The Sweet Anticipation of Wedding Bells

Our Satyam Days, part XVIII

During those days, as we attended numerous wedding functions of our Satyam colleagues who regularly got hitched first and fell headlong into holy matrimony, a couple of associates curiously inquired about our matrimonial prospects, addressing both of us, "When are you guys getting married?"

Of course, I didn't blush. On the contrary, I would have blushed anyway, no problem, before coming up with an appropriate answer to that personal yet interesting question about my relationship status! Blushing is helpful; even "blushing the blush," self-consciously blush-blushing, causing one side of your cheeks to turn kinky and the other pinky! Kinky and Pinky!

I once articulated something laborious, as is sometimes my way, and that also slightly more colloquially than anyone would have cared: No Antony will do for his Cleopatra, no Romeo for his Juliet, and yet no Othello would do for his Desdemona, or so I had believed, perhaps a little too superiorly than required for just the simple task of replying to a straightforward question someone had the undue gumption (just kidding) to enquire about whether I am a potential future matrimonial aspirant! As my close smart-alecky Satyam colleague, Mandeep would have wanted to phrase it, his face screwing up slightly, smile askew: "My Big Fat Hyderabadi Wedding." He said those words. And that means something's up! So it's going to be very soon.

Instead, I remarked meekly: short-shifting apologetically, withdrawing into a shell, retreating like a whispered secret, and so on, as is sometimes my style, "We are budgeting right now, ensuring we save enough for my impending doom!" That's not precisely, I admit, a response worthy of a standing ovation (Oh, what high thinking!) as far as the department of eloquence or the gift of the gab is concerned! Duh!

Fortunately, he laughed at that reply while I pondered something wittier to say but cheerfully offered this line instead: "Soon! Very soon. You'll receive my invitation!"

And that was that.

Once Ann Mary R. or Mary Ann (or vice versa), better understood as GG's protégé, a deeply enchanted Chocophile with an uncannily profound attachment to imported chocolates and candies that GG brought for her unfailingly from his quite a few trips abroad, decided to stop by our cubicle. She often did so whenever she could.

Mandeep immediately perked up to say, "Aur Mary Ann? Roz ario!?" (So, Mary Ann, are you coming daily [to the office]?) She laughed for a full five minutes—I mean, she laughed like she had never laughed before, thinking about what had gotten into Mandeep to say it in such a funny way! That was really so hilarious! 'Roz-Ario' was her surname, and Mandeep took that apart to ask her if she was coming daily or 'daily coming' (that is, to the office)! Yeah.

After sharing a hearty laugh, she lingered for several minutes around the cubicle, then turned to Mandeep and teasingly asked, "So, Mandeep, when are you getting married? When's the big day?"

Mandeep had a witty repartee ready and replied, "You are asking me? How flattering!" He then added, "Any day now! Yeah."

Ann Mary giggled and then laughed again before turning to me with a curious expression. "What about you, Arindam? When can we expect to hear about your wedding plans?"

I responded jovially, "Nice try, Ann," then added, "You're invited, regardless of whether GG attends!" She continued to giggle and laugh out loud, as she often does.

Before Ann Mary R. returned to her front office desk, I asked her when she was getting married, was it sooner or later? She responded with a facial expression that conveyed the evasiveness erupting like a deep sigh through the looming life-long odyssey of being in wedded bliss, rough sleep, drawn to the kitchen whipping up... err... preparing meals of bread toast, jam, and mutton pies, fruit custard and plum cakes, and finally, giddying implication: a teasing suggestion that it would happen shortly. Mandeep and I understood what she was ultimately trying to convey!

Before the year was out, she married her long-time beau, who, we thought, must have kept up a doubly good vigil on her right from the first day these two became serious as a couple. Her beau often came to the office to check in on her, as did her mother once. She and her beau had everything planned from the start: they were betrothed and had it all set for the impending nuptials, leading to the sweet anticipation of their wedding bells arriving sooner rather than later. Better now than later?

+*+*+*+

To this end of the discussion, I would assert that Devi was spared from a personal investigation because he was already happily married and had two school-going kids, while Suresh, although on the verge of, as we often use the phrase: 'to tie the knot,' marrying for reasons not so incomprehensible to Mandeep and me as of that date in time, remained single yet.

The phrase I once used, "impending doom," must have sounded very ominous to Suresh, even as he recently took into consideration his going in for the long haul, such as committing to the idea of marriage and whatever comes after that: destroying your bachelorhood, for instance! Has it not been so? Never mind that. I was only joking, whether funny or not!

Enquiry over, she headed back to her reception desk.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Jokes, Jingles, and Team Spirit

Our Satyam Days, part XVII

And then there was Mr. Maruti, a Satyam colleague whose name we only knew vaguely, as he was working on a different project. He was a part of the same team as Revathy and Rafi, the legendary software duo who simultaneously supported our team of three, and then it grew to be five, as well as theirs.

It takes a lot of courage and an outstanding skill set to achieve what they did. Likewise, it should be acknowledged that—I hope this doesn't sound over the top—Revathy and Rafi were truly exceptional women with whom we had the privilege of knowing and working at Satyam.

Through the flexible, hands-on practice and personalized approach that Revathy and Rafi provided, we learned new software tools, best IT practices, data analysis, and codebases within our first month at Satyam. Their omnichannel support strategy enabled us to identify and resolve the technical issues we encountered daily. A confession: They helped and trained us to spare us from GG's wrath!

A Day in The Life at Satyam

“Maaaruuuti Maaaruuuti… Jale Kum, Tale Zyada!” was the catchy television ad jingle of the popular oil brand Maruti in late 1998/99. Once, while working in our spacious cubicle, we overheard someone yelling one of our associates Maruti's name from across the great hall, trying to catch his attention: "Hey! Maruti garu."

Curiosity piqued, Mandy and I exchanged a conspiratorial grin, sharing a knowing smile as if internally deliberating on the possibility of making up a joke for only the two of us that had arisen like an urgent necessity. Mandeep voiced, "Don't you think that name sounds familiar? Huh?" "It does, indeed," I responded excitedly. I could tell that soon he would be concocting something in the form of a joke or something: I could sense that his germane mind of jokes and jingles was already in the throes of wriggling and brainstorming, as though looking for an opening just like this one to joke about for a while, for he had something up his sleeve and would shoot out anytime now. 

“Kuch soch raha hai tu?" "Do you have something in mind?!” I said a little too enthusiastically for a grown-up.

“Yeah...you know... I love the fact that I do! You know it, don't you?” said Mandeep, revealing the broadest conspiratorially-inclined smile ever while composing an email delineating roaming issues to Susanne with a cc-copy to GG and Balaji.

Just as I had supposed, his eyes twinkled, just as the meeting place of his brows twitched a little with the usual enthusiasm he had been known for: a typical Sardarji style, if you like, ever since we joined Satyam on the same day.

Meanwhile, I gulped and blinked rapidly like a proverbial fish (called Wanda?), even as we kept working with our hands hammering away on the computer keyboard: programming, shooting emails, messaging on the official chat window, creating marketing reports, troubleshooting, rectifying errors, doing 'R&D' as it were, along with numerous other things — all for the love of keeping up with the daily targets and deadlines!

As we started jesting with one another, I recounted the ad jingle, which went something like "Maaaruuuti Maaaruuuti… Jale Kum, Tale Zyada!” 

Mandeep corrected me humorously and said, "Are nahi re! Bol (Say): Tale Kum, Jale Zyada!” Ha ha ha... 

Hooting with laughter, we would sing the ad jingle the other way: "Maaaruuuti Maaaruuuti... Tale Kum, Jale Zyada!"

---

Mr. Maruti was exceptionally easygoing, a software engineer who never knew how to be rigid in his working style. Characterized by his subtle approach to work, he had a simple, approachable persona that made it easy for anyone to connect with him on various levels. Though we never had a chance to work together on any project, his subtle disposition preceded his equally outstanding work ethic.

At the workplace, he stood out as an incredibly courteous associate, always willing to lend a hand to help others and thoroughly gracious in the way he carried himself. I still remember his inviting us to the Exhibition Club to celebrate his wedding, which Revathy and Rafi, the dynamic software engineering duo, also attended. Mandeep (alias Heartlight) and I decided not to miss attending the function, which we had been looking forward to until the day it finally arrived. Before starting, we went into GG's cabin to get his express permission, and thank God, he shook his head knowingly and enunciated the words haughtily: "Okay! You can go." 

(Expending more energy and saying something more sociable than "Okay! You can go" would have been appreciated. Yet, since the man is called GG, we couldn't have expected more than superficial sociability or anything beyond a shallow level of friendliness from the boss-man! What were we thinking, everyone?)

Permission granted. We eagerly hopped on our bikes and set off to the central part of Hyderabad city to attend the marriage function. Not to mention enjoying the sumptuous marriage lunch that awaited us there! After savouring a delightful spread of fresh preparations and desserts under the awning drenched in the daytime sunshine, we returned to the office and resumed our tasks. Knowing I had a long shift that would stretch until 11 pm, I settled back into my work schedule while Mandeep wrapped up his tasks of preparing reports and other things to leave at 6 pm, which marked the end of his general shift timing. (I can’t say for sure whether Mr. Maruti had been aware of our little joke about his name, but I am sure he would have burst out laughing finding out how we altered the original lyrics of the ad jingle to “Tale Kum, Jale Zyada!”) highlighting our playful twist on the familiar tune.

+*+*+*+

Finally, in the story of our team's spirit and camaraderie, there was this person, Bhavani, who, despite her serious demeanour, was very cordial and distinguished by her substantial IT experience, played a tiny part unknowingly in our jovial tendencies. As expected, when Mandeep heard someone calling out her name in the large hall (where our cubicle was located, in the East Wing), he immediately perked up while smiling in my direction, hummed, "Bhavaniiii Junction… Bhavaniiii Junction!"

Sitting there giggling, I thought my colleague, nicely parked on the seat of his chair beside me, was amusing in more ways than one; his entire personality brimmed with humour. In other words, his whole persona teemed with funny jokes, riddles, and great laughs! No one could match his exceptional sense of humour. The line "Bhavani Junction..." was from an old Hindi song featured in the Hindi movie "Bhavani Junction."

Given our surge of enthusiasm for Hindi films and music—one of those highly energizing preferences, in my opinion—boys (going on to be men) like ourselves have always been in good stead while keeping up positive morale at the workplace. We were all equally upbeat about our professional life at Satyam.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

The Art of Nicknaming

Our Satyam Days, part XVI

Within our cherished group of friends at Satyam, where hilarious nicknames flourished with striking creativity, I, Kavitha, and, to a certain degree, Mandeep, who was the foremost Bugs Bunny-like funny man behind almost all the humorous game of nicknaming anyone who fitted the bill, managed to evade a potential nicknaming scenario that could have, as usual, clung on like a stubborn koala? Having one or more nicknames would have been lovely; however, none of us had any.

Kavitha did have a fluky nickname for herself that she could not know. It was briefly considered, not when she was working with us, but well after her taking that all-important ‘more-personal-less-professional’ getaway to the U.S.—Papita it was, which I came up with but did not stick—and Mandeep's nickname was Mandy, an anglicized shortening of his first name but not really a nickname worth being funny about. While Mandy doesn’t sound much like a typically funny moniker, as did others we came up with, Devi's instantly catchy moniker 'Sexy,' was something to die for!

Similarly, Suresh's filmy 'Truck Driver Suraj,' Shiv's leg-pulling pseudonym 'Joey,' and GG's burlesque, Hubba Bubba-like 'Chicha,' that was about as far as we got with our nicknaming revelry. Oh, it was so much fun while it lasted.

Thanks to the good offices of mischievous, humour-mongering Mandeep and the genteel charm of Sexy Devi, and Suresh's jovial nature pervading the office like a gale of fresh wind— who'd often come over to our cubicle for a quick chat with us and find themselves indulging in the activity of putting together nicknames for everyone who fit the bill—that we had an excellent atmosphere of charm at the workplace. It was the most fun we've ever had while working under GG's wrecking ball of management of men and affairs of the roaming division.

Occasionally, even Kavitha would pitch in with some predictably situation-dependent punny humour, even if she doesn't usually like to joke.

The glue of nicknames never dries! They never really get old or die. That's certain. Chances are, the longer you stay in the organization, the more likely you are to notice that the creative juices of our dear friends are proliferating freely and fairly. ​In an office setting, the game of nicknaming unsuspecting colleagues is not only the most fun but also—I'd go as far as to say—showcases one of the ingrained knacks (talents if you like) that some people invariably possess and, therefore, making it worth every rupee invested and even more for the enjoyment it brings to the usually mundane office environment. That's how it was: speaking on a lighter note.

+*+*+*+

Renju laughed good-humouredly at the playful rhyming of her distinctive name Renju as: "Renjuuu... Ganjuuu!" We couldn’t resist that rhyming! The first time, she responded by holding her belly with hilarious laughter, then grinning during the second instance, and finally, on the last occasion, smiling not so much; in fact, it just vanished altogether when we gently tried pulling off the same act like two school-going children denied their OK'd candies at the fair: myself and Mandy!

Renju, however, was a good sport. Equally good-humoured as we thought we were ourselves, and a caring and gentle soul who had an unwavering passion for life's simple pleasures. Ditto our teammate Gnana. Thankfully, the 'unofficial' nickname didn't catch on, likely because it was a tad banal and unappealing.

Elzy, Elzy, From Chelsea,

Elizabeth Taylor Ki Darzee!

Banaye Kapde Jaldi Jaldi.

Renzo, Merlene Ki Friend Elzy,

Is Healthy, Wealthy, And Stealthy!

Who crafted that limerick for her friend Elizabeth? ​I claim the credit for penning it! That was something, I concede, whimsical. But to make Renju's friend Elizabeth laugh a bit as she often disregarded smiling, I made up those mixed-up phrases on the spot; especially the funny lines "Elizabeth Taylor Ki Darzee!" and "Banaye Kapde Jaldi Jaldi" sparkled a hearty laughter and made her day. Even Renju felt rather amused by it.

Renju's beloved friends Elizabeth and Marilyn, the three amigos, often dropped by our cubicle to say hello briefly. Or enjoy a cup of coffee during breaks. While Marilyn worked as a software engineer on the fourth level of the same building, Elizabeth, who was not an employee of Satyam, accompanied Renju to the office on weekends. Every time they dropped by, the stories of their work and general life experiences brought us joy and laughter while Mandeep and I worked on our computers and Renju worked on hers. Every time they arrived, it seemed that our work routines experienced a refreshing pause, a welcome break, from our daily morning grind and evening office schedules. At the same time, we felt upbeat for the jovial camaraderie they brought into our midst. Today, I can't help but feel enormously nostalgic whenever I reflect on our wonderful days at Satyam.

(In June 2015, I authored a blog article titled "CHAPTER 40 - Three Amigos, Pizzas and a Film!" that delves into the experiences with our former friends (with their names changed but recognizable). That piece is a significant part of my memoir, "Lost Days of Glory," I wrote reflecting on my wonderful Satyam days.)

As far as I can recall, Gnana had no moniker. He was a positively inclined self-observer, more like a self-contained, private solitudinarian, who kept to himself, focusing solely on his office work while retaining a hermitical sense of preservation and forbearance. Gnana had forever been a world unto himself, with little to no side effects or issues in his software programming skills. Ditto Renju, in terms of software programming, that is.

Mandeep was no stranger to my playful jabs at him. I often teased him with a cheery persuasion: “Oh Paaji, tussi tope ho!” He did, however, enjoy referring to himself as "Heartlight," a combination of "Man" (pronounced as 'Mann') meaning "Heart" and "Deep" meaning "Light." To each his own.

+*+*+*+

The level of engagement at our workplace was remarkably high, with everyone collaborating and learning together. With the support of wonderful friends, we tackled our daily tasks with an easy familiarity that made everything feel, more or less, a breeze. (Balaji played the role of a helpful leader by being amiable and eager to communicate enthusiastically. He approached any problem—or any concern or issue, for that matter—with patience and a cool head, in contrast to GG's outright ferocity in his line of attack to anything that needed looking into.)

Even the most challenging projects/tasks felt achievable and enjoyable to do despite GG's reprimanding presence in everything as we kept up the tempo to commit and complete while we learned new things. Fortunately, GG mostly stayed in his dungeon-like cabin in the West Wing (on the other side of the building), which allowed us to focus on our roles and responsibilities—including our witticisms—without too much distraction or some micro-managing narcissist breathing down our necks.

GG liked overseeing what we did, mandating a cc-copy of every official email we sent out, even the ones we sent to Susanne in Copenhagen, Denmark, or to Balaji, who had his cubicle on the other side of the big hall. That's how it was. Occasionally, the resident Lion, known by the name GG alias Chicha, unleashed himself from his swivel chair before taking a leak at the urinals and then passing by the HR terminal, nodding at Ann Mary R. sitting erect, prim and proper behind her green-marbled concierge desk around the green-marbled central atrium of the office tower, swaggered down further straight via the hallway through the entrance door of the East Wing to the enclosed workspace of our cubicle on the far left. Seeing him coming, Mandeep would quip, "Agayee ji agayee Police agayee!" alerting us all to the danger heading our way!

Kavitha likewise could not be given a reasonably suitable moniker. ​Having worked with us for only a year, she, fortunately, evaded the runaway consignment of a potentially assigned nickname from either Mandy or me and instead uncovered her inner alchemy of more personal, less professional self-motivations for dollar dreams, which prompted her to pack a motley assortment of her VIP slash Safari slash Aristocrat bags and escape to the other side of the globe, specifically in the direction of the landmass of America called collectively as the United States.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

The Charm of Being Plump

Our Satyam Days, part XV

Being plump or well-rounded remained a practical way of life for a dedicated family man like Devi, prompting Mandeep to affectionately confer upon him with a playful prefix to his name: “Sexy.” He astutely perceived how the world operated, correctly recognizing that everything else typically comprised a chaotic territory, a hellish domain, so to speak—within GG's complete 360-degree posture, off-limits to all the other members of the roaming division, like ourselves.

From that operational standpoint, Devi and Suresh both sustainably managed to appease GG, our perennially bad leader, to a large extent. After all, it is not every day that someone justly merits a fantastic prefix like “Sexy,” a playful term of endearment bestowed upon him by Mandeep, a fellow plump young man who undoubtedly had in common comparable physical attributes but had not yet become a family man.

Without a doubt, Devi would ultimately tell a valiant tale or two to anyone willing to listen about how the peculiar title he had come to receive had stuck on him—as we were convinced then and now—like a badge of courage: the one that could be flaunted only among the circle of known friends, not in front of GG, of course. There were not many of his stories, but the one that characterized the new-age manly 'sexiness' in question—thanks to one of our associates—has become a chef-d'oeuvre! On the other hand, Suresh, his financial counterpart, got dubbed with an equally amusing appellation—"Truck Driver." And why leave GG out? He earned a hefty accolade for himself that stuck on him like a blood-sucking leech—"CHICHA."

Mandeep had once remarked: “He deserved it, didn't he? If you ask me.” Without a doubt, we all happily concurred with that term. Life is what it is.

+*+*+*+

Plus, the extensive IT experience that someone like Devi can readily relate with his other friends. But GG won't listen to anyone about anything: it's his way or the highway—except maybe listening only to the plastically (okay, sometimes genuinely) smiling receptionist, Ann Mary R., whose friendly demeanour he interprets positively: while viewing our oversights with unrelenting bossism that made no sense. (Terrible though it was, we succeeded by the sheer dint of our resilience, strength of character, and ability (read skill-sets) we brought to the table). Despite the clear and present danger posed by GG's extreme egocentric navel-gazing, amid the excessive commandeering shrouding us in a veil of perpetual torment from morning to evening while we worked with our heads down, liable to work hard in a day-to-day routine for something more achievable and adaptable in a work-life blend, witnessing which, we thought, our U.S.-educated Silent Killer of a boss could become happy for once in his lifetime, it is commendable that Devi (and Suresh, Renju and Gnana, and Mandeep, Kavitha and I, Shiv, Shahnawaz and Jagan, even Revathy and Rafi, not to forget Balaji) recognized this undesirable GG-writ cataclysmic broadside in the roaming division and acted with the same professionalism as the rest who had to be in touch with him professionally.

And how incredibly startling, at times, the world can indeed be with a verbally abusive, irreverent heathen like we had to report to daily: too well-ensconced in the power structure of the company as if nothing could ever go awry (and it did not thankfully, it was a miracle indeed), especially when Hari Sadu-type toxic managers like him had seemingly perfect individuals leading flawless astringent lives, like for example, Ann Mary R.—the quintessential damsel, who, at least, to our knowledge at Satyam, had never known distress (of any kind) and not that anyone was anticipating for her to—hung enraptured by the exquisite chocolates that our roughshod boss GG brought her from abroad. GG, a Big Rig of a man, meant business; this near-hysterical tyrant loved lording it over everything in the roaming department: the power of being in a perceived dominant position writ ominously large over all our days at Satyam.

+*+*+*+

​Experience teaches; it alone counts, and all else falls by the wayside, and Devi knows that perfectly well. Good things happen to good people, though. The charm of being "Sexy Devi" must be immensely gratifying for him! And why not!

Fondly referred to as "Sexy Devi" thanks to Mandeep's impeccable comic timing during those beautiful days on the 5th floor of TSR Towers, this cherished memory of our incredible time at Satyam serves as a heartfelt reminder of the meaningful connections we, once close colleagues and friends, can genuinely acknowledge for Devi, the devoted family man!

His unique charm, characterized by his being a plump man with a gentlemanly demeanour, was truly remarkable as I reflect on the days when our IT careers blossomed at a great company called Satyam Computers. Oh, how swiftly those days have passed!

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

A Gulab Jamun Champion

Our Satyam Days, part XIV

Devi was a gentleman. His ardent love for sweets, particularly Gulab Jamun, was legendary, a well-known facet of his dynamism that we teasingly called his greatest "sin." Which it wasn't really. His sweet tooth, as big as his heart, was remarkable, as expansive as the compassion he showed to everyone around him.

That's one reason why, as I think back to that golden period of our work and friendship at Satyam now, Mandeep gave him the moniker: "Sexy." I can't help but feel delightfully amused as I write down my thoughts on this blog that possibly eating Gulab Jamuns might have contributed to Devi's confirmed sexiness!

Sweets, often associated with indulgence, were something he loved to spoil himself with, as he frequently indulged in substantial servings of Gulab Jamuns alongside an array of sweet dishes he could lay his hands (read fangs!) on. After all, sweets and indulgence often go hand in hand. And each one of us was a culprit in some way or the other!

Charming Indulgence: The Temptation of Sweets in Devi's Life

While we all loved sweets—myself included, as I certainly still do—Devi's relationship with them was extraordinarily obsessive.

As a true connoisseur who embraced the joy of feasting sweetmeats like no one else in Satyam Computers, he had an undeniable love for Gulab Jamun that stood out like a lighthouse on a moonless bay. (Although I feel tempted to say it stood out like a boil on a bum—though I jest, it was certainly not a boil (that too on the bum! God forbid)—Devi's unwavering love for Gulab Jamuns, which he indulged in without fail every other day, was a testament to his obsession with the sweet delicacy.) That's more like it.

He was a sabre-toothed, no...! Oops! A sweet-toothed enthusiast who loved sweets like crazy, relishing them not in ones or twos but in overloading abundance. Suresh, Mandeep, and I would often playfully tease him for being the Laughing Stock, no...! Oops! Buddha of our hearts — undoubtedly, our division’s lucky charm, and he would respond with the same lively spirit. After work, you'll find him chanting his favourite emotional mantra — Eat, Pray, Love sweets, joyfully driving his white Maruti Omni back home while celebrating in the car everything sugary sweet that life could give to a hearty man like him. Devi was unique: a gentleman of reliable honour and goodwill.

Let this be said: Sexy Devi has a longstanding weakness for cakes, sweets, candy, desserts, and every national and international sweet item. From soufflé and mousses to chocolate chip cookies, pies, doughnuts, jams, tarts, and even bare open raw molasses that you get from jute sacks at your local kirana store, Devi savoured them all.

Like him, Renju, Mandeep, and I have a perfectly ensconced sweet tooth kicking in for any event or occasion, never mind serotonin! (Though I love Rossogolla (or Rasgulla) the most, homemade Gulab Jamun, too, is an utmost necessity in life.) For Devi, however, and by extension all of us, barring Suresh maybe, living with one without the others is unthinkable, even practically impossible.

Devi's Dessert Diaries

Being a great foodie, Devi—grew up to be a proud plump person: a well-dressed and handsome cherry bomb with natural gradient lips rounded in shape, almost pouting like a small fish, hair cropped in short and curly fibrils, laugh lines under his possum eyes of an ever-alert financial expert, having a soft heart (in a hard world); cherubic is the word to describe this glossy doughboy of Satyam Computers—disengaged himself from us momentarily and took up a corner in the dining hall, his possum eyes became big with delicious anticipation of sinking his teeth into those roly-poly balls of pure enchantment, even as he began helping himself to devour a decent number of those supple, juicy, scrumptiously spongy dough balls of magic, all single-handedly!

+*+*+*+

Devi’s gourmet taste was, of course, the stuff of legends. No one can take that away from him. Rasgulla, Ras Malai, and golu molu Gulab Jamun were his all-time favourite Indian desserts he never failed to wax eloquent of. Hurray! Nothing compares to these versatile, sweet bombs of happiness! Devi was the First Citizen of the Gulab Jamun country. A Gulab Jamun champion, hands down. The truth is, we all were in the same league in some way or the other, but Devi's case was something of a lovely fetish.

He once remarked, albeit jocosely, that whenever he receives an invitation to weddings, festive holidays, or family get-togethers, he cannot help but deem his excitement skyrocketing—prompted by the indulgent thought of a delectable Indian dessert: the great brown globs of Gulab Jamun that he expects to get at the party! Soaked in sugary syrup and handcrafted to divine perfection, these heavenly sweets are a must-have at any celebration he visits; otherwise, he cries out something along these lines — Stop celebrating! Pointless in toasting without Gulab Jamuns in the end. Please refrain from hosting social gatherings if Gulab Jamuns don't make an impression as traditional sweets. Point noted, milord! So, you can see why he considers Gulab Jamuns a highlight of any celebration known to man on planet Earth!? Like Jockey, it's Gulab Jamun or nothing!

When at a party, whether at home or elsewhere, if Devi finds that Gulab Jamun is missing or insufficiently served, or if he feels deprived of his fair/Lion's share of the delightful dessert due to the server behind the counter who might become stingy in serving ample pieces of these spongy milky balls soaked in warm sugar syrup, Devi, by this time breathing plumes of fire, is most likely to storm out in a huff (not before giving an earful to the much-harried waitperson or the host!), only to end up (during those days, very frequently!) at a nearby sweet sweeter sweetest sweetshop: the best mithai bhandaar that East (not West!) Marredpally could accommodate in its surroundings, gorging on Gulab Jamuns to satisfy his insatiably inquisitive and omnivorously acquisitive craving, thus solidifying his reputation as the undisputed Gulab Jamun monarch our generation has ever known!

It's Gulab Jamun all the way.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Also published on Medium.

Hearts in Harmony

Our Satyam Days, part XIII

Elzy and I versus Mandeep and Renju duelled in the game of dumb charades; needless to say, anything about the friendly duel between friends having a shared appreciation for music, we won the game. Elzy couldn't contain her joy as she cried out in excitement, "We won! We won!"

By closely observing Elzy's brilliant miming of the movie title that Mandeep threw our way, thinking we would never be able to suspect, let alone decipher it, I could correctly identify the title of the Hindi film. And it was: "Qaid Mein Hai Bulbul." Mandeep would have nicely assumed that no matter how much we try, we will never get it. But thanks to my keen interest in old Hindi movies, until the late 1990s, we could determine the film title. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

As Renju and her teammate Mandeep looked on like cute puppies (Awwww...!) at what Elzy and I got ourselves so delighted in the game, Gnana, Suresh, and Devi laughed in bemusement, with Suresh voicing "Yo, Arindam...! Elzy...! Great going." Elzy and I revelled in our triumph like two school-going little munchkins finding a house of candies at the carnival grounds, only that I was a little taller!

I can still see in my mind's eye the stunned look that Mandeep had on his face — as if mortally wounded by something so sudden and unexpected. Renju grinned away as Daisies caught in the cool breeze that the STC campus was known to regale its guests, looking at us astonished as both Elzy and I rejoiced like boisterous school kids jumping and pumping our fists repeatedly in the air on winning the dumb charade round.

An Evening of Laughter and Longing

The evening wore on; it was not very chilly on the campus, though it was December month, and it was already supposed to be winter. We all became more composed and stayed seated on the velvet grass for some spare time while Gnana clung to his thoughts, not intending to dismiss them; perhaps he might be considering hitting the bed in our shared dorm room and catching a nightly wink before getting ready for another day in the STC paradise. Elzy sat in a zen-like posture close to Renju while we all sat close together on the lawn — a symphony of friendship.

Mandeep looked cool and fun, smiling pleasantly like a mini-celebrity strolling along the sandy shores of life. He began crooning "Mere Dil Ka Pata Tumhein Kisne Diya," a tune we both enjoyed back in the day on our music systems, putting all the songs on repeat (an endless loop, as they say these days) and listening to them nonstop. When I was younger, those Jaanam songs were always on my ‘playlist;’ I still listen to them occasionally, without fail. They remind me so much of those college days.

He once borrowed audiocassettes of Soldier, Kareeb, Afsana Pyar Ka, and Sonu Nigam pop albums like Jaan and Deewana from me. In my turn, I used to borrow from him, as I had desperately wanted to listen to the remarkable songs of Jaanam, First Love Letter, and Phir Teri Kahani Yaad Aayee, the audio cassettes of those extraordinary movies, the music of which I grew up listening to. Melodies of nostalgia.

Always in a good vibe, Renju crooned a song about flowers blooming and swaying in the wind, feeling nostalgic about the grasslands and meadows of her homeland while the cosmic stars twinkled in the pale moonlight like pearls. Slowly and privately, she hummed another: "Dil Se Mere Door Na Jana" and appeared solemn, searching with her gaze for something from her distant past that she knew could never be forgotten.

As Renju was feeling a little down either because of being far from home or perhaps due to personal concerns, I thought, wouldn't it be a great idea to perk things up slightly more? ​Mandeep (Mandy for short) also seemed ever-ready to tango, sparking the idea to lift spirits even higher.

​Piped up at the prospect of playing a round of Antakshari and Dumb Charade, with the tempting spread of good food at the dorm cafeteria later in the evening, Elizabeth (Elzy for short) and I got Renju and Mandeep on board and started to play, slowly singing, "Kathai Aankhon Wali Ek Ladki. Ek Hi Baat Par Bigadti Hai." ​Antakshari was fun as I sang the first two lines of another charming little Hindi song, "Oh Tumse Dur Rehke, Hamne Jana Pyaar Kya Hai."

​Taking over from Renju, Elizabeth began to spout a strange lyric with spoken dialogue as a song, "Oops!... I Did It Again," while observing our reactions, which was one of the year 2000's greatest hits along with the debut album "Baby One More Time" that MTV and Channel V channels used to play until the twelfth of never, as we were glued to the TV set, eagerly watching the swashbuckling top-of-the-charts musical numbers being replayed one after another on those famous channels.

​Mandeep grinned knowingly and said, "Britney Spears?!" as he retrieved his ever-present steel pin from his shirt pocket to secure the knit puggree on his head, checking if it was in place.

Gnana shortly said, "Elzy, feel free to proceed with singing that peculiar English song if you wish."

While Elizabeth joyfully sang, "Oops!... I Did It Again. I Played with Your Heart, Got Lost in The Game," Mandeep bubbled up significantly and hurled out as musically as he could manage, and followed it up with a musical flair, continuing with the next line of the song, "Oh Baybyyy, Baybyyy," which prompted Renju to giggle uncontrollably at him but remembering to playfully interpose continuing with the line, "Oops, You Think I'm in Love," before Elizabeth wrapping up with "That I'm Sent from Abooooove, I'm Not That Innocent." ​All this culminated in an incredibly delightful evening of laughter and conversational humour even as I humorously chimed in with this: "Hit Me Baby One More Time!" albeit from another song on the same album. (One thing I should note, though: Mandeep's fulltoo, fantastically mirthful intonation of "OH BAYBYYY, BAYBYYY" was something of a total dhamaal to witness!)

+*+*+*+

Devi and Suresh were engaged in a lively conversation a little way away. Suresh was likely growing anxious by the hour about his upcoming outing around the city with the stunning Michelle from London. (​I'll go into more detail about his perfect dilemma in a future blog article titled "The Beauty and the Gentleman.")

We continued the flow of chatter until 9 pm when it was time for dinner at the dormitory cafeteria. Suresh and I were especially anticipating a hearty portion of the paneer dish cooked in coconut milk, which was wonderfully made by the STC's in-house kitchen, along with some chicken korma, rumali roti, butter naan, and a small amount of rice pulao and curd with plain rice before washing it down with fresh sweet lime soda.

​After the main course, we decided to indulge in a couple of deliciously soft and irresistibly tempting Gulab Jamuns (that melt in your mouth like butter on a hot paratha. Ummm..., Wow!) generously dipped in a large amount of thick rose-scented sugar syrup, with an addition of malty caramel-milk or Rabdi to pour over them. We did exactly that! We ate to our heart's content.

We, especially Devi, oh! my God, ladies and gentlemen, couldn't resist the temptation of those warm, heavenly mouthfuls of pure perfection sprinkled with slices of pistachios no top, could we? (In my upcoming blog, "A Gulab Jamun Champion," I will delve into Devi's high jinks predilection for Gulab Jamuns.)

Even as I write these lines from memory, my mouth waters thinking about those brown, milky, doughy, cloyingly sweet wonders of the world. Gulab Jamun.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Also published on Medium.

All The Birds, Singing

Our Satyam Days, part XII

Meanwhile, I noticed Mandeep pull a steel pin out from his Van Heusen shirt pocket, which he usually carried, and start skewering around his well-knit, tightly packed pugree to keep the folds in place. I had frequently observed him performing this habit out of necessity, and he had a practiced air tending to that need.

After concluding our day's meetings, conferences, and a delightful luncheon at Satyam Technology Center (STC), we returned to our dorm rooms in the evening, thinking how good everything went. Mandeep, Suresh, and I decided on an invigorating cycle ride (letting our neckties swing freely with some flair and rebellion) through the picturesque, leafy campus while enjoying the lush surroundings (giving ourselves 'nature therapy' on the go) to the open-air cafeteria lawns neighbouring our dorms. Balaji, like GG, would head back home and come again the next day.

With the seminar over, GG was on a Doomsday Temple run, a last-ditch effort to get home before nightfall, to hit his half-empty Chivas Regal or some such portable free-flowing grog in the cold company of killing seclusion and stark friendlessness at his horror house of bottomless drinks! Devi, Renju, and Gnana preferred a leisurely walk along the beautiful pathway just beyond the tree-lined promenade showcasing shining bright green, violet, blue, red, and pink flowers and lush, fragrant foliage from the surrounding woodland. As evening twilight fell, squirrels darted from one tree to another, soaking in the serene ambiance of the STC campus.

When everyone reached the dorms, we lounged on the springy, neatly trimmed lawn next to the dorm cafeteria for some time. Then, as if on cue, Renju slipped into her private world of crooning and humming songs known to her while Gnana and Elizabeth looked at her as if pondering the future of singing or what this sudden burst of spontaneous crooning might mean, "Wow, she can also sing. Now that's a first!" I heard everyone groan teasingly. Renju played along. She started chiming in a song from the newest Hindi film released in town, Taal — Dil Ye Bechain Ve, Raste Pe Nain Ve. She continued to hum the tune, which we thought she came to cherish deeply, in good measure, before it was nine o'clock when it was time for supper at the dormitory cafeteria. At about 8 pm, we played Antakshari, a spoken parlour game where each player begins with the last word of the previous song. Singing was restricted to Hindi songs only. English songs, including the eternally beautiful "Every Night in My Dreams" and "Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart," were also thrown into the cheerful bonhomie of friends making everlasting memories.

I did not particularly dislike the songs of the movie Taal. Elzy, Renju, and Mandeep have all said how much they enjoy it. Their assessment of the songs, only in this case, was at variance with mine. Though I liked "Nahin Saamne Tu" and "Ishq Bina," I felt the music and the operatic falsettos in other good-but-not-great songs of the album, such as "Ramta Jogi," "Taal Se Taal," etc., to be overly high-pitched. While these tracks did not perhaps lack the high technical finesse that the music composer AR Rahman is known for, they don't resonate with my taste. His music in the movie Roja, in particular, was out-of-this-world amazing; it still gives me goosebumps whenever I listen to the songs from that unforgettable movie, which I went to see with my childhood friend Satish at a cinema called Devi 70MM way back in 1992. The tracks from the film Roja are truly soul-stirring. Similarly, the fantastic original score (including soundtrack) from Rangeela, Bombay, Saathiya, and recently, Rang De Basanti all possess extraordinary Rahman magic.

(I knew of Mandeep's almost passionate interest in 1980s and 1990s Hindi movies — 1980s' Ghulami, Naseeb, Saagar, Tezaab, Ram Lakhan, Hero, Dostana, Yaarana, Shaan, Disco Dancer, Satte pe Satta, Maine Pyar Kiya, etc., and 1990s' Aashiqui, Baazigar, Dil, Jungle Love, Jeena Teri Gali Main, Yaadon Ka Mausam, Doodh Ka Karz, Dil Hai Ke Manta Nahin, Jab Pyaar Kisise Hota Hai, Vishwatma, Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, Dil Se, Taal, Mann, Sirf Tum, Meera Ka Mohan, Jaanam, Radha Ka Sangam, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Saajan, and many others — which was something I also shared a deep interest in, so it was easy to win the game as I, too, knew extensively about Hindi film songs and films that were a hit and those that flopped.

Mandeep thought, rightly, no one would know of a flop Hindi flick that came and went, but I pulled a fast one when he came up with that film title, as I answered it correctly. Qaid Mein Hai Bulbul was one such film that tanked at the box office.)

Playing Antakshari

Renju would bring her flatmate Elzy (short for Elizabeth) along to stay with her in one of the dorms through the entire programme. Cafeterias (and gyms) were nearby, serving up amazing cuisines. We avoided the gyms.

In the evenings, when the conferences and client sessions were through for the day, we would gather on the manicured lawn of the food court facing our dorms and play a delightful game of Antakshari and Dumb Charade. With “ta se,” I remembered, comes a great song, “Tum Ko Dekha Toh Yeh Khayal Aaya,” and Elzy would take on humming the first two lines of “Dheere Dheere Se Meri Zindagi Mein Aana” song when she got the cue “da se."

One of us suddenly burst out loud, singing “Dhak Dhak Karne Lagaa...,” that old Madhuri Dixit-Anil Kapoor number, although not melodiously. But the spirit of piping the number amidst the company of colleagues enjoying the evening playing Antakshari was an amusing sight. I can’t quite remember who belted out the two lines of that raunchy chart-topping number! Mandeep! It must have been him, considering Madhuri Dixit was his all-time favourite actress ever to grace the big screen; yes, no one else but him. Looking at him, Elizabeth laughed out loud while Renju giggled unstoppably at the sight of Mandeep booming in his husky-gravelly quavering voice.

Mandeep's favourite actress has always been Madhuri Dixit. I remember, back in 1998, he had a row with me once when Revathy made the ‘silly mistake’ of asking us who our favorite actresses were, leading to a passionate exchange of opinions. I instantly pronounced Juhi Chawla while Mandeep categorically declared Madhuri Dixit and no one else! My choices at that time included Juhi Chawla, Rani Mukherjee, Karisma Kapoor, Kajol, and Sridevi — all of whom were strong contenders for Madhuri's throne. In the 1990s, Mandeep's favourite actress was undeniably at the top of her league.

Mandeep and I took turns singing songs from early 1990s Hindi movies that only we were aware of, songs like “Kya Karte The Sajna” and “Chand Banke Tum Gagan Se,” among others (that are sadly now lost, forgotten). I even sang the first two lines of one of my favourite songs, "Aisa Sama Na Hota." Renju sang a few from Hindi non-film pop albums, such as "Jaadoo Hai Yeh Naya Naya” and “Aap Se Pyar Hai” from the same album, and also "Mera Dil Bhi Kitna Pagal Hai." Afterwards, I hummed the catchy opening lines of Falguni Pathak pop numbers: "Yaad Piya Ki Aane Lagi" and "Meri Chunar Udd Udd Jaye" when it suddenly seemed to me that Mandeep was privately longing for Shikha, the gorgeous woman he was enamoured of since the first day of our annual meetings at STC. As I sang, I saw Elzy, Suresh, Mandeep (broken from his trance), and Renju grinning and turning up the corners of their mouth at my lullaby-like rendition of the pleasantly tuneful songs. Come on guys, it was the best I could do!

A Quaint Feeling of Love Lost

Unfortunately, there realistically was nothing that Mandeep could have done, for instance, to stop the passage of time, moving rapturously ahead, changing everything in its wake: the historical inevitability of change that continues inexorably and gets on going without ceasing that no one can do anything about. Or except just being present at the moment. Or to lose himself and find himself. Or privately spend time in comparative solitude with lonely thoughts about the gracious one to whom Mandeep had willingly surrendered his gentle heart: Shikha.

It was all he could do; nothing could save his feelings from getting hurt, as the tender ache of first love was lost forever when she left for a distant time and place a thousand miles away in a story of her part of the world, leaving him aching for the comfort of her presence, her conversations, her fragrance, each moment stretching eternally in the solitude of longing evermore and evermore.

Soon after her four-day stay concluded, she would board a flight and fly away, leaving behind not just a place but perhaps a fleeting chance to revisit a moment that could never be recaptured in the following year, to rekindle the love story of two souls entwined in love but who had never truly found each other. The echoes of laughter faded with her departure.

A palpable silence in her gently wakes flooded his joyful heart to the core; the unspoken, unrequited bond that instantly made a connection between the two began wilting, casting him adrift in a sea of longing for the enchanted moments they had shared during those four memorable days of wonder twenty-five years ago now. In the warm, nostalgic embrace of what once was, Mandeep's love blossoms anew in its true essence, drawing strength from that one love that got away.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

Infinite Longing

Our Satyam Days, part XI

A heart has its reasons for secretly liking someone. I understood this first-hand from my experience with someone I was so love-smitten by at first sight, even before the day I first met her at that gourmet restaurant hidden away from the main thoroughfare of the city.

However, it wasn't simply a one-sided secret love unbeknownst to the object of my affection; it was a lovely, warm, reciprocal feeling of love between a sweetly blossoming sweetheart and me — the knight in the software engineering armour. L.T. was (is) her beautiful, nostalgic name, a poignant reminder of that nostalgically evocative time alluding to mysterious philosophies that once upon a time melted my heart to the deepest core.

(Our love story encapsulated the profound essence of young romance, a cherished memory I hold close to my heart. Even now, as time passes in the vastness of the cosmos, I find myself deeply imbued with a heartfelt longing for those ephemeral moments spent with you when every fleeting moment felt like a timeless treasure that transcended time itself, where every heartbeat echoed the beauty of young love: the love of you and me together.)

The sweet beginning of us: L. and I had our first meeting at Alex's Kitchen, a quaint luncheonette with a mood of dimly lit spaces, charming every love-smitten beau into the wellspring of love in '98. Softly glowing bulbs hung over each table in the lounge-like enlarged enclosure, creating a comforting sense of privacy that made us feel like two lovebirds we had so fondly dreamed of being ever since we first spoke on the phone. A romantic lunch was on the cards, concentrating more on our conversation than the food neatly arranged on our plates, eating very little and talking more. There was a lot we conversed about: Perfect night owl lovers' love-talks about music and movies such as Titanic or the latest movies, personal lives, daily experiences, flowers, rain, and clear blue sky while we swapped mysteriously yet beautifully unsigned Titanic-themed cards and music cassettes with a hushed backdrop of desi Chinese connoisseurs regaling around the hall.

While the meal was truly and delightfully delicious to chat about and enjoy having to the very last crumb—from the Fried Rice to Spring Rolls dipped in scrumptious sauces and one other dish, most probably American Chopsuey we ordered: every bite was romantically delightful, the taste hardly registering as I talked, ogled, being tickling cute with my gracefully elegant Honeybun (who has been the centre of my world)—it was secondary (but grand in a way) to our growing closeness between us as an intimate couple, who had fallen harder in love with each other, significantly more profound than anyone might have thought from our outward appearance, not even perhaps her girl pal who joined us for a tête-à-tête. We were a tiny bit shy, but the conversation flowed well. Time flew by.

“Ab to mere huzoor

Paas raho chahe dur

Pyar nibhayenge hum

Tumse wada raha”*

From that unforgettably romantic day onwards, or even before our first meeting at that quaint little place, a strange and lonely feeling took hold of me that I had no prediction of: it suggested that something more deep was taking root between L. and me that I found intensely lovely to believe and bring it into my heart, much similar to what I had read in English classics books in college or gawped in mushy movies or conferred with close pals, perhaps it was a soul connection that felt compelling, exciting, and inevitable so that we could make our love blossom from the first day we uttered a word or two to each other on the phone.

Love grew between us that had been there all along (even to this day, I'd like to believe), blossoming as we spent precious little time together, however short and fleeting, intensifying as we shared moments of togetherness that distant afternoon at the comfy luncheonette — conversations that seemed to go on forever or lingered love-like vibe in the air long after we unwillingly put down the phone; sweet stolen glances that seemed to contain unspoken promises and singular chemistry that sparkled like twosome radiant luminosities when we were near each other holding hands and making promises that we might be able to keep whatever tomorrow may bring; but alas, and the most hurting aspect of our relationship is that we could only ever meet once ever, though sadly not as often as we may have heartbreakingly wished.

It still kills me to this day the thought of how my life may have turned out with the precious love I had in the innermost chamber of my heart but had to let go of, inseparable from the moment I had met her. My awful, indifferent fate and how unappeasable my pitiful destiny had been mortifying me to this very day. Years have flown by unconscionably. Loneliness haunts me, the past never having been reconciled. Things have changed since then. And yet, they haven't since the beginning. For us, they have remained unchanged today, tomorrow, and forevermore.

The love of my heart

Fate and Destiny embraced each other, realizing the relationship we'd begun to have as we carried on the purity of being in love. A profound sense of happiness was exhilarating in my heart, while a strong urge to be close to her and shower all my love on her became paramount to the very necessity of my existence. I fell for her — hook, line, and sinker. L. was very pretty and intelligent. And I'd begun to feel more at ease with the real world, even though unsettling and indelible at times, external to my understanding of love and other dreams, while firmly believing I'd found my way ahead in the fragrant aroma of her company: a sweet surrender. My future seemed set.

In addition to being a delightful experience to meet her, her warm nature shone through much as I had imagined it would. I knew I had met someone special when I plucked up the courage to hold her hand as I managed to blurb out a few words of my worshipping adoration for the beautiful sweet pea right here in front of me inches away, even as I realized that I'd started adoring everything about her sparkling eyes, flawless smile that lights up the room, an eyeful stunner so close to my heart, elegant dressing sense that gleamed gorgeousness requiring a little amount of forethought before stepping out for a planned date, and the way she talked seemed to tell me I've known her from before — though maybe not in that particular order — that I'd find in her lavender-lilac presence that shone just as I believed before fulfilling my eagerness to meet her at that unforgettable restaurant of the romantic ninety-nineties era, which was her choice for a meet-up rendezvous, the world outside would hang up for our love to follow through under the shade of love, grace, and hopes of togetherness. Her serene charcoal-drawn eyes were the focal point of my deep, deep admiration as the warm intimacy of togetherness embraced us in a way that words could barely capture. Eyes that I gazed upon enlightened my romantic dreams that go back centuries! Eyes that I fell into and kept falling. She is L., my L.

If fate hadn't gotten involved, I will admit that I would have been happier with life in the larger sense of the word by eventually proposing to marry her. That, after all, was me in an earlier life. I continue to miss L. of that lost time.

(That quaint feeling: Oh! L…, what better way to reminisce about our memories together than through writing about our brief embrace of those first moments of love? Wouldn't a personal memoir be a wonderful ode to remember us throughout the long journey of life into a realm filled with hope and happiness? Beyond the lovely memories of your love so sweet that my solitary heart holds dear, "The Sublime Persuasion of Love"—a memoir lovingly dedicated to you—still resonates within me. The words, imbued with the comforting rhythm of shared heartbeats, awaken a deep emotional, nostalgic longing that nestles intimately within my soul, reaffirming the ethereal depths of my memories and feelings of our love lost in those woods of time back in 1998, even if we are so far apart. 

And I'd like to believe these unspoken words speak to you as they endeavour to show you the beauty of joy again and perhaps a little gloomy inevitability that sometimes seems to emerge without any apparent reason in the real world of heartbreak and love redeeming.)

“Jab mile hum gale

Sara jahan badle

Hum na badlenge sanam

Tumse wada raha”*

Sometimes, I think this is not my world, my reality; the world no longer feels relatable or liveable. My existence revolved around that precise moment in late 1998 when I landed a job with Satyam and, more importantly, when I first heard your precious voice and couldn't wait to meet you at the A. K’s.

Before that first day turned into evening, I listened to your lyrical euphonious voice wave after wave echoing through my home phone like a melody of love that I held close to my heart and dreamt only of you ever since that day. How fortunate I am! The day I got home after landing my first job, I received your call for the first time. My heart raced as I focused on hearing your voice on the phone complimenting me on my new job when I shared the news. In that instant, it felt as though your exquisite words felt like a loving hug, enfolding me in an embrace, heaving my heart with love-smitten joy, a feeling unlike anything I had experienced.

From that moment on, it was all you, before and after and ever since, forever and eternally. It's amazing how quickly time passes, spiralling forward without pause; it flies. And yet, yes, time moves on, numbed to the nostalgic weight of the cherished memories I have of you and will always have of you. Tumse wada raha.

(To be continued…)

By Arindam Moulick

*The song “Ab to Mere Huzoor (Natasha I Love You)” is a romantic Kishore-Late duet from the Hindi movie "Pyar Mein Sauda Nahin."

Alternative titles considered for this blog were “The Dream of You and Me Together,” “A Memory Called Love,” “Love, Briefly,” and “A Dance of Hearts: A Romantic Reflection.”