Hither or Thither ?

As I type this , the clock shows 2:59 am with not a shred of concern for my lack of sleep ,because its a clock. But I am writing now because I’m scared I might forget some parts of what I want to write if I wake up tomorrow and try .

Before I let this write-up begin its course, let’s know something about me. I am a Tamizhan living in Mysore , doing my internship post MBBS .

Every batch of 24 hours I traverse through never forgets to give me an adventure while it ticks . I call these situations “adventures” because I want very badly to be optimistic ; because the realist in me screams from the depth of my consciousness that they are colossal calamities . But my humor-infected train of thought has the remote control.

Let me tell you about the adventure I had today, about 6 hours ago.

The habit of humming a Beatles song while on my precious bike was once again at work as I glided around a turn en route to the hospital for my night rounds. With ‘Love Me Do’ playing in the think tank, I was on my way when it happened.

Situations where you have no time to do anything but a mistake are tricky. The lazy red Activa took a right turn so suddenly that I could’ve sworn I saw two of them at that instant.  KERPLUNK.

  I love that split second sound of a clash between two vehicles just for the sound . But an instant later as the impact got me obliquely descending on all fours like a pig going down a water slide , ‘Love Me Do’ was on pause and  ‘Not Again’ started playing.

The accident involved two vehicles and so , naturally , a crowd of fifty huddled in from thin air to see if there was enough material for a TV9 scoop.

The mellifluent lady and her adorable son screamed and howled respectively at my irresponsible way of riding . With a pack of drunks in full volume , an uninvolved passerby grabbing my T shirt by the collar and the Pedestrian-cum-Pope’s  instant sermon , it was a textbook Indian accident scene , so to speak.

I remember staring constantly at the road , nodding and shaking my head to their rhythm of abuses as the crowd thinned and the lady got down to business.

“You’re not going anywhere. I’m calling my husband” – Nod
“You think you can ride off without clearing the mess you made ? ” – Shake
” Let’s take this to the Police, they’ll know what to do with you ” – Nod
“Do you have any idea how injured my son is now ?” – Shake
“Take us to a hospital right now and pay for all the treatment !” – Nod

My submissiveness knew no bounds as my wallet gaped in all directions, from holes made by unreasonable humanitarian obligations. With 3 X-ray reports, a paper bag full of unnecessary medication to pay for and the mangled carcass of my beautiful two wheeled friend, my day was going so well.

The only thing which probably stung me as much as the fall was the sudden reminder this incident told me that I was from another place , no matter how well I knew the regional language or how well I blended in with the people here.

With a dessicated wallet and a swollen up thought ,I found myself on the road at 2:18 am , gracing the cold dead of the night with silent shivers.

Had I been wasting my time making friends here ? Will I ever blend in with any society besides my own ,back in Chennai ? What is this sense of belonging that I crave anyway ? Was becoming a rebel , constant in defiance and acquired isolation, the only way I hadn’t tried yet ?
Mulling these over repeatedly I took lazy, careful steps homeward when I heard an autorickshaw honk in its earsplitting way , breaking the silence of the night .

Now I haven’t really grown up to control myself on how to react to scary things like these. So my immediate response was screaming like a crossbreed of a 17 year old girl and a baboon. The two drunk gentlemen in the auto cackled with uncontrollable laughter . Then I began laughing ,because , well, it WAS funny damn it. Then , conversation ensued.
” Where are you walking to at this hour ,doctor ?”, kannadiga no. 1 asked.
” Home.” I replied.
” And where’s that ?”
“Near the Sterling Theater”
* laughter from the two strangers*
” Come on then I’ll drop you home .” he offered.
” Thanks a lot , but I don’t have money on me , so I better …” I began explaining , before I was interrupted .
” We don’t need money , man.  We’re heading that way.” , kannadiga no.2 interjected .

And the 15 minute rickety ride with two complete strangers , with senseless laughter and jokes on money, wisdom on the road and a farewell at the end was all I needed. So much generosity from two people belonging to the same place as the ones who drained me ; what a fool I had been ! Busying my mind with questions of belonging was so funny now.

For no matter where we are , kindness and a lasting thirst for fun and adventure was, is and will always be innate in all. The differences do not attempt to distract us from the similarities , but to help us value it.

Ode to Maggi

Stacked on shelves, always in plain sight,
One curly,brittle marvel layered on another,
Calls out to my wallet , burning a yellow so bright.

O my almost-ready pal like no other,
Despair not; for the kitchen klutz and the iffy,
Will still cook you for every weather.

All those grateful bellies that digest Thee,
Populating pots and paunches with preserved peas,
The answer to hurried hunger, O magnificent Maggi !

The constant in every variation across the seas,
From pocket change to a delicacy so great,
Don’t leave my dinner table , O heavens please !


The temple of taste and starvation you abate,
Lies helpless , curled into a soup of sobs,
But alive despite the monosodium glutamate.

Savior of the sleepless that work two jobs,
Hero of the children and the diseased in bed,
None can shame you , no matter the carbs.

The failsafe dinner of the living and the dead,
Only two minutes away, more or less,
No dents yet made by the 3.5ppm of lead.

Accommodating known faces onscreen,
In character and in your debt ,O gustatory marvel !
Some marked red and some marked green.

In thatched huts ,for those weary of travel,
In sophisticated cafés , for the irregular regulars,
Wiped clean off the plates by hands that shovel.

Forever the grateful shall be your lovers,
Stoves simmering with masala and water,
O my 2 minutes Maggi : Aa jaa waapas !

– Vaghul Narayanan

I Can See

Laces tied by a knot in place
By the only hands that knew how to make.
The bonny black of the polished surface,
Gone unnoticed since his wake.
Socks fresh, washed and with a fragrance,
Tickled the nose though the colors differed.
Brown pants sewn perfectly to stance,
Held up by a belt in place, tethered.
Clothed thighs, the hands on them rested,
Arms of which sheltered inside pale white sleeves.
A tie forgotten on purpose, left at home instead,
And a hat reclined on the head of a man at ease.

My unused throat let out a planned cough,
Acknowledgement of my presence now requested,
Was received by a smile that wanted to laugh.
He knew exactly where I was seated.
A foot to his right, my eyebrows raised,
His head turned to me like a table for two.
I now wished my mouth, like his shoes, were laced.
His dead eyes fixed on me as if by glue.

The obvious reality had escaped my mind,
His heart -full ,but his eyes – empty.
From violet to red, this man was blind.
Yet the smile he wore had wisdom aplenty.
“Pardon me sir, I did not notice”,
Said I, my face burning red in shame.
He chuckled gently, he knew I would miss;
” The Sun has set, so we are both the same. ”

How did he know that dusk had come ?!
The bean in my head pulsed aloud.
The throned ignorance of my skull’s dome –
Had masked the third eye with a cloud.
My mouth hung open bathed in wonder,
He could not see but knew what the world had to show.
The questions began to tear me asunder,
What was the sunset to him – I had to know !

“Not even I can miss the Sun. ”
The aged one had read my thought.
” For all the colors are blended into one,
Or so I imagine – that is all I have got.
The heat of day melts into a cold kiss,
As the breeze tells tales of the vibrant skies.
No one’s eyes can be blind to this bliss,
As long as no tears flow through their eyes.
Open your eyes to the beauty, my
Narrate the story of the colors to me.
Dry your eyes, this is not the end.
For I am blind but I can see.

Males Only – PANDEMONIUM – Simulation

First off all, I extend a warm welcome to all the females who couldn’t help being human as much as they couldn’t help being curious. Because the charm of reverse psychology as an indirect motivator works on all of us. Anyway, what comes below this will probably be more easy to relate to, for males. So naturally, in all earnest please continue reading, oh members of the fairer sex.

Simulation writing has captured my interest of late. It’s basically designed as a ‘pick-me-up’ literary work for motivation programmes.

What it has, in an overview, is basically a scenario stuck out of space and time, as if the reader is being thrown into the middle of a story as the central character and so imagines the happenings there on in first person.

Every piece of simulation writing is centered around a state of mind or an emotion that should fill the reader up in a personal sense by the end of reading it, so the reader is required to meet the author halfway in terms of sincerity of purpose.

And since I have NO idea how it’s fair to a female’s capabilities to cage a million “states of mind” into wasting time on just one “state of mind”, that is the only reason I think this is meant for males alone – Females could get bored.

Enough prelude. Why not try it out ?!
Alright,  sport !!
Let’s use the theme ” Rage”.
First off, let’s get the guidelines straight.
You are the central character.
The story is mine but the imagination is yours, so get on the train but go to any compartment you want.
Get ready to embrace the emotion of rage- remember, reader needs to meet the author halfway for this to work.
Last but not the least – this is no joke. Let’s take a chance and allow our non-judgmental selves to bask itself in a world where you don’t know what will happen next but at the same time know that you’ll be perfectly fine as MY protagonist.

All right then. Let’s go. See you on the other side.

You know I’m there in the dungeon with you. But I am there merely as an ethereal being, a narrator.
The dungeon has 5 walls with the 6th side, to your left is open, as a bank of a river of lava flowing slowly. You have just woken up to find yourself chained to the wall by chains on your limbs. You are still supple from the torture and the heat and only yours are shuttling to and fro. You notice burnt carcasses floating in the lava. You do not know who they were but all of this happened against your will. And now is when you realize that you’re neither dead nor sad – you are angry. A faint thump can be heard repeatedly and slowly.

You drag your feet and stand up from the floor with the head still bent. Your muscles ready now , stronger than before. The faint red glow in the dungeon lights you up but a shadow still lingers around your eyes. Your entire body is is steaming from the blood that boils within. You’ve had enough. Your name is unknown to you and you know now that you have nothing to protect and therefore, nothing to lose. It is time. You open both your eyes in a jolt letting rage overtake you as your armor. The thumping increases in tempo.

You will no more be chained. One yank from each limb and the links of the metal crumble and melt away. From within the dungeons, you let out an earth shattering roar, head flung upwards and eyes as white and uninhabited as a wolf. You can sense the fear of your oppressor… You can smell it. They know you have arrived at last. You crouch down for an instant and suddenly catapult yourself into a run forward. Your arms and legs are in the most perfect form. NOW, you hunt ; The thumping gets faster and louder.

You crash through doors like an unstoppable cannon. The way you’re going now is an ascent upto the ground level where your oppressor waits prepared. The oppressor’s minions come forth falling on you from everywhere,  attempting to stop you. The nerve !!!  You roar again and go through every single of those weaklings. You will not be subdued. You CANNOT be subdued anymore. One swipe of your arms and you cut through their chests like they were clouds. They are no match for your rage. You notice a young infant lying dead in the hands of a dead mother. You let a tear escape your eye for the life that was not given a chance to last. But it vaporises as soon as you let it out. You realise now that you are more angry than you can ever be sad. You have lost all cause and have only your oppressor to blame, to kill.

You LOSE it. That’s it. You cannot be destroyed. You lose a limb and it grows back in an instant, stronger than before.  


YOU are your oppressor’s worst fear. YOU are it’s Death.

You reach the ground level. There in the clear sky of the night engulfed by your flames, floats your oppressor. You find yourself at the edge of a cliff, painted red by blood and fire, and surrounded by a million minions of the enemy who can do nothing now but look at you, terrified at the manifestation of Wrath that you are. Your whole round white eyes are fixed only on your Oppressor. The enemy looks like the only one who can pose you a challenge. And just for a second, you doubt yourself, not knowing if you are strong enough.

Time freezes. Your body steams. Your opponent waits in mid air as you remain perched on the cliff. You turn to ME, a hint of a question in your eyes.

I float among the clouds, looking at you in the eyes. The longest moment of your life passes by before I mouth the word  “RELEASE”.

That is the last trigger . The only thing you needed from me. Your mouth breaks into the most scariest grin, your eyes wider and whiter now more than ever, fixated on the Oppressor.

You have no doubt now. You crouch on the ground in the most menacing way and launch yourself into the sky as the God of all Predators.

No more suffering. No more oppression. Your rage is immortal – spawned out of the failure of kindness and the triumph of non negotiable Evil, progressing like a forest fire because of the immeasurable power that resides within and ending like a Nova, leaving no opponent alive.

For as long as you desire, you will be able to tap into your ocean of fire within. Break loose, warrior.

Now, this simulation was themed only on RAGE. If you feel pumped up now, I’ve done my job. Many emotions are amplified this way to motivate readers in a very radical way. Thanks for reading!!
Have a nice day lads. If you feel like it and if you gave it your all, drop in a comment on how you found it.
Cheers !!

The Calendar

The calendar always hung by the mirror in my room.
I remember waking up very tired. A weariness seemed to have bit at my bones. For six months I had been facing a barrage of illnesses that had never troubled me before. I was told to stop eating outside and boil my own water for drinking. The morning was so beautiful that I couldn’t believe later on, in the afternoon, how quickly and gravely the tides can change. The weekly visit to the doctor was the most devastating one I had ever had. I was diagnosed and labeled – Retroviral positive.

I crossed off the date on the calendar  before I went to bed, for the first time.

I hardly had a wink of sleep before the ever so similar yet eternally beautiful rays of the rising sun streaked across the closed blinds of the window in my room. But the rejoice-reflex didn’t work that day as I lay in bed. Seven months was the time I had left, the doctor had said. Although he blended the truth with an equal share of diplomacy, he couldn’t fool me. I saw right through it. I remember being very angry at the doctor, the hospital, the wretched blood transfusion I had some months back, my sobbing wife, at the world. I remember not eating all day while I silently decided that all this was rubbish. I knew life wasn’t always fair but I never knew before that it can walk out on me as it wished.

I crossed off the date.

I spent entire days in libraries and medicine shops scurrying around endlessly, looking for medicines that can completely cure me. I felt I was getting lighter as I hopped in an out of my house, colorful on the outside but grey on the inside and I knew for a fact that it wasn’t something to be happy about. There must be a tablet or an injection, I remember telling myself. Humanity had been bubbling with brains for so many centuries so I wouldn’t take no for an answer when the shopkeeper shook his head.

I crossed off the date.

My wife brought me breakfasts in bed ever since. She smiled gravely every morning that reminded me that I was going to die. She seemed more married to me then than she had ever been. She would tell me all the gossip about the neighbours who waved and smiled whenever they saw her and asked  ” How’s it going” as if they knew somehow that the going can be gone any day then. And I knew they looked over her shoulder at the closed door of my room, wondering I was dead inside.
And yet my wife would always come into my room, silently fearing the worst but with a smile tailored to her face. I loved her so much. I still do now and I always will.

I crossed off the date.

I shook off the sleep that crept up successfully every night to find myself growing dangerously thin. I would hold up my hand above my head and shudder at how easily I could see the blue green streaks of my veins. I had already started a course of chemotherapy; multitudes of tablets and hospital visits that seemed to have no power. I could easily notice the split second solemn, sad sighs of my kind doctor before he would nod and start the weekly review. I remember finding it lame and funny how he never gave up on my attenuated immunity regardless of the obvious deterioration that I presented with. My breaths were longer than my bathroom breaks. I regressed to the point where the newspaper on the table was a journey away and my scrawny meals gained entry into my “things-to-do”. I was dying. And I knew it.

I crossed off the date.

I woke up one rainy day, sneering at the absent sun, mocking him for finally giving up trying to cheer me; as if I had found all three holes in the word ‘HAPPY’. That night I realized how days were speeding up and seconds were slowing down as I watched my wife enter my room to check on me just after she got back from her second job. I had moved from being the bread earner to the useless husband to the financial burden of my own household. When she placed the cup of tea on the table by my bed, I noticed through my blurry vision, a streak of grey hair on her head. I remember weeping like never before, choking on the thin tears that my eyes managed to pump out as my wife watched in shock at first and then joined me with her own river of tears.

I crossed off the date.

I had made my decision before even opening my eyes that morning. I had decided to die. No longer would I be a burden. And I wanted to have the best time while I was at it. So that day I dragged myself to the shelf where we kept the Whiskey bottle, musing at how it was originally saved for the “special occasions”. With half the bottle down my weak gut I was howling Bob Dylan songs from inside the house and calling up every person I knew to have chats with words that I could barely mouth. As I reached for another gulp I swerved around, lost balance and cognition and hit the floor. I hadn’t the faintest clue as to how long I lay there before my wife came home from work to find me in the living room, out cold. I only remember fleeting glimpses of a sea of faces ogling at me as a familiar siren sounded around me with a red light sweeping cyclically over my half closed eyes. I woke up the following morning in the hospital with my doctor frowning down at me. What he said next sends a jolt through my spine every time I am reminded of it –
” You might have given up on yourself but I’m not done with you. Not yet. ”

I crossed off the date.

My wife made me promise I would never do anything that reckless again. I was admitted in the hospital for an indefinite period with tubes holed into me. My body was at my weakest but my mind was driven by a force that was so strong it was almost insane. The doctor had given me that with just one sentence. He checks up on me even today with the same fire in his eyes and the same nod of his head. It is more condensed than righteous rage and yet softer than platonic care. It is his will that ignites my bones everyday ever since. He had no reason to go to these lengths to keep me alive. I was a dead man anyway.
But when he said that he wasn’t done with me yet, how dare I give up on myself !
So I obey his every word, took my medication religiously and joined hands with his effort and my wife’s care to sustain myself. To live again.

As I cross off the date today, I realize that it’s one day past the seven month predicament I was given when I was diagnosed . I write whatever I can manage from my hospital bed to the local daily to earn a meagre amount of money to help out my dear wife. She says she has gotten the house repainted for my homecoming next week. I can easily notice a jump step in my doctor’s stride as he leaves my bed everyday satisfied with my health that is hanging on by one very strong thread.  Although I know that my end is always only just ahead of the curve, I am not going down without a fight.

And as I write this, a faint smile escapes me as I am happy that I have proof of gratitude to those souls that keep me alive just so I can spend every second of the day judiciously till I cross off the date on my calendar before I go to bed at night.

– Vaghul Narayanan

A Stroll With Uncle Free – Poem

Curse the blighters, curse them all.
He had bled and sweat to see them fall.
Green though was the plain he walked,
Their death and misery was what he stalked.
With every step his foot would take,
Their writhing images- his mind would make.
Ears fumed with smoke rising from his furnaces of vision –
For he had heard and seen their spiteful treason.
Smiled, feasted, laughed and drank They did; his secrets to them so very frank.
Little had he known that they-
Would turn him out, staring through eyes Grey.
Knelt afront the Lord he pleaded,
Their mirth around but not a hand he needed,
Like a leper cast out by men from his bounds,
Flung in exile to face unnatural sounds.
For this treachery he will have their heads
Impaled on a pike as wolves’ bread.
He walked the plain with the will of fire,
No dragon he knew could summon such Ire.
Atop his rooted anger he knew
T’was righteous rage – he knew, he knew !!
The time was at hand for his monstrous revenge,
They would all pay for his trust’s singe.

Tap-tap-flip-flop –
Footsteps caught up to him from afar.
He turned, ready, expectant and at sight’s drop
He saw it stroll up with legs ajar.
Looked the dunce, its beard grey
Tall as an oaf, but so was he.
Smiled it did with no heed to pay-
To the wrath and ruin that he be.
With fury, redemption and Vengeance to boot,
He had no time for this bearded goof,
To share with – this solitary route,
He wondered how far till it found a roof.

“Where do you stroll to, intruder Thou? “,
He asked, more curious than he was angry.
It turned to him and nodded to a bow.
” I stroll, comrade, my abode by the Tree.
And if you tire to call me “it”,
My neice calls me Uncle Free. ”
His thoughts heard from another with words to fit-
Gave him a jolt; how could this be?!
He stared long at Free, replaced ‘it’ with ‘he’,
For earned he had his watchful gaze.
And for a second, just for a fleeting jiffy,
His fiery eyes forgot to stay ablaze.

“Where, Oh warrior thou marches to,
If my manners do not breach your nerve?”
” Kill those spineless traitors I will do,
And give unto them the misery they deserve. ”
The Bearded one found it laugh-worthy
For he cackled quietly to this joke of old.
Humor-stung and too furious to see,
” SILENCE,  Free !! ” – he bellowed.
” What would you know of my path;
The suffering that I alone have carried ? “-
Screamed the ambassador of wrath,
Pushing tears back into the abyss he married.
” I’d beg your pardon,
But you couldn’t forgive,
For you still harken
Of the past even as you live !  ”
Said Uncle Free with his biggest smile.
Wide-eyed now, the angry one,
His confusion combating his inner vile,
He knew not now if he lost or won.
” Tell you what, comrade of mine !
Why don’t you get some exercise done !
Dreary is this road – so serpentine!
Carry me as you count from ten to one.
My tree lies still a mile away;
My beard is long but my knees are weak.
My home could be your night’s stay;
To feed anger with thoughts and your belly with steak ! ”

Fury-face snorted at the concealed tease
But lifted the weary one atop.
” I will carry you as you please
But with the count done, I will stop.
For you made a promise, you old fool-
Keep it or it will be made kept.
I start with ten, oh weak tool,
My cunning, since wounded, has never slept.”
The angry man barked and sniggered;
A grin as wide as a country river-
Etched not only on the face of the wicked,
But also on the bearded advice-giver.
“Nine ! “he boomed, feeling so very bright,
For wisdom shall not dampen his rage.
” The clouds are a beauty “, Free spoke of the sight,
Yet the carrier saw none from inside his cage.
Wondered he why, the blue beyond
Had not been his love since long.
” How could it, of which you were fond,
Find love in you whose revenge is your song? ”
Uncle Free answered him again,
To a question only his mind had heard !
” You say my Vengeance will bring only vain ?!
After all the blood, sweat and tears I have shed?! ”
” No lad, you shall certainly win-
Of your enemy’s death I have no doubt.
But after your sin answers their sin,
What will your days ahead be about ? ”
” EIGHT !!!! ” He blared, straining his chest.
The old man’s words sliced his tender soul.
For he made more sense than the very best;
His tears now summoned to freely fall.
” So be it, Free, that you are right.
I shall drop all my hate to love again.
But what if evil were again to bite?
Should I bow my head to be ruthlessly slain? ”

Uncle Free beamed that smile once more,
” Shed all, hold little, have some faith.
The bad too has some good ashore. ”
His anger went to sleep without a wait.

The man at peace had but one thing to quell.
” With nothing to call mine alone,
What, oh stroller, will I be, pray tell. ”
He looked at the old eyes that shone.

” You will be my namesake – free !
Here we are at the Tree at last !
From its top there is so much beauty to see !
Aiding you to belong in neither future nor past !
Let us make dinner and play with my niece,
Your bed will wait till your steak is done.
But tell me, now that you are at peace,
How far did you count from ten to one?  ”

Vaghul Narayanan

F. R. I. E. N. D. S – Philosophy wrapped in a Sit-Com

There were (unfortunately false)  rumors doing the rounds that the hit TV show   F. R. I. E. N. D. S   was making a Thanksgiving special so I wanted to take a look back at the entire series. And as you may have rightly guessed by now, I ended up watching the entire series all over again. But as I already knew the plot, dialogues and jokes because of previous revisions, I had the opportunity to have a new perspective of it this time.

And what I have observed is the silent genius, the sea of philosophy that every episode seems to bring to the surface. I know I sound obsessive about it and you’re probably right. But read on and I assure you food for thought.

Let’s take this character-wise.

1. Ross Geller ( Played by David Schwimmer)


A paleontologist by profession, he is also the elder brother of Monica Geller. His has three failed marriages. His first wife Carol turns out to be a lesbian, his second wife Emily divorces him after a hilarious episode of Ross calling her by the wrong name at the alter, seconds away from being pronounced man and wife. His third wife Rachel decides it’s best if they get an annulment after they get married in Las Vegas while they are drunk. He has a son, Ben, with his first wife and a daughter, Emma, with his third and is hopelessly depressed till the very end of the series.

2. Rachel Greene (Played by Jennifer Aniston)


From being a waitress to pioneer in fashion design, her role is filled with upgrades. And to set things in balance, this –  she ran away wearing he wedding dress, seconds before her wedding, tasted poverty for a great long while, had a baby with her on and off partner Ross with who she has to put up with everyday besides their “history” and ends up too old and too underachieved by her own standards by the end of the series.

3. Chandler.M. Bing  (Played by Matthew Perry)


Easily the most depressingly predicamented character, he hides behind his slapstick humor throughout the series. His parents have long since separated, his father is a bisexual, his mother a philandering author. His childhood was unspeakably depressing with no festivals to spend with his own family and he grows up to find that he is fit only for a corporate job, boring in all ways and his annoying habit of using humor as a defense mechanism is loathed by all and though he marries Monica, they have to file for surrogacy for getting children.

4. Phoebe Buffay (Played by Lisa Kudrow)


I take back what I said about Chandler. Phoebe is the most depressing character of all. Her mother killed herself, her father ran away abandoning her, she grows up living in a box in the streets and mugs people for survival , her stepfather is perennially in jail, her grandmother told her lies about who her father was till she died, her twin sister doesn’t want anything at all to do with her  the love of her life goes off to the inaccessible Minsk indefinitely, she plays her guitar on the streets for money while she is not giving pitiably cheap massages.

5. Joey Tribbiani (Played by Matt le Blanc)


He has a lot of sex. Fine, I have nothing depressing to derive from that. But his massive failure as a wannabe – actor takes away his advantage. His father has an extra marital affair which his mother knows of and he has to let it be,  all he has by the end of the show is platonic love and not a single woman he can call his love. One after the other his friends get married and he has to suffer in Silence about his loneliness and he has a hard time being comfortable around his friends who earn lots of money while he has to continually bank on his roommate Chandler for his next meal.

6. Monica Geller (Played by Courtney Cox Arquette)


Also Ross Geller’s younger sister and Chandler ‘s wife. Her parents have no qualms in openly showing that she is nothing special as compared to their first born. She gets entwined in a relationship with her ophthalmologist who is atleast 20 years elder than herself and somehow ends it as well and her general dominating personality is disgusting both to her friends and herself though she doesn’t change and she cannot conceive children of her own.

NOW. As you were reading this, didn’t you get irritated at me about how negative my article has been till now?  If yes, I am luckily successful !!
Though you know that what I have said about each of these is absolutely true, not once through this ten season series did you fixate on these facts enough to find it sad.

Because let’s face it folks –  this group of friends have so much depression between, they could have made the TV show look like the celluloid version of The Great Depression version 2 !! 

But what made it a hit Comedy series (ironically so as it may seem now)  is their perspective of their lives. How at ease they had been in laughing at their own miserable lives from a third point perspective and enjoying the little joys, treating them as pleasant surprises till something beautiful walked into their otherwise doomed days. And we had been blissfully blind to the beauty of this perspective because we never imagined the other dark flipside of it.

Come on. What better an example of best friends than Joey and Chandler? What better a love story on TV than that of Ross and Rachel or Monica and Chandler? And where else can you find anybody as irresistibly charming and crazy as Phoebe? 

Maybe this is the biggest and most beautiful message this TV show can give us. Maybe we will all be better off making humor as an essential perspective to view the otherwise “sad” happenings not only of others, but of our lives as well !! 

Thank you,  F. R. I. E. N. D. S !!