Holy Cow!!

Indian Visa = RM175
Return Ticket = RM397
ERL Pass = RM24
Fuel consumption to get everything done = God Knows
Expenses = RM800
Time Lost for Simulator Prep = 6 days
Time to make the decision to go = Seconds
The look on my parents face = Amusing

Seeing Her Again? That's worth my universe.

5 days. India. Delhi. Connought Place. Amritsar. Sri Harmandar Sahib. Guru Arjun Dev Ji Nivas. Chheharta. Miri Piri Academy. 5 days. India. You wake up on board an Airbus A330-300 at 40 000 feet, staring at the emergency pamphlet stamped with the MAS logo. The faces of passengers calm, as they execute emergency procedures. Calm as Hindu cows. Khoya Khoya Chand is playing on the screen. Your headphones are not yet plugged in. You wonder what direction the conversation is taking. You wonder if she still recognizes you. You wonder how you got here in the first place. You wonder.

Thurs night you go to bed, knowing you can afford the ticket price, making up your mind that you want to go. Your last chance, in a long time. You’re not thinking things through. You just know that you want to go. You decide to tell Mataji and Pitaji tomorrow. 7 days later. Thurs morning, you wake up on the 7:20 Shatabdi leaving Delhi for Amritsar. You wonder what she’s going to look like. You wonder if you’ll still look at her the same way. 7 years. You wonder.



7 years. You wait. Why? What had been going through your head? A penny for your thoughts. You wake up every morning and walk past her magnificence, eternal on a wall of memories. Those photographs you took, wrapped in a shawl, like baby Jesus, your feet cold from touching the marble. You talk about the old days, your childhood. Those countless times you paraded around the house with your banaa, demonstrating the use of every shastar like a certified curator of V&A Museum, telling hyperbolic stories of the battles during our Guru’s time. You describe her beauty as something that goes beyond life itself. That awe one holds upon witnessing a miracle. That miracle.

But where the hell have you been?! The growing pains reflecting a Nirvana song echo through your rather short history, that has no trace of ‘believe’, ‘passion’, ‘proof’, in its index. Proof that there was God in your life. You believed in Him, but where was the proof? Your proof? To him? A morning and evening prayer read at top speed and gurdwara programs in between?! That’s what you have to offer? 7 years. Now you have 4 days. You have no idea what you’re looking for. You have no idea what to expect. You are going alone. You are scared shitless. You are going there to find the missing piece, and the one person in your life that helped you realize it was missing, that reminded you, life was waiting.





You put your thoughts down in the Red Bible. That book you’ve carried everywhere for the last 2 years. You look at her picture again, the one slipped in the book’s cover. You wonder how much further you’re going to have to take this. A 5 hour flight, and you don’t sleep. Not a wink. Your mind is racing. Your mind is blank. Your thoughts are like Playdo being stretched in every direction. But they don’t break. They just go on. Your thoughts are empty. Not a trace of history or life in them. You listen to Dreamtheater to calm your nerves. Good album. Good recommendation from the guy at the shop. That movie playing isn’t too bad either. Think I’ll recommend it to Harkiren.

“Cabin Crew, please be seated for landing”. Local time is 21:15. Its 39 degrees Celsius outside. I hope Sounil recognizes me. 2000 feet to touchdown. Here we go.

Dear Diary...

Someone said thank you to me today. It was really quite an experience. “I want to thank you for what you did for us in samelan”. That’s what she said. No one has ever said that to me before. Those exact words. I mean, people say thank you all the time. When you hold the elevator for them. When you pull out a chair for someone. When you answer a query. When you open a door for them. When you pass them the desert. When you give someone back their change. This was just different.

She went back to our Rehraas sessions in samelan. Those half an hour discussions we had daily after our evening prayer. Where what we were supposed to do as Jatha Coordinators was to discuss a particular theme using excerpts from Baani. Talk about what that verse is trying to say, and how we can apply it into our daily lives. What we did was talk about life, love, hope, and the long journey ahead. I wanted them to see God in their own lives, in their own way, leaving Sikhi out of the picture. Many of these youth had shorn hair, which has never been a problem for me, but told me that they came from a different background, grew up in different circles. Each his/her own. There was no use being their local Granthi, or the Raagi Jatha on stage. Even I don’t respond well to that approach.

She reminded me of some of the things we mentioned in those sessions, word for word at times. I personally couldn’t remember most of what was said. I got home and pulled out my Jatha Coordinator’s Guide under the Oodles of Doodles section, in which Sumeet and I spent a considerable amount of time everyday, planning each session. We somehow found the time, even in between the Inspirational Sessions, sometimes quoting them, to come up with the discussion of the day. It was the best part of my day, that. Sumeet was superbly supportive from the beginning. He could see my angle, and understood its need in order for us to connect with the youth, to let them know there was nothing to be afraid of. We would relate our own experiences, give scenarios every teenager was only too familiar with, and let everyone be comfortable with the subject matter, knowing it was familiar territory. The presentation, that is.

She reminded me how we used alternative rock to prove there is divinity in everything. Songs like Coldplay’s “Fix You” and Switchfoot’s “Dare You to Move”, were God’s words in a different language with a different musical approach. How we talked about the Kara, and the fact that most of us don’t even know why we wear it. How we talked about Einstein, a man of science, who once said that the more he studied the universe, the more he believed in a higher power. How we talked about the difference between fearing God, and loving God. How we talked about the fact that we all believed in God, but did nothing in our day to day lives to show for it. How we talked about going to bed every night, praying for a better day ahead, but strained to recall that one time when we just thanked God for a beautiful day. Baby steps, just baby steps.

She reminded me about some of the facts of Sikhism that we shared with everyone that most never knew about, and some still don’t. About how the Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji is the only holy scripture in the world to be written by the prophets of its dharma. About how in 1973, UNESCO declared the Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji the universal scripture. About how the Atheist Society wrote to Ali Sina, creator of the Faith Freedom website, saying that this is the one religion that “makes a hell of a lot of sense”. About Bertrand Russell, the famous freethinker, and all he had to say about Sikhism was that it would be the only means to guide those who survive a third world war. She shared with me how proud they were to be born into such lineage, yet ashamed to know so little about all that they believed in.

I remembered how we did our Rehraas. We did it like a Q and A(the way we normally do at home, our family), while being seated in a circle. The Jatha was split into two groups. We called it “Conversations With God”. We were conversing, beyond words at times, getting in touch with all that was real, and everything else beyond. She told me why she never sat in front of us during the discussions. She told me why she frequently gazed at the ceiling, trying to hold her tears back. Especially when we talked about our last day on earth, not knowing when it will come. How we always take things for granted. She told me how she never expected to learn anything at a Samelan. She told me how she never expected someone like me or Sumeet to inspire her.

And lastly, she told me how what we said, is the reason she has started doing her Rehraas every single day. She tried Japji Sahib as well, but found it a little difficult to cope with. And I said, that’s okay. Stepping stones. That’s what you need. Start with what you know. I was silent within, for the 10 minutes that she spoke of everything that mattered to her in those 7 days. And here was me thinking that nothing had changed when I left the samelan grounds. No one talked about the sessions. No one had further queries on anything we discussed. Most disappeared before goodbyes. And here was one person saying thank you. And that makes all the difference. This quote comes in many different forms and words, but my personal take on it is “Change the world one life at a time, starting with mine”.

Sumeet is 23 and I’m 20. we conducted every session together. never once was there a guest speaker or an adult around. This was my first year as a Jatha Coordinator. My first year as a leader. I am someone who loves rock and roll, finds inner peace in Jaap Sahib, talks to myself in the mirror while getting dressed, loves hot showers, thinks he can sing, annoys everyone he meets, and has a wonderful family for support. a regular joe, in other words. And if I can inspire someone to change the way they wake up in the morning, then maybe that’s something to think about, if nothing else.

I remember someone, an old friend, telling me after one of the sessions, how much I had matured from what she could recall. To tell you the truth, diary, I hadn’t. I just decided to open my eyes.

And then I remembered the Ardaas we did everyday, before adjourning to the Langgar Hall for dinner.

Dear Guruji,
Thank you for a beautiful day.
Thank you for the precious moments.
Thank you for all the little things I take for granted.
Thank you for giving me another day.
Guide me as I take my first step.
Pick me up, every time I fall.
Let me see the sun rise, forever and a day.
I love you.

My subconscious ardaas.
Goodnight Diary.


the only photograph i found of sumeet and myself. you are the older brother i never had. and for that, i am a better person. thank you for your support all the way. i will see you again. cheers

Life After The Pink Mist

Your run turns into an abrupt slow walk. You walk. You walk the rest of the way. You walk because you know you don’t have to run anymore. You try to slow down your breathing, but the heart beats way too fast. You realize, you’re not sure if you care. The seconds hand on your wristwatch moves at its own pace. Slows when it wants. Quickens when it needs. You feel the sun on your face. The wind between your fingers. You feel, ahead. Like you’re leaving everything behind. You are. You taste the mountain air on your lips. Not the first time. Something’s different. Something in the air. Something, pleasant. Something welcoming. Something that has been put off for far too long. Like the first breath at the end of examinations. Like at the end of the world. Free. Freedom. Tastes like freedom. Tastes like freedom, and feels like home. Aah. Home. Wife and children. Girlfriend. Parents. Friends. What you fight for. What you go back to. There’s always something worth dying for. Worth living for.

You stare at the ground. At the line that changes everything. You pause to consider your options. Forever. The difference in seconds. Forever. You cross it. Step over. And look ahead. Is it really over? Everyone is sitting down in the mud. Shower less for weeks. Peace on their faces. Smoking that last cigarette together. A sign of good things to come. No jokes in the air. No talk. Nothing but silence. Some close their eyes without fear after a long time. Feeling what it was like once. Feeling it again. That rush of calm. The one without baggage. The one that worried about the future when the world came to sight again. Some keep them open. Wanting to see the world at the end of days. All staring at a spot. The first thing that mattered. Each his own. A photograph. The heavens. The rifle. A speck of dirt. The shoes. Trifles in such a huge world moving at such a pace. It takes more than a few breaths. You see the world, and close your eyes. Taking that long, satisfying breath. Yes. Its over.

All the good things come to mind. All at once. Like being in a candy store as a kid. Not knowing what to choose. It takes time for you to slow everything down. Appreciate one memory at a time. Picture everything down to the colour of your socks. Waking up in the morning in a bed. Nothing but smiles all around. Daily showers. Comfort. Her. Going to work everyday. Coming back. Relaxing on the couch with a coke in hand, watching the game. Her. Having barbeques on the weekend. Taking the kids to school. Watch them grow into wannabe’s and misunderstood teens. Generation x. Paying your bills. Leading a boring, dull and safe life. Her. It’s too much to take in. You feel like you’re going to collapse from all the beauty. Everything that is to come. The promise. What they call the American Dream in the States. What we called heaven on earth during the last 5 years. You want it. You want it so bad. Especially now that it’s so close you can almost taste it. In the wind. Like freedom. Life’s flavours. Just the good ones. All at once.

But then they come to mind. The one’s that never made it. The real heroes. One with the earth. You think about the lives waiting for them back home. The hopeful faces at the doorstep. You think about their last words. The reasons for doing what they did. Those who died saving your life. Your precious, little life. You promise to lead a good life for them. To live on. To cure cancer. To nourish Ethiopia. To end discrimination. To fight for human rights. To end all wars. Something worthy of a nod from Alfred Nobel. At this point, everything seems possible. Everything. Anything that will prove your worth and value. The reason you made it out alive. Your purpose. Someday ahead, you will know to ask the question. “Why me?” Why not the man on my right? My left? You ask questions because no one can answer them. It will kill you. The nightmares. The looks on their faces. The past. We all deserved to go home. The only difference is, some are already there. Waiting.

Dropping your rifle, you raise your palms. Stare directly into them. They shake. Uncontrollably. Relieved of such a weight. All the blood on them. Foreign, and domestic. Friend and foe. Makes no difference. It’s all red. Like an American beauty. Nowhere near the same feeling, if looked upon. Hard to see the beauty behind things when what you’re staring at is another man’s life force. The hands. They stop shaking. The power they held. To give, and to take away. To pass judgment. To pull the trigger. You wonder if god will forgive you for what you have done to each other. To yourselves. Yet you know, deep down, it had to be done. One million had to die. 6 billion would live. You seek solace in the fact that you served your country. Your family. Yet you are changed forever. What got broken here, doesn’t go back together again. This blood will never come off. Not off these hands. Not off these clothes. Not ever. Not unless you can take back every bullet. Every life.

Bonds of brotherhood. The fight for peace. The man next to you. Knowing that you have him covered. All the things you are leaving behind. You’ve crossed the line. Is it worth leaving behind? There was something behind it all. The death. The destruction. The mayhem. The filth. The greed. You discovered equality. Every man is the same. It’s what he does, that defines him. There were no Christians. No sons of Abraham. No Muhammads. No Sikhs. We were all brothers. Brothers in arms. We wanted the same things in life. Took pleasure in the same moments. Dreamed the same dreams. You ask yourself if you could give it all up just to go home. You ask yourself if you can walk away and never look back. You ask yourself if life will still be the same again. You know the answer before you even finish the question. You drop your rifle. Take off your helmet. Pause a minute. And turn around. Give it all one look before it becomes a figment of your past that you will never speak of again. The laughter of the men. The pain in their voice. The sorrow in our hearts. Knowing now what the human race is capable of. You look back. You look back.

3 Cheers For The Black Parade

There is a life changing experience, and then there is a rock concert. To see the good in the world. To see the moral of the story. To see beginnings. To celebrate life and death. The complete circle. That’s what My Chemical Romance’s “The Black Parade” album is all about. I was never impressed with their earlier 2 works, so I waved this one off as another over-hyped record. But then came the news that they were performing. Here. In KL. And I thought, what the heck? Just give it try. 10, 20 years from now when I look back, would I ever wonder ‘what coulda been’? Rock acts are rare here, so I should just go for whatever I get. I got the CD from a friend a week before. 2 days later I bought my ticket for the concert. I had no company, no one that was available, so I went alone. What I got was a lifetime of experiences. Memories. Things we saw. Things we wished we saw. Lives we lived. Lives we wished we lived. So many of them were painful, but isn’t that what makes you feel alive? What is it that you want to see? World peace? Equal rights? Silence? The future? Walk into a stadium. Grab a good spot. Listen to the calm before the storm. Watch all the different faces there tonight. Chinese, Malays, Indians, the French, the British. Strangers. Each his own. Then over the next hour and a half, watch the magic unfurl.

“When I was a young boy,
My father, took me into the city,
To see a marching band,

He said son when , you grow up,
Would you be, the savior of the broken,
The beaten and the damned,

He said will you, defeat them,
Your demons, and all the non-believers,
The plans that they have made,

Because one day, I’ll leave you, a phantom,
To lead you in the summer,
To join the black parade”

I think we all remembered our childhood. Those memories at the Floral Parade, and the Independence Day march past. The marching bands that walked past us holding Daddy’s hand or sitting on his shoulders in those huge parades. Parades of celebration, of joy, in all your favourite colours. But there was sadness in his voice. Almost a whisper of hurt. Draped in black curtains. Dripping in the blood of patriots. To remind you that when that day comes, remember them. Honour their memories by carrying on.

“Do or die, you’ll never make me,
Because the world, will never take my heart,
Go and try, you’ll never break me,
We want it all, we want to play this part,

I won’t explain, or say I’m sorry,
I’m unashamed, I’m gonna show my scar,
Give a cheer, for all the broken,
Listen here, because it’s who we are…”

We would have died for the world that night. We would have sacrificed everything for what was right. We sang every verse of this song. Will the world remember how bravely we fought? How fiercely we loved? How still we stood? It doesn’t matter. None of it does. We don't need our names on a wall of marble. We don't need a star on our chest. We don't need a flag on our coffin. As long as they promise to carry on. Stand where you are. We did. And I will.

“They said all teenagers scare the living shit out of me,
They could care less, as long as someone’ll bleed,
So darken your clothes or strike a violent pose,
Maybe they’ll leave you alone, but not me!”

The encore could have scared society back to the stone age. It shook the foundations of the teenage world. The song we all sang loudest. It was for every time we opened the morning paper and read about a school shooting. Every time we walked into a classroom wearing a nametag and didn’t know what to think. Every time we saw them dressed in leather clothes, dog collars, lip piercing, topping it off with spike hair. Every time we heard songs like ‘Smells like teen spirit’ and ‘Disposable teens’ and ‘Teenage lobotomy’. It came from the heart, and we meant every word. We were tired of being the bad guys. The ones who lived in a corporate world. The ones who sent young men to war. To their deaths. Listen to our cries, and look at the world through someone else’s eyes. Then you’d understand.

“Mama, we’re all full of lies,
Mama, we’re meant for the flies,
And right now they’re building a coffin your size,
Mama, we’re all full of lies”

Ok, so not exactly a song you would dedicate to your Mataji on mother’s day. Point noted. The song was actually written in a mischievous(I wouldn’t say evil) and funny tone, backed by a very carnival-owned-by-the-evil-circus-ring-master soundtrack. Sort of a tribute to classics like ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’ and ‘The Corpse Bride’. In other words, films that poke fun at death. Gerard Way is one of the most talismanic front men I have seen in rock. He brought this song to life not just with his vocals, but with his ever changing persona from song to song, getting the crowd into the moment. The song was to Mother War, telling her, that at the end of the day, we will see each other again. She was the heart of the world’s despair. The hooker with a heart of gold, and the creep in the gas mask at the same time. It could be in the garden of Eden, or in the bottomless pit Lucifer calls home. Home. A relative term. One that should never be taken for granted. Appreciate it, and love it always.

“I am not afraid to keep on living,
I am not afraid to walk this world alone,
Honey if you stay I’ll be forgiven,
Nothing you can stay can stop me going home”

It made a lot of us in the audience cry. Or maybe it was just me who was tearing. Trying to disappear in the sea of people. Reminiscing my entire life. The fact that I was only ever living it for everyone around me. The choices I made, the paths I took, the hearts I broke, the life I once led. I knew those moments too well. And here I was, screaming at the top of my voice, complete with hand gestures(only polite ones), telling the world I’m living life my way now. The song was speaking to me. I even showed up at the concert alone, deciding not to cancel my plans just because I had no company. I walked alone. And you know what? It didn’t matter anymore, because I believed in myself. To put myself forward once in while. That’s really all that was asked from me. How could I not tear? My heart caved in from the beauty of the moment. So much had changed in the last 2 years. So much. It was, liberating. I spoke, with words I thought I’d never speak. Awake, and unafraid. Asleep, or dead.

And then the night ended. Or so we thought. Sure, the concert was over. The lights were off. The stadium silent. The streets crawling with cars trying to make their way home after an experience. But to me, that was just the beginning. At the end of all things, begins anew. I just had one of the greatest personal experiences ever. Making my way back to the train station, I knew within me that if I died tomorrow, I would have no regrets. None. I would be peaceful. No doubts or second thoughts. I have loved and been loved. I have gained and have lost. I have suffered and have cried. I put my arms around strangers and chanted to the songs like they were a pledge. I received hugs from those around me, people I have never known my entire life. People I will never know again. There was something behind 10 000 people head banging and bouncing to a band of philosophers. Behind the sweaty bodies and sore throats. And all it took was an hour and a half of silence. Silence to listen to our hearts. We were one voice. A voice that didn’t have a care in the world. A voice that lived the perfect world for one night. We shared everything. We shared our smiles and cries. Some of us came with friends. Some of us came alone. Some of us came as couples. Some of us came as family. And then, we went home a parade.

“We all carry on, When our brothers in arms are gone,

So raise your glass high, For tomorrow we die,

And return from the ashes you call…”

Goodnight Mama.

Love Actually...

… is, all around. I’ve heard that if I should ever feel sad, down, depressed, torn, glum, sorrowful, unhappy, regretful, hopeless, heartbroken, and the countless other ways one expresses that feeling on the days that life is a notch below beautiful, I should think about the arrivals hall in Kuala Lumpur International Airport. General opinion's starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don't see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it's not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it's always there - fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge - they were all messages of love. The arrivals hall. But what I saw that day in the Low Cost Carrier Terminal’s departure hall changed everything. It mattered.

Boy cut hair. Red t-shirt, like a sweater. Youngish, early twenties in my opinion. A chinese couple looking on. Wearing a backpack. Holding the boarding pass in her left hand. Wiping away her tears with her right. But they wouldn’t stop coming. The chinese couple were still looking on, hoping she would look back, so they could give her a smile of encouragement, to keep on walking. But she couldn’t. she just couldn’t. she was now leaning against the pillar for support, with her hand clasped over her mouth, trying desperately to let it all go, and look ahead. I was glued, staring at this scene before my eyes, wondering what was going on. It was like, one of those moments, 10, 15, 20 years after the loss of a loved one, when suddenly we feel alone, alone in the room with the most deafening of silences, and remember how much we miss their presence in our life. And the tears trail down our cheeks as the memory gets stronger.

She gave up. Got tired of being strong. Letting the tears flow, she walked on, to the immigration counter. But she lost her way. All the signage was in English. She wasn’t sure where to go. A few looks to the left and a few looks to the right later, she finally looked back, more out of confusion than that feeling that was bringing all those memories back minutes ago. I went numb when I saw her face. The chinese couple smiled. They called her back to where they were standing, which was just a family away from where I was, using the everyday hand signals. Over the noise, I couldn’t quite make out what they were saying to her in Malay, but one needn’t be born a prodigy to realize they were showing her the right way to her counter. She was still crying. I was still numb. They were still smiling.

She was their maid. Trying to say the final goodbye. going home. Going home and never coming back again. She gave the resonance of someone who’s world had just ended. Someone clinging to the last straws of logic. Someone praying for a miracle. You can argue that she feels this way because of the income she was earning, the standard of living she was experiencing, away from the pressures of family matters. A life she might never see again. Yes, it is. But I’d like to think that its because she was grateful for the kindness the couple showed her, for the love they gave her, the treatment of a human being not needing a better definition. She cared. All I wanted to do in those few moments was just to walk up to her and give her a hug, saying nothing, praying time would heal all her wounds, if she would let it. Hoping it would give her the courage to walk away. I remember my eyes being watery, but I assumed it was because of the dry air coming from the air conditioning.

I saw life in the blink of an eye. I saw a complete stranger break down for a couple she was now calling family. I saw what I wanted to see, restoring my faith in humanity. But most importantly, I saw love. I saw it for the very first time. The way it deserves to be shown. I considered taking her photograph, to remember the moment, but walked away with my family, smiling like I didn’t have a care in the world, but deep down feeling rather insecure. I can write as much as I want, but nothing will better describe what I saw than the moment in my mind. And for once, I want to be selfish. No photos. No videos. Just words. The memory will be for me, and for me alone. As the day I saw love, and knew there was still plenty of it in the world. Thank you, the girl with the red sweater. Thank you.

Roobaroo

"your first flight in a light aircraft brings back memories of the first takeoff you experienced as a child. that big smile carves on your lips. it was so cool to feel the earth struggle to keep you on the ground then eventually let go. in 9 out of 10 scenarios, you yell out a loud 'whoo-hoo!', with your eyes peeled to the window. you watch the runway disappear beneath you. you see the green, the houses, the people. you see lifestyles in front of your own eyes. you see civilization. you see the world the way God sees it everyday. the bumpy conditions are more than welcomed, seeing as light aircraft are easily affected by wind conditions and the occasional gust."

"All in all, it was a satisfying flight, and a fantastic experience. You truly feel like an aviator for the first time during this flight. You have a bird’s view of the earth, and the people around you. You see the true wonders of nature; in its untouched form. you see man's contribution to mother earth. You see no borders and boundaries, nothing but blue skies and open plains. the air is cool. you have never felt air this cold, and so close to the heavens. You feel free, like no one can touch you, and no one can make you feel low. its just you and the air up there. No matter who you are or where you’re from, for those fifteen minutes, you feel like you belong, like you finally have a place in the world. so what if it's 3000 feet above the ground? Some people drive cars, ride motorbikes, go sailing, and go fishing. It’s their place of peace. Where they can connect with themselves. where life feels beautiful for those moments. We fly. We fly for everything that we believe in. We fly to believe. And this is just the beginning."

i wrote that 1 year, 2 months, and 13 days ago after clearing my first solo. and i have never forgotten that feeling. not even with everything that had happened over the last 2 years.

"maha 04 tango, wind is calm, you are cleared to land runway 03".

"cleared to land runway 03, maha 04 tango".

i taxi back to dispersal via taxiway bravo, unsure of how to feel. after shutting down the aircraft, Capt Zul grabs the aircraft technical log, and leaves for the hangar. i don't move from my seat. i'm glued. i close my eyes and try to look in deep. real deep. i think about all the times i've had here. good. bad. stagnant. my friends and the stunts we pulled together. like that time we went around town stealing all the spiderman 3 promotional posters off the lamp posts at 5 in the morning. my instructors and the shit they put us through. like that time my instructor ordered me to get out of the aircraft and run alongside it all the way off the runway because i was taxiing it faster than the standard operating procedure. the scheduling and the delays that proceeded, stretching the course to 25 months from the original allocated 14 months. all those times we spent in our rooms, with the air conditioning cut off during the day, wandering aimlessly, waiting for 5pm when the schedule came out, praying once for the rest of the world and twice for ourselves, so that we may fly the next day. how do i want to feel? how do i want to walk away from this? when i look back, will i know that i made the right choice? i know the answer. i had been practicing it over the last one week. its going to be perfect.

just to prove that i'm guilty as charged. there were 3. i gave one away to my young cousin.

200 hours. and they were all over. i earned every single one. i unbuckle my seat belt, collect my navigation log sheet, put it in my nav bag, grab the pitot cover, and step out of the aircraft, locking the canopy in place. after placing the cover on the pitot head, i reach for my nav bag. the following are its contents at all times :- aircraft flight manual, the CRP-5, the douglas protractor, a folder with spare log sheets and flight plans, pencil case, sony discman, sennheiser headphones, flight training report, map, log book, letdown charts, and 'a heartbreaking work of staggering genius'. i take the headphones out with the discman already set to track 10. i place them over my head, adjusting the length, and press play. the guitar comes in, and i smile like the terminator, only with a touch more realism. i wish there was someone i could hold on to and never let go. the moment is perfect. and the song never stops. it never stops.

The Lord Of The Rings

A circle. a closed curve which divides the plane into an interior and exterior. a special ellipse in which the foci coincide. a conic section attained when a right circular cone is intersected with a plane perpendicular to the axis of the cone. a ring. a shape. one with no beginning and no end. perfect. that's what God is. that's what the Kara is.

"Early science, particularly geometry and astronomy/astrology, was connected to the divine for most medieval scholars. The compass in this 13th century manuscript is a symbol of God's act of Creation, as many believed that there was something intrinsically "divine" or "perfect" that could be found in circles."(Reference: Wikipedia for circle)

The Kara is a gift from the guru to constantly remind us that our will at all times must be god-like. the Kara in every aspect represents God's true nature. we wear it on our hand. we, to politely put, 'wear god' on our hand so that every action we perform is one fueled by pure thoughts. yes, god is everywhere, and yes, god is in each and every one of us. but how often do we look within?

In the tenth month, you were made into a human being, O my merchant friend, and you were given your allotted time to perform good deeds." (Sri Guru Granth Sahib Ji page 76)

Every man is born to make another's life. no matter how unimportant we feel our lives are, we affect the people around us. a kind word. a gesture of good faith. the stand for all that is right. that's all. if only with every breath we took, we remembered that.

This is the true nature of the Kara. this is why it is one of the 5. now can we all stop referring to it as a 'ward for evil spirits'?

Come Home.