In the Syrian Christian tradition, one must have not had food or water for at least 6 hours prior to receiving the communion and it is mandatory to undertake Hoosoyo to be able to partake in the Holy Communion. Though the term sounds complicated it involves the priest touching your forehead, saying a prayer of forgiveness on your behalf and making the sign of the cross. The entire process takes 5-10 seconds. The process of handing out the Holy Communion, on the other hand, is a more elaborate process with the Church curtains opening and ‘Achen’ coming down the ‘madbaha’ (altar) to give out bread and water to the believers who are standing in a line with there hands folded in prayer and reverence

As a 4 year old, the elaborate process of communion never ceased to amaze me. The entire church joining together in singing praises while Achen (the vicar), would pick a piece of the brown bread and toss it into the receiver’s mouth. The receiver would then go onto have water and gulp the bread down. (It is believed that not even a single morsel of the ‘body of Christ’ should remain in the mouth). What intrigued me more was that everybody I knew seemed to get a chance to taste that seemingly delicious bread (I didn’t know it was bread at that time) while I would stare and gape at them, puzzled.

A few Sundays of gaping helped me make up my mind. I had to have that elusive bread and it seemed easy to obtain it. I just needed to stand in the line, fold my hands in prayer and open my mouth in front of Achen. My parents did not need to know of this covert operation and everyone would go home happy.

And so the day came when it was to be my turn. the curtains parted and Achen came down the stairs. Looking around and seeing none of my folks around, I slipped into the line, unnoticed. As the line progressed, I became increasingly nervous of facing Achen. Achen knew me and my family quite well and I hoped that he would stick to the business of tossing the bread into my open mouth rather than ask me questions in front of the entire church.

That was not to be. As I arrived in front of Achen, I saw a glint of suspicion in his eyes. He proceeded to ask me ” Have You taken Hoosoyo?”. The Key senses activate their own defense mechanism when they feel that the subject is incapable of handling a situation. My ears refused to hear that question and instead, interpreted the question as ‘Which School are you From?”, a question with the ready answer ‘St. Columba’s School’.

Achen wanted to say more but eventually had to succumb to the pressure of feeding many more needy, open mouths and I made a dash for the safety of the church crowd….A great escape indeed.

ps: The incident was eventually conveyed to my parents, who being responsible Sunday School teachers themselves, ensured a sound scolding followed by a strict warning was implemented.

]]> http://chuggingalong.wordpress.com/2011/05/08/which-school-are-you-from/feed/ 0 robinjabraham http://chuggingalong.wordpress.com/2011/04/30/oh-lord-my-god/ http://chuggingalong.wordpress.com/2011/04/30/oh-lord-my-god/#comments Sat, 30 Apr 2011 09:35:52 +0000 robinjabraham http://chuggingalong.wordpress.com/?p=475 ]]> The past 2 years saw me fighting the fight of my life. A scheme conspired to harass me was hatched and executed. The plot, right out of a Bollywood movie, saw a legal entanglement which could have  branded me a ‘criminal’. And yet it was easy to give up and adhere to the demands of the plotters, to surrender and continue to live the comfortable, protected life that I was always so used to.

Why didn’t I settle? Why is it that I continued to fight? Why is it that I risked so much?

The answer, of course, is only one: My hope in the Lord God who, in my lowest ebb, has always fought the fight for me. There were times when depression and worry would take over but a calming voice always soothed my nerves by saying “I’ll always be with you and never give up on you”. The truth was my sword, hope and faith my motivator and His cloak my armor.

During the course of this legal battle, in a moment of immense pain, worry and depression, I wrote a few verses which as I read now continue to amaze me at the miracle that God worked in my life:

Its the hour of pain

when its tough to remain sane

when grace and mercy seem so distant

when darkness and defeat seem so nigh

when men conspire without conscience

when I struggle to understand your patience

Strength is what I need, My Lord I cry

For I seem to have given up the will to try

Faith is what I need, My Lord, I cry

To know that you will not let any evil stand in my way

To every dawn there is dusk

and to every beginning  an end is a must

And as I see the clouds darken the horizon

I know You have arrived to put an end to my tribulation

I see your anger strike across the sky

Humbling and humiliating men who against me lie

Through the rain you wash my tears

With your might you allay my fears

And with the bow across the sky now azure

Victory is yours, Victory is yours alone you ensure

PS: The Lord gave me an amazing victory, the story of which I shall share…soon

The shock and sorrow of the loss was unbearable and still continues to haunt me today but life had to go on. As tradition holds, I was to ask all my peers and loved ones to share their contact numbers with me one more time. This I managed through the following ‘obituary’ cum request for numbers:

Hellos

For the first time in my tryst with the mobile phone I have actually managed to lose one…my treasured Nokia N 73. Along with it, my list of treasured contacts.

Please do respond to this mail with your contact no

thanks and regards

Robin

What followed was a deluge of responses expressing sympathy with me, my phone and my marriage!!

Here are some of the touching responses:

My sis-in-law:

Aayyooooo…Hw did it happen?!!

Hearty congratulations..(d way u have written makes me say this)

Oh!!! … How did you manage to do that … Anyways join the gang you just have to now lose/break 7 more mobiles to match

Gr8 work ladke…herz mine..99XXXXXXXX..

Get used to backing up data! Mine is 9XXXXXXXXX

kya karega no. ka? tere saath aisa hi hona chahiye.chal koi baat nahin yaar. its 9XXXXXXXXX

The exit polls had predicted a close game between the NDA and the UPA. The NDTV exit poll however seemed to suggest a slightly wider majority for the UPA. As one who has been groomed to support the Congress through life, I chose to accept this verdict and through the next day, parked myself in front of  www.ndtv.com, watching the results unfold.

And what a win it was…from 216 to 242 to 256 to 261…a clear mandate handed over to an incumbent government.

Personally, as a minority and bred in the city, I could never think of voting for the BJP. Over the years their treatment of hindutva has only caused fear and made me unsure of my right to leading the life of an Indian national . Modi’s development at the cost of the riots is no development at all. The incidents in Orissa,Bangalore, Mangalore, Varun’s hate speech all add up to one logical conclusion: They dont deserve to be in power

L.K Advani’s face was splashed all over the media. Obama type campaigns were run all across the internet to the point they started interfering. People wanted answers not propaganda, people wanted conversations not faces staring out of screens through Google adwords.The Twitter and blogging campaigns were full of propaganda ” We did this and that and…”As it is, with only 5% of the population online and with a significant proportion of the lot not voting, the internet campaign did not make sense in the first place.

L.K Advani was projected to be the face of change. A lifetime of his politics couldnt change the country and he expects to do it now. I would much rather go with the younger faces of the UPA who define change as giving empowerment and employment to the poor, as changing the very way in which the country is governed. I would much rather go with a prime minister who understands the health of the country and has the experience of nursing it back to health. I would much rather go with a prime minister who performs rather than challenge others to mindless debates!!

With the likes of SP, RJD and the BSP safely out of the picture its “Jai ho” for positive change and for a better India 

The worst of the lot are, however, clients who dont even know their product very well but are out to market it. What is worse, however, is that their profile refuses them to even admit their ignorance. 

A recent episode saw us presenting a full fledged plan to the client, assuming she was well aware of the product. A series of emphatic yeses saw us implementing the plan as per the scope of work defined and agreed upon. The creatives were approved and the project ready to be rolled out. 

A final user acceptance testing assured us that we were on the right track. We were, however, sadly mistaken.

4 months into the project, the client’s seniors suddenly woke up one fine day and decided that the design, layout and the feel of the product was not upto the mark and wanted changes.The plans that we had shared initially seemed to make no sense to them and the client chipped in as well with her share of concerns over a product approved by her.

We soon relaized that neither did she have a sense of the product nor had she bothered to clear all grey areas with her seniors. This resulted in a product that was probably not what they wanted in the first place!!

All she seemed concerned about was a call that she had with her senior every tuesday, after which a string of panic calls would ensure that documents upon documents be sent with timelines, revised timelines and other details. Her limited knowledge of the e-mail service ensured that she just couldnt figure out where our mails disappeared resulting in us sending it all over again.

Thus started an entire cycle of redevelopment, taking up expensive time and resources and another round of client servicing which sometimes included a haughty exchange of words. Every call simply added more undue pressure and distaste. As such, over time I have only disgust for the client.

The project isnt over yet and so isnt the problem…Have a thought on how to handle such clients?…write in

A host of factors contributed to me being off the net all this while. While office errands were chewing their way right into valuable personal time at home, my reliable Dell Inspiron was also slowly succumbing to the pressure of exploitation. It’s hard disk soon crashed, never to recover again. Currently, it lies by the side of the study table, usually in service as an arm rest.

My impatience, as the new Airtel 16 mbps ad suggests, was seeing me spend hours at home on the web, idly signing in and out of my mailbox, sifting through an umpteen social sites and mulling in deep thought as to why some clients behave the way they do.

And so with the hard disk crashing, the net connection was also done away with, leaving me at the mercy of books and family and friends to go out with. Not having a tv only accentuated the situation, giving me even more time.I started looking for chores to do around the house and soon felt some responsibilities sinking in.

A day for me has many more fuller elements to it now. It involves 8 hours of sleep, Fuller and healthier meals and a lot of time to read and explore

I now realize the wisdom of our elders in maintaining that balance. It is important : to live your life but not to abuse it.

Impatience is not my new life!!

Francis Pattom was one of my good friends throughout class 8 and 9 and were probably the only Sagittarians who became good pals as well.

Francis, as any other class 9-C student, was expected to be naughty and constantly on the lookout for pranks to play on others. It was one of such episodes that led to him having a strong Congress imprint across both his cheeks.

It was the Hindi period and Mrs. Kumari (name changed to protect myself) was, as usual, in her asthmatic demeanor, trying to teach us a lesson in literature. A short and fat lady with hyperactive sweat glands, Mrs. Kumari epitomized the teacher, who, given a choice, would rather stay at home, sleep and watch saas bahu serials through the day.

Francis, like most of us, was bored and with his hand on his chin was pondering on how he could manage to survive the 45 minutes class. As Francis glanced towards the floor, his eyes weary, he suddenly saw an object that could entertain him and his friends for the rest of the period. The object: A rubber band, large and oval, with the potential to sting and cause pain.

Francis picked up the rubber band and started stretching it, sometimes towards me (on his left) and sometimes towards Joshua (on his right). The apparent fear on our faces was thrilling enough for him to continue threatening us over the next 10 minutes.

Thrill coupled with foolishness constantly motivates you to surge ahead and his next move was to point the sling at Mrs Kumari, while we giggled and challenged him to release it. Francis was enjoying the attention…”Chodd doon?…Chodd doon?” he would ask to which we would respond ” Abey ja na..kya choddega…fattoo”. 

In one such exchange of dialogues, Francis, with his head turned towards me and the band pointed towards Mrs Kumari, accidently released the potent missile.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah”, Mrs Kumari shouted in pain”Ye kiski battameezee hai?” The class: deathly silent. “Kaun tha jisne yeh harkat ki?” No answers.

Francis, meanwhile, was being mauled down by his conscience and the fear that someone might take his name. He decided the best course of action was to surrender. Slowly, Francis stood up…”Yeh tumne fainka tha?” Mrs Kumari asked. “Yes ma’am par galti se” Francis replied. “Tum idhar aao” Mrs Kumari ordered Francis as she felt her red forehead, the target of the rubber band.

Francis slowly made his way to the podium while the class looked on. The usual suspects were shocked at the audacity of the attack while some of us still giggled silently at the turn of events.

“Sorr”….Phataach…the first slap right across Francis’ cheek reverberated across the class room. “But ma’am”…Phataach…this one seemed louder than the previous one. phataach phataach phataach…5 slaps in all. Even the naughtiest kid in school wouldn’t have expected such intensity.

Francis was shaken, but he was, after all a boy. As he walked back to his seat with Durga (read Mrs Kumari) glaring from behind, he attempted a faint smile at me. Now visible clearly, both his cheeks held imprints of Mrs Kumari’s overzealous hands. 

Clearly conscious of the gallant act he had accidently committed, Francis needed to capitalize on this occassion to establish himself as a hero. As the class ended and Mrs Kumari left, still holding a handkerchief to her forehead, Francis stood up and announced to the class ” Mujhe kuchh nahi hua”, expecting the class to applaud his effort and congratulate him on his ‘success’

His attempt was at best, meek, and a second later, all of us were rolling down on the floor in fits of laughter, while Francis resigned to his fate as a fellow classmate

I reached Mumbai Central, the source station an hour and a half before departure by one of the new age locals that seem to be getting a lot of attention these days owing to frequent  malfunctions.

At 2:30 in the afternoon,the Mumbai Central platforms bear a bored look, one that is accentuated by the empty platforms, the dead locomotives in the pit lines, the napping railwaymen, a couple of strangely coloured stray dogs and the odd traveler.

The main hall of the station, however, portrays a different picture, with its swanky new Mcdonalds and Rajdhani restaurants, the buzzing mass of people, all conversing animatedly and  few railway workers checking, loading and unloading parcels onto carts

I preferred to stay away from the hustle and bustle and found myself comfortably placed on a new steel bench that seemed to have been victimized in some metal bashing session. 

A few locomotives kept moving up and down the lines, shunting themselves onto different platforms. The locomotives of Mumbai are unique, in that they run on both AC and DC. These specialized locomotives were created because Mumbai and areas around run on DC while the rest of India runs on AC.

By 3:30 pm a handful of passengers had arrived on the platform.  Two gentlemen chose to accompany me on either side of the steel bench. The one to my left kept himself busy over the phone, while the one to my right, obese from all ends kept nudging me for more space. all this when the benches ahead were empty. 

In the midst of our fight for space, which seems to be the story of every Indian, we were approached by a eunuch, begging (read demanding) for money. 

“De beta, paise la…bhagwan tera bhala karega” (followed by the quintessential kissing sound and the clap). Her sweetness, as in most cases, was shortlived and when she realized that we were hardly paying any attention to her, threw a string of abuses and went on ahead.

In the meanwhile, I was also fed up of the obese gentleman’s quest for space. I finally got up, glaring at the gentleman, who at that point in time, represented a  ripened tomato (in his red shirt), all ready to be squashed underfoot.

I moved on to another bench.That the train was going to Delhi was validated by “ auntyji, train ithe hi aayegi, aap kithe jaa rahe ho” ,zebra striped and gaudy sarees and salwars and a couple of surd boys jumping up and down on the platform:Punjabis 

The rake of the Mumbai Rajdhani was shunted onto the platform at 4:00 pm and it was a pleasure to see the queen, all washed and jacked up for the journey. 

As i watched the rake being shunted in, the same eunuch walked up to me again, delivering the same few lines. I refused again and protested saying that she had come to me earlier as well. Her memory seemed to be in auto mode however and she had no recall whatsoever and after an “uff ohh’ moved on to another bench.

The one disappointment on seeing the Rajdhani rake were the meshed windows, with the words ” There’s a little bit of Sail in everybody’s life” screaming out at you. My disappointment was amplified when I realized, that the usually clear view outside was now marred by the mesh across the window.A genius thought for a marketer, a genuine disappointment for a railfan.

On the train, my neighbours included a couple of young chaps,a Punjabi businessman and two probably bengali ladies.A compartment ahead, sat a group of tough looking policemen with sten guns.

The train left on time and we were soon chugging along, though at top speed, across the Western terrain of India.

The Punjabi businessman sat right opposite me in the side berth. An unobtrusive man, he knew perfectly well to mind his own business. Apart from the open mouthed snores and the constant “Hey Prabhus” , he was the perfect co passenger.

Of the two young chaps, one seemed to be around 17-18 years of age, measly thin, with an army cut. He had an accent that seemed to suggest he had had some exposure abroad.

What made this character intriguing, however, were his phone calls.All his friends seemed to have nicknames assigned which included Baby Goose, Momma Goose, Tiger, Captain etc etc

He would keep referring to Western Commnd and war at this front and that front. His size didn’t seem to suggest any relation to the army, although his fervent talk seemed to suggest deep affiliation to whatever he was involved in. He had, infact come down to Mumbai because there was a lecture by Tiger, meant for the Western Command(??). 

The only other plausible reasoning for this  lingo was gaming. It was tough for me to comprehend, however, that young guys were travelling across the nation to attend lectures on strategy for a virtual world??

I resigned to Mary Higgins Clark’s “Where are you now?”and most of the evening was spent reading, interspersed with glances here and there and small naps, with my mouth wide open.

Dinner time came and went with the service good and the dinner served hot. I actually didn’t miss the soup and the bread sticks, items which have been discontinued from the Rajdhani menu by the IRCTC, citing enhanced quality focus by restricting themselves to fewer items. Fewer items meant no ice cream as well.

After the stop at Baroda (9:30 pm) ,I climbed into the cosy, side upper berth and in a matter of  minutes was lost in dreamland.

Morning was a rude experience. I was jolted out of sleep by a white light beyond the folds of my eyes. I found myself staring at the tube-light on the ceiling. The attendant had switched it on on duty’s call.

Waking up, I realized, to my dismay, that as usual, I had forgotten to bring my toothbrush and paste. Brushing would have to wait but could not afford to allow my mouth to stink. I didn’t have my pack of Happydents as well and was wondering what to do when I remembered the welcome kit (given on the Rajdhani) included a mouth freshener pack as well .

So, within the confines of  an Indian style toilet, while the others outside thought I was busy attending to the call of nature and brushing my teeth, I popped the sweetened saunf into my mouth.

Bad idea…The welcome kit included paper soap as well and the the soapy taste of soap and the sweet taste of saunf had combined and culminated in a truly disgusting taste. The mouth smelled fresh, however, even if it smelt of soap.

I got down to eating breakfast, which comprised of  tasteless vada and tangy idlis served with a hopeless green chutney. Whatever hopes I had had of the IRCTC delivering to quality were lost with this breakfast. There was no packed juice as well, which had become staple for me in my frequent journeys.

The breakfast was followed by coffee. Instead of the regular Nescafe, they served TaTa Coffee and as a proud South Indian, I must say, this will surely appeal to all who favour roast and ground coffee to the bland Nescafe.

The coffee was invigorating enough to help me finish around 50 pages of “Where are you now?”  in a span of half an hour. The train, meanwhile had reached Delhi and was slowly making its way through Hazrat Niammudin, Tilak Bridge, Shivaji Bridge to finally reach New Delhi at 8:36 am, for all practical purpose, on time.

A metro ride later, I was home, treating myself to chapati and Kerala style Chole.

Another succesful trip  and another good ride on the 2951 down Mumbai Rajdhani Express

There were 3 of us from the same college who had been placed in Iniquus. Mohit, the 8.0 CGPA class, Saurabh, the 6.0 CGPA class and me, the 5.0 CGPA class. Saurabh and I had been best of friends since school and the trivial difference in our CGPAs ensured that we remained professional pals as well. With Mohit, however, the story was slightly different and he continued to surprise us, all through his stint at Iniquus. 

a) Initially Mohit had refused to work for anything under Rs. 12000/-. He finally settled for Rs. 8000/-

b) Mohit rarely fell ill in college. However, at Iniquus, he took a break for 15 days owing to a certain illness

c) Mohit was intelligent and logical and could grasp things quickly. at Iniquus, however, he managed to mess up an entire project he was working on and was forced to redo it again

The above few surprises resulted in complete disillusionment for Mohit. His only chance at salvaging some lost pride was to quit or so he thought. 

d)Mohit never took rash decisions. One day, however, through a mail to Sid, he announced his resignation and vanished.

The sequence of surprises were to have a strong bearing on my resignation as well. The immediate consequences of Mohit’s resignation however included

a) Sid calling us ‘You Chumps’ yet again

b) 3-4 sessions on why Mohit had made a foolish decision

c) Sid being angry and agitated on the rest of the staff

d) Us getting scared of Sid and trying to be invisible whenever he passed by

The stress of it all, which included me never being able to understand code, was slowly taking its toll. I could not picture myself building and testing websites for the rest of my life. The MBA bug had also bitten me and the prospect of a better job and a better life slowly extended its influence to the point that I finally took the decision : To Quit

I had meticulously planned the resignation episode. I was to approach Sid and tell him of my decision. He would probably shout at me for a while and then agree, after which I would be free. I had also booked a ticket to Kerala, along with my parents, to savour the well earned break.

Mohit’s terrible exit however played spoilsport and I, in my Sid-o-phobia was too scared to approach him.Sid always referred to Mohit’s resignation as a case to prove that the brightest always had high aspirations which kept them far above the ground while the dumbest ( read Saurabh and me) were grounded from the start anyway.

As the day for departure drew closer, the prospect of seeing and walking through green paddy fields and coconut trees gained precedence over going through the ‘trauma’.

I, however needed to inform Sid and for that, I needed to hatch a well thought of plan and the plan was this:

I was to draft a ‘resignation letter’ and save it in my inbox. I was to take a sick leave till the time I reached Kerala.On the day before I reached Kerala, Saurabh was to use my inbox to send the mail across to Sid. I was so mortally scared of Sid’s anger that I was willing to take no chances on the day I intended to leave for Kerala. 

Saurabh, the ever faithful friend did just that: Send the resignation mail out on a friday morning while I was lazing in the Ac 2 tier compartment of the Kerala Express.

The shock waves were intense and immediate. Sid deduced that I couldnt have sent the mail as the train takes 2.5 days to reach Kerala from Delhi, so it could only be a friend who could send the mail, which by obvious choice, was Saurabh.

The consequences of my resignation included:

a)  Saurabh being called “You Chump” yet again

b) Saurabh being interrogated for his role in the ‘crime’

c) Saurabh being sympathised with by our colleagues

d)My mail being circulated across the office ( which did win me a few accolades)

The story doesnt end here, however, and the sequence of events that followed still continues to amaze me and respect Sid a lot more…

Update: Saurabh my partner in crime has posted his take on the episode through a comment