Why I am destined to be a great singer

My music guru is not happy with the amount of time I spend doing riyaaz (music practice).  "You should put in extra effort and time into doing your riyaaz" he told me.

"Manifestation.  Let me imagine myself as a great singer - then may be I will actually become one" I said to myself and started my riyaaz session today.

I thought I had an especially resonant timbre to my voice today - so opening my mouth wide (like I see the great singers do) I launched into an extended sustaining on the base "Sa" note.

As I was admiring my own resonant voice a mosquito suddenly manifested. This was just about the time I had reached the end of the long sustain on the note and had to draw a deep breath again.  

I don't know how it happened - but the mosquito got drawn into my mouth when I was drawing my deep inward breath. I could feel it enter my throat.

I coughed violently wanting to expel it.  But nothing came out.  I could still feel it stuck in my throat.

I drank a lot of water and ate some biscuits hoping it would descend into my stomach.

I think it is still stuck in my throat as there definitely is a buzz in my voice now when I sing.  

Unwitting Underground Conversations

At the Los Angles subway station I was a bit confused on how to use the app on my phone to access the subway station.  Unfortunately none of the commuters I approached were willing to talk to me and they would rush away from me assuming I was one of the thousands of "homeless" people who throng the subway asking passerbys for a "donation".  Fortunately a Chinese looking gentleman finally helped me figure out how to use the mobile app to access the station.

While waiting for the train we got talking.  His name was Chang and he told me that before he became a US citizen he used to work in an investment bank in Singapore.  He is now retired and lives on his investment portfolio.  He seemed a bit too scruffy to be a retired investment banker - but I thought that was an eccentricity that comes with age.  He told me he spends most of his time doing social work in the church.  

Surprisingly he seemed knowledgeable about Indian companies, and he sought my investment advice about Indian companies as apparently he had some surplus funds to invest.

Meanwhile the subway train arrived, and I suggested that we both board it and continue our conversation on the train.  But he said it is quite noisy in the train, and requested me whether we could skip this train and take the next train so that we can finish the conversation.  Having found a kindred soul I agreed and we got into a rigorous discussion on what sectors will give good investment returns - from hydrogen energy to speciality bio-chemicals to genetic engineering.  

The next train came and I started moving towards it.  But Chang said that as we have not yet finished the conversation can we wait for the next train? 

But by now we had spoken so much I had reached an end to my knowledge of potential investment sectors.  So I told him I was in a bit of a hurry and had to rush.   

I boarded the train expecting him to also board the train.  But when I looked back Chang was busy rummaging through a garbage bin on the platform.  As the train pulled away from the station I noticed he had found a half filled beer can from the garbage bin and was drinking from it with great relish. 

I realised with a start that it was a homeless person that I was having a very intellectual conversation with for the last 30 minutes! 

I did not know whether to laugh or cry.  I was initially upset that I was fooled into wasting half an hour. And then I started laughing at myself - he had fooled me totally with his intellectual disposition.  

And then I started introspecting as to what misfortune or adverse circumstances could have pushed such a person into a "homeless" state.

May be for him the 30 minutes he spent talking with me was a "short return to normalcy" - where someone treated him like an equal and with respect.  May be that is the reason why he never asked me for a "donation".  And his need for self respect and being treated with dignity was probably what made him so keen to hold on to me and continue the conversation.

I see it as pure divine intervention. God made me unwittingly repay a debt to humanity by spending time with someone who needed that conversation, and with whom (pardon my arrogance) I would not have normally interacted with in this manner. May be it is God's way of warning me to be humble - forcing me to acknowledge the fickleness of fame and fortune - and making me so thankful and grateful for His continued blessings. 

On the Sill

A wasp from the nearby forest entered my room through the balcony door and started making a nest in one of the holes in the window sill.  It kept repeatedly going in and out of the room through the balcony door collecting material for the nest. The window sill was next to where I sat so I kept looking admiringly at its beautiful sleek blue body and the effort it was putting in to build its nest.  

After some time I got a bit worried that the nest will endanger my safety.

The next time the wasp exited the room I quickly shut the balcony door to prevent it from re-entering.  From the window I could see the wasp trying to repeatedly enter my room - initially through the balcony door, and then through the windows - but to no avail as they were all shut. 

I then started wondering whether I had the right to shut it off from its home - just because of the fear it might sting me.  After all I am just a temporary visitor to this resort; the wasp being
the more permanent resident.

All Is Fair in Love and .....

President Frump heard a cough and looked up to see his Secretary for Missile Sales standing nervously on one leg.

Important man, this Secretary - he contributed to 20% of the country's revenue.  So when he coughs there must be a problem.

"Sir" said the secretary "you know our country makes bulk of our money by selling our "Fat Boy" missiles to various countries?"

"Yes, I know" said President Frump "... and pretty profitable business too - so much demand for Fat Boy missiles from countries like Moldovia and Krakistan".

"But we have a problem now, Sir.  You know there are some fringe elements agitating against selling weapons of mass destruction.  So we might need to discontinue Fat Boy to show that we are ethical minded."

"What - discontinue our most profitable line?"  President Frump fumed.  "Are you out of your mind?"

The Secretary nervously shifted to his other leg.  "But I think I have a very good solution, sir.  The problem is with the term "Fat" in "Fat Boy" because there is a strong lobby of over-weight individuals who feel insulted with the word "Fat".

President Frump's eyes lit up.  "Superb idea.  So we just drop "Fat" from "Fat Boy" and we are back in Business? You deserve a promotion, my man"

The Secretary felt confident enough to now stand on both legs.  He said:  "In fact we should replace "Fat"  with something else - something that says this is the same product but with some extra deadly punch".

President Frump was impressed.  "Yes that is a great idea.  Any suggestions on the name?"

It was bonus time, and the Secretary was well prepared.  I suggest we rename  "Fat Boy" as "Bat Boy" sir.  It rhymes well and would also signify that we have upgraded our product".

"Super" said President Frump.  "And just to be doubly sure that all our customers know about this name change, send out a circular to all the media saying that in the greater interests of man-kind we have decided to stop using discriminatory terms such as "Fat" for our top selling product.

The Secretary put on a look of awe and said "You really come up with such glowing ideas, sir". 

Women Combatants

After much pushing and shoving I somehow managed to squeeze into the Purple line metro at peak hour.  Next to me in the crowd at the crowded Majestic station was a portly gentleman with a laptop bag in one hand and a tiffin box in the other and who somehow managed to squeeze into the compartment just before the doors shut.

Hardly was he heaving a sigh of relief when a stern looking lady at the top of her voice started shouting at this gentleman.

"How dare you - you pushed me when we were entering the train" she screamed at him.

The portly gentleman did not know what hit him as she was virtually squeezed next to him, and was screaming in his ear.

"I did not push you - somebody was pushing us from behind..." he started to weakly respond.

"You useless man - don't you know how to behave with women? Very uncivilized fellow!"  she screamed.

A gentleman next to me came to his rescue and said : "He is not at all fault.  All of us get pushed, madam - unfortunately this is the plight of all of us traveling on Purple Line at peak time".

At this the stern looking lady screamed :"This is the problem - all you dirty men support each other".

Nobody dared speak up now.  No man wanted to be called "dirty".  The portly gentleman was trying to melt into the floor when sudden help came from behind him.

A thin woman who was squeezed behind the portly gentleman shouted : "Who dares call my husband dirty? You foolish woman - why don't you take an Uber if you don't know how to travel by crowded trains"?

The stern looking school teacher visibly coloured and retorted : "You teach your husband how to board trains in civilized manner instead of lecturing me".

The wife got wild and replied : "What makes you think you are some beautiful woman who any man would even want to look at - let alone touch?"

It was apparent that the formidable stern looking lady had met her match.  There was a sudden parting of the crowd in the compartment - a massive duel was imminent and the crowd made space for the combatants.

But the shouting subsided as quickly as it started.  The metro reached the next station and the stern looking lady suddenly decided she had to get off.

Everybody in the compartment heaved a sigh of relief.  The husband meekly nodded thanks to his wife. His wife triumphantly beamed all around.  The husband retreated to a corner and tried to make himself invisible.  There was no doubt in anybody's mind as to who will be calling the shots in his home that evening.

And me?  Henceforth I take a Purple metro from Majestic station only if I am traveling with my wife. 

Conversations with Generation Z

So there I was having my lunch when a bunch of Generation Z guys and girls joined me at the table of the canteen in the co-working space.

“Hadley D’Souza” said a long haired chap introducing himself to me.

“…..Hadley as in James Hadley Chase?”  I asked him.

“Yes” he said.

“Wow – I have read most of his books. And you are surely a fan of James Hadley Chase too?”  I asked.

“No - my mom was a fan of his and she named me after him.  I have never read him".  And then as a sort of explanation he turned to the others at the table and said "That writer was from the last century." 

I had to quickly regain my leadership around the table so I said : “Names can be such interesting conversation starters” And turning to the girl sitting next to him I asked her .."and what is yours?"

“Ishika - spelt as Eishika” she said.

“Wow – that is a wonderful conversation starter – I am sure everyone asks you why you spell it that way?”  I said.

She made a wry face and said : “No – they only say my name has a spelling mistake in it”. 

Refusing to give up I turned to the girl sitting next to me and said “I am sure your name must be very interesting as a conversation starter?”

“Actually no - my name is boring - it is Nikita” she said.

“I am sure lots of people tell you that your name reminds them of Niki-Tasha TV…” I said with a laugh.

“No – actually most people don’t even know that such a TV existed” she said.

“It was a very popular TV once” I said.

“My grand-mother remembers that TV” she said.

Then she looks at Hadley and pointedly says “Only my grand-mother – not even my mother”

Me? I was missing from the table.

What It Takes to Go Far

A girl probably in her mid 20s dressed in business attire got into my Uber Share while I was on my way to a meeting today morning. She and I were the only occupants (apart from the Uber driver).

At a junction, the Uber driver stopped his car and gave the right indicator to take a right turn.

"Why are you taking a right?  Please take a left - we will reach 20 minutes faster" she ordered.

I and the driver looked left.  The left was a one-way street.

"Sorry madam.  As per Uber Share rules I cannot deviate from the route given to me by Uber on the map" he said indicating his Uber screen.

"I take an Uber Share everyday, and every driver listens to me when I ask him to take a left here" she said.

"Sorry madam.  I cannot take a left here.  And in any case it is a one way street" he said firmly.

"Nobody will catch you if you take a left.  If you take a right here I will be late for my meeting.  I insist you take a left here" she said.

"No madam.  I need to follow the rules" he said.

She turned to me in anger.  "You are also headed in the same direction.  Why don't you support me and ask him to take a left?" she asked addressing me.

"The rules for Uber Share are clear, and he needs to follow the rules" I replied.

She gave me a withering look and said to me "We need to use our brains instead of following a useless map"

Then she turned again to the driver "I am going to report you for not following customer instructions".

The Uber driver kept quiet and took the right turn.  I had really started admiring the driver now.  Any other person would have wilted under the pressure.

She got really upset now.  "Get me off here.  I will take an auto.  And I will not pay you" she said.

The Uber driver was about to stop to let her get off.  But then she changed her mind.  "How will I get an auto now?  You keep driving" she ordered.

Her destination came before mine and she got off in a huff without even looking at the driver.

I noticed the driver punching a "1 star" as his rating for the customer in his Uber app.  I am sure he too has been given a "1 star" by the customer.

"In today's world with that attitude she will go very far" I remarked to the driver.

"Maybe. But not in my car" he said.

Insights into Married Life from the Middle Seat

On my recent flight to Mumbai I was given a middle seat as all the window and aisle seats were occupied.  Apparently most couples ask for a window and aisle seats with the hope that the middle seat will be left unoccupied and hence will give them space for a comfortable journey.

Disappointment was evident on the lady’s face seated on the aisle seat as I squeezed into the middle seat.  No sooner had I sat when she said loudly into my ear :”I hope in future you will do exactly as I tell you – that will save you from a lot of grief”.  Her tone indicated that she expected me to meekly agree – and I looked at her nervously wondering what she will order me to do. 

But to my relief she was looking beyond me to the chap sitting in the window seat.  He was a person with a goatee beard and with an apologetic air about him.  He was vigorously nodding his head at his wife’s words .

He caught me looking at him and he smiled and he said :”We are just returning from a holiday.  What about you?  Where are you coming from”?  The chap was trying to strike up a friendly conversation with me. 

Before I could open my mouth to reply, his wife’s voice boomed into my ear.  She said : “You are so lacking in self-confidence.  You should believe in yourself, man – otherwise how will you take such important decisions?”

I turned my head to look at the chap and he was again nodding his head and saying : “Yes yes – I agree I need to pull myself together”.

He then turned to me and said “I don’t want you to get inconvenienced by the conversation I and my wife are having.  So if you want I can swap seats with you and you can take my window seat”.  I readily agreed and we traded places.

Throughout the flight I overheard a serious mentoring and counselling session taking place.  The husband made several attempts to turn his head in my direction and strike up a conversation with me – but all such attempts were nipped in the bud by his wife.

When the flight landed I saw the man scurrying away hurriedly – in order to maintain an out-of-earshot gap between him and his wife.  His wife made no attempt to catch up with him – she followed him at a leisurely pace confident in her knowledge that he cannot run away too far.

I saw them next at the baggage conveyer belt.  The wife had caught up with him, and was now advising him on what kinds of t-shirts suit him better.

Their luggage came first and they made for the exit – this time both of them together.  He saw me looking at him and when he passed me he gave a sly wink.  There was not even a minor trace of irritation on his face.

And then the truth hit me.

To the numerous husbands who continue to do exactly what they want to do despite continuous attempts at reforming them – and to the wives who do not give up hope that their husbands will one day listen and follow their suggestions  – here’s wishing you a grand and happy New Year!

Activist Artistes

Art - whether it is music, writing or other performing arts - requires long hours of practice, focus and dedication.  This is the reason why many artistes despite having strong views on anything do not resort to public activism - it is an energy and time killer, and distracts one from reaching higher levels in their chosen art. 

Artistes who have taken to activism (and I can immediately think of a famous writer, and an actress) have done so when they had already plateaued in their art. Maybe it is their way of staying in their limelight.  But the fact is they never again returned to their peak in their chosen art once they got distracted into activism.

One loves not just the art- but also the artiste behind the art.  There is a certain purity, dignity and sanctity expected from performing arts and performing artistes.  I certainly respect the right of artistes to be public activists and say whatever they want - it is their right.  But I will avoid attending a music concert if there is even a remote doubt in my mind whether the performance on stage could be inadvertently tainted by the shadow of activism. 

The girl in Central Park

The morning air was crisp and the sun was struggling to show itself through the morning mist when I and my colleague reached the mid point of Central Park in New York.  A few birds were circling the large crystal clear lake - and the morning dew shimmered on the huge meadow next to the lake.

A little girl - perhaps 6 or 7 years old - stood on the winding path in the far distance, waiting for us to approach.  She was dressed in a pretty frock with matching shoes.  From time to time she will cast a hesitant glance at a young couple casually stretched out on the meadow in the distance.  From the encouraging nods they were giving her, they should be her parents.

As we reached her I noticed she had very beautiful blue eyes, and she held a small placard which said "Free Hugs".

She looked at me with her beautiful blue eyes and waited expectantly for me to respond.

I hesitated.  Should I hug her or not?  

I said "good morning little one" in a cheerful voice, and then walked past without hugging her. 

She looked confused as she looked at me walk away - and then she looked at her parents in embarrassment.......

I heard myself remarking to my colleague "It is safer nowadays to be absolutely correct - no hugging - even if they are children".  I was feeling sorry for the small girl, and was trying to justify my rude behaviour.

I turned and looked back.  The little girl had shrugged off her disappointment and was now waiting expectantly on the pathway for the next person to walk by.  Hopefully the next person will be braver and more spontaneous, and will not disappoint.

Sleepless In Prithvi

Ok, let me firstly make it clear that it is me – his wife – writing this post.  Usually it is he who writes those useless posts in which I am made the butt of his ridiculous jokes.

But today it is my – his wife’s – turn to write and tell you about an incident that happened yesterday that he will not write about because it will be embarrassing for him.  So let me do it.

Yesterday we went to Prithvi to listen to the Symphony Orchestra of India (SOI) performing Western Classical music.  My husband booked tickets for both of us so that he could - in his usual style - immodestly boast on facebook about how "cultured" he is.  That is an empty boast of course – and I doubt whether he understands even Indian Classical music despite the photos of music events he keeps posting on fb.

Ok, so here we were at Prithvi – and then my hubby drops a shocker.

He :   "I am suffering from a terrible jet lag after my recent visit abroad – and I think I may fall asleep during the show."

I : "So why did you decide to come today?  You could have slept at home peacefully."

To which he muttered incoherently something about Western classical music curing his jet lag and giving him a good sleep.

Within 5 minutes of the show starting, my husband had gone off to sleep.  The player on the Bassoon was playing beautifully – but I was highly distracted because of one problem : my hubby does not know how to sleep off peacefully; he was snoring. 

So I gently stamp his feet.

Husband looks at me accusingly.  I whispered to him that he should not snore.

He looked at me as if wondering whether sleeping without snoring was at all possible – and he then tried to do an imitation of Mr. Bean by using his fingers to prevent his eye lids from closing.

Really – he does not know he is embarrassing not only himself but also me.  The person sitting next to him had started casting surreptitious glances in my direction wondering what kind of characters we were. 

In 2 minutes – and despite the Mr. Bean act - my husband had slumped in his seat and was nodding away.  And then suddenly he woke up with a start and looked all around as if trying to figure out where he is.  The people sitting behind him were not looking too pleased at his antics.

I elbowed him in his stomach.  Long experience of elbowing has ensured that when I elbow, people wake up.

He woke up, and started undoing his shirt buttons. 

“Hey, what are you doing” I ask him.

“it is very hot in here – and I think I will undo my shirt” he said.

Obviously his lack of sleep has started affecting his brain.  “Have you gone crazy?  Please sit quietly” I ordered him.

He was very hurt at these words.  “What is the problem?  This is a theatre –and they tolerate Salman Khan removing his shirt” he said.

He had started talking in his sleep obviously – so I pinched him really hard – the pinch I normally reserve for my son when he dares answer me back. 

He then woke up and started tossing and turning in his seat very restlessly.  I was too embarrassed to look at the people sitting in our neighbouring seats.  All I could do was to keep kicking his feet every 5 minutes so he does not go off into deep sleep and then making a spectacle of himself. 

Finally the show got over much to my relief and my husband somehow sleep-walked out of the theatre.

“Did you sleep well?” I asked him sarcastically.

“Not with all the kicking and pinching you were giving me” he said mournfully.

“I would not have kicked you if you had gone to sleep peacefully without creating a nuisance of yourself” I said.

“What could I do – the seats in Prithvi are not reclining and do not have proper head rests – so how can someone sleep peacefully?” he said.

I predict that we will not be visiting Prithvi anytime in the near future.

Message To The Stars

Dear Star : you called to inform about a major leap in your career - a significant increase in your responsibilities and role in your organization.  You wanted to express your gratitude for the mentoring and support that you said I had provided you, and which you think contributed to you reaching where you are today.

I have no recollection of providing you any such mentoring and support.  I believe you have risen due to your own efforts, and - as you yourself mentioned - also due to big dollops of Luck. It requires a lot of humility to acknowledge that many of our successes would not have happened without luck being on our side - and due to being in the right place at the right time.

I feel quite proud of the huge success you have achieved.  Genuine success is when others feel as much (if not more) happiness and pride in your success as you yourself do.  And for that to happen one needs to - as you have done - strive diligently, smile a lot, and be grateful for being where one is today.

Why You Should Not Talk To Your Wife About De-Cluttering Your Lives

"Now that we have become an empty nest, let us move to a smaller, more compact apartment" I told my wife.

My wife gave a very resigned look and said : "Don't blame our empty nest for the move - it is in your nature to get bored every few years and wanting a change".

But I had grossly under-estimated the challenge of shifting to a smaller place.  When we stay in large apartments we collect a lot of useless stuff over a period of time.  How do we now fit all these useless stuff into a small compact apartment with very limited storage space?

"We need to simplify our lives - so let us declutter" I told my wife.

My wife looked at me with apprehension - she knew nothing good happens when I talk philosophy.

"What do you mean?" she said.  I detected a tone of aggression in her voice.

"Better get rid of all the multiple sets of crockery - we need only 1 set of crockery" I told my wife.

"What?  Give away my priceless collection of crockery?  Why don't you give away your book collection?  We have 2 large over-flowing cupboards full of your books for which we have no space to store in our new TINY apartment" she said.

"Crockery is useless unlike books.  Going by the amount of crockery we have it would seem as if we regularly entertain a lot of guests" I said with sarcasm.

"Yeah, and going by the amount of books at our home people will mistakenly think you actually do read books" she said.

Unlike other husbands, I am not the one to give up a battle so easily.  So I replied : "Why don't you at least dispose off all these excess beddings and bed-sheets that you keep collecting?"

"And why do you need 3 harmoniums as if you are some great music Punditji?  You don't even use 1 harmonium regularly" she replied.

I wisely decided that it is easier to create more storage space in the new apartment.

Simplifying is not that simple. 

The Gift Of The Maruti

Now that we are moving houses to another locality, the one thing I am going to miss about our old Parle apartment is the periodic visits of the monkey.

This monkey would make sudden appearances on the huge tree overlooking our balcony, and then would amble along the length of our balcony checking whether any of the French windows are open for him to enter our apartment.  Unfortunately for him, on most occasions the French windows would have been firmly shut by my wife who would have been alerted by the ruckus created by his sworn enemies - the crows on the tree.

Maruti trying to open

the French window

He had mastered the art of opening the sliding French windows - he would check each French window on our balcony in an attempt to slide it open. Only once was he successful in entering our house - and he went off only after he took a packet of dates from our dining table.

My wife felt terrorized by this monkey.  She empirically discovered that whenever anyone in the house uttered the word "Monkey", it would unfailingly manifest itself on the balcony within a few hours. Hence usage of the word "monkey" was banned in our house - we were never supposed to bring up this word in our conversations.  My mother, however, found a way around this ban - and she started referring to the monkey as "Maruti" (the mythological term used for referring to Hanuman - the monkey God).  I felt that my mother actually secretly looked forward to the visits of Maruti.

Then abruptly his visits stopped.  We wondered what has happened to Maruti - has he been caught and put into some zoo?  My mother especially was quite concerned - she wanted to take one final look at Maruti as the last day of her stay with us in Mumbai was fast approaching.

Maruti did not disappoint.  On my mother's last day in Mumbai he suddenly appeared on our balcony.  He took a round of the balcony and then left after leaving behind a large packet of Cashew nuts on the balcony - no doubt his prize from a raid at some other house which he left behind for us as his gift. 

That was his final visit : we did not see Maruti after that day.

An Ode To The Kochi Libraries

A quick thanks to the several libraries that I benefitted from during my growing up years in Cochin (Kochi).

1.  The Corporation Library, Near erstwhile Galaxy theatre, Panayppilly : This was my 1st memory of a library - I must have been 4 years old when my father took me there.  Very cool place set back in spacious grounds.  Few books - but very select quality,and very friendly librarian - unusual for a municipal corporation employee. This library had lots of "foreign" children's books such as that of Popeye the sailor.  What smooth pages, how nice they smelt, and what good font and pictures!  I started loving spinach after I took a fancy to Popeye.

2. Mohan's lending Library - operated out a hole in the wall (almost) on Press Club Road, Ernakulam. I must have been around 9 years when I first visited it.  Saturday's was the day to visit my grand-mother in Ernakulam.  I used to look forward to it because I could get a fresh collection of books - both from the fantastic book collection of my grand-fathers' (the "Sudarshan" book collection) and also from Mohan's lending library. What hours of delight I had finishing off the entire Enid Blyton collection at Mohan's!  Each Enid Blyton book was 157 pages and I used to ration myself to reading only 25 pages per day - a very difficult task. I failed to control my temptation for some of the books (especially the Adventurous Five series) - and used to finish off the book within a day, and then spend the rest of the week ruing my inability to control my temptation.

3. Book Worms - at Chirattapalam.  I joined this library when I was about 10 or 11 years old.  This was run by a book lover and the father of my class mate, Edgar Pinto.  I got introduced to Tintin and Asterix comics in this library - and I moved up (with some encouragement from my dad) into reading "serious" adventure novels (WE Johns : "Biggles goes to war") and Wild West writers (Louis L'Amour, Oliver Strange "Sudden", JT Edson), and authors such as Alistair MacLean, and Arthur Haley.

4. Reader's Delight : Alas, I soon exhausted the limited but select collection at Book Worms.  But not to worry - Reader's Delight opened on Princess Street in Fort Cochin.  This was a good 3 km away from my residence - but luckily I had learnt to cycle by this time.   I got introduced to fiction writers such as Wilbur Smith, Desmond Bagley, Robert Ludlum, Fredrick Forsyth, Ross McDonald and Clive Cussler.  This was also the library where I took "seriously" to PG Wodehouse, and polished off most of the PGW collection.  I also took a fancy to the slightly raunchy UK magazine called "Tit-Bits" as this was a favourite of my dad's. It was an interesting trivia magazine, and my father did not mind I reading the magazine provided I did not stare too hard at the scantily clad ladies on the cover page.  Once while I was searching for old issues of Tit-Bits, I came across a "Play-Boy" magazine that the library owner had hidden away behind the shelf.

5. The Community Libraries : When I joined Cochin College for my 11th standard (Pre-Degree), I got hooked into quizzing by a teacher I greatly admired - Ajith Sir.  My nature of reading changed as I started moving away from fiction into "serious" fact related books and magazines.  There were 2 community libraries that I patronized heavily - the GSSO library near the Northern gate of the TD Temple in Cherlai, and the Samskruthi Bhavan library opposite the Cherlai TD temple tank. Both were oriented to helping youth succeed in their studies and career.  I borrowed extensively from their "serious" book collection and also borrowed magazines such as Competition Success Review, Competition Master etc

6. The Cochin College Library : This had a good library - but had poor accessibility as students were not allowed anywhere near the books.  I could not indulge in the pleasure of browsing the book collection and the satisfaction of discovering new authors.  One had to select books from a catalogue, and then put in a request to the librarian who will tell you if that book is available.  I could not do full justice to this library - and always wondered why they kept the students away from books.

7.  The YNP Trust Library at Koovapadam, Mattancherry.  I started frequenting this library when I joined for my BA Economics.  Partly because of my interest in quizzing and partly because I thought I was not learning enough from my graduation course, I felt the urge to somehow compensate for my learning inadequacies by accumulating knowledge. I started dipping into books on Indian culture, history, economics, and biographies.This library had a fantastic collection of encyclopedias which came in 32 volumes- and I used to spend hours in the reading section of the library.  The librarian got to know me so well that whenever he saw me approaching he would hand over to me the next volume in the encyclopedia collection.

Apart from the above "formal" libraries, I have to mention some informal libraries that I immensely benefitted from:

8.  The "Lilaksh" and "Sudarshan" home collection.  The "Lilaksh" collection was my father's book collection - mostly fiction authors like Alistair MacLean, Ian Fleming (James Bond), Nick Carter, Sexton Blake, Edward S Aarons, Berkley Grey, Erle Stanley Gardner (Perry Mason fascinated me so much at one stage that I almost signed up for my Law degree before better sense prevailed).  The "Sudarshan" collection was a massive, erudite and eclectic collection of my Grand Father's. The library contained also note-books in which my grand-father had laboriously written down notes and remarks in his meticulous and beautiful hand-writing - what a fantastic treasure!  My interest in reading literature came from my exposure to this collection.  Unfortunately most of these books had to be donated or given away for lack of space after the huge ancestral home was sold off.

I have to also thank my school class mate Brian Hallegua : once over a summer vacation he lent me his huge collection of over 60 James Hadley Chase novels.  Brian also introduced me to Alfred Hitchcock's writings (the Three Investigators series), Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys.