• Going to a friend’s house to decide to what movie to go to, then argue among ourselves for hours, then decide not to go to the movie after all
• Eating the best omelet of your life at 2 AM at that small shop near IIT in Adyar
• Making up X, Y, Z theories about crushes, counter-crushes and who likes who currently
• Misunderstanding upon misunderstanding because of a stupid nickname
• Getting drenched with a friend for 2 hours as he navigates the insane traffic between college and Velachery
• Consoling a friend at 3 AM in the night because of some idiotic misunderstanding about who she sat next to during lunch
• Deciding to bunk classes because you wanted more Pepsi
• Going to college from home, and deciding not to attend classes after all
• One crazy internship which gave me more memories than semesters put together
• The first Rotaract seminar or meeting where I learnt what college was really all about
• The insane CSAU treasure hunt all over CEG on a rainy day
• Brainscan
• People coughing before your roll number so that you would miss attendance
• Mokkais and counter-mokkais
• 3 AM messaging the night before an exam
• All those trips in friends’ cars
• All those treats (esp Barbeque Nation) in the final semester
• All those walks between Koturpuram gate and MBA Audi-Chem junction
• Full meals in the canteen
• 2 AM fights because of blog posts
• 2 AM changes to Kurkshetra website
• Night out when ROS was first conducted and we had a bug in the code when people actually finished the whole thing
• That Ayan night show and crazy driving around later
• That IV trip which I mainly remember as one huge fight between EVERYONE except one room where they slept off before anything started

I’ve put all those plans on hold back home. I’ve lived for my parents all the way through undergrad and grad school. “Study well. Get a good job.” I’ve done all that. I want to live for myself for a little while now.

This got me thinking about the Indian way of life. You grow up, your parents urge you to study and get good grades. After that, get a good job. After that, get married. After that, have a child.

The crucial point is that what you want matters very little in the Indian masterplan to a happy life: make your parents happy, make your spouse happy, take care of your family, take care of your children.. It all revolves around the Family and very little around you.

I understand this is a very touchy topic, and I understand I am going to commit the cardinal sin of an NRI comparing life in India and the US, but my perspective is more of someone who has seen two cultures, rather than of someone trying to answer the question of which culture is the best (which is a pretty dumb question). So bear with me and keep the “Such an NRI” comments on hold for a while.

The culture in the US is highly, highly independent and individualistic. In fact, if I were to pick one word to represent the culture in the US, I would pick independence. Children are taught from childhood that they should be independent and able to stand on their own feet. Parents actively attempt to allow the children to grow as much as possible, and though several parents struggle with this, the intention is very clear: we are not going to be there for our children forever. This implies some understanding on the part of both the children and the parent. The child understands that the parents wont always be there to bail him/her out of their mistakes. The parents understand that they need to let go, that they cannot and should not attempt to help their child out all the time, and that there will be a time when their kids will leave home and live out on their own.

From undergrad onwards, you’re encouraged to find your dreams (be it something like becoming a painter, a chef, an accountant.. ) and follow them. The question of money is only an afterthought, second to finding what it is that you love in life, and supporting people is often not a factor at all. You need to somehow find some food and a roof over your head, but your responsibilities end there.

In the Indian Way of Life though, all too often and especially in middle class families, the first factor that must be considered is Money. Will there be enough money in the job? Will you be able to support your family? After this is considered, there is sometimes the thought that you might have to not end up hating it. Sometimes.

I find this immensely sad. I get the practical aspect of it completely: Middle class families don’t have a lot of money, and they can’t support their kids going off chasing dreams that could end up in the child not getting a job. There is the dual aspect of money and the social pressure to “not be a failure”: aka someone who doesn’t have a good job.

But to encourage kids to blindly take up “engineering” without any thought as to what they really like is very wrong. It is painful to imagine studying something you hate because it can guarantee you a job later on in life, and allow you to support your family. Add to this the contempt that arts and humanities have socially, and you have a culture that produces only engineers who hate engineering.

Which brings us back to the main theme: There are precious few times in an indian girl(or guy)’s life when she is herself: She is first her parent’s daughter, then her husband’s wife, then her children’s parent. There is this precious, precious gap between entering undergrad and getting married (sometimes this is only when she gets a job and moves to another city) when she is free to be her own person, free from the struggles to get good marks or get a good job.

I wish the Indian system would allow more time for people to be themselves: Don’t want to marry? Don’t want to have kids? Want to back-pack all over Europe for a year? Each of these decisions will evoke scandal from your parents and the galaxy of uncles and aunts that will descend on you to judge you.

You might ask: But why do you care? Who cares what anyone thinks? Sometimes it is the case that both the kids and parents are fine with their decision. But I’ve seen cases where people have been hesitant to take decisions, not because it will affect them directly, but because it will affect their parents and they don’t want to cause the social backlash against their parents.

This is not to say I don’t love the Indian system in certain aspects: I like how connected it makes us feel. I like the warmth it makes us feel. I like how it instantly brings purpose to your life. I have seen people in the US  who question what they are here for and why life is worth living. This never happens with Indians who have a family. And because it is so centered around other people, and not on yourself, it brings a measure of selflessness and humility to your personality. So its not all bad. And yet..

Cafe Coffee Day, Chennai. 3 PM.

Lavanya sipped her Tropical Iceberg and watched Indra walked in. For the umpteenth time, she noted how different they were. She couldn’t stay still in a spot for more than few moments. When she walked, it looked she was jogging. She even spoke fast. Haste was in everything she said and did.

Indra, on the other hand, was the picture of serenity. He strode in as if he had all the time in the world. Ironical though, that he never looked as if he had taken the time to dress. But it really took a lot to ruffle him. In all the years that she knew him, she had only seen him ruffled twice. And considering that she herself was the cause one of those times..  She snapped back to the present. Indra had a slight smile on his face, which meant he had hit pay dirt.

“You got it?” She handed him his favorite mocha, thinking he must drink half a dozen of those a day.

“You’re gonna love this.. Little birds in the shady part of town tell me that the money for the little exploit seems to been ah, shall we say, taken, from the big multinational corporations that every other gang is connected to. As you would expect, these people have the police hunting for the thief. Not to mention their own people.”

“Whoever did this is crazy. Sure, let’s steal from crime conglomerates. Who had that bright idea? Is there a real life Sivaji out there somewhere?”

“I’m not done yet. Whoever did it seems to have do it electronically. All their overseas accounts have been hacked. And the thief seems to be good. Very, very good. Every account hacked on the first try.”

“And these.. friends.. of yours are positive it wasn’t an inside job?”

“They’re sure. These codes were only known to the ahem, CEO, of each company. Changed  every 2 hours. Not stuff like birth day and your wife’s name. Ironically, the guys best at security are the bad guys.”

“Every 2 hours? And all the accounts hacked in that window? Damn.”

“Here’s the part you’re gonna love: word on the street is, you could count the number of hackers who are able to pull something like this off on one hand. And when you consider who the money was stolen from, that narrows it down considerably.”

“Oh god come on, spill it.”

“They think its a hacker who goes by several names: Tyche, Fortuna, Felicitas.. “

“Wait, all those are different names for..”

“The Goddess of Luck. It’s a girl. And they think she’s from India.”

–

Malbona mansion, Mumbai. 3 PM.

“Why is she not dead yet?”

Ranjit felt the sweat on his brow. He dare not wipe it. He stared at the floor, careful not to make eye contact with the man sitting in front of him.

The man was Manish Malbona, head of one of most powerful crime syndicates in India, and perhaps the world. He was one of those men who are not physically intimidating, but could give you chills just by being in your presence. He had seen highly trained assassins behave like meek schoolchildren in front of him.

“She has proven difficult to capture sir. When people get close to finding her.. things.. happen..”

“What do you mean?”

“I am not sure how to explain sir. Around two months ago, we received information that she was in the Trenalgo Mall. It is around 10 minutes from here. We set out to get her. One of the wheels of our car became loose, causing us to ram into a passing police car. We couldn’t get away from the scene for another 15 min. By that time, she had left and we couldn’t trace her.”

“That’s just one incident.”

“It has happened a number of times sir. Always close shaves. Not just with our group. Another groups have also tried to catch her. Something always happens.”

“Perhaps she has spies within our groups working to make sure she isn’t caught or killed.”

“Unlikely sir. Each time something goes wrong, it seems to go wrong naturally. Like a signal change at the wrong time. A police car passing by at the wrong moment. Trees falling. All of which do occur naturally.”

“What are you saying then? She controls all these events somehow?”

“We’re not sure sir. From what I’ve seen, it looks like her name is true; she really is the Goddess of Luck. Things which have a chance of one in a million or a billion of occurring normally, occur routinely whenever she is involved. I have no idea if she is controlling this somehow.”

“Hmm.. Now I am even more interested in her. Revoke the kill order on her. Increase the bounty to 10 crores. I want her captured. Alive.”

I remember that I also used to despise people who were fence-sitters: the people who would neither say yes or no, but would sit perennially in the middle. I thought these people were taking the easy way out. After all, it takes guts to stand up and say Yes I support this stand and react to the brickbats that inevitably follow. Even if someone had an opinion diametrically opposite to mine, just the fact that they were standing up for something used to make me respect them.

Now, a few years later, I find myself more and more in the camp of people who do not have a strong opinion on the issue at hand. I’m not sure if this is the effect of “growing up” or whether I am really more experienced now, but I’ve seen a lot of change in the way I look at things, which I thought I would share on the blog. These things will be obvious to many, and most people would have learnt these things when they are younger, but hey, its my blog.

Don’t judge. This took quite a long time to sink in. You never know the full story. You think that guy has given up? Perhaps you did not know about his family circumstances. Do you think the woman is being too cranky? Maybe this is her third job and she has been up all night. The startling thing is that people, almost universally, will not be so harsh if they knew what was going on. But we don’t, and so we judge based on what we see.

Don’t compare. I am sort of a serial offender at this. I am almost never content unless I can compare my performance with whoever is doing the best job in that. However, you never know the story behind someone’s performance. They might have doing that task for the past 10 years. They might have been giving up time with their family for weeks on end to finish it that fast. They might have been training for that contest for 5 years without a break. Comparing yourself to them and beating yourself up serves no purpose. Note that this also goes the other way: don’t judge someone harshly for their performance. A kid doing poorly at a test might not have electricity to study at home.

This also cuts to stuff like jobs and the amount of money someone else is making: you never know what someone’s life is like. Sure, he is making a lot of money, but money doesn’t translate directly into happiness. Working at a high-paying job that you completely hate and that has nothing to do with what you studied about? He might be secretly wanting your life. Grass is always greener on the other side.

Very very very little of any success you enjoy is actually due to you. There are a gazillion factors going on at every moment. Who you meet, who you talk to, what kind of day the people who matter are having, who your parents are, the kind of education you got, your hair, your height: your success/failure depends on so much other than just your effort. It really is hard to take credit for anything at all. The silver lining of course is that your failures are not your own as well, and you can let up on yourself a little.

Going off on that, the only thing you really completely control is your character. Nothing affects that except you. Even though your parents have a large influence on it, you can completely rewrite it when you grow up. And I think that’s the one thing you can truly be proud of.

P.S Sorry for more philosophical bullshit. It’s amazing where your mind wanders to. But hey, like I said, its my blog The title is a hat tip to Game of Thrones, which is an amazing rollercoaster book series: #1 bad, #2 didnt read, #3 utterly brilliant, #4 very bad, #5 not enthusiastic to finish.

Chennai 6 AM

As the morning rays poured in through the curtains, Kesavan poured himself some coffee and watched the news. The effect was global, as expected. Stock markets across the globe were showing losses, at least the ones that had opened. A dozen Fortune 500 companies in the US had become worthless as of that morning. CEOs had that look of an animal caught in railway tracks watching the advancing lights of the train, knowing its fate was sealed.

It was amusing to watch the news channels scramble to invent some reason behind the collapse. Conspiracy theory after conspiracy theory was showcased. It was the work of the Chinese. The work of the Russians. The Nihilists had been reborn. Hitler’s lineage had somehow survived and was responsible. The 1% were responsible for the collapse.

He closed his eyes and savored the moment. It had begun. It would not be long now. He felt that unknown entity awaken inside him and he gave in to the visions. As always, he felt disjoint scenes and memories.

He was standing at the battlefield.. Bodies were strewn all around him. He felt sick sensing the death all around him. But he knew there was more to come tomorrow.

He was urging to pull the bow and send the arrow.. He was sending the arrow.. He was watching from outside the battlefield.. And he was watching from afar, in his mind’s eye..

He felt the purpose of his life ebb away with each arrow.. With every opponent killed, every head that rolled, his own life blood was spilling away.. In the karmic hourglass of the universe, his sand was running out.. Their sand was running out..

He felt the sorrow when he felt a part of himself die.. That part of him that he had always loved and respected.. Then came the death of the part that was his alone but shared.. And finally.. only the mind’s eye…  The eye that would not die..

He drew a deep breath and felt himself return to this world, to all its joys and sorrows. He turned towards his bedroom and gazed at her sleeping peacefully like a child. The sunlight played on her clear skin. His eyes followed her black hair as it fell across her shoulders and her smooth back right down to that little scar. It was hard to believe anyone could be so beautiful. She was smiling in her sleep, hugging the pillow tight. By all rights, her hair should be a mess after their night and yet she slept looking perfectly groomed.

He gazed at her some more. Then he returned to the living room and opened his laptop. There was work, grim work, to do.