All because her name was Dumbhead

The year was 2007, when Orkut used to be a thing. Remember Orkut? People used to have cartoons and actors for profile pictures (predominantly females), apparently because the internet was thought unsafe to upload personal pictures. And today they feel comfortable uploading pictures of their families in swimming pools. Ah, progress.

It wasn't just the picture. Back then, it was thought unnatural to name your profile with your actual name. Nah, it had to be something like:
"K!ShoRe...~~exams~~" or
"black hole is... here ...no chance of escape."
I actually found that second one on email. Seriously.

So there I was, scrapping and snooping into profiles, satiating the ever growing need of wanting to know what's going on in other people's lives - and I came across an interesting profile.

I don't recall the picture - but it was a girl - and the name was Dumbhead.

Dumbhead. The idea of self-deprecating humor may have been alien to me then, but even so, it seemed quite a stretch. Why would anyone name themselves that? Failing to control my curiosity, I scrapped her with this question.

Actually I had done it once a year ago (2006), to which there was no response. So I thought I'd have another go. That's right - I chose curiosity over self-respect. And it worked.

Well I wish I had the actual conversation to share, but alas. Succinctly put, it was a justifiably angry response - saying how I am being nosy and should mind my own business.

My response was a mixture of charm and wit (or so I'd like to believe), but she was mortified. And we did have one mutual friend, which I think may have legitimized my existence, as opposed to the possibility of a serial killer. We started scrapping.

Such was the delight I took in our conversations, that I used to open Orkut in my first color Nokia phone, discussing Wimbledon and books. We shared our passions, fears and complexes. And it was all in a friendly spirit strictly, nothing more. Numbers were exchanged at some point but unused.

While in college, I once got a call from her on my birthday. The feeling is hard to describe, when you've been chatting for so long, and then you hear each other's voice for the first time. There wasn't any squeamish apprehension; we were both eagerly waiting for that moment.

There were a few calls now and then after that, and I couldn't believe this random internet pen friend had lasted throughout my college. When I had suggested meeting in the early years, her responses seemed polite. But the impulse was growing stronger with every year, and we both seemed up for it - however since I no longer stayed in Noida, the opportunities were scarce.

In my three years at Deloitte, the talking obviously reduced, but it didn't exactly cease. Our friendship was like a candle - the flame just persisted, even with the diminishing wax of time.

We came close to meeting a couple of times in Ahmedabad, and once in Noida - but that moment kept eluding us.

A week into my summer internship in Bombay (2015), she told me of her upcoming visit. The city of dreams seemed to have finally granted me my wish.

And so on a particularly hot summer morning outside Bandra station, I jostled through the crowd, looking for my radiant friend. The great wait of eight long years finally ended. I half-expected the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack to start playing.

But life isn't a movie. She was loaded with some shopping bags, and the scorching sun was making her fan herself. Expecting her to run towards me in slow motion, seemed a little too much to ask. In any case, straight-line movement is next to impossible outside a local station.

Bandra Station: Where we finally met

Regardless of how much you know someone online, meeting in person is just not the same. It takes a lot of courage to meet someone for the first time, even for an innocent breakfast. It becomes easier when there're people for company.

Once we took our seats and ordered food, Dumbhead became a lot more relaxed and we yapped like we always have. You know that scene from Lord of the Rings when Gandalf tells King Theoden to wield his sword, so that he remembers his strength?
I think it was the same for us - only that instead of swords, we held spoons and forks. We both love food.

She is a long way away from dumb. She reads a variety of books, has great taste in music, and her passion for food and cooking is a rare delight. She's an exceptionally kind and patient woman, which was evident from the way she spoke to the waiters and the auto-driver. I had always admired her smile in pictures, and finally got to witness it in person. The warmth had little to do with the sun.

A few weeks ago, she told me she'd gotten an internship, and how thrilled she was. Sharing such moments personally with someone makes one feel special, and that moment gave me the final push to share this story.

We remain close friends.

All because her name was Dumbhead.

Floodgates

I want to be incredibly selfish for once.

I have no intention of wasting your valuable time, so please stop reading if you are not interested in the finer details of my life.

People have always been saying to me - Kishore, don't care about what others say, or what they would think. Well here you are then. Welcome to my beautiful world.

So today's a Friday. End of the workweek. I literally punched my fist in the air after I was done for the day, even though it wasn't the most hectic of weeks. But it's still the end of the week, and all I want to do is lie in bed, play guitar, read, and study. Not quite the notion of a 23 year old's Friday, you must be thinking. I don't want to meet anyone, go out, drink, watch a movie - or do anything outside my room.

Khichdi, the simplest of dishes had been cooked, much to the disdain of my flatmates. But with curd and homemade pickle, I felt like Russell Crowe in Cast Away on the night he returns from the island. There is such a magic about the simpler things in life. The evening looked promising, with so much me-time. Little did I know what would happen next.

Coldplay's Live 2012 is a movie with a medley of their live performances, and words from all the band members as fillers. I stretched out on my bed, plugged in my earphones, and then the music started. Before long, I was singing it all along with Chris Martin - and with every word, I felt like something was leaving me. Was it fatigue, laziness, who could tell? Just minutes ago I was ready to doze off peacefully, but the power of Chris Martin's words, and Coldplay's music is beyond anything, anything, I have ever felt.

Soon when the filler with Chris's words came, I started to tear up. No, this is not something I do everyday. No, I'm not a baby. No, I'm not a girl.

Yes, I am human.
These were not tears of sadness. This is the purest feeling of being overwhelmed. But then the next song started playing - Fix You.

Chris had written this song for his wife when her father had passed away. But no matter you know that or not, no matter how many times you've already heard it before - a true connoisseur  of music in general will only feel one thing. That it had been written for him. Or her.

And then the floodgates opened.

"When you try your best, but you don't succeed

When you get what you want, but not what you need

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face

When you lose something you can't replace

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

Could it be worse?"

I started to remember. 

How my closest friend passed away.

How the people I loved didn't love me back.

How I failed to get into MBA, after giving absolutely everything. 

How all this had happened in a space of a few months.

How badly and desperately I hoped for at least one thing to go right, when there was so much wrong happening.

They kept streaming down my face. Emotions that had been buried under for a while, had been unearthed.

Let me make something very clear. This is not a call for pity, no sir. Spare it for someone else.

Don't you dare start telling me how so many people have it worse. Do NOT remind me of all the things I should be thankful for. 

Of course, it isn't fair to expect everyone to empathize. But I honestly feel let down. Most of you don't waste a second telling me that I over think everything. That I should learn to 'chill' - or whatever the hippies say these days. Then again, most of you have never known true pain. Don't feel sorry for me, be thankful to yourselves.

So it's not really surprising that I choose to spend my time alone these days. I need time to get back into the swing of things. I have been reading a lot, and keeping myself occupied. What is the point of meeting someone who make you feel like an oddity ? They say that the best way to treat  the physically or mentally challenged , is to treat them normally. Why not apply the same logic here ?  People break, time mends. Deal with it. 

Men and women of sub-par intelligence have created a society in which anything unusual is to be despised or frowned upon. That includes freedom of expression on the levels of this post. 

Fine, frown away.

I know what I am.

I am the truth you cannot accept.

I am the magic trick you can't figure out.

I am the one, among the few. 

So despite what may be going through your mind now, know this. I will power through. If this is the worst my life ever was, then I will become the best I can be.

Save your pity - I can fight my own battles.

" Tears stream down your face

I promise you I will learn from my mistakes

Tears stream down your face

And I...

Lights will guide you home

And ignite your bones

And I will try to fix you "

Being Pisapati

Train journeys are marked by experiences where you end up talking to a stranger like a long lost friend, often without even knowing their first name.

And I'm sure we all know that person in the office, or in college who we wave to and say 'Hi!' every time we see him/her, and later scratch our heads and think - "I really ought to find out his/her name".

William Shakespeare once said, "What's in a name?". I think if his name was William Pisapati he would beg to differ.

Quite a few experiences throughout my life have been the result of carrying the surname Pisapati. For those who don't know, the name doesn't mean anything. It is said to be derived from a village's name in Andhra Pradesh. No need to memorize - I think quizzers and interviewers have better things to ask. Unless, and that's a BIG unless a) you are a Pisapati or b) you plan on getting married to me someday.

Here are the nominees for the fondest bittersweet memories of the name, 'Pisapati':

1. The Slap:  It is the year.. okay I don't know the exact year. But I'm fairly sure it was either class 3 or 4. Those were the days when there was no Friends or Big Bang Theory to laugh about, and surnames like mine were just perfect.

We were standing in a queue in our first Art class, when our teacher was handing out sketch books. My turn came, and she asked, "Name?". "Pisapati Kishore". The girl standing directly behind me broke into a fit of giggles. The next thing she knew, the teacher had given her a sound slap. My somber face was enough to hide my satisfaction. 

Of course, we were all kids - so in the offhand chance she is reading this - I FORGIVE YOU, child. No hard feelings.

2. Scientific Unit: This is not a memory in particular, but when I studied science in school and came across names like Newton, Joule etc - I made a mental note to myself, that if ever I was to become a scientist, and somehow discover a new scientific quantity to be measured - I would make the unit 'Pisapati'. Then the whole world would've to get used to it.

Don't laugh. I'm not ruling out the possibility. I can make the future of generations of kids to come, a little less comfortable.

3. And the laughter died: I had just moved from Gujarat to Noida. It is my first day of 10th class in KV Noida. The roll call concludes, and the class teacher announces that there are two new students in the class: "Pisapati Kishore?" 
"Yes Ma'am", came a small voice from the last desk. Sniggers could be heard all over the class. I was quite obviously red-faced.
"Kishore, you stood first in your school in 9th Class?"
"Yes Ma'am". The voice came from a swelled chest this time.

The laughter had stopped.

Of course, the so called achievement seems insignificant now, but back then it was sufficient to wipe off the sneers.

4. Mathematics: Just when I thought I'd seen the end of jibes on my name, the new math teacher arrived. One day, he noticed my full name, and said, "Pisapati. Yeh kaisa naam hai bhai? Iska matlab hai - jo aadmi pisa hua hai !"

Laughter. Smiling with the crowd, and suppressing the seething rage within, was a herculean task. I was on the verge of making fun of his name as well, which in all fairness was equally funny.

By the end of the year, he was telling other teachers proudly - "Yeh Kishore hai. Bohot hoshiyar ladka hai. Brilliant student"

I think I was the best.

Today I don't feel any resentment towards the name, or the people who laugh at it. It has become a signature of my uniqueness, and it sticks to people's memories.

Enough for now. Off to wipe a few more, and plant a lot more smiles.

Pisapati and proud.