Biryani Dreams

It was my last day at work before the summer holidays. I had the same buzz that I have always had as a kid sitting in an examination hall, dreaming of the juicy mangoes I was going to steal that summer, impatiently waiting for the bell to ring, so I could hand in my paper and run home.

I no longer had exams to pass. But I had exams of another kind – those gruelling, brain draining meetings that I had to get past before I could go home. I was dreaming too, but a dream of another kind – hot, stingingly spicy, mouth-watering biryani.

That Steve Jobs’ speech that every man and his dog would have seen – something about how you connect the dots when you look back and seemingly unrelated events lead you to where you are – I am just telling you right away that this post is all about that.

So. (I have just hit an epiphany that I no longer have to write grammatically correct English as mandated by the GMAT and conversational English is so much easier on the lips and fingers) Google might possibly know all that I have been thinking for the last several years and might even predict what I would think in the future as I have got into this habit of googling anything and everything I think about. (Okay, now, I know where this is all leading to. My wife is going to check how many times I have googled her name since morning and the truth is going to be out today) So, I googled biryani. I googled the origins of biryani, the types of biryani and even memorised the making of a version of biryani. The meeting ticked away slowly. And painfully. I shook my left leg rigourously, waiting for them to say their good byes, before I could pack my bags and head home. I was all set to go home and make the best biryani in town.

Back at home, the wife who had decided to clean the kitchen nonchalantly stated, ‘you know the bag of rice that your mom gave us to make biryani? There were insects in them. So I had to throw the bag out.’

The stolen mangoes were always as juicy as the ones from the exam hall dreams.

Bradley's Bicycle

May be the thought had occurred to him because he used a picture of Bradley Wiggins in one of his presentations that morning or may be the cobwebs on the bicycle reminded him that the bicycle needed some action. Whatever the reason be, Raja decided to take his rusting bicycle out of the bath tub for a spin by the canal. The bright round, red and yellow sun reminded him of the many bright round, red and yellow pizzas he had swallowed the previous winter.

The canal was a sight to behold. A flock of swans swam gracefully along the length of the turquoise river that snaked its way under a canopy of trees. The otherwise glum and green algae shone in sunlight radiating new found delight. The beautiful Victorian cottages and their little crimson paddle boats adorned the other side of the river.

The little man mowed his lawn using an unusually large lawn mower. He shoved the lawn mower against a giant tree on the edge of the canal to ensure that every blade of grass was of the same size. May be his wife was a perfectionist. Or may be he was.

As he dug against the tree, the lawn mower caught itself against a mighty stubborn root that lifted the lawn mower with the man and slung them into the tranquil river, scurrying the swans and creating never ending ripples.

The scene sent Raja into ripples of laughter as he pedaled along. The little fly that must have also crackled at the comic scene did not realise that it was flying straight into the roaring Raja's mouth; causing him to veer into canal to the delight of a now uncontrollably chuckling little man still holding his unusually large lawn mower.

An excuse

I have been looking for an excuse to write and for a long time now have only been creating excuses for not writing. I have eventually found an excuse to write – my trip to China. My expensive MBA requires me to do an international assignment for a week as a pre-requisite for completion of the course and I am going to China for it.

China is far far away; at least from here – I guess that is probably why they call that part of the world Far East.

Rather than visit China just for the assignment week, I have decided to land there a week in advance and explore the land that I fondly viewed in Jackie Chan movies on most Saturday mornings as a kid.

Apparently Chinese people do not speak Chinese. They speak languages such as Mandarin and Cantonese. I remember coming close to calling someone stupid when they asked me whether I spoke Indian. I am glad I would not be making that mistake in China. Language is going to be a problem though. To help ease that problem, I have bought myself a picture book. So for a good two weeks, I would be pointing!

I do not know much about China and the Chinese culture until now. And I am confident that I would not know a lot more than now when I get back from China. But I do hope that my bag pack, a camera phone, the picture book and an unconfirmed itinerary would make this trip an adventurous and fun filled one. 

The malfunctioning puppet

It was Jayaram’s day. His creation comes alive on stage this evening. He had dedicated his life to research and development of humanoids and his favourite and most advanced creation, Adam, is creating history by playing the lead character in a much anticipated and star studded play at one of the oldest and prestigious theatres in the country. ‘The new meets the old’. Jayaram chuckled at his newly unearthed talent of coming up with catch phrases like these ever since he started interacting with the theatre people.

 Jayaram had gone through the play’s script several hundred times and he knew it backwards. Adam did not. That was the play’s attraction and a cause of much anticipation across the country. Jayaram’s Adam was so good that he can could view a situation, understand what was going on and be part of it. ‘He understands. He thinks. And he acts.’ - Another one of Jayaram’s original phrases.

Jayaram struggled to hide his pride as he viewed the stage and the awaiting audience from an alcove high up in the northern corner of the theatre. The nation’s most notable had come from far and wide to view the presentation. He knew Adam would make him proud.

Act one was admirable. The buzz from the audience was uncontainable. Many of them could not believe that Adam was not human. So flawless and natural was his performance that he stood out amongst the leading actors of the century who were assembled for the play. The press outside the theatre hailed it as a monumental occasion in humanoid history.

Act two began with a roaring welcome from the audience. Jayaram could not help but mumble Adam’s lines as Adam went about his business on stage. All was well until the eleventh minute when Adam said something that was not on the script. ‘The apprentice becomes the master’, thought Jayaram. Adam must be creating better lines than the best playwrights in the country. The elation was short lived as in the next five minutes Adam steered the play away into something of his own creation.

The astute actors played along while the audience remained transfixed and mesmerised at what they say; oblivious to Jayaram’s thumping heartbeat. Jayaram ran frantically down the winding stairs and towards the stage. A minute to go before the act ended. He wished, only wished, that the actors managed the stage for another minute and he could fix Adam during the break.

The claps and cheers were deafening. The actors stood bewildered and speechless as they huddled together in mute amazement as the story took new twists they could never dream of. The director howled at Jayaram. ‘That was not how it was supposed to go.’

‘I will fix it, I will fix it.’ Jayaram mumbled as he ran towards Adam. Before Jayaram could say anything, Adam said, ‘I can sense you are not happy with my performance and that you want me to act differently.’

‘Why didn’t you stick to the script? You were supposed to say the lines as they are on this book.’ Jayaram banged the book on a nearby table.

‘I said what I thought I should. That was what was expected of me.’

‘Ok, we do not have the time for this. Now, flip through this script and stick to it.’

‘But this is not what I think should be the script. My play is and ends differently.’

Jayaram could not believe this. All his life’s work was coming to an end. The thought of the shame and ridicule that people will lay upon him seemed to take the life out of him. He had to act. He had to get Adam to act.

Jayaram did not anticipate this and so had to re-programme Adam in the limited time he had. As the crowd roared to the opening of the screen for the third act, Jayaram shut his eyes tightly and pushed at the reset button.

As the humanoid came back to life, Jayaram barked, ‘Identify yourself, humanoid.’

‘Adam of your labours’

Road

It is icy, wet, dark and cold
As the engine roars down the slippery road
The canopy
And the cacophony
Blur to reveal
A Beacon
To only mark
The turn of the road
In yet another direction