The Best of You..

Paint another picture black and blue,
Take another moment, one or two,
Yet another etching on the wall,
Slipping through your grasp, watch it fall,
Into the ocean blue,
It took the best of you.


The best of you....

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Dear Future, I'm ready now.

This year, as it draws to a slow grinding halt, has been a lot of things for a lot of people. Some have seen immeasurable success, for some it has it has been a string of failures, others have rolled with the punches. For me, without a shadow of a doubt, it has been the worst year of the entirety of my life. In a way that’s funny because, the way the previous year ended, I thought it couldn’t get any worse. But then, the month I look forward to the most every year, May – my birthday month, took away my dad – the single most important person in my life. As much as I love my mom more than life itself, my dad, in many ways, encompassed the best facets of life for me– the ability to be so fearless and yet so vulnerable, so emotionally charged and yet absurdly arrogant, larger than life but oh so human.  My dad defined optimism in my life and when he died, that fire did too.

I went back to school this year. One of the best MBA programs in the world welcomed me, embraced me and has so far loved me like I never thought would be possible. This was now my chance to live my dream of doing an MBA, to seize the moment, every moment and become the best I could. But everyday I walked to school a different person, an inner battle raged that just could not decide which me was actually me. The clown who laughed and made others laugh, the moody prick who remained unaware of the world around him or the rebel who just did not care at all – every day called for the real Amith S Menon to please stand up...but he wouldn’t, he couldn’t . In the last 12 months, I have lost the desire to communicate, the passion to live and the energy to realize what can be realized. I look at myself in the mirror and I see four seasons of Lost rolled into one. Everday day started with a new dawn but those intermittent spurts of belief died in their infancy. I have now become an amalgamation of everything that I wasn’t. This rabbit hole is now very deep.

Where is the out? Unlike in the movies where a cyanide pill is an immediate release into a world of all things wonderful, life is not that easy. Life is a bit too dreamy to not dream and a bit too wonderful to not live. The out lies in the love of a mother that will forever replenish a lost soul. The out lies in the trust of a sister, who believes that her brother can do no wrong. The out lies in the promise made to a father that one day, his son will make him proud. And as these words find meaning, I realize life does too. For there is love to be worshipped, belief to be respected and a promise to be kept. 

And so I live to fight another day, but this time for the right reasons, for the right promises…

Dear future, I am ready now.

                

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Finding Me.

Starting off with the hustle-bustle of Delhi, waking up to the delectable treats of Zurich and finally, as dusk descents, immersing myself in the cultural amalgamation of Montreal, Canada. August 5, 2011 signaled a journey of discovery… and a whole lot more. It was a culmination of a year of constant thought, detailed analysis and intermittent hard work. It signed, sealed and delivered a decision, a way of life that promised to glorify my otherwise boisterous existence. It laid out in front of me, my MBA.

The Greater Good – that’s what I told myself, all of this was about. Leaving behind a family that still was just recovering from the most tragic of losses, a mother who knew no existence beyond her son and a sister who idolized her brother, deserved a lot more than just a 10 minute daily phone call.  My conscience pricks every step of the way but my mind tries to convince me that the path I’m on is lit by an exuberant future of smiles and cheers beyond my own. And for that, one must in the words of Johnny Walker, keep walking.

Walk I do. And as I take in all that the MBA has to offer, I’m convinced, run I will. But before the strides gather pace, before even an inkling of effort will begin to bear fruit, there is a lesson to be learnt, a self to be found. As I watch, read and learn about the glorious business leaders of the past, one message always seems to stand out – “Be Yourself”. A simple yet so complicated task. Right now the self seems to be lost somewhere down the rabbit hole, doubting every step of the way, yet complacent and comfortable in abundant inner belief. An oxy-moron if there ever was one.

One thing this MBA has done with absolute certainty, is made me re-assess myself. The false grandeur has been shattered, the assumed persona of the one so AwSM has crashed and burned and left behind is, the very thing I’ve run away from all my life, normalcy. A regular, regular Joe ( just better looking J) who will strive for more but will always crave the simplest, more important things in life – family, football, pepperoni pizza. There clearly exists a lack of maturity, calm and sophisticated professionalism. But over the last month, I’ve realized that if I am true to this persona, true to this imagery, with abundant HARDWORK, the path I tread will be the making of me, the path I tread will be true to Dad. And in Him, I believe.

 I believe, the beauty of a rose can only be savored after feeling the painful prick of the thorns. And for the next two years, beyond the artistic exuberance of this beautiful city of Montreal, beyond Finance, Marketing, Accounting and what not, I will walk this road less traversed, true to values, true to self, beyond AwSM, true to being - normally extraordinary, true to being Me.

  

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Life goes Chuk Chuk

Life is like a night on the Kochuveli express sans a confirmed ticket. You start of by fighting for a foothold to just survive the massive influx, you then choose to find satisfaction in small pleasures, like a place to hang your bag or an inch of space to rest your butt. Eventually, as time numbs all emotion, if you are lucky enough and the TTR obliges, you are granted a third AC compartment all to yourself, so that you can laze your worries away and enjoy the last legs of the journey.

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To My Sethu

Dear Dad,

Today, 15 days of rituals and prayers  came to an end. So I guess, now that mom and Amru are finally asleep, its time for us to have our talk. Or atleast for me to blurt out emotions, that might’ve gone unsaid over the last 24 years.

I will never know if I have said it enough, but Dad, I love you. I know as men, we shouldn’t be professing our love for one another a lot but when will I ever get this chance again. The fact is, we will never enjoy another game of Cricket together, we’ll not be watching re-runs of Amitabh Bachchan movies again together and we will not be crooning “Kabhi Kabhi” again together. God decided to take you away but since when have you ever listened to anyone but yourself. I know you won’t be around physically anymore but I feel a strength within me everyday now and every inch of my being tells me that it’s you. Its warm and full of love. It has to be you.

Today, I want to tell you how proud and privileged I am to be your son, how lucky I am to have been your friend, your confidant and you mine. There a so many memories. Remember the first time we met? That airport terminal in Muscat where you came to receive us with your ugly beard and fabulous smile.  I was dead scared but you, being the charmer that you are, tried to coax me by fixing my yo-yo.  That really wasn’t necessary you know. Your eyes had me, the first time I actually met them. So kind and filled with so much love. And that’s what I will always remember of you dad, my every memory of you, will always revolve around the same theme, that love.

You made your world all about mom and me. And when the doctor handed you Amritha, and that bundle of joy nestled perfectly in your arms, you found your holy grail. I will never know love like the way you loved Amru and yet, you raised me like a prince. Your heart always was big enough for all three of us.  Mom screamed at you when you bought the most unnecessary gifts home.  Remember the look of death she gave us, when we bought that Cricket Bat for Rs 5000? I was just 13 you know, you really did not have to give in to my every whim.  But you were never going to let your kids have the kind of sad upbringing you did. You made sure ours was about every desire fulfilled, every memory made worthwhile and every moment photographic. And through our smiles, you smiled.

If one word could describe you dad, it would be ubercool. You never answered to anyone, you didn’t let yourself get burdened by tradition or society and you lived life on your own terms. You called a spade a spade and you were absolutely comfortable in your own skin. These are traits, I hope, I can aspire to embody one day. I remember contemplating marriage when I was 21, and inspite of my immaturity, the only question you asked me was, “are you sure” and with my “yes”, we decided to give it a go. Not for once, did your “khaandaan” or its “parampara” cross your mind. It was all about your son’s happiness. It was all just love.

And that is why you will never be far away, never be gone. Because you will never be a picture on the wall or a passing thought. You ARE love. And as we smile, you will breathe. As we love, you will live. I want you to know that you are no longer just a dad or just a friend. Your responsibilities are now grander. Now, you are my strength, my prayer, my belief, my faith, and above all, my God. Because for the 24 years of my life, you’ve removed every obstacle, been all the answers and satisfied my every desire and now you are eternal. So for now and ever more, I will pray to you to look over us like you always have. And like always, I know you will.

My only regret is that I couldn’t be there to hold your hand and for one last time to look into your eyes to relive that bond between that 2 year old son and his hero, his dad. I wont say I’ll miss you because in my heart, in my life, you’ll never be gone. Rest well Dad. I’ll make you proud. I promise

Love you.

Your Ami.

PS : My Dad passed away on May the 2nd. I write because I want the world to know just how much I love him.

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To The Blue Billion

It’s hard to put into words, this feeling. Friends, passionate fans all over the world are setting firework displays alight, screaming their lungs out, jumping with joy, shedding tears and with it wiping away 28 years of nothingness. For most , its vindication for standing by their team, their nation. Its been achieved together. The finest moment of their young lives. I know dad will have watched these 8 hours and for that duration forgotten  the tensions of the world and I thank the team for that, the man deserves happiness. But personally, it was hard to take, it did not mean a lot, if anything. It brought back memories that were buried deep under 12 years of brilliance. As M.S.Dhoni, fittingly slapped Kulasekara out of the ground, images of Aravinda De Silva, and Arjuna Ranatunga flashed before my eyes. It was 1996 all over again.

The 1996 loss was probably the worst moment of my life. I was 10 and I prayed and I prayed but God wouldn’t listen. It was torture watching my idol getting carted to all corners of the ground by a fat, obnoxious baboon.  Warney deserved so much more. And the world, in time (1999), conspired to bless his brilliance. And in that I found happiness.  For 12 years, the world remained my oyster. Come good or bad, night or day, Australia ruled and every dark cloud had a silver lining – Shane Warne, Steve Waugh, Ricky Ponting, my boys in the baggy green.  Every four years, I cleansed myself of all negativity, of all pain with a World Cup triumph. Gods gift to me for believing in myself, for ignoring the jibes, for absolute confidence inspite of the glaring flaws was the Presentation Ceremony.

And yet as I drag my feet through probably the worst phase of my life, I look at the signs and I begin to question my beliefs. Warney has walked away, Ricky is holding on strong but the World Cup is now no longer ours and 2011 is bitch slapping me. Obviously Cricket should have nothing to do with this but, at the end of the day, I m an Indian and though I don’t bleed blue, Cricket is still very much my religion. And so losing the World Cup, triggers a sense of numbness, a sense of nothingness. It combines itself with a feeling of helplessness and though, I want to be happy for you, my billion countrymen who absolutely deserve this moment, I just cant. This is more than just cricket, in a way, it is my sense of being.

A Champion lifted the trophy today, M S Dhoni deserves every bit of appreciation coming his way. And for 23 years of service, I guess Tendulkar is worthy of this moment, maybe even deserves it. As do the fans. You’ve waited long enough, You’ve been hurt enough, and by God, You’ve believed enough. Today, the streets of Mumbai will bleed more than blue, the colors will stand for more than just joy, the fireworks will represent more than just celebration. After all, its more than just a sport. Like I said, it’s hard to put in words.

Today, the sun shines bright on a billion. Today, you have my Holy Grail, my silver lining. Do me a favor and relish this moment, savor the experience, feel the happiness because for the best part of 12 years, your today was my everyday and God knows, I ll need it back soon. Congratulations Blue Billion. You are now Champions. Deservedly So.

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Thank You Ricky

As a fan, I've known only one way. To support my team passionately, to the very last ball, till my very last breath.  For over 18 years, before the dominant displays, long before the “invincibles” tag, there was a love for a player which transformed into admiration for a team which embodied everything good about team sport. Shane Keith Warne led me to the Australian Cricket Team. A brotherhood that never gives in, fights hard, wins harder. The Australian Cricket Team gave me it’s very essence. Ricky Thomas Ponting.

We go a long way – Ricky and I. December 1995, I was up early at 4am to catch my idol Shane Warne kick Muralidharan’s butt. Richie Benaud was on air and he was hyping up this new Australian sensation from Tasmania. With the Lankans on the ropes, the 3^rd wicket fell and in walked Ricky Ponting. To me everything about that strut spoke Awesome. There were no first test nerves, this was a boy who knew he belonged, this was a batsman I wanted to emulate. Elegant flicks and magnificent straight drives ensued. He had the audacity to wear a cap, they pitched it short, he pulled. And HOW.  96 runs came and went. The arrogance excited me.

What followed was sheer carnage. The walls of the Menon household were pelted with short balls. The AC lost a knob, the pane lost glass, Mom lost her mind and 9 year old Amith  had just learned to play the pull. The Ponting effect had begun. As years went by, Ricky went from strength to strength and one fine day, in 2003, 140 of the best runs ever seen on a cricket field in the biggest match of his career, gave Punter his place in history. The mantle of greatness was now his. And when I dared to speak of him in the same breath as Sachin Tendulkar, I became the next Nathuram Godse.

GEC, Thrissur was the next stop of this lifelong tourney. Everyday, inspite of rain, intense heat and worse, semester exams, the “Shockers” would be on the field playing any team we could and I‘d still be trying to Pull like Ponting, to field like Ponting. Night before semester exams would turn into India Vs Australia debates when in reality it was all just Ponting Vs Tendulkar, me vs  20. Rightly, the Electrical Machines paper went down the drain. Oh well, supplimentaries aint half that bad right? Wrong. Coz 434 happened. Power equations and Generator designs hardly mattered when Ponting was treating Kallis like Kalmadi post the CWG. Another big game, another century. And I watched in awe as every ball hit the middle of the bat. My hero was setting the world alight and I was bragging to my heart’s content. What followed was not for the weak of heart. As Boucher scythed Lee for the winning runs, I was unceremoniously dumped right out of the TV room. Yours truly became Public Enemy No 1 and the next day ETADEEE07 stared at his question paper, Blank.

Which brings us to today. Ricky Ponting in probably the last game of his World Cup career, played one of his grittiest knocks to date. Every ball was played on merit and with every shot, I was a step closer to redemption. And like clockwork, it happened, a trademark flick, a signature hundred in a big game, my moment. But for once, it wasn’t enough. The men in blue pulled through. Ricky clapped. Ignorant Boos followed. Possible tears streaked his face and my FB wall was bombarded. The war was now virtual.

We are what our beliefs make us to be. The easiest thing to do is to jump a sinking ship but where is the honor in that?  Sports has always been my biggest passion in life. And every since Warney called it quits, there was just one idol remaining. And like idols are, he didn’t let me down. Ever. He made me proud. When Ponting drives, words begin to fail. When he pulls, its poetry in motion. At that moment, nothing else in life matters. The trials and tribulations are forgotten because in that fleeting second, there is a beauty to life that makes it worth living.

While the normal Indian Cricket fan will always see Ponting as the scourge of the Cricketing Seas, the sledger, the argumentative Aussie who dared to be compared with their “God” and very recently the Charlie Sheen of International Cricket, a look through my eyes will tell you a different story. For me Ricky Ponting was the epitome of Australian Cricket. The game’s ultimate winner. A true leader. A survivor. A legend who always let his bat do the talking, a phenom who stood out in every big game. Ricky Thomas Ponting is my hero and it ‘ll be a cold day in hell before that ll ever change. He doesn't need your love, but he sure as hell will have your admiration.

Till then the abuses are accepted, at times deserved even. But I remain unapologetic. Because every time Punter takes his typical leg stump guard, 18 years of love tells me, he is taking guard for me. Ricky Thomas Ponting, Thank you for the world cup memories, Thank you for the streak, Thank you for being my hero.

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