How I almost got cheated

It was a morning like any other. I got a call from an unknown number. An automated computer voice said that my parcel sent through X delivery service was not successfully sent. It asked me to press "One" on the numpad to know more. I did. A male human voice answered, asked if my name was Harish and if I had sent any package using X delivery service to which I replied no and asked what this was about.

The next thing he told me was deeply troubling.

He told me that someone has used my identity (using a copy of my Aadhaar card which is a unique identity document for residents in India) to send a parcel from India to Iran. The parcel was not sent because of the contents of the parcel were suspected to have illegal items in it. The parcel was opened in Mumbai and the contents found were: 4 passports, 1 laptop, 4kg of clothes and 450grams of MDMA. He told me the parcel tracking number and the name (a muslim name) and phone number (an Iranian phone number) of the person to whom the parcel was sent to. He also told me that Rs.94,000 was paid for sending the parcel.

The first thing that came to my mind was, "there is a terrorist out there who has used my identity to smuggle goods".

I continued listening.

The man on the phone told me the same thing, that a terrorist could have done this and that the Mumbai Crime Branch was already on the case. He told me to note down an FIR (First Investigation Report) number that was filed by the Mumbai Police and he forwarded my call to another number which he told was that of a police person from Mumbai Crime Branch.

I was nervous.

I blurted out the details as soon as the policeman answered. "My Aadhaar details are being used by some terrorist to send items to Iran."

The policeman replied, "Calm down, what is your name and where are you calling from?"

"Sir, my name is Harish and I am calling from Chennai. I just received a call from X delivery service that my Aadhaar details have been used by someone to send a parcel from Mumbai to Iran and the parcel contains 4 passports, 1 laptop, 4kg of clothes and 450grams of MDMA"

"Do you know what MDMA is?" The policeman asked.

"Sir, I know that it is a drug." I replied, to which he answered "It is a drug that is completely banned in India."

"Sir please tell me what to do." I begged.

"What else were you told?" he asked, to which I answered that an amount of 94,000 rupees was paid by the person who sent that parcel.

He asked me to first check the transactions in my banking application to see if I lost any money recently to X delivery service. And I was trembling as I checked my transactions and found that I never lost any money from my account. I was relieved.

I told the policeman.

He then asked me what was the balance in my account.

Now I got suspicious. Why does the policeman need my account balance. What does it have to do with a person trying to use my identity to send a parcel to another country?

I had read about instances of people getting robbed of money when the caller puts the person in a difficult position and promises to get them out of that situation if they pay him some money.

So, after thinking about it, I lied to him that I have only 3000 rupees in my account.

He asked me if I have any other bank account to which I replied that I do have another account but do not have any mobile banking application for the same.

Yes, my guess was right. He was a fraud, a farzi.

He assured me that nothing will happen to me and not to worry about this episode. I thanked him and hung up the call.

But in the back of my mind, I still had a doubt that my personal identity might have been used by someone else. I spoke about what happened to my mother. She got worried and called a trusted friend. The friend told us that it must be a con man who had tried to trick us into giving them some money and not to worry about it since I didn't send them any.

Later, when I told this to my father, he advised me not to pick up calls from unknown numbers and to install the Truecaller app on my phone.

Slowly, my mind came out the situation and I began believing that I have just been cheated by some criminals and I need to be careful from now on. I informed about the number I got a call from to a real policeman I know.

Visiting the family deity

 It's been a while since I wrote here. I was busy expressing my political views on a website which I do not own anymore. It has been a rough ride trying to regularly bring out content for an audience that really cares about what I have to share. But I gave up. It was taking a toll on my mental health.

So, apart from sharing my opinions occasionally on twitter, I do not get involved in collecting information through news channels that I can share.

That brings me to my current situation. I have been living with my parents for quite sometime and I am working for an IT company remotely.

I used to be an atheist when I was in college convinced by one of my close friends that there is no God. I believed him and made up my mind that there is no God. I also read the book by Richard Dawkins, The Greatest Show on Earth which explains how creatures have not been created but have evolved through millions of years.

Through the years, I have learned that religion is something that helps reduce the burden in people's lives. No matter what religion you follow, prayer has power. Prayers are answered if you have faith.

I was not interested in following any particular religion until one day, one of my paternal grandfathers advised me to pray to the family deity (kula deivam in Tamil) twice everyday, when I wake up and when I am about to go to sleep. The family deity is someone who is worshipped only by the family members and there is a temple dedicated to the deity. It's a sort of made up God for the family members.

After marriage, my father's family deity became my mother's family deity.

I have visited the family deity temple several times now. It's a place where I pray for me and my parent's well being. I also enjoy the trip to the temple with my parents.

I used to go to temples despite being an atheist to appreciate the architecture. But now, I can say that I am a believer. I go to temples to pray to God. Although I know that the form of God is made up by human beings, the act of prayer to a sentient being definitely has an effect.

The Indefinite Stay

Long year in Mauritius, back in Chennai

I used to live in the same house. It harbors so many memories from the time I used to spend my time thinking about inventions. I had people who liked me and supported me. Took care of me.

We went on a wonderful trip to the mountains. We were all jammed together in a tiny vehicle which wound round and round up the hill. I cannot believe I am still thinking about Him.

We rode horses. I had never ridden one before.

It’s funny how everything is so different in such a short span of time. 

It seemed like it could have been this way forever, until I expected the unexpected. 

Giving up everything and starting again. 

I didn’t care. I had done it with my life so many times before, I would do it. I would do it for Him, despite the doubts, despite the fear. 

I would go wherever He went. 

Sometimes I felt so transparent. I let them see every emotion of mine. I cried sometimes even. 

I couldn’t even hide my feelings. 

He understood what I was going through. 

There is no language that one needs when the hearts are talking. 

They couldn’t care less though. They were ruthless. They were so cold. 

There was some problem and I was being pulled into being part of their problem.

I had never cared about it since I got to stay with Him. Things could only move forward. 

I was in the most beautiful place on planet earth, the sun shining, the gardens blooming and the people smiling. 

I was never so happy to be isolated from the rest of the world. 

But it turns out, as these stories always do, there is always a catch when you feel happy for no reason. 

It usually means that happiness is going to be taken away from you real soon. 

And so the time flied away as I fantasized and lived believing in what I knew was not going to happen. 

It’s a dangerous pursuit. The pursuit of chasing my fantasies, I ended up in a ditch. 

I was blinded the illusion. The possibility so minuscule yet vibrant. 

There was no one to console me now, but this one girl, who saw how desolate I had become, waiting for an impossible desire. 

Like two lovers coming together, becoming friends in conversation and getting married after living for so long in each other’s affection, reality felt like a fairytale. 

Getting married was the easy part. But having kids is another thing. 

That’s when she realized that it was not appropriate for her to be with me. 

And took me to all sorts of religious ceremonies. 

Like it was going to change me and make me celibate. 

Hah! I got more desperate. 

I surely enjoyed the walks to her place, visits to the supermarket where I spoke with her sister, and even asked her to forget about her previous lover and accept me wholeheartedly. 

At which point she took me see her new husband. 

That’s going to be my new lover, she said and left me no choice, but to dig a deep grave and lie in there for days and days. 

I was beginning to decompose as the maggots started eating my flesh and my body became dry of blood and my heart slowing down to an indefinite halt. 

There was no life left for me as my karmic Mother came to my rescue, revived me from the dirt and took me for a long drive around the oceanic landscapes.
She knew how I’d felt. She had been there before. She had been with many men before and her heart was big. 

She kissed her new husband in the front seat as sat at the back, happy to be breathing air again and felt loved, in the presence of someone, someone who cared. 

I liked these car rides. 

They took me around to amazing places, stopped at odd places, sometimes even took me to their houses and where we cooked together. 

Things were looking real good, for everyone. 

Even He found a girl on some mobile application. 

How weird, I thought. 

They surprisingly got along really well and started seeing each other often. 

I got along well with them. In fact I loved to be among these couples now. Free rides, free beers and not a single day goes by without fooling around and having fun. 

They said it was now time to find my girl and complete the story. 

I said yes, I totally would. 

I really wanted to. 

I ran after a couple of women. 

Asked their phone numbers. 

One of them even told me we could be friends, hang out and stuff. 

I never bothered to call her. 

I don’t know what I was looking for. Because if I wanted to be loved and needed someone to spend some time with, then here I was, with all the people I’ve ever wanted to be with, these lovely couples, loving and connected. With me like a puppy dog in their house. 

***

I met an African woman. She was the friend of a friend who game me her number. For some strange reason, he encouraged me to talk to her, checked up on me even, asking if I’d been getting along with this woman.

I had texted her. 

She had replied. 

We got on the whatsapp and texted some more. 

Then we texted more. 

And more, and more. 

It got exiting, asking all the details about each other, while having no idea how the other looked like. 

This was my Tindr. 

We went out to uninteresting places and had amazing conversations.
I took the bus from my town to the next. 

It was wonderful. 

She lived near a spinach farm. 

And spoke in an accent. 

She was very particular about teaching me how to respect women, about how one should treat her right. 

The most important aspect was about how a man should let the woman do her hair. No matter how long it took. 

It is apparently important for an African woman, to have her hair well groomed, all the time. 

As a matter of fact, it also happens to be the most elegant way of bonding between her girl-friends. 

Her hair looked beautiful. 

She had amazing huge eyes and dark black skin. 

She was an angel. 

It was beautiful the way she talked. 

I enjoyed the bus rides back home, thinking about her. 

We sometimes caught up in between our busy lives. 

It was always funny when we did. 

It’s hilarious when an Indian man tries to interact with an African woman, especially when he knows nothing about where she came from, her language or her way of living. 

She loved how stupid I was, despite being a smart-ass computational scientist. 

I soon got busy with my work as there was so much chaos at the office. 

Figuring out what was happening itself became a huge challenge and we were trying to advance in our work as a team. 

There was a new member at the office who was very different from the others. 

He was much older than the rest of us. 

We became good friends. 

The African guy was fun too. 

The three of us had to work on some really important stuff that would help us reduce the chaos in our lives and become sane again. 

There were disagreements, there was confusion, there was hard work, there was sheer exhaustion, but we were pushing through. 

We went on and on and came to a point where we were about to finish. 

I hadn’t met a soul outside the office for over a month. 

The only trip I had was from the office to home and from home to office.
I took a week’s vacation after the whole mess was over. 

I traveled to the mountains in the south and consumed a lot of psychedelic drugs. 

I was lost. I was tripping in the forest, with some strangers and made fires every night. 

It was an extremely misguided journey. 

I never took the time to meet that girl again. 

We never even spoke after that. 

I had a dream one night where three of my colleagues were working in an office that was on a train. 

I figured it was like a metaphor where the train was the common journey we were taking, moving together in unison. 

I went to see my parents perfunctorily and soon took the latest flight back to Mauritius Island... 

And boy, everything had changed. 

The team of the three got broken as the new guy had left and the African guy got fired. 

No clue about what had happened. 

I thought we had just worked through most of the chaos. 

I was welcomed by my bosses, but things were still unclear why my teammates were gone. 

Things were not making sense and I had promised to a Chinese man on the plane that I would try the Indian meditation technique that he had learned in an Ashram in Bangalore and witnessed his whole life change before him.
I thought why not. 

There was an ashram a little far away from where I lived and I decided to try it. 

I was wondering if I could figure out what was happening in my life and why all the people I meet were getting blocked from my life, in some weird way. 

It was some self fulfilling thing. 

Nothing really happened. 

I wasn’t finding any answers. 

I was only listening to some elderly guy preach away. 

And I took part in all of the activities from serving food to doing yoga postures and even all the mopping and cleaning. 

The only lesson I learned there was that the people who were happy here were the ones who faked it. 

The ones miserable, like me were the ones just trying to figure out what was going on and how it happened and blah blah blah. 

And all those who faked the supernatural effect of the guru upon them got uplifted and were in fact very satisfied with the whole experience. 

I played along for a while, trying to blend in, until it was over. 

I was working from nine to five. 

There was enough faking that I was doing anyway. 

Day of perspective

It's been a while since I have been working in Mauritius island.

Tomorrow being the day I am leaving for India on a vacation, it has been quite tense and restless.

Although I woke up in a not so spirited mood, I got around to enjoying the day soon enough.

I am living at the place of Aunty. She is the only one in Mauritius who actually cares about what's happening to me.

I am really grateful to live a life in the house she has allowed me to stay in. And I am more than grateful that I get to spend some time with her family.

I took my bicycle out for a small ride.

I went to the food court where all sorts of Indian food are sold. And where all the food sold are affordable by the poor.

I paid a visit to the market. The Sunday market for clothes.

The most wonderful thing about the clothes market here is that there are so many beautiful almost designer-like clothes sold.

After the wandering, came back home and began feeling like nothing.

That's when I remembered that I had so much packing to do, got so busy with it and didn't realize how my afternoon went ticking away.

I was searching for the letter from the Immigration office that would let me go to India and come back.

I looked pretty much everywhere, sorted all the things in the house as a result, still couldn't find it.

That's when I started reading the book by Osho I had been reading for a while, "Vedanta, the art of dying".

There was something really interesting that I read in the book, about how one needs to keep putting in effort, leave no stone unturned, so that the unconscious mind can come up with a solution for the problem one is looking for; that only when the conscious mind is completely exhausted with finding  the solution for a problem, will the unconscious mind kick in.

As much as this theory sounded relevant, I decided to put it into action.

I continued sorting through all the stuff in the house, collecting all the things I wanted to carry to India.

I was so exhausted, I went to say hi to Aunty downstairs; came back upstairs then cooked an egg.

Finished it with some bread, made some tea and sat down to watch TV.

Now that I was completely relaxed, I walked to the pile of paper I had sorted out and would have just as well thrown it in the trash if it didn't have all the invoices of things I have bought.

And finally!

There it was!

I had chosen quite a careless place to keep the letter from the immigration office.

What an amazing way it was to find it!

It has been a wonderful to be in Mauritius the last eight months, despite the ups and downs, the intense situations and the culture shock.

I look forward to my journey to India with hopes of making a better life when I come back with a lot more zest.

On an Island (Mauritius)

The last time I blogged here was about 5000kms from here when I was at the Indian capital. I have moved on in so many ways since then and here I am now on this island in the Indian Ocean not too far away from the African island country Madagascar.

Ways have been difficult, but what I've found here has been happiness.

It's been the reversal of the climates here since it's the southern Hemisphere. It's winter here in the month of June when it usually rains heavily in Kerala, where I was born.

Now, in the first site, Mauritius looks very similar to a quite village in Goa. A lot of people here are racially Indians and follow Hinduism and celebrate almost all Hindu festivals (both north Indian and south Indian).

The food is quite interesting too. There is curry and rotis like in India, although not so spicy. I am also totally in love with the signature dish you can find in a local restaurant called bol reversé. Rice with a soup of vegetables and chicken (or fish) served on the plate reversing the bowl with its contents.

Although officially, English is the language of Mauritius, almost everybody speaks French or Kreole (a colloquial version of french). So I had to make sure I knew the greetings and trivialities in French in order to move through daily life.

There are also a lot of people who speak Hindi and Bhojpuri and it always makes a wonderful conversation when I meet a Mauritian Indian who speaks either of these languages.

Apart from the struggles of being an expat living alone, Mauritius has given me a very peaceful and quite life.

The traffic is way better than in India, with proper roads and sidewalks everywhere and the vehicles actually stopping for pedestrians to cross the road, which is barely the case in India.

Mauritius is also a place with so much green wilderness everywhere; in the cities and places inhabited by people there are so many trees and gardens that are part of houses, lined along the roads of just part of the urban landscape everywhere.

Where was I again? (Delhi Metro Blues)

There were not many people there on the platform waiting for the train. The sun  had not risen yet and the sky was only starting to become deep blue, hinting the presence of a sun somewhere. I was waiting for the station to open outside the huge gate which was locked to ensure no one entered the station in the middle of the night when no trains came or went. I was sitting outside on the stairs. It was cold. The wind was punishing. The only sound was that of the occasional car that went hissing past on the highway next to the station. I was tired. But I couldn't sleep.

I walked through the stairs leading to the inside of the station, following the people hoping they were all going to get tickets before getting on a train. I managed to find the ticket counter and bought a ticket to New Delhi.

The image of a clean vehicle appeared far ahead as it came racing forward on the tracks towards the people eagerly waiting to reach the warmth of their destination. Everyone rushed into the air conditioned and well lit metal container once it welcomed them by opening its doors.

There were not many people inside the metal container. I managed to find a seat. I still didn't know what was happening to me. Not right now, not anytime in the future. A female voice kept announcing which station I was about to reach. I looked at the red dot on the map above the door move as the train progressed.

A man sitting next to me was intently reading a book. I looked at him for a while. I felt sort of offended. What is it that he could be reading with so much interest? Why would it be so important? What kind of pleasure did he get from it? As my mind was overflowing with such questions, I spoke out, "What is it that you are reading?" I words sounded so far away, to myself, spoken with so much effort. I was really tired.

The man looked at me.

He was reading about some of India's policies and he told me about how he needs to updated about the country's affairs since he was a reporter. He explained to me about how the country's trade and foreign policies affect the living of the people to a large extent. He told me about the kind of responsibility he has to assess the situation of the country and make sure the people receive that knowledge. He told me everything about what he has to do as part of his job.

He asked me what I wanted to be, what I wanted to do with my life and when I told him about my dreams of becoming a film maker and someone who would protect the environment, he appreciated the attitude.

When I mentioned the fact about creating a sustainable living for the next generations, he reminded me how bad the current situation is and how the present generation itself needs saving.

Soon the conversation had to come to an end as the train slowed down as it approached the platform of a station where this companion was about to get down.

He stood up, I asked him which station he was getting down at. He said it was the one where the train had just stopped and walked out.

It seemed to hard to see a really useful conversation to end. It's not like you meet such people everyday and talk about things that matter.

In another one of these travels through the city in a metro, I had met another interesting character.

I was trying to read the book Animal Farm for a while. After reading 1984, I really wanted to read more of George Orwell's work. For about two or three times, whenever I took the book out, I just ended up staring at the graphics on the cover and never opened the book and read a word out of it.

In the metro again, just as took the book out and looked at the cover, a voice beside me asked, "Is that a horror story? Because the cover looks quite scary." I said, "yes, it does look quite scary but this is not a horror story." I told him about what the Animal Farm was about and he asked me where I came from, where I worked and how I was in Delhi. When I mentioned that I had come to Delhi for a friend's marriage, he showed the two bags he was carrying among which one of them was had a suit and told me that he had also come to Delhi for a friend's wedding. When I asked him where he was from, he told me that he was from UK and I was thinking if he had just visited United Kingdom and he went on to explain that he was from the state of Uttrakhand, which people have started calling UK. He also told me about how a sardarji once made the same mistake of thinking that he was from the United Kingdom.

Every pleasant conversation has to end. It was like two brothers catching up after a long time. He was a good companion. But I had to get down at the New Delhi metro station.

It is surprising that strangers could leave so much impression.

In another one of these journeys in a metro, a bearded guy saw the guitar I was carrying and asked me if I was a musician. I told him that I could sing and play some songs on the guitar. He was intrigued. He explained how passionate he was about music and how very few people have the voice that could sound good. I tried to argue that it wasn't the case and that any voice could sing given enough training. He disagreed. He asked me if the songs I sing were sad. I was quite surprised. Because most of the songs I sing are extremely sad and I feel that sad songs are the ones that have most feel. He told me how it is that it is only through the sad songs that great singers could express themselves. I was grateful he said that. But then he also started asking me some disturbing questions. He asked me if had tried to do something about becoming a professional musician, like take part in reality shows and if I ever tried to be a part of the music industry. I couldn't really explain to him that I wanted to be in a band, be an independent musician. But then I also felt bad that I was still not doing anything about becoming a real musician, like recording albums and stuff. This conversation really got me thinking.

I almost forgot to get down at the station where I had to and had to run towards the door pushing people aside and pulling my guitar through the crowd as I finally made it out on to the platform through the open doors.

I walked up the stairs, reading the signs that directed me towards the exit. There was a thin person standing sincerely at the exit of the station holding a tin container with a slit cut on the top and a label stuck on it that read "Donate for cancer patients". It looked legit to me and after thinking about it for a moment, I took a ten rupee note out of my pocket, folded it twice and stuffed into into the slit of the donation box with some effort. The person murmured some words. I assumed that he was thanking me and moved on. 

The Floating Bus Across Town

After a long time, I returned to Kochi.

It was a very unsettling part of my life when I went there, with hopes and wishes to settle there, in Kochi.

During my stay in Kochi, it was rich in experience in the form of a continous flow of childhood memories; I got to be in the past again at my grandmother's place.

It's good to just exist sometimes.

Not trying to change the world, not trying to deliberately make things happen.

Sometimes it's good to leave some of the details to nature and let it show us all the wonders that were never expected.

One such magical journey was the local boat ride I took, about twice. Just for the heck of it.
I make it a point to do this whenever I am in Kochi.

Go to nearest boat jetty, get on a boat and travel to the other side of the town through the backwaters covered with floating hydrilla plants, among the cargo ships arriving and leaving, among the islands visible in the distance, covered with vegetation almost overflowing into the sea, not to forget the one or two stops the boat takes at the land masses it encounters and the people rushing in and out, some with bicycles, some going to work, some tourists and maybe some like me, wondering where else can a bus be floating across the water rocking with the waves when it's tied to a wooden pillar when it's stopping at a jetty, and you rocking along with the waves and waiting for the joy ride to begin, the conductor issuing tickets to all the passengers for a mere five or seven rupees and signalling the driver seated like a captain on top of the boat with a bell in a sound coded message for on your mark, get, set and go!

The occasional ship from a far away land might pass very close to the boat making you feel so insignificant and makes you wonder how man could even make such humungous metal vessels that float on water and even move like some giant swimming tortoise.

I usually reached the end the of my journey and sat in a park to look at the backwaters all the way till the ocean.

It's something I would keep staring at and never know what time it was or what I had to do next.
The feeling of wind on my face and the reflections of the sun on the seas.

The huge machinery moving the containers and the little fishing boats, even smaller than the bus boats!
When I felt like I was saturated by the feelings this place could give me, it was time to go back home, at least for now, at least because I could come back here again.

And then, when I traced my route back to where I came from, the boat ride takes a different mood, with the sky changed in color, the ocean a little calmer, or maybe rougher at places, with the bigger motor driven fishing boats going back and forth and the people returning from work patiently wainting to get back home again.

The old Temple in old Goa

It was a bright and sunny Sunday afternoon when I met my friend Megha for lunch. I was prepared for this meeting since I had lot things to talk about. Megha being a literature teacher usually has something to say about whatever you bring up and hence it always becomes an interesting discussion about all kinds of random topics.

We were going to visit the Saptakoteshwar temple that day. This temple has a lot of history associated with it and we wanted to visit the temple and places near it to get an idea of what the temple might have witnessed through the centuries.

I had my scooter with me then and we first head to the ferry that would take us to Chorao island. Chorao island was where this temple was initially located, before the Portugese and before the time of Shivaji. We got on the ferry along with the scooter and crossed the Mandovi river to reach a spot on the island amongst the mangrove forests that seemed envelope the entire mass of land.

We started riding on the only road before us that took us through the never ending fields on either sides. The tiny hills in the distance were very reassuring about how we were now pleasantly disconnected from the city we came from. It was not long, before we approached a small church. Although it seemed like it was built using concrete, there was no way to tell how old it was. There was no sign of a year mentioned anywhere. As we walked out of the gate of the church without finding anything, we saw a tall structure in front of us. It was what it looked like a portion of a cross. A tall vertical section made of wood, standing on an elevated pedestal. There were symbols engraved in the front and the back. Some were easy to identify, a ladder, a crop and a bell. But the others, we were not sure what they meant.

Then we were on our way again, through the interiors of the land. Now we were passing through a growth of trees all around, interspaced only by pretty houses with tiled roofs and brightly painted walls. As we went watching the intricate details on their windows and their inviting verandas, we reached another church. This church was bright white in colour with a huge lawn in front of it fenced by a short wall. As we walked through the lawn, we noticed the growth of touch-me-not plants among the grass.

We could not see or find anything of historical importance here except for a small canon facing outward as if protecting the church from its enemies.

Drawn by the curious little houses, we walked down the road in front of the church which was completely covered in shade and so quite that it got us wondering if any people lived in these houses. Just then, I saw this lady looking out from her balcony. She said hi when she noticed that we had seen her. We seized the opportunity to ask her about this place. The lady told us that what we had just visited was a chapel and Chorao church was farther from this place. Megha asked the woman about the markings we saw on the vertical structure in front of the other church. But she had no clue what we were talking about.

Soon we were on our way to Chorao church. It was short ride from where we were. Upon reaching the church, we were looking for clues again. And this church was huge. There were paintings, slabs with names of people who had donated, a stone engraving near the main door, but none of them were showing dates older than the 1900s. We could only speculate if this was where Saptakoteshwar temple once stood.

There was only one way to find out more. And that was to go to the temple itself. We wandered about trying to find the temple. We had entered into a small settlement. There was a small temple there which was kind of incomplete. We payed a visit to this temple and I vaguely remember that the main idol was that of Krishna. Once we came out of this temple, we asked a lady walking down the road how to reach the Saptakoteshwar temple. She could speak English. But she did not know where the temple was. Just then, an old lady came by and she started telling us where to go. But we could not understand a word of what she was saying. Maybe it was konkani she was speaking. Seeing that we weren't able to follow what the old woman was saying, the other lady was trying to translate it for us. I could only appreciate her efforts because we still didn't know where to go from there. After a few moments of failed attempts, a man on a scooter appeared. The old lady stopped him and I guess she asked him where he was going. To our relief, from there, we had to just follow the man to reach the temple. We thanked the two women and went after the man on the scooter.

We followed the man till we reached a point from where we had to keep going straight. When we were passing through the trees and the houses again, suddenly the vegetation changed to a neatly arranged row of thin straight growing palm trees. It looked like a spice plantation. It was amazing to see how slender yet tall these trees can be.

Going further ahead, we saw a temple. At first we thought it was the Saptakoteshwar temple. It turned out to be a devi temple and we learned from a priest that it was a temple built for the God of a family that lives in the region. Hindu families generally have a temple dedicated to their custom God. The main idol was decorated excessively, the priest was doing his rituals and the door into the room where the idol was kept was lit by coloured serial lights. This was the fanciest kind of decor I had ever seen in a temple.

A little further ahead and we reached the Saptakoteshwar temple. Before reaching the main idol, we saw three other idols, each having a small temple of its own. We noticed the architecture of these temples. It made us wonder what might have influenced their unique style. The yellow and blue painted, tile roofed temple was the one that housed the main idol. It even had a tomb at its farther end. What we found inside this building was most unusual. It was a shiv ling (representation of the Hindu God Shiva) with the face of a mustached man on it. The face was made of metal plate and maybe it was just a mask, but it had strong features.

Reluctant to leave this place without knowing more about it, we asked at one of the houses in front of the temple about who would be able to tell us about the history of this temple. We were asked to visit the person who was in the temple's office room. A flight of stairs took us to a corridor of rooms. This is where we met an old man with a long white beard. When we asked him that we wanted to know about the history of this temple, he invited us into one of the rooms and started telling us about how the temple was initially in Chorao and was moved here when the Portugese had built a church in its place. He mentioned how the ling was used there to reach a well's pulley. He also told us that Jains used to live here when this temple was shifted and that Shivaji had built it in its present form using laterite stones when he noticed that the temple was in a pathetic condition. Megha at this point was curious about knowing how Hinduism, Buddhism and Jainism are related. He didn't have much to say about this and went on to say how it is in Hindu religion itself to not hurt the sentiments of other religions. He claimed that Hindus have never took part in any destruction or  killings in the name of religion. Megha told him about the instances where this has happened before and despite being aware of it, he was trying to justify his own point. When I was starting to lose interest in where this discussion was going, he started talking about death and how it is the ultimate form of truth that exists. With this, he lead us to the way out and we thanked him for his time.

On our way back, I reflected upon how all our experiences are so unexpected and how we know so much more about something once we see it from the perspective of a stranger.

Meeting Old Friends and Wada Pav

One weekend, I thought I would leave for Mumbai. There was nothing much to do and it was long time since I met my friends in Mumbai. And Mumbai is just a night's journey from Goa. So I called my friend Nikhilesh and told him that I was going to come to Mumbai for a couple of days and stay at his place.

So, on a Saturday night, I got on my bus. It was sleeper coach (with beds you can lie on). It was all good until the bus started moving. The ride was so bumpy, I was in a different posture every time the driver hit the brakes or ran over a speed bump. I managed to sleep only in little bits. When I woke up, the bus had stopped at one of those remote restaurants. When I got out, I found that my wallet was missing. I came back to my bed. I couldn't find it. I asked the driver and he asked me to list the things I had in it first. After I described all the contents, he took my wallet out from a little box. He said somebody had found it lying near their bed. I was tossed around so much during the ride that my wallet flew off to some other person's seat! OK bed!

Soon, I was trying to sleep again. I woke up in the morning and saw outside. It was Panvel. I crossed the gate of the school where I used to study (my 11th and 12th Std) and I was eagerly waiting to arrive at Belapur and meet my friend.

I got down at the flyover at Belapur and started walking towards my friend's house. As I walked I saw how the place had changed so much with so many new shops and so much more crowd, but still remained the same with lots of greenery and wide roads. It was wet everywhere from the slight drizzle and the whole place had an old familiar feel to it.

Just then, I got a call from my friend saying another one of our people, Anup (from my 11th and 12th Std class) had arrived just today all the way from Jalandar (Punjab). He came to meet me outside and we walked to Nikhilesh's house. It was almost after 6 years that I met Anup, but I tell you, it felt like school got over just yesterday and we were meeting once again.

We reached Nikhilesh's house. There were a lot of people there. Nikhilesh's mom, dad and two of his cousins. Since I have been visiting Nikhilesh's place every now and then, I was a familiar face to Nikhilesh's mom and I always have an amiable chat with her despite my broken responses in Hindi. I briefly met Nikhilesh's father who was quite busy getting ready to leave for office. Nikhilesh then tells me that the plan is to go to this amusement park called Essel World and asks me to get ready fast.

In no time, Nikhilesh, Anup and I were on our way to Essel World. We took a bus to Borivali, got down, had a wada pav, got into an auto that took us to the jetty and got into the ferry that took us to the amusement park. From then on, we were on a frenzy. Although I was a little scared in the beginning, we didn't stop from flying around, hanging upside down, hanging upside down while flying around, looping the loop on a roller coaster, almost free falling without a parachute on a roller coaster, getting sprayed by a fountain while hanging upside down and ice skating on a fake ice lake! Yes, I know. Then we were all done, tired at last, we ate some pizzas, walked around and head out for the boat back.

Now we were in a bit of a hurry to head back because Nikhilesh had to go to one of his relatives' place. So we were thinking about what would be the fastest way back home. We asked some taxis and they were all too expensive. We then decided to take an auto. We got an auto for a decent price and we were on our way to Belapur. But after a while, the auto started coughing badly and we had to stop. After starting again, the auto continued to cough and the driver had to get down every now then to tighten some piece in the back of the auto. This went on, until we reached a somewhat familiar place and we decided to take a bus from there. We got a bus till Vashi. We got down at Vashi and found a car that gave us a lift. We parted ways with Anup at Jui Nagar station and then Nikhilesh and I got down at Nerul, which was the furthest the car took us towards Belapur. We then took the state transport bus and went all the way till Belapur. Phew! Home at last. And in good time. I was so tired, I dozed into sleep while trying to read a book.

The next day, I left from Nikhilesh's house to meet my cousin studying in a management college called NITI. I had to take a bus till Powai. After a long ride till Powai, I had a wada pav at a roadside thela and then took another bus to a slum area. I got lost in the slum area but I walked around for a bit and found my way to NITI campus. Now this place was quite excluded from the rest of Mumbai. The college campus was full of really huge trees, thick vegetation and some old buildings meant for academics.

It was beginning to become dark and was slighly drizzling. I met my cousin near the administrative building. He was leaving for a freshers' party, so he showed me to the guest room where I was about to stay and then the canteen. He told me how the campus is almost an extension of the Borivali National Park and leopards tend to enter every now and then. Wondering if I would spot any leopards, I walked to the building with my room on the sixth floor. Inside the room, I opened my window. It was darker now. I was in a forest looking at the city bustling with life. Just outside the window were towering trees almost making it impossible to see the ground and the small lake inside the campus. To my left, was a green forest that spread all the way till the little hills at the horizon. On my right, I could see the huge lake at Powai, lots of traffic on the roads, tall buildings all lit up and even the airport with an occasional plane landing.

The next day, I met my cousin again during lunch in the canteen. After a final word, I left NITI almost as if I had come for a 'night in the forest house' visit. Now I had to go back to Nikhilesh's house and take my bus back to Goa in the evening. I felt like walking a bit so I walked till the Powai lake and walked along the lake side and reached a bus stop. I took a bus to Vashi. As soon as I found a seat, I fell asleep and hardly realized how long the ride was. I got down at the bus stand in Vashi and walked to the local train station. The road was so familiar, I didn't even have to ask for directions. I stopped at the jumbo wada pav stall on the way and took a bite. I was looking at railway station and remembered the times I had came here with my parents, friends and even my special person. Feeling all nostalgic, I bought a ticket to Belapur and went straight for the platform. I always used to get nervous when the train arrived because these trains are usually very crowded and stop for only about 20 seconds. After getting inside the train safely, I was looking out at all the familiar places on the way to Belapur.

I was back at Nikhilesh's place again. I had to pack everything and leave for my bus. Nikhilesh's mom insisted that I have dinner before I leave for my bus and I couldn't say no! After quickly eating and saying goodbye to Nikhilesh's mom, dad and his two cousins (and Nikhilesh on the phone because he was in office), I left for my bus to Goa.

Back in Goa

Six years ago, I chose to do engineering. The only reason for this choice was because I didn't have a better choice. And that's how I left home, and found Goa. I studied here for four years and then worked for a year.

When I left my job in Goa, I head out of Goa looking for jobs and ended up doing freelance work for people. I was doing this in Bangalore for five months and then for about six months in Chennai.

I wanted to keep doing this but wanted to set my base at some place where I could stay forever. Again, the only place I could think of was Goa. My home away from home. Be it because of the people I knew from college or the people I used to work with or because I just love this place. So all I had to do was pack my bag and leave. And here I am, back in Goa.

So, where was I ?

If you have read my previous post, you would know how much i like Kochi. I had just come from a week long visit to my grandma's house in Kochi. After that a whole semester of mine has passed by and i don't think i have done anything worthwhile during the period. The only part i liked of the previous semester was the frequent visits to the Arabian Sea's beaches like Arambol, Palolim and Bogmalo. I somehow really like the ocean. I guess everyone does...


I'd like to share with you people about something called kolam (in Tamil). It is a form of sand-painting drawn traditionally with rice powder in front of houses. The whole drawing starts with a grid of dots and curved lines and loops follow. During this winter break it was the Margazhi month according to the Tamil calender and people all across Tamil Nadu make colourful kolums. It is a matter of pride to be able to draw large complicated patterns without lifting the hand off the floor standing up in between. The month of Margazhi was eagerly awaited by young women, who would then showcase their skills by covering the entire width of the road with one big kolam.

My mom too makes kolams everyday during this month and during the last two Maragazhis, instead of just watching kolams and admiring them, me, my sister and my 10 year old cousin tried making kolams. I tried making the Ubuntu logo while my sister made this star and my cousin, she made the one with four flowers. And so, the whole neighborhood saw all the kolams we made and gave very good comments. Seeing my kolam, people asked what exactly is it!

In Kochi

Kochi , a very spectacular lagoon in God's own country is a heavenly place for a vacation. This place has ever been my favorite with its beaches , Chinese nets , shipyard , harbours , the various islands etc. Kochi also mingles with the Arabian sea and one can get glimpses of it every now and then when in the city.The city's history and the rich diversity in its culture due to influence from various parts of the world makes it a place one should never miss. No wonder it is called ' Queen of the Arabian sea '.