The warrior will be alright.

It’s dusk. The sun sets solemnly across the horizon- the warrior loves dusk. He has always felt that the spates of colors strewn across the sky at dusk leave behind a flicker that the eyes will never feast upon at any other time of the day. He sat at the nearby branch, a sole stricken one in the middle of an unknown desert, and he looked up towards the sun. The cloudy horizon have made the sun hardly visible to the naked eye. A faint light shimmering beyond the thin veil of clouds, that was all his eyes could muster to witness at the time.

The thin haze that has been coating the horizons around the place on a consistent basis had also deprived the warrior of his most cherished view- a peek towards the top of the mountain- bright and glistening. Every time he witnesses that peak, he feels like he does belong to that peak, to reach there one day has been etched in his destiny.

But now, there is no dusk, no mountain. All that exists was him, the desert, and the village, a village which he had long assumed would be an useful pit stop in order for him to reach his dreams. The warrior did not like it the moment he arrived in this village- where everyone worked very hard in premeditated routines in order to win the breads to survive the day. The warrior wasn’t an exception in this- he wasn’t given a prince treatment- he had to work to win his bread- for he has to wait until the clouds clear and the sun can rise up confidently and unleash its ray on earth without any barriers again.

Now, as the warrior lay against the sole broken branch in the middle of a dry desert on which the village is located, he feels exhausted, tired, dread. The everyday routine at the village had had its taxes on his energy and enthusiasm. His resources are drained by the end of the day, and he couldn’t have his daily glance beyond the horizons to look at the peak of the mountains that he wishes to conquer one day.

What is happening to his life? Where have his dreams brought him to? Why is the haze so thick he can’t see his destination? He abandoned a kingdom of comfort, security, all to secure the reality of this one dream- he travelled through ages of uncertainty about where his destination would lie, spent so many years of the journey travelling all alone- but as long as he was on the move, when he had his evenings by the crystal clear lake, or under an autumn tree drooping with gorgeous brown leaves, practicing the art of swinging and slinging his sword, as his horse fed on the natural leaves at every stop he pauses at, looking at her master in awe and loyalty.

Today, the sword rusts in the little camp, in which the warrior retires every night- and the warrior shoots the sword a glancing, solemn look, wondering when the time will come for him to ride off into the sunset again, the sword piercing elegantly across his back. His horse waits tied outside the camp, feeding on the same grass everyday, entitled to the same routine the warrior is being subjected to.

The warrior sits and contemplates, wishes he is on the move rather than remaining here- but this is the pit stop he needs to take in order to reach the peak of the mountain. He is made to be on the move, not to rut in a rust. He is made to conquer that peak, not to sit idle doing regular work.

But then he thinks of that sunny day where, when the warrior did not know which direction he should take to reach the mountains which seemed so distant away- when a saint appeared while the warrior was walking on a bed of tulips holding hands with his princess.

The saint pointed in this direction- on the first morning in which the princess held his hand- the direction of this small village; that the warrior should start a life there, and that’s where his journey would have its starting point. The warrior knew there and then, that it was a sign, for he was holding the princess’ hands when the saint looked down from the high hills and pointed his ageing stick in this village’s direction. Upon which the princess gave him a warm smile- so wide it made his insides tingle with joy and warmth.

The warrior walked deeper into his tent, wondering about the crossroads and uncertainty he is facing in his life. Every warrior has to trudge a path of mud in order to be worthy champions. This is his alley of mud. An alley where he can lose all that he is- where he has to hold on tight in order to retain his will, passion and dreams. That is his test.

The pain is true, the discomfort is true, the itchy feet is true, the difficulty is true. But the warrior has accepted it- come to terms with it. This is what will make him a worthy champion.

But as he lies down his head gently on the princess’ shoulders with her brimming smile still there, he knows for a fact- it’ll be alright.

The new rainbow

The warrior once sat down bespectacled, wondering if at all he will attain what he desired. What he wanted. He is still making that journey, but the perennial doubts keep visiting him, throwing him into a whirlwind of uncertainty. Is this a battle that he has to fight alone? Will it be a futile one? Is he making a journey in which the destination will never materialize?

Word of wisdom had drained his ears. Some wise man had once told him that when you want something so badly, the whole universe will conspire to make you achieve it. The warrior knew for sure that his destination is not even remotely close yet- the only way to continue is to keep going despite all the uncertainties riddled in his mind- that's when he had realized that what he was actually looking for is a shoulder to lean on, somebody who could accompany him in this bewildering, taxing journey. The warrior knew that he had had been looking for this person for a long time, hoping someday she would come in his line of sight, but now the thought of whether she ever existed was needling him.

And then the warrior realized he had someone to pick him up from his troubles all along. A companion who has always been there to help him through a hard times, a woman adorned with qualities that he has been looking for all along- but how did he not realize it? Now that woman rides with him through that journey, and the warrior does not fear falling or being defeated. For he knows she will be there to hold him up in good stead. The lack of soldiers had once been his greatest concern, but now he know he wasn't actually looking for soldiers, but instead looking for someone like her- he was looking for the most magical word of all- love.

And they say love can conquer mountains. The warrior still has to climb up the mountains himself, but facing demons doesn't seem like an ardous task anymore- if anything, love conquers fears and uncertainties.

The warrior once reached an edge of the mountain which looked like a dead end, he could not see a way put or a way further up from it. All he saw was a small path that was heading nowhere, he took it, and the only thing that rang in his mind was the same adage that he has so blindly followed for six years- when you want something so badly, the universe will conspire to make you achieve it. Next thing the warrior knew, he was climbing a difficult slope, but at the end of that slope, he realized that he had taken a step closer to the peak of the mountain he wants to conquer. He looked down back, and realized how impossible an task it was, and yet he did not heed to the difficulty at all. The wind of the mountain seem to be telling him that he has embarked on a new phase in his journey.

Few days later, the warrior had made a new group of friends, a pack of travelers as well to different destinations-- they were all at an altitude where they were exhausted and have not feasted for a long time. Word has it that somewhere around the mountain, a feast has been prepared for them. There's plenty of food still left around the place, little scraps of bread here and there, on which they have been feeding on for some time. But they felt it was time for some feast, but to find the feast there is a price to pay. They to abandon their breads behind as the luggage would prove to be too heavy, and with starvation already visiting them, they made the journey. The warrior once again remembered that old adage that the wise old man had told him once- and after a seeming futile journey that reduced all of them into a state of weakness, they were starring at a faint light inside a dark cave. As they sauntered inside, they were shocked to find that they were starring at the feast that they were looking for. They found plenty of offerings on the way, that of breads and mountain guards and old men discouraging them from their ridiculous urge to find the feast. For reasons they themselves could not explain, they were adamant on finding the feast, and at a time when the exhaustion had totally caught up with them, they found the place.

And when the warrior had his feast and walked back outside of the cave to a bright sunshine greeting, he realized the adage wasn't a blind one. When you want something so badly, you do eventually attain it. And he also realized something else- that the journey might be grueling, but it will never be futile- just when you thought your energy has been drained out, the desire will materialize, the dream will come true. The universe will conspire to give it to you when you least expected it- and when you do get it, you will realize that the tools to reach the destination has been lying around you all along- the journey is about attaining that wisdom to be able to look at things differently, and when you reach that stage, you shall be able to look around you and find the hidden treasures that were meant for you.

Today, the warrior has love- which he once though was an endless search. And with the universe seemingly ready to give him everything he pursues without an iota of fear, with only faith and hope in his heart- he looks up at the peak and smiles. He knows he will get there too. But there's no rush. He will enjoy the journey with love, faith and hope. He has abandoned fear at the foot of the mountains.

And he walked on.

Why we need to grow up?

Grow up. Grow up. Stop acting like a kid.

We probably have heard this statement repeated over in almost every household there is in this country- after a certain age, parents, or any elders that be, would nail the point hard through to the teenagers- the time has come for us to start acting adults. We need to talk mature, learn how to live (or survive), be cunning enough in our acts not to be taken advantage upon, learn how to earn money, not to be choosy, not to ask too many questions, and just live with a given situation.

You are walking flanked at either side by few of the most significant peoples of your life, on the midriff on a Sunday afternoon, the sun blazing nakedly over the horizon, unleashing its utmost ray- literally bathing you in sweat. You obviously don't like it, you have walked a far distance, and there's still that substantial amount of journey to go. Suddenly you see an elegant-looking car swoosh past you at the highways, covered in hue dark tinted windows, barely revealing the individuals inside. An element on mystery, an epitome of comfort. You envy at that drive, you wish immediately that you are in that car, and you tell yourself you will be in that car one day.

Few years later, you are in a very similar car, breezing past the terrains- watching from the cold, cozy comfort inside your car- and you witness a flock of people walking and talking with each other. You look at the vast spaces of your car and there you are, driving alone, and for the split moment, you'd think you make do without your shades, comfort, and elegance if you could take that walk again- flanked by people you love talking to, making them laugh and letting them make you laugh. You want, for once, for the journey to last longer so that you feel fulfilled when you reach home. What's the point of running to the destination? That one day in your life in which you will look back and say you wish- it will come.

Only that there is no reprieve when you are driving. You tell to someone the stories of your past, but indulging in past won't yield you a bread for the future, you have been told. On that ashen-faced day when you are actually sweating and walking, you take a cold drink with the people around you and bask at the great relief it provides. You don't feel like you need to be in that car anymore, all there is is a flicker of light in your eyes, gazing the future, imagining the day when you will have that elegant car in your possession, but with these people still around you, to enjoy it alongside you.

When you do drive, you realize you don't have time for that people anymore. They don't have time for you. All of you, as simple as it gets, have grown up. You have attained your pursuit, but why you wanted that pursuit in the first place has been long blown away with the wind- now brushing off the eyes and the minds of another young person, standing aloft with the world at his disposal- or so he thinks.

And then you think- that's life. And you say it with a sigh.

But why do we grow up? Why that maniacal need to grow up? It was once said that kids are God's favorite children. Ever wondered why? Is it just because they are small, innocent, unknowing? The answer is no. A child asks questions aplenty. Why is that tree green?- a child might ask. Why is the sky blue? Why don't rainbows last forever? Can we go nearer to those stars? What's beyond those skies? Why is this man begging to earn money? Can't we help him? How many countries are there in this world? Can we go around the world one day? Can we go to the sea?

What happens to all these questions? Do you get answers for them as you grow up? Obviously you don't. You just cease to ask those questions anymore- because you are told, those questions are not part of life as they say it is. Are they not? Have you figured out what life is all about? For sitting in your balcony one day and gazing into an empty space, sighing, and saying 'that's life' within the frames of your mind doesn't seem an exactly glittering way to look back at the form of life.

How do we smile when we look back? Only if we had had the courage to pursue what our hearts wanted. It's like a loose string when you let your heart rule you in life- instead of the more disciplined, rigid spaces of your brain with spoon-fed ideas, the heart's desires take you places, makes you take risks, makes you fall into deep wells, yet clamber back up to redeem yourself. The heart makes this life an incessant journey as long as there is breath in that body of yours.

And to pursue the heart's desires in the purest of senses, one must first have the ability to look at this world the way the eyes of a kid would look at it. Why shy away from questions? Do we, as the ever self-conscious adults that we are cultivated into, know all the answers that be regarding what life is all about, or even the world? We do not know anything, no matter if we are adults or kids. Why then, shouldn't we ask questions? Only then can we open new avenues for ourselves, can we conquer uncharted territories. Why look at life through the confinements of what the society thinks life is made up of? Look at the world and life, and start asking questions. You will realize there are much more answers to be found out there-- enough answers to last a lifetime. Stop sitting around, and start to make that journey that improve you as a person with every little baby steps you take. You won't end your life knowing everything even when you do that, but when you reach that twilight zone, you will know that you treated life as a journey that its supposed to be, and that you have traveled as far as you could.

The world is always at our disposal- waiting to be discovered, new wonders waiting to be unearthed. Only if you make that journey will you understand what's beyond those stars, and what's beyond those horizons. Some of us think we can't find answers by traveling at the very surface of this earth, but lest do we realize, the answers for everything in life lies right around you.

Can you be a kid again, attain that innocence and purity again, and ask those questions again, with an urge to discover?

All that She is.

She loves coffee.

She's hyperactive at late nights.

She hates chocolates.

A sucker for shoes.

A Gossip Girl freak.

She dies for Harry Potter and anything to do with it.

She reads Enid Blyton to pass a short leisure time.

She can 'ter'-sleep whenever she's on the bed.

Her nails are always polished with various colors.

She's obsessed with Anushka Sharma.

Milo is her diet drink, and also the only remote form of chocolate she consumes.

She tortures her roommates by singing to them.

She's a no.1 person.

If allowed, she'd stare at me the whole day.

Gulab Jamun- another one of her obsessions.

Penang is the best place in the world for her.

Hanuman is like her imaginary friend, at all times.

She says I make her heart smile.

Little things makes her happy.

She has the best smile in the whole freakin world.

She can go on and on and on, and I can listen and listen and listen, and never ask her to stop.

She can be utterly childish and amazingly adult at the same time.

She can write, but she doesn't.

She dislikes labs for one main reason- she has to cut her nails.

She loves to cross her legs.

She hardly drags her feet.

She has fears- fears that makes me take her in my arms.

She has strength- strength that makes me lean on her shoulders.

If nobody ever says a word against it, her whole room will end up flooded in pink.

Green are Red is what you will see associated with her when Pink is absent.

If you see a salon, then watch for her gaze.

Food is the main reason why she loves this country.

UK is where the fairytale future lies for her.

She'd sleep on a bed of tulips.

If there is a personality test, the teacher will suspect her of having copied me blatantly, even though we didn't sit beside each other.

She loves being hugged from behind.

She's a Vijay fan...duh

AND

She is what Love is all about.

Eternal Ray of the Blossoming Minds

Love? Yes, that is important, but the warrior went about his ride, telling himself along the way that finding a princess who would understand his burning desires and passion to conquer uncharted mountains and beyond would be an arduous task. If he had set in a sole journey to find her, it would distract him from the quest of conquering mountains.

So he went about, perceiving that love will just not come anytime soon. But life throws you surprises, in a way that you could never expect. By chance, traveling through the zillions of cybernetic data s that get sent and received everyday, the warrior found a woman, a traveler on her own right- an amazing blend of boldness and talkativeness. He had met her before, long before his journey as a warrior started, when he was still a young prince with eons of dreams waiting to be set loose from a world of rigid education, he saw her- a little girl with a tail that crossed continents. From far he watched, smiled to himself, and continued the journey. And now he marveled, and soon realized that she was a good companion to travel with. A cordial meet turned into a burgeoning friendship. The tail has shrank, the woman blossomed, yet she retained a fierce uniqueness that had always set her apart from the many women he had witnessed in his life. He adored the qualities, and enjoyed her company.

The journey continued. Despite having the woman close by, the warrior's heart yearned for a different woman he had met not so long ago. He did not pursue, instead, allowed the journey to unfold in its own pace, but struggled as the desires of his heart held him back from reaching his dreams. He couldn't travel. The woman he had wanted was making him unable to travel. His sword rusted, his horse laid rest, the warrior seemed lost in a world where the way forward wasn't visible, where his current desire had swallowed him and destroyed the dreamer within. The unique woman had moved on- she found a suitor for herself. She was lost in her own world soon enough. She was back in her own fierce world, as the warrior drifted into a world of uncertainty.

But she did not go away. She came back occasionally, gave the warrior a helping hand, told him that he has to move on to reach his dreams. The warrior was still uncertain, but later on, circumstances allowed him to finally mount his horse once again. His sword took its own sweet time to lose its rust and shine glaringly once again. The unique woman had helped him out.

The warrior did not forget the unique woman since then. He was grateful, thankful. And later, the unique woman realized her suitor wasn't the right one. They were both back in parallel paths, and traveled together, giving each other company, not knowing what the future destination might be. The warrior did not think much. He felt great to have a companion, and used the presence of that companion to great effect. They grew closer.The unique woman had gotten cautious. She sensed the possibilities, so did the warrior. They were reaching a point in the journey where they can't just be companions anymore, instead they need to proclaim to hold each other's hands and prolong that journey together.

The unique woman took a break, she drifted away from that journey. She rested her horse, sat idle, and the warrior, bespectacled, looked upon wondering and pondering what drove her to drift away. The woman said she will be back soon. She will join him again. But the warrior had lost the passion that he had had for her company. When she did rejoin him, the distance was apparent. The warrior couldn't return to normalcy. But he did not want to journey without her, and so the distance shrank once again. Months later, the warrior and the unique woman reached the same point of no return again. This time, the warrior ceased to hesitate. He had to make the decision. He disembarked his horse, and asked for the unique woman's hand to travel with him for the rest of his journey; finding her destination along the way.

She hesitated- her fears and uncertainties clouded her, but warrior knew what his heart, and also her heart- had wanted. Rest were just waves of details, and the warrior knew that in order to reach the destination together, both of them needed to exorcise their demons. He was ready for that inner battle, and conveyed to her that he was.

And she finally dismounted and took his hand, as dawn was setting upon that one opaque day. Yet beyond that cloud, the warrior knew what the setting sun had wanted him to do, and as the last spray of light vanished from the sky, the unique woman became the first woman of his life.

The journey of the warrior and the unique woman together was already a long one. Having already overcome the bricks of difficulties and distractions, they still traveled together for more than a year, and now are set to do it for the rest of their lives, without the fear of getting too close to each other. When the desires of the heart can be conveyed to someone, the journey of life becomes all the more easier. For you know there's someone ready to hold your hand even when he or she is not near you.

When the absence of someone, can still be perceived as their very presence through your thoughts and actions at certain moments, you know magic has happened.

You know that is the love you'd been waiting for all along.

And the warrior has now made the unique woman his princess, and now is embarking on a journey where he would be able to make her the queen of the kingdom.

For my princess- Rathi Maithily :)

May you become my queen when we conquer the mountains and last forever with me.

The story of a man with a dream

A warrior woke up one day with new seeds of dreams protruding from his eyes. He sensed that it is his duty as a warrior to conquer uncharted territories, his duty to be on the vast terrains of the world, exploring, and making a change.

As that warrior sling his sword, as the sun greeted his new endeavor, he knew that this is the only way he would live, or die. By pursuing his dream. His kingdom, would, at large, wish him not to go. Not to take the risk to travel to faraway kingdoms. If he had stayed, they would have summoned him for a battle many years from now, in a path that they have carefully engineered for him, a path on which his soldiers and generals will take to the battlefield first- him next. But the warrior wants to be the first to charge, he wants to lead, he wanted to do it his way. For six years he traveled in great lengths, and slowly, changes begun to appear.

His kingdom no-more discourages his journeys- they approve of it. The warrior found friends along the journey who would proclaim great support to his quest. Once a lost quest has now become a quest that is very much real, achievable.

And one fine day, the warrior finally sees the mountain that he wants to conquer, the mountain on which he wants to build his own kingdom- he continued walking on the path never taken before, up until he reached the foot of the mountains- he has to start climbing. The time traveling on that steep roads flanked with bright colors on the left and the sea to the right is up, now it is time for another arduous task- climb up the mountain. And at the foot of it- demons who are ready to force him to give up- demons who want that mountain never to be conquered, never to be charted on.

He looks at the legion of demons and realizes they are much tougher opponents than he had expected, he takes out his sword. For a brief second, he looks behind him, and he realizes, how much faith had his friends and some individuals from his kingdom had shown for him, and he had to do this, using their faith in him as a spur. He fought the demons, and with each blow he took, scampering him onto the ground, the warrior pushed himself back up and continued to battle. The warrior has been battling it out for more than a week, at the foot, trying to clear off the demons and find the platform on which he could finally start climbing. But as the battle prolongs, the weaker he begins to feel.

This time, another blow was struck and with a loud thud, he fell on the ground much worse than ever before. He is bleeding badly. And then he realized, despite all the faith that spurred him on, he is after all made of flesh and blood, having to battle it out all by himself here doesn't seem a possible task anymore. He wishes he had a soldier, or a fellow warrior, or a general, someone who would charge the moment the warrior in unable to pick himself up quickly enough from a blow. As much as he pushes himself up time and again, he feels his hands have broken this time around, he couldn't push himself up. He needs a hand to help him up. His sword alone won't do the job, his conviction alone won't do the job. The warrior continues to battle, because that is the only way he knows he could and would live.

But today, ask the dusk sets upon the sea, watching silently this battle at the foot of the mountains, the warrior knows no-one out there listens to his groans, no-one could see that he is bleeding, no-one would offer a hand. He will continue, because that's the only thing he knows how to do.

But as he watches the stains on his sword, blackened clusters of blood, he becomes convinced he would end up dying way before he reaches the top of this very mountain he wants to conquer. Despite clinging on that faith- faith that his destiny is here, the warrior is on the brink of losing hope. The pain pierces through him once more, a faint light flickers across the distance in this dark land. Faint lights aren't enough anymore, he couldn't find the strength to walk to that light.

Wouldn't someone, someone who would finally aid him in his quest, bring the light towards him? Is he not entitled to have his soldiers, ever? Is this a quest of a lone warrior? Will he die here alone, oblivious to the rest of the world, beaten and destroyed with his spirits?

The Observer- Episode 8- Campus Tapestry

It started one day in a narrow corridor, I walked up clumsily, already missing the orientation, bespectacled at the size of a small orange class located in middle of many other orange classes.

Orange. A color untried. A display of difference. A blatant shout-out saying aloud to the rest of Malaysia- 'we are a stand-out'- all done from a distance, in a small shadowy, lonesome street in the middle of what was supposed to be the future city of Malaysia- Cyberjaya.

Before we turn back to actually take notice, three years and seven months pass, and you look at each other and realize that you need to ask that question- when are we going to see all of this again? Except for that one day in December when we might all stand in hordes, smartly-dressed- but the most we will be able to do is nod and smile in approval- flanked at one side by our parents of relatives- the other mentally relishing the end and a new journey to begin. But how many of us will take that long glazing glare, and look beyond this humane flaws, this criticisms, this less-than-perfections, this hype, and actually reflect what has happened in the past four years?

They got nothing to do with the purple, yellow, orange corridors. They have nothing to do with a fancily named Makan 'Lah', nothing to do with a sneering library baggage room caretaker, nothing to do with pregnant lecturers punching a doorknob in frustration, nothing to do with a class-whole attempt to remove a wisdom-plucked lecturer from teaching us consumerism, nothing to do with a herd-like rush to the labs and faculties as deadlines draw to a close. Nothing.

All they have to do is with us- the people. We made those 4 years. And beyond all these, I see stories that are worth carrying in our memories. Life often passes by being mundane and unspectacular, but little do we realize that all we need is the ability to spot an unique story.

When I came here, I was a youngster chasing a dream, who thought the dream was more important than anything else, that obsession is a good thing. Today, that obsession has transferred to passion. And unlike when I had come, everything else does matter- life's greatest lesson- nothing is trivial. Everything matters. Treat every matter with due respect and consideration.

Remember the young man who fought against the odds to be here- most of us neglect to know too much about him because it would make us feel guilty at our inability to cope with hardships as well as he has done. As well as he has fought against pain. When I came, I used to think my severe gastric was a pain off the top shelf. It is then that I realized so often we people try to potray ourselves on a standout by just inducing self-pity. Pain is an escapism to short-handedness. Since I met this man, I had stopped making pain a barrier for myself. You don't need to fight pysichal pain, but you need to accept it, and adapt it. When you do so, it becomes so much a part of you that you do not recognize that pain as a pain anymore. To date, it has been two full years since I last had a truly recognizable gastric attack. Now and then it threatened, but I never fed myself to entertain that notion. And would I have made this progress if I hadn't come here and met this person? No.

Many have viewed me over the course of these past four years as someone passive, quiet, reserved. I had a majority of my youth being just how I describe myself- an observer. Though detached to the normal eyes, I remain very much part of my surroundings, observing people, their attitudes, and always looking for stories. And when I told any small story I had found to my friends, they used to say they'd never find such stories in their campuses. My campus is unique- they'd say.

We all might stand up and yell a loud, deafening no to them, saying that our campus is just an overhyped rubbish- that the () sucks, that this () is ruined, so on and so on. But all those things don't matter. We matter. The stories came and were viewed because of who we all were and are. True again, we never had the environment of spending that much of time together as it would have been in any other campus- another thing we could rue about.

But at the end of the day, we can't reverse four years, and neither it is justified to have regrets as we collect our black caps and robes next month and make a beeline for escapism.

I do not know whether the place we had studied in for four years is unique per se or not. But a place is not unique by itself- it is the people who make it unique. I do not know the president to realize whether he is one unique man or not- but I do know this much- We are unique. We, when molded together, is like an assortment of different characters of different colors, a stunning variety- from an Indonesian bright mind whose humbleness beats you to death, to an eccentric tall guy who knows little more than being a nuisance, which is how I saved his number in my phone, to date.

Remember this assortment, as live fizzes too quickly, you might realize someday that this assortment was really something else. And rest assured, I will remember this assortment, even the tiniest parts of it, and even as years pass by and life drains any images of past- I will still be here, writing, typing, the quiet observer that I am, reversing the order of life and collecting larger images the quicker life passes by. We all stand at crossroads now. My path is visible. I need to travel alone. I know this day will come.

But though I travel alone, my path is one that collects stories, that is who I am, who discovers the little ironies of life and makes tapestry out of it. So go on in your paths. I hope when the day comes, you will have the time and memory to come see my tapestry.

The Observer- Episode 7

The Blood Brothers

We sat one cozy night outside of that small house in a small village in the small yet vast, empty spaces of road stretching up to a place called Bagan Datoh. We looked at each other, and shared a cordial smile. Because we knew these moments are hard to come by. For all of us to be at the same place at one given time was a big ask. And that too we were there, at that same house where we had all the times of our childhood, the house that stockpiles all the good memories of childhood that all four of us have. The 'we' were four of us. The four who grew up together. The macho tall guy, the glass man, the VIP doctor, and me, Jones.

All of us are busy chasing life-fed aspirations now, busy seeding the plant so that it could grow tomorrow, busy finding our calling card and making it big in life. But these are those rare rare moments when you just dump all those aspirations to a temporary recycle bin, you just want to stand still and fully immerse in a given moment.

And here in this space, I try to recollect the best of memories we have shared since our childhood.

Accidents

Glass Man is the prominent hero among the countless number of 'accidents' or simple nutty mishaps that have happened when we were small. That's why he is a glass man, because he has developed a constant ability to run into mishaps since a kid. I can't possibly remember a person who had taken more physical bruises and falls than he has. And you could tell them all with a big smile stretched on your face, because they were just that- funny. Once he dropped a coin in a stand fan which is on and running at full speed and was utterly confident that he would be able to retain it without turning the fan off. 'Don't be crazy, will you?'- I said. But he was just that. He tried anyways. And next thing you knew, he was reeling down the stairs calling out for his mom with two of his fingers drenched in hardcore red liquid. Probably even his mom has got used to all of that.

He and doctor were on a bike once, touring around that sandy, rocky road within the village- and glass man was convinced he knew a new trick that would make him seem cool on a bike. On a corner full of rocks, he set to do a skid turn with his father's motorbike with the doctor sitting behind. 'Hey, hey, look. I can do this'- he said. Next thing you knew, both of them went screeching down, tumbling and laying flat on the ground. A great stunt was just performed. Classic. And yet would stand up, arm drenched in red liquid which so often likes to emanate from his body; and say- don't tell anybody. We didn't tell anybody of course, but the red liquid called blood on the entire arm and on the elbow told the story. Enough was said.

Glass Man didn't change much. He lives up to his reputation every now and then. After not meeting for full two years, we met again at the village house, and he added another mishap memory that will be hard to diminish. 'Still getting yourself into trouble often?' I asked; and he took his ball and start juggling the ball to show off his skills to me. 'No, not that much'- he said. 'Play farther a bit, be careful, you might break the window'- his mom shouted. He nodded in approval, extremely confident that there's no room to mishap. Five seconds later, an attempted volley went wrong later, the ball smashed two windows into pieces. It was less than a minute after his mom has heeded out the morning. 'Didn't I just tell you??' she shouted. And I didn't stop giggling in laughter for sometime. I laughed so hard I cried.

And few weeks ago when we had our latest meeting- and saw him with an arm's length in dried blood, resulting from motorbike fall-down incident (again) two weeks prior to that. That's why he is the glass man.

Brawls

Well, what is teenagehood without brawls and fights. Between us, the distance that occured came somewhat naturally, Mr. Macho has always been a tad distant from the rest of us- the three of us were pretty tightly knit together so to speak. First came somewhere in early 2002, when Glass Man decided to switch loyalties from being a Manchester United to being a Liverpool fan. And it was me who took offense of that situation, blasting and reeling him off continously for consecutive days because of that. We hardly spoke. Until he did the Houdini act with the fan.

The next was lame to say the best. It was me and Doctor this time. It was at my old house in Manjung, which was located so strategically behind the Manjung Bus Station. Strategic not actually because of that, but rather because we had an entire green field for ourselves. It wasn't a playground, it was indeed a field with short grass, perfectly ideal to play football without even being bothered by anyone else. Those were the great footballing days. We'd look forward almost everyday for the time to tick so that we could stroll out of the house and just play football, play our hearts out. And one fateful day, he bodychecked me on the way to scoring a goal- and I perceived it to be grossly unfair. The consequences of that little argument we had in that field is something no-one could have ever imagined. He packed his bags and left the following day itself, and the distance we created between us lasted a good two years. Today we look back and we could only find one word in the vocab to describe that fight and the consequences of it- stupid.

Ahoy!

We wrestled in that old wooden house, jumping on beds and automatically switching off and pretending to be just sleeping when the elders came in checking out what has been making all the noises- we were like corrupted politicians, everyone knew what were we doing, yet couldn't catch us because of a lack of evidence. We tried to camp outside the house, pretending to be soldiers.

We often set up challenges on whether we could stay up all night, smacking in glasses of coffees in a bid to stay awake till the morning, only to collapse on the bed once the sun showed up in the morning. We made almost any available space as a footballing field, the front of my previous houses, and even study tables. Anything was good enough to be a football, even a pin pong ball and tennis ball were all used. No wonder we are nuts about the sport. Anything was on for us, such was our enthusiasm. Anything was a challenge- who could run faster, who could win in a game of chess, who could win in scrabble, everything mattered. We would collapse a small stool and leave it hanging on the gate, so that we could play basketball, by using a football that is.

If we were in a car travelling, we would count the amount of cars that overtook us and the amount of cars we overtook (of course the driver was one of the uncles as always), sometimes these counting becomes so insanely important that on some trips, the person on the wheel really took our spurring on seriously and was intent to get good overtaking numbers. Passion was everywhere, young minds which were constantly searching for anything that could spur passion in mundane daily routines. And today looking back and all that childhood adventures- I realize the greatest gifts in life is indeed that zeal, that undying passion, that undying willingness to run a risk, even though later on we do get hurt by comitting them, they never really hurt, when the price we pay for all of that are these precious memories.

And they are not a distant away either.

The same cozy night, all three of us went together to watch football. Glass Man's favorite team played. Then my favorite team played. And right after, Doctor's favorite team played. And we just enjoyed the fact that we had a marathon which fulfilled the zeal for each of us.

And when we were all pretty adamant and eager to get together for a game of football a week later, I knew very few had changed. We have it inside us to re-kindle the child, the passion, the endless notoriety and risk-taker for each other. If I find it hard to re-kindle them ever, I know that they would be able to bring me back that lost edge of childish passion.

Whether it's in eating an ice cream and just talking a walk or getting lost in middle of KL and walking aimlessly; or even buying a PC from Low Yat Plaza and carrying it all the way home to Shah Alam in a motorbike- the best things that makes you say 'this is life' without a negative undertone, without a tone of resignation, but rather with a positive outlook, with a serene satisfaction- these best things don't come in grand packages.

Life's greatest pleasure does indeed lie in its smallest details. And that, I will never forget.

Ram Anand.

The Observer- Episode 6

Pride and Vanity

It was yet another day in which we had finished our squashingly fun Mrs. Nagappan tuition at Methodist High School (MHS). We threw insults at each other in our regular process, went through the majority of the class Not paying attention to the teacher's lessons- Umesh had his fair bit of 'treatment' from us as usual that day- it was all in all a regular brat day we had in tuition, and it was time to go back.

My cousin brother was at Sitiawan as he studied in MHS to repeat his Form 5. so he too was attending Mrs. Nagappan's tuition classes, so that allowed me to coax my parents into giving us the bike so that we could go to tuition (I didn't have a license, so I technically couldn't and shouldn't be riding). And that was a glorifying day for all our bike riding panaches.

As my cousin brother is riding the bike, a fellow tuition-mate passed us by on her bike. HER. So it was a girl. And our pride got hurt in it, not ours, but technically, it was my pride which got hurt- 'why do you even let a girl pass you like that?' I asked him. As silent and non-responsive he was to my question- the next thing I knew he was sprinting the tyres off in overtake the girl in return, and I must mention here the girl in question wasn't an easy spring either, she was literally sprinting her way back home. Once we passed two traffic lights and still found her some good ground ahead of us, I decided to call it quits- but I wasn't the one riding the bike.

My cousin was too far immersed in it that he did not want to call it quits when it looked like an obvious 'defeat'. As if magic struck, she slowed down just before the corner to our housing area arrived. But she wouldn't slow down for no reason wouldn't she? There was a Transnasional bus which is making its way back to the road after being parked at the roadside for sometime, and she had slowed down to allow the bus to take its place. My cousin brother however kept going. I figured he must know what he was doing- he had a license afterall. But that was when I understood licences are nothing- it was too late by the time urged him to step on the brakes. He rammed his enthusiasm straight to the back of the girl's motor, but largely thanks to his pysichally tall figure, he got our bike under control, but she definitely did not share our luck. I looked back at her as she tumbled and screeched onto the road, but my cousin was too panicked to bother, he simply overtook the bus and landed me straight at our house withoutthe slightest of stops.

That is the first time I genuinely felt like a criminal. Have we killed her? That was the question which was raised in my mind. The next day, I received a phone call from Dayalan and he told me the girl has identified who had hit her, because I turned around and looked at her while she fell from grace to the tar floor. She was his friend, and she knew that he is my friend. My cousin brother was too nervous to do anything that he just blatantly handed over RM100 to me and asked me to settle with the girl. And I met her the following day, and she demanded RM50, and I was the most relieved person in the world to see that she has sustained minor bruises here and there and thats about it. However, called her a 'vanity brat' and that ringed up the compensation charges straight up to RM100. Two words later, and the compensation charge was a good RM50 more expensive. Enough said.

But what I saw the following week was a blossoming romance between my cousin (the hitter) and the girl (the hitten). And as always, I have become the negotiator for it, though this time in different dynamics. The romance did not last long though, soon enough we all went in our own ways. And we still have a laugh about what happened back then.

From then on- I dropped my own pride, and disclaimed women with an ounce too much of vanity. However cheapfully fun they may sound, both could make you hit and could make you fall (literally).

And there ended my sexist pride, when I was only 16. Now all my pride resides in who I am as a human and what I am doing to better myself. My gender is just an existing fact, I do not use it as a measurement tool of better or worse.

The Observer- Episode 5

Understanding Death

It was 2006, and it was 8 July- my father's 47th birthday, and also the 19th birthday of a girl of whom I will have fond memories of for the rest of my life. That was the day when I really felt the virtue of of the departed. As if irony comes in a tapestry, I had been wondering for a few days now that we, among us friends, seemed to have drifted apart so convincingly from each other that maybe a sudden death will make everyone realize that we can't throw our lives away so soon. Yes, I felt it. And deep inside, I felt like it should, and would happen, something that would shake all of us, but I didn't want to choose anyone of them to be the departed because all of them need to live on. But as if the writing was on the wall, Nirmalan ringed me as I was walking in my balcony on that silent, boring night on July 8 and told me the news: 'Mano is dead'. Dead? Really? How? What? Which Mano are you talking about? Our Mano? Manohar Rao? When? What happened?- I asked a barrack of questions that he nodded at, which I knew he would nod at. His first sentence had already told me what I needed to know. Manohar Rao is history.

Remembering Mano.

It was somewhere in May 2005. It was a UEFA Champions League final and I went to my grandmother's house to sleep that night exclusively because I wanted to watch the match. I put up an alarm at 2.30 but woke up at 3, considering that the match was between Liverpool (Mano's favorite team) and the much-hated (by me) AC Milan. I opened the TV and the score was 2-0, to the Milanistas of course. Soon, it was 3-0. Game over. I was back in bed. Around half-an-hour later, the grandmother house's phone rang out aloud. I picked up, and it was Mano, sounding all excited. "Is your TV on? Are you watching?" he said. "No la, its over. Why?" I asked back. "Watch, go watch, just watch, go!" he urged. "Why?" I asked. "Its a penalty. Go!" he said. I wasted little time. I gave little consideration that I might wake up my grandma and I turned on the TV. Liverpool's Xabi Alonso took a penalty, and it was saved by the keeper, but he tucked in the rebound. I glanced on the top corner of my screen. 3-3. That was the score. I was gobsmacked. I was glued to the TV as Liverpool went on to win the epic match in penalties, which turned out of be one of the greatest final of all time and also one of the most epic comebacks in football history. I watched it thanks to Mano. On a night when the young man had such a huge grin on his face that his favorite club won the world's most coveted club football trophy. On that young man who remains a memory and nothing more.

He was the only man in our group who held a farewell dinner at his home right before he took off to study in Politeknik. Little did we know that it was to be a farewell to his time on earth.

I did not attend the funeral, I decided to stay back at my convenience and instead believe that sharp-faced partly self-conscious Telugu-speaking mate is still in Ipoh furthering his studies and has not contacted me and will not contact me anymore. But, there, I decided to believe rather that he existed. He is not gone. Probably because I didn't have the courage to believe in it that way.

Side Note: Manohar Rao passed away after his motorbike collided with the back of a lorry on July 8 2006. There was no blood stain. He died due to broken ribs, shortly after arriving at hospital he was pronounced dead. His father, who used to sell fish in housing areas, stopped selling fish after that and shifted to doing different works. He had no other sons.

Departed 2

It was late September in 2007. I heard through a faint voice that Umesh consumed something bad. People were talking. But, knowing the nutjob for who he is, I assumed he had mistakenly drank something bad and will recover soon. Then, Gopi told me its poison one morning in late September. But he had no idea what or how. I started going around asking people. First, I was told it was rat poison, then was told it was paraquat. I knew this could be much serious then how it appears. We decided to pay him a visit, but were unable to do so as he was having his kidney cleaned at the time. I went back to KL. There were classes to attend. I knew deep inside that this doesn't look good. October 2 2007, Gopi rang me and told me Umesh has passed away. Umesh has erased himself from existence.

Remembering Umesh

It was 2002, and it happened. I was attending Mrs. Nagappan's tuition for Science and Ramesh Sekhon urged that we go and play football games in the cybercafe. We cut the classes early and went on and put up a fight with each other for half-an-hour. We returned to the tuition and we found out that the classes were off much much earlier and my father has already come and went back looking for me. I was in a desperate situation, and stepped in Umesh. He cycled me all the way back to his home and borrowed an umbrella so that I could walk back in that rainy evening to my home (which is not far away). Somebody talked, and my father knew what I have been doing. After receiving my share of foils for my folly, I thought it was dead and buried, until I discovered that the Krishnasamy (Umesh's father) had hit Umesh suspecting him to have conspired with me in going to CC and cutting off tuition. The boy took a hit for my mistake. And his father wasn't a light punisher.

Earlier that year, I was still new to this new 'taman' in which we have this new house after the burglary in my old house. I and my cousin sister were lost as to where we were walking and had no idea about the directions. Then came Umesh. And taking time off his need to rush back home, he guided us home before leaving. The boy is a live-saviour.

This time, I went to the funeral. I had to face it. And I cried endlessly. That dead body of his haunted my memories for days, even months to come. And I regretted not saying farewell when I had the chance. Till today, in ocassional moments of silence where life likes to pull you down the memory lanes and nostalgia, I could find a couple of tears my eyes for the man who took his own life. I cried because I knew he was no more. I saw him being burned to ashes. I saw him being closed in his coffin with a pack of cigarattes accompanying him.

SideNote: Umeshwaran died on October 2 after more than a week bedridden after consuming paraquat poison. He was cremated on October 5. Exact reasons for his poison consuming motivations is still unknown as he hasn't revealed the reasons even at the brink of death. His then-girlfriend never attended the funeral.

My aunt

My aunt, who lived with my family and took care of me partially when I was young, began falling sick in late 2008. My mother had wanted to to keep both her (my mom's elder sister) and her daughter (my cousin) in our house, but a lie told in a sadistic letter written by the daughter in a moment of utter madness broke apart two families. During Christmas, her condition deteriorated and became completely bedridden and began having memory loss. When my mom asked me 'Do you want to come?' to go and see my aunt, I said an instant 'yes', weird for a guy who doesnt like to make such familial trips with the elderly people. I saw her suffer and struggle and I allowed everyone to exit the room when the time came to say goodbye. I moved over and said 'I shall leave'. She nodded and remembered me at least, and greeted me the same. Two weeks later, she passed away. I couldn't make it to the funeral due to work commitments in Singapore, but I had said a good goodbye to the woman.

And today, I have learned that life presents you many opportunities to say goodbye for the going-to-be departed, so to cherish each opportunity to the fullest is how we should heed life. And when one departs, we should also allow them to depart, by placing them on the sidenotes on your mind, never to forget who they were, but not to think they still are.

"The fear of death drives us to do greater things and achieve things in life. We need that"- Paulo Coelho.

The Observer- Episode 4

The invicible feeling- understanding life

It was a nervous day for me as 2002 drew to a close. Mano and my friends made it a point to mock me right before PMR examinations were about to start about 'Moral not being part of PMR'. Well, that was a story of its own.

I remember Ms. Sathiya Devi was teaching our class Moral back in 2002. I hardly gave a pint to the subject, I never took notes, nor did I bother to concentrate on what was being taught in class. Just like any other 'Moral' day, she entered the class and I yawned with Mano seated next to me. He grumbled and let a sly smile knowing that I didn't read anything which I was asked to read by the teacher the week before. But Ms. Sathiya somehow decided that she would pop out a quizzical question to me first rather than to anybody else in the class who have actually read the materials. I stuttered and let in my trademark teeth-glittering smile at her, hoping fervently that she would just let me off the hook and ask me to resume my sitting and nothing-ness while she runs the class. But it wasn't to happen, thanks to my late friend Mano. He popped up and told the class what I whispered to his ears when Ms. Sathiya first entered the class- 'Moral is not in PMR, so why should I bother?'. I tapped at his arms a couple of times stopping him from saying it, but he decided he would say it, and he told it out loud to the class. Ram doesn't bother because Moral is not part of PMR. That was the statement that made the day. Ms. Sathiya let in a sly smile and seemed to nod with my statement. But she had to defend the subject as a teacher of it. So she, in a completely sarcastic manner, asked me to write a latter or inform the school principal about my thoughts and she would be more than happy to excuse me from attending Moral every week. But I preferred to stay in the class, rather than outside, so I let in a humiliated smile and sat back on my chair, dropping the subject (not to forget the strong stare into Mano for breaking 'our' secret').

The buddies had a laugh repeating that scene again during PMR, and obviously had a knack doing it again on the second day of PMR. I walked into the hall, as nervous as I always am during an exam day, did the exam, slept through the remaining time for the exam to finish (I wouldn't wanna go back without my buddies on tow), and walked out with a feeling of relief. Soon after, we forgot all our exam blues and decided to just have a blast for our journey back home. Only me, Vinod, and Thiru were able to make it together on our bicycles at the end of the day, and we passed the general market and moved to the main road and crossed it in front of the Fire Station. And then it happened. Thiru crossed flawlessly, and Vinod urged me to cross as well as he is about to cross. He got a headstart and crossed, and I started crossing as well. All I saw was Vinod's bicycle crossing halfway the road and a Kembara van appeared in full speed and I realized in that second that my cycle is completely placed in the way of the approaching van. Vinod has done his nuttiest job ever, I said to myself. I knew it was going to happen. And it did. The next thing I knew was that I flew a good meter or more and ended up inches away from the big drainage on the roadside. I expected myself to have broken bones, internal bleeding, or even external bleeding, but I woke up unscratched. I looked at myself in amazement, checking where I might have a crack or a spate of blood. But there was nothing, except for a recurring fever that followed for a week later, which subsequently led to a X-Ray test in fears that there might be a blood clot or some kind of swelling inside my head. There was nothing to it there either.

I felt like I was returning from the dead, and wondered why had I escaped alive from that episode. Approximately a year later, I found myself dreaming a weird dream (as explained in Episode 3), which resulted in my dream today. And if there is any logical connection to my sudden ability to write so much at such little time, and to be always thinking of a new story, this accident might well have had the biggest say in altering my mind to what it is today.

And even in that nightmare of a day, it might have well been a blessing in disguise. Because there is no bigger blessing than life itself.

The Observer- Episode 3

The Dream- From Nobody to Somebody.

I was born on a Deepavali day in 1988. Some people see it as a co-incidence, like my parents do, but I would rather believe that it is more of a miracle, to be born on a festival day, especially when it is a festival which doesn't have a set day to repeat annually. So, my birth on a Deepavali day is just plain random as much as anything. I used to say sarcastically- 'the whole Hindu community the world over celebrated my birth'. I wanted to believe that my birth is a miracle because I wanted to feel special. And today, I feel there is no wrong in looking at a stroke of luck or sheer co-incidence as a miracle or a sign and actually feel special about it. Because we all are special in our own ways, we just have to open up our minds to it.

My parents have convinced me like any other parents- that education is priority. So I was everything my parents wanted me to be while I was young- a straight As student (I leaped standard 3 to standard 5 through PTS), an Indian who speaks almost no Tamil at all (I spoke Malay with all my Indian friends- there were only four of them anyway). I remember I used to do something that not many kids would be encouraged to do. I was given an hour's playing time every evening after school, and since I virtually had no friends to play with, I would just go out of my shop and play an imaginary game with almost no toys. I did have a wild imagination.

By the time I was in secondary school, topics such as 'what is your ambition?' came to the fore. I had some great fascination with the prospect of flying, so I thought I would become a pilot, until I knew how much physical appearance matters to be a pilot. I grew somewhat frustrated after that, and was told being doctor is the better option to wish for. That was probably the first time in my life that I looked back and begun to wonder- why? Whats the use of all being doctors? My cousin brother has been wanting to become a doctor and there are talks of other cousins doing the same (in fact, all three of my uncle's sons became doctors, and I can tell you he was pretty proud about it), so I wondered as to why I have to follow suit. These questions sucked the education aspect out of me, my studies deteriorated wildly, until I settled to a mellow average league of students in a society where 'how many As did you take?' is the only question any elderly people will use as a leverage to valuate a child's potential, growing up, and duh, even evaluate how the parents brought the children up. I was searching for answers as to how I will be able to leave a mark for myself in this world. I started looking at the bigger picture. I want to be special, I want to be somebody, I want to do something I love and something that not every other five out of ten people that you know are trying to do. I never felt like I belonged in the league. I was short in confidence in myself. I was not the best in studies, always next best to someone else, nor was I the most apparent member of any groups I was part of in school. I was just 'a boy'. I was nobody.

It was somewhere during 2003 or 2004 (which I can't exactly recall) when it happened. It was like any other night, I was sitting down and watching a movie (a Tamil one, and a really crap one at that), and I just felt like I had enough. I remember telling my mom- even I can think of way better ideas to make a movie compared to these guys who are making it. Shortly after that, I went to bed, and I had the weirdest, most elegant dream your whole lifetime would ever give you. It was a movie, a full, two-hour long movie that ran like a theater reel in my dream. I woke up with such amazement and can't help but to be stunned by such a complete dream, and I went on a jotted down every idea that thundered through my head. And I told a friend. And the friend loved it. And on that day, I felt special. And I knew I have found my calling card. Writer-Director Ram Anand's journey has begun.

It only takes a moment to change from nobody to somebody.

Today, five years down the road, I look back at these facts with such amazement because these dreams don't come in a much spectacular way. I could have easily ignored the dream and carried on with my life as it was, but I trusted a stack of visuals that roamed my sub-conscious mind and allowed them to become the tool that completely transformed my life thereafter.

There were times a plenty where I questioned my ability to reach what I want to reach. And in 2006, my life changed again. I just finished writing, in addition to my existing long stories- few quotes which I want to set as my life's guides- quotes I created myself. I remember jotting down and even telling it to my friend Alex who was in a relationship dilemma at that time- Don't love someone because of anything. There is no reason, there is no logic. You love someone for who they are, completely- not because of her sexy legs or witty humor or their money in particular. Its the whole person. The connection of the souls.

And then I wrote, in a very simple manner- my description of life- Life is a Journey, Your dream will lead you to your destination, your dream will represent your duties in this world, and help you fulfill your potential as a complete human being and live life to the fullest.

The next day, my classmate Renn started raving about a book called 'The Alchemist', written by a certain Brazillian called Paulo Coelho, and how she read the whole book while travelling on a bus from KL back to Parit Buntar (all the more weird because she is hardly a reader, and especially novels? forget it). So she gave me this book, and I turned to a page in which it was written- One is loved because one is loved, no reason is needed to love.

And as I was about complete a book which was telling a story I could so fondly relate myself, my dreams, and my journeys with, Coelho mentioned it- that life was a journey. And since then, I never questioned my dreams ever again, because the book wasn't just a book, it was a sign sent in at such a benign time when I doubted my faith in my dreams. It was a sign that asked me to keep believing.

I may not have the full answer regarding my destinations and my roles, but its better to follow the signs to discover the meaning of this life and fulfill it rather than living the way the world tells me to live, to linger in normalcy, to live a mechanical life. And that dream of mine has opened my eyes to the miracles that the world has to offer, how life is much, much more beautiful and deep compared to how our own logics and reasonings describe it, how we have the willpower to determine our lives rather than thinking fate has it all set up for us.

I know that if live is a game, then I'm playing it, not watching it from sidelines. If life is a drama, or a play, then I am acting in it, trying to play my role to perfection, rather than just settling for any role and be happy with it. And if life is like a banana, I am holding a ripe banana in my hands and all set to gobble it up without any fear or restrictions. And if life is a journey, I am moving along, searching for my destination, rather than just stop at some point of the journey and think just staying where you are better served and secure. And I know I'm a small child, and as they say, kids are God's children- because children ask questions about life. They ask 'why?'. Adults stop asking that question, and start believing in things the world and their logic presents to them as reality. For that, I'm still a child because I always ask 'why?' and am always learning new things.

A dream, is not just a dream. Its the dream.

Ram Anand.

2003-2008

The Observer- Episode 2

When I had a drug called love

2001 was the year when my life really begun. Shortly after finding courage, which thought I never had, I found love; a kind of crazy love that I thought only exists in the silver screen of Indian love stories. It happened quite unspectacularly on an early morning in 2001 when I saw her in my class. The attraction was fuelled further thanks to few of my friends who somehow thought linking me and she would be a great idea. I was told she was my age and speaks my mother tongue, probably the most desperate lies a classmate could ever tell to hook you up with a girl. I never bought into those lies, but I found it pleasant to believe it, that is when I realized that I want this girl who is hovering around my class.

She was everything that I wasn’t. She was a probing nuisance who jumps around in class, while I was just that normal boy who goes about his business silently in class. Once I heard that opposites attract, probably it is true in my case. But I stayed silent for the rest of the year- amazed by the fact that a song that was written and composed some five years prior to that and has become one of the most famous Indian songs of all time spoke true of my feelings for her. I believed in then, that the opportunity will present itself, and I finally believe the trash that Indian cinema has so often repeatedly thrown at its audiences, that we are ‘meant for each other’. I questioned whether it was love or mere attraction at regular intervals; but mere attraction doesn’t last a gruelling five years, which I would find out later. The year presented itself many chances for me to make headways- strike a conversation, strike a friendship, or even create an impression. But I allowed those opportunities to slip by. Suffering a culture shock of sorts with the class environment and being surrounded by a bunch of morons who think they can bully me for some reason, I had to keep my focus on what I thought mattered most- my education.

The year passed by, and I found myself devoid of her presence in my class for the following year. I was more settled, but still I struggled to make headways. Something inside me held me back from approaching her, but that same instinct continued to disturb me at every sight of her. I allowed it to continue. My notion is that there was still time. Soon after, I knew she now has a relationship. For some reason, it was more relief rather than devastation. Probably I was relieved that I would not pressurise myself to approach her anymore and that I could hide myself behind the excuse that she is owned. Was I a coward? That was the question that bugged me at that time. The years passed, and I knew I could never forget her, yet I couldn’t tell her. I felt safe with the distance, I felt safe that only I knew what I had felt for her. The urge and regret never really hit me until 2004. Everybody, literally everybody was beginning to seeing sights of relationships. Relationships have become a more prominent feature of conversations between our friends, replacing the classic teasing, and name-linking, virtual match up acts. Girlfriend is no more a word that offers the luxury of having a girl, but instead it slowly turned into a necessity, a matter of pride. The girlfriend-havers are on a class of their own, while the bachelors will always have to look out for options. That is when I revealed to my closest aides, and revealed them the truth. And I made sure I never mentioned the word ‘I like her’. The only word I said was the one that was well and truly etched in my heart by now- that ‘I love her’. I took promises from them not to make it public, and they just did that. I knew the difference between their hormone rages and my feelings.

My friends were vocal enough to let me know that I’m being a coward by not telling her. But I stood by what I thought was the right thing to do- finish Form 5 without telling her. And I did just that- in spite of numerous ‘threats’ like ‘I will come and tell if you don’t do it yourself’. And the school days came to an end. I never told her for all the five years in which I could have easily told her. For all the time, I marginalized myself, thinking that I’m not good enough for her. The following year, I was found a new self- a person who felt free while talking to girls without any hesitation. Her absence from my life seemed to have given me new confidence and a new freedom. That is when I realized, I was right not to have told her. Not because I wasn’t good enough for her or because she isn’t good enough for me, but simply because she isn’t the ‘right one’ for me. I knew that when I meet the ‘right one’, I will find the guts and urge to tell her, unlike this episode.

(Unfortunately, few years later, a friend who promised me never to tell can’t resist and spilled the beans to her about my interests for her- what a name spoiler, duh!)

The world has very often run discrimination that being in a relationship is the only way you can express your love, and that one-sided love stories are failures. But when I don’t have any regrets of what had happened, how could it possibly be a failed love story? Thanks to those five years in which I was in some kind of trance, I know now what love is all about and I am able to help out each and every friend of mine who has to sort his or her feelings and relationship troubles out.

I am delighted because she made me realize that I, Ram Anand, am able to love so much and so sincerely for five years, that I would not have to struggle like the many out there who are afraid to commit, many out there who talk about love ‘dying’ with time. I knew, in that respect, that I have the ability to love so much not to let it die and I know how I will feel when I meet the ‘right one’ in the future.

She made me know that I have wonderful heart which is able to produce so much love, as they say, Love is God. What more you could ask for when you have God in your heart, and plenty of it? I know somebody’s waiting for me, because my heart and instincts, the same ones that so rightfully pointed out my dreams and my destinies to me, tell me so. And I am glad knowing that I am already on my journey towards my dream, because as Paulo Coelho wrote – ‘True Love never diverts you from your dream, true love will arrive at the right time and help you reach your dream’. And in my journey, at some important juncture, there will be the one waiting for me, waiting to help me reach my dreams and whereas I will help her touch hers.

Some still ask me, why did I love her when we had so little in common in terms of personality and character?

Because one is loved because one is loved, there is no reason to love. Love doesn’t have logic. Love is a miracle in this logic-driven world, a miracle that should never, ever be questioned. And I’m lucky I fell in love so early in my life.

Remain you, Remain who you are,

You are a little pain, you are a little delight,

You ooze charm when you fight or when you please,

I do not want to change you,

Not more, not less,

I want you,

For who you are.

Ram Anand.

2001-2007.