A few weeks to graduation...

So much has come and gone, a blur,

So much of it one shall hardly miss

Yet smile we shall at the ones we do

For they were moments of such silly bliss!

From walking into foreign land

And feeling right at home so soon

And living in a home that's pure mad

Exactly like you, was the ultimate boon!

In she walked all mighty and short,

With bossiness that alcohol did douse

And sweet affection for my silly whims

And all that yummy food we cooked to gorge!

The curse of the small continued to me follow

As the pint-size 'freakishly strong' I did meet

Boy! Do I curse that ill-fated foam party

That lead to many, no wait, all that I tweet

Then life caught up as others came by

But lost in work or at least trying to be, was I

So I'll spare you details of the mad men as they be

And even of the new fantastic sights I got to see

Instead I'll speak of what is to come

Of me and life, what is to become

I might part ways with this charmed life as it be

But new joys beckon, ones I can't wait to see

Although it has been a joyride with bumps on the way

Let's move on with life Charlie, is what I'd say!

And the happy times shall stay with me for evermore

For I take them to the kids, like good old lore!

Finding India Within...

My grandmother’s father was a doctor for the British government and was a part of the underground freedom movement in the south. So I grew up listening to colorful stories from my grandmother about the era of the freedom struggle when in their own small pocket, my grandma’s friends and relatives mirrored the efforts that snowballed into the force that brought us 15^th August. My mother’s stories often spoke of the sheer vivacity of the streets of Bombay in her growing years. She told me of the wars she lived through – of how blackouts instilled such fear in all their young hearts and all the mothers in the colony would assuage the kids with the same words albeit in languages as disparate as Gujarati and Tamil. Not to be outdone, my father entered the story-telling competition in the house with vivid ball-by-ball descriptions of the 1983 world cup matches and a frame-by-frame narration of the winning moments and the celebrations thereafter.

Until 2^nd April, 2011, I thought I knew what they were talking about. Turns out, I was grossly mistaken!

For twenty-three years, I lived in a happy little suburb of Mumbai, with the definition of national integration often being read by me as a lunch of Punjabi cuisine, typical Maharashtrian snacks in the evening and a Tamilian dinner to end the day! My text-books through my schooling years did a good job of etching the details of the freedom struggle, amongst other great Indian events of the past into memory and I could throw on quite a smirk for remembering those dates right. Every Independence Day and Republic Day, I took great joy in participating in the dance-dramas being put up in school to relive our great struggle for Independence. Although, I think managing to get the centre spot in our dance troupe was my biggest challenge then. Backstreet boys and Linkin Park entered out lives then and the transition into a ‘global’ city culture swept us by. So by the time I reached the airport, passport clutched in hand, admit to a university in the States tucked safely in my pocket, the shift to Los Angeles seemed the most natural thing ever.

The sun and sand of the gorgeous Pacific coast enthralled my senses for a long while but as the sun took a break and a chilly winter hit California, an acute sense of longing for the street food and the masala movies beckoned. Being part of a college community that is home to a sizeable population of Indians, I could see the longing reflected in every direction I looked. For wont of something to fill the hole, our dormant pride in our food and language suddenly took center-stage. The Maharashtrian girl across the street took solace in speaking chaste Marathi to all who hail from Maharashtra while the Punjabi boys on the other side of campus danced the Bhangra at every party they went to. Being from Mumbai, the state divisions had been heretofore very subtle to me and felt like they were literally being etched right then, in front of my eyes in the foreign land. Telugu-speaking people took joy in trashing the Gujaratis while Tamilians all around refused to acknowledge the existence of Hindi as an Indian language.

Then arrived the dawn of the ICC Cricket World Cup 2011 and all was forgotten. As one, we held our breath as the curtain rose on one of the biggest sporting events of the year. Every news article floating online was gobbled up and hotly debated by all and sundry. In dozens, the crowd thronged to the campus to catch the screening of the opening game against Bangladesh. Every boundary drew loud cheers from the crowd and with Sehwag’s knock of 175, hearts filled with hope for surely, India had arrived… We were definitely going to win it this year for Sachin!

And so we trudged along the entire 40-odd-day saga with collective sighs and cheers… Forgotten were the newly found distinctions and all that defined us was the color blue. Come the eve of the semi-final against Pakistan and cricket mania hit fever pitch around USC. Dozens multiplied into hundreds and many of us were left without room at the screening by the Association of Indian students. Determination brought us to the gates of the screening organized by the Pakistan Students Association where ensued as fierce a match off-screen as was being fought on-screen. Every single now elicited a loud response from one half of the room. The game had crossed boundaries to bring citizens of nations known to be arch rivals together. The eve of the 2^nd of April is one that I shall never forget thus becoming a story my offspring will have to endure for ever more.

Anticipating the doubling in viewing audience, the AIS got smart and booked a much bigger area to screen the final. And we needed it. All EIGHT HUNDRED of us. And this number does not include the many having private parties at their homes or elsewhere. Every man and woman with a trace of blue in their bloody was up all night on the eve of the 2^nd, their emotions swinging between the extremes. Zaheer’s first spell drew the applause while many wished Praveen Kumar were not injured for making us endure Sreesanth. Hurried prayers and every superstition ever invented were employed in large numbers to get damned Jayawardena out in vain. Confident initial estimates of the Srilankan total being modest were clouded in doubt by the time the third batting powerplay was in progress. Anxiety colored every face when the last ball determined a total of 274 for Sri Lanka. “Do-able” but “needs caution” was the judgment before the beginning of the second innings.

Alas! Two early wickets and them being Sehwag and Tendulkar sent blood pressures to the roof for many! Every ball was precluded by palpable tension in the room with the loft by Gambhir into the hands of Kulasekara at third man nearly stopping many a pulse. As one, we sighed in relief when the catch was dropped. And then slowly and steadily, as the sheer brilliance of the match unfolded we began to hope. Although Dhoni’s early arrival at the crease saw many a furrowed brow, the captain’s knock eased the pain and even bolstered the hope. Chants of “Dhoni, Dhoni” grew louder by the minute until the forty-ninth over when it peaked at such a decibel level that non-Indians beginning to bustle around campus on a lazy Saturday morning might have had a start. The final six from the captain was lost in a cacophony of celebrations all around the room. Congratulatory wishes and hugs and clps on the back were distributed generously as a night of sleeplessness and high adrenalin culminated in a heady sense of accomplishment – we were world champions! Dear Lord me!! I had to pinch myself to make myself believe it!

And thus, ladies and gentlemen, I finally found a story of my own to narrate. It was no scintillating tale of overthrowing the British empire with non-violence nor was it a heart-wrenching tale of human compassion in the time of war. Yet, on that day, I finally understood what the freedom struggle might have been like. Every last one of us students was threatening to lose our national identity under the guise of regionalist pride. So here’s proof for all the agnostic and the fanatics – true religion is a force that unites. On 2^nd April 2011, we students found God within. We found India again.