The answer's blowin' in the wind... Part II

Frank had developed complications in his stomach and sought medical treatment.

March '31, South End at Dr.Martin's Clinic

"Aren't you Frank Washington, the famous boxer?"

"I'm Frank Washington, but not the famous boxer anymore. I guess you're not following the latest updates".

"Maybe i'm not, but you're a good boxer no doubts about it! Tell me what troubles you Frank? How can i help you...?"

Dr.Martin was a graduate from Emory University. He had his grounding in the South End but unlike most of his peers, a few wise decisions meant he could live a life of relative ease. He chose to practice in his neighbourhood, whatever little contribution he could manage for his locality.

"My stomach's been giving me trouble for sometime. I don't know what's the reason. It's certainly not because of mah diet though..."

"Is it the stomach that troubles you or your mind, Frank...?"

"Hell! What're you talking about Doc? I don'understand you!"

"You're troubled because you're having something in your mind. Is that not so, nigger?"

"How'd you know that Doc? Geez, i'm, i'm..."

(Something seriously didn't seem to be right the way Dr.Martin was talking. He was never a violent or angry person)

"You's a niggah boy, you's a niggah and'll remain just another niggah. You'll always be 'neath the white man's shoe niggah, that's where you belong..."

"You's talking just like Joe, Doc. You's talking just like Joe..."

"Joe 'Hammerhand' Carver? Yes i'm mouthing the same words he said to you on your last bout with him!"

"Here's what i'll tell you Frank. You can remain a local tough, fighting bouts down here in South End, and never making it back upto the Premiere League where you once were. You'll remain here until you decide to do something about your fear..."

"And what you think is ma fear Doc?"

"Your butterfly move's never ever been defeated before. You've never fought someone who fought like Carver. That's your fear, the fear of the unknown. You're also afraid of your colour. Carver only had to play on your fear of your colour. You're nothing more than a hulk of meat, black boy!"

"You's right Doc, maybe i am. Carver's words still echo..."

"I was there for that bout. I saw him wind you and heard him say just what now haunts you. But why should you let your fear take control of you? You're a nobody Frank, just another nobody. And so's Joe 'Hammerhand' Carver. All you've got to do is focus on what's coming at you. Forget the outcome, forget what'll happen to you, forget everything, everyone around you. FOCUS only on what's coming before you."

"Those fists that's coming toward you, all you have to do is fight them. Never mind who's driving those fists, you have to cut down the driver with your blows, and you have it..."

"Outside, you're another black man among thousands of us here. But in that ring, you could become a God if you want to be. All you have to do is, focus..."

April 1932, New York

"Joe 'Hammerhand' meets his old nemesis Frank Washington after 3 years!" The criers went hoarse screaming out loud and the arena was packed to suffocation.

"We meet agin, nigger! I guess its time for you to relax agin, on the floor!" Joe remarked snidely

Joe's wild freestyle blows swing around Frank as Frank dances in tandem.

Joe then pulls in his feint, allowing Frank to throw in a haymaker at his unguarded face. Frank closes in for the kill, and...

"Frank throws in a haymaker but Joe coolly steps out and drives in a haymaker of his own. Ladies and gentlemen, the coupe de grace..."

"What's this? Frank has deflected the haymaker! Can you believe it???"



What follows next? Frank seemingly dribbles Joe's jaw, never allowing him a moment's defence. The pounding has been relentless and Joe desperately tries to block the incoming rain of blows.

"Frank's now preparing for his charge. He's priming his aim like a bull. And there he goes, ladies and gentlemen!"

The punch crashes straight into Joe's face, knocking teeth and his senses out at the same time. Joe falls flat facedown out cold.

"Change is good" Frank mutters to himself.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new champion! Frank Washington, the Bull!"

"Bull, Bull, Bull,Bull, Bull" the crowd's chanting in fever pitch.

Epilogue: In case you're wondering how'd this happen, Frank had been touring, watching each and every tournament Joe fought, and studied his moves. He discovered Joe's tactic, and all that he had to do was, work around it...

The answer's blowin' in the wind... Part I

"Ladies and gee-entlemen, we have a winner!!! After this fierce display of machismo, adrenaline and sheer muscle power, a champion has emerged. Let's hear it count for Frank Washington, "The Bull"!!!!"

Screams, spittle and beer foam alongwith a good many other things go skyhigh. The audience is thrilled and wowed beyond comprehension! "Bull, Bull, Bull"the crowd's chants had reached fever pitch and the happiest among them all, even if none of it shows, is none other than "The Bull" himself. Christened Frank Washington at birth, re-born as the "The Bull" on 26th June 1932 in midtown Chicago.

Pile Driver punch

The fighting was terse and long drawn, and Frank's opponent Joe "Hammerhand" Carver seemed to have the confidence of an imminent victory. Hammerhand had all the reason to be confident, but on that fateful day, he forgot one of the basic tenets of any student of combat. His opponent had come prepared to block his winning strike.

Life sounds quite rosy don't it despite the Great Depression raging out there in the country? Well, things weren't so rosy not very long ago. Wind your clocks back by two years and there's a very different picture materializing. The winter of 1930 was frosty as could be in Cicero, suburban Chicago. To add to the gloom, the stock crash of 1929 had just begun, and the effects of this depression were now beginning to count their scalps claimed. The soup mission lines stood long and a good job was hard to come by. Certainly not the time to be caught unemployed.

It's easier said than done, and Frank Washington, the champion of the ring was one of those few who could breathe easy despite circumstances. The "King of the Ring", Frank was a tough opponent to win and his famous hook had left many a boxer short of a tooth or two. It was that fateful winter when Frank met his worst nightmare.Joe "Hammerhand" Carver was a nobody, fighting in the illegal rings of South Side until his name gathered enough dust to muster some good earning. Tough times meant that the bookies could pay only so much and good fighters were hard to come by. Many good fighters had migrated eastward, and some went to Europe fighting in international bouts.

Christmas 1930 was the day that'd see Hammerhand's fortune skyrocket. Fate wasn't a level playground, more like a seesaw. If one was to win, the other just had to lose. Two men were about to see the greatest transition in their lives, ever...Washington came in warmly dressed in his mink and ermine fur coat and both arms straddling a pretty somebody. Joe was a stark contrast to this scene. Dressed almost monklike betraying no sign of emotion spare his glowering eyes which were locked on Frank who seemed to show no sign of acknowledging this budding new fighter.

Frank was a player. Quite literally! His dancing moves, swaying back and forth avoiding jabs made him look as if he were playing with his opponent, and when the opponent tired, a single smash to the jaw sent home the knock out, and the game was over.

Dawson, Frank's agent warned him against Joe's freestyle and often unpredictable moves. "It's ok! Ain't nobody who's gonna grapple Frankie! Don't worry, i'll finish him at the count of three" Frank sounded just as optimistic as he always was. That heady dash of optimism and overconfidence...

"Ladies and gentlemen, presenting tonight to heat up the ring with searing passion, please welcome, the butterfly of the ring, Frank Washington!" The crowd screams with excitement.

"A budding new champion, forged in the hell of South Side, clashing with Frank, Joe 'Hammerhand' Carver" Not so much screams except from the white minority in the arena.

"Joe shows no sign of relenting just as much as Frank wouldn't stop playing. Is this going to be a tie? Joe's freestyle moves threaten to nail Frank but then the butterfly can't be caught without great effort, can it?"

Joe shows signs of tiring. Frank senses the opportunity for the knock out, and closes in. Rushing in with a jab, Frank's expecting Joe to fall face up when...

"What's this ladies and gentlemen? Joe has brilliantly side stepped Frank's jab" The crowd is dead silent and the whoosh of Frank's move can almost be heard. The next 30 seconds seem to take an eternity to elapse.

Frank stumbles but manages to regain balance. Joe hunted bears in Chippewa Falls during the season and tried a time tested Indian technique for killing bears. "Let the bear close in for the final hug. When he's too close to back out, nail him with a jab..."

Joe sent in a pile driver straight into Frank's stomach. Spittle and blood flew out alongwith a weird sound from Frank's lips. Frank was winded. A swinging hook and Frank hit the floor. He'd been winded.

The next ten seconds seemingly dragged on for hours. The referee's excited counting, Frank's fans looking miserably crushed, and of course Joe's smirk. He mouthed a few words out of which Frank could make out "The right place for you, nigger!". Darkness...

Next month, the bout was declared again, this time in Arlington. Frank was pitted against a local tough, Lee Harper. Frank fought the way he knew best, the butterfly. He should've won the bout, but things weren't so simple. He saw Joe and his smirking smile yet again. "The right place for you, nigger!". This moment of distraction was all that Lee needed. A series of crashing punches and a pile driver, and Frank hit the floor again.

Frank's reputation as a fighter melted before the winter snows did. He was rarely invited for bouts, and he now had to scrounge for fights in lower South End. It was shameful. The money had now dwindled to a trickle and outstanding bills and rent meant he had to forego his luxuries.

"It's the end of the line for you Frankie. Find yourself something worthwhile, or its the soup mission for you..." Dawson was cruelly blunt. Dawson was Frank's agent, but not his best friend. Dawson now pitched and set matches for Joe "Hammerhand".

The soup mission line

Frank's morale was at an alltime low, and the ghost of "The right place for you, nigger" followed him everywhere...

Two Sides

This poem is dedicated to all "freedom fighters" suffering untold woes in political prisons. Used and abused, made to suffer agony for having spoken against the oppressive forces, be it the government or the local hoodlum.

The tyrants are by nature weak, and will use their strength to silence your voice. But you must remain strong; for one day the drums of reckoning'll beat to your song.

"Imagining Argentina", a film on the innocent Argentinian people's struggle with dictatorship that lasted from 1976 to 1983 and accounted for 30,000 people missing inspired the pen to write this. In memoriam...

What am i for you? a helpless victim, or a dreaded foe
What am i for you? You may never tell & i may never know

What brought us here, situation or circumstance
Or, are we merely the product of chance?
Bound we are together by Fate,
I am by force, you are by Hate

Are we so different, two sides of a coin?
Eternally opposed, never to see a join...?
What'd i ask for? All i did ask for was the truth
Never mind what i got, i now see your lack of ruth

You have your duty, and i have mine
You'll blot my light, yet i shall still seek shine
You can be just, you can be stern yet kind
You too are someone's beloved, please keep in mind

You'd rather i suffer in silence, i'd rather you hear my scream
Night after night, hear my pain in a fever dream
Your time's forever, or so it may seem
Yet every dark cloud, has a silver beam

Someday i shall be free, someday i shall sing
Then my friend, you must take to wing
Lest fall into the hands o'those,
more than eager to teach you a thing

Remember this, remember this oppressor o'mine
For eight days of my suffering, the ninth day shall be thine...

There's a grumbler rumbler within us all...

"No matter where you go, you're never too far from a grumbler rumbler" - Ancient Chinese proverb

"Procrastination is but effort wasted on small talk. Effort which could have yielded result if better applied..." - Anonymous

Don't bother about where it started or how did it all begin. You begin conversations, you end conversations but grumbling, like a dream has no beginning. You just find yourself in the thick of it, either your ears bleeding under the assault of it, or your cheek muscles and tongue working overtime with the vocal chords bantering the whole wide world with an unending barrage. And so...

This is what we do to others when we grumble...

The shopping arcade was huge, really big and for people like me who navigate through swamp and forest much more easily, this sea of humanity and materials was a nightmare to be negotiated with.

"This place looks more crowded than a watering hole. Look at the number of people milling around the place. Can you believe its a Monday? Bah, they seem to have no better business i say! Everyone, everywhere is so f#$%ing materialistic. That guy Keynes has brainwashed the whole wide world. You've got to have much more than you need, what makes him think he's right...??"

"Yes i know its wrong" i admit quietly and we keep walking. How far, how long, how many aisles to negotiate, i know not. It could very well parallel the quest for the holy grail, and i was looking for something nothing less precious. Nothing short of frankinscence condensed in a bottle, packed for young men who wish to conceal their more natural fragrances because its no longer cool. Yes, the quest was for a bottle of deodorant.

"Look at the variety of cosmetics in this place. Hey, take a look! Fairness creams for men!" Both of us laugh but the laughter is short lived. "The guy who applies fairness creams isn't a guy at all. What makes him think he'd have any better chances with the women if he looked fairer. He'd be more of a fruitcake if he aspired to look fair. The women'll have him for a handyman, good for carrying bags and suggesting makeup and knot those backstrap blouses! Hah!"

"There's just so many deodorants, perfumes and the blah out here. What makes them different from one another? Nothing, i say nothing! Eau de cologne condensed into an aerosol and masked with some layer of fragrance cheaply made, nothing like the original attar (Eitra to be precise). These Westerners think they can make us look like fools, sell their flim flam to us. Hah, i'll show them who's the boss!!"

"Then what the fuck are you doing at the deodorant's column with me mate...?" Patience was being tried and because i'm a man of few words, i tried to finish it in a quick stroke! Silence ruled for a few minutes, and...

Beauty can manifest itself in many forms. Art, music, and nature. And right 'fore me was a living, breathing work of art. It seemed she'd walked straight out of a Raja Ravi Varma painting albeit in a modern form. Nevertheless, Ravi Varma wouldn't mind claiming it to be one of his paintings which he'd gifted to a witch!

No my love, she didn't compare to you!

STOP, HALT, ALTO, HOLD IT RIGHT THERE...



These magic spells had their effect, and everything around me came to, or atleast seemed to come to a standstill! Except her, and unfortunately, the grumbler rumbler with me..









wishawishawishawishawishawishawishawishawishawishawishawishawishawisha....

Some strange whispering sound, something like a weird hum or a drone could be heard. As the enchanted Ravi Varma painting walked away, the sound only seemed to get louder, until...

"Oi, do you hear me? I'm talking to you, yes you! Romantic goof, i'm talking to you and there you are, enchanted by her swaying hips! I say you're just short of melting into ooze here. One word from that female and you'd be all jelly feet 'fore her. Are you a man or something? I thought you were a man, a man of character, spine and spunk and there you are, gushing away like the Ganges just because you saw a female! Heh!"

"All said and done, was she not beautiful? Was she not praiseworthy? I'd say i could pen a sonnet or two for in praise of her doe like eyes..." i was still in Neverland and the grumbler rumbler was trying its best to bring me down.

"Pshaw! You call that a beauty? That's the work of make-up, some delicious dressing and the right choice of fittings. She's wearing the right kind of apparel which makes her look fabulous. She's surely just another bimbo!"

"Bimbo or no bimbo, wasn't she praiseworthy? Wasn't she the Kamalanayana of Kalidaasa?" Why on earth am i still trying to reason...?

"Kalidaasa? You're squandering the good name of the poet over such rubbish! Two inches thick of makeup and a vanishing cream to make it look all original. A cummerbund and an enhancer to keep everything in proper shape and curve. That's a 40 D she's wearing!

And as for Kamalanayana, that's the Bausch and Lomb effect! Hah! You're one maudlin aren't you...?"

"Maybe i am, maybe i'm not..." I was trying to riddle with the grumbler rumbler

The shopping done, and it was time for the checkout queue.

"Look at the number of check in counters and the number of people manning it! They're totally understaffed. This lady in line 'fore us, she looks like she's shopping for her winter hibernation. But the looks of her don't seem she needs anymore blubber. She'd make a Sperm Whale feel small with all those layers of lard."

"This operator's a nuisance, can't even handle the barcode scanner. What kind of a place are we in anyways? Should've gone to the medic's and scored whatever came to hand. Hope this deodorant works better than the ones before!"

"God, will this queue take forever to clear? What am i supposed to do here? Cook rice while he clears the..."

The wet sound of muscle and bone crashing into muscle and subcutaneous fat, bone and teeth. Five fingers clenched into a fist driven at a speed of 20 kilometers per hour pack an impact of 200 joules. Kinetic energy meets potential energy and this is the outcome. The cerebrospinal fluid begins to slosh in the cranium, making him sway around dizzily. His neurons fire all at once and as if short circuited, go out. Next, the grumbler rumbler's on the floor, out cold. A crowd gathers gazing at the grumbler rumbler whispering to themselves. Silence...

Point to ponder:

Don't we all tend to procrastinate at times? Rather everytime when we find things not going our way? Well, there are two ways to deal with it. Try and change it if you can, or ignore it and keep moving on. One common thing remains between the two, you don't make noise and ruckus about it!

Life's how you perceive it. Don't bitch about it if you've got jaundiced vision towards it...

From the diary of a young man...

December date unknown, month unknow:

Winter has set in the city and its getting progressively colder by the day. Yet i continue to have cold showers in the morn despite the chill in the vain hope that i won't fall sick with that darndest of them "Common Cold"! But then Fate thought otherwise and then here i am...

Work has been the usual, nothing so great per se, but hey, why complain when there's enough to keep me busy through the day and muster a good impression 'fore the boss!

It's tough to survive when the only currency in hand is a hundred rupee note, but then i've survived scrapes with nothing more than twenty rupees not very long ago. The VP discussed his grandiose master plan for the future and how i was a part of the design and if i were to continue, i'd be a part of the web myself and probably have a corner of it managed by me. Well, well, we'll see how the ball rolls when its time for payday and appraisals! Hope that cheery tone doesn't turn somber the next moment as if served vinegar when expecting wine...

Well after sunset, i head out from office. The office transport's long since left and the only ones still milling at work are those whom their wives despise and don't want to see. Well, that's their problem! I don't have anyone to niggle naggle at me and i'm just about fine with it for that matter! Nyeh!

The guard salutes as i walk out of the gate and into the busy evening street. The place hums with activity just as it does during the morning during rush hours. People rush to office, and rush back home, trying to save time. Never know whether they're saving time or just...

"Ermmm, excuse me to step in at the moment. Our protagonist has walked upto a shack and ordered a cigarette and a cuppa tea, why bother about names and places, none ever matter more than the moment! Back to him again..."

The place is rather quiet considering the location. Twenty feet away, a busy intersect connects two ends of the city and this street is an arterial connect. The deep rumble of a piano coupled with a melodiously whining violin add an air of artfulness to the evening, and i draw in the first puff followed by a quick swallow of tea!

Pavlov says i have an oral fixation hence...!

The day has been particularly stressful considering ten hours spent 'fore a computer staring deadpan nonstop, poring over numbers, charts and reports nobody'd ever take time to even read. Why am i doing this? It pays for this slight pleasure that i afford for myself time and again :)

There's hardly a whisp of air and the music sounds better all the more. Time for some quietude, some silence, some for me, some for you. Its as if the world itself has stilled around me and for a fraction of a second, none more than that, the world seems to be suspended in inertia...

Murphy seems to have heard me for an infernal dog barks out loud! Why's he barking? Beats me! There's no car around, neither a hostile stranger, nor any other member of his gender whom he resents to the core. But still he barks his head off. A couple of renditions and you can sense he's barking only because he's afraid. Afraid of what...?

This din's disturbing my music, my cigarette's turning to ash and the cuppa tea's running cold. "Shut up" i return the favour in chaste English and the desire to vent feelings using some unparliamentary words crops up immediately. But then he being a mutt won't be affected by my words as much as my voice, so... :)

The dog shuts up and walks off!

Do correct me here if i'm going wrong someplace, but then, we're all somewhat similar to that dog at some point or the other in life, right? Why's that? FEAR...

Edvard Munch's description of fear

 That niggling feeling, the indescribable, something that upsets the natural order of things in life. And it preys on us on what we know not. Fear lives in the shadows of the darkness, ignorance and misunderstanding. Anything not understood correctly or perceived incorrectly is the root of fear...

We bark, scream, bite and act out our agony in our fear. The grip of fear is like that of a vice, holding on with metal clamps to crush us. But fear can be cured, and how is that? Face it! What's the worst that could ever happen? We'd never know until we faced it. Rather face it today and get over with it than live with it for a hundred years!

"It's better to live like a tiger for one day than a jackal for a hundred years" -- "The terror of the East India Company" Mysore Maharaja Tippu Sultan

And very often, its a sudden shock which brings us from the dark to light, exposing suddenly our fears to be nothing more than whispers retreating with the fading dark...

We curse that sudden shock that life jolts us with, often abusing and cursing it for having surprised us, but failing to see, we've overcome our fears, only then to realize what's been missing from life all the while...

Well and good if we've overcome it, pity if not...

"Honk honk" a purple Volvo semitransparent with advertisements on the sides looking like a piece of modern art pulls in. In the meanwhile, the cigarette has burned out and the teacup has long since run dry, and our protagonist rushes headlong toward the bus with victorious whoops!

A slight breeze blows and this mish mash of papers our protagonist had penned are scattered all over the place, and the owner of the waster paper buyer is cross with me for this! :)