Category Archives: STORIES

A Humble CEO

July 22, 2018 Ramu Das Leave a comment

The Digital Content Team, of which I am a part, of the company (one of the Tata companies) where I have recently joined, decided to break for lunch at 1:30 in the afternoon. We went to the cafeteria which was clean and well lighted, and full of people (employees). Some members of the team bring their lunch from their homes, while the rest of us have our lunch in the cafeteria and help in increasing its revenue, for which the south India cafeteria manager, who, I assume, is also the owner, is ever happy (as in all trade, the more the buyer, the merrier the trader).

While I was in the queue placing my order for the food and getting the plate in my hand, my team members had already found a place to sit and, having done so, had begun eating. They were surrounded by members of some other teams. At a glance round the table I saw an empty chair and was ready to sit on it, but a lady said, in a very serious manner, that someone from her team was going to come and sit on it. I moved from there and began looking for an empty chair around the tables (three or four tables connected so as to form one line), near my team members. One chair to the corner had not found an occupier yet, and I could have gone and sat there, but the problem was that a man, middle-aged, wearing spectacles (that made him look rather studious) and whose trimmed beard and moustache could tell their own stories (some being young and, therefore, black; some aged and, therefore, white), sat in between my team members and the corner seat. Two more people (a woman and a man) on the opposite side of the table seemed to be with him, having launch together. On the opposite side there was a chair but the presence of someone’s helmet on it was an indication that it was already reserved.

My movement did not go unnoticed. The man who was between my team members and the corner chair said, “Come, please, you sit here, and I will move to the corner.” He moved. I sat on the relinquished chair and it became easier for me to chitchat and have food with my team. Very soon, the man, who offered me his seat, and the two people who were having launch with him, rose from their chairs, picked up their plates to be taken near the wash basin, but no sooner did the man take a step ahead than two workers of the cafeteria hurriedly came and took the man’s plate and carried it to the wash basin (though the man insisted he would do it). I wondered who the man was. After he was gone, I asked one of my team members who the person was. I was told that the person’s name was Avijit Mitra, the CEO and the MD of the company! (And, oh, to think, because of me, while he was lunching, he had to get up and take a different chair!).

I have seen many CEOs but never have I seen a CEO as humble as he. If he wanted he could have had food brought to him in his cabin, he could have had spent as much money as he wanted and eat the most expensive and the most exotic food every day, but there he was, one among the others, taking delight in having the same food. As he talks to people (which I have seen him doing), he talks with a great deal of respect, and his voice is always low (clearly audible though) and sweet. He is a product of the Tata culture, and it shows. Though I wasn’t aware of who he was, but my first encounter with him made me believe that humility can surely make you rich (rich in many senses) and worthy of respect, from one and all.

SATIRE AND HUMOR, STORIES

Keep Your Voice Down!

March 6, 2018 Ramu Das Leave a comment

“Keep your voice down!” a woman in my neighbourhood shouted. She was telling this to some of her family members – husband, son, daughter, or whoever – in her flat.

Once again she cried: “I said lower your voice, stupid!”

But maybe that did not work, for in the next thirty seconds she exclaimed at the top of her voice: “You, I said lower your voice, don’t you understand it, you!”

This went on for a while. The woman’s voice resounded in the whole building. It was nighttime, around 11:30. Most people were quite. Another neighbour was playing some mournful Hindi song in his/her phone. But, because of the woman’s shouting the sound from the phone died down. The only thing that could be heard for a full ten minute was the woman’s voice asking someone to keep that someone’s voice down. But not even a faint sound came from that someone. All one could hear was “lower your voice” or “keep your voice down” from the woman.

STORIES

Be Careful of Cats, Particularly Black Cats

May 8, 2017 Ramu Das Leave a comment

My grandmother had no affection for my lovely feline friends. She had a particular and a serious dislike for one such friend of mine that had a dark complexion. This jolly good friend had often found a way to enter my house in search of food and, if I may say so, love. I liked it immensely and named it Darkie. For giving such a name, I could have been accused of being a racist, I could have been tried in a court of law as well, but it was a cat and I knew cats could file no law suit; all they can do is say ‘meow!’ So every time I called Darkie by its name, it meowed!

The dark complexion of the cat, said my grandmother, was a sign of pure evil. To get some attention when Darkie came to me and purred and rubbed its body against my legs, my grandmother would say that the cat was cursing me in its language, that it was spreading its nefarious power over me, and that something bad would now befall me. She used to scold me whenever I had walked past a path that the cat had crossed before me. She used to say that I must call the names of all the gods and goddesses before I dare to take a step ahead. “But, granny,” I had objected, “the cat is going its way, and I, mine.”

She did not like the way I gave my time and attention to Darkie and she made faces and said that I had no respect for her, that I was arrogant for not heeding the words of a wise old woman. I knew, like any other cat, Darkie had a heart as well, and I could vouch for the fact that Darkie had a heart of gold. But my grandma said that if Darkie had a heart at all, it would be darker than its complexion!

My grandmother was unreformable. Her beliefs and opinions, though superstitious, were strongly held and she had lived with her opinions for over 80 years, so any newfangled idea hardly mattered to her. Before my grandmother bid adieu to the world, her last piece of advice for me was: “Be careful of cats, particularly black cats.”

SATIRE AND HUMOR, STORIES

Big Brother Is Watching You!

January 9, 2017 Ramu Das Leave a comment

Do you have an elder brother? What is he like? Conservative and dominating or friendly and humble? If you have an elder brother who is conservative and dominating, I feel pity for you as much as I feel pity for myself. If your brother, on the other hand, is friendly and humble, I will congratulate you, for you have a gem of a brother.

In India, as in the other parts of the world I assume, elder brothers are given great importance. Well, they may not be given as much importance as we give to our father and mother, however in the absence of our parents, the elder brothers (or sisters) play the role of one.

Now, from time to time – that is, on special occasions (which, I must submit, are rare in my case) – I like to indulge in a little drinking. Many people find it difficult to spend their time without imbibing a little on the night of 31^st December (the night of the nights). A few days prior to 31^st December, friends and neighbours start asking what your plans are for the 31^st. When a neighbour asked me the same question, I replied to him saying that I was not doing anything much; I would just sit quietly in my room and have a glass or two of wine and have something to eat with it. My neighbour wanted to say something but he was holding back. At last, when he could hold back no longer, he wished his desire to have a drink with me in my room. That was the 31^st of December and I wanted to say goodbye to the year in a high spirit and welcome the coming year with even more enthusiasm. I could have denied my neighbour to have a drink with me by giving some excuses, but then I thought what’s the harm in having a company who will only make the environment livelier while I drink? So, I said that he was welcome. He asked me whether I would mind if he brought in a friend of his. I said I would not. He seemed delighted to hear that. He informed me that he would join me in a few minutes.

After a while, he came to my room. Along with him came his friend and (well, yes, one more person) his brother. I looked at them, they looked at me. I was just about to say, “come, feel at home and make yourself comfortable,” but they did it voluntarily and I saved my words. The neighbour had something in his hand that was wrapped in plastic. When I asked him what it was, he placed it on the table and started unwrapping the plastic and said: “See for yourself, homie.” It was a bottle of Whiskey.

I sat on my chair. The neighbour and his friend sat on two chairs near me, while the neighbour’s brother lay down on the sofa (he didn’t join us). I had prepared salad and made omelette to eat while drinking. The neighbour suddenly had an idea and asked us to wait a few seconds till he returned. The sudden idea of the neighbour was a mystery to me. After about five minutes the neighbour returned and with him he brought a few pieces of fried chicken. “Excellent stuff!” he exclaimed. His friend gave a half smile and his brother seemed sad and occupied with some thoughts.

I had my wine with me. The neighbour and his friend drank Whisky (which I found too strong due to its high alcohol content) and chew on the chicken pieces. The neighbour’s brother looked at us all the while and I thought he wanted to join us. “Come, join us,” I said. But he did not come. I did not know what was stopping him from doing so.

I asked the neighbour: “Doesn’t your brother drink?”

“He does or he does not,” said the neighbour, “I can’t say for sure.”

“Oh,” I said, “he is a good guy unlike us.”

“He is or he is not,” said the neighbour, “I can’t say for sure.”

As we were drinking, suddenly, once again, the neighbour got an idea and he excused himself and said he will come back soon. Right after he moved out of my room, the neighbour’s friend locked the room in a hurry and then what had to happen, did happen. The neighbour’s brother jumped from the sofa and sat right in the chair where his brother was. He poured a glass full of Whiskey and offered his thanks to some god, dipped his little finger in the glass of Whiskey, sprinkled a few droplets and, without even mixing water, he emptied the glass at one gulp. “The chicken,” he said and he had one piece, thereafter he had many more. His elder brother never came back and, after a while, after thanking me a thousand times, the neighbour’s brother and his friend went tipsy topsy out of my room.

STORIES, VIEWS AND OPINIONS

Thank you, 2015!

December 31, 2015 Ramu Das 6 Comments

You have been hard on me, you have been soft on me, you were sometimes neutral, you discouraged me, you encouraged me, you were kind, you were cruel, you gave me things I asked for, you gave me that which I never wanted – you, in short, were a year of contradictions, but most of all, you have made me mature, you have sharpened my senses; you have made me a stronger, better… for all this and more I will ever be grateful to you.

P.S.: I am happy!

STORIES, VIEWS AND OPINIONS

When You Are In Love

October 4, 2015 Ramu Das 6 Comments

True love is hard to find. Once found, there is nothing like it – it is complete bliss! Love makes the world go round, don’t you know.

To a lover, in the beginning, – yes, I will be talking only about the beginning stage of love, for, you see, gracious reader, I am a beginner myself – no one in the world seems as important as his/her lover. When you find your special one, friends’ friendship does not remain as strong as it were before; brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers, relatives seem, all of sudden, secondary. Lovers’ love becomes the top-notch objective; lovers’ interest comes before anybody else’s.

It may seem strange to others, as it once seemed to me, how lovers often confine their worlds around each other; how upon the slightest utterance of one lover’s name the other brightens up, becomes somewhat restless, blushes. The way one lover takes care of the other, it seems to a lover, no other can do. The loverly love is divine (or so, a lover finds).

Everything to a third person may seem ridiculous, but only a lover knows love’s power. You must fall in love to know this, this peculiarity of lovers; what feelings/thoughts one lover evokes in the other.

Newly in love – my love, I ought to say, is true to the core – I feel elated and excited. I could not have gotten any other person as good as the person I have found. I love her for what she is, and she reciprocates. The woman I am in love with is the woman I am going to marry. I am not married yet, you see, neither is she married (you may verify this bit of information if you like, ha-ha!), so I believe we were destined to know each other; now I have come too far and I cannot think of not marrying her, and, of course, I cannot allow my mind, not even remotely, to think she would not be mine. Love is ours, and our solid emotional investment must bear fruit (veterans, don’t discourage me by some stupid funny quotes like this one: “A man in love is incomplete until he has married. Then he’s finished.”). Our relationship is going great. In most of my waking hours I think of her, and, she tells me, she does the same. I feel lucky to be in love with her. She is, in more ways than one, better than me. But we don’t really make any comparisons. Our love is unconditional. Love makes a person humble. We stop being headstrong and learn to compromise wherever necessary. We crack silly jokes and laugh at them too. In short, I am happy with the way things are going; I am happy with my love life. I have learnt to be selfless, and now I am more concerned about her happiness than mine. I know if she is happy I will be happy.

More often than not, lovers are possessive about each other. My roommate often quarrels with his girlfriend (lover). They have a long-distance relationship; he stays in west side of the country and she in the northeast. They call up each other every day and speak for hours and hours. With them every petty issue slowly turns in to a major problem, and, when helpless, my roommate comes to me for advice and suggestions as though I am a love guru or something of that sort. Just the other day he had a long argument with his girlfriend. In the morning, he sent her some messages on WhatsApp and although she saw his messages but he got no reply from her. He saw her online and yet she did not respond to his messages. He was enraged at this. He called her up, her phone was busy; she was talking with someone, but who? At this thought he was further enraged. Every now and then when he comes to me with his complaints I try to console him as much as possible. Earlier, when I was not in love, I used to find this outburst of emotions unreasonable and superfluous. Now that I am in love I know this outburst of emotions is reasonable and genuine.

If you are not in love you would not know what feelings lovers have, why they are possessive about each other, why they act and react the way they do. You would know this and more when you are in love!

I like this song and I dedicate this song to my love, my dear Moon (by the way, Moon is her name), and to all other lovers like me:

SATIRE AND HUMOR, STORIES

The Old Man’s Spectacles

September 19, 2015 Ramu Das 3 Comments

Today, just like any other day, while I was travelling, I witnessed a furious commotion in the bus. A guy of about 23 years or thereabouts was standing (for there were no empty seats) in the bus and lost his balance when all of sudden the bus jerked. He did not know where his hands or legs were going; his right hand grabbed an iron bar while his left hand clutched one arm of an old man’s spectacles and the spectacles came undone from the old man and fell where the bus driver sat.

Though the driver’s eyes were on the road ahead but somehow he saw where the old man’s spectacles fell, and while his right hand steered the bus, with his left hand he picked up the spectacles and cried, “Hey, hey! Take this!” The old man, possibly in his mid-sixties, with great effort reached the driver and the driver handed the spectacles to its rightful owner.

While the old man was doing a thorough examination of his spectacles, the young man (the guy of 23 or thereabouts) said sorry to the old man. “Sorry,” repeated the old man, “is that a medicine!”

“Old man,” the young man said, “do not grumble. Said sorry, na.”

“Hutt,” said the old man, “what a world! Throw my spectacles and say sorry!”

“You old man!” the young man shouted, “shut your ugly mouth, or do you want me to help shut it for you.”

The old man’s pride was hurt, but he was scared (perhaps his age was keeping him from fighting back). For a few seconds he did not say anything, but after a few more seconds the old man muttered something under his breath. No one heard what the old man said. Then, dissatisfied, he sighed. “But if it were broken,” the old man began, a little louder so that others could hear; “if it were broken, I would have gotten him to buy me a new one as compensation.”

“Buy you a new one, my foot!” said the rowdy young man. “Keep your spectacles at home if you are so concerned about it,” he added. It seemed the old man used the conditional statement keeping no one in mind in particular and keeping everyone in mind in general. But the young man felt, and was certain, that the old man was challenging him, and only him. “No,” continued the young man, “even if it had been broken, you would not have received any compensation, at least not from me, though I do not know about all the other cowards here.”

In his excitement and bravado, the young man had made a big mistake. He called everyone coward. It was a golden opportunity for the old man to get his lost pride back. “Brothers and sisters, sons and daughters,” the old man raised his voice, “are you all cowards? Is that so?”

“Hey you!” said a well-built man, pointing finger at the young man, “I am not a coward.” Then many voices were heard. Unanimously everyone claimed that they were not cowards. Everyone attacked the old man to prove they were not cowards.

STORIES

No More Procrastination!

December 28, 2014 Ramu Das 3 Comments

H-h-he-he-he-lo-lo-hello! I‘m a-a-al-l-l-li-v-e-aliveee! Excuse my stutter I’m begging you; it is extremely cold out here, you have to understand.

Well, I am not sure if anyone wants to know whether I am alive or not, but I surely want to tell everyone that I am. But, wait, what’s that I hear…

Hmm, dear reader, you say that you care for me, that you are happy to see me back, and what’s more, you say you have never been happier in your life than you are today because you are reading this. Fantastic! I never thought you hold me in such high esteem. You have made my day. Dear reader, I love you.

There comes a time in a person’s life when he cannot do anything but procrastinate. I, too, am a person (and you have to believe it), so all this while I have procrastinated, and I was informed by many people (near and dear ones, mostly) that I have successfully qualified in becoming a master procrastinator. I want to pursue this activity of procrastination a little longer, as I came to like it very much, but I am not allowed to do that, because if I further procrastinate I will upset some members of my family, and infuriate the rest.

From now on then, I say, if I have to do something, by all means, I will do it. I will do it, that’s it! But if by any chance I am unable to keep my words, I shall forgive myself.

SATIRE AND HUMOR, STORIES

The Day I killed a Sparrow

September 22, 2014 Ramu Das 2 Comments

I smell some fish somewhere. Where? That I need to find out, of course, and how carefully and intelligently I find that out will astonish you my friend, astonish you. Okay, I don’t want to waste my time telling you all about my plans. But, on a serious note what I am going to talk about now will horripilate you my friend, horripilate you.

This happened yesterday as my benefactor lazed on a chair the whole afternoon, quite ill at ease, how suddenly then with the flutter of its wings a sparrow perched upon the railings of my window, my window, mind you!

It noticed me. At first I did not mean to do anything, no harm intended really. So I stood where I was, licking my body and making my skin shiny and silky and then scraping my benefactor’s boots with my strong and sharp claws, making my claws even sharper and stronger. The sparrow did not move an inch farther. “Is it not intimidated looking at my good self?” I thought. Perhaps not, I realized. “How I scared the hell out of that crow the other day, and this tiny creature here would not move an inch.”

So I straightened and puffed up my body to seem bigger and stronger than I really was. The bird shrugged its body, and then let its droppings fall on my benefactor’s cloths. “How dare you!” said I as loud as I could, “this means war!”

The fool of a bird nodded its head. “Hell and damnation!” cried I, my bloodshot eyes were now fully fixed on the bird and I growled and hissed. Just then did the bird tremble with fear and began flying away, but with utmost dexterity and agility I leaped high up in the air and caught the bird by its neck, killed it, and ate it.

But with great sadness I have to tell you that just as the deed was done, my benefactor grabbed my tail and reprimanded me and went on to slap me hard in the face. “What on earth have you done?” cried he. Then, looking at my bloody mouth and the feathers of the bird scattered beside me, he answered his own question: “Killed a bird, oh, a sparrow!”

He preached at great length the advantages of living together in peace and harmony and made me promise never to kill any living being on earth, not even a mouse.

SATIRE AND HUMOR, STORIES

My Cat Says “Meow!”

July 28, 2014 Ramu Das 4 Comments

True indeed, animals have feelings and they express their feelings by different ways, for instance, a dog wags its tail when it is happy, a cat purrs to show its affection or when it wants affection shown to it.

I have a cat (had a dog as well but it died quite an unnatural death). One day, and which, I think, was the day before yesterday, this cat of mine went missing. Making complete use of my eyes and body I looked here, I moved here, I looked there, I moved there, and I looked everywhere where my eyes could see and body could move, but the cat was nowhere to be seen.

Has the cat gone away? Have I lost it? Has someone stolen it? I thought. These thoughts saddened me greatly; heaven knows how dear to me my cat is. Then, determined, I ventured out at… hmmm… the time? Oh, I have no clue what time it was, but this much I can say that the night was pitch black and much heavy rains did fall that night.

Several times I called my cat by its name. No answer did I get in reply – no, not even once. Now I was fully wet with the rain water, but I cared less about whether I was wet or not, for I was more concerned about my cat. An hour had passed away. Then, in the same manner as we turn off the key of the tap when we no longer want water, how suddenly the rains ceased falling as though the gods turned off some key, and everything was quite.

I have never been to the terrace of our building. I had no business there and I was not curios to know what might be there. However, that day when I was looking for my cat, for the first time, I felt it was necessary to go up the stairs and reach the terrace, for I have explored my vicinity in search of my cat, but having no luck, I thought of what remained unexplored, and at the flash of a second I got the answer: the terrace.

Curse my luck, rarely do we face power cut, and further I must say, on the day I went looking for my cat, I realized it was one such rare days. “But I am young and strong and all,” said I to myself, out loud, “being young and strong, who can stop me from climbing a ten-story building!” Thus, I displayed tremendous zeal and reached the peak of our building. And lo and behold! There was my darling cat, but she was not alone, someone was with her, er, what do you call, er… her boyfriend! My cat, upon seeing me, greeted me with a meow, came close to me and started purring (and she said to me, “Master mine, this fellow here is my soul mate.)”. Then, her boyfriend, taking a hint from her, greeted me and started purring as well. “Blessed be thou!” I said to them, and both the cats started purring and mewing at the same time.

STORIES

The Love Song

July 18, 2014 Ramu Das 7 Comments

A poet once wrote a love song and it was beautiful. And he made many copies of it, and sent them to his friends and his acquaintances, both men and women, and even to a young woman whom he had met but once, who lived beyond the mountains.

And in a day or two a messenger came from the young woman brining a letter. And in the letter she said, “Let me assure you, I am deeply touched by the love song that you have written to me. Come now, and see my father and my mother, and we shall make arrangements for the betrothal.”

And the poet answered the letter, and he said to her, “My friend, it was but a song of love out of a poet’s heart, sung by every man to every woman.”

And she wrote again to him saying, “Hypocrite and lair in words! From this day unto my coffin-day I shall hate all poets for your sake.”

By Kahlil Gibran

STORIES

I Am My Grandfather

April 24, 2014 Ramu Das 5 Comments

The life of a Salesman ain’t easy. Should you be one you will certainly know what it is to be a Salesman. You will know how difficult it is to earn and make ends meet. After a hard day’s labour, and having been abused by my boss for not meeting my sales target, I decided to leave the job once and for all.

By the time I reached home, everyone in my house, except my father who was not home yet, were asleep. It was quite late in the night. I did not have the appetite to eat anything, so I skipped dinner, which my mother laid on a plate in the table.

I lay in my bed, trying to catch some sleep, but sleep seemed quite a foreign thing to me. I shifted a little to the right, and a little to the left. I did everything I could but by no means could I fall asleep. Then I curled and squeezed myself under my blanket, and lay in the bed absolutely motionless, pretending to have fallen asleep.

I heard some noise. The source of the noise was my father. He was in a drunken state, and was blabbering something, as he entered the house. “All sleeping!” he yelled. “Have you all nothing to do but sleep, sleep and sleep?”

I thought his question would fall on deaf ears, but I was wrong. My mother was not asleep, after all. Or perhaps it was the noise that woke her up. “Oh, yes,” said my mother, and sighed a sigh of exasperation. “Yes,” she resumed, “we have nothing to do but sleep, sleep and sleep, and you have nothing better to do than drink, drink, and drink.” An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth is the policy between my mom and dad.

My father came to my room; he wanted to wake me up. He pulled the blanket from me and instead of saying Rohan, – which, by the way, is my name – he said Pop, which is the name by which my grandfather was known in the family, who passed away some years ago. “My God! My God!” my father cried, “Pop, it is you. Where have you been, Pop? And where is my son, Rohan?”

I know what it is when a person is fully drunk, so to cut the whole damn thing short, I said, “Dad, I have no time for all this nonsense. Go back to your room and sleep, and leave me alone if you will.” I had a bad day. I was worried about what was going to become of me. The prospect of finding a job was pretty dim; it concerned me a great deal, now that I don’t have a job.

“But Pop,” said my father, “why are you calling me Dad?” I acted as if I did not hear what he had said. Had I made any interaction with him at that point of time, he could have gone on speaking till the morning and he would have tried to find some point in all pointless things. He mumbled something for a few minutes, and then he went back to his room.

My restlessness was gone, and somehow, I slept. I have the habit of rising with the sun, no matter how late I sleep in the night. I went to the bathroom and washed my face. Then I looked in the mirror, and – oh my god! – what an unsettling sight presented itself before my eyes. It was not my face any longer; my grandfather was staring at me. “Hey Rohan, it’s me, Pop,” he said, and then and there I fainted.

STORIES, VIEWS AND OPINIONS

Woeful Plight of a Man: Oh, the Screaming and Shouting!

October 9, 2013 Ramu Das 4 Comments

At your tender age your parents and elders (who consider themselves grownups, and who rightly are) scream and shout at you for the tiniest of faults they find in you. They are at liberty to do so, and at times their screaming and shouting do make sense, however, at other times they simply don’t.

But most of the times, all they tend to do is nothing but exaggerate every little mistake you make, and at other times, they blame you for something that is not your fault at all, and as a consequence you, who are the victim, suffer the consequence, as victims always suffer consequences. You have the impulse to do something different, yet you hesitate to do any such thing, for you know you will be condemned for anything contrary to your elders wish. Their wishes are law for you. You learn to suppress your feelings, for if you do not you might as well be bulldozed by the ones capable of bulldozing you. You accept, though not at all inclined to accept, that the fault is yours.

Your parents send you to school, and then, as you grow older, seeing you willing to learn more, they send you to college, and in such a place your teachers not only teach you by sweet words, but also by screaming and shouting if need be. Question their methods and chances are you will be thrown out of the classroom.

You complain you don’t like the education system; you say you don’t want to learn like a parrot, but would prefer to think out of the box; you complain your betel-nut chewing lecturers are incompetent and that they don’t know or understand what they teach, and so on and so forth your complaints are never-ending, but to such complaints not a soul pays heed, because you complain to yourself, a monologue that is. You keep everything within you. You don’t want to be rusticated. Your parents are poor; they can’t afford to send to you to some Ivy League institutes. They are doing their best, they can’t do any better. Take it or leave it. Something is better than nothing, you take it.

Amidst the screaming and shouting you have now become an able-bodied young man. You think you need to earn money, you want to be independent and do something. You want your parents to be proud of you, you want to see them smiling. It is not just money that you care about, you want respect. Your parents have told you if you don’t study and do well in your exams you will not get a good job, or money, or respect. Your teachers have done their job and made you job-ready, they told you learn only to earn, but you didn’t quite agree, yet you agreed anyway.

Finally, you got a job. Though you didn’t get it easily, but your hardship is known only to you. Unknown phone numbers flash on your cell phone, the owners of such numbers claim to be your relatives, you don’t know if they really are, but not to be disrespectful you speak with them and be as polite as you can. They congratulate you for all your successes before finally coming to the point: they want money, and if possible accommodation with you in your flat, for they have made up their mind to move to the city where now you live. They fancied living in the city you live in, and doing things people in the city do, but due to the absence of a relative like yourself they had to put a halt to all their fancies. But, here you are, a messiah to your folk.

At office, your boss let you overwork, but pay nothing for the extra work done. Your boss is concerned about one thing and one thing only: revenue! That boss of yours is the most shrewd and selfish man you have ever come across. He is one brute of a man.

You slog and never raise your voice for things you don’t like, for such a rash act on your part will mean that you lose your job. You don’t want to lose this job. You need money for survival and, mind you, you have more mouth than one to feed. Jobs are not in plentiful in the market. No; you can’t risk losing your job. So you stay mum, and allow all your bosses, for you have more than one, to scream and shout at you for more numbers, for more revenue. Don’t achieve your targets (numbers) and your bosses, all of them, will bully you.

The job you do is not an easy job by any means. Job for a common man like you will never be easy; the easy jobs are reserved for different section of the society. Knowing the fact fully well you don’t grumble at the any of the inconveniences you face every day.

You are married. Your wife is beautiful. Yours was an arrange marriage, your parents fixed it for you; love marriage was not a kind of thing you ever succeeded at; don’t forget, every time you proposed to a girl, you always took no for an answer. You are such a man that no girl understood your feelings, or cared for you even a little. But, your beautiful wife cares for you and you are happy for the same, and you care for her. You truly love each other.

You fathered two children: Lion, you named your son, and Tigress, you called your daughter. Though, you could call them by different names, but being an animal lover you preferred the two names, at least you call them so at home. You do everything for Lion and Tigress, but as they grow in proportion of body, they taunt you for the lack of something or the other, and like the wild lion and tigress of the jungle they throw tantrums at you. You regret naming them Lion and Tigress.

You start aging. You have worked for 40 years. Your hair becomes partially grey, then white. You are not as agile as you were. You have put on weight; your children, when they pay you an occasional visit once a year or twice a year, complain that you are too healthy and you are slow and clumsy.

You want to enjoy retirement, alas, you being you can never enjoy; your life is meant for hurdles. Not a penny do your children give you; in your lifetime you never saved a penny, of course, circumstances never allowed you to save any. Your only saving grace is the money that comes from you pension fund.

The old man at the table (Photo credit: arartplatform)

Your wife left the world. Now, you wait; wait for perfect time to leave everything behind, escape the screaming and shouting, go away, far away from the maddening crowd. You want to fall asleep, not an ordinary sleep this time, but a sleep from which you never wish to awake.

STORIES

When It Rains

June 16, 2013 Ramu Das 6 Comments

I walk from home for office. I stretch my neck and look up toward the sky. It’s dark and cloudy. Today, it might rain, I think. I have been thinking the same for the past few days. I look for my umbrella but it is nowhere in sight. It has been a year that I made any use of it and god knows where it is. Maybe I can buy a brand new umbrella, but I ain’t got no time for it. I don’t want to be late in my office once again like I was yesterday; I’m least inclined to receive a piece of the senior manager’s mind.

Now I’m in my office’s premises. Just as I’m about to go onto the elevator, so it can carry me to the fifth floor where my office is, the sky roars with all its might and gives me a start. It is going to rain, now I’m dead certain. The sky didn’t roar this season until today.

Upon reaching my desk, I pull the chair from behind the desk and switch on the computer system. The computer glows, I look out the window, and what I see brightens me up: it’s raining, and it’s raining ferociously.

Tip, tip, tip, comes the sound of falling rain. It’s falling incessantly – tip, tip, tip – and I know it won’t stop any time sooner. The rain bangs the windowpane of my cabin aggressively. I open the window a little and a few drops of rain falls on my trousers, soaking it wet.

Now, I am visible to my colleagues and a broad smile comes on their faces as well as on my face. As they pass by my desk, they greet me with ‘hi’ and ‘hello’ and I greet them back. On full swing I continue my 9 hours shift and time slips away so swiftly that now I’m ready to go back home.

By the same lift I go down to the ground floor, but lo, what with the roads covered with water all over up to my knees! No passenger vehicle is visible to me, and as I said earlier I got no umbrella to protect me from the rain.

Why, I wonder, should there be a winter vacation and a summer vacation, and no vacation during the rainy days? What would be nicer than spending the rainy days with a cup of tea to sip and some good books to read! So heavenly it would be to spend the rainy days listening to the most melodious of music, or watching the best of movies, and I would prefer silence as much as all other things. Why, at all, do I have to go to office and work! “Money!” cries the heart. Yes, how else will I fill the stomach?

I’m waiting under the cover of a shop for the rain to thin out a little so I can step ahead and walk homeward. It will take at the most 15 minutes for me to reach home paddling. I wait for the rain to thin out. I wait. Two hours have passed; the rain isn’t falling as ferociously as before, now it’s just drizzling. At this hour, that is to say, midnight, the road is empty. I’m the solitary walker, save for a few cars running on and off.

With great difficulty, I walk the road, and now I climb up the steps to my room. I insert the key in the keyhole of the lock and grab the knob of the door and push it. Duh, what is this I see?! The floor is full of water (at least five inches high), where did it come from I cannot tell for sure. As I touch the mattress of my bed, I observe its dampness. Perhaps I can find some leaks somewhere in the ceiling of my room, and if I am successful in doing that, I promise, I wouldn’t hesitate not to pay a month’s rent to the property owner. And, if the owner of the flat tries to act tough, I will blow his head… just kidding.

STORIES

He Will Be Back Sooner Rather Than Later.

May 14, 2013 Ramu Das 5 Comments

Hello lads and ladies!

This man who has been writing all the silly posts on this blog for some time now has something to say to you all. Lend him your ears for another moment, if you will, as you have done so in the past. Or else you stand a chance to call him a broken-hearted man. I’m sure you wouldn’t like that. All he asks of you is to pay him a little attention. That’s it, nothing more. Of course, you people are kind-hearted; I must be busted for assuming anything otherwise.

The fella says he will be away for a month or two. He deems it is necessary to let you know where he is going, for he cares for you, for he wants to keep his readership on this blog active, and when he comes back and writes some more silly posts he wishes to see the amazing people, as he has seen so far, come and embellish the blog as much as they can.

So, where is the fella going anyway? He has been craving to see and hug his parents. He wants to spend some time – some memorable time that he can cherish forever – with them. It has been a long time that he is keeping away from them. It is the nature of his work that forces him to stay away from them; it is not something that he wishes for, but he knows life calls for many kinds of compromises.

He makes you a promise and he means it: it won’t be long before he comes back and once again write some more silly posts. His intention is, and always has been, to entertain you, if not to enlighten you. He plans to explore some famous parts of Northeast India, Nagaland and Assam most preferably, which he calls home. He intends to visit the Kaziranga National Park and click some photos of everything wild and beautiful. Not just that, he would, in fact, click photos of anything and everything that interests him. He hopes his Eastman Kodak Camera would justify the clarity of the photos. He completely trusts his camera in that matter!

So, dear readers, fellow-bloggers, and anonymous visitors do stay tuned. Your friend will be back sooner rather than later.

STORIES

This Is Not Goodbye

February 26, 2013 Ramu Das 8 Comments

Tick-tock, tick-tock moves the handle of the clock

“Wait,” you implore, “just a second, please.”

You keep pleading; of you time will make a mock

The handle moves on, no matter you are that or this.

I’m trying not to trifle away my last few days of college life. They are precious. The lecturers keep shouting and screaming all the time that the students need to read, read and read a little more. I read all the time, but everything apart from the college textbooks. And this doesn’t go well with the lecturers. My parents have no clue of what I do. They are happy with everything I do. But, it is high time that I put aside all those books unrelated to my curriculum and do something about the upcoming exam that I’m going to face.

Every time I look at my bookcase, I feel pity for the untouched textbooks prescribed by the University of Mumbai. The books are now catching my eyes, poor things. They are dying for the want of a reader. If they had life in them and mouth to speak, I’m sure they would have threatened me for being a bad owner and for not taking proper care of them. The dust accumulated in their covers can surely be used to block a river.

My friends in the college believe in consuming all the details of such books as though the books were some energy drink for them. At least for a short time, I think, I should follow their path and be a part of the rat race. I have to, as long as I’m a college student. My life in the present college is going to end shortly.

Dear fellow-bloggers, this is not good-bye, I shall be back by the first week of May. My parents always say: “Never say goodbye”. Say: “see you”. Therefore, dear friends, I will catch up with your posts once I’m back, till then, happy blogging. See you all!

STORIES

And Finally the Results!

January 20, 2013 Ramu Das 12 Comments

Wow, what a week it had been! First we had our annual fest and then there was the eggjam’s result.

The twin-brothers (called so and so) who are my close friends in the college had scared me by creating a fake site which showed our eggjam’s results when the results were not yet declared by Mumbai University. The brother who was elder to the other by seven minutes put his eggjam’s seat number on that site in his phone (of course, the phone had internet connection), and it showed he had passed the eggjam, he started grinning. Then, he put another number, this time his brother’s, it, too, showed he too had passed.

Then he asked me what my seat number was, I told him, and much to my disbelieve and dismay, the result showed that I had failed. I felt a pounding in my head. But it took me sometime to realize that it was a fake site, that is, when the twins could not bear with my pitiful lamentation they admitted that the real results were not yet out. “Screw you, both!” I blurted out in anger, and they laughed, and I laughed as well.

The next day, however, as we were gratefully enjoying the concert – the famous Indian Rock Band called “Agnee” was rocking the stage with their fantastic music, they were invited to perform for our college as a part of the annual fest – at night, the twin brothers had once again informed me, glancing at their cell phone that the results were out. “No more pranks,” I declared.

“No, it’s the real result, I swear,” said one of the twins, very earnestly.

“Oh, the real result, eh? I said mockingly, and then added, “Don’t want to know what it is.” I was really not ready to play yesterday’s prank, moreover, I was fully engrossed with one of Agnee’s famous number (“Sadho Re”), and which was also one of my favorite song.

Agnee, oh what a band it is! They played with such melody that I felt I should not be bothered by anyone while listening to their tracks. It was live. Opportunities may hardly come twice. But the stubborn twins were determined to know what my number was: “C’mon! Tell us your seat number, dude?”

I was still cynical, “Oh, if you so care, why don’t you check yours first?”

“Beg your pardon, but we have already done it, and we both have passed.”

“Oh la la, passed! Just like yesterday, eh?” The cynical me was saying that. “I gave the number yesterday; don’t you guys remember what it was?”

“No, we don’t. It’s your result, what do we care! Don’t say what your number is, and no one would tell ye right away if ye have passed or not.” That was one of the twins, giving me a kind of emotional demand. Suddenly, I became curios, and made my willingness known to them, “Yes, I want to know the result,” I said. “Without minding if it was fake or real,” that I did not say as both the brothers were getting sentimental. “You want my number, so be it!” I said and gave them the number.

“Dude, you have passed!” exclaimed both the brothers with enthusiasm.

“Oh, have I?” My sarcasm was hidden somewhere within myself. Ah, at least they didn’t say that I had failed like they did yesterday.

“Yes, yes, you have, and we have. Now, we must party!” suggested both the twins.

“And who is throwing the party?” I enquired.

“You are, aren’t you?”

“Who? Me? ha-ha! You see, I have a hole in my purse, and everything I had in it, has fallen down. Everything is lost, you see.” That was my way of telling them that I wasn’t paying a penny for anything.

“No problem, we will, we will. After all, we are the sons of a big gun.” That came from one of the twins, a sarcastic remark indeed.

“Well, well, there you said it. Canteen or some other place?”

“Canteen, of course,” said one of the more sensible, miser brother, because eatables in canteen were much cheaper than any other hotels nearby.

“Saving money, eh?” I cajoled them to go somewhere else, but to no avail.

I was still not sure if the brothers were lying about the results or speaking the truth, so right after coming back home, I opened Mumbai University’s site, and I inserted my seat number into a box, and there it was, my result. It said: “You have passed. Congratulations!”

Now, I have one more semester, and one more eggjam coming up in the month of April, and then I can call myself a graduate. After all, I can say, Mumbai University is not that bad.

STORIES

Viva’s over!

January 12, 2013 Ramu Das 8 Comments

At first, the management of my college wanted the students to finish and submit the project, which every final year students had to compulsorily write, by the 24^th of December 2012. But then they postponed it to 26^th of December. And on the 8^th of January, 2013, we faced the Viva.

For those who do not know what a Viva is, let me say: Viva or Viva Voce is a spoken examination held at the end of a University Course. A good friend of mine had in one of his comments on one of my post asked me if I could write about the Viva once it is conducted, and I said I would be glad to do that. I am writing this here not just because that friend had asked me to, but because I know I need to write something. It’s not going to be everything but just the synopsis.

I wrote a project titled “Making Corporate Governance Meaningful”. The copy consists of seventy-nine pages (leaving aside pages numbered in Roman).

Corporate Governance, in simple words, means the systems, principles and processes by which a company is directed and controlled.

Globalization is the most current and demanding arenas where corporations have to define and legitimate the ‘right or wrong’ of their behavior. A lot of issues emerge in the process relating to cultural, legal and accountability. However, serious efforts have been directed at overhauling the system. Every day we read in the papers about corporate scandals, government failure, etc. A corporate scandal is a scandal involving allegations of unethical behavior by people acting within or on behalf of a corporation. Corporate scandals sometimes involve accounting fraud of some sort. If we happen to look at the list of corporate scandals around the world and particularly in India, the list can go and on, and it is startling!

Therefore, ethics can play a crucial role in making corporate governance meaningful. There should be a moral responsibility, which need not be necessarily taught, but it is something that comes from within oneself. Many everyday business activities require the maintenance of basic ethical standards, such as honesty, trustworthiness and cooperation. One must know the difference between vice and virtue. One must not think that the shareholders’ interest means the interest of all, nor can one compromise the rights of other stakeholders. Failure in Corporate Governance is a real threat to the future of every corporation; therefore, the auditing standard has to be improved. Auditing should comply with international standards.

Well, yes I had to refer some books while writing this, and I had to simply copy some of the things, because somebody has already written about the subject, and I had to simply reproduce that. How can I change something that really is! All my classmates did the same, but they, very shamefully, directly copied everything from other peoples’ project report.

If you simply type a certain topic on Google you get it. There are already a lot of project reports in PDF format over the internet which my friends easily access, and they very easily change the original author’s name, and copy-and-past, and produce the whole thing saying it is their own work! That, too, without changing or modifying the contents! Most of my classmates didn’t even understand or tried to understand the contents.

Writing the project, to speak the truth, wasn’t my cup of tea, though I learnt a lot. I have a good imagination power, and I like writing stories, mostly fiction, but partly based on reality. I am a realist, you see.

Shreyanshi Awasthi was the external examiner’s name. She spoke with me for more than 20 minutes, while with others she spoke not more than 10 minutes. We spoke about many things, apart from the project, ranging from the issues in our country; we spoke about nationality, language, literature, etcetera and etcetera. At one instance she asked me what my interests were. Among other things, I said writing is one. Then she asked me in which language I write. When I said English she appeared a little disappointed, and enquired why I don’t write in Bengali (which is my mother tongue) or in Hindi, which is spoken by most of us in India. And finally she asked me a few questions related to the project. How lucky I was! Though I read the whole project thoroughly but I knew what she would ask me (I assumed it). I was fully prepared for it in advance. And she did what I thought!

She was so much impressed by my answers that she asked me what grade I wanted. I answered, “Ma’am, whatever you think fit.”

“ Hmm m… alright!” she sighed.

“Could you mail me the softcopy of your project; I really like it, and would like to read more?” She asked with a smile on her face.

“Sure.”

While parting from the classroom where we were having the conversation, she said, “Glad to meet you, Ramu Das.” She put her right hand forward to shake mine.

“Glad to meet you, too, ma’am,” I replied promptly. And firmly with my right hand gave her hand a manly shake.

STORIES

Do You keep A Diary?

January 3, 2013 Ramu Das 17 Comments

I never thought that someday I would maintain a diary, but last year I decided to pen down my thoughts (which are many) that keeps fluctuating in my mind on paper, so that I could reflect upon my past as I grow older, at the same time improve my writing skills.

From the 1^st of January up till the 31^st of December, I wrote all the day-to-day happenings of my life, and the happenings around me in my diary. Now, it’s 365 pages of memories that I can cherish. Let me share what I wrote on the 2^nd of January, 2012. There are certain things which are very private to me, and I cannot share them all. However, the 2^nd of January is an exception. So here it is reproduced:

Damn my phone! It always wakes me up when I’m least inclined to wake up. But I cannot defy what I must do just because of my laziness; therefore, I woke up at 6 o’clock in the morning, and did everything that a person do in the morning.

Then, at 12:05 in the afternoon, I reached my college, before entering the classroom I looked around to see if there were any latecomer who might accompany me to the classroom because I was late my five minutes, and, I feared the lecturer might not allow me inside the class if I was the only latecomer, and, ha! Luckily, there were some latecomer who looked disheveled and walked near me with a dizzy pace.

‘Late?’ I enquired, but I don’t know what made me ask that, I knew very well that they were late so much like I was.

‘Late, dude, late,’ answered a friend, and I nodded.

The lecturer inside the classroom was lecturing in full swing; her name was Smita Ramakrishna, one of the best teachers I met in this college, who also possess a fantastic sense of humor and a good taste in music, and she looks some years younger than she actually is. She teaches us Managerial Accounting. She no longer will teach us after someday, as she is moving to a better position, and is going to teaches the PG students, or so I heard.

I stood by the door and through the glass door-frame she saw me moving incoherently. The door was ajar, I pushed it a little more and said: ‘Ma’am….’ and that’s all I could say, because she made a statement: ‘31^st is over, and so is the 1^st.’ She kept examining me minutely, I could not understand the statement, and mulled over it for some time, then I realized that she made a satirical statement, though I wasn’t drowsy and did not appear inebriated or hung on to a celebratory mood – bidding farewell to the previous year and welcoming the present year – but I liked her statement. I’m a satirist myself. I could not help the urge of wishing her, and so, I said with a broad smile on my face: ‘Happy New Year, Ma’am!’ ‘Hahaha!’ She laughed.

‘Where is you ID?’ she asked, it was in my hand, and she answered her own question, ‘You are suppose to wear it on your neck and not on your hands.’ I quickly did what she said; she smiled and said, ‘Now, get in quickly, and latch the door.’

So that’s about it. Here are four suggestions on how to keep up a diary.

Be Honest. In-case you cannot be honest with others (which is very disgraceful), at least be honest to yourself. However, if you are honest with all, that’s wonderful. Personal bias should not creep in while writing about yourself, or your friends, or anyone else, that is to say, don’t make it a point to find all kind of virtues in yourself and faults in others.

Be Creative. Don’t just write about the everyday happenings that more or less are same, for example, some people might write ‘I went to college by train’ on the first day, and on the second day you write the same thing, and same thing on the third… so on you keep repeating, your writing experience would be mundane. That’s a very childish act, so try to use your imagination, try to write your feelings, your thoughts, etc, but make it different. You may write prose and poetry as well.

Improve you writing. After writing the day’s entry go through what you have written, find if you have made any mistake – grammatical or spelling – and amend them, and be careful the next time.

Keep It Private. I’m talking about personal diaries. Keep your diary in a safe place, far from people. By people I mean anyone – your family or friends – with whom you don’t like to share about your private life. My brother, for instance, takes the pleasure of reading my diary, and when I get the slightest hint that he read it, I take the pleasure of scolding him and shouting at him; “Do not touch that, you buffoon!”

The advantages of maintaining a diary are many. If you are a writer or aspire to be one, you should maintain a diary and write every day, and improve your story telling skills. You can improve your handwriting as well. I don’t believe that practice makes a man perfect, my handwriting is poor I must admit, I write very roughly; I believe that perfect practice makes a man perfect, now, slowly my handwriting is improving because I’m practicing it in the right way… better late than never. But then, perfection is non-existent, so don’t waste your time to be perfect, but you can definitely be efficient.

Do you keep a diary, or intend to?

STORIES

I’m Unthinkably Weak When It Comes To Women

December 16, 2012 Ramu Das 9 Comments

During my last vacation, I worked for three months with an NGO called Greenpeace. I’m sure many have heard about Greenpeace. It is an International NGO with presence over forty countries. Greenpeace fights peacefully for the protection of environment, and suggests various measures for a sustainable economy. When need is felt, Greenpeace holds protests and grabs and breaks the neck (peacefully) of the culprit who poses a threat to the environment, and thereby a threat to ‘life’. By ‘life’, I don’t mean only human life, but every living thing. I’ve learnt a great deal from the organization, met with a lot of people, and loved interacting with them.

Why did I do all of these? Well, to make a project, which is a part of our curriculum, as prescribed by Mumbai University, and then face the viva-voce. And also to fill my purse with some wad of rupees that otherwise remains empty most of the time.

When I went to my college and submitted my topic, ‘Green Marketing’, for the project, my topic was rejected, saying that it clashed with another student from the other division of our class. When I told the lecturer that I worked for three months just for this project, the lecturer told me that the other person submitted the topic before I did. However, I was asked to meet with the other person and see if anything could be done.

The other person turned out to be a beautiful girl. She informed me that her project was already prepared, but not by her; it was prepared by her elder sister when she (the elder sister) was a student doing the same course. So, it was clear that the other girl merely wanted to copy her sister’s work and show it as her own work and save her time and energy.

I was not ready to accept that, but she persistently pleaded that I should change my topic. “Oh, you write so well, and that, too, by your own. I’m sure you can write on any other topic.” I knew she was trying to lull me, I looked at her face, her face radiated a childlike glow, and I felt pity for her. But who was going to feel pity for me? I just said, “I’ll think about it, and let you know.” She seemed very happy when I said that, perhaps she thought or knew that I would change the topic eventually; girls are always confident in getting what they want. Unlike men, they know all the tricks.

After some days she met me again in the college and was as sweet as honey, but I knew even what honeybees produce is sweet but when honeybee stings it is excruciating like the sting of death. Men are unthinkably weak when it comes to women, and being a man, so am I. I succumbed to her pleas and decided to change the topic.

I changed to another topic of which I had good knowledge, but a hopeless lecturer lied to me, and said that it was also taken up by someone else. With much difficulty at last I spoke with the other person –this time a guy– and the guy told me that he had chosen no such topic. I was relieved to hear that.

I’m working on my new topic, and for the same I’m collecting a lot of materials, in short I can say, I’m super busy now.