This short story is little darker and more long-winded than the first two ones. The major part of the story is based in Nagercoil, which is infinitely more beautiful than I can hope to describe. Hope you like it!

It seems like just yesterday that I was boarding the flight from Chicago to India. But here I am, seat belt buckled in, waiting in the Jet Airways flight to take me back to the land of dreams. I thought back to my flight two months ago, when I had boarded the flight, all excited, for I was returning to dear old India after 4 years. To Singara Chennai. To home.

I remember thinking about my college life on the long flight home. And of course, I could not think about college without thinking about her. For the last two years of bachelors, going to college meant going to see her. Spending time on campus meant spending time with her. She consumed the whole of the opposite sex for me. Her meant only one girl. I loved her with all the passion of a first love. And what particularly comes back to me is that I almost never talked when I was with her. I was content to sit back, to let her talk, both for her and for me. With the benefit of hindsight, I could see that she was not that stunning. But at that time, she was the peak of beauty in my eyes. I loved her flawless complexion, her expressive eyes, her cascading tresses. I could never have enough of looking at her. Just as a drug junkie keeps coming back for more and more, I devoured the sight of her with that cute ponytail, bobbing up and down as she passionately argued about something. The arguments were entirely lost on me, of course. They say girls want a guy to talk romantically to them. Not her. Somehow, she understood. And I would sometimes catch her looking at me with an intensity that would send electricity shooting down my spine.

It was not meant to last, however. We started fighting about every small thing. In my mind, she was always the one who started it, but that could be just me. We felt the magical rope that connected us start to fray. In the end, after one epic fight that lasted the entire night, and during which I waited as she changed her mobile phone battery in the middle of the fight, she asked me to get lost. And after that, we never talked again. I behaved worse than Chandler in that Friends episode, texting her, calling her, begging her to take me back. But she never did.

It was at this time that I left for higher education in the US. To forget all the pain, I became a different guy, one who would never have to deal with this kind of thing again. Parthiban vanished inside the guy whom my american friends fondly called the Parti-man. Even to my own mind, it was clear that I had become some sort of a cross between Sigappu Rojakkal Kamal and Manmathan Simbhu, without the dreary killing part of course.

I had the trifecta of being tall, dark and reasonably handsome. I learnt to be funny, but not too funny. I put on that show of slight arrogance that women enjoy. After a time, the right words just came naturally. After my masters degree, I got a job at a financial company which paid me more than enough money to fund all my dalliances. I loved the flirting, the moment the eyes meet, the moment you know that she is spending all her time thinking about you. This was a game, and I was becoming an excellent player. I moved from girl to girl, never letting a deep relationship form anywhere. I delighted in being bad, in making them desperate enough to say they loved me, and then leaving them. After my first relationship, I figured word would spread, and that would be end of it. But no. The more of a jerk I was, the more they came. At times I could feel it, like a dark liquid running through my veins, egging me on to manipulate, to wound, to hurt. And I knew I would always give in.

I was roused out of my reverie by the flight attendants giving out food. Ugh. No matter how expensive your ticket is, the food always seems to be prepared by someone who hates the human race. These people should get Anniyan unleashed on them. At least the flight attendants could have been cute. I quickly wolfed down the food and my thoughts turned once more to the events of the last two months.

Once I landed in Chennai, my mom pampered me with avial, biriyani and chakra-pongal for fifteen days. Then she shipped me off to Nagercoil at my periyappa’s house (or Narool as we call it) since I hadn’t been there in forever. Once I landed there, I expected more pampering with the US-return extra status as well. But my periyamma was having none of it.

“Kaikari vaanga therila, ennathaan padichiyo anga”.
You don’t even know how to buy vegetables, what did you learn there?

Her version of tough love was to make me do all the household chores and drag me off to all the social functions there. Manishaloda pesa kathukanum was her advice. You should learn how to talk to people. I hid a smile and played along.

After the teeming cities of amreeka, Nagercoil appeared fresh and pristine. The air itself felt cleaner. Greenery all around. The mountains in the distance, and the clouds floating lazily on their peaks. The countless thennam-thoppus (coconut groves). The cool shade under a banyan tree. The nongu sherbet that they sold on the roadside. The rattling town buses. The weird feeling when you pay with cash instead of card at every shop. The shops where they still gave you chocolates or butter biscuit if they did not have the change.  The kaara kozhambu for which even the spiciest vietnamese or thai dish is no match.

It was at one of the innumerable marriages which periyamma made me attend that I first saw her. The marriage was a high profile one, and all the ladies had turned out, decked in their finest glory. When I saw her, I knew what Michael had felt in the Godfather when he said he was struck by lightning. Till then, I had always preferred girls who were fair. But this girl, with her dusky mystique, put all the fair girls I had ever met to shame. One of my cousins leaned in and whispered, “Bekka bekka nu paakatha da”. Only then did I realize that I had been staring at her like a kid looking at his first crush.

Even after this warning, I could not take my eyes off her. Her mookuthi. Her ottiyanam. Her long black hair. The musical sound of her bangles jingling. The red saree. My eyes followed her around the marriage hall, watching her talk and laugh. One of her friends noticed my staring and pointed me out to her. She looked at me and blushed. Not even the pink of the sky during the sunset can rival the beauty of that blush on her cheek. If I was drawn in before, I was positively sunk now. I had to find out who she was.

Discreet enquiries revealed that she was Poonguzhali, the daughter of an accountant, who had died two years ago. She was currently living with her sister. Employing the standard tactic of frequenting the places she usually goes to, I struck up a conversation with her one day at, of all the places, the bakery. It was over a veg puff that our relationship started. I found her charming and refreshing. She was completely oblivious to my city tricks. I could see that she was quite taken with me as well. And so we started meeting more and more.

My family had a thennam thoppu nearby and that was where we would always go. Under the cool shade of the trees, we would sit and talk. She was always curious about me, about my life overseas, about my velinaatu padipu. When I was telling her about my work, it didn’t seem to be the grind that I had felt it to be, back in the glass and steel towers of Chicago. She looked at me with incredulous delight when I told her the electricity and water never failed there. It was so weird connecting with someone this way, face to face, without texting, without facebook, without twitter. Being with her seemed natural, weightless, as if this was how it had always been meant to be. I found myself opening up about my first love, about her, about the insane lifestyle that I had adopted in Chicago. She listened to it all, without so much as a single judging glance. The hug that she gave me at the end felt like the blessing that a pastor bestows after confession.

I felt light hearted for the first time in years. I was sleeping on Poonguzhali’s lap when she started talking about herself and her family. Her hushed tones, even though we were totally alone, told me this was not something she had told anybody else. Her mother had passed away when she was six. Her father had been an alcoholic, turning into an absolute monster when under the influence. She did not cry when she talked about how he would beat both sisters after coming home at 3 AM. A catch in her voice, and the pressure of her hand on mine alone betrayed how difficult this was for her. In-spite of all this, I could feel her sadness when she talked about his death. I took her in my arms. When we broke apart, she smiled, and this time I could sense the strength she needed to smile like that.

We never needed words after that. It was like our relationship had moved past the glorious blaze of passion and had settled in that twilight that is the delight of those who are lucky enough to grow old with their loved ones. I could read the meaning in her eyes and in her silence. I felt that this was the real deal, and all the relationships that I had gone through before merely net practice for the real match.

I borrowed my periyappa’s ambassador and we drove to Kanyakumari. The different shades of blue as the three seas mixed, and the shades of red and pink at sunset formed the perfect backdrop. I knew this was it. Some people think that proposing to a girl is hard. Phooey. You should only propose when you both know beyond the shadow of a doubt that she is going to say yes. I put my arm around her waist and drew her to me. I looked into her eyes and said simply, “Na unna kadhalikaren. Unna kalyanam pannanum nu aasapadren”. That smile, that blush again. And I knew from her eyes that she was cherishing this moment, storing it away in her mind to be relived again.

And then it was all gone. She set her face the way she does it when she is steeling herself to perform an unpleasant task. She talked about the difference in our status. She talked about how she would never fit in Chicago. She talked about how we wanted different things in life – Enamoured as I was with Narool, I could not spend my entire life there, and Poonguzhali wanted to settle here. She did not speak a word trying to convince me to stay. Thank god, she did not say, “Let us just be friends”. I was at a complete loss of words. She sensed this somehow and just enveloped me in a hug.

I was startled out of my thoughts by, “Sir, would you like anything to drink?” Drinks were being distributed in the cabin. I heard that we were going to land in an hour at Chicago. Somehow you are always thirsty on a plane. I ordered a drink and the flight attendant set a glass down upon my flipped open table. I twirled the glass of scotch in my hand, thinking about how quickly the rest of my trip had flown.

I was so angry with her. This was supposed to be my redemption, my coming out of the ashes, my leaving behind my drunk alter ego and settling into the good life. But no, just when I had thought I had found love and inner peace, it was all snatched away from me. But there was something about her that made it impossible for me to remain angry with her. Maybe it was her serenity. Maybe it was the way she smiled at you when she saw you. Whatever it was, I found myself devoid of any anger at her – the pain was still there, but the anger was somehow stripped away, leaving resignation in it’s place. The day before I left Nagercoil, I met her again. She sent me off with a hug. We both knew we would never see each other again.

I was musing on the weird turns that life takes as the plane landed in Chicago. As usual, people were impatient to get off the plane, standing up and blocking the aisle even though the business class people had not yet left. I switched on my phone and waited. My phone vibrated – it was a text message from one of the girls I knew in Chicago. A very flirty text that left no doubt of what was intended and what was to come. I closed my eyes as the darkness, suppressed for the time in India, got loose and rushed through my veins. I opened my eyes and grinned looking at the phone. The game was back on.

This was not the plan. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. When we were building dream castles about the future, we dreamt of a job that payed well enough to let you party like a mini Siddharth Mallya. A job that was exciting enough to drag you out of bed in the morning. A sweetheart whom you’ll marry in a few years. Every weekend out partying with friends. Where did it all go?

After graduating from CEG’s CS department, I joined a software company in Chennai, just like many others. The pay was decent. At first it seemed like the perfect fit – I didn’t have to relocate, and could continue going to all my favorite spots in Chennai. Then my friends left – some for work to other cities, some for education in amreeka. And I discovered that “working” did not have the glamour that it did when we discussed it sitting under the familiar tree near the CS department.

When I started work, I did not expect to be given anything revolutionary to do, and hence was quite satisfied with the lame trainee jobs that were handed out. But as time passed on, and I completed one year at the company, I yearned for a challenge. At the end of two years, I felt like a robot assembling digital parts. Was this why I completed a bachelors degree in one of the best colleges in Tamil Nadu?

Being in your twenties was supposed to be like a dream, when you had the most fun in your life. Instead it has become this phase where I go around with marriage hanging over my head like the Sword of Damocles. Every other relative I meet asks me when I am going to get married. My mom slyly brings relative girls into whatever conversation we have. Even my male relatives don’t spare me. Marry before all your hair falls out! is their stock advice.

Facebook does it’s best to make me miserable. Everyone seems to be having fun except me. That guy just landed a great job. This girl’s boyfriend proposed. That friend just returned from a trip to Maldives. Dudes who couldn’t even talk to guys, let alone girls, are now in a relationship. My childhood crush just had her baby. And in the middle of all this, will you be my neighbor on Farmville?

It really is horrible to be the last guy in your gang stuck in the city where you had all your fun. The shadow of yesteryear glory hangs over your favorite spots. Whether it is chicken lollipop at Ascendas, mocha at Cafe Coffee Day, snacks at Gurunath, you miss having your friends grab your food and finish it before you know what hit you. Movies at Sathyam are not the same without your group to make fun of every frame of the movie, and to fight over who gets the popcorn in the break. If I had known this was how life would be after college, I would have gladly stayed in college forever!

The only spot of color in the black-and-white movie of my life was Vanathi. One year my junior in college, and working at the same company. We have such a wavelength match – books, music, everything. Back in college, we used to attend all the technical events together, and I got to know her relatively well. Wherever we were, we could always find each other’s eyes. And I can see things in her eyes that her lips would never confess. But was it love? Even I couldn’t tell what my feelings for her were. After college we had not spent that much time together, and whenever we met in office, we did not speak much. Was it a crush? Will this go away in time? Did I want to go down the love path and risk whatever it was that we had? I couldn’t say.

It was while I was driving along Saidapet Main Road, thinking about Vanathi, that the turning point in my life arrived. A guy suddenly tried to cross the road near the signal, and I swerved to avoid him. My bike skidded and I was heading straight for the tyres of a water lorry. In that one moment, my life flashed before my eyes – My first cricket match victory. My first award at the Annual Day school function. The first time my words made a girl blush. The first ride on my bike on New Year’s Eve on ECR. Regret over my lame job. Vanathi’s eyes. And in that instant, when my heart felt without being held back by my brain, it all become so clear. They say fear of death brings clarity. Life became simple. I knew what I had to do. And then I realized I was still heading for the tyres.

Luckily for me, contrary to popular belief, the driver of the lorry actually knew what he was doing. He slammed the brakes and my bike hit the front tyre and then hit the curb with a thud. I was thrown clear onto the road. Traffic had stopped all around me. I stood up and examined myself. Miraculously, I had no broken bones, only scratches all over. Though my head was bleeding, I felt like jumping and shouting.

The next day I resigned. My manager heard me out with the look of a man who has been expecting this for a long time. He wished me luck for my next venture. Suddenly, life seemed full of opportunities. Masters, startups, who knows what will happen? But before all that, I had an important call to make.

“Hey hi. It’s Arul. Could I meet you today?..

I am not going to lie and say I knew she was the one when I first saw her. There were no ringing bells and angels did not circle her as music played softly in the background. In fact, I don’t even remember when I first saw her – it must have been sometime during orientation. Though she is the most beautiful girl in the world, you would not have noticed her in a crowd. But I’m getting ahead of myself here.

I’m Aditya, and this is my love story. This took place back when I used to study computer science at the College of Engineering Guindy (CEG for short). Once I got into the computer science stream, I very quickly realized it was not for me. I mean, how do these people sit in front of a computer screen all day?

In those days, everyone had their own thing apart from CS. Some took to quizzing, visiting all the girl’s colleges in the city under that cover. Others designed posters for the college fests and symposiums. Some could talk a leopard into changing its spots, and others could solve math problems in their heads. There were also those who deemed programming during labs was not enough, and wanted to do more of it for the so-called programming contests. Ugh only.

My own thing was writing. I could write, and write, and write, and never get tired of it. Thoughts flowed freely from my mind to my pen, and I delighted in the forms that words could take. I used to read voraciously, with everything from Aristotle to Agatha Christie in my list. However, as you could imagine, neither reading or writing made for a very glamourous hobby.

So what do you do for fun?

I read  a lot uncle. And sometimes I write down stuff.

Not impressive, no? But I never really cared, and I chugged along, attending the boring classes, and just doing enough to pass in every course. It was a very relaxing experience, and I often thought my life was like a cloud in a blue sky – just peacefully floating along, enjoying myself.

Well, my peaceful life came to an end during the second semester, when the local newspaper Chennai Express came to campus looking for some interns. It was a fairly good newspaper, and I was excited at all things journalism. They had written rounds asking us for articles on hypothetical events. As there weren’t too many people in college who could write a decent essay, I sailed through the rounds and was finally waiting for my interview.

This interview took place in the CUIC, a small place on the campus where all placement related activities took place. It was a one storied building, and no one who did not know what it was would think this was the place where every student’s future would be decided. The place exuded no majesty, and a chance visitor to the campus could be forgiven for dismissing it as a place where old records are stored. And yet it is at this small building that my love story begins.

Most students waited for their interviews outside the centre, sitting on the pavement opposite to the building. It was while I was waiting here for my interview in the evening, with the darkness starting to descend, wrapped up in excitement and nervousness, that I first noticed the other person shortlisted for interviews – Nandhini.

Nandhini was in my class at college. She was a quiet girl in class, rarely opening her mouth during the time that I knew her. She was a dusky, slim girl, with long luxurious hair almost until her waist. I had never really noticed her before, and I eyed her with suspicion, imagining that she was my only competitor to the internship. We both sat there in silence until we were both called for interviews simultaneously to different rooms.

My interviewer was a junior editor at the newspaper. We went through a mock routine where I was supposed to be interviewing him for the newspaper. He was pleased with the way I shot my questions at him, and announced that he would be glad to offer me an internship. My heart beat in my mouth, and I took a while to believe that it was actually over!

He went out for a while, and then came back with the other interviewer from the newspaper. Following them was Nandhini. I was told that we had both been selected for the job, and that we were to do the College Beat for the newspaper – cover reactions of college students to fashion, cinema, politics and so on. Nandhini and I nodded at each other uneasily while being briefed upon our duties as interns.

And so it was that our beautiful friendship began. Though we started out very suspicious of each other, we had a common love for reading and writing and quickly became friends. Till date, Nandhini is the only girl I know who actually reads more than I do. Over mini-idlis and dosas at the CEG canteen, we would discuss everything from Ayn Rand to the latest Harry Potter book, and on every topic she would have something insightful to say. She had an opinion on anything and everything, and could argue your rear end off if you let her. It was very easy to talk to Nandhini – she was not one of those “cho chweet! I love it <3 xoxo”  girls. There was very little drama involved with her, and being with her was like being with a guy. Things were simple.

We travelled to a lot of colleges all around Chennai, interviewing college students about current hot topics and trends. Nandhini had this knack of knowing when a person was talking honestly, even if she had just met them. In this way, she would throw away most of our hard-won interviews – He was just talking rubbish. There’s no sense in putting that in a newspaper! Though I would gaze wistfully at the sheets of interviews we discarded, it raised the quality of our work considerably, and our mentors at Chennai Express were very happy with our work.

Even though the internship ended, we both stayed on as sort of part timers, covering the odd event here and there, and of course the gala events like Techofes and Kurukshetra in CEG. I have lost track of the number of hours I spent in her company at the gallery in CEG, overlooking the vast playgrounds. We should probably have carved our names upon the stone steps, so long have we sat there discussing every subject under the sun, nipping back into the nearby canteen every time we felt hungry.

The first time I actually looked upon Nandhini as a girl was at Techofes, our cultural festival. She had come in a bright yellow saree to college, with her hair swept back and tied, but flowing freely from the back of her head. I’m pretty sure that when I saw her, my jaw dropped, and I just kept starting at her for a little while. Oh my god! I could keep looking at her forever.

The very next day she was back to her normal look, and I dismissed the vision of perfect beauty from my mind. And while our relationship was as before, from time to time, that image of her standing there near the Chemistry lab, with the leaves under her feet and the wind in her hair, looking divine, would come to mind and have me wondering if that was really the same Nandhini who was munching on a samosa and chattering on about the recently released Surya film.

I don’t know when I fell in love with her. I had always expected that love would be this huge realization that would hit you as something extraordinary happened in your relationship. But my love was entirely different – it was very very gradual, like a friend who creeps up on you slowly and then shouts in your ear. I fell in love with so many silly little things. I loved the way she used my name a million times in our conversations. Adi, did you send that email to the editor? Adi, get me some more chutney. Adi, Adi…  I loved the way a thousand expressions would flit across her face in the space of a second. I loved the way she kept her face, with a hint of a smile, when she was preparing to pull something on me. I loved the way she fought with me tooth and nail when the subject was something she was passionate about. I loved her quirky smile when she was embarrassed, and I loved her expression when was writing and had thought of a clever turn of phrase.

With each passing day, I was more and more sure that I loved her. I was extremely happy and content, and felt like I needed nothing more in life. This was it. Bliss. Paradise. But there was a small problem: I was afraid to tell her. There really is no other word for it – I am not cowardly by disposition, but my stomach churned at the thought of getting in front of Nandhini and declaring my love for her. The usual questions haunted me: What if I told her and she rejected me and I ended up losing my closest friend?

I turned to my friend Amudhan for advice. Amudhan was my exact opposite in character. While I was rather broody, introspective, and sensitive, he was an extrovert who felt that any time spent thinking was time wasted. He also happened to be one of the few people capable of tolerating me.

His advice was brief and simple: Machi, nee applicationa potru, result kaduvul kaila. Dude, tell her how you feel, the rest is in God’s hands. In the complicated state I was in, this seemed like brilliant advice and I mustered up my courage to tell Nandhini the next day. The whole day she chattered away normally, but every second was like being on nails for me. I wanted to do it at the end of the day, before she left for home. It was finally late in the evening, and we were sitting at the small place near the canteen, right before the xerox shop. It had started getting dark, and you could see the moon in the sky. I thought that Nandhini had never looked more lovely than in that moment. Alright Adi, I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight da! She got up to go. This was it.

Nandy, wait. I have something to tell you. Unlike in the movies, there really is no nice way to tell a girl you’ve known for three years, your closest friend, that you love her. Every sentence that comes to mind seems awkward and silly. My greatest fear was that I would tell her and that she would laugh in my face, refusing to believe that I was serious.

I.. love.. you. The words tumbled out, and then I was completely and utterly tongue-tied. I write thousands of words for a professional newspaper, and here I was proposing like a school kid.  I died with shame inside. What must she think of me?

A whole range of emotions swept across the face that I had learned to read so well. First there was pure shock and surprise. Then a hint of laughter as she thought this was a joke. Looking at my face, she then realized it was serious and her face became serious as well. Then, inexplicably, determination. And sadness. We looked at each other for a long time. Aeons might have passed for all I knew.

Goodbye, Adi. That was all she said. I couldn’t find the words to call her back, to explain, to say how I felt about her. I watched her walk away in the moonlight, in the long stretch of road towards the main gate. The next day Amudhan came up to me looking serious. Dude, be careful. Radhika told me that Nandhini has told her parents that you proposed. Her dad may set goondas on you for all we know. I felt my soul shrink in shame. I had met her dad – a nice, pleasant man with a joke ready at every moment. My impression had been that he had rather liked me. That was before you proposed to his daughter idiot.

From then on, everything changed. Nandhini and I went through this awkward phase where you meet and talk about everything except the one thing that you both want to talk about. I wanted to ask her what she meant by that goodbye. I wanted to ask her if she liked me or not. But I did not want to be the person to bring it up first. I tried asking her friends, but I knew Nandhini was not the kind of girl to discuss this with anyone. I resigned myself to not knowing. Sometimes I wondered if even Nandhini knew.

We became extremely polite to each other. Adi became Aditya. Nandy became Nandhini. And every moment that I spent with her, my mind would contrast with the earlier times when she used to be so carefree around me. I mentally kicked Amuthan for egging me on to spill my feelings. I wished I could go back and prevent myself from uttering those three words.

Both of us were offered full time positions at the Chennai Express. But Nandhini declined. She had an uncle in Singapore who ran a newspaper there, and had offered her a job. We had discussed it before and she had seemed dead set on remaining in Chennai. But now she was going.

Our last goodbye had no tears, no hugs. I saw her off at the Kotturporum gate, after our batch farewell. We walked the entire way from the Vivekanandha auditorium to the gate in silence. There are no words to describe the look in her eyes. There was pain. There was sadness. There was strength. And there were a whole bunch of other emotions that I couldn’t decipher. She waved me goodbye and then she was gone. Gone.

The days that followed were dark and depressing. The pain of losing Nandhini, coupled with the realization that you will never again sit on the railings opposite the ATM, that you will never have cold moar at Aavin near ACTech, hit me like a hammer. For many days I wandered around in a daze, not really knowing what I was doing. Amudhan was concerned. What are you going to do now da? By then, a measure of self-respect had returned. Well, I am not going to grow a beard and go around like Devdas. Amudhan chuckled, I knew you wouldn’t. He gave me that look that is the guy substitute for a warm hug.

Turn my sorrow into treasured gold, goes the song. I channeled all my anger and sorrow into my work, throwing myself completely into Chennai Express. I tried not to think of Nandhini, though she kept popping up every now and then. Occasionally I heard that Nandhini was doing well in Singapore, that she was making a name for herself. After a while, I blocked out all news about her, hoping that blocking the news would block the thoughts about her. Amudhan turned out to be my pillar of support, cheering me up every-time I fell into a low. I don’t know what I would have done without him.

Work was going very well. There is this odd thing about work – Everyone does the same 90% of the work at any given task. It is the last 10% that matters, that puts a finishing touch on your work and makes you stand out. My last 10% was taking me places. In two years, I had risen to being on the editorial team, working with the chief editor himself. My name was becoming known in the journalist circles in Chennai.

And then one day, the storm. I returned home after a long day at the office, and my heart skipped beats as I saw a photo on the dinner table. It was Nandhini. But a little different. Her face seemed more mature now. She had done something to her hair, straightening or some such. It made her look even cuter. Mom was looking at me with a smile on her face. Dei Adi, kalyanam vendam vendam nu sonniyae, ithaan karanama? Avanga appa call panirthaanga. You kept refusing to marry, is this why? Her father had called.

And then the whole story came out. Apparently her parents were starting to search for a match for her. And it seemed her father had rather liked me in college, and had remembered that I had proposed to Nandhini in college. Nandhini had consented when asked about the match. He had reached out to my parents, and that was how her photo came to be on my dinner table.

My mom jokes even now that I had sat there for a full 20 minutes, not giving any reaction to the news. I was so stunned, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Why didn’t this happen two years ago? Was that dismissed as a fling? Did her father think I was not ready then? But whatever the reason, happiness swept everything away, erasing my pain and leaving me with a warm glow. Everything happened really fast after that. There was the formal ponnu-paaakara event and it turned out our families got along well.

And now, I’m at the kalyana mandapam and watching as Nandhini is slowly being escorted to my side. My powers of observation have seemed to have both grown and shrunk – There was no one but Nandhini in the world, but about her, I noticed every detail. I noticed the rich red of her saree. I noticed the little band on her arm. I noticed the little earrings danglingly prettily. Above all, I noticed the endearing mixture of happiness, excitement and shyness on her face. She looked at me across the hall, and I was sure that she was aware of no one but me at that instant. And then I knew I was the luckiest guy on earth.

I was quite intrigued by the post, and went on to read one of the works he had linked to in the blog – Bhimsen by Prem Panicker. It is an unofficial translation of the Malayalam book Randamoozham. It presents the Mahabharata from the point of view of Bhima, the second Pandava, known for his god-like strength. The book is available online as a PDF, free of charge. I highly recommend anyone remotely interested in the Mahabharata to read it.

I found the book to be quite raw and realistic. Bhima is refreshingly frank about all the songs sung about them – “Why do they call me the son of Vayu? Was I not born to Pandu?” wonders a young Bhima. He does not care much for the accolades, and instead chooses to focus on making himself stronger. Bhima is seen by the others as someone with brute strength, quite limited in intelligence. He is stung by this, but accepts it and takes cover under the guise of the “fat fool”, while focussing on developing skills other than strength – he gets quite adept at archery (nothing to equal Arjuna, but still quite good for someone considered to be a brute), at training elephants, and in general trains himself to be all-round warrior.

As someone who never has to depend on another person for strength, Bhima looks down upon Yudhistra, who depends on the strength of Arjuna and Bhima. Throughout the book, Bhima bows down to Yudhistra for one reason alone: He is the eldest brother, and hence must be respected and obeyed. Bhima follows this through to the very end, even though he is quite angry and disgusted with some of Yudhistra’s actions.

Having grown up reading C. Rajagopalachari‘s version of the tale, I always considered Yudhistra to be the purest ruler – wise, generous and averse to war and hatred. There was no conflict in my mind as a young boy reading the tale – Yudhistra was kind and wise, Duryodhana was evil, hence Yudhistra must be king. It was as simple as that. Reading this book was like someone throwing a bucket of cold water over all that.

Yudhistra is shown in quite a poor light in the book – in plain terms, a greedy, calculating wimp. Yudhistra is not alone in this treatment though – almost everyone in the book save Arjuna, Bheema and the youngest Pandavas are shown to have several shades of grey. This aspect repelled and attracted me at the same time – the pure Yudhistra, a victim to lust? The fiery Draupadi filled with blood-lust? The wise queen-mother Kunti a calculating, scheming old hag? I was aghast, at first. However, it triggered a lot of questions about various points in the Mahabharata. Why indeed did they share Draupadi? After the disastrous saree incident, why gamble again? Why did Bhima leave Hidimbi in the forest and never seek her again?

These were all questions that I had never thought about – The epic was wrapped in the wool of magic and myth for me, and inconvenient facts were simply explained away by attributing them to gods. Draupadi had to marry all five because of a boon she had asked for, in which she wanted five great qualities in her husband. This could not be satisfied by any one man, and hence five husbands. While the explanation sounded quite elegant when I was twelve, it is far from satisfying now. Bhima is quite disgusted by the concept in the book – the woman who was yesterday his sister-in-law, almost a mother, is now his wife?

Even Krishna is not spared in the book – he comes across as cold, cunning, calculating and brutal. While I was not such a big fan of Krishna to begin with, it was still quite shocking to see how he was portrayed. I suppose this is because of the narrator – Bhima does not see Krishna as a god, he is an uncle, and a great friend of Arjuna, but it stops with that. He is not the incarnation of Vishnu that  C. Rajagopalachari showed him to be.

You get to know Bhima quite well in the book – as you share his emotions at each  major event – elation on his first kill, sadness on leaving Hidimbi behind in the forest, disgust when asked to marry Draupadi, longing when building sculptures for Draupadi in anticipation of her becoming his wife, grief over his first born ghatotkacha’s death, and so on.

The book also brings out the special bond between Bhima and Arjuna – both men of war developing their strength side by side as children, and supporting each other in battles. Arjuna is shown to value Bhima’s opinion over Yudhistra’s in the book at several points – this seems only natural considering the childhood bond between the brothers. Another aspect brought out quite beautifully in the book is the frustration of Bhima and Arjuna towards Yudhistra, who possesses neither strength nor war intelligence, and must totally depend on his stronger brothers to become King. Arjuna suffers through the mistakes of Yudhistra throughout the book, but reaches his limit when Yudhistra rebukes him on the battlefield. It is Bhima who soothes Arjuna and sets him back on the right path. I have never read this incident before, and it made the epic more real to me.

Bhima also expresses frustration at what he views as the fancy concepts of Dharma in the book – when Yudhistra balks at lying to Drona, Bhima gets angry and points out that they have already decided to brutally kill the man – Would lying really matter next to that? At several points, he presents the voice of realism and reason – When the bards sing that Arjuna was gifted his weapons by the gods, he says Arjuna spent many years wandering in miserable places to get those weapons – it is quite a disservice to Arjuna to say it was a gift, even if it was from the Gods.

Overall, I really enjoyed reading the book – hats off to Prem Panicker for such a realistic interpretation of the Mahabharata. It was refreshing to view the characters from a neutral viewpoint and judge them with no preconceived notions. In a way, this book represented the transition of the Mahabharata from a myth to a more historical tale for me – concepts of Dharma are now dropped, and it is simply two groups of people fighting over a kingdom. Now I would like to read something from the perspective of the Kauravas – I’m sure that would change my understanding of this truly timeless epic yet again.

For those who have been hiding under a rock, Google+ is a social networking website from, well, Google. The big difference with Facebook is Circles, which are groups of people you share information with. Circles is aimed at mimicking how we communicate in real life, with your inner circle of friends, and outer circles of acquaintances, and people you don’t really know, but “follow” on the internet. People can be in multiple circles at the same time, and you can share information with only certain circles. Google throws in group video chat for circles called “Hangout”, and group messaging for circles called “Huddle”.

There have been other blog posts which talk about various Google+ features, and how to use them. Assuming you know all about Google+, lets talk about what is good and bad about Google+. Keep in mind that this is all from my very subjective viewpoint of using Google+ for only a week, and that it will inevitably improve over time.

Best Features

1. Circles – This is by far the best feature of Google+. Selective communication has never been easier – You can share a video or a link with your small circle of people with a click. Arguably, you could do the same thing with groups in GMail, but this is much more hassle free, and more fun. I can see this completely replacing threads as the mechanism for group interaction.
2. Black Bar - This represents integration across all Google properties – whether you are in GMail or Reader, the black bar at the top will keep you appraised of what is happening in the social world. What is incredible about this is that when you click on the notifications icon, you can immediately see in the drop down who commented on what post, and even more astonishingly, you can reply back without leaving GMail. This totally does away with the need to open a new window for conversation.
3. Chat with circles - I recently discovered how powerful this was when talking with a friend about wanting to chat at work, but not appear “Busy” – that line between inviting pings and limiting “what’cha doing” messages. You can add people you would like to talk to, to a circle, and appear visible to only that circle. Problem solved!
4. Hangout – While I have my doubts about the philosophy behind Hangouts – you start a video stream, and people just drop in – I love that I can now group video chat with my friends on any operating system and any browser, with no need for additional software. A group of my friends were recently debating how to do this, and compatibility issues caused the video chat to not happen. With Hangout, compatibility is a non-issue!
5. A clean slate - This is not really a feature, but simply due to the fact that Google+ is new. Facebook has now become the place where everyone is friends with everyone, and you get deluged with all sorts of meaningless information that you didn’t really want in the first place. This has got something to do with the fact that we were new to social networks when Facebook came along, and so we happily indulged ourselves, going out and befriending everyone out there. Google+, with one-way circles, offers the chance to refine your social networks without hurting people’s feelings. Remember that someone adding you to their circle is not a friend request, and you are not obligated to add them to any circles.

Stuff that needs to improve:

1. The invite interface - This caused quite a lot of confusion when Google+ released. “Does adding people to a circle invite them? Why isn’t there a box where I can enter a name and invite people?” These were some of the natural questions that arose. I’m sure Google is planning on correcting this pretty soon.
2. Connectivity and Integration - The invite stuff is critical, but long-term this is the one thing that Google has to nail. I’m used to going to pretty much any website and being able to “Like” an article or “Share on Facebook” a video. Just +1ing  content does not feel the same – There must be an explicit interface to quickly share content on Google+. I understand that this will take time though – Facebook platform took a number of years to develop and deploy on major websites.
3. Photo Albums - This is quite terrible. I understand this was low priority for the beta release, but many obvious features are missing – The familiar Like button, rearranging pics in an album, +1ing comments on the photo album interface.
4. Sparks – This is well-meaning but poorly implemented – Ideally, this should be integrated into your stream, as a bot friend or something, the way celebrity pages are integrated into the Wall in Facebook. The contents currently in my sparks stream are a long way from interesting, but perhaps this will improve as Google+ evolves.
5. Search - This was something I’ve wanted for a long long time in Facebook, and I was quite shocked that Google has not introduced the ability to search the stream content. Maybe it’s in there somewhere, but I have not been able to get to it easily so far.
6. Huddle – Can’t really review this, except to say it’s not available on the iPhone yet. Epic fail, given that a sizeable segment of the target population uses iPhones. If this was due to Apple intentionally delaying the Google+ app for the iPhone, well, score one for Apple, because it worked.

So that’s it for the Google+ review – It’s good, and it’s gonna get better. For all the people who are figuring out ways to import your entire list of Facebook contacts over to Google+, I have this to say: please don’t.

Facebook is the Java of the social networking world: Big and bloated. Google+ has a chance to be C —
Vijay Chidambaram (@vijay03) July 02, 2011

Before I say anything, do remember that this is from my viewpoint of studying Computer Science at UW Madison. The experience is likely to be different at other universities. But I think you will find that the essence is the same.

Academics

Studying here is different in a number of ways from studying back in good old CEG. The first, and most striking difference is this: The professors really do want you to understand and learn the stuff. They make a huge effort to do this – right from props in class to stories and examples. A good example is the Introduction to Java Programming class. I was the teaching assistant(TA) for this class in my first semester – Every class has a theme/story so that the students will be more involved in learning the stuff. They have the students playing games developed in Java, to understand the concepts of object oriented programming. TAing this class was a lot of fun because of this!

The second difference is that professors and TAs are not actively trying to reduce your score. On the contrary, they try to give you the benefit of the doubt in every mistake that you commit – If there is a viewpoint from which your answer is correct, it will be considered and rewarded. The learning is emphasized, and the tests and exams are relegated to the roles of just helping you keep track of how far along you are on learning the stuff.

The third difference, and this is very university specific, is how the courses are structured. There are undergraduate courses which are more textbook oriented, but all the graduate courses involve heavy reading of publications from the top conferences, and emphasize learning by projects and discussion in class. You learn the current state of the art in many of the courses, and build on what you learnt in course projects. Some of the course projects go on to become published.

The projects are generally 2-3 persons per team, and are fun to do. A lot of freedom is given in choosing what project you want to do – the professors stress that you pick something that you will enjoy building. I’ve programmed robots, built distributed key-value stores and a score of other interesting projects. Most of these projects end up with the bunch of us awake at 2 AM desperately trying to fix a bug! It’s hard work, but immensely enjoyable – You make very good friends this way, since you’re stuck with the others in a lab for a huge amount of time!

Finance

I was lucky enough to be funded when I started the Masters program. If you are not, there are a number of funding sources that you can reach out to. Many departments need people for web design, application development, and other positions. Knowing MATLAB widens the scope of the jobs you can get, allowing you to try out for jobs in ECE and biology depts.

If you are not funded when you start MS, you will generally have to wait for a semester until you can procure funding. Students work with professors in what are called independent studies, working on projects that allow the professors to assess their aptitude. If it goes well, and the professor has an opening in his group, you get the spot next semester.

Jobs

The computer science job market is on the up-swing, and now is a good time to be graduating. Many companies are ramping up their recruiting, and you have a good chance of landing a challenging, interesting job. The pay is usually very handsome, and  will allow you to pay off your education loan in 3-5 years.

Closely related to jobs are summer internships. These provide an excellent way to make some money while getting valuable industry experience. Many students convert their internships into full time jobs so that by the end of their first full year here, they are quite settled with a job in hand.

Emotions

It is not all just fun and games in the land of dreams though. If you expected the masters program to be an extension of your bachelors degree, you will quickly find out how different they are. You are expected to do quite a bit of the learning process alone. The classes are more intense, and require you to pay attention and participate. You will have to learn to do quite a bit of writing – reports are expected for every project. Some universities have insane workloads, and you can quickly find yourself looking at a mountain of work and not enough time to do it in.

The other problem, at least for me, was adapting to staying alone, and in a foreign land. I have never been a hosteler before, so this was the first time I was staying away from home. You take some time to adjust to the fact that you can’t just take a bus and go see your parents. I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve wanted a veg puff and a samosa after class. Skype and Localphone proved to be big saviors, allowing me to call and video-chat with my family inexpensively. If you’re not staying with a big gang of other indian students, it can get quite tough to stay motivated for the length of the program.

Fun

Provided you get the right gang of friends, there is so much fun to be had here. Black Friday shopping, Halloween costumes, trying out different cuisines, concerts – the list goes on and on. Even working on projects becomes fun when done in the right spirit – I have many fond memories of walking out into the cold at 2 AM with friends to get pizza before coming back and hitting the computers again.

All in all, studying in the US in an experience by itself. If you have an inclination for higher studies and the idea of taking an exam does not send you into panic mode, you should definitely consider getting a Masters degree here. Apart from the resume building and the money making, its quite an experience, and you will be richer as a person at the end of two years.

The match started with the insane amount of hype that surrounds any big India match. The hope and the dream was for Sachin to make his 100th international century at his home ground. India started brilliantly, with Zaheer bowling the exact opposite of the way he bowled in his previous World Cup Final match. Sreesanth, on the other hand, did not handle the pressure well, leaking runs throughout.

However, as the match progressed, and Jayawardene guided Sri Lanka to a very defendable total, all eyes were on Sachin. This was a total worthy of a chase by the Little Master.

It was electrifying watching Sehwag and Sachin walk out, carrying the entire hopes of a nation on their shoulders. And then there was the terrible terrible second ball. And just like that, Sehwag was gone. India’s chase wasn’t off to a great start. Still, Sachin was there. We hung onto that name, and a billion hearts sent up prayers for Sachin to get his hundred. When Sachin got out, there was… silence. And disbelief.

People started leaving the stadium, not wanting to see the Indian Batting collapse which we’ve been oh so familiar with. This was when Gautam Gambhir decided to disappoint them, and bat like a boss under immense pressure. His partnership with Kohli was the foundation upon which the entire victory was built. After Kohli got out, he and Dhoni worked steadily to get within striking distance of the target again. Hope was back.

And then finally the defining moment of this World Cup – Dhoni stepping up and whopping it into the crowds. I love this moment of the match – The look in Dhoni’s eyes as he hits is just priceless. What style. What class. Whatte man!

After that colossal hit, there was plenty of Dhoni love flowing around. Krish Ashok put the Dhoni critics in their place:

The classic way in which he finished – The six, followed by the stylish swish of the bat, won hearts everywhere.

The post match presentation was very emotional, with players dedicating the win to Sachin. Plenty of appreciation for Sri Lanka, who put up a good fight and made this a game worth remembering.

Let me end with the two of best Sachin centered tweets of the day:

P.S Credit for the title goes to Lavanya Mohan.

We stumble along from the gate, and suddenly our ears are assaulted with loud, cheerful music. We turn as a group to the source and find ourselves watching as a shopkeeper sets up for the day – He has turned on his favorite music, and is singing along loudly to it with a jolly rumble and a shake to the tune.

Despite all the tiredness, I can’t help breaking out into a smile and feeling my spirits rise. The shopkeeper shakes his hands to the music, oblivious to the crowd watching. I see more smiles break out around me as the guy’s cheerful spirit infects us and puts a zing into our step.

I wander away, thinking how priceless it is to be able to wake up in the morning and love whatever it is that you are doing so much that you can do a little dance.

What I enjoy most about the lyrics is that he specializes them to the film. While Endhiran had lots of techno lyrics, the lyrics in Ko include photography terms, since Ko is about a photographer. My friend Karthik informed me that “குவியமில்லா”, which means “out of focus” – Coming from the word “kuviyam”, which means “focus”. It’s fun learning new words like this

Some of my favorite lyrics of his (taken from his blog here):

நீயும் நானும் எந்திரமா?

யாரோ செய்யும் மந்திரமா?

பக்கம் வந்து நிற்கும் போது

திட்டமிட்டு எட்டிப் போனேன்

சுத்திச் சுத்தி உன்னைத் தேடி

விழிகள் அலையும் அவசரம் ஏனோ?

சத்த சத்த நெரிசலில் உன் சொல்

செவிகள் அறியும் அதிசயம் ஏனோ?

A bit on Madhan Karky’s background – He finished his PhD in Australia and joined as an assistant prof at CEG CS, and I hear he is pushing for reforms in the CS Dept. It is wonderful hearing that someone young with a PhD from a foreign university comes back to CEG to teach Kudos to him!

P.S I never used to listen to the lyrics of a song before. It used to be all about the beat and the music for me. Thanks to Pradep and Smrithi for playing “Guess the Song” incessantly and making me listen to lyrics

At 5 PM:

X: Alright, all we need to do now is analyze the data we collected and put it up in 1 or 2 slides. Y, can you handle that part? I’ll start working on the presentation.

Y: Sure, you start working on it, I will do this in an hour and get it to you.

At 8 PM:

X: Hey I’m working on the slides, taking a little more time than I thought. How’s the data analysis coming along?

Y: There seem to be some problems in format for the some of the data. Don’t worry about it, I will somehow figure it out and send you  the results by tonight.

At 11 PM:

X:  Hey I’m done with the slides, take  a look.

Y: Looks, cool, just a few suggestions.

X: Ah yes, I forgot those, will put in. Don’t forget to send me the data so that I can make new slides with them!

Y: Of course, don’t worry about it, I’m working on it.

Next morning, 5 AM:

Y email to X: Hey X, spent all night working on this and finally got it how we wanted. Results attached in the document.

Y oversleeps and ends up going to the presentation a little late.

Y: (A little shamefacedly) Sorry I’m late, I spent all night working on it right, so couldn’t wake up on time.

X: Sorry Y, I overslept too and couldn’t attach your results to the slides I gave to the Professor.

Y: What the *****? @#@#^@$#%

—-

True Story.