Gienie's (Auto) biography

I was all wet when I first opened my eyes, to get the first glimpse of this world. The air was cold and moist alright, but I was wet more because my mom was stroking me. I had no idea how long I lay there. My feet trembled as I tried to stand up. The chill would reach my urine-soaked-abdomen making my first steps even more difficult. It was not long before I stood up and managed my first steps. Before I knew, I had travelled the entire world. For, my world then started at the wet rusty cage bars and ended at my mother's nipples. Probably I spent the next few days under my mother's care and sibling's rivalry, I don't know exactly how many until...

It was one early evening, when I was lifted out of that cage-world, by a pair of anything-but-soft hands. They smelt of fuel and cigarettes. The hands dropped me in to a basket and then into a car. The car then started its journey to I have no idea where. I was sickened by the constant turbulent motion and the gush of air through my ears. I fell asleep.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself lying on a solid non-turbulent floor. It was noisy – cheering, clapping and laughing (something that I could feel but never do). I was scared,for this was the first time I saw humans in wild. There was no cage between us.

I was given a scrub, patted dry and fed some milk. Famished as I was, the milk was refreshing. I remember seeing three humans that day. The 4^th one joined the group at night fall. It took me few more days to realize that the group of four humans were now my family. I don't know exactly when, but my family started calling me Gienie. To this day I don't know why they named me so. But I couldn't complain and I didn't need to. I liked my name.

I started finding my niche in my new house. The space between the sofa and the wall, under the bed, under the kitchen sink, beneath the dining table, out on the porch. I took the liberty to laze around where ever I wanted. My mom, was there all day with me at home but neither of us bothered each other. She was busy with her chores and I was busy with “mine”. My brothers would be back from school in the evening, and my childhood evenings were spent biting their heels, pulling their trousers and playing football with them (although all I did was pounce over the ball and never let any one touch it).

As I grew up, I wanted to break free from the confines of my home. Not that I did not like it, I just wanted to explore the world a little more. When ever I got a chance, I sneaked out of my house and ran on the streets. With the wind combing through my hair, and my brothers chasing my shouting my name. They were too scared, that I might be run over by a car or something. However, I loved this game. I could enjoy my short burst of freedom under my brothers' watchful eyes and dependable legs. Every time one of them would manage to catch me, whenever I decided to return home. I got shouted at and at moments spanked, but hey, its all in the game. I also learnt how to sport the oh-I-am-so-sorry-and-I-swear-to-god-I-wont-repeat-this-again look. Some times it worked, sometimes it didn't.

As time passed, I grew up to understand when things were not right at home. My brothers wouldn't be in their playful selves and would seem busy studying. My parents wouldn't be talking to each other and would be talking to each other through me! It was depressing – the mood in the house, but I also kinda liked it because of the attention I received. My father although liked me, thought of me as a liability to the family. They could not leave my alone at home nor could they take me out with them. You know, for social gatherings and stuff. I had to say I was very scared when my family would lock me up in my house and go out some where. I knew they would come back, but loneliness was killing.

Few years later, my family had to move to a new house. This meant a lot of work for them shifting stuff. And I made it worse. Some one had to take care of me all the time. It was a long journey. For days together. I was not allowed to stay with my family during the travel and my father would visit me once in a while. I reunited with my family after may be 6-7 days. I was half dead but was so happy to meet them again. We did this not once or twice but four times until now.

I knew I was helpless and my family was sacrificing a lot for my sake. But it did not matter because we loved each other. We did not want to be separated. I grew older, probably older than my once older brothers. I don't know why, but they seemed to be growing older slower than I was. Life is not always fair is it? We hadn't moved out of my current house for quite some time now, and I thought finally we settled down. Now that things will go on smoothly forever. I could sleep for the whole day, run around within our cramped apartment, play with my brothers and steal my father's sock. Just when I thought this was how my future looked, I fell sick.

I don't remember exactly how, but I wasn't feeling great. I have fallen sick before. Few times for a few days. I wouldn't eat and take plenty of rest. This would usually come to an end when my mom forced some crushed pills down my throat. However, this time I knew this wasn't just another sickness. I was taken to the hospital. I was scared. My mom would stay by my side.I was scared - of the injections and crushed pills. Couple of days later, my parents bought me home. But things changed. I was not allowed to play with my brothers anymore. I was not allowed race up to the terrace and laze. I was not allowed to eat anything solid. It was strange. My mom would carry me (something she never did for a long long time now) to the terrace for about 15-20 min twice a day.

But, thank god I am fine now. I feel a lot better today. I badly want to get to normalcy. Sleeping for the whole day, running around within our cramped apartment, playing with my brothers and stealing my father's sock. I just have this one visit to the doctor's today for a formal check up and its good bye sickness!! I will be back tonight to complete this story. It would be great to finish this story off with a triumphant description of how I won the long battle against whatever that made me fall sick.

-Gienie

I agree Gienie, it would have been great. I wish I did something more to help.
RIP

-Vijay

Miss...

This is a Lesson in the Hindi Text Book of Class 1. Now we know the root cause of Gender Bias. I think it has a lesson for us too! (This Ad was designed for a Unicef Campaign against Gender Bias. I wish it were translated to other languages also. Stunning! Hits you with a Thud.)

The Seeds of Hatred

I still remember those days, when my mom would make me do my math home work. She would teach me how to write numbers. She would say, O…N…E ONNE…and simultaneously hold my hand to draw that straight line which was never straight, till date. Then she would watch me mechanically fill the rest of the page with ones literally shouting OOOO… EEENNN… EEEE…. ONNNE. Even if I stop to take a breather, or to swallow the saliva that would have accumulated under my tongue, she would immediately point her index finger on to the note book, pointing at a ONE and say O…N…E…ONNNE. A timing so perfect, many musicians would vie for it. For her, the louder I shout, the better I learn. When I get set into a shout-write-shout-write mode, my decibel level would keep on increasing until my voice breaks. In spite of all the effort(!) that we put in, my ONEs seemed more like a comma (extra large size). Now I being a perfectionist want that one to be as perfect (a comma) as possible. So I would stop in between to correct my not-so- perfect one, using my eraser on the notebook, erasing it so hard, that either I tear the page or smoke comes out of the notebook. I really enjoyed seeing the remnants of the friction between the notebook and the eraser. What I enjoyed more is sweeping of the entire stuff from the notebook in a single sweep. I liked the way those things (i.e. remnants – I don’t know what are they called) roll under my palm. After this entire ordeal, finally I would be done. A page full of ONEs. O….N…E. That’s a Bonus. I also learnt to spell it. I triumphantly would look up after some half an hour and forty five min of hard work, and smile at my mom. My mom would look at the ones that I have written, and would say hmmm. Wow! What a wonderful hmmm that was. The best hmmm I have ever heard till date. An hmmm for which I waited for so long. An hmmm that communicates success, triumph, completion, happiness, and not to forget freedom. Hmmm what a lovely word/sound that is. Something that has hundred meanings attached to it but still has not found its place in the dictionary. My mom would hand over the note book to me and say turn to the next page. She would bring her chin forward slightly and withdraw it in a second while saying that as if she is trying to point at the page with her chin. I would do so obediently to find a number written on the next page. “2”. My mom would start off. T…W…O TWO. Gosh! The whole world would go still for me. I would not know how many numbers lie ahead of me to be conquered, but conquered they have to be. Off I start TEEEE... DOUBLEUUUU... OOOOO (WW!) TWOOOOOO (boo hoo!!!); TEEE…. AAIICH…. AAARRR…. EEEEE…. EEEEE... THREEEEEEE etc. Trust me. Those were the most difficult days of my school life. Every day was a conquest. I particularly remember one incident where one day I was writing the number 4, the most difficult number to write in the entire number system. The number I learnt to write after a humungous effort. To think of it, differential equations of the third order was comparatively easier to learn than learning to write 4. My mom was hand holding me to write the number. It was so boring that the moment my mom held my hand I would loosen the grip of my back chewed pencil. So my mom had to hold my hand, the pencil and go about writing. AAIFFFF…OOOO…UUUU…AAARR FOOOOUUR. Suddenly the phone (my savior, thank you Mr. Bell and who ever called that day) rang and mom went to attend the call. As soon as she left the place, I stopped writing. Not because I was tired, but I forgot how four would look. All these and more… sowed the seeds of hatred towards Mathematics at that tender an age. It’s a different story that I went on to do my Engineering but I still hate math.

Note: I have deliberately censored the spankings I recieved in the process. I don't want to spread violence through my blog ;-)

Judgement Day

watch
ticked
nervous
silent
hands
chilled
throat
dried
eyes
watching
mind
thinking
friends
busy
peak
preparation
clock
struck
eleven
my
turn
name
called
long
wait
feeling
bait
walking
up
walking
down
pee
then free
turn
in
questions
answers
enquiries
discussions
jokes
smiles
handshakes
confidence
out
wait
wait
wait
names
claps
smiles
hugs
joy
disappointments
anxiety
devastation
at last
Job

Thats what we call a placement week!

The Transformation

I was in midst of a Tempest,

Wandering aimlessly without any rest.

tired and famished, I needed backing,

precisely what I was lacking.

No one came for my help, not even god,

all he did was look at me and nod.

then I realized that the time has come,

better be independent, be my own chum.

I decided to tear my heart apart,

a decision even god could not thwart.

so I became heartless,

ruthless, merciless.

Here I am, a whole new man,

try stopping me if you can.

I will definitely win,

But neither will you find a mention nor a din.

The Description

The stream seemed just perfect,

pale green water darkened by the absence of sun,

flowing without a sign of turbulence,

Punctuated by wee ripples.

Escorting it on one side

Was this dusty road,

Coughing every now and then,

Spewing out grime into the atmosphere.

There was this boy emaciated,

Walking along the road side,

Also along the river side,

Clothes tattered, deep in thought.

I stood there thinking,

What could be bothering this soul?

At an age so tender,

He carries heavy a pith.

Hardly a second passed,

Thinking about the lad’s thought,

My eye balls budged,

Bringing into frame the plantain trees.

Standing on the other side of the stream,

Were these green statutes,

Waving their limbs,

As the breeze combed them.

The mynah, the sparrows,

Also I saw, busy they were,

Preparing for bed,

After, perhaps a hard days work.

I stood there watching,

Amazed at the creativity,

Of the creator,

No one to match him I thought.

I stood there having no sense of time,

Until that hand jolted me to reality,

I turned and found my friend standing besides me, smiling,

I returned his smile and exclaimed.

What a Painting!

Its Not Me...

I stood at the shore,
with the waves washing my feet,
the crimson torch lighting the horizon,
the gulls populating my surroundings.

I stared at the beach, watching
the textile textured sand turn to a strainer,
with tiny crabs coming out,
to bask in the morning sun.

Out of the empty blue,
the lower half to be precise,
I noticed tiny black dots appearing,
slowly but steadily growing in size.

As the sun climbed over my head, i saw
the dots evolved into boats,
fishermen in catamarans,
returning with their booty.

They were dark skinned and thin,
smelt of dead fish,
but were full of life,
full of gay.

Unloading their harvest onto the land,
they were all smiles seeing quintals of dead fish,
without realizing the pain
of the victim's kith and kin.

The sun by now,
began to slide down,
to take a dip in the sea-
its private theme park.

The Fishermen vanished,
so did the gulls and the crabs.
Yet, I stood there,
staring at the sea.

Dawn to Dusk,
So much has moved on the earth,
not to exclude the earth,
but for me.

As i finally made my way out of the beach,
I left my foot prints behind,
knowing very well that,
Its not going to last even for an hour.

I had no choice,
I had to,
Just like you,
reading this piece of pathetic poetry.

I can see your forehead wrinkle,
for I know you might be wondering what this story is all about,
for that matter even I don’t know ,
wrote it for the sake of writing it.

I know you would wish to kill me,
for wasting your time, testing your patience,
Don’t worry, you will never find me,
never will you get a chance even.

even if you ever find me,
and asked me about this poem(?)
I would immediately shout
Its not me! Its not me!

CHEERS!

M.Vijay

09 September 2006

3:10 am