Luck vs six-pack abs

A few months back, during my visit to Mumbai (Bombay, India), a routine chat with someone I dearly respect, turned an interesting bend – in reality, merit has limited merit. And ultimately you got to be lucky in life.

You got to be lucky in life – work life, love life, sex life, marriage, post-marriage, shoelaces; you got to be kidding me, if you said no.

Sitting across him and while he was talking to me, my mind suddenly leaped out and formed its own hyper-fiber-optic connection to what someone in my family said a few years back – “You’re doing well, you lucky you.”

“No, it’s quite a bit of work actually…”

“Arey baba … to be able to do that work you have to be lucky. Look at me, I thought I’ll be a cameraman, but I had to be an engineer. Luck!”

What a way to disguise your failure, I thought. Back then I was rather judgmental.

I put a dot on that conversation. I dragged a line back to the room in Mumbai and put another dot on it. The third dot happened somewhere mid air, so it pretty much landed itself on this article.

I am at a pretty conflicting state of mind, have been for some while now. My self-confidence is as fickle as my self-doubt. I’m not a failure; I’m not successful in my own eyes. Tricky. Can I therefore, just take it easy and put my misery behind luck?

Wouldn’t it be easy to just throw up my hands and say, “You know what, maybe I got lucky in a few things and for the things I don’t, well, I wasn’t lucky enough.”

But isn’t it true that anything is possible if you really try hard? Don’t we all just try very, very hard to the best of our perseverance and at some point, give up? In life, there are many variables, but if you keep yourself as the constant, isn’t ten-twenty-thirty years enough to go past all of that and realize your dream?

Do we first give up and then consider ourselves unlucky? Or do we consider ourselves unlucky and then give up?

Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to think about the egg and the chicken. It’s my life and I come first. So, six-pack abs.

For an ordinary guy like me six-pack abs is an out of body experience. Out of my body. The part of India I come from, even mannequins don’t have six pack abs. A beer belly is the ultimate sign of ‘prosperity’. Back at home, for sports, we play a board game called “Carromboard”. And the exercise we get out of standing in one spot and delicately knocking coins with our fingers, we pretty much make up for it by having six cups of tea (two spoons of sugar each time) and non-stop munching of deep fried heaven. There’s always a race between our waistline and our age. Till the time we are diagnosed “diabetic with high-cholesterol problem”, the waistline wins.

With that background, let me also confess, I haven’t been staying home for many years now. So I pretty much escaped the tradition. I am a runner, I’ve been working on my fitness for some years now and I’m not a stranger to workouts.

But I’m 34 and I never had washboard abs. I love my food (at one point this investor friend of mine wanted to invest in KFC because he believed that I’ll make the stock prices rise), I drink when I drink. And we are talking about six-pack abs.

Six pack abs: We all have fat; we have to have fat. In Usain Bolt it’s 4%. In me and you it’s 15 to 85. For most of us, office-going people, we eat through the day which kind of gets stored because our bodies don’t burn enough. (How much calories can you burn by typing facebook updates.) So day after day, month after month, year on year, this fat accumulates and sends itself to different parts of the body. The lower abdomen, which holds the smaller intestine, is the first one to get graced. And then it spreads. For some fat people, that fat spreads and spreads and reaches the arteries around the heart. And then one day … they start morning walks. So your abdomen, which is the first one to sport the jolly fat, is also the last one to let go of it. When you have absolutely minimal fat in your arms, legs, face, hips, thighs etc, will the abs get a knock on its door. Six pack abs mean you have absolutely minimal Total Body Fat whatsoever. You’re almost Usain Bolt, minus the endorsement money.

What does it take to get six pack abs: Simple process – you have to work your food out and a bit more from the reserve. So what you eat in a day, pretty much decides how much do you have to sweat. If you control your food then you can work yourself into a gradual exercise routine and rhythm. If you can’t, sorry. Yes, it also depends on your metabolism. But if you do have fantastic genetic metabolism then why are you still reading this, dude?

Why is it impossible for a regular office-going person to get washboard abs: For ten to twelve hours a day you are working your fingers and earlobes. And that, we all know, works well for our appetite. The coffee is free, the lunch isn’t prepared by your dietician, and most days deserve a beer ending. Plus when you travel, chances of hitting the gym are as remarkable as joining the mile high club with Scarlett J. You do all that you can, you try so hard, you think you’re getting there and then boom! You’re waylaid. Upon return you get back with a vengeance, you work out-out-out, you watch what you’re eating. You sip orange juice at night clubs till again, you’re waylaid. Once again, you get back with a vengeance, you … get waylaid. You repeat this cycle for as long as you can, but you soon you realize that you’re caught between the disturbingly committed effort and the magazine cover result. You give in. It’s impossible for a regular office-going person to get washboard abs.

And that’s the point – it’s impossible, but washboard abs are one of nature’s true marvels that is NOT dependant on luck.

If you know the current state of your body and you do whatever it takes, you WILL get washboard abs. It might take you a year, or two, but both the variables - how much you burn and how much you eat, is totally, completely, unmistakably, dependant on you. You decide all of it. And the only thing that will win it for you, is your mind, your own mind and not some cosmic intervention that made Britney Spears a star. Or George W Bush the president!

It is a straight line. And though there are many things that are thrown at you while you walk the line, it ends at a specific point. If you can tell yourself that no matter what, I WILL GET WASHBOARD ABS and cement it in your head, nothing can stop it from not happening.

That to me is the most important reason why I want washboard abs. I know it’s impossible. I know nothing’s impossible. And I’m really tired of waiting to get lucky. I need the answers. I need to know whether it is really luck or is it my own lack of application.

I want washboard abs and I am going to work on it for as long as it takes to work on it. Through work, travel and maybe even injuries. But on this one, I won’t give up till the fat belly sings its own requiem.

I want to, I need to, I have to say - “Luck! Kiss my wash-fucking-board abs!”

No Beginning No End

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_C8RZtEgffs

April 28, 2009

I got up at 4 in the morning to the sound of something whirring. What could it be? Is it some insect outside the glass window? What time is it? Is it 4.30 yet, because that's the time I set the alarm; I have a 7.45 Singapore flight to catch... What is it? Oh, it's a moth, it's a moth flying and hitting the glass. Why is it hitting the glass? Wake up! Wake up proper; rub your eyes!

Oh. It's a moth and it's as fat as a bee and it's inside the room! How the hell did it come inside, this room doesn't even have a window. And it's on the 21st floor!

I have a fear of flying insects, so I immediately ran out of the room. And then started cajoling the moth to come out, come to the living room and go out to the balcony.

The moth listened to me - it came out of the room and went straight to the bathroom. It disappeared behind the door as I stood there, wondering what to do next. I wanted to go to the bathroom and take a pee. And brush. And shower. That's out of the question now, it's bigger than my eyeball and it flies!

So I stood there and stared. I had only one option to get it out of the bathroom and send it out through the balcony - to spray it out. Spray some insect killer. Which made me heavy, the mere thought of starting my day by killing a beautiful, innocent creation, because of MY stupid fear.

So I decided that I'll not spray at it, but around so that the smell drives it out.

I sprayed a few times and then peeped in, the moth wasn't flying. Is it dead? No, it was just hanging on to the shower cabinet glass, scared. I bet more scared than I was. For some reason it has left its natural habitat, flew up to the 21st floor and came to my bed room. And then because the wall is glass, got trapped. From the moth's point of view, there was the outside world where it could fly freely, right in front of its eyes, but it can't get there. Moths don't know that we have invented glass. It must have been so freaky for him!

The glass, the human, the poison, Mr. Moth was hanging on to dear life.

I garnered up some courage, went close to the glass cabinet and took a closer look. It was still and I could see what I was afraid of. It was big and fat and could sting. And now I was also getting late for my flight.

At this point, I remembered Charlie Kaufman's 'Adaptation'. The relationship a moth has with the flower. And how a moth makes the world such a beautiful place. I can't spray this moth to death! I can, I can, I can... hey I can trap it and send it out!

So I ran out and came back equipped with a saucer and a lid and I pushed the shower cabinet door.

The moth got nervous and headed straight at me; I ran out and the moth landed on the floor. And it was still. Is it dead? Or is it just the natural reaction of creatures of nature - when you sense danger you lie still?

I think the second one, and this is my opportunity. So while talking to and re-assuring it over and over again about my intention I somehow placed the sauce pan on the moth. It was trapped now. And then got a magazine and slid it under the sauce pan so that the gap doesn't let it fly out (and kill me!), but the sauce pan gets a cover.

I slid it slowly, very, very slowly so that the scared insect trapped in the darkness doesn't get crushed or hurt. And every time I would inch the magazine in, it would whirr and panic. But it was over soon - the magazine was under the pan and I carefully picked it up from the base, got it to the balcony, put it on the floor and quickly removed the pan and closed the door. That was the last time I saw the moth from behind the glass - for the thirty seconds I was watching it, it didn't move.

But after twenty minutes when I came back, it was gone. It was free again.

If you have the imagination of looking at this me-being-a-total-wuss story from the moth's point of view, you'll realise that sometimes in life, we are this moth - stuck somewhere, chasing god knows what, seeing the free skies outside but not knowing what the glass wall is all about, waking up some giant creature who's coming with a can of spray that makes it choke, and then when it is hanging on to dear life the giant creature comes with a big thing and traps it inside, while it helplessly whirrs and purrs in darkness, only to panic more as the magazine inches forward from underneath.

And then suddenly, in the next ten seconds, it is free. It takes 30 seconds or more to realise that somehow, magically, the worst is over.

It's time to fly :)

YearPlay

Last night was bizarre, he thought. There was sand all over the room, as if he had dragged the entire beach to this address. Maybe the beach got an extension and now it started from this room.

His head was heavy, body beaten. And though the uneasiness spread to every part of his body, his heart was much lighter. He’d grown younger again, at least by a few weeks.

This was one of his own theories – you grow young. It’s a paradox and in this paradox lies one of the keys to proverbial living. You let your age go up, while you ask your mind to freeze every point that falls within that age. So at any given point in time you can decide to be 8 years 3 months 5 days 9 nine hours and six point thirty minutes. Or maybe seventeen years something. Or, if need be, twenty-seven years something.

He had even put this theory to practice with great success. He’d switch between (in the same place, with the same set of people, within the same context) 5 ages just to prove a point. Or to confuse everyone. Or to just have a fun. To look stupid. (Sometimes it’s intelligent to be stupid. And vice versa.)

It’s a great tool to break monotony. It gives you great moments.

He even had his favourites.

i’m glad to see

I’m glad to see
You’re looking at me
After all these years
You might not have noticed
What I failed to show
Sometimes existence
Takes years to grow
But I’m glad to see
You’re looking at me
Now.

Some of the days
You’d look away
As if the world
Was just one way
Some of the days you’d smile
And I’d soon realize
It’s for someone else
Eternity, lasts only
For a while

But I’m glad to see
You’re looking at me
Finally.

Some of those days
You’d come up to me
And say hello
For no reason at all
Surprises live a short life
For you did have in mind
A reason
For Divinity’s fall

But I’m glad to see
You’re looking at me
After all these years

Some of those days
We’d share spaces
Not too far apart
You and I
You did a favour
By sharing the same air
(’Coz) if you wanted
I could die

But I’m glad to see
You’re looking at me

It’s my turn to look away

The Ghost Theory

There are two kinds of dead people – the guys who die gradually, of some sickness or old age. And the guys who die suddenly, accidentally.

Now the guy who dies of old age, begins to realize a while before he actually dies, that he’s going to die some day soon. And slowly in his head he starts to dissociate himself with all his attachments – physical and emotional. He starts to switch off from his favourite car, his apartment, his music collection, his money, his wife, son, daughter, grand-children … till the moment arrives when he successfully dissociates himself from everything and everyone that he was attached to. And that very moment death arrives. The moment his soul is free and unattached, his soul is ready to travel back to where it came from. His body dies, ends, and his soul is set free and it goes back to the Energy Centre, the origin of all life.

Then there are guys who die in an accident. For them things are different. Because they do not die a natural death, they do not get the time to dissociate themselves off their attachments. They do not see Death coming, so they cannot Wind Up. These guys, when they die, they find their souls hanging in mid air. I mean there’s no body. But the soul is still attached to SO many things – like their favourite shoes, the signed Pink Floyd album, the wife, the dog, the secretary back at work, the Cappuccino, the works. Because they do not get a warning – “your time has come, get ready”, they are NOT ready. And they are tied to these material and emotional attachments till the moment they die. And when they die, the soul gets out of the body and is trapped around the Earth. Because it’s burdened with unfinished desires, it does not ever acquire the momentum it needs to break free from Gravity.

These guys stay with us as ghosts, as spirits who have a spiritual link with something which still exists on this Earth. But they do not have a Physical presence. So they stay in the atmosphere, around us, just to BE close to the object of their desire as close as they were to it or her, when they were alive. Because they do not have a body but only a spiritual presence, we FEEL them. We are aware of their presence sometimes because of our intuition – that quality in us that is extra-sensory.

Then depending on how strong the bond was, the attachment reduces gradually and they finally, in a long, long time, become free and leave.

Why?

Here’s an analogy – I’m madly in love with my girlfriend and She’s madly in love with me. We have something special going on for a while. Till one day down the road, she tells me that it’s not working out or that she’s seeing someone else. She suggests a break-up. Which means I cannot have her as emotionally as I’ve had her.
I say, “Okay, if that’s the way you want it…” We stop seeing each other, but I’m still madly in love with her. I still nurture a hope that she’ll come back to me. I still hear about her through our common friends. I still, see her at the local café. I bump into her. So there’s still her physical presence that keeps telling me that she’s here and maybe still as close.
Then one day I wake up to hear that the reason I did not see her in the past one month is because she’s gotten married and have moved to Ottawa. Half way, round the globe.
Now, this is the first time ever, I seriously start to think that maybe it’s time to move on. And that’s because her physical presence is NOT there. She’s physically reached a point where she’s way beyond me.
That’s the point I tell myself, “All right, what’s next!” And then in a couple of months I get over her.
Had she been around, had her body been around, I wouldn’t have been able to do that.

Writing on the Wall

For a while now I wanted to write something. Critically important. Marginally revolutionary. Or in other words – something substantial that can make up for all these days of not writing.

And I think I’ve made a good beginning.

You see, the point is to not let the end scare you, even if you don’t have one. In fact it’s good if you don’t have one; that’s leads the way for multiple ends.

One way, or ten other.

GAPS

Don't interpret the words; interpret the silence.

The pause. The spaces.

The moment trapped between the end of one sentence and the beginning of another.

The unspoken.

The unsaid.

The unconnected thoughts that go on even as we speak.

Interpret the white space, the relief.

Interpret the white noise.

Interpret a blank.

Interpret an awkward silence.

Interpret a blink.

A halt.

A break.

Interpret what most of this universe is - vacuum.

Interpret the Gaps.

Love at third sight
(Or, What can Goa teach you about finding love)

“Do you drink wine?”

“What’s the big deal about it? I’m down two glasses and nothing great is happening. I’m not even buzzing!”

“Try the third one.”

Let’s face it – time has come to go beyond the ‘love at first sight’ cliché. It’s ridiculous to be hanging on to the most hackneyed and superficial phenomenon in Mushville. It’s not fresh; worse, it’s alarmingly fake.

Which we’ve all realized. Because we’re all 30. When you’re 30, you love every one at first sight, till the subsequent sights tell you… “oops.”

But then, Harry met Sally.

And I started thinking about Love at Third Sight.

You know, there’s something magical about the wine that starts to make so much sense only from the third glass. Or the song, when you hear it the third time… or pancakes.

There are things that give you instant gratification. And then there are things that you got to develop a taste for. And as much as you are developing Your taste, that object (or desire) is actually, very subtly getting you Ready for it. It’s a kind of lead-in time for appreciation you could say.

And it’s very different from the Instant Gratification variety. It hits the spot a little later. But when it hits, you stay hit.

You’re in love, for life.

I can talk for myself here; the third time I met her, I found myself hopelessly in love.

Goa. Ooh, Goa.

When I first shifted to Bombay, I was secretly excited about shifting to a city closer to Goa. But then, as luck would have had it, in three and a half years this is only my third visit to Goa.

The First Sight:
We had a client in Goa who ran a rather prim property. And those days, I was writing their brochures. So just to cut to the chase, I was sent to Goa (with a client servicing friend, my guiding light). A meeting was fixed. I was told I’ll have to take the bus. At that point in time, I was ready to walk.

It was a July day (I remember people telling me Goa in July is a bad idea), and after 15 hours of sleeping in the bus, we reached Goa at about 8 in the morning.

And then we sat for the meeting and took the evening bus back. Period.

I’d heard a lot about Her. I just about met Her (she wasn’t looking that great, off season maybe) and I left for home, indifferent.

The Second Sight:
It was July again, 3 years later. It was with the office folks again, but on fun. Someone had struck a deal which got us parked inside a hotel in South Goa.

(South Goa: Relatively unexplored, almost-virgin beaches. Calm, quiet. More dogs than people. Not the Goa you know of. Dead.)

And since it was the monsoons and we didn’t have much to do outside the hotel, we spent most of the time gallivanting in and around the pool, playing the fool. And water polo.

Taking nothing away from the blast we had, it was, still, NOT Goa. I mean 45 drunk people are bound to have fun even inside V.T. Station.

I smoked, drank, drank, smoked, ate, ate, ate, slept, control c, control v…

This time She was there. And I spent more than two days trying to bask in Her warmth. She still wasn’t looking as great as I thought She looked in my mind. She was fun, but at the same time She was poignant. She was unmindful, pre-occupied.

Maybe She doesn’t like me, She’s just being polite.

Love at Third Sight:
The best things in life happen out of the blue. This is one old adage I’m not ready to let go off, yet. For it was a trip, straight out of the blue.

I knew I was going to Delhi for Diwali. 5 holidays clubbed with 2 ‘offs’ made for the longish Delhi plan… Till I heard about some people heading for Goa.

I mean, there are, always, some people heading for Goa, but these people, some of them I knew. And as I figured life that very evening, I figured I had my stay all organized. I just had to book myself in to one of those Birds.

Now, normally I wouldn’t do such a thing. I was already spending quite a bit to go to Delhi. And now, I was canceling, booking and rebooking at the nth hour, which meant I was blissfully juvenile about the Credit Card bill that’s going to hit me soon, very soon (when you read this, send me money).

And I knew then – this could be love - for you do stupid things only when you’re in love.

Between that evening and the next afternoon (my flight to Goa) there was an amazingly long, drunken night. Which, I must say, bridged the two rather well.

I reached Goa, went straight to the hotel at Baga, met up with the friends and went to sleep. Now, do not, not for a second, underestimate the importance of sleeping the day if you’re serious about making it a night.

If you want the most of Her, preserve the most of you.

The romance started later that evening – a joint on the beach and then a couple of beers. Which isn’t what it’s reading like.

It’s more like cool breeze, the sand, the sea, the colour of the sky which Bombay never sees, the beach-chairs, the umbrellas, the joint and –

The People: We’ll have to agree on this – the world’s most rocking places can be really disappointing if there isn’t the ‘crowd’ you’re looking for. I mean there’s something about having happy faces around you. And in this case, happy and (sun)burnt faces of some amazingly hot women… Sigh.

Where was I!

The Music: I’m a New Age Music freak. Yes I do like songs, but when I want to let go, I want my Trance. I love my Trance. Which was what they were playing. Rocking. Where was I again!

You know, there are places that you love and then there are places that make you feel that you belong here. This is where you’re supposed to be. And this Third trip to Goa made me feel just that.

Later that night I went club-hopping. Lots of my kind of music and people. Cheap alcohol (well after Bombay, most places are cheap) and great food almost anywhere). I made love to wine. I went down on my food. And it was orgasmic.

(A pointer here – there are two ways to go about in Goa. And I’ll talk about only one – rent a two-wheeler for 200 bucks a day and be a free-spirit. Honestly, I don’t know how else to do it. So for people who don’t know how to ride a bike, Goa isn’t GOA.)

If you want to explore her do not take the backseat.

Thanks to my well-planned ciesta, I made most of the night. That night, and the ones that followed.

Of course, not by any stretch I’m suggesting Goa By Night and night alone. She’s incandescent in the day and ravishing in the night. And this time she was knocking me off my feet. So what works for you, go figure.

I, for one, ‘OD’-ed. After the 7 a.m.-good-nights I was up and about to greet a 12-ish ‘hello’. It’s sunny, it’s bright and there’s so much out there. How the hell do you sleep for long?

The food: Just to put things into perspective, I’m quite a health freak. Carbs, greens, proteins, brown-bread, calories, BMI… is quite my vocabulary. I watch what I eat (it’s true, if there’s something unnecessary fattening on my table, I just watch). The last time I had something fried was when cooking oil was invented. I’m not too fond of sweets and Indian curries. Meet me at Subway or a salad bar, any day.
I lost it in Goa. There was no guilt involved in annihilating multiple plates of deep fried prawns and mussels, dipped in cheese and mozzarella. There was just a sense of peace and calm – that, if, there’s a Tsunami coming at us right now, I’d go down, content.
The Tsunami never made it, but every day, four times a day, I was ready.

The food, the weather, the people, the mood, the bike-rides, the shacks, the sun, the breeze, the playing-hide-and-seek with the roads, the music, the wine… wasn’t just fun. It was liberating.

She was all that I have never experienced in one embodiment. She was the one I could grow old with. Right out of the blue, She was the love I was dying to fall in.

And all of it - the third time around.

(I don’t know how it began. And I don’t know how it’s going to end. So this is just the middle part.)



He looked up to her, in a fake attempt to disguise his sadness, “So?”

“So? So what? You know what’s your problem? You think a lot. A lot more than it is really needed. It’s unhealthy, that’s what it is. The more you ponder over something, the more you’re letting that thing or situation confuse you. Because at no point in time, you’ll know exactly what to do. It’ll always be a choice between what you could have done and what else you could have done and what you are going to do... It is that complicated. And you can’t always sit and think over it. It’ll not ...” the telephone rings and She turns to take the call.

He goes back. To think. This is just one of those things that make you an individual – the right to think all sorts of things. Wrong things maybe, but so what. If you’re living your life through your mind and if everything you experience is a function of what your mind perceives it as, then what’s the harm in thinking?

I’m sure those great Indian sages who sit on thorny chairs or daggers Think that they are sitting in a Jacuzzi. And then they levitate. How do you think they do it, huh? You’re undermining the importance of thinking just because you don’t think much. Or is that what you want me to believe? Maybe you also think. Think all the wrong things. The decision to not think is also conscious thinking. And I’ve noticed that it’s not as if you don’t think. You think and you tell your mind, “No, I don’t want to think about it. I want to think about something else now.” So in essence you run away from your own thoughts. “This thought is bothering me, therefore I’m gong to go to that other thought.” Just like you’d stand in front of your wardrobe and decide, “Umm which one, today?” Which tells me, if you could generate dresses like you generate thoughts, I’d never go out with you, forget it.

So you run away from one thought and take respite with another. Because, yes I know, “There’s no point thinking about it.” See, that’s the difference between you and me. You are closed. I’m open. You don’t want to think because the possibilities don’t matter to you. You’re done. And I’m about possibilities. And it’s never too late.

You don’t start. I don’t end. And I have a very strong reason why I am this way. Because I don’t think about world peace. I don’t think about hungry children. And I certainly can’t think of winning the Miss Universe pageant.

There are just a few, very few things worth thinking about. And what I’m doing with you happens to be one of them. You react one way to a beautiful flower, and you react one way to a bud that enters and blooms into an orchid inside your mind. Its existence becomes an integral part of your thinking. And then what you...

“Sorry, long call. Winding up, you see. Good things coming to an end...” What She said didn’t register, but He came back from his zone and looked at her. He wanted her to listen to all that He’s been thinking. As if the voice she was speaking to on the other side of the telephone, by some miracle said the exact same things that he’s been thinking. There were days where telephone lines would get mixed up. And you’d hear strangers talking. Why can’t that happen between two telephone lines and a person external to this network?

That it didn’t happen, was evident from her face as she gave him another quizzed look, “You look dazed. Want some coffee?” “Coffee, what a noble idea, coffee,” he thought, “ever since I quit smoking, I’ve been on this diet of twelve black coffees a day. Nicotine. Caffeine. Divine.”

“Yes coffee. Great. Let’s walk to the vending machine, I’m tired of sitting around.” He lied though. He could never be tired of sitting next to her. Just sitting next to her. Without any rhyme or reason.

Sometimes without even talking to her, just outside the line of her vision. It was his way of meditating and finding something he had no clue he was looking for.

He knew exactly who he was looking for - Someone who’d, someday, just stop him. Break him down. And build him over. Someone who’s universe was bigger than his. And deeper. And there she was as if not just two-third, but the whole Earth’s one ocean. Where everything could live. And when he sat next to her with his whole world of desert and sand, it coexisted with her whole world of waves and water. As if to become a much bigger world of beaches and seas. This world always overwhelmed him.

He hadn’t felt anything like this since the day he discovered he could sing. Life’s deepest discoveries happen out of blue. One moment changes everything before and after that moment. Till another such moment arrives. And life is what happens in between.

This moment had also come unaware. It suddenly crept and jumped at him, scaring and comforting in the same breath. He always believed that you don’t really have to spend a lot of time with a person to know him or her. He had always been a reader. He had practiced and mastered the language. He had read her too, or so he thought.

Till this moment arrived. And she read some pages from his book, pages that she had been carrying not knowing they were his. Destiny! Yes. But what next?

“Get up! You look dazed and stupid. What’s it about me that brings out the moron in you,” she yelled. He was looking at her, so he just smiled and said, “You’re too cute.” She frowned, she didn’t get the connection, and the reply wasn’t logical. “Okay, let’s go before another phone call comes.”

The coffee was nothing special, besides, he thought, maybe this was the last cup of coffee He was having with her. The thought unnerved him. He always knew that a situation like this would arise some day. And not just her, it could be with anybody. Anybody he liked. And he had prepared to handle this situation and was confident because he had full knowledge of this situation.

He got scared, “does this mean the bricks that I’ve laid in my defense, my spiritual immunity - they are on shaky grounds? All the hard work, restrain, practices, all of that don’t mean a thing?”

“Or is there a force so strong that what you have and what you don’t have don’t matter. It’ll just come and blow you away. Sometimes it takes you and makes you travel with it. Sometimes like a twister it just takes you and drops you at some point. And if you survive that, you wonder. He resigned to the fact that this was one such twister.