Mandappa, (Mandi to me!) is the archetypal writer-dude... I met him in an orkut community for Dylan fans, his pic (which was Dylan's) made me scrap him a dozen messages in a day...poor guy figured I'd ruin his life! Alas...!! and no I didn't eh Mandi? haha.. he's a copywriter, a poet, a nature lover, with a festish for folk music and pretty girls...lethal lethal!!
He's begun his journey with the word and being a lazy bounder, doesn't really show off his skills...but here's some Coorg curry for you guys.. Read Stop! and tell Mandi what you think.
Welcome to Knk Mandi!
p.s. You sure there aren't no Kings inside the gates of Eden?! :)
cheers,
Shinjini Singh
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Author Intro
Honestly, this is one wierd question. Are two words or a page enough to describe every f
leeting moment of my 21 years of existence. From the gentle breeze that blew me from munnar, from home to boarding school in ooty to finally land up in a city called madras. if i say the breeze, will the breeze be the same in the different states. it neveer will, so the words will never do to introduce every tangent of mixed emotions and molecules that make me. i love my confusion, workin as a writer in advertising. a jack of all trades, a king of queens. deeper than the 6 feet of earth they will bury me in. thats about me.[mandappa to the left with his brother in traditional warrior "costumes" haha..!]
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It was just another ordinary day. The sun rose at the usual time. Though the moon came up a little late last night. I was up till four last night. Well not working hard as such, just out wasting some money on those so called pleasures of life. As I spent the previous evening with some friends of mine, talking about the things money could buy. The music player I wanted, the latest gaming gizmo, the pretty frock for my girlfriend, these were the things that swam in my mind. And as we indulged more that night, these things kept hounding me. How was I going to get them? Work, of course. Oops! Almost forgot. Had to be in office early the next day. Was late the entire week and I wont be surprised if I loose my job soon. Hard enough I was training in a top firm.
As any hung over morning I woke up late. Woke up, brushed, cleaned up, got ready as soon as I could, but it wasn’t fast enough. And sure enough I was late. Now I just had two things in my mind as I sat in the bus creaking along to office in peak hour traffic. I wanted to scream out to every one to move. Couldn’t they see I was in a hurry? I could loose my job, for god’s sake. Move, I yelled in my mind. I looked out and realised that most people were in a hurry. And any witness to Indian peak hour traffic would know the chaos that ensues. Honks here, abuses there, cops and cars everywhere. It was maddening and saddening.
This was supposed to be the rat race, the life in the fast line in a big urban town. Sure, it was fast! I could see. There I was, sitting in a metro-bus snaking along at 10 km/h, to a big box, that had no natural air or light. Just a/c and light bulbs! I would then spend the rest of the day flipping through files on a moaning computer. I could eat lunch, and watch a movie by the time a file opened. I spent the day staring at other people’s money. At their accounts. How they made money and how much they made. And if I was to get a salary doing that, you can imagine the kind of money those people must have. Now it does get frustrating. You keep looking at the pittance that fills your bank account at the beginning of every month while the rest of the month you stare at other people’s accounts being filled with pots of gold, literally. Anyway, I had that to worry about the rest of the day. So I filled my thoughts with sugar coated dreams.
Of how, I’d earn and save and buy all those things I dreamt of. How I would write a book and become a famous author. Sell millions of books and make pots of gold. And I could have anything in the world. So I dreamed.
And I dreamed some more. Of how I’d be so rich that I’d buy three four houses. And the one dream house that I would build on a little property in my hometown. Of how I’d be allowed to marry the girl of my dreams, irrelevant of caste or creed. Because I’d be famous and rich, now who can resist that? Of CD players, cars, dining in expensive places. It’s a dream, so I even threw in a trip to
Yelling. Screaming. Honking. Oops! Back to reality. I am running late. Why isn’t the traffic moving? Oh, the government! Couldn’t they do anything? There again my mind began to race and my heart to pound. Why? Why was every one so incompetent? The roads were traffic-choked, the people had no place to walk, there were squatters on the side walk, four policemen staring into oblivion. Why?
I was thinking about the corruption. The power. The money. The world had become so materialistic that no one cared beyond themselves. No one, not the squatters, not the drivers, nor the policemen. In this so-called hub of activity and new paced life, there was death. Nobody spoke or shared or cared. And to call this modernism!
Finally, after what seemed like eternity I reached my stop. I jumped out and ran. I had to get across the road to reach my office. I was standing amidst a bunch of people as a haggled old man, with one leg, ragged and dirty came up behind me, I tried moving as far as I could from him, within the group so as to not carry his disease.
The light was red. But a few of the group decided to run across, as the traffic was just slowly coming. They ran across. I almost followed suit. I felt a hand stop me from behind, and whoosh! A bus just crossed in front of me. I turned to see the man in rags, who smiled at me and said, “slow down, the worlds going too fast to nowhere.”
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