Letter to my brother.

Dear Ahad,

I know you would have wanted me to write you this letter. I want to believe that you will read this from somewhere. A better place.

I remember vividly the first time we met. You were a freshie in KMC and you were standing at the basketball court in Attavar. I gave you the infamous Thota-to-freshie smirk (that is what you called it). You never failed to remind me many times of that moment in the years later as our friendship grew. We were brothers. We are brothers.

There are so many stories of our college days. Going to Manjarun in the middle of the night looking for sandwiches, riding a bike to Bombay Lucky to see if it was time for a fresh batch of biryani, going to Taneer Bhavi beach and just talking KMC politics. So many stories. So many memories.

Remember the time you were magazine editor. Who can forget. There was no money to publish a college magazine that year. But you said we can't let that happen to our college. You said we cannot stand and watch a year go by with no magazine for the students of KMC. You reached out to the local community and found the money to bring out a phenomenal magazine. A magazine people still use as a parameter for excellence. I was so proud of you that day.

Remember our long trip from Chicago to Atlanta? Talking about India, about family, about medicine and just about stuff. We were gonna be at the SuperBowl in 2012. Name each other's kids. Go to California and learn to surf. Go back to Kerala and re-live that legendary trip from 2002. So, many things, man.

Always positive. Always cheerful. Always emanating warmth. Never one to sulk. Wherever you went you made friends. People wanted to be around you just to feed off your good cheer and optimism.More than anything you listened. You cared to remember what someone said to you. And, you always frank with me and told me straight what you thought of my numerous ridiculous assumptions and theories. "Crrrrazyyy man, Thotaaaa!!!"

I grasp for some semblance of meaning of you not being here. I try to quell the anger, the helplessness of it all. But, I will cherish the happiness you gave me and so many others. Channel all this raw emotion into something productive. I know that's how you would want me to be. I will try very hard. I will always remember you like yesterday. Always close. Always smiling.

Cliched as it may sound (and I can imagine you rolling your eyes), they sure threw away the mould after they made you. A diamond that shone its brilliance, its kindness, its undiluted affection, its unconditional love on humanity. Thank you for you being you. I know wherever you are, you've made it a better place.

Dum spiro, spero. While I breathe, I hope.

I love you, man.

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Love all

The Background
You've gotta love a game that starts off each time with 'love all'. Peace. Add to this the genesis of the Scandinavian middle name of yours truly and one has a clear winner. Incontrovertible.

The Event
The workplace as is its wont every 365 days declared the occurrence of its annual tennis extravaganza (too much drama?). With trembling hands, the clod (a.k.a. this here writer) signed up. After all, they gave everyone a t-shirt and the clod will do anything for a t-shirt. Anything.

The Equipmentizing
After a cursory process of needs assessment/formative research, my next step consisted of peregrinating my least favorite store on God's green (debatable) earth (Clue: least favorite store's name starts with 'W' and ends with 'T' and rhymes with Kenyon Martin's nickname) seeking tools I would require on this dangerous journey. While there I picked up a piece and very quickly christened it 'The Roger' and proceeded to hold it aloft my head with both hands to indulge myself in a 'He-Man and the Masters of the Universe' moment. While basking in my fantasy glory or fantaglory (portmanteau,baby)I was quite rudely interrupted by an adolescent. I patiently descended from my pedestal and imagined this to be my first autograph-signing when I was requested by aforementioned adolescent to remove myself from the aisle since I was hindering his progress. Pesky kid. I got over this rapid fall from grace and continued my purchases adding a hat and a grip for 'The Roger'.

The Pre
There we were. Cutting work for a whole afternoon. I made it a point to tell everyone and their mothers (some people did actually bring their mothers) very loudly and incessantly that I had not picked up a racquet in decades. Rustiness was a certainty, I made it known. And, then the big kahuna said those two magic words. Round. Robin. Woot! No early elimination here. A first round exit was precluded merely by format. God bless you, kahunaperson.

The Warmup
It was more like baseball. I kept swinging and missing. The chances of me connecting were about 1.267% (p<0.0005) and each time I did, the ball flew out of the park er tennis court. Home run. Grand slam.

The Moment
We were to play eight rounds of doubles (again a convenient arrangement in terms of blame-placing) and change partners for each round. While the author did not thoroughly distinguish himself in the proceedings, he was assured by others that he did not completely embarrass himself either. 'The Boris' (you gotta name your serve otherwise bad luck will attach itself to your serve like a double fault) was in fine form, the groundstrokes and volleys were er not. Let's just say that my chances of making it to Sportscenter that night were slim (optimistically speaking). In the last round, it happened. The type of story that the grandoffspring will hear about a million times. Minimum. My partner, a Californian hit the ball straight at me standing at the net. Now, I am very skilled at dodging. Responsibility, for example. I moved the belly out of the way not-so-deftly and my lower limbs intertwined and down I went. Like a sack of them Idaho potatoes. I did not have enough time though to look at the brilliant blue sky and mull life over because the point was still alive. I scrambled back up (the last time I showed this kind of enthusiasm to scrambling-back-up related actions was when my neighbor told me that Malaika Arora was visiting our building. Circa 1997) and watched as the ball came flying back over the net. A little nudge to my reflexes and I stuck 'The Roger' out to make the volley and the winner. Thunderous applause followed as the dozens and dozens of tired people waiting to go home acknowledged my monumental feat. Sure, it hit the frame. Sure, I might never make that volley again. Pure fluke, I know. BUT. That memory is a keeper. It goes right into my very minute cerebral vault.

The Closure a.k.a. the Sore Back
Back home. The back was sore. The cold beverage was in hand. The tube showed Roger (the human version) take apart Rafa. The heart was happy. Closure.

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Lagori

"Lagori!" he screamed. As loud as his pediatric lungs would allow. Her face fell. Not again. Red-faced. She approached him. No eye contact. "Again" she said with gritted teeth. Her people stood behind her. Similar expressions. It was like a giant face of glumness. Smugness on the other side. High-fives. Poorly-done chest butts even. Her deputies brought her the seven. No words were exchanged. This was certainly not a time for idle chatter. She took them in her little hands. The mehendi from two Sundays ago was fading a little. Insipid. It was strange how you noticed unrelated things in times of stress she wondered betraying a wisdom far beyond her young age. She placed them one on top of the other. Mini-mountain. He grinned at her. He tossed the tennis ball high in the air and caught it with one hand. She tried to hide her irritation. Impatience."Ready" said the girl. The boy raised an eyebrow. Raised the ball in right-hand. Her people waited on the other side. He released it. The mountain was broken. The seven were scattered. Helter skelter. She grabbed the ball as it ricocheted off the seven. The boy and his team had spread themselves like birds released from a dirty cage. Her radar honed in on one of the slow ones. She let go with a purpose. Focus. The ball zoomed forward to fulfill its destiny. There was no going back. No looking back. Ball met flesh. A yelp rendered the air. More in shame than in pain. Crest-fallen, the boy made his way to the circle. The tables had well and truly turned. She felt the triumph. So did her team. Jubilation. The beaten boy would build his mountain now. The cycle would repeat. "Lagori"

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Letter to my children

Dear children,

You aren’t here yet. Neither is your mother. However, one day we will all be ‘here’. This is my letter to you for whenever you choose to read. There are many more to come.

Get ready for an adventure. Lots of adventures, actually. Being a kid in this household requires a sense-of-humor, a robust spirit and a crazy attitude. I will never restrain you in a bubble. You are encouraged to go out there and get your hands dirty. Get into fights. Climb trees. Scale walls. A little dirt don’t hurt. Play cricket. Splash around in the beach. Cut class to watch a movie (don’t let your Ma find out though). One day when you’re grown enough, even get your hearts broken. Meet this world, meet the real people, the honest ones, the kind ones, the flakes. Meet them all. Only then will you develop that thing they call ‘tolerance’.

Your father will often come up with outlandish ideas that will make you roll-your-eyes. Bear with him. Activities in this household might include spreading out a large map before we travel on the study floor and plan our route, they might include going to a soup kitchen and helping out on weekends, they might include bringing your mother breakfast in bed, they might also include a water-hose fight in the garden. Three dogs will also live with us. They will as is easily predictable become equal members of our family. Be prepared. Be very prepared. Spontaneous. Your mother has the last word of course. Always.

It is also highly likely that one or more of you might be adopted. You will never find a shortage of love in this household. It has enough and more love for each individual. When the day comes when you find out about where you came from, we will deal with it. Together.

You will often try to pull the wool over my eyes with habits you might pick up or activities that might be unacceptable to your mother and I. Been there, done that. All of it. I invite you to try.

Your father will also have a den in the house. You are not allowed to enter. Ever. (He does know though that you will find ways to sneak in when he is away).Your father also from time to time will watch football or cricket, while you are allowed and even encouraged to curl up in his lap and take a nap, it would be highly unwise to try to (or even suggest) change the channel.

We will as you grow up be friends more than anything else. Friendship above all else.

I will tell you stories from my life. From the past. History. Not to protect you from my mistakes but to show you that stuff happens in everyone’s life.

These are not plans, my children. They are not objectives. They are not goals. They are not even dreams. They are mere predictions for what might come.

I look forward to meeting you.

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A letter to my father.

My father was born on 11/11/1951 and I was spawned on 12/09/1981. Our birthdays every year were exactly four weeks apart. My father said his goodbyes on 11/29/2004.The words in italics are lyrics from Joshua Radin’s song, ‘Winter’. I hope Mr.Radin does not mind me borrowing his work.

I should know who I am by now
I walk the record stand somehow
Thinkin' of winter
The name is the splinter inside me
While I wait

I'm walking around. Looking around. Learning. Missing something. Laughing. A joke here. A joke there. A story ever so often. But, in the back of my mind I’m always thinking of winter. I don’t want to let go completely. I don’t want this chapter to end. You live inside me. That’s all I have of you. I wait.

And I remember the sound
Of your November downtown
And I remember the truth
A warm December with you

I remember the excitement on November 11th. It was just another day for you. For me it was magic. I gave you a gift. Allowed you to unwrap it and took it back immediately for my own use. Do you know that your grandson does the exact same thing with his own father? I’m sure you are laughing somewhere. Your birthday was the perfect buildup for my own birthday. Four weeks away. It was like the holidays had just begun. The mother would plan a theme party and the sister would provide art direction. You would fetch your camera in December. I would jump around.

But I don't have to make this mistake
And I don't have to stay this way
If only I would wake

I’ve waited and waited. Seems like you just went out-of-town. I have waited too long. I must accept. I don’t have to be like this. It is difficult to wake-up when the only way I talk to you is in my dreams. I never want to wake. I must. I have to. It’s time. I’ve tried to use others to aid me in this long walk. I must walk alone now. Keep walking. Give.Serve.

The walk has all been cleared by now
Your voice is all I hear somehow
Calling out winter
Your voice is the splinter inside me
While I wait

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fivetimesfive

1. My favorite song is 'November Rain'.."I know it's hard to keep an open heart...when even friends seem out to harm you...But if you could heal a broken heart...then wouldn't time be out to charm you...”


2. I am left-handed, I was 5 weeks premature and at age 3 I nearly choked to death. My father saved my life.


3. I grew up in Manipal. A university town by the sea. I would not a change a thing about my childhood. Growing up in Manipal means running into people from there every now and then - be it in a bus in Baltimore, or an airport in Chennai or in a handicrafts fair in Hyderabad.


4. When it rains, I do the following - inspire a lungful of petrichor, get some coffee/tea and feel sleepy.


5. Family means the people in my care-radar. Blood similarities are not required


6. I need to eat butter chicken once a week at minimum. Otherwise, I get cranky


7. Some of the names I go by are, annu, nu, poopybutt, thammoo, thota, thots, thotu, kurt, pudding, valu, abt, abtd, baba, gbr, goldenboyramdas, tommy, bon-bon, bjorn, zot, beejo. My passport says Anil Krishna Bjorn Thota. I was named for two hindu gods, a tennis player and the father of modern critical care medicine.


8. Till recently my voicemail was recorded in Spanish.


9. I'm the only person I know who needed to learn swimming twice. At age 4 and age 11. Thankfully, the same did not occur with biking. My favorite motorbike of all time will be Sylvia.


10. Sport of any sort will pique my interest. Unless a favorite is playing, I will always root for the underdog.


11. In the United States, I have lived only in cities whose football team mascot is a bird of prey. Baltimore with its (and my) Ravens and Atlanta with its Falcons. Based on my calculations, I can only move to Seattle or Philly.


12. I swore off religion on December 6th, 1992.


13. My sister is the best teacher of children that I've ever seen. My father was an atheist and my best friend. My mother continues to be the most genuine person I've ever encountered. I adore the Kandikattus in the land of Lincoln.


14. Book before movie. Still kicking myself w.r.t. LOTR.


15. People inspire me. Like someone giving up an MBA life to dance (and being brilliant), like someone telling me that their favorite place in the whole world is a little coffee shop by DuPont circle, like a war veteran explaining the big picture to me, like a college dorm phone attendant who called me in the US to wish me a happy birthday, like an anesthesiologist who resuscitated newborn twins with one endotracheal tube.


16. Avidoo (in pic) is me.


17. Kindness is the most attractive feature in a human being (dogs are naturally kind) for me. I also dig secularism and equity. Injustice, cruelty and selfishness cause unpleasant reactions in my system. Just like for anyone else.


18. Not having practiced clinical medicine in 4 years, entering a hospital is like meeting an old girlfriend. It manifests as a curious mixture of nervousness and excitement.


19. Music, Movies, the Indian cricket team, cooking, long walks and my blackberry are some of the requisites in my life. Some old, some new.


20. Whenever I see the ocean, I feel humbled by its vastness.


21. With regard to my friends. Peeps. I’ve hit the jackpot. They are my life buffers.


22. One word sentences are awesome. Really.


23. is Michael Jeffrey Jordan. No equal.


24. Bujji is bujji. Thinking of thinking of life without her is incomprehensible. (Yea, it is ‘thinking of thinking…’)


25. Sometimes, I forget to cry.
    
    
    
    
    
    

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a few pointers for my brethren (read:men)

This 'treasure-chest' of wisdom comes from a source who is a self-professed whomper (read:loser) at relationships. Please read at your own risk. If anything goes wrong, just point blame at economy.

1. Two crucial words. Internalize. "Yes, dear". Without these coming out instinctively from your mouth you're dead meat. Be wise to turn them into a question i.e. "Yes, Dear?" if she asks you to repeat what she said. Learn them. Now.
   
2. Bring her flowers at every possible opportunity. Do not rake brain too much with whatifs such as "What if she doesn't have a vase" or "What if she is allergic to flowers". Don't be a dodo. Watch with wonder as a vase materializes out of thin air.
3. When you go to the movies and she pulls out her only-for-watching-movies-glasses, do not inquire about her eyesight. Pretend like you didn't notice at all.
4. It's all good to compliment her looks when she's all dressed up and going to a wedding. Tell her she looks like a million bucks when she's wearing old clothes and painting a house or something. Say it. Mean it.
5. Never compare her with anyone else. Never.
6. If you don't cook, if you don't know even know where the salt is, step into the kitchen all the same. Offer to stir, at the least.
   
7. Get a blackberry. This is why. If she loves sports you are a lucky pig, but if she doesn't and you are out wine-tasting when your favorite team is on, a blackberry can go a long way (looooooooooooooong) in keeping you up-to-date with the latest score. A few furtive glances at the 'berry will suffice before you come back home and watch highlights on full HD. Plus, blackberrys are just incredible.
   
8. Make everything an adventure. Even a trip to the grocery store.
   
9. Sometimes she will talk critically (mildly used here) about another she. Five minutes later second she appears and your she embraces her with a warmth that boggles your puny mind. There is no need to be overtly concerned. It's called 'bitchin'. In one ear and out the other. Akin to men never calling the next day.
10. Perfect one dance step. All she needs of you is to be on the dance floor. Your range of skills on the floor or the versatility of your dance abilities are not under purview. She will do the dancing. You do your step.
11. Be nice to her. And. Everyone else. Being nice is more challenging than being mean.It makes you cool.
    

Adios.

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