Remembering Dileep!

MYSORE – Dileep Mouleesha, aged 24, died unexpectedly, yesterday afternoon at 1500hrs local time. He leaves behind sorrowing parents and a grief-stricken sister.

It is said that an obituary is the best place to write the truth about a dead man. Hence, this write up is a tribute to the inflexible teetotaler who got intoxicated by life itself.

Born to unsuspecting parents in the year of the rooster, he was always racing with time as if he had a premonition that his end was close.

Being the perfectionist he was, he judged himself way too hard. He complained occasionally that he failed to reach his goals. He stopped short of playing professional tennis, gave up 2 levels below a coveted black belt in taekwondo and had a stab at being a movie maker and a photographer.

He defended himself that the basis of his endless talking was to make up for the years he had lost because he started speaking late. Though he was told he had a way with words, more often than ever his words gave way. He used to say that running was the only time when his restless mind could not think of any thing. Thus was obsessed with running and was planning to run the full marathon.

A conservative at heart, he had tasted failure in love and academics and everything that lies between them. He flaunted that he had failed so often that now he was actually took pride in his failures and said it was time for him to succeed.

An eternal optimist, he always sought to try out something new. His wish list reveals that he wanted to work for an NGO, write a book on women’s equality in the modern society, take part in a triathlon and adopt an animal in a zoo among other aspirations.

His passion for intellectual discussions was fuelled by the fact that he loved interpretation more than plain facts. He loved to laugh, brought merriment, excitement, wit, camaraderie and the joy of living.

He was never a believer in the supreme and always displayed his long life line. He always believed you could fight your fate. It is true that god mocks the mocking. In his last days, staying away from home he missed home and now more than ever.

According to his wishes his body would be donated to a hospital for research purposes.
A picture of him wearing denims, blue kurta, sporting a five o clock shadow, standing in front of his car, him arms folded, with a smile on his face will remain fresh in my mind forever. A memorial service will be announced shortly. At least now may his soul rest in peace.

The Iron Curtain

Reading a book for me is like being a character in a movie. For some outlandish reason I transform into the protagonist of the book. I get so involved that at an interesting point, there is no likelihood for an interval or a break. I visualize sets, props and fellow actors. Sometimes I even hear the sounds that are appropriate to the given scene.

It has been a long standing dream of mine to read a book in the midst of nature. To see lush green grass, with the wind slither across my face. I always thought it would be like watching a movie in an air conditioned movie theatre.

This dream of mine was realized today when I wandered into a cricket stadium for a late evening stroll. Dressed in light clothing, an unexpected downpour forced me to take refuge in the stands of the stadium. The stadium slowly hid herself in the shadows of the night, only to appear momentarily due to the occasional lighting.

I pulled out a book from my bag which I had been reading. The novel was a classic ‘The Godfather’. I settled down in the pavilion which was illuminated by a tube light. The temperature had fallen due to the sudden onset of the cloudburst. I held my limbs closer in an attempt to keep myself warm.

I resumed reading the book from where I had left off. Don Corleone had arranged a meeting with the other mafia bosses to propose peace and the safe passage of his son from Sicily. It is one of the most intense moments of the book, which the author compares to Churchill’s Iron Curtain. I felt like I was standing in the Don’s own shoe and giving the famous speech. The cricket stadium became my board room, the pitch became the discussion table, the pavilion became my podium, the trees became the attendees and the sight and sounds of the lightning seemed like photographs being taken, the breeze gave the impression of attendees discussing among themselves and the rain became the applause. I no longer felt cold instead I felt the authority of the Don.

It was a truly scintillating experience. Who said reading a book is a dull experience?

Overrated but Underused

This morning when the sun forced me out of my deep slumber, in my dream I was singing this song, walking alone in a dark avenue bordered by empty buildings.

“I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone”

I definitely was in the twilight of broken dreams, but the reality was that the city was awake and I was the only one rubbing my eyes to adjust to the bright light.

Gazing at a bright red poster of yester year on the wall, the words on it appeared screaming “Don’t live on the edge, get over it”, it dawned to me that if I am lucky; I probably have lived half my life. Sadly, I only have the other half to savor and slog.

I was always told that I had the potential to reach the unsurpassable. Other than some sad excuses for success I have nothing much to proclaim greatness. So far things have just happened to me. Now its time to make things happen to me.