Madly In Love

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MADLY IN LOVE!

Author:

Varalotti Rengasamy

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Table of Content

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Acknowledgements:

My wife Indhu for putting up with me

Artist A.Nirmalanathan, for the cover design

Dr.Beatrice Anne D’Couto (Dr.Betty) for her priceless labour of love in editing and refining the script and

You readers for indulging me again and again

1

It was a sprawling 170 acre campus on the outskirts of Chennai. One had to travel for about an hour (assuming normal traffic conditions) on NH 45 and then take a sharp right turn to travel ona gravel road for about a kilometre to reach the place. A huge granite slab with the word PRIYAM engraved in golden letters welcomed the visitor.

The word meant love. And it was the founder’s love that manifested itself as the great centre of learning and service under that name. The campus comprised of an Old Age Home, a medical-care facility for the sick and a Post Graduate Institute of Social Sciences. The investment did not make any commercial sense. Given the kind of land and  resources that the founder had deployed to create a world-class establishment anybody else in the founder’s place would have opted for a Medical College or at least a Dental College, which would have returned the cost of investment several times over even before the first batch of admissions was completed.

The founder wanted to spread the message of love without wanting anything in return. His concern was that society was poisoned by a ruthless desire to amass wealth even at the cost of  prostituting one’s soul. Years ago there were sole-selling agents in the economic arena; but now there are soul-selling agents in the arena of life. People were being used to express one’s love for things. The present civilisation had created so much value; but somewhere down the line it had lost its values.

PRIYAM’s founder, Rajiv, was the CEO of a leading software company that earned in billions and was listed in NASDAQ apart from the Indian Stock Exchanges. The founder was worth a few thousand crores. Till about three years ago, his mission statement was crisp and clear. It consisted of only two words. Make money.

His charming wife, Priya, was in charge of a foundation which did social service of sorts. She headed the Group’s Charity Foundation which helped the sick and the poor. Working with the needy for more than a decade, Priya had gained some precious insights into the nature of people who badly needed care.

One day Priya took her husband to dinner at Le Royal Meridian and in the cosy confines of the restaurant, shared her insights with him.

You and your team are extremely focused on making money, darling.

We have to, honey. Otherwise how can I help your foundation?

No, I am not complaining. I am only suggesting that we need to shift our priorities.

I don’t get you, dear.

Your software company is doing well. Hire a CEO. Let him manage the show. You become the CEO of the Foundation. And recruit a professional team. Only then we can make some difference in the lives of people.

Impossible, dear. Charity can’t be my main business. It’s not in my genes. If you want to increase our contribution to the Foundation I’m fine with it. Do you want me to double the amount?

Priya smiled more out of exasperation than happiness.

Charity is not about money dear. You can’t eradicate poverty by distributing money. Then our Government could have distributed currency notes along with rice, palm oil and sugar under the public distribution system. We could have eradicated poverty by now. And the mighty United States could have avoided a melt-down and a sub-prime fiasco by printing more dollars.

So what do you want me to do now?

Patience, dear. Aldous Huxley once said that you can’t help the poor unless they decide to help themselves.

That means we can’t do anything. That means this Foundation work is a mere sham. I know, dear. But we have to put up on show. Otherwise we’ll get a bad press.

"Please dear. This is not your software project where you pump in more resources and accelerate the delivery. We need to invest love and Intelligence. Yes, we need to bring an extraordinary intelligence to the table if we really want to help the poor. I don’t want your money. I want your time. Your team. Your intelligence and your dedication. Above all your commitment to the cause. And your love.

"Once we have them all raising money will be a child’s play.  If you spend a major part of the day in the Foundation, I am sure it will make a difference. The software venture which you started in our garage has now grown into a huge orgnanisation worth billions of dollars. In the same way let this Foundation grow into a huge movement of love.

Let’s give education to people. Not just professional education to make them engineers and doctors or other variants of money-making machines. But real education which makes them understand amassing money is not the only objective in life. The education which teaches them that we must live to love. Let’s take care of the old and the sick. Let’s do something for the children who do not have anybody for them in this world.

My dear Priya, I suggest that you keep these fancy theories to yourself. If you want more money for your Foundation work you know you can count on me. But please leave me out of all this sentimental nonsense. Let me stick to my old fashioned theory of making money grow. And then make even more money.

My dear Rajiv, do you know that today you are worth Rs.3950 crores and still counting? You are 35 now. Let’s say you’re going to live till 75. A full forty years. Can you give me a simple plan of how you are going to spend just 1% of your total wealth?

Will buy more houses.  A villa in Rivera, France. An apartment in London. A mini palace in Scotland.

These are investments and not expenses. These will only increase your wealth. And tell me how much time you spend in your Palace, I mean your house here in Chennai? Hardly two or three days a month? So what’s the big deal of owning a palace in Scotland if you can’t even stay for a week in our home right here? You want these investments to massage your ego.

  .. .. ….

You can’t spend even a miniscule portion of what you have dear. Even assuming you spend a hundred crores on food, clothing, travel and other pleasures you’ll still have another 3,850 crores left with you. And we don’t have children.  With all the luxuries you’ll die a sad and empty man.

I don’t want to think on those lines. The going is good for me. So let it be. And please, don’t ever bring up this subject again. Tell me what can I order for you? Some champagne?

If Priya was hurt she did not show it.

She had to force a smile on her tired face. She did not speak much thereafter.

Aweek later there was crisp mail from her.

"Dear Rajiv,

I tried my best to share my dream with you. I am not talking of some damn software project, Rajiv. It is a movement of love. And if you are with me I am sure we can change the world. You have made your billions pretty early in life. And now is the time to make a difference in the life of others.

Will you please give me another chance to explain my mission, my Movement, in a manner you’ll understand... by a PowerPoint presentation? I want just twenty minutes of youe time today around 9 PM at home.

Please try to understand, Rajiv. I want to add  meaning to your glorious success. I don’t want you to be remembered as a mere money-bag.

Love,

Priya

Rajiv had just discovered that his best friend who had sat on the Board with him for the last twelve years had swindled several hundred crores of the company’s money. He was fed up with his life, his business, his work, everything. And that made him drop a mail to his wife.

Darling,

Do it in style. At the posh auditorium at our head quarters in OMR. Will be waiting for you.

Love,

Rajiv.

But the presentation never happened. Priya died in a car crash while she was driving to the auditorium. Yes, she could not make her Powerpoint presentation. But Priya’s last mail and her sudden death made a powerful presentation to Rajiv.

The tragedy sowed the seed for PRIYAM. Rajiv sold a small portion of his shares in his IT company and had started PRIYAM. He now had a vision for a thousand years and a perfect plan of action for the next hundred years. PRIYAM was expanding every day. He planned to add a School, an Arts College, a Hospital and a few shops and make the whole place in to a township. His vision was to create what he passionately called an IOL – an Island Of Love. But that would take a few hundred years more. He was now anxious to find someone who could succeed him as the head of the great Movement of Love started in his wife’s name.

The quadrangle of the PRIYAM’s campus looked like a beautiful park. There were many trees and wooden benches around each of them. The benches were designed to look as if the trees grew that way to help people sit under their shade.

Naren and Stephanie were sitting on one of the benches exchanging sweet nothings when the eagle eyes of their Professor caught them.

They were in the final year of their Masters in Social Work and were head over heels in love with each other.

Naren was tall, fair and well built. He was the only child of his parents, his father, a dentist and his mother, a Bank Manager. The love his parents showered on him found expression in his soft, vulnerable eyes. And that made the girls swarm to him. There were many girls among his friends. But Stephanie was his only girl friend.

Stephanie had a dusky complexion. She was of medium height and was on the plump side. But her aquiline nose and large black eyes were capable of launching a thousand ships while her dimpled cheeks and rosy lips could easily manage a thousand mre each.

Naren and Stephanie worked together on projects, sat together in the class, studied together and even thought together. Stephanie was overly protective of Naren. If anyone dared to hurt him well, they had had it. The soft-spoken Stephanie would become a lioness ready to devour the predator. Her parents were both Professors in a city College. She had an elder brother who was ready to give his life for his little sister at the mere drop of a hat.

What are you doing here? – Shouted the Professor, a new appointment.

He had joined PRIYAM two weeks ago and was not yet been fully oriented with the culture of the College. He had been working in a conservative College run by a conservative religious institution where a boy talking to a girl was considered a taboo, especially if it happened in a secluded place.

While Naren was a little overwhelmed to talk Stephanie talked back.

We are talking. Is that forbidden?

But you two are alone in this secluded place.

Why, do you want to join us?

And you are sitting close to each other?

I’ll also hold his hands. See..

The professor was aghast.

I can kiss him too. But I am not going to do that now.

Is it not against the rules?

Not here, Sir.

But will it not affect your studies?

Naren tops the class. And I am proud to be next to him. Do you think we can do any better?

The Professor was stumped.

I just wanted to tell you that the Guest Lecture will start in another ten minutes. The entire college is in the auditorium.

Oh My God! I completely forgot. Naren, its Dr.Keerthi, the city’s best Psychiatrist. Her lecture today is a learning module for us. Come let’s run. Thanks, Professor.

The love birds hurried away. The Professor could not take his eyes off their receding figures.

2

As Naren and Stephanie ran in to the auditorium they saw the Head of PRIYAM standing near the gate. His secretary was holding a beautiful bouquet.

Naren, that’s something unusual. I have never seen our Correspondent waiting for a guest. It happened only once when Dr.Abdul Kalam came last year for our annual Convocation. This Dr.Keerthi should be much greater than what I thought. Come let’s get in. Fast.

The air-conditioned 600-seater auditorium was packed. Naren and Stephanie could find seats only in the last but one row. But that was not a handicap. The architect who designed the auditorium had done his homework so perfectly well that even the last person sitting in the last row had a clear view of the dais. The sound engineer who designed the acoustics was no less perfect; he made sure that there was everyone in the auditorium heard every word spoken through the sophisticated public address system.

Aminute before the appointed time, Dr.Keerthi and Rajiv walked in to the hall. The entire auditorium was on its feet welcoming them with a round of applause.

Rajiv looked very handsome in his salt and pepper beard and his immaculate black suit. He had trimmed down further from what he was last year. His eyes retained the sharpness of the CEO of a leading software company though he no longer held the post. Losing one’s life partner while in the prime of one’s life would have made anyone else bitter and cynical. It made Rajiv only sharper and more focused. Priya’s legacy had made him one of the world’s richest legal heirs. The legacy was not of riches but of a mission, a burning passion to do something in the name of love, an idea of a great Movement of Love. Rajiv was not cheerful but extraordinarily peaceful – a very rare phenomenon, rarer still amongst the super rich.

But the students did not notice Rajiv. They were awe-struck by the lady accompanying him. Even the word stunning fell short of describing Dr.Keerthi. Beauty, fairness and grace and a host of other words found the best illustration in her person. When she folded her hands in a namaste the students’ applause was thunderous.

Dr.Keerthi was to address them on ‘Serving the Mentally Ill.’ She did not opt for a power-point presentation. She just spoke from her heart without the aid of a printed speech or even cue cards.

Friends, I have not come here to deliver a lecture. I am not good at it. I want to engage you in an informal conversation. Imagine we are chatting over a cup of tea in a crowded restaurant.  You can interrupt me any time to ask questions. You need not wait till the end.

A hand promptly shot up from the first row.

Oh My God! She has not even started! What happened to our guys? Stephanie was hissing to Naren.

Yes, please.

Are you married, Dr.Keerthi?

Stephanie stared daggers at the audacious second year student who had asked that question.

Come on yar! Can’t you think of anything else when you see a beautiful woman? And the idiot is putting her in a tight corner even before she has started. Let me give the fool a piece of my mind.

Wait Steph. Awkward questions like this bring out the inner beauty of the person. Let’s see how Dr.Keerthi handles that.

Keerthi flashed a disarming smile and spoke in the sweetest of words.

Why? Do you want to propose to me?

The auditorium exploded in laughter.

For the record I am not married... Anything else you want to know?

Are you in love?

JESUS! NAREN LET ME WRING THAT GUYS NECK WITH MY OWN HANDS.

Stephanie, please. Let’s see how she responds.

Keerthi was unruffled.

Yes, I am. With everything. With the sun, the moon, the stars, the  birds, the rose, the smile on the face of a child, the waves in the ocean, the colours of flowers, their fragrancea, the earthworm and the butterfly. And most importantly I am in love with all my patients.

Even Rajiv joined in the standing ovation. Dr.Keerthi had won their hearts even before she began to speak on her chosen subject.

The audience showed its admiration for the young, beautiful and smart lady by observing pin drop silence during the next thirty minutes of her speech or herinformal conversation in a crowded restaurant.

I have a very specific proposal for you. I want every one of you, the students and the teachers and the other staff, to take a vow to spend at least two hours a week with a mentally ill person. Shower your love on him or her. Who knows you may even begin the recovery process. The root cause of all mental diseases is lack of love – either the person has not given enough love or has not received enough love. So you can make a difference. And even if you can’t, the experience will at least help you manage an egotistic boss or a nagging colleague.

Or probably a hysterical wife. – shouted the boy who asked Keerthi about her marital status.

There you go. And now’s the time to ask questions. What’s your name, my friend?

Keerthi asked that boy.

Karthik.

Karthik, at least this time, don’t ask about my marriage or love relationships.

Keerthi sat down amidst a thunderous applause. A second year student who sat next to Naren shot his hand.

Doctor, you were talking about showing love to a mentally ill person. What’s the big deal, Doc? The person will never understand let alone appreciate. Instead if you show love to a leper or an AIDS victim or a cancer patient they’ll understand and be grateful for that.

Good question. Showing love to a person who does not even understand your love... Well to me that is the most sublime expression of love. Showing love only when you are sure of its appreciation is like gifting a tube light to the neighbourhood temple and have your name printed in bold letters on it so as to block the light.

The next question came from a girl doing her first year MSW.

Doctor, some mentally ill patients are violent. You have an army of trained staff to take care of them. Doctors, nurses and attendants well trained in the field. What can uninitiated students like us do for them?

"Again a good question, dear. Those of us in the field- the mental health professionals and our staff - get used to them over time. For us they are mere work. Mere statistics. We fill up some forms, write some prescriptions and make sure that violent patients are held on a leash, many times literally so. In many cases we do not have the time or attitude to show our love to them. Did you see the Tamil movie Vasool Raja MBBS? A patient in the hospital is in a vegetable state. The doctors and the professors use the patient for their study and demonstration. The hero Kamal Hasan tries his best to shower his love on him. The patient till now called as a mere IT is now given a name. He is given a haircut and a shave. At the end he is revived. We are acting like over-worked doctors in the movie. And I want you to act like heroes in real life. To see something which we can’t see."

Doctor, I Googled and found out that 5% of our population is mentally ill. That means nearly 70 million people. We are just two hundred. What big difference can we make in the lives of those people? Our contribution will be statistically insignificant.

Do you know, dear, that even historically significant movements started with a single act of a single person? A not so successful lawyer was thrown out of the first class compartment of a train in South Africa because only whites could travel by first class. He took sweet revenge by throwing the whites out of a whole country, at present the seat of the world’s largest democracy, I mean India. In case you do not know history the name of the lawyer was Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi. In 1955 a lady by name Rosa Parks refused to give her seat to a white person because the conductor told her that a black could not sit in that seat. Her refusal initiated a new era in the American quest for freedom and equality. Suppose you are given a sudden chance to travel around the world. What will you do first? Just get up from your seat and walk towards the door. Even a thousand mile journey starts with a short step. I am asking you to take that short step. That’s all.

But will my short step make a difference at all?

One day in a remote beach thousands of star fish got washed to the shore because of the tide. Many of them died. A monk sat there and threw the fish back into the sea. A soldier who was watching the spectacle laughed at him. Thousands of fish are dying. You can save only a few. What difference does that make?"

The monk caught another fish and threw it back into the sea.

"It does make a difference to this fish. The difference of life and death.

I don’t want you to start another Freedom Movement. Or a world-wide rally against injustice; invent a vaccine for AIDS or a drug for cancer. Just show your love to another person, who badly needs it. One who is mentally ill; one who can’t even recognise your love, let alone reciprocate it.

When she sat down Rajiv started a standing ovation for her. The students were amazed at the rare spectacle of extraordinary beauty and exceptional intelligence finding home in the same person. And the love in her heart gave a special meaning to her beauty and her brains.

Wasn’t she very beautiful Naren?

Stephanie was teasing him.

Yes, she surely was. But her words and her thoughts... they were far more beautiful than her appearance.

Oh!

Steph, I have an idea. Why don’t we go and meet her and volunteer for whatever services she has in her mind?

I have a better idea, Naren. We have to do a year-end project. Why don’t we two do a project together under Dr.Keerthi’s guidance? Instead of just two hours a week we can spend many days with a mentally ill person together.

Naren brightened first. And then his face fell.

It can’t happen, Steph. Do you know who the Projects Coordinator is? Professor Natarajan, the one who shouted at us an hour ago. He won’t let us do the project together. He won’t let us choose our project. I hear that he’s doling out projects on his own.

But that’s atrocious, Naren. I’ll set up a meeting with him tomorrow at 3 after our classes are over. And he’ll have one final chance to mend his ways.

Naren was taken aback by the expression of plain fury on the otherwise beautiful face of Stephanie.

Good Afternoon, Professor.

Good Afternoon. I have loads of work. So tell me what you want. Fast.

Naren was put off by Professor Natarajan’s voice. Stephanie was all smiles but seething within.

First we want to tell you what we do not want. We don’t want to be forced to do a project. Second we don’t want to be saddled with just any partner. We two want to do a project together.

For starters this is a college and not a lovers’ park where you can pair with your lover.

Sorry, professor. I can’t work with Sukumar.

I know, Miss Stephanie. I also know that you want to be with this man - Naren. And you want to spend some time with him with using the project-work as an excuse. No, I won’t allow that. For me discipline is important. And if you still want to do a project with your lover, I suggest you fall in love with Sukumar. That’s a good one, uh?

Good one? It sucks. That’s atrocious, Professor. Let’s settle the partner issue later. We don’t want that slum children education project. We want to do a project for a mentally ill patient under the guidance of Dr.Keerthi.

Rejected.

But why?

How the hell can I evaluate the project?

How can you evaluate the slum children education project, Sir?

That’s simple. You just take a survey, do a compilation and write a summary of findings. What metrics do I have to measure your work with a mentally ill person?

So you are rejecting my project because you can’t evaluate it? Because you can’t read our log sheets and our reports and assess our work? The difficulty of evaluation cannot be a reason for exclusion.

Don’t try to be smart with me, ok?

But the rule says that we have to suggest the projects. You can’t simply impose your projects on us.

You have suggested a project. To work with a mentally ill person. Well I have the power to approve the project. I am not approving your project.

Ok, then let’s think of a project involving executive stress amongst CEOs of software companies.

Rejected.

A project on the travails of women suffering from breast cancer.

Rejected.

A project on the trauma of child abuse.

REJECTED.

So...

My decision remains. You will have to the project suggested by me – education of slum children. The discussion is over. You may go.

Then we may have no choice other than to escalate this to the highest level.

Do whatever you can. Even if you succeed in getting another project I will have to evaluate it. I’ll see to it that you fail in the project. Which means you can’t qualify. Which means even if you are selected in a campus interview you can’t take up the job. Get lost, you braggart.

Naren’s face had gone pale. But Stephanie was cheerful. She held his hands and led him outside.

I’ve trapped him, Naren.

What did you do?

Did you notice that I was talking very animatedly with him gesturing with my hands? I had switched on the video camera of my mobile and have recorded the entire conversation.

Oh My God, Steph! Is that right? Aren’t we intruding into his privacy?

"Privacy, my foot. What I am doing