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It is said that a single dream is more powerful than a thousand realities. Living the life that one dreams of is a luxury that few can afford. All of us chase that luxury at some point in our lives. This is one such story of a man who dared to chase his dreams, and contrary to other stories, his chase led him to a living nightmare. Najeeb Mohammed is a poor man struggling to make ends meet; one who spends his days listening to and witnessing stories of many malayalis like him whose lives were transformed by that place everyone called 'The Gulf'. He is enticed by the AC rooms, the comfortable accommodation, and most importantly, the prospect of sending enough money home for his family to live comfortably. But going there takes a lot of money, money he doesn't have in the first place. What he does have is a house that he uses to get money. Along with a young man in tow, he proceeds to the Gulf, where, not knowing the language, he is inadvertently thrust into slavery herding goats in the middle of the desert. Whether he escapes forms the rest of the story. I wouldn't go into the rest of the story, for I feel that everyone should have the fortune of reading it for the first time, without the ugly blot that a spoiler is on their minds. I read the book in English, which is a translated version of the original written in Malayalam. I have to say, that very few books have touched my heart like 'Goat Days'. Written in raw, simple English from the POV of Najeeb, it depicts the events that happened to Najeeb (yes, it is based on the real-life story of the real-life Najeeb Mohammad) with a brutality that strikes deep into your heart; which is accentuated further with the heartbreaking innocence of Najeeb, his faith that his Allah will deliver him from this hell, and his relationship with the goats that become his only companions. The live-action adaptation makes the viewers' hearts throb with emotions; however, it doesn't come close to the tearjerker the book is, for as is the case with every movie, it does not have the luxury of exploring the Najeeb's relationship with the goats. Though Prithviraj does a very good job of portraying Najeeb's innocence, there is only so much you can fit into a runtime of 2h 52m. Reading the book made me feel sadness, anger, and helplessness as it navigated the dreary life of a goatherd in a desert farm. But most importantly, it made me feel hope in the face of insurmountable odds. It showed me the importance of faith. Najeeb's story is a story of every one of us. Though most of our situations are much, much better than what Najeeb had to endure, each of us are stuck in the goat farm that life is. All that separates us from our dreams and deliverance is but an endless desert. For if a man, whose body has been ravaged by years of exposure the burning sun, and lack of food and water, can look upon the endless desert, and feel hope, happiness, and faith, we can do anything we want in life. We can conquer the world.

Hey there, desi royals! Whether you're reigning over chaos or just trying to keep your head above water, buckle up for a side-splitting journey into the fabulous yet bewildering world of being broke and clueless about our finances. So, grab your chai or coffee, hold on tight, and get ready to chuckle until your bank balance pleads for mercy - because this rollercoaster ride is going to be a riot! Alright, let's dive into budgeting - it's like putting on a show of wealth when we're really just juggling bills. It's similar to pulling a rabbit out of a hat and pretending it's a wad of cash! We're all financial magicians, waving our magic wands and crossing our fingers for the best outcomes. Who needs those dreary spreadsheets and dull formulas anyway? We're all about the thrill of the unknown, the excitement of shutting our eyes, crossing our fingers, and hoping for a financial miracle! After all, who wants to live in a world where every penny is meticulously accounted for? Here's to embracing the chaos, rolling with the punches, and laughing in the face of financial uncertainty. Because in the end, it's not about the numbers in our bank accounts - it's about the memories we create along the way. Now onto the financial Olympics - it's like being roped into a race you never signed up for! Forget about gold medals; we're aiming for bronze-level discounts at the thrift store and silver-star deals on expired snacks at the corner shop. Who needs lavish vacations when you can enjoy a staycation in your own living room, complete with Netflix marathons and leftover pizza? Saving money never tasted so delicious. Who needs globetrotting when you can embark on a culinary adventure through your pantry, right? And forget about luxury spa days - we've got face masks made from pantry ingredients and DIY bubble baths that may or may not involve dish soap. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures, am I right? But hey, don't knock it 'til you try it! There's a certain thrill in scoring a discount so good it feels like you're getting away with robbery. So grab your coupons, tighten those purse strings, and let's show the world that when it comes to saving money, we're all gold medalists in the sport of frugality! Now, onto the glamorous world of investing - because why settle for financial stability when you can dive into the stock market rollercoaster and pray for a miracle? Disclaimer: I'm no financial expert, but I've watched enough YouTube tutorials to know that investing is like gambling, but with fancier terms and fewer cocktails. But hey, fortune favors the bold, right? So let's roll the dice and see if we can turn our pocket change into real change. Just remember, it's all fun and games until someone loses their rent money (spoiler alert: it's probably going to be us). As we navigate the uproarious dumpster fire that is our financial situation, let's remember to laugh at ourselves and each other, because let's face it - if we don't laugh, we'll probably cry. So here's to us, my fellow desi royals in STEM - may we always find humor in our broke-ass struggles and never let our bank balances define our worth. After all, we may be broke, but darn it, we're fabulous! Until next time, stay broke and stay fabulous! Sushmasri Chitturi

On a random weekday morning, the clock strikes 7:45, and I am already late to catch the bus. I sprint across the streets of Pammal to see if the gods are smiling upon me, and as they always are, I catch the bus. A large, yellow metal tube of 12 tons, and not everyone can drive it. One needs a special license to do so. One that my driver anna has. I climb aboard, grab a window seat ahead of the younger students, plug in my earphones, and slip into a higher plane of existence, egged on by the sleepy, melodious tunes of ARR. Long story short, for over two hours every weekday, I trust my driver anna with my life as he ferries me back and forth from college. And he has never once put my life at stake, even a little. If he did, lives would be lost, and not just the ones sitting inside the bus. While most of us at Sairam were worried about whether Eid was a holiday or not, an unspoken tragedy was unfolding in Haryana's Mahendragarh. As we chilled at home, a drunken driver claimed the lives of six children, seriously injuring 20. There have been several questions raised, like Why was a school open on Eid, a public holiday? Why was there no attendant on the bus, as mandated by the courts? Why was no action taken against the driver for drunk driving despite repeated complaints? Why was a bus that did not have the right permits since 2018 allowed to run? Cases have been filed against the management, and the questions will no doubt be answered, but the 6 children who died won't be able to hear lawyers argue in court about why a certain group of people decided to play with lives that were not theirs to risk. This is but a consequence of many instances where we simply fail to follow the rules. Yes, every instance of drunk driving might not lead to accident; every permit less vehicle does not cause the loss of lives, and not every instance of not following the rules has led to serious consequences. But what we need to realize is that every time we don't follow these rules that are set aside for OUR safety, we take a certain risk, whose dividend we might not be able to pay. Rules need to be followed; that's what they are here for, right? Organizations need to develop a conscience when they decide to gamble with lives that are not theirs. This article might seem like a bunch of rambling sentences, and perhaps they are, for I do not know how to react to this heartbreaking piece of news. For I am one of those who commute in an organizational transport every day, and I do not know whether or not I would have survived this long had a set of people decided they were above the rules. We can't do anything but pray justice is served and hope that those responsible are punished.

Imagine this: you've just watched a movie that's supposed to be a romantic rollercoaster, but it feels more like a crash course in toxic dynamics. Yep, I'm talking about the movie 'Lover' where Arun and Divya take us on a wild ride through the tumultuous world of love gone sour. Don't worry; I won't spoil the plot twists for you. Instead, let's talk about something that's near and dear to my heart – friendship. Now, don't get me wrong. Love is a beautiful thing when it is not causing toxic drama. But let's face it can be a real pain in the you-know-what. That's where friendship swoops in like a caped crusader, saving the day with its unconditional support and zero drama policy. Think about it. When was the last time your friend demanded to know where you were every minute of the day? Or threw a fit because you liked someone else's Instagram post? Most friendships don't come with a side of possessiveness or jealousy – it's more like a cozy blanket on a chilly night, comforting and reassuring without suffocating you. In Arun and Divya's world, love turned into a battleground, with trust issues and insecurities raining down like artillery fire. But friendship? That's a sanctuary where you can be yourself without fear of judgment or reprisal. It's like having a personal cheerleader squad that's always there to lift you up when life knocks you down. And let's not forget the most underrated perk of friendship – the ability to laugh until your sides ache and tears stream down your face. Seriously, have you ever tried to crack jokes with your significant other during an argument? Yeah, good luck with that. But with friends, every conversation is a comedy show waiting to happen. Even in the darkest of times, they'll find a way to bring a ray of sunshine into your life. So, here's the deal, folks. Relationships may come and go like the latest fads, but friendship? That's the real MVP. It's the anchor that keeps us grounded when the storms of life threaten to toss us around like a paper boat. So, the next time you find yourself knee-deep in relationship drama, just remember – true friendship is the ultimate love story, and it's one that's worth celebrating every single day. Keep laughing, keep loving, and keep cherishing those friendships like the priceless treasures they are. Peace out.

It is only lately that a regret has begun to creep up upon me; that I haven't seen as much of the world as I would have liked to at this point. While I have friends who have travelled around much of the world, there are places within my own state that are stranger to me. With instagram reels glorifying the pleasures of travel and exploration, it is no surprise that I too, caught the travel bug eventually. One problem though. I study in a jail of a college where a college trip simply for the pleasures of travelling would probably be non existent on the priority list. I come from a slightly orthodox family that believes that the whole world is out to take advantage of, cheat, harm and maim its one and only golden boy (me). I did strike gold when my team got selected for the GreenBiz'23 Hackathon held in Hyderabad. After almost missing the train and messing up everything, we were finally on track to visit the City of Pearls, the City of Nizams, Hyderabad. Cold. That's one word to describe Hyderabad. Coming from the scorching, humid streets of Chennai, Hyderabad effectively felt like Antarctica, something that was not helped by the incessant rains. Adding to the cold was the fact that our hotel booking had to be cancelled as they wouldn't let three people stay in a single room. As we spent hours looking for a hotel that would take us in at the last minute, I realized that my dreams of exploring and photographing the wonders of the Golconda Fort were getting flushed along with the rains. Once the rains cleared though, I began to appreciate the silent beauty of the cool air, beautifully paved roads, artfully decorated pillars, and of course, the innumerable statues that stood watch over the city like silent guardians. There were shops selling everything from mundane chocolates to exotic perfumes, and half a dozen shops selling firearms and ammunition, an unseen sight in Chennai. It was a short walk from our hotel to the Salar Jung Museum. The Museum was a treasure trove of artefacts from throughout history. Every chair, every table had been painstakingly inscribed with scenes from history and mythology by craftsmen of times long gone. This did lead me to wonder, there were times when every chair, every table, every thing in the house had a sense of story. It had been handmade by a craftsman who had lovingly imbibed it with the qualities it had, before it reached the hands of the buyer. Now, well, we have flimsy plastic chairs that have been mass produced. Yes, mass production has ensured that things are less expensive, but at what cost? The famous Bracket clock has been striking and marking each hour for the better part of the last few centuries, faithfully keeping time. Who knows the stories it has witnessed? What struck me the most was the silent grandeur of the Charminar. It stood in stark contrast to the bustling bazaar around it, cool and melancholy, offering an unparalleled view in and around. Wares of all kinds were sold around it, by people of all regions and religions, from juices from perfumes, from jewellery to clothes. It had stood from 1591, watching the centuries pass by. From the top, it also offered stunning views of the streets of Hyderabad as if through the lens of a God, and at such a height, the little blemishes of humans seemed to vanish, and for a few perfect moments, we seemed like the most beautiful species to inhabit the planet, beautifying it with art, poetry, and love. Though Shakespeare had said, Not marble nor the gilded monuments Of princes shall outlive this powerful rhyme , the Charminar has outlived quite a few, and is one of the remaining evidences of times of war, conquest, grandeur and art. Though I would have been perfectly content to settle there and soak in the ancient flavors of Hyderabad and its biriyani, we had to eventually leave. (We did win the Hackathon with a huge cash prize.) While I was sad to leave Hyderabad, Chennai did welcome me with open arms and the familiar stench of overpopulation. After all, one might travel the seas and conquer the cosmos, but there is no place quite like home.

Not everyone has their life figured out all the time. So what do we do when everything seems too much when we just want a break from life, from work, from everything? I, for one, have nothing together. I am always juggling, running behind NCC, Hackathons, and trying to have a social life while my CGPA falls like Humpty Dumpty on the wall. I can confidently say that it has been three years since I took a peaceful break, and can say, "I've finished all my work for now". Of course, I am not saying I did not take any breaks, but every break I took was at the cost of the next deadline and was laced with a guilt that prevented me from ever enjoying a break, a holiday, or a day off fully. I live in a bustling suburb called Pammal. Sort of near the Chennai airport, but not really. Hot and smoky and half an hour away from every single point in the city, even the next area. It's as if God plucked out all the traces of soothing nature from the area and replaced it with traffic, dogs, and people, in that order. Having moved here from the lush green suburb of Adyar, you can imagine how that would make me feel. I always feel suffocated by the very locality I live in, the smoke, the dogs (which I am deathly scared of), and of course, the bloody traffic. I am a self-professed bibliophile. I find solace and comfort in immersing myself in books; I find myself when lost in the pages of a novel. With the bustle of the usual Indian household, and the noises of the street constantly interrupting my reverie, my usual reading rhythm and speed are greatly disturbed, and I lapse into the sly traps of my screens, binging on YouTube and Netflix until my eyes curse me, and I return to work, feeling somehow worse than when I began chilling. All that changed when I discovered Sankar Nagar, a small area WITHIN my already small area. Covered in trees, sparsely populated (at least, relatively). Within that little piece of green heaven, there was a little pitstop of sorts, Navarasa, the cutest (and only) cafe within miles. I quickly discovered that it was one that was scantly visited, thanks to a disconnect between the populace of Pammal and the demographic it was trying to serve. It would've probably been a hit somewhere north of Guindy, but in an area like Pammal wherein the maximum amount spent by people on snacks would be Rs 50 for chat, it remained relatively unknown, and unable to thrive. Somehow that made it all the more appealing for me. Navarasa was and is a little bubble of solitude that provides me a safe haven from the hustle and bustle of Pammal, it is also the only place I can get waffles anywhere nearby. Therapy is expensive. And I most certainly need it, thanks to the trauma that is Engineering. So whenever things are too much, I pick up my trusty Activa, and escape the confines of society, rushing to the bubble that is Navarasa; often, I am the only customer, and the staff knows me. They are quite friendly, and I am the proud recipient of a promotional combo that has long been discontinued for others. I pick the very last, secluded table, and order my usual, the waffle (oreo) milkshake (Nutella) combo, with a side of peri peri fries, just so that I can relish the sweetness of the waffle and milkshake separately. The service is really slow, in fact, infuriatingly slow that it has often been the cause of fights between the staff and many a customer. But not me. I prefer it that way. I sit in my spot, slipping between pages, navigating the world of the Grisha in Shadow and Bone, regaling in the adventures of Narasimha in Kevin Missal's trilogy, or reading the goosebump-inducing account of why Philip Knight started Nike. I am lost in my own world, just flipping through pages as my favorites are served for me to relish. That is my kind of therapy. And it's awesome. Image credits Fig1: Photo by Yogendra Singh on Unsplash Fig2: Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash Fig 3,Fig4: Photo by Sriram R M

Yet another 2021 has come to an end, breezing past us like the Flash on steroids. I sometimes have no idea if I am the only one struck at that moment in life when the world stopped working, and corona was going around everywhere. I do not mean to offend anyone who got corona, or undermine the seriousness of it, but for those of us who never actually ended up getting the disease, it was just an insanely long, restrictive holiday that played havoc on my academic capabilities and life, and made me get struck with a jail for a college. Oops, got carried away. Somehow, I never seem to miss a chance to tell the world how horrible my college is. Anyway, as I was saying, I have been struck in stasis in the years 2020-21, and I suppose that is going to stick until I pass out of college in 2025, hopefully with a placement offer and admission letter in hand. Whether we recognize it or not, a year HAS passed us by, and I suppose we must reflect on it. I've seen a lot of blog posts detailing personal growth, the greatest technological advancements, yada yada yada, but when it comes to my life, sadly, scholastic achievements: NIL; academic improvement: negative; personal growth: also negative. But as an engineer, is that really what we should be focussing on? As Robin Williams pretty much put it perfectly, And medicine, law, business engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for. So here is a list of my favourite stuff in 2023. The things that caught by attention, stole my heart, and made me feel a little better about 2020. Sorry, 2023. Best Book This is pretty much a no-brainer. Bibliophile as I am, I am definitely going to start with the best book. This is not a book that was released this year, though I got around to reading it just now. Shoe Dog, by Philip Knight, is the book of the year for me. The narrative style is outstanding, and the flow of the story is exciting. In the first couple of pages, when Philip describes his purpose in life, got me hooked, and I did not stop till I was done with the book. Yes, I thought, that’s it. That’s the word. The secret of happiness, I’d always suspected, the essence of beauty or truth, or all we ever need to know of either, lay somewhere in that moment when the ball is in midair, when both boxers sense the approach of the bell, when the runners near the finish line and the crowd rises as one. There’s a kind of exuberant clarity in that pulsing half second before winning and losing are decided. I wanted that, whatever that was, to be my life, my daily life. Best Movie What. A. Movie. Literally the best movie of the year for me. The dialogues, the tension, the filmmaking, the shots. As a fan of Christopher Nolan, this was the most un-Nolanistic film I've seen, and oh my god did it blow my mind. At a time when I was disillusioned with the need to go to theatres to watch movies, this movie brought back my love for the big screen. The ending is one of my all-time favorite endings of alll time. 282 OPPENHEIMER (CONT'D) :We were worried that we'd start a chain reaction that would destroy the entire world... EINSTEIN: I remember it well. What of it? OPPENHEIMER: I believe we did. Best Song Yeah, there are people with a sophisticated taste, Taylor Swift, the Weekend, etc. Let's just say I am a man of simple pleasures and simple tastes. My favourite song of the year, as guessed correctly by Spotify, is Na Ready, from Leo. Anirudh for Life. Best Place This year was the first year I actually got the guts and resources to leave the house at 4 in the morning, and set out to see the stuff of books and movies and Instagram reels: Sunrise at the beach. And darn wasn't it worth it. My favorite place in the city is the Blue Flag Beach, ECR. The best place to see the sunrise (that I've known and seen). Fav Day It's not every day that you get to see your hard work come to fruition. My favorite day this year was when me and my team, team BINS won our first-ever Hackathon, GreenBiz'23, held at G. Narayanamma Institute Of Technology and Science coming third from over 200 participants who had registered. The last 24 hours were nail-biting, and we prevailed in the end. So that's it guess. As we step into this new year, we can only hope that this year and subsequent years are better than the last few years. See ya'll next week with a post! (New year resolution number 1: Write and post regularly on the blog).

What is the root cause of success? Is it birth at a particular time or place? Is it circumstances, family, or luck? What about one's own hard work? There are a dozen success stories, but the one thing that connects them all, and is perhaps the most important factor? Perseverance. The strength of willpower to keep at something, to chase one's dreams is perhaps the most important quality that one could have. Here's the story of a boy from the streets of Karnataka who would go on to rule Mumbai. And no, I am not talking about Rocky, the protagonist of the K.G.F films. The KGF films are perhaps, an exaggerated version of the same- the story of a hero who wanted to conquer the world, who achieved his dreams because he believed in them and kept working towards them. The movies grabbed the headlines for a variety of other things: for hiring a 19 year old to do the film's editing, for its historic collection. One of the things that drew attention was the film's excellent, goosebump inducing background score, composed by a music director unknown outside the boundaries of Karnataka who had woven magic with his musical notes. His story is something that everyone must know, for it seems to bear similarities to Rocky's life, with bomb blasts, police, and most of all, lots and lost of hardships. Yet, he struck it out. For Yash may have played Rocky on screen, but this is the story of Rocky for real. Born in 1984 in the historic port town of Basrur, Karnataka, Ravi Basrur was born into a humble family of sculptors. Named Kiran at birth, he was the fourth son, who just couldn't bring himself to study and pursue academics. Instead, his heart was drawn towards the rich folk tunes of his artisan village. He yearned to do something, become someone in the field of music. At the age of 14, he was forced to abandon his education and take up sculpting in the family workshop as poverty threatened to knock down their loving household. Try as he might, things did not click between him and sculpting and he found he could not progress beyond a certain point. He got struck in a rut. This is where most give up, and keep at a job they hate. When he was 17 years old, he got the opportunity to venture out of his little village for the first time in his life, when his father sent him to Bangalore with some cash in hand to learn advanced sculpting in order to develop the family business. With just 200 in hand, he joined a sculpting workshop and began saving up, in bits and pieces. When he had in hand a sizeable amount to call his own, he bought his very first keyboard. Keyboard in hand, he began his relentless quest to get a job under a music director. Looking unkempt and shabby, without even a basic knowledge of English, his honest desire and yearning for music found no takers in metropolitan Bangalore as he was turned away repeatedly. Dejected and rejected, he took a friend's suggestion to move to Mumbai, the city of dreams. With the whos and who of the movie industry frequenting pubs, he began looking for chances to play in pubs, hoping to get noticed by someone, anyone who could provide him with a break. He got his first break when the owner of a large pub, a fellow kannadiga, agreed to let him play at his pub. Jubilant at finally getting his first chance, he promptly left his day job at a sculpting workshop and began to go towards the pub, all his instruments in tow. That was when life decided to deal a near fatal blow. He received news that the pub in question had been raided and temporarily closed down. In a strange land surrounded by strange people who spoke an unknown language, Kiran did not understand why the bustling city was restless. Sitting on a railway station platform with all of his instruments in boxes, he was assaulted by policemen on suspicions of being a terrorist. Mumbai had just witnessed some of the worst bomb blasts ever, and a stranger sitting on a platform with large black boxes was sure to attract police action. Kiran could do nothing but watch and scream as the musical instruments he had so lovingly brought with the little money he had were broken beyond recognition. Now, he had no job, no music, and definitely no money. Back to square zero. With no money to return to his village, he travelled from Mumbai to Bangalore in the train lavatory, holding the door shut with his hands lest the ticket inspector catch him. Lacking the heart to go back to his village, he asked his elder brother to pick him up from the previous station and take him home; a home that was in a worse condition than he had left it in. The household had sunk deep in debt, worsened by the loans he had taken in an ill fated attempt to make and sell redundant music cassettes, and loans taken to buy a computer to help in his music. In an ill conceived idea, he decided to sell one of his kidneys if it meant he could continue producing music. He contacted the agents who agreed to harvest one of his kidneys in return for money. Fearing that they might cheat him out of his life, he pulled out at the last minute. Subjected to the worst possible judgement by his brothers and parents, he resumed work at the workshop. But in reality, he was dead inside. Torn away from the music he so loved, he could not be at peace, even if it meant relative financial stability. He decided to venture out again. Asking his family to consider him dead, he left his village again to seek his fortunes in the very place that had scorned him - Bangalore. Working odd jobs, unable to catch a break, devoid of money even for basic sustenance, he took to living in public toilets at 2-3 Rs a day. He truly had hit rock bottom. All his friends who had helped him his first time in Bangalore tired of him and turned him away. One of his oldest friends, however, took pity on him and took him to a face reader (a sort of astrologer) (for what joy? I do not know). The man in question took one look at Kiran's face and declared, "This man in front of me is at a low point in life because he needs money. But there will come a time when people will have to book an appointment to see him." Unlike many others, he put money where his mouth was, and promptly have Kiran Rs 35,000 in cash, telling him that he was not going to ask any questions about money, and that he was not really obligated to return it. Kiran was speechless and overcome with gratitude. Ravi was the name of that man who had given him money, and by doing that, had given him a shot at the future he so desperately craved. He changed his name to Ravi Basrur, Ravi for the man who had changed his life, Basrur for the village that had made him into the man he was now. There was no looking back. With the money he had made, Ravi Basrur set up a small studio and began learning the ins and outs of the music industry. Getting a job at BigFm, he began to produce small, catchy jingles that caught everyone's attention. He got introduced to Prashant Neel, the director of KGF. Eventually he got the chance to work in his first ever feature film, Ugramm, which was an enormous success. His career grew leaps and bounds after that, when Prashant Neel, the director he had collaborated for Ugramm, approached him for a mega project that would take years to complete. Ravi put aside all other commitments and put his heart and soul into what would become the album of K.G.F, with some really good songs and some of the greatest background score ever. What Ravi (the astrologer) had predicted eventually did end up becoming true. Kiran from Basrur had blossomed into Ravi Basrur, one of the most sought after music directors in the country. He had a thousand chances and a million reasons to give up. Fate, circumstances, everything seemed to ask him to stick to where he was, to not try to change the status quo, to not chase his dreams. But he persevered, and chased his dreams across the stars, until he found a place among them. "Don't be discouraged. It's often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock"

It has been quite long since I wrote anything. Probably because I hardly have time to read. A book on the shelves of a bookstore randomly caught my attention, and rocked my world. It was an account of the Mahabharat as a story of Duryodhana's life. I realised that thanks to the narrative that has been maintained over generations, we have come to believe that the various characters in our epics were black, or white; you are either the hero, or a villain. We actively forget that our epics were not, and are not, a collection of dusty proverbs told in the form of a story. They are the stories of common people of another era, and just like the people portrayed in our epics, their stories have an enormous grey area, and are meant to explore the complexities of human nature. The Ramayana, surprisingly, is a bit clear on this-Ravana was one of the greatest men who ever lived. He was a staunch devotee of Shiva and an illustrious ruler who lead his country into such wealth and prosperity that the streets were fabled to be inlaid with gold, thus leading to the name- Golden Lanka. While the sin he committed by kidnapping Sita is not to be condoned, that doesn't make him a 'bad guy'. Though he is the villain of the Ramayana, he had more good qualities than bad, and was a great king. Duryodhana, on the other hand, has it worse. He is vilified as a complete villain who did everything based on greed, lust, and angst towards his cousins-the Pandavas. It is usually forgotten that while he had horrible qualities, he had many great ones too, that made him stand apart from the Pandavas. The Pandavas, and Krishna on the other hand, had detestable qualities as explained above that are often forgotten in the brilliance of Krishna's glory. It is never specified how exactly Duryodhana was evil. While he had unredeemable qualities that lead to his downfall, he was a courageous warrior with exceptional skill in the art of mace fighting. He was said to be brilliant, kind, and was a good ruler. The Kurukshetra war, if looked at closely, was not a battle for the welfare of the people, the citizens of the country; rather, it was a dynastic war for succession between the Pandavas and the Kauravas. Nowhere in the great epic is it written that people were unhappy under Duryodhana's rule. While treating someone poorly on the basis of caste is essentially illegal in India now, we see that Karna, who, (in my opinion) is the greatest hero in all of Mahabharata, is treated poorly on account of his caste. In the light of his horrible actions towards Draupadi, the wrongs done toward him by the Pandavas are forgotten. The reason a warrior of such calibre, renowned throughout the country for his Dharma, fights alongside Duryodhana is that he was the only one who saw Karna for what he was- a great warrior, irrespective of his caste. When disgraced at the martial exhibition for his caste despite being just as good (or better) than Arjuna, Duryodhana is the only one who stands alongside Karna, and offers him a portion of the kingdom, elevating him from the position of that of a Charioteer's son to that of a king in an instant. While searching for the Pandavas in their thirteenth year of exile, Duryodhana reached the sourthern forests of Kerala. Feeling extremely thristy, he asked an old lady for water. The old lady, belonging to a low caste, offered him some toddy which he drank gratefully. The old woman, realising that he was of Royal lineage, was touched that a man of his standing would accept something from an untouchable, but as we see in the epic, the eldest Kaurava never saw caste. Duryodhana, on the other hand, was touched by her hospitality, and after meditating on a nearby hill, praying to Lord Shiva for the prosperity of the villagers, he assigned swathes of agricultural land to the villagers. The villagers built a temple on the very spot where he meditated. To this day, the temple pays its property tax in the name of 'Duryodhana', showing the love and respect the villagers have for the 'villain' of the Mahabharata. Does this mean the exoneration of his evil acts? Of course not. This post is to merely show everyone, that life is neither black, or white, but rather multiple shades of grey.(again, as before, copied word for word from Jeffrey Archer). The fact that Duryodhana was a good man does not condone his acts of evil, but neither does the good qualities of the Pandavas exonerate them from their sins. Once believed to mean 'a bad ruler', it has only recently come to popular attention that in reality, 'Duryodhana' meant ,' one who is extremely difficult to wage war against'. For all his faults and merits, he did live true to his name. Thiruvalluvar did say, குணம்நாடிக் குற்றமும் நாடி அவற்றுள் மிகைநாடி மிக்க கொளல். Weigh well the good of each, his failings closely scan, As these or those prevail, so estimate the man. In the end, whether or not Duryodhana was a villain is left to us to decide, after reading the Mahabharat. I believe his actions towards draupadi were heinous, and his failings were many, and probably unforgivable.But we have just looked at the demerits for too long. It's time we looked at the other side, whether or not we decide to change our opinion.

Just imagine this. You are a little boy in second grade with a penchant for the imaginary, who's alone and just depressed because of a variety of reasons. Too young to know what depression means, you have no outlet for the dreams you seem to always dream up, the stories that flit through your brain. You desperately need companionship and a place to escape to. You could always take a visit to the idyllic town of Malgudi, where you shall be welcomed by a little boy called Swaminathan, in his shirt and dhoti, who's about the same age as you. He can be quite friendly. He was, to me in second grade. Sadly, Malgudi can't really be found in any map. Hidden within the pages of R.K.Naraynan's timeless classic, "Swami And Friends", it is filled with the mundane in an extraordinary manner. You can't help but get drawn into the struggles and passions of a boy from First form, A section (The first class that one attends school, something out of an old form of British English) You get to visit a town where astrologers fib to escape attempted murder, where the sprawling walls of Albert Mission School welcome you into the First Form A section, with Ebenezar's fanatic scripture class, 'fire eyed' Vedanayagam's math class, and get to feel Samuel's kindness when you seek his wrath. You get to be friends with the son of the Police Superintendent, and the strongest boy in the world. Moreover, you get to join the most exclusive cricket club in the world- The MCC, Malgudi Cricket Club, and play with the best bats in the whole wide world, Junior Williard Bats. The book is brought alive with the cartoons of RK Laxman, and draw you back into a time when things were simple and the worst thing that could happen to you was math homework on addition. It was Monday morning. Swaminathan was reluctant to open his eyes. He considered Monday specially unpleasant in the calendar. After the delicious freedom of Saturday and Sunday, it was difficult to get into the Monday mood of work and discipline. He shuddered at the very thought of school: that dismal yellow building; the fire-eyed Vedanayagam, his class-teacher; and the Head Master with his thin long cane.... These lines, beginning with such innocent intentions, and hard realism (from the view of a second grade kid) had me hooked as the second grade boy in me was curious enough to find what Swami would do. His ardent admiration of his 'posh' friend Rajam, complete belief that his friend, Mani with his club was the strongest person in the world, was mirrored by my own beliefs and convictions, that an adult, or even an older kid could hardly ever hope to understand. The most surprising thing about this book is that it was actually written by R.K.Narayan when was an adult. To be able to peer into the workings of a little mind when not so little yourself, and reproduce it in such a manner shows the depth of the skill with which Narayan plies his craft. This is not a review, per se. You could call it a nostalgic recalling of simple times, caused by the fact that many people I know, unless they are bookworms, have not even heard of this book. There is Harry Potter, and there is Percy Jackson, no denying that. But the letter to Hogwarts comes when you are 11. Why not take time to experience Swami's world meanwhile? P.s. If you are not a bookworm, just ask your parents. They might remember a television series by the name of 'Malgudi Days' that aired on Doordarshan in 1986. I've seen a few episodes myself, and you can't have a television series that has captured the essence of a book more.

With the majority of heroes in Tamil cinema and pop culture in general playing around with guns with the ease and enthusiasm of a baby eating candy, its no wonder every kid (including me) fantasizes about shooting one day. In fact, I idolized firing so much that it was one of my major, driving reasons for joining the National Cadet Corps. And my, wasn't I enthused when I finally got to hold a gun in my hand when attending camp. Holding a gun in your hand is sort of magical. It makes you feel powerful. It's certainly heavier than the movies make it look, though not by that much. It's quite manageable, really. The reassuring weight of a firearm comes with a teensy bit of nervousness that if you accidentally, or intentionally shoot someone, they're dead. But I was not too worried by that. (Nope, I'm not a psychopath, just someone who's confident). Handling the gun came naturally to me, and I was one of the few people who's hands did not shake. The first time I was taken firing, rain washed out the entire thing. (and no, that is not the reason for the title). It rained exactly for the 5 minutes it took to cancel firing, and then, it was clear skies and white clouds:( The day finally came. Turns out the toy targets I shot with toy guns in my explosive childhood weren't far enough. The real targets to be shot, were 30 metres away, which is REALLY far. Everyone's hands were shaking(except mine, ofc;)), and a lot of people were being whacked in the backside by the instructor (their fault, really). I confidently loaded the bullet, shot. Loaded, aimed, shot. Loaded, aimed, shot. A total of 5 rounds. Absolute heaven. I was feeling quite sorry for some of my batchmates, whose hands had been shaking so bad that they couldn't have possibly hit the target. I went to collect the target sheet, to submit for scoring, and well, I was dumbfounded. My target sheet was as clean and clear as day. None of the bullets had landed anywhere ON the sheet, let alone the scoring areas. While my friends, whose hands had been shaking, had all landed bullets. The term used to refer to me, was a washout(hence the title), in other words, a guy who didn't land a single bullet on the sheet. It was brutal for me. A failure, of sorts. I was the only guy in my batch (apart from a friend) who washed out. All of the others, including those whose hands were shaking like crazy, had made it. It kept running again, and again in my mind, so much so that I, a person who usually doesn't dwell on anything, was brooding over it all day. For some reason, this little failure brought up all the times I had ever gone wrong, ever failed abysmally, in my 18 years. As I dwelled and brooded and stressed about my failure, I tried to make sense of it all, to somehow tinker around with my brain to see what the hell was wrong with it. For I wanted to forget it all, forget every little thing associated with that day. So I began reading up on what failure does to your brain (a lot). What I found is something for another article (cuz I like to milk every event in my life for the maximum number of articles), but what I realised was that what happened to me was actually great. I screwed up firing in a camp where firing has no bearing on your performance. The personal setbacks that I've faced, however bad, came at a point in my life where I literally have a lifetime to heal from it. Your dreams and goals don't have an expiration date. All you need to do is take a deep breath, and try again. I haven't mastered it yet. Hell, it still hurts that I failed. But theres a bit of a light in the darkness. Happiness can be found in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light. I found mine, yet the darkness wasn't dispelled. It doesn't need to be. We just have to hold on. I found my happiness in the dark, and whomsoever is reading this, I do sincerely hope you find yours. P.s. How much ever brooding I did, thanks to my friends and batchmates, I was laughing by the end of the day;) "Success is not final, and failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts."- Winston Churchill