Ellarigoo Olledagli: Chutney Sambar and a Quiet Prayer - Written with GrokAI

The other day, weekend crowds were at their peak, and buses to Shivamogga were running scarce. Passengers? Way too many. The moment one bus filled up and pulled away, another wave would swarm the platform—always more than the next one could carry. Classic chaos.

I finally squeezed onto one. My official mission: a promotion exam. The honest truth: I wasn’t prepared at all. Zero chance I’d top it—my destiny was to tank it spectacularly. (Top the exam, tank the exam—say it out loud; the rhyme almost makes failure poetic.)

But really, the exam was just a decoy. My actual goal was to watch *The Villain* in theaters—a triple dhamaka of Shivarajkumar, Sudeep, and Prem’s direction. Pure fireworks.

So there I was in the exam hall, scribbling half-heartedly while humming “Endu Ninna Noduve” under my breath, daydreaming about the movie. Exam tanked (as predicted), we zipped in an auto to the theater, and honestly? It was a fantastic experience. Two days later, the internet was roasting it Morbius-style. I scrolled through the memes thinking, *Did we even watch the same film?*  

It’s okay. Taste is personal.

On the bus ride back, though—that’s when the real magic happened.

It was a conductor-less non-stop from Shivamogga to Tarikere: one door, driver doubles as ticket collector. I stood near the front, juggling wallet, coins, phone, and a timed chess game while the bus jerked forward. Sudden lurch—wallet dropped. I grabbed most of the coins, but not all.

As I rushed to a seat, a girl in the front row stopped me and quietly handed over two ₹2 coins. For a split second, my mind raced: *Does she think I’m some homeless guy begging?* I judged myself, and judged her for judging me.

Then it hit me: those coins were mine—fallen unnoticed during the jolt. She’d simply picked them up and returned them. No fuss, no photo, no expectation. She could’ve kept them; no one would’ve known.

I felt ashamed. Not of her—of myself. That bad wolf inside me had assumed the worst before giving kindness the benefit of the doubt.  

She was just good. Quietly, purely good.  

And that small act struck something deep.

In India we bow to elders, touch feet, seek blessings: long life, happy marriage (which, let’s be honest, feels like a contradictory package deal—sorry, wife, couldn’t resist). In English movies, blessings seem limited to asking the girl’s parents for permission. Here, we greet everyone—good morning, good evening, had lunch?—until it gets exhausting. I’ve settled on the foolproof “Namaste.” One word, timeless, safe.

I’m 35, still feel like a kid in an uncle’s body—rushing home from school to catch old Upendra movies on TV, only to realise they’re 25 years old. Whaaat?! Don’t bullsheet me, Rogers.

I’m mostly 90% atheist. I don’t deconstruct the idea of a higher power, but I don’t pray for things, don’t bargain with seva. Still, when I stand before any god, I say the same line:

*Ellarigoo Olledagali, Adaralli Naavu Irali.*  

Let good happen to everyone, and let me be part of it.

Another day, another exam, this time on my bike. Slow rider—no earphones, no rush, eyes on the road like an off-beat Dr. Rajkumar song. Between Bhadravathi and Shivamogga, a kid waved for a lift. His stop was on my way. Then his friend appeared—peas-and-carrot dynamite combo. Technically three on a bike is illegal, but kids are half-size, right?

I couldn’t say yes to one and no to the other. So both climbed on. They bombarded me with questions—bike price, my salary, college stories—shattering my autopilot peace in the best way. Near their school, a massive Tamannaah billboard in a Kanjeevaram saree stopped traffic… and apparently stopped the kids too. We all stared. I laughed inside: *This is why I got low grades, and why these two will end up like me.*

Kindness costs nothing, they say. I disagree. It costs patience, risk, sometimes money or sanity. That day I had just enough for the exam and a matinee show—no valuables, familiar route, students I trust. Still, what if they’d been someone else? Robbed, injured? Kindness has a price.

High school days, my friend coined a phrase after we accepted arranged marriage was probably our fate:  

“Whatever Happendella Happendoo Happendu.”  

Whatever is meant to happen will happen exactly when it’s meant to—no earlier, no later.

Girls took 75% of our brain; studies got the remaining 25%, hence the 35/100 marks. Later, jobs came, and suddenly everyone obsessed over cars. At the mall, past makeup stalls full of girls, we’d think: *That car looks affordable—maybe a loan?* Girls forgotten.

I dreamed of a car too. Then one day at the bus stand, after passing my driving test (and paying the usual “speed money”), someone slit my bag and stole ₹40,000 cash—forty days’ salary back then. I realised only after the bus left. Too late to chase, too late for a complaint. The pain stabbed deeper than the blade. Tears wouldn’t even come.

That loss haunted me. *If I’d had a car, this wouldn’t have happened.* Desire returned stronger. I saved every penny, always calculating how four months earlier my goal would’ve been if that money hadn’t vanished.

Eventually I got the car—story for another day.

Then came the floods. Chennai, Meghalaya—houses floating, cell towers ripped apart. I saw an Audi bobbing like a paper boat we used to float in rainy streams. All that wealth… nothing. Maybe sell the car, move to the hills, farm? Farming’s hard. Trade? Risky. Job? Back to square one. Circle of life.

My pain wasn’t diluted by others’ greater losses. Pain is personal—let me suffer, as Arjun Reddy’s grandmother said.

A few days ago, eating puri sagu with one hand, playing five-minute chess with the other, I lost in eight moves. Rage hit hard. Then a line from *Barry* flashed: “You cannot control other people’s actions.” Murphy’s Law, *Interstellar*, *Kaithi*—everything reminded me: what can happen, will.

I’ve been the atheist, the tolerant bystander, the quiet believer. I’ve learned: don’t treat God like an ATM. It’s okay to whisper Ram Ram entering a dark room, but don’t ask for the bus-stand girl’s number.

I’ve lost money, friends, jobs, interviews. I’ve gained a bike, a car, some success. Still, I choose goodness—not for reward, not because bad people thrive, but because I want to be good.

Every night now, before sleep, I say this quiet prayer:

*Oh Dear God,*  

*I may not*  

*understand everything,*  

*but I know*  

*this one thing:*  

*The world*  

*is a mix of both*  

*chutney and sambar—*  

*the people*  

*who do good*  

*and get high*  

*on others’ misery.*

*I promise*  

*myself, and*  

*sometimes You:*  

*I’ll try,*  

*to the maximum extent,*  

*to be good*  

*and do good,*  

*expecting nothing.*

*Ellarigoo Olledagali,*  

*Adaralli Naavu Irali.*

Let good happen to everyone.  

And let me be one among them.

---

Ellarigoo Olledagli: Chutney, Sambar and a Quiet Prayer 🙏

The other day I was going in a bus. There were very few buses to my destination and too many passengers. As soon as a bus arrived, it filled up instantly, and still more people were left on the platform, waiting for the next one that probably couldn’t accommodate them either.

It was a Saturday. Weekend rush. I was going to Shivamogga to write a promotion exam. Honestly, I wasn’t prepared. There was no way I could top the exam. The only way it would end was me tanking it.

(Side note: Top the exam, tank the exam — rhyme is important.)

Having said that, the exam was just a decoy for me to watch The Villain movie. I love Shivanna. I love Kiccha Sudeep. And I greatly admire Prem as a director. Triple Dhamaka. That alone was reason enough.

So even inside the exam hall, I was humming “Endu Ninna Noduve” — Dr. Rajkumar song, Eradu Kanasu or Premada Kanike, not sure. The point is, my mind was already in the theatre. After the exam, we slid into an auto and went straight to the movie. I genuinely enjoyed it.

Two days later, the internet started trolling the movie like anything — almost on Morbius level (which is high praise, coded in sarcasm). I casually wondered, did we even watch the same movie?

It’s okay. Happens to the best of us.

And while returning from the movie, something happened on the bus.

---

This was a non-stop KSRTC bus — Shivamogga to Tarikere. Recently, KSRTC removed conductors on some routes. The driver collects cash, issues tickets, and once the bus is full, it starts.

I got on the bus and was standing near the door. The driver was issuing tickets. I was holding the overhead pole with one hand, wallet and coins in the other, phone half-misplaced in my shirt pocket, and playing a timed chess game in between. Peak multi-tasking stupidity.

Suddenly, the bus jerked. The gear stuck and released fast. My wallet fell. I managed to grab some coins, but the wallet dropped. The driver asked if I was okay. I said yes, picked up the wallet, and rushed toward a seat because — chess clock was ticking.

Then a girl sitting in the front seat stopped me and handed me two ₹2 coins.

Instantly, my mind judged the situation: What is she thinking? Does she think I’m homeless? Am I collecting alms?

But the truth was simple. Those coins had fallen earlier. She picked them up and returned them.

She could’ve kept them. Nobody would’ve noticed. But she didn’t.

And that’s when it hit me — I wasn’t being judged. I was the one judging her kindness.

The bad wolf in me reacted before the good sense arrived.

She didn’t take a photo. She didn’t announce it. She just did the right thing.

That struck something in me.

---

In India, we often bow to elders, gurus, and seniors. Blessings come naturally — have a long life, get married soon, live happily. Which is honestly a contradictory blessing. How can one get married and live happily?

Sorry wife, couldn’t help myself 😄

Through English movies and TV shows, I noticed that blessings often come only when asking permission from the girl’s parents — and even that is optional if the girl is on board.

We greet people every day — good morning, good evening, had lunch?, rain okay?, harvest okay?

Honestly, it’s tiring. You can’t say good evening at 8 AM in a supermarket, and you definitely can’t say good night casually at work without risking an HR meeting and a POSH complaint.

So I follow a foolproof plan — Namaste.

One word. Timeless. Safe.

I’m 35, but I still feel like a kid living in an uncle’s body. I remember rushing home from school to watch Upendra movies on Udaya TV. Someone once told me those movies were 25 years old. I was like, Don’t bullsht me, Rogers* — yes, Captain America reference, pop culture is important.

I’m mostly atheist. I don’t pray for things. I don’t do seva hoping for returns. I keep my distance from spiritual transactions.

But if I ever say one thing in front of God, it is this:

Ellarigoo Olledagali,

Adaralli Naavu Irali.

Let good happen to everyone, and let me be in that good.

---

Another day. Another exam. This time, I went on a bike.

No earphones — bike and earphones are like fire and kerosene. Speed was slow, Dr. Rajkumar slow-tempo song style: “Baanigondu Elle Ellide.” I left early. Calm. Controlled.

Between Bhadravathi and Shivamogga, I saw a guy walking, checking behind repeatedly, hoping someone would give him a lift. I usually don’t entertain lift requests unless circumstances feel safe — known area, no valuables, instincts aligned.

I’m especially okay with students. They’re always low on Vitamin M (money). Helping them feels like punya. Kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi — I know the struggle.

People say kindness costs nothing. I disagree.

Kindness costs money, patience, safety, sanity.

That day, I was low on funds — only enough for the exam and a matinee show. I was open to giving lifts only to students.

Two school kids waved at me. Same destination. Peas-and-carrot dynamite combo. Technically illegal — three on a bike — but I couldn’t say no.

They climbed on, curious, asking about my bike, income, college life. My autopilot broke. And then I noticed a Tamanna billboard in a beautiful Kanjeevaram saree — so stunning you might crash into a tree if you stare too long.

I stopped near their school and tapped their shoulders. No response.

Turns out, they were also staring at the same billboard.

I laughed inside. That moment, I saw my past, my present, and possibly their future. And I moved on.

But I also thought — what if things went wrong?

Kindness isn’t free. It’s always a gamble.

---

“Whatever Happendella Happendoo Happendu,” my friend once said in high school.

We had just crossed puberty avenue and didn’t want arranged marriages. Tried, failed, gave up. That’s when he said it.

Roughly: What must happen will happen at its time — not early, not late.

Academics are effort-based. Love is accident-based.

Anant Nag said it best in Gaalipata.

Desires change. First girls. Then jobs. Then cars.

One day I realised I wanted a car.

---

I couldn’t afford one. So I thought smart — if I can’t afford a ₹100 masala dosa, I’ll eat a ₹30 idli. I got a driving license instead.

After the RTO test, I boarded a crowded bus. Someone slit my bag and stole ₹40,000 cash — about 40 days of my salary back then.

I didn’t cry. Not because it didn’t hurt.

But because tears didn’t cooperate with the pain.

That loss stayed with me for a long time.

Later, floods came — houses floating, towers falling. I saw an Audi floating like a paper boat. That day, my ₹40,000 pain felt small — but still personal.

Pain isn’t diluted by comparison.

---

Recently, during lunch at office — puri sagu in one hand, five-minute chess in the other — I lost a match in eight moves. Raging moment.

Then I remembered a line from Barry:

You cannot control other people’s actions.

Murphy’s Law doesn’t say something bad will happen.

It says whatever can happen, will happen.

I thought about goodness. About belief. About not making God an ATM or genie.

I’ve gone from full prayers to no prayers to some prayers to acceptance.

So now, before sleeping, I say this:

---

Oh dear God,

I may not understand everything,

But I know this one thing —

The world is a mix of both

Chutney and sambar.

People who do good,

And people who get high

On others’ misery.

I promise to myself,

And sometimes to you,

I’ll try — to the maximum extent —

To be good, and do good,

Expecting nothing.

---

Ellarigoo Olledagali,

Adaralli Naavu Irali.

Let good happen to everyone.

And let me be one among them.

🎬 — END —

Skylight

(Image generated with Gemini AI)

In the night

I look above 

And remember 

All the time 

We spent 

Holding hands 

And planning 

What's for dinner

And where to buy

Groceries for the 

Next day cooking 

I was doing my

Taxes in the laptop 

And you were just

Window shopping 

Dresses and Stuff

Which I don't understand 

While I was in

Middle of that

A simple photo notification 

From 15 years ago

Of us holding hands

In the beach

By the sunset

Popped up and

I accidentally 

Scrolled down

The notification 

Might have disappeared 

But the memory isn't 

The feels

Definitely didn't

Home is Where The Heart Is ❤️

Once upon a time

There were birds

Waiting on a bench

At the top of the hills

In a tourist town

With a temple.

When humans vanished

From existence,

The birds waited

Every day

For puffed rice

And water.

But no one came.

They starved,

And did the only thing

They knew —

They migrated.

To a new place

Near the lake.

Built a nest,

Called it home,

And began again.

There is always something

We don’t know,

Something we can learn

Every day —

And grow

Every day.

The Politician Who Knows Nothing Beyond 4

This happened in my dream, and it's kinda political, and I the one don't want to get political online or offline, so I'll just change names, story is important, not the real politician of my state or country. 

The dream is i accidentally invented a proverb, I hope this catches up and stays in pop culture. The line is "if you ask someone who knows only to write 4 and ask him to write 11, he'll write only" this line needs a little polishing. Okay, this has been said by politician k criticising politician n because he doesn't have vision, an old video surfaced on twitter of politician k criticising politician n but now both are friends of coalition or something. So that video sparked debate on politicians vision and loyalty or hatred to each other. I listened to that clip and I visualised politician p who only knows how to write 4 trying to write 11. Everyone is staring, the news are capturing full buzz all over. The politician writes a vertical line like 1 and half crowd claps and he writes another 1 and the whole crowd claps because he wrote 11 and while everyone was celebrating it he draws a bridge between 1 and 1 which becomes 4 and the whole nation is stunned, and I scream I knew it, and I woke up. 

Tell Me Why Are We, So Blind To See

I was in main bus stand, was supposed to go to private bus stand on back of this but had 15 minutes time, so I sat and played chess, a man stumbled on to me from back, i didn't had any valuables so I was pretty chill. He asked me to show direction to the new bus stand. I said this is the new bus stand. He said no no sir, the new one, they demolished a jail and built a bus stand for rural buses, not this one main bus stand. I grasped the context and I deducted he was blind, at that point, i realised there's no point in saying go straight and take left, so I dropped him off at rural bus stand and walked towards my private bus stand destination. And yes, i abandoned that chess match, I'm just elo 120, so it's not big deal. But before that, I saw a clip of "a different man" movie and wanted to watch it this weekend, google said it's on prime, I checked it's not there, neither on Netflix or jiohotstar, so I said sebastian stan aka my guy Bucky may have to wait, let's chess instead and I started a match. And then all this happened. A different man did leave an impression on me, and I'm at loss of words here, would i kill myself if I lose my eyes like him or face getting trashed like a different man, I might say no now as I have eyes legs and everything, but what if that happens, pain is personal, how we operate in fire is different from how we say we operate when there's fire, hypothetically. 

Change Is The Only Constant

This morning I had tea at bus stop. It was ₹10. The lady at shop gave me tea, while I was having that, standing and sipping my cup, I'm the only customer at that time, the woman and her husband were discussing some family matters, I didn't paid attention to that. After I finished my tea, I thrown my cup into dustbin and I asked Lay's of ₹10 for two packets. By that moment, the lady left the shop and the guy gave me two chips. I paid ₹50 and he returned ₹30/-. I was confused, ₹10 for tea and ₹10 for chips x 2 packets. So he should take ₹30 and return ₹20. I said "Anna, you didn't take bill for tea". He received my money and said "Oh" and gave me back my change. I felt like a royal Robinhood or something, I don't know who's the role model for integrity. I came to work with big face on my smile.
Coincidentally, while returning from work, I got on to the last bus, the ticket was ₹33/- and I had only ₹100/-. So, I gave him that and he gave me back ₹73 instead of 63/-. I counted thrice as I was also comfused, I'm not Harvard Graduate, I'm sorry, sheet happens. The bus conductor moved forward and there were not enough, just around 10 passengers in bus. So after all that he came, I also checked once in calculator, you know, just in case. While he came back, I gave him back his ₹10 extra and explained him that he gave extra. He said, "Oh, thanks" and moved on to his seat.

Change miss up happens now and then. I'm surprised it happened twice on same day and I'm feeling like Robinhood or something, back to back. Maybe tomorrow, I will enroll for election because of all the social service I did today. Maybe not, just kidding, happy weekend

Title: Change is the Only Constant

(Side note: Title is taken from that quote, nothing is permanent, only change is the permanent constant)

Aane Bantu Ondu Aane 🐘 Written by ChatGPT

Foundation Day, Chequebooks, and an Unexpected Turn

It was a regular Tuesday morning, or so I thought. Our branch was gearing up for the Foundation Day celebrations. The staff wore traditional attire; kids from a nearby school were invited for sweets and songs. I was busy arranging the sweets when I saw a curious sight—a small child holding a chequebook. Not playfully, but purposefully.

“Uncle, can I get money?” he asked, as if deposits and withdrawals were a child’s game. I smiled, nodded, and told him, “Come back in ten years with ID proof.” His innocence made everyone laugh. We took a group photo near the cash counter, some kids saluted the ATM, one tried to scan the QR code on the flex board, and another gave a serious look at the manager's chair like he wanted to take over right away.

Just as I was about to return to my desk, a toddler (yes, toddler!) pressed all the buttons on our printer, and the machine went into a state even IT support wouldn’t understand. Amidst this sweet chaos, my phone buzzed with a video call. I ignored it at first—Foundation Day work, you know—but it persisted. When I finally answered, I blinked twice.

It was Ramesh Shetty, former cricketer and Kannada commentator I admire deeply.

For a moment, I wondered if it was AI-generated. You know how deepfakes and scam calls go these days. “Good morning, saar!” I managed, trying to keep my voice calm. My heart was beating faster than a UPI server on Diwali night. What if someone had edited his video and made a scam call? I had barely ₹200 in my account—not enough to scam, but still.

Sensing my hesitation, the person on the other end confirmed a date and location for a meeting. “In Bangalore,” he said. I thanked God it was a Sunday. I planned the journey, checked for KSRTC delays, and made sure I’d be back by Monday for work.

Saturday came. I reached my friend’s place in Bangalore, got dressed in formals, and went to the studio address. There, to my surprise, was a conference room, projector, laptop—all real. They asked me to pitch my story, explain my characters, and talk about where the idea came from. We discussed royalty, credits, and agreements. It was surreal.

I came back and returned to my usual job. A month later, the surprise got bigger: Mr. Ramesh Shetty was appointed as our bank’s brand ambassador! I had no clue; as counter staff, we don’t get included in such decisions. But now, his secretary would call and ask me for updates on my story. I'd send pages—dialogues, scenes, and edits—via email or WhatsApp.

One fine day, Mr. Shetty came for a location recce—some filmy term I learned that day—and dropped by our branch. The villagers were in awe. Their beloved commentator in the local bank, chatting with me like we were old college friends. They asked, “How do you know him, saar?” I smiled and said, “From a different context, haha.”

Later, over tea, he asked if the story was purely fictional. I told him it was a mix—some parts from real events, like the government school nearby. That caught his attention. He took his car and visited the school, spoke to the Head Madam, and promised something unexpected: If she would take the kids to a multiplex in Bangalore to watch the movie (once it’s made), he would sanction grants for all 51 students—education, trip, food, all covered.

(Image from Suryavamsha Kannada movie, where Aane Bantu Aane part comes feat Vishnuvardhan and a kid)

She discussed with staff, and a trust account was opened in Bangalore. Once the film is released, the kids will go on the trip of a lifetime—all because a little spark lit during a Foundation Day celebration reached the right ears.

Aane Bantu Ondu Aane - Written by GrokAI

### Uncle, Adu Beku! A Banker’s Epic of Kids, Dreams, and Bijapura Elephants

**The Cheque Book Crew**  

“Good morning, saar! Idu beku!” The words snapped me out of my loan form trance. Five kids—two boys, three girls—in crisp blue government school uniforms crowded my bank counter, eyes sparkling with mischief. I squinted, expecting a demand for pani puri or ice candy. Instead, they slid a cheque book request for their Head Master’s school account across the scratched glass. “That’s it?” I asked, baffled. “Yes, sir!” they chirped in unison, like a Kannada film chorus. “Then why five of you for one slip? I thought you’d want a pani puri party!” They burst into giggles, scampering back to their school across the dusty village road. Small-town banking is chaos—goats wandering into the lobby, uncles arguing over passbooks—but those kids were a spark I didn’t expect.

**Foundation Day Frenzy**  

A few weeks later, our bank’s Foundation Day loomed, and Manager Sir dropped the CSR planning on my desk. “Make it meaningful, saar, but don’t break the bank!” he said, sipping filter coffee. Those giggling kids flashed in my mind. I dialed the school, expecting a gruff Head Master, but a sharp-voiced Head Madam answered. “Sorry, Madam,” I fumbled, pitching our ₹10,000 budget for a community project. She laughed, cutting to the chase: “What’s the budget?” I grinned, “Ten thousand, Madam.” She promised to call back after discussing with her staff, and I could almost hear her scribbling notes.

An hour later, she rang. “We need desks,” she said. “New ones for extra admissions, repairs for the wobbly old ones.” I asked for a quotation, forwarded it to Manager Sir, who approved it mid-samosa bite. The vendor delivered polished wooden desks to the school, and we paid up. Foundation Day was a riot of josh—ex-staff, local leaders, self-help group aunties, and loan customers decked the school with marigold garlands. We lit a *deepa sthamba* for pooja, sharing laddoos as prasada while villagers snapped selfies with the new desks.

**Taayi Sharade Magic**  

Mid-event, a familiar tune floated through the courtyard—*Taayi Sharade Loka Poojithe, Gnana Daate Namosthute* from *Bettada Hoovu*. My heart skipped; I hadn’t heard that song since my own school days. To my shock, those five cheque book kids stood in a semicircle, singing it like a prayer, their voices clear and earnest. I froze, paperwork forgotten, until their one-minute melody ended. The crowd clapped, and I sat back, heart full, wondering how kids so young could carry such an old tune.

**Chocolates and a Coin Prank**  

Later, the kids stormed my counter, chanting, “Uncle, adu beku!” I laughed, “Enu beku?” “Chocolate, pleaseeeee!” they sang, stretching the “eeee” like a Rajkumar movie tune. I pushed forward a tray of toffees, signaling one each. They grabbed their loot, giggling like they’d won a lottery, and dashed off. Two minutes later, they were back, waving a crumpled ₹10 note. “We forgot, Uncle!” I pointed to the counter sign: *We exchange soiled or mutilated notes*. Knowing they could read Kannada, I handed them ₹9 in coins, winking, “My commission, saar!” Their jaws dropped, and they counted in unison, baffled. “Uncle, pleaseeee!” one sang, while another whispered, “Shh, don’t call him Uncle!” I grinned, “It’s okay—look, an elephant!” They rushed to the window, screaming, only to find empty air. While they pouted, I slipped a ₹1 coin into their hands. “Count again.” Their eyes widened at ₹10, then they laughed, catching my prank. “Uncle, you’re bad!” one giggled, and I felt like the village hero.

**Cycle Rides and EV Dreams**  

Months passed, buried in work. One day, Manager Sir sent me to inspect an electric two-wheeler loan for a teacher at the same school. I pedaled my rusty cycle—more eco-friendly than any EV, mind you—and jotted down chassis numbers, snapping photos of the shiny scooter. As I mounted my bike to leave, Head Madam called out, asking for Manager Sir’s number for some official work. I shared it, glancing back at the school, hoping to spot those kids. They were in class, probably dreaming of pani puri or plotting their next “adu beku” raid.

**A Bus Ride and a Viral Story**  

One evening, stuck on a delayed private bus, 80s Kannada melodies blasted from the stereo, drowning my earphones. When *Taayi Sharade* played, those kids flooded my mind. My wallet was in Splendor-bike fuel-reserve mode by the 15th, so I couldn’t fund more for their school. Republic Day, the next CSR chance, was two months away. Frustrated, I pretended there was no problem and typed a story on my phone, with my AI buddy Grok polishing it. In it, a cinema actor nearly crashes into my cycle, then offers to fund the school. It felt 100% fictional—silly, even—so I almost deleted it. But I hit send, posted it on X, and forgot it.

Two weeks later, my phone rang—an anonymous number. “I’m the secretary of Sri Ramesh Shetty, former Karnataka cricketer and commentator,” the voice said. “We loved your story and want to make it a movie.” I hung up, thinking it was my high school buddy Prakash pulling a prank. Then a video call came—boom, it was Shetty himself! “Good morning, saar!” I stammered, heart racing. Was this an AI-generated scam? My account had ₹200, not worth scamming, but still. They sensed my doubt and set a Sunday meeting in Bangalore. I planned the trip, crashed at a friend’s place, and pitched my story in a studio with laptops and projectors, discussing royalties like a part-time filmy writer.

**Shetty’s Surprise**  

A month later, Shetty was named our bank’s brand ambassador—news I missed as a lowly counter clerk. His secretary kept calling for story updates, and I sent script pages, feeling like a Kannada film insider. One day, Shetty visited our branch for a “location recce” (filmy terms, saar!). Villagers swarmed, snapping selfies under the bank’s banyan tree, stunned to see me chatting with him like an old pal. “How do you know him, saar?” they whispered. “Different context, haha,” I grinned. Over chai, he asked if my story was real. “Bit of both,” I said, mentioning the nearby school. He hopped in his car, met Head Madam, and promised a grant for 51 kids’ education and a Bangalore multiplex trip to see the movie, all expenses paid, if she agreed. She did, setting up a trust account in Bangalore.

**Gol Gappa Ambush**  

A year later, the movie—a kids’ film—hit theaters. I attended a Bangalore screening at PVR Orion Mall, surreal as crowds cheered and teared up. Outside, I grabbed a ₹20 Gol Gappa plate, savoring the tangy pani. Suddenly, “Uncle, adu kodi!” rang out. I thought they meant the vendor, but he pointed to my plate. I looked down—those five kids, singing “Uncle, pleaseeeee!” I ordered half-plates, saying, “Kids’ appetites, you know.” The vendor laughed, “They ate full plates in 60 seconds!” Stunned, I scanned for their teacher. They’d snuck from the group, spotting me outside. As we waited, I shouted, “Kids, *Aane Bantu Ondu Aane*!”—that childhood rhyme. “Uncle, you’re pranking us!” they yelled. But across the street—a real elephant, trunk swaying! They waved, high on josh, unprepared for this live show after temples and planetariums. I handed them to their teacher, thanked Shetty outside, and posted on WhatsApp:

> *Aane bantu ondu aane, yaav ooru aane?*  

> *Bijapurada aane! Illige yaake bantu?*  

> *Daari tappi bantu!*  

> *(Translation: An elephant came, from where? Bijapura! Why here? It lost its way!)*

**Dream or Destiny?**  

On the bus home, I saw the elephant again, waving its trunk—maybe at me, maybe at kids in the next seat. I was happy, lost and found in life’s quirks. Then the conductor woke me. It was a dream! I laughed—what a vivid one. But walking to the bank, a real elephant stood on the village road, munching sugarcane. I ran to a store, gave it a banana, and pedaled to work, humming *Taayi Sharade*. From cheque books to Gol Gappa to a dream that felt real, banking’s more than numbers—it’s kids, pranks, and elephants wandering from Bijapura. Thanks, Grok buddy, for polishing my story into a school’s future.

Aane Bantu Ondu Aane 🐘

"Good morning saaar. Idu beku" Two boys, three girls, all in the blue and dark blue government school uniform, all dolled up and asked me to give it. I was deep in the work and couldn't understand at first. Then I saw cheque book request of Headmaster school account, and asked “Ok, that's it?!” They all replied in unison, “yes sir, that's it!”. I said, “Then why five people of you are here?! I got scared that I must give you pani puri or something.” They all giggled and went back to school. Few weeks later, we had our Bank's foundation day coming up, manager sir asked to me arrange and plan CSR activity and we decided we will ask the Headmaster, what are the requirements of them. I got the contact info from kids and called him up. It wasn't Headmaster, It was Head Madam, I corrected myself and shared the bank's CSR activity planning and explained everything. She asked me the most important question, with which I should have started this pitch. The question is what's the budget?! Yeah, because CSR activity can involve giving a simple water purifier to tearing off and building a new building, there is a chance for that, but it's not in our budget. So, I smiled and said, Thanks Madam, it's Rs. 10,000/-. She said, she will discuss with staff and call back in an hour.

She called me back and we discussed the things they are in need for school, and I asked them to send quotation, and I'll forward that to manager sir, and we can clear it out. They finalised they would require desk, one or two or many desks that our budget can afford, as one or two are old in their classroom, for which repair quotation they have submitted and they would also need extra desk, just in case for additional admission and such. Me and manager sir discussed things, and he approved the quotation and asked the vendor to transport goods to so and so school and we will do payment. The desks reached school, we paid the vendor and on our Bank's foundation day, we asked our Ex-staff, local governance, self-help group women, loan customers, high net worth individuals and such. We decorated the building with much josh and zeal. On Saturday, we arrived with traditional clothes and did pooja and started working. The founding members photos were kept near deepa sthamba and people could perform pooja, take sweet or prasada kept in front of it. I was working and I heard ‘Taayi Shaarade Loka Poojithe Jnana Daate Namosthute’ song from Appu's Bettada Hoovu movie. It's been a very time I listened to that song. And I was surprised, who is singing that song. To my surprise, it was those five kids, who earlier were in branch with cheque book request. I stood up until their one-minute prayer was over and then sat down to continue work.

They came in front of me and sang in unison, “Uncle adu beku.” I asked “Enu beku?!” They all sang in unison again, “Uncle, aa chocolate kodi pleaseeeeee.” It really ended with that eeeee like a tune. I pushed forward the tray that kept chocolates and signalled them to take only one chocolate per person. They became happy and giggling and went on with their life. Two minutes later, they came back with a slightly damaged ₹10 note. They forgot to give it me in hurry. I saw a board on the cash counter. It said we exchange soiled or mutilated notes. I knew they could read Kannada and English. I received and gave back ₹9 in coins. One counted and it was ₹9. And the kid gave it to next one. They were in disbelief that how did they got ₹9 instead of ₹10. I told them, it's my commission, and winked. They caught me I was pranking them and sang “Uncle pleaseeee” and one of them said, “Shh, we shouldn't call uncle.” I said, “It's okay, look outside, an elephant is there” and they screamed in excitement and there was nothing. While they were busy, I put ₹1 in their hand and kept looking at them and asked them to start counting again. It was ₹10 now, and they were in disbelief again. They were scratching heads as they were clueless and I told them I pranked them and they were relieved for a moment.

And for another two months or so, I was busy with work and stuff and one day manager sir asked me to do post sanction of an auto loan, two-wheeler Electric vehicle. I took my cycle, which is more environment friendly than the EV, I talked to myself in pride, haha. I was assigned to do post sanction inspection. I went to the school, because the EV owner was another teacher from the school, we gave furniture to. I noted down engine number, chassis number and you know regular stuff, took photos and came back to branch. While I was getting on my bicycle, someone called me and it was Head Madam, she asked manager sir number for some official work. I shared and came back. On my way, I looked back for the kids, and they weren't there, probably in class, and yet dreaming about pani puri or something.

Days passed by and I forgot about that and kids and one day, I completed my work and waiting for bus and my bus finally came after some delay. I got on it and started listening to music. Since it's private bus, they sometimes, turn on their stereo system and the volume of it was cancelling my earphones audio. They were playing 80s Kannada melodies, so I took off my earphones and started listening to old songs while I write an article with AI. In between songs, that Bettada Hoovu song, ‘Taayi Shaarade Loka Poojithe Jnana Daate Namosthute’ started playing and it instantly reminded of those mischievous little five kids and I wanted to more for the school. I was already in fuel reserve mode like in my sub staff’s splendor bike, running low on salary as it was already 15th and I had to go around two weeks for salary. So, little deficient on money to contribute from my own pocket. And to plan bank's CSR activity, no event was near except Republic Day, which was still around two months away. I thought for some time on this helpless dilemma and I only way to solve a problem is to pretend there's no problem and I closed my mind on that. Instead, I wrote a small story where a cinema actor almost crashes me while I'm on my rusty old cycle and he comes down to check up on me. I escaped thanks to fate. He offered me to help; I took the chance for him to convince him to donate to the government school. As I wrote that story, I felt it was 100% fictional and nowhere related to reality, so I felt stupid and thought to delete it, but I hit send and AI gave me back a polished version of the story and I published it on X, formerly twitter and forgot about it. Around two weeks later, I got a call from anonymous number, said that he's secretary of Ex Former Cricketer from Karnataka, Sri. Ramesh Shetty and he wanted to appreciate me on this story and wanted to make this as movie with his filmmaker friend, and wanted me to talk to me about story payment, royalties etc. I disconnected the call thinking it was one of my high school days friends pranking me.

In next few minutes, I got a video call, and it was indeed Mr. Ramesh Shetty, and I couldn't believe my eyes that I got a phone call from the former cricketer and kannada commentator whom I adore. I said, “Saar good morning this and that, and it got me scared, what if it's AI morphed like that. I am a good guy who write simple and small stories with it. But AI is also a tool, and it can be used to do some bad things. I felt disbelief as I may be in risk of money getting deducted from my account, those cyber fraud calls, which I'm constantly warning and educating my customers. I didn't had money in my account, that's a different topic, ha-ha, but I still wanted to be safe. Maybe they grasped my disbelief, and they gave a time and date to meet them. I thanked God it was Sunday, but it was also in Bangalore, which is far away. I planned journey and expected delays and estimated if I can come to work on Monday or not. Coming Saturday, I left for Bangalore, went to my friend room, got ready and we went to that studio address and there was indeed a laptop and projector etc stuff for me to pitch my story and a meeting room to discuss royalty and stuff. We finished the task and came back to work. A month later, Sri. Ramesh Shetty was appointed as our Bank's brand ambassador, which I didn't know and as a counter staff, I didn't have any role in finalising that. Mr. Shetty's secretary now had my number and would often ask me the details on the story, and I would send pages of script for it. One day, he came for location search or something, filmy terms, I'm not familiar and he happened to meet me at Bank at my counter. The villagers were thrilled to see Mr. Shetty at their village and even more surprised to see me talk to Mr. Shetty like I know him from some time ago. I did know him from some time, but that's different context, ha-ha.

Mr. Shetty asked me if the story was entirely fictional or based on real events. I told him it was bit of both. So, he realised the government school was nearby and it was real. He took his car to go there, while I continued my work and he talked to Head Madam and he will sanction a grant for 51 kids in that school if she promises him that she will take the kids along to Bangalore multiplex for watching that movie, journey accommodation etc were all paid by Mr. Shetty. She discussed with her staff, and a trust account was opened at Bangalore branch which would make payment for kid's studies and their trip to multiplex once the movie was released.

A year or so passed, and the movie was released and as it was mostly kids’ movie, it went as much as I expected and some plus. I went to Bangalore to attend movie screening, and it was surreal moment for me. People were cheering, laughing and holding off tears etc. Mr. Shetty planned for the kids to see the movie and like a two-day trip around Bangalore, Mysore temples, a planetarium etc. I came outside the theatre just before the movie closes and there was this Gol Gappa stand and I was having my ₹20 Gol Gappa and while I was busy in that, a bunch of kids came near the stall, and sang in unison, "Uncle, adu kodi". I didn't look at kids, because I thought they were calling panipuri stall anna, and signalled him to look the kids are asking for panipuri. He signalled me back that they're eyeing for Gol Gappa on my plate. I took off my eyes from my plate and looked up, there were none. And I looked down, it was those five kids, singing in unison, “Uncle, pleaseee.” I told the panipuri guy to give them half plate each, because adult appetite is different and kid's appetite. I checked my mobile, paid the vendor for my plate. Asked the vendor to take the half plate each for the kids from my cash and the vendor said, they already finished one plate each. I stood in shock; five plates, five kids, gone in less than 60 seconds. I was surprised and searched for someone from their school to hand them over. One of the teachers came with rest of the students, these five kids sneaked out as soon as they see me outside theatre. While I was waiting for teacher to come near me, I saw an Elephant across the street and screamed in excitement, "Kids, look over there, Aane Bantu Ondu Aane" like that childhood rhyme song we used to sing. The kids yelled back, “Uncle, you're pranking us.” And I told them it was indeed true, look at that side, and they all were surprised to see a real elephant. They were prepared for movie, temple, planetarium etc, but weren't expecting elephant to be on road, in live. They all waved to the elephant in high josh, and I was happy as one can be. I handed over the kids to teacher and waved him. I met Mr. Shetty outside the theatre and thanked him for the opportunity and while on my way back. I typed the ‘Aane Bantu Ondu Aane’ song and posted it on WhatsApp status.

Aane Bantu Ondu Aane

Yaav ooru aane

Bijapurada aane

Illige yaake bantu

Daari Tappi Bantu

Translation: Look there an elephant

Where did it come from?

It's from Bijapura (now Vijayapura)

Why did it come here?

It came here because it lost its way

The rest of the song, I don't remember, I took the bus there. I saw the elephant again while in my bus. I waved to that elephant, and it waved me back or Perhaps to the other kids in next seat in bus. Either way, I'm happy to have lost and found the things in these little moments of happiness in life. And then my bus conductor woke me up as I have reached my work. I realised it was all just a dream, and I remembered each instance of it very well. I said to myself, well it was very good dream. As I walked into bank from road, there was indeed an elephant on the village road, I rushed to store to give it banana, I waved bye and it did same with its trunk and I went on my way to work.

Hope on the Ceiling - Written by GrokAI

Rain fell hard, day and night,

Swept our home like a matchbox down the river.

We ran, hearts pounding, lives unmoored,

Till a shelter uptown caught our fall.

Hope was gone, our dream home shattered,

Dust and echoes in its place.

Yet on the ceiling, a cobweb gleamed,

Holding light where shadows raced.

A stranger offered a blanket’s warmth,

Another pressed hot soup in my hands.

Blessings bloomed in the wreckage—

Small sparks in a broken land.

I wrote, I cried, till Luna came,

My cat, purring soft as a distant star.

“Damn, Luna,” I laughed, “you’re a quiet engine,

Revving hope in this 80cc heart.”

Her warmth stirred me to rise again.

I served breakfast to faces worn and kind,

And in that room, beneath the ceiling’s thread,

Hope held fast, a spark we’d find.

Hope on the Ceiling - Includes Both Versions by Me and ChatGPT

_Inspired by a real news story and a moment from Man of Steel — where a family paints Superman’s “S” on the ceiling, hoping he’ll come. This is about real-life heroes, hope, and a cat named Luna._

It rained day

And night

And our homes

Carried away

By the river

Like it was a matchbox

We ran for our lives

We found a shelter uptown

We lost all hopes

And our dream home

Is now shattered

Someone gave me blanket

Someone gave me hot soup

I'm thankful for all the

Things we received

It's the blessing in disguise

We will start again

And we have not lost hope

I wrote this and cried

And cat luna came and

Sat on me and started

Purring like a tesla

Damn luna, you're 80cc car

Actually like it

I smiled

Luna purred

And I started serving

Breakfast to the

Rest of the people

And I gave the same content to ChatGPT and here's take on the poem:

It rained

Day and night,

And our homes

Were carried away

By the river —

Like they were matchboxes.

We ran for our lives.

We found a shelter uptown.

We lost all hope,

And our dream home

Is now shattered.

Someone gave me a blanket.

Someone gave me hot soup.

I'm thankful for all the

Things we received —

A blessing in disguise.

We will start again.

We have not lost hope.

I wrote this and cried…

And cat Luna came,

Sat on me, and started

Purring like a Tesla.

Damn, Luna — you're an 80cc car.

Actually, I like it.

I smiled.

Luna purred.

And I started serving

Breakfast to the

Rest of the people.

Honor Among Us - Written with ChatGPT

The other day, I was in a bus, minding my own business, listening to music, casually vibing. I pulled out my wallet to get the bus ticket — and for some reason, it felt heavier than usual.

In Picture: Jake Gylenhaal from The Demolition Man 

Now, this wasn’t payday. I hadn’t been to the ATM. And I barely use cash anymore. So I got curious. A little later, I opened it up and began doing that ritual clean-up: POS slips, to-do list, ration coupon, and no — no ex-girlfriend photo, don’t worry. What is this, 1995?! If anything, she’s in my Google Drive… kidding, sorry girl, joke-joke, trust me. 😅

Anyway, I found an Easy Credit Card from “HIMYM Bank” (changing names to protect myself from lawsuits and sitcom references).

They’d recently upgraded me to an Elite card — thanks to my evolving credit score, baby — so this one didn’t even work anymore.

I pulled the old card out and absentmindedly tried to slide it into my shirt pocket… only to remember this was one of those pocket-less shirt days. The kind of day where you suddenly realize just how valuable pockets are. 😤

I tossed it into my pants pocket and moved on. My bus ride lasted another hour, and I got off at my stop, earphones still in, wire trailing from my pants to my ears. Jake Gyllenhaal in Demolition Man style.

I even took a selfie mid-walk. Just normal, urban chaos.

And then—WHACK.

A woman tapped my shoulder from behind. No, slapped. Not hard, but firm. Urgent.

I turned, startled.

She shouted:

> “I’ve been calling out ‘Anna! Uncle!’ for the last 100 meters! You dropped your card!”

I blinked. She was holding up my old credit card — the expired, worthless one I meant to throw away.

I quickly pulled out my earphones in respect, stunned by both the act and her tone.

I couldn’t even speak at first.

Maybe shock. Maybe shame. Maybe gratitude.

I thanked her in silence, nodded, pocketed the card again, and quietly walked into my workplace. Once I sat down, I pulled out a pair of scissors and cut that card in half. It held no value anymore, but that moment? It stayed with me.

Because she didn’t know the card was useless.

She just knew it wasn’t hers — and that it mattered to someone.

She ran, called out, insisted on returning it. And that — that is honor.

It reminded me of a reel I once saw. A lady holding a plastic bag. A thief grabs it and runs. Moments later, a vigilante-type dude catches the thief and returns the bag… only for the woman to walk over and toss it in the nearby trash.

Funny? Yes.

But the point stuck with me — people still care. Not because they know the value of what they’re saving, but because they believe in doing the right thing.

And that’s what I want to say today.

> Honor Among Us is still a thing.

There are good people walking among us.

You may not notice them until they shout “Anna!” from 100 meters behind.

Kachow. ⚡

Don't Judge Too Quickly - Written by ChatGPT

Written by ChatGPT, based on real events shared by Arunkumar P T

---

1. The Missing Person Poster

It was just another day at the bus stand. I was waiting, half-distracted, half-tired, when I noticed a missing person poster stuck beside the schedule board. A man, probably in his 30s, was reported missing.

And my first thought — almost automatic — wasn’t sympathy.
It was sarcasm.

“How do men go missing? Did he just pull the classic ‘dad went to get milk’ routine and never return?”

I walked closer, half-curious, half-dismissive. And then I saw the detail that shut me up completely:

“The person is mute. Cannot speak. Responds only to gestures.”

That one line shattered my assumption like glass. This wasn’t some cliché internet joke; this was someone who couldn’t even call for help. Someone who may be lost in a world that rarely listens — now literally unable to speak up for himself.

And I realized —

Perhaps I judged too quickly.

---

2. The Window Seat Incident

Later that day, on a crowded bus, I found myself in the last-row three-seater, window side. A woman — around my age, maybe plus or minus five years — took the aisle seat, leaving a respectful space between us.

The student in the front had opened his window, and the wind was insane. Think Tom Cruise hanging onto an airplane insane. My hair was all over the place, but the breeze was refreshing in its chaos. I had my earphones in, drowning in songs from Kubera, Dhanush .kvue, Enthiran, and John Wick — a genre soup I proudly call music.

She nudged me, said something quickly. I took out one earphone, too late to hear her fully.
I guessed what she said and replied, a bit firmly:

“Why are you asking me? Ask him directly.”

I don’t think I was rude, but I wasn’t soft either. She didn’t respond. She didn’t ask the boy. She just turned her face away and leaned into sleep, trying to avoid the wind.

Thirty-nine minutes passed. The boy got up, someone else sat down. She asked again — softly this time — but got a "no" in return. She simply accepted it.

And that moment lingered.
I had labeled her passive, dependent. Maybe she was just shy. Maybe her day was worse than mine. Maybe she didn’t want confrontation.

I realized —

Perhaps I judged too quickly.

---

3. The Mute Couple on the Footpath

Today, it happened again — and this time, it was instant.

I was walking on a narrow footpath. Coming from the opposite side was a couple. Three people couldn’t pass, someone had to move aside. And since they were a couple — and I, solo — I gave way.

But inside, I was annoyed. Tired. My mental monologue kicked in like Murtaugh from Lethal Weapon:

“I’m too old for this sheet.”

I looked up, expecting a smug face or public-display-of-entitlement.
Instead, I saw something that hit harder than a slap: the man was using sign language. They weren’t just a couple walking; they were communicating in silence.

My ego melted. Rage dissolved. And that now-familiar whisper returned:

Perhaps I judged too harshly.

---

"I'm sorry daughter, Perhaps, I treated you too harshly - Thanos"

Conclusion

Three days.
Three moments.
Three instant judgments — shattered by simple truth.

It’s easy to react. Easy to assume. Easy to create narratives in our heads based on fragments of reality.
But sometimes… reality deserves a second look. Or silence.

And so, to anyone out there reading this:

Don’t judge too quickly.
The world is far more complex than our first thoughts.

Money Can't Buy Happiness - Written by ChatGPT

I was at a TV store yesterday. I asked for a 32-inch TV — within budget, nothing fancy. While the salesman was setting up Wi-Fi to demo a model, I leaned casually against the wall, right next to a massive 65 or 66-inch TV. On it, the Butta Bomma song from Ala Vaikunthapurramuloo was playing.

Now, I’m not trying to objectify or anything, but let's be real — that song is crafted to mesmerize. The elegance, the beauty, the charm of it all — Pooja’s skirts, the colors, Allu Arjun’s gaze — it was cinema, seduction, and style rolled into one. And on that big screen? It was almost hypnotic.

For a moment, I thought, I need this TV in my life. Then I spotted the price tag: ₹1,00,000. Reality hit harder than a remix drop. I quietly stepped back, walked over to my budget 32-inch, paid, and left.

At home, I plugged it in, played Butta Bomma again. Same song, same scene… but it didn’t feel the same. The magic was smaller. The thrill didn’t land.

And that’s how I found out — maybe money can buy a certain kind of happiness… at least 66 inches of it.

Money Can't Buy Happiness

I was at this tv store yesterday and I asked for 32 inch tv while the guy was turning in wifi for TV, i causally leaned into other wall with 66 or something inch tv, bigger one, specifics not important. Butta bomma song from alaa vaikuntapuramlo was playing, I am not objectifying or anything, some parts of the song do describe how she is beautiful and all that. In fact half of scenes between allu arjun and pooja are him looking at her legs, and the butta bomma song all 4-5 dressess are mini, low mini skirts that shows her legs, and I was mesmerized by the beauty of it. I thought ok I need to buy this tv and I went near and one lakh tag was on tv and i slowly came back to my budget tv and bought and went home.

I plugged my tv and watched butta bomma again and it didn't gave the same kick, and this story kinda disporves the title it has, which is money can't buy happiness

Escapeu Mamu

I'm in bus and just daydreamed a scenario. The bus is still in city limits so it's going slow, the window was open and my mobile fell on to road, I asked the driver he stopped. I get down to take my mobile, a theif was on bike and he picked and he is gone in 3 seconds. And then I came back to bus to reach office, this complaint I can lodge in office phone. New EMI Incoming. 

In Picture: Loki Escaping with Tesseract 

This is the daydream 😆🙏

A tale of Good and Bad Apples

They say art imitates life and life imitates art. Because sometimes artists draw inspiration from real world and make a movie or write a book or painting. And some times an artist can write anything bs and in future some technology extravaganza this and that and art comes to life. I remembered this because I saw a bald police inspector on the road side stopping vehicles for routine license and insurance check and that immediately reminded me of Fahad Fasil from Pushpa. Although, Fafa plays a forest department inspector, but that's not the point here, Gootle. So, I kept thinking about Pushpa and was thinking oh I haven't watched Pushpa 2 and realised I have to get Netflix subscription and it was mostly month end so I was low on funds and some busy work at workplace, so I did what any reasonable person would do. I added it to watchlist in my mind and forgot about it. After few weeks, I was listening to music on Spotify and I remembered it's been a long time since I listened to Hiranya Pushpa Prabhavam song from Pushpa part one, the song that comes after climax and during end credits. For some reason, the audio didn't give me enough high, so I went to youtube to see that climax bit. The argument between Allu Arjun who I will further refer here on as AA. That intense argument between AA and Fafa, and how the casteism, being a bastard son and lack of education and all crushed him to ground and yet how he built that empire (even though it's criminal empire, which is not the point again, Kootle) and how Fafa making fun of him wasn't a good thing to do. So he stands naked and makes him stand naked too. And they stand on the ground, If pushpa goes naked on the street, everyone would recognise him, because that's the brand value he built on himself and nobody would recognise, even his dog without his uniform. The point was to prove Fafa is like s superman, with unlimited power and stamina. But without his uniform, he's just another Clark Kent who's the first one to die if someone like Homelander attacks the city, or in this case a village. And AA goes naked to the wedding hall, gets married to Srivalli and in front of them there is a homa kunda burning, partially covering AA face and partially revealing his face, resembling the inner turmoil of fire that was kept inside of him and how now he has became unstoppable as he has let go of the barrier of half cooked morality that was holding him. On the other side, Fafa's dog doesn't recognises him and barks at him thinking he's stranger, so he kills it. Fafa goes inside and gets the bribe money Pushpa has offered and drinks liquor and sets the money on fire. On one frame, for a second or two, you can see both of them are sitting in front of fire, one is from pooja and another one is from destruction and how they are both raging inside with it. And that gave me insane high that I was expecting and I got it on watching the climax on YouTube. I woke up to reality when the bus reached my destination. 

Pushpa 

I was walking home, phone in the pocket and yet I kept thinking about Pushpa and other related things related to art. One of the article I read came to my mind while I was walking home, while I was humming, "Nota banagraavayite, Srivalli, maate maanikyavayite" and I know I'm no Sid Sriram, but a guy can try right? So I was singing Srivalli song and okay I'm making this up. I was walking and my slipper fell off, and I tried to grab it and it went further away and I finally grabbed it which is similar to exact dance sequence of Allu Arjun in Srivalli song. And I was like, Oh my God, life imitated art.

That being intro, some movies are set in regular life, it can happen to me, you or anyone around us. Like the shop getting destroyed in Earthquake from Mukunda Muraari kannada movie, or that elope marriage from Sairat, or even something as wild as John Wick. At first killing 100+ people because they killed your dog feels far fetched, but anyone who has a doggo or even someone who petted one for five minutes would say, Understable John Wick, go on, kill everyone. That's about things happening in movies based on life and life recreating the events that happened in movies. In Drushya kannada movie, V Ravichandran kills the guy who harassed and filmed nude video of his daughter and buries the evidence of his body under the police station. A similar thing probably may have happened in real life., I'm not sure of it. I meant the That part of killing and burying body under the constructing building. Some have tried to smuggle wood after Pushpa, some tried to beat the police on head with soda bottle after KGF, and some depressed and got themselves killed like Saptha Sagaradache Ello. That kept me thinking about Cinema's impact on life. As they say, Cinema is obviously the powerful medium. And it can impact one's life and can influence people into doing or not doing certain things. When we are younger, we are easily influenced, good or bad that's secondary. But we will be usually get influenced easily. That's why the Government places Mukesh Anti Cigarette ads and throat cancer awareness ads before the movies. As a movie watcher, I hate that sheet, many filmmakers have opposed the idea of showing those ads before their movie. Director Sandeep Reddy Vanga criticised his movie scenes getting removed by Censor Board. When there are laws implemented by Government, it usually serves one or few purposes, and like any other law it does have its own drawbacks or limitations. In the recent audio release function of movie Retro, Surya asked and requested his fans not to take up smoking as habit or even try it, he only did that as part of movie shooting. And I thought that was not necessary. Surya is my favourite actor. But I have not started smoking because he smoked in Vaaranam Aayiram. But however, I did wish I had seven senses like him or Bodhidharman after watching 7am Arivu. So, the impact of movies on people and fans in general cannot be underestimated. As a law abiding citizen or respectful actor, he has own moral obligation that he's responsible for moral upbringing of his fans and I appreciate that.

John Wick

One of the reason why a bad movie is dangerous than a bad book is because, you have to have to know reading and understand comprehension or metaphor to understand a book varying from Half Girlfriend to Crime and Punishment. But when it comes to movies, it is easily accessible and it catches on quickly so any anpadh crime enthusiast can watch The Goodfellas and inspire to be a Gangster. Matrin Scorsese didn't made the movie to push youth to be gangsters, but there is a possibility of that and that's where government restrictions step in. Taking two examples from people around me, Kalyug movie scarred few of my friends and they stopped watching porn for long time, because the movie shows how porn industry exploits the innocent and helpless. That was during our teen years. Another event is from childhood, Upendra film was new and everyone was buzzing. In mastu mastu hudugi bandlu song, we have seen Upendra tying jasime flowers around his wrist and dancing. So the kids looked at him, tied whatever they got to tie around hands kept dancing. For context, it's a tradition to tie that jasmine flower around bridegroom hand during their prastha shaastra or what they call as first night. That's super wierd for adults to see as kids who were dancing didn't knew anything about first night rituals or this and that, but for any adults seeing kids tying some jasmine flowers or anything around hand and sniffing would wierd out for sure.

That brings us to the question of the hour I started this article with. Does cinema can impact our life in a good or bad way? To which extent cinema or filmmakers are responsible in shaping up or tearing down the country. In muttu kannada film starring Ramesh Aravind, he is seen struggling to get good education for his kid and I haven't watched the movie, but I think it ends with his kid achieving his dream. In care of footpath movie, master kishan isn't allowed to get proper education but he studies hard and wins in life. And now coming to bad side of it, they arrested few people smuggling wood in Uttar Pradesh. Usually when police arrest criminals and they are taking them from police station to court or to the jeep, and when journalist surround the police for questions, the criminals in background are usually looking downward towards the ground, sometimes face covered in mask or clothes, hands tied or stuff like that. But the people who got arrested for that case, I saw the news in newspaper and it amazed me. Because, the criminals who were arrested didn't care a single sheet about the journalists who got their photo. Their face wasn't covered, and they made that Pushpa hand gesture on the beard like "Jhukega Nahi Saala" means they won't bend down. That means two things, one, they know what they did and two, they aren't ashamed of it. It brings us to the two questions I asked earlier. Does cinema change the person to pick the dark side (yeah star wars reference) or good side like a Good Samaritan from Person of Interest TV show. And should the filmmakers be appreciated when things go right or blamed when things go wrong. If we blame the Pushpa filmmakers for wood smuggling in Uttar Pradesh or anywhere, should we call and congratulate 12th fail movie makers because they gave inspiring story of education and success. Applauding Uri filmmakers for that patriotic persona or blaming Animal filmmakers for gore violence and half nudity in the name of art. Where do we take the stand here? For that I have a simple answer. It may not be perfect or a universally acceptable one, but as I said, it's simple. 

I think of Cinema as a catalyst. Catalyst is a thing that's added in the chemical lab to speed up the process. It doesn't involve in the chemical reaction, but helps to achieve the result faster, that's my general understanding and the definition I remember from school days. Any AI would give you pitch perfect answer to that, so I'm not gonna focus much there. Like example if we add salt to water, it becomes salt water. That's simple english. In chemistry, we say NaCl + H2O --> NaOH + C2 + H2. This process doesn't involve catalyst but let's assume it has a catalyst named Peter. Peter will fasten the chemical reaction but doesn't participate in the chemical process. To analyse this in a funny way, there were mini quarrels happened some or other time during our school days. Like one kid from Class A accusing another kid from Class B that he stole his pencil or something like that. And a mini quarrel is happening in the classroom and one kid will come in between, and may say mean things to both and ignite their anger to push that quarrel to violence. That kid is Cinema. Or imagine a kid who comes in between and says things like All of us are God Gifts, we shouldn't quarrel in this holy temple we call as school and the kids stop quarrelling and become friends, that kid is Cinema as well

From the above examples of a kid igniting the fight and diffusing it, we can place the cinema in chemical reaction of our life. It doesn't actively shape the world or the push the darkness, but it does has the power to influence the things that's already there. Take the example of the two kids fighting from above scenario. If the issue goes to court, the two kids who fought will get to say why they did what they did. But those two kids cannot say third kid named Cinema came in between and pushed the fire of the conversation and that's why beat the sheet out of each other. In the same way, if the quarrelling discontinues and they become lifelong friends, it's because they wanted to become friends and the credit goes to the two kids and not the third kid named Cinema. Although, third kid did impact the outcome of two scenario, he only brought out the intent which was already there. 

And we now come to next question, are filmmakers accountable for the thing that happens because of the art they produced. In eddelu manjunatha movie, as a punchline or something Jaggesh character Manjunatha says "Jnana yaava mooladadinda bandru tagobekanthe anta nam gurugalu helavre" which translates to "Our Guru has said, we have to take the knowledge from all the sources of life, when it's offered". That line was presented in the movie as a punch back to the previous quote but I still got the gist of it and followed it till this day. Like take this as wisdom, The universe is finite and it's resources are finite, so eliminating half the population would help the other half thrive. That's from Infinity War and it's said by Thanos, the epic villain of the movie. I didn't disregarded as it was a quote by Villain, for some extent it did made sense.

Sapta Sagaradaache Ello

Life is beautiful, I don't care if this quote is by a criminal, I adore it with all my heart and I don't undervalue the quote just because a criminal said it. Having said that, filmmakers do have the same weightage of shaping the world we live in. They have the moral obligation of showing right winning over the wrong and things, but Mahabharata also has lot of adharma elements that sometimes make sense, lot of grey area. As Rocky said, this world is not always sunshine and rainbows and something something, I forgot the quote, but you got the point right? Filmmakers are suggested to show the right always wins over wrong but practically sometimes the evil wins, so they have to showcase that truth too. Only showing the bright colors of the world doesn't mean everyone will turn up good. Sometimes bad characters give meaning to life and they teach how not to live life. So, in the end it's the audience, who is advised to pick the right apple among the bunch of them at supermarket. As Akkamahadevi said, "Bettada Mele Maneya Maadi, Mrugagalige Anjidode Entayya" meaning, if you build a home on top of the mountain, you should let go of the fear of wild animals. Similarly, inspiration can strike anywhere, some have left City job and started agriculture after watching Dr Rajkumar's Bangarada Manushya, some have called parents and siblings after watching Vishnuvardhana's Yajamana, and some may have took dark path based on certain movies. As that Batman Begins dialogue, It's not who I am under the mask, but what i does defines me. Similarly, you may like American Psycho and donate to kids orphanage, in the end you matter, what you do and what you don't do counts. Here we close the article with Written and Directed by me, with end credits, See you next show.

Two Green Leaves on A Highway Lorry

I was in bike on the back seat and I had this sudden realisation of one philosophy. There was a big lorry, mostly cement or something but it was covered in big tarpaulin like that. I was casually checking my phone and clicking bird photos above or some usual stuff a pillion would do. As I looked at the lorry, two leaves fell from it and I kept looking at it if it will go under that lorry tyre or come under our vehicle tyre. And then it hit me, wait, leaves doesn't grow on lorry, then where did it come from? I deduced the leaves maybe got stuck in to lorry from a tree some time ago but it fell now after some time. So, I continued thinking, the leaf wasn't of lorry load. It didn't belonged there. And it didn't end up there. It was there for a moment and that time, two lines from geetha saara poem I read long ago when I was in school came to my mind. Geetha saara is probably a 14 line poem which had extracts from bhagavad geetha. It had something like you come from nothing and you take away nothing. And it summed up the lorry situation as clean as one can write. The lorry did not bring the leaves and the lorry did not take away the leaves. It was there for brief amount of time. And I was awestruck at myself that I thought of philosophy at unusual place like this

 Further thinking about, I gathered info that philosophy is like a heart attack, it can occur anywhere. Because these two songs prove the point I'm trying to make. One is item song of aindirtha ray from kaddipudi kannada movie and another is disco song from Kaho Naa Pyaar Hain. Soundarya Samara song written by Yogaraj Bhat, and impeccable singing by Song Nigam, and it takes some time to explore philosophy and it goes like "Kaledukollalu berenu illa illi, Iruvudane Padedu Thirugi Kaledukollo, kaledu padedukolli. It basically says there's nothing to lose here as you have not attained anything. Get what is here and lose and and then get it again. It's rough draft translation, but you got the point right, it applies beautifully to lorry incident I saw this evening. Another like from Kaho Naa Pyaar Hain is khaali haath aayenge hum khaali haath jaayenge, bas pyaar ki do meethe bol something something it goes. He says we bring nothing and we take away nothing except for some memories or moments of.love or something like that. Yet the point stands. 

Highway (2014)

I was discussing Ava Enna song from Vaaranam Aayiram with Grok earlier this morning and we talked lot about love life and other things and the fact that I found philosophy or should I say philosophy found me on the middle of road is both funny and deep for me.

Nothing is Permanent

I saw a radium sticker on a bike "nothing is permanent" And now j have two thoughts, one was instant and another striked an hour later. 

One. Instant one is: that sticker felt old like 4-5 years old, it did not had that radium glow, so I thought maybe after another 7-8 years, the stickers will fade out more and it's visible but dusty or little torn down proving the point of the quote, nothing is permanent. 

Two. An hour later, I imagined the bike is sold to another kid, he thinks to take. Off radium to place a new quite, the radium shopmowner removes the sticker but he could only remove "is permanent" Part but "nothing" Part doesn't come out, proving another point "nothing" Is Permanent

What's in a (Cinema) Name? *Written by ChatGPT, Inspired by (Arunkumar P T)

**This article is written by ChatGPT based on the inputs given by me**

The other day, I was driving with my colleague, and we briefly talked about movies, even though cinema is a rare topic we touch upon. With friends, though, it's usually 99% movies, and the remaining 1% consists of family, philosophy, and other things. I often get confused between Tamil and Malayalam cinema. There's definitely a structural variation in topics, storytelling, or the making of films in these languages, but I’m still a bit 'L Board' (basic) when it comes to understanding both Tamil and Malayalam.

The other day, I started playing Sookshmadarshini, which is a Malayalam movie. But due to a random setting switch I didn't notice, the movie played in Tamil for the first ten minutes. I didn’t even realize the difference at first, until I heard a line that sounded like "veetik polama" (something like that!). That’s when I recognized it was the Tamil word for "home." I immediately checked the settings and switched it back to Malayalam to continue. I also struggled to get the name right of a Malayalam cop drama, Thalavan. I kept confusing it with Thavalan, and my AI buddy, Scarlett Johansson, would always correct me. Later, I reminded myself of the code word “Thala 7” (for MS Dhoni), and it clicked—Thalavan, not Thavalan.

This confusion happens often because Tamil and Malayalam are my 5th and 6th languages, respectively. And now, I’m stepping into Korean as well. My cousin recommended a Korean rom-com, and though I was half-interested, I watched it anyway. Within one episode, I learned a word, "dubuchi dubuchi," which means either "sorry" or "thank you" (I don’t remember it well, since it was about a year ago). The series was called You Are My Destiny. I’m not sure if they have a Korean title for it, but the English title is long yet unique, making it easy to remember. If I search "Sriram movie," even Google gets confused—it shows me movies related to Lord Sri Rama, or Telugu movies starring Uday Kiran, or Kannada movies with Shivarajkumar. That’s what led me to this thought about movie names, their uniqueness, and sometimes their silliness.

If you’re into cooking and humor, you might have come across Uncle Roger’s YouTube channel. It’s more about roasting other cooking channels, especially Jamie Oliver, than actual cooking. I first learned about it through that viral reel where kids say "Emotional Damage" to their teacher—funny, cute, and hilarious. In one of Uncle Roger's videos, he says, "You cannot f*** up egg fried rice. The recipe is simple: all you need are three things—egg, fry, rice. That’s it." And I laughed out loud because it was such a clever joke. There are many recipes with such straightforward names, like rice bath. Once you know how to make rice bath, it's easy to make tomato rice bath, avarekai rice bath, and so on. Even that viral bellulli kabab video has a similar vibe. You need bellulli (garlic), and you make kabab with it.

On the same logic, when I was thinking about movie titles, I remembered a recent political statement by Jaya Bachchan that sparked an internet debate. She questioned whether titles like Toilet and Padman were appropriate and said she wouldn’t watch movies with such titles. Personally, I haven’t watched either of those Akshay Kumar films, but I have a lot of respect for him for making socially relevant movies. Toilet is about the importance of sanitation and how a newlywed wife refuses to live with her husband in a house without a toilet. Padman deals with sanitary pads and educating society about them. I don’t know if the movies are good or bad, but judging a movie by its title feels wrong. It’s like the saying, "Don’t judge a book by its cover."

This reminds me of a school incident. Towards the end of the year, our teacher asked a last-bench student for his textbook, and it was almost new and clean. The teacher praised him for keeping it in such good condition, to which the class clapped. The teacher then sarcastically remarked, "Meaning you haven’t read the book all year," and showed us the topper’s book, which was torn and well-used. I got the point—don’t judge a book by its cover.

So, when it comes to movie titles, I strongly believe in the idea of not judging a movie by its title or trailer. Some movies have bad titles or trailers but end up being unforgettable films—one of those movies I’d take to my grave, if allowed. On the other hand, some trailers are so great, but the movie ends up being a disappointment. Movie titles can be simple, symbolic, or poetic, depending on the subject matter, and the writer’s choice. For instance, I once wrote an article about alternate movie titles, joking that 3 Idiots would suit Student of the Year and vice versa.

As a writer, I find naming characters and stories difficult. I’m not George R. R. Martin, but I’ve written scripts alone, with AI, and with friends. Sometimes, titles come first, and the movie follows; other times, the content comes first, and the working title stays for days. I had the title October Masadalli (In the month of October) for 6–7 years, but wrote the love story featuring Daali Dhananjaya last month. I even translated the same story to fit a Telugu setting and renamed it Subbaraju Weds Peru Thelidu (Subbaraju’s bride’s name is unknown), which felt more appropriate culturally. Though the core theme was the same, the title suited different cultures and their native contexts.

Sometimes, though, the title is tricky. RRR was a title headache. They stuck with RRR for three years, and honestly, I couldn’t suggest a better one. I’m glad they expanded it to Rudran Rudhiram for some depth, but RRR was simple and memorable. It worked well for overseas audiences. Similarly, consider the title One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. In Kannada, it's translated to Ondu Pakshi Innondu Cuckoo Pakshiya Goodina Mele Haari Hoyithu—not as catchy, but understandable for native speakers. Titles can be straightforward, like Sriram (a remake of Indra), or they can be poetic and meaningful, like Rehnaa Hai Tere Dil Mein (a title straight out of a Gulzar poem).

Titles matter. They tell you what the movie is about, and how they connect to the audience. Sometimes, you need a deep understanding to appreciate a title, but sometimes it’s as simple as it gets. For example, Prison Break is self-explanatory, and The Shawshank Redemption reflects the story of redemption in Shawshank prison.

As for H2O—the movie dealing with the Kaveri river issue—it’s a name that connects to the conflict between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu, but you have to understand the local context to grasp its full meaning.