on being found extra delicious. Of course chicken has got a special place in my wish list. You can call me a vegetarian if you think chicken is a vegetarian food and a chick-e-tarian if you think as normally as anyone does about these lovely birds, tasty birds rather. Oh! Food distracts me a lot. This was not an exception. Anyways, the pain would vanish by changing positions while lying down, that’s what usually happens. But the pain went on raising its standards against me. After about 2 hours, it had become necessary for me to start fighting back the pain. Wars are not fought in luxury. It was high time; I had to give up my luxury and getup. I raised myself, half-heartedly from my berth, but equally desperate to get rid of the pain that was becoming demonic. I took out my slippers from the bag and putting them on, went to the most ill-famous “train-toilets”, I usually avoid. Thankfully the place was clean and dry, as written on an instruction notice plate in all train-toilets. Emptying my bowel did not give much relief to me as the pain persisted. Do you know about heuristics- the following of gut feelings! On the first hand I got a gut feeling that the pain in my gut was not due to food. It was something else that was causing all the trouble.

I returned to my seat and gulped down some water, hoping it would give some relief. Water is a universal savior. I believe in water. Strongly. Water has worked out miracles for me many times since childhood. But it was probably the first time that my belief was getting altered. The pain grew severely the next moment I lied down. This time more intense, below the abdomen. Oh goodness! This was the most severe abdominal pain I had ever experienced in my life. And added to it I was not in my home, under the observation and care of my parents. I was in a train, where no one would give a damn even if I collapsed. So it was completely on me now. Do or die! I had to retain my consciousness until morning, so that something could be done about the demon. I cursed myself for not following the Omens. They were stopping me. But it was completely my choice. I had no one to blame, instead myself.It was only me. Oh, for holy sake! The pain was growing with every passing second, reproducing, multiplying its strength, as Mr. Smith did in Matrix- Revolution. I was Neo. Was I? I did not know then. I did not know I would survive or not. I thought I was dead! Almost!

I tried to distract myself from the killer. I had no pain-killers. I never use them. But yes! Music is one with no side effects. That I knew for sure. My next move against the demon was the i-pod. I  took out my weapon, plugged it into my ears and tuned into the fifth version of Hero- Enrique Iglesias. This was a noisy version for the situation. I changed to Never Gone- Backstreet Boys. Another nice song I love to sing along. But betrayal was my destiny that night. Water was first, and then, music. No relief! Dying out of pain. I pulled out my beloved earphones from my ears as rude like never before. Sorry earphones! I did not mean to hurt you. And thank you for beholding your strength and not breaking off. I love the music you pour into my ears. I got up winding the ipod and putting it back into the bag, put up my slippers and decided to take a stroll. God knows what would work. I went up to the door and opened it. The air was smelling industry. I saw bright lights all over at not so far distance. Some industrial plant, working in the night. The sight was perfect for photography, but I could not build the courage to bring my phone from my bag and click photos of an industrious-Bengal. I preferred enjoying the scenery against moving here and there. Actually I could not move. The pain was preventing me from doing so. It was hard. It was there, inside me, building its industry.

I stood there, at the door, facing storms of air against my face. The train was moving fast, it was an express train. Balls of air slapping against my face. Those made me feel like a warrior fighting against storms thrown by an external demon while trying to defeat the internal demon – the stomachache. Of God, that was the worst pain I ever had. It was like it was the doomsday of my life. I considered visiting the toilet once more. Maybe it works.

“Oh shit! What’s this? I have never seen this before. Damn. It scares me.” I was in a train toilet, somewhere in West Bengal, dying out of some stupid abdominal pain, and this was a killer bomb on my condition. This was bad and new and amazing. “I mean I have never seen such a thing in my life. Wow! Minute blood corpuscles like dots in my urine. Red! That was beautiful! OH SHIT! Blood in my urine!” It was now that I realized the seriousness of the situation. It was beautiful only till I was a science student. But it became scary as soon as I became me, just me. I was bleeding? For God sake. What was happening with me? Was I dying? Or was I not? Or would I die not in my home? Was I to die in Kolkata, my favorite city? Would I survive? Oh hell! The pain kept me from moving. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry. The red color was scaring me. I could not think of anything, just anything. I thought I was dead. I could not move because the pain did not allow me. I wanted to pull-up my pants and wash my hand and go and sleep and forget everything that was happening. I stood up pulling the door-handle against me. Somehow I managed to carry myself out of the train toilet. Some moments ago, it was going to be my coffin, the door handle saved me. Thank you, door-handle! After washing my hands and face, I took out my mobile phone from my jeans pocket to see what time it was, how much time was left for the rescue team to be there. It was around 4:30am, and goodness gracious, I forgot I did not have a rescue team in the enemy land. I was all on my own. And my destination still was three hours away.

My berth was right in the middle of the bogie, seat number 36. There are 72 seats in one bogie of a train in Indian Railways. And I must tell you, walking from the toilet to my berth was never so difficult, not even in the chaos of many people boarding a train in a station in the beginning. Remember? People trying to become an amoeba and squeeze through each other to get to their seats, despite the fact that they have got it reserved for themselves. Sometimes, people are so ignorant of their own knowledge, of their own self that it becomes one of their visible weaknesses, and that gets easily recognized by some other of the same kind. And this results in self-remodeling, changing of ego states, adults becoming children, rifts, fights, wars, wars of ego, and so, the amoebic squeezing. Even that was not as difficult as it was for me to reach my luxury now. I wanted to fall down so someone could carry me by the shoulders to my berth, someone strong. My health needs a strong man to carry me. I looked around. Everyone was sleeping. Oh God, help me sleep. I usually don’t disturb God, simply because I don’t think he’s there. But sometimes, it becomes an illusionary moral support, a sort of strength, a sort of hope, of security for me. This was one of those ‘sometimes’.

I spoke for the first time, softly, ever since I was surviving the pain, “maa…” that was enough to carry me to my berth. The world was getting humid with every kilometer nearing Kolkata. I lay down. The pain was teaching me lessons, which side to turn, how to fold legs, how to breathe, how to survive, when you think you are going to die. Really, a lifetime experience. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I tried to think of things that bring smile to me, that make me forget just anything. The enemy closed my eyes and tried to sleep. I tried to think of things that bring smile to me, that make me forget just anything. The enemy was strong, but I tried to keep on trying. I slept for the next forty five minutes.

The demon woke me up. It was even severe this time. I was sure I was alive. Because if I were dead, it won’t pain.And it was paining like hell. Thoughts of a destroyed war field came to my mind. A big bladder like camp getting burst like water-cannon, worm like tunnels having patches of rotten vegetation grown on the surface, gun barrels leaking out fluids of ugly color, a scene of a completely destroyed war field.Oh hell! Was it so? I started panicking. Various thoughts raced my mind. I raised myself, up for a walk down the aisle. Maybe that works. The pain was so severe; it made me keep one hand on my stomach. I was sweating like anything; I was all wet, even my underpants were wet. Still two hours to go. I stood for the next one hour at the door, letting balls of air slap against my face, making my cheek-muscles flutter like paper. That made me forget the pain for the while, but the demon would rebuild its strength in minutes and attack again and again to remind me that I was not supposed to stand at the door in such a condition, I might fall down. But I was on my ego now, and there’s no war like the wars of ego, not even Star-Wars. I stood there, trying to cry, trying to scream, but not being able to. It was a silent war, although silence was another enemy.

It was bright now. It was morning, not so good, still so awaited. The pain was killing me. I sat on my window seat. One hand on my stomach. Now the pain was so intense that it was affecting my lower waist and thighs. I could not move now. I was sinking. No no, not that! I was sinking in a pool of pain. Sweating, making faces, changing positions, anyone could easily make out that I was not well. And so did my fellow passenger. “Are you ok?” were his first words to me since we boarded the train together in Ranchi. “Yes, except for a mild stomach-ache”, I replied trying to smile. Only I knew what actually was going inside me. It felt like a bullet shot into my stomach, giving out poison in all directions inside my body, to make me sweat and my thighs to pain like hell. That was the only dialog we shared in the entire journey.

After an hour of longing, I saw the Howrah-Bridge from my window seat. That was a great delight for the moment, for I had decided that immediately after getting down, I would go to a medicine shop and get some pain-killers or whatever. It was not possible for me to wear my shoes. The pain was preventing me from doing so. I decided to move out in slippers, so I wrapped the shoes in a plastic bag and put it into the bag. I left my shirt un-tucked. I wanted to feel free. I wanted to free myself from the chains of this demon.

The train halted finally on platform number-23. Oh Jesus! This was the last platform, which meant I had to walk about 500 meters to reach the bus depot. And adding to the agony, my bogie number was S-10, the last bogie of the train. Damn! It was like all drums kept in reserve to be played on the same day. I stepped down on the platform keeping my foot as softly as possible; I could not take the liberty of jumping off the train on reaching my favorite city, as I usually do. My luggage was twice heavy now. But asking a coolie a coolie for just a schoolbag would surely fix eyes on me. I did not want to demonstrate that I was sick, although I wished strongly for someone to be with me.

It was not as hot and humid in Kolkata as I was expecting. Maybe because it was just 7’o clock morning. A soft cool breeze came and touched my face, it smelled Kolkata. I recognize this smell. I watched people coming out of the train. They were fresh, happy, healthy, sound and moving; I was standing near my bogie, unable to visualize me reach the end of the platform in such a critical situation; the pain would kill me before I reached the gate of the station. i could not walk, and this was the first time in my life. It was like something had burst inside me. I opened my bag and took out the bottle of water, half filled. i drained out half of that for I could not carry even 500ml of water in my hand, the bag was enough to kill me under its weight. I could sense some eyes rising towards me, but I decided to ignore the attention. Putting the bag back on my back and a bottle in my hand, I started walking. In case I collapse midway, I could quickly gulp down some water before I feel so.

I started walking. This was the strangest style of walking I have ever used. With my head down, body leaning forward, throwing hands vaguely on either side, making way only on the basis of my instinct, it was what I would call a Blind Race. That was a strange posture to walk with, but I had no option, I had no energy. I dashed forward like a bull, collecting and using energy from each and every cell of my body. Oh, the station loudspeakers are another killer objects. But I was determined to reach the end of the station, and I did, but only after I had to break my struggling journey twice in the midway. I would sit down on a bench, relax for two minutes, pull me up like a sack of grains and start walking again. It was doomsday. I thought I was dead, but I reached there, the station gate. There are three confectionary shops at the station gate there. The first two had customers; I dashed towards the third one, although I had to take a few strides more to do so. Each and every step from my seat in the train to this shop was a losing deal.

I allowed myself to fall against the counter of the shop. I threw my bottle in a nearby bin; I could not carry it anymore. “Juice?” I asked. There was none. “Anything else?” the shopkeeper was startled by my confined use of words. I could not afford to use words more than necessary. He was looking me with big eyes; I realized I was looking ill. He gave me a cool bottle of Fruity. I opened the bottle and gulped balls of the drink down my gut. “Aaaaaahhh…” I moaned in relief. Even a bit of relief was like heaven. I started walking away from the shop when the shopkeeper who had been watching me in amazement, stopped me. I had forgotten to pay him the money. “25 Rupees”, he said with eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I just forgot”, I replied trying to sound as cool as possible.

I was now out of the station, with some pain gone, but most of it still killing me. The sun was out and the heat scorching. I looked at the Howrah Bridge, mighty it stood. “I can walk”, I said to myself. Gulping down the Fruity I started walking toward the bridge. It was difficult for me to walk with the heavy bag on my shoulders now. But I was trying to ignore all the pain for I had to reach the bridge before I would collapse. Once I get into the right bus, I was done. Streams of sweat were running down the edge of ny nose, ears and every part of the body. I was drenched in sweat. I kept on drinking Fruity until the bottle was empty. I was now below the Howrah Bridge. I looked up, I had to strain myself to do so. Wow! I have always admired this construction by human being. Larger than life. The pain pulled me down and bend me. A traffic policeman standing nearby was watching me. He came up to me and asked,”kothaayejaabo?” He meant where I was supposed to go.

See! That is one big reason why Kolkata is my favorite city. People are always on their mark to help, even if you don’t ask for any. “Salt Lake, Labony”, I struggled to answer. I guess he did make out that I was not well. He got me into the bus that would take me to my destination. I smiled back to him in gratitude. He waved back at me.

The pain was intense. I could not stretch my head out to see the construction of the Howrah Bridge above me from the window of the bus. I had never crossed the bridge on wheels; I always used to walk across. I was looking at the Hoogly under the bridge. Divine, serene and cold; it looks beautiful in winter mornings. I tried to smile at the river, feeling its smell inside me. Now the bus was on the other end of the bridge. The flower market refreshed the atmosphere with its fragrance. I took a deep breath of it. Nice.

The moment the bus turned towards M G Road, I started feeling something happening in my stomach. Something happening like my intestines moving. I could feel the pain decreasing slowly and slowly. The next three minutes were a miracle. The pain vanished like anything. Oh my God! It was no more. I was startled by the sudden change. How could this be? It was like Jaadoo coming from a space-craft and healing wounds in the movie Koi Mil Gaya. The pain was gone in three minutes. I could feel it going. I could feel things becoming normal. It was a miracle. I was near to die a few minutes ago, and now I was all fine. No pain! It had troubled me so much in the train. I was shocked, how could this happen. This was a miracle.

I took out my mobile phone and dialed the number with the name- Papa. My parents were confused by what I was trying to explain to them. The co-passengers started staring at me. I was probably disturbing them by shouting in happiness and amazement. I hung the phone after assuring them that I was ok. I got down at my destination and I had no sign of pain now. Wow. It felt so good.

This incident will always remain a landmark in my life. Not because the pain was a killer demon or I took it all by myself, or anything like that. It taught me that when a man is in complete darkness, and when he is scared of it, and when he attempts to win oner his fears, there is something larger than life that guides the man to a very small vent in the walls, through which comes in a peck of light. This little peck of light is enough for making the man feel like a warrior. And that feeling actually converts him into a real warrior. He catches hold of that small peck of light, firmly with his imagination and pulls it in; and then follows a complete ray of light that enlightens his darkness making room for life. These small gestures of nature keep man alive, and keep the flame, the spirit to live, alive. There is something that nature has bestowed in man that helps him differentiate this peck of light from a firefly. Man succeeds by his own virtues, and this is a virtue of man.

I don’t know what it was for me. Was it the delight of being under the Howrah Bridge, or the cool breeze of the Hoogly that touched my face?I might have missed it in the rush. But there was something that kept me alive.