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By Kiran, May 28, 2009 12:27 am

She had just finished dealing with a bunch of drunk guys who swung by to pick up more beer. She had been standing her post for over nine hours and her eyes conveyed her exhaustion. I could tell she was counting the minutes to the end of her shift, ready to head home and delve into dreamland. But she had a job to do, she had bills to pay, her face was void of any smile and her seriousness was evident in her demeanor. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her – not because she was unhappy, but because she was neither adequately acknowledged nor truly thanked nor appreciated for what she did. She was used to the fake hellos and the fake thank yous; she knew that they didn’t care, they were in their own rush to get on with their lives, and yet she wished them back with a genuine smile at even the late hour. It was not exactly the profession she would have chosen, but her options had narrowed over time and she had given into dealing with reality head on. When I commented on how tired she looked, her response was immediately sarcastic. But as we joked about the drunk guys who had just stumbled out, I couldn’t help but notice that she had a beautiful smile; it was just hiding beneath that veneer of seriousness. Unfortunately, that was all I could do for Megan – one weak smile; but I do hope that she has something to look forward to when she heads home from the local Ralphs’.

As I was telling a good friend, I feel lucky. Not because of what I have or not have, but for the wonderful people that I can call my friends. From the college gang who are still some of the best friends I’ve had, to the LA gang who I’ve grown to love so quickly, to all the people that I work with who make every day fun and interesting, to the good friends from childhood and different schools that are scattered all over the world yet so close by, to the old navy friends from India that are still in touch thanks to the wonders of social networking sites. Most people when asked about friends will count into the hundreds very quickly; the six degrees of separation rule doesn’t even hold water in this connected world. Of course we are all thankful for the people that we form extended relationships with, but what about the wonderful people that we don’t necessarily brand as friends. The ones that we transact with sparingly at most. The ones that we normally ignore if not for what they provide or how they serve us.

The girl who I rented my condo from who writes me about her wonderful experiences in the middle east. The starbucks girl who knows exactly what I drink on different days of the week. The el salvadorian janitor who teaches me a spanish word every day.  The guy who suggests the best curries at the indian take out place. The one girl who I actually adore that has a big laugh but the composure of an oak. The guy who calls me a teenager every time I shave. The guy who mans the reception at the gym and always wants to talk about the lakers. The girl at the pastry place that knows what goes into my salad. The guard at my gate who always has a joke to tell. The punjabi guy at the gas station that can never stop talking. The mexican girl at the taco place who knows my burrito just the way I like it. The indian lady at the post office that has the same name as me. The skinny kid who delivers my newspaper and never smiles. My landlord’s mom who referred me to the good charities to volunteer for. The Indian girl in my building who is ever so elusive. The coordinator at the badminton court who always hooks me up with the good players. The teller at my local bank who wants to visit India this year. And finally Megan, who draws the strength to smile to her customers even at 11.30 in the night.

To all of you, whose names I know but withheld and all of you that I forgot to mention, I thank you. I hope more people will treat you as a person rather than a job position. You put yourself out there to serve complete strangers, and yet you never expect anything in return except your paycheck in the evening. For that I express my gratitude. You make our lives whole and you fill in the voids that we can’t by ourselves.  And though we are not friends per se, and though we are not acquiantances per se, you are still a big slice in the small pie that is my life.

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By Kiran, May 14, 2009 10:01 pm

Fairy tales are required to have happy endings. It is an unwritten but universal rule. But for the protagonist of the tale, there is always a price to pay, a battle to be won, a villain to be conquered, or even just a phobia to overcome before that happy ending is in sight. What if there was no moral for that tale, no particular life lesson embedded between the lines, no warm fuzzy feeling to be experienced by the audience, would that be a tale worth telling. I think yes.

I watched Pan’s Labyrinth for the fifth time in three years. Rarely does a film come by that leaves me truly spellbound and stupefied at the same time. A transcendent tale with a captivating story that interweaves the realism of life with the escape of the surreal, Layrinth is one of those masterpieces that can only be dreamed up by a visionary like Guilermo Del Toro. The dark blue undertones, the constant rain, the atrocities of fascists, the haunting lullaby tune, the simple and crisp Spanish dialogue, the subdued expressions of the little girl – all mesh beautifully into the somewhat dark, beautiful and often disturbing fairy tale. But to me, what was most enthralling was the ease in which the real and the surreal border on each other and on occasion even control each other.

Maybe that is why its a movie. Because experiencing such surrealism is usually delegated to those bordering on sanity, or the ones whose thoughts are enhanced by a substance, or the lucky few that have found god. I like to think that humans have a unique gift; they can create a world inside the world, not necessarily imaginary, not necessarily real. But one where their version of truth and beauty is unrestricted, one where they are not necessarily daunted by the laws of physics or metaphysics or affected by their physical shortcomings. And I point not just to the artists and free radicals that give form to their abstractions and metaphors, but in fact to the normal man that seldom feels the need for a reprieve from his worldly duties. But its almost ironic that there is always a labyrinth whether above and beneath our feet, even in our fairy tales there is always an elaborate scheme of tests to pass despite the ease of simply skipping to instant gratification. For most people, their dreams and hopes exist in both realms but their paths to the same are almost divergent. The fortunate and brave will see a confluence of paths at some point, but more than often every real-world labyrinth will often stop at a dead-end, at which point the surreal version also starts fading into a memory and gets replaced by another more realistic one.

Maybe the least I can do is appreciate the beauty of our minds’ wanderlust, and the creativity that it spawns. And for reminding me of that, I thank you Guilermo Del Toro.

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By Kiran, May 5, 2009 12:24 am

She was one of his favorite teachers. But today she looked a little morose; he could feel that there was some lingering thought eating her up. She was trying to focus on the task at hand, teaching civics to a bunch of young hooligans, but somehow her voice didn’t seem to carry the same enthusiasm today. Suddenly, she closed her book, put the chalk down, and looked down at her notes even though you could tell she was not reading them. She lifted her head up to face the class, “we’re going to do an important exercise today that is not in your textbooks”. “How many of you believe in fate?”, she asked in a slow but serious voice. There was a silence for a few seconds. Nobody knew how to answer; what would she think if they said no, or worse what would she think if they said they didn’t know.

He was young, but he was wise for his age. He had always been the button man for the jock group, all the way until they had exhausted their mediocrity. He was always there to debate the smart kids, all the way until they had used up all their citations. He desperately looked around, hoping that someone from the first row would answer before she would start cold calling on them. Even the smart girl on the front row was silent, a refreshing change he thought to himself. She annoyed him, she was an overachiever, every parent wanted their kids to be like her, he secretly wished that one day she would rot in misery as a bored housewife. The teacher’s gaze moved around the classroom, she was looking into each kid’s eyes before moving to the next one. She was seeking out the ones with a glimmer in their eyes, she could easy glean out the smart-asses from the thinkers.

She finally rested her eyes on him. As if on cue, he stood up before she could finish calling his name. For a second, he was not sure what he would say. His grandmother used to tell him that he was destined for great things, and when his mother would ask him to pray for all the good things in life, he would question her why he had to pray when his fate was already chalked out. She would insist and reprimand him not to question her or god’s hand. He wanted to argue but he knew there his mother’s conditioning was years in the making and not to be undone by someone who wasn’t even shaving yet. His stern physics teacher had just a few months ago beaten down the three laws into his head; if there was no force applied on an object, would it move out of its inertia state because fate intended it to? It was a good question, but he would never dare to ask that for the fear of being mocked for the rest of the year. As with all things, while he was waiting to be called on, he had already started categorizing fate into an appropriate bucket – was it an idea, a religious artifact, a man-created myth, the hand of god, a cosmic force, a psychological concept made to force people into a certain path, or even a thought process embossed in our genetic memory. He felt uneasy, the entire class was looking at him now; he didn’t want to make a fool of himself and at the same time didn’t want to give a ironic answer to his favorite teacher. He finally collected his thoughts, cleared his throat and blurted out his answer.

It had been seventeen years since then. He was now “settled” in life, a good job, a decent car, a nice apartment, good friends, everything was set in place. He had just finished his alternate-day workout at the gym, and was sitting in his balcony cooling down with a bottle of cold water. After all this time, he would still  occasionally think back to that one episode, it was like one of those remnants of  a war that survives every bomb dropped by the enemy. There were a hundred other answers he could have given to that question, but every answer had consequences, consequences that he was not willing to live with. He knew his answer would set in motion a chain of events that would permeate his little fish-bowl and yet he was certain that no force real or cosmic would unsettle him.  Why in the world had he not just said “I don’t know”.

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By Kiran, May 4, 2009 12:03 am

There used to be days when I used to wake up and see your beautiful face and consider myself the most fortunate man alive. Your smile was so bright and plentiful that it could even make the birds chirp and flowers bloom. In an instant, you would fill my darkness with your light. Your warm glow would me walk a little lighter and smile a little more that day. You gave me the right to exist, you made me what I am, you gave life to everything means anything to me.

It breaks my heart to think that we have grown so apart over the last few years. I know you are still there for me every day. You never gave up hope, you still believed in me, you tell yourself that its just a chemical reaction that keeps your love burning. I could not keep my end of the bargain. I have been a slacker, a self-serving drone, a meandering fool. I never forgot you though, I think about you all the time. Ok, not all the time, but at least once every morning and on most days, once in the evening. I have been preoccupied with being preoccupied, I have become what your eyes always told me not to become.

I was not able to make time for you, I was so busy pursuing an extra dime that I could spare nothing for you. I am no longer there to see you wake up and I am still slogging in my office when you are ready to wind down. We live in different worlds now. I occassionally see your friend at night, but she only gives me back a blank stare when I am lucky. Life is not the same without you. But I will make that effort to reconnect with you. In fact, I want to see at least twice next week. Think of it as a first date all over again if you want, but I will not have my expensive cologne or my nice jacket; I will be there as myself, as a simple soul yearning to see your smile again. Because I miss you, oh sun.