The End of an Era

Sriram will be leaving for India tomorrow morning, and by the time he comes back, I will have moved out of our house. 2155 Acton St, Apt 2, has for 3 1/2 years been an eventful chaar dewaari of cooking, gossiping, smirks and shrill laughter, and most of all, a friend who has in many ways been an inspiration for swiftness and unending optimization. Through these times, I've been a witness to uncountable meetings, conference calls at 7AM, globe-trotting of the likes of consultants, on-the-fly innovation in the kitchen and to top everything, infinite enthusiasm. I secretly know that his creativity and sharpness is meant for very big things in life.

It seems like just yesterday when he moved into the house, and knowing that I was preparing for my prelims, cooked me dinner and came invitingly into my room with a plate in one hand and an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. "Yeh lo, khaao!" We spent so many memorable times together - our temple trips during birthdays and festivals, Yosemite, Tahoe, ice skating at Union Square, the Chinese Parade in San Francisco, clicking the lunar eclipse on a freezing December night on the Acton Courtyard terrace and infinite techno-management discussions in the kitchen.

You've got to excuse me for getting emotional. Here's raising a toast to the quickest guy that I know - Sriramkumar Venugopalan. A CEO coming to a company near you.

Clone

If I could clone myself, I would get 48 hrs a day.

Shaayar ya shaayari?

Alys Faiz, the wife of the legendary Urdu poet, Faiz Ahmed Faiz, was once asked,
"Kya aap unki shaayari samajh leti hain?"

She said,
"Shaayari bhale hi na sahi, main shaayar ko jaroor samajh leti hoon."

17 times 5 equals what?

We went karting near Portland last evening - Parantap, Gaurav, Arnab, Rudrajit and I. The price per person for 10 minutes of racing was $17. The guy at the counter was trying to figure out how much we should pay him. He wondered aloud, "What is 17 times 5? Oh God, I need a calculator for this!" We all blurted "85" in almost unision to which the guy was clearly exasperated. "How do you guys know these things?!"

At first, we laughed quietly to ourselves. Then it dawned upon us - if he really knew by rote that 17 times 5 was 85, we probably wouldn't have been in this country in the first place.

Epiphany.

What do I gift you?

If I were to gift you my love
I would gloss over the roses, the orchids and the daisies.
And toss the teddy's, the fragrances and the draperies.

If I were to gift you a part of me
I would gift you my wings
to fly higher than I may dare see.

I would gift you my time
to explore the underworld and the divine.

I would gift you my eyes
to perceive your own beauty
and watch out for the unwanted surprise.

I would gift you my rhymes
To spin you into a web of words
yet have you read between the lines.

I would gift you my enthusiasm
my excitement, and my energies galore.
To architect entire cities from the dust.
And from the seams may you burst
Hungry and foolish, asking for more.

If I were to gift you a part of me
Don't be pleased with just what you see.
Pester and potter until I gift you
All of me.

Choice

When I get on to the bus, I want to see the one and only empty seat. I'll be happy I got to sit. Don't abuse me with an empty bus. I'll be unhappy that I could've got a better deal.

Why sleep?

You sleep too little.
You say it wears you out.
I say it wears me out.
And I snooze some more.

You sleep too much.
You say it scares you out.
I say it scares me out.
And I pry my eyes some more.

But what if you sleep too little.
Too often.
You say it wears you out.
I say it burns me out.
Burns out the sugar that coated my walls.
Until I see crisp the burning fire.
Fire in the belly, firing on all cylinders.

Why bother to sleep - I'm getting no younger.
Burn me in a flash - I'm too jaded to smolder.

Pull me close, my dear

This stillness has become music to my ears
Notes that only I claim to hear.
Should I be enticed by my solitude again
Please pull me close, my dear.

My world exists in the spoken delirium
And silence quivers like leaves in the fall.
Should I fail to read the farthest corners of your mind,
I pray your eyes do beckon the call.

The wanderer within grows restless
And eggs on the feet to shuffle.
Should I try to disentangle myself from you
Remind me that I promised to hold you forever.

I see a train, and I want to get on
To race away into the rising sun.
Should getting there first be my only charm
Enlighten me that its you who is to be won.

The fleeting moments that are music to your ears
Should I brush aside as being out of line,
You be the pianist, the violinist and the strummer
And win me over with the symphony
that is your beautiful mind.