Random Cerebrations

The Winter

2012-01-11T18:10:00.000+05:30

Maybe I should fly south with the last flock and stay away from the winds.

Yesterday, in the middle of the night, I woke up to the sound of my windows banging in the storm. The moon stood there alone outside, caught in a tree and lost in his own thoughts. I shut the panes and did not disturb him. I took solace in the fact that he was still around, even if not necessarily waiting for me anymore.

I drew the curtains and returned to my bed. It had turned to stone – hard grey granite that offered no consolation. Maybe I should have let the windows crash on the walls and die on their own. Perhaps, the bed had a right to be vindictive.

I got up again, moved out of the house to my wilderness and went over to the lake. The night was blue and the moon lit the path and flanked it with fireflies. I went close and sat on a wet stone. The reflection was misty and the water stood still. It withdrew itself as I tried patting it. I guess it knew that I was the one seeking refuge and was not there to offer any comfort. It saw through my selfish intent and shun away.

I felt desolate, abandoned. I couldn’t think of any other place now. I would have come over to your place had I not met you earlier in the day. You no longer seemed to be the person I once knew. It was as if you had leased out your being to some new tenant. Someone else looked at me through those eyes now. It wasn’t you anymore.

I had stopped by your kitchen this morning. I wanted to fill my lungs with the smell of fresh hot bread from your oven. I wish you had spared me a loaf. I kept looking through the window as you sat and served your invitees at the table till the last crumb was wiped clean. I bit my lip and drank the little drop that oozed out of it and returned home.

Maybe it is the season, I can’t say. The trees are barren and the wind is hollow. There is ice in your smile and certainly my words don’t melt your heart any more. Your touch is layered, covered by multiple sheets of fabric & fleece yet your fingers were cold as I shook your hand. The fog made it difficult to catch your movement and I can’t really pinpoint when you actually turned around and faded into the mist. I think it was when I wiped the snow flakes off my eyes.

The winter is here finally and I think I know that it won’t go away now.

2011 Concluded !!

2011-12-31T01:30:00.001+05:30

Before I set on to write a summary of the year that went by, I read through a few posts on this blog again, primarily to take a note of the days that flew by and see how I fared over these last 12 months.

Comparing it against the accounts of the last 2 years that I had posted (‘As I Look Back’ – 2009 and ‘The 2010 diary’), this year turned out to be far more eventful than I had hoped it to be. I guess I have had my reasons to be grateful about it and so perhaps let me begin by thanking Almighty for all his graces bestowed this year. So thank you Lord for all your bounties this year. I am hoping that the coming year 2012 would be as wonderful, if not more, as the year which just flew by.

And now, for the year 2011 accounting….

BAND, BAAJA, BARAAT

This year began with a series of three important weddings in the family. With both my brother and brother-in-law and a very special cousin of my wife deciding to marry within the first few months of the year this was an year that started off with lots of shopping, sweetmeat binging and crazy travelling.

The weddings were a mix affair though since Riddhie was just too young to understand all this stuff and had her own challenges getting accustomed to the huge running about that a big fat Indian wedding involves. (Read ‘Band, Baaja, Baraat & Riddhie’ for the details).

HOME AWAY

I travelled the same day when the last formal function of the third wedding was over and it was another month and a half before I could return to get the visas for Riddhie and Priyanka processed. And finally when it happened, we realized that a major part of this year would be spent overseas and New Jersey became a home away from home for the rest of the year.

This trip became significant from more than one perspective. The experience was enriching and I guess I would return more confident both on survival instincts as well as professional standing. I took to driving this year in the US (Check Learn and Unlearn) and there were numerous incidents good and bad that helped me see life in a different light, not to mention my faith in miracles restored a bit. This incidentally became Riddhie’s first trip overseas as well and though I am sure she would not remember any of her days spent here, she would have a lot of pictures to look back and enjoy from this year.

VENTURES, ADVENTURES & EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN

As I mentioned that duration of our stay here in US so far has been flanked by incidents good and bad with a dash of of adventures included. A few things come to the fore – A nice boardwalk ride (Sky Coaster), hurricane Irene, record breaking 14 inches of snow in October, trips to Washington, Riddhie learning to walk (and eventually climb and fall off the bed ‘The Midnight Surprise’), visiting multiple places and gardens and lakes, all our birthdays and lonesome Diwali, the Black Friday shopping frenzy and finally a nice not so cold Christmas to end the year….

All in all a wholesome year.

ABOUT THE WORLD

In the other news and things which I guess affected me as a member of a larger community, this year was eventful on other grounds as well. India won the Cricket World cup and went on to become the number 1 test team in the world (though as I key this in, they have already suffered a humiliating defeat in the boxing day test match at the hands of Australia while playing down under).

Anna Hazare became the next big international news from India for a while and it gave people a reason to wear Gandhi caps again. What else, Big B became the grandfather of Baby B. Sehwag scored 219 in ODIs, Osama Bin Laden and Gaddafi were finally killed in two different circumstances and Code Name Geronimo became a widely searched term on Google….whew…

THE FLIP SIDE

Perhaps what makes this year lose its sheen is passing away of so many legends. Sathya Sai Baba, Elizabeth Taylor, MF Hussain, Shammi Kapoor, Mansoor Ali Khan Pataudi, Bhupen Hazarika, Jagjit Singh, Dev Aanand, Dennis Ritchie and Steve Jobs. I always thought I would go for a live concert of Jagjit Singh and sadly it shall always be one thing I won’t be able to strike off from “my things to do before I die” list.

THE YEAR TO COME

Not counting the Mayan prophecy, I really hope 2012 brings in better hope and more smiles for everyone. There are no new year resolutions and no elaborate plans as such for the year ahead but in good faith I am hoping that it shall be as shining as the one bidding a goodbye.

So, here’s wishing everyone a Happy New Year 2012 and may you have the best of seasons, life and love all through next year and all times to come.

What Money Can’t Buy

2011-12-23T20:30:00.000+05:30

The perfume she wore was overbearing, much like her presence after her performance was over. As she turned around, I saw her flashing the same reassuring smile to another man. It was the kind of smile that would make a man want to come back home after a hard day’s work. It had the shine of bourbon, the warmth of a blanket needed on a chilly morning and yet everything about it, was fake. Powered by the scent of fresh money, she swung her bottom and lifted her sarong again. I gulped down the last of my drinks and decided to step out.

My head was lighter and I knew it wasn’t because of the shots that I had. Perhaps, it was the realization of the fact that someone else around was more pathetic than I was. I couldn’t tell who amused me more the dancer who kept jiggling her body and thrusting herself at anyone’s face for as low as two bucks or the old silver haired lecher seated across me who kept sticking one dollar bills into the strings of her bikini in a vain attempt to grope any patch of her skin. The dancer kept swaying about the pole with the same practiced glossy red smile and I kept watching trying to figure out what hid behind that faux grin and shiny eyes.

What went behind those closed doors where neon signs and ultraviolet lights flashed patches of white skin gyrating behind loosely drawn curtains wasn’t something that I had not known or anticipated earlier. What I had not known was who I would run into behind that grimy door in a room reeking of cigar smoke and trucker’s sweat.

I had just emptied my last glass after flinging my jacket over my shoulder and was ready to leave the club when the DJ announced the next performer on the stage. It was not the name by which I knew her once but perhaps the resonance of it made me turn around to catch a glimpse. It was then that time froze. Even in that low colored light and through her patches of heavy makeup, I could recognize those eyes.

God, had I not lived through all these years dreaming about those eyes I would have never recognized them upon seeing them here in this run down gentleman’s club on the corner of 82E. Yet there she was, swinging around on the pole like a true performer, honest to her core and bare, both in her soul and her body. I stopped in my track waiting for my brain to make a decision for me. What should I do? Run away and perhaps lose all chance of seeing her again or sit down and wait for her to finish her routine and then question her on how and why she landed in this rat hole and what was her sob story?

She continued swinging to the lousy track for a while and moved on from one end of the stage to the other, shedding her itsy bitsy clothing one by one along the way. By the time she got around to the end where I was sitting she was not wearing more than a thick silver chain around her neck and her smile. She was moving along with the music and engrossed in her routine and perhaps did not realize who she was looking at, until she really sat down right in front of me to shake her bottom to get me to part with a few singles. Her eyes met mine and for a brief moment her smile eloped from her face.

My worst fear was confirmed that instant. It was her indeed. Years ago, I knew her as that coy little girl, who plaited her hair and lived across the street in front of my grandmother’s house. I would meet her often crossing the road or going down to the municipal library in the afternoons. We often exchanged smiles on such occasions, acknowledging each other’s presence from across that distance. I remember on one of these days I found her with welled up teary eyes right outside the library and for some unknown reason mustered up enough courage to go right over and ask her about her troubles. I was hoping to make myself useful somehow, prove my knighthood and rescue her from a tower maybe and I don’t know till date why I was so dejected when she said it was because she had hurt her knee after banging it with a jutting corner of a table while coming out. I was hoping it to be something more sinister, something more torturous, something which would make me cut open my chest and offer her my being. Sadly, something as trivial as that did not need any knight on a shiny white horse. So, I did the next best thing and cracked a joke about it and got her laughing with me.

The next few days saw us walking down the road together, going on bicycle rides by the river, skate along the pavements, confess our love for each other and share the first kiss of our lives. Life was all a big sugar baked episode of ‘The Wonder Years’ until one of the days her family decided to move to the States. By the time I got to know this, she was three days away from flying away to a new alien country, I had only seen in TV shows thus far.

It was hurtful and I felt cheated. She had no real reason to hide this fact from me. The day she moved away, I kept standing at my doorway fighting my urge to meet her. Finally, she went away without meeting me, without sending out a word or giving me her address. Couple of days later, I got a letter which said ‘It was good while it lasted, but it is perhaps for better that I should move on, like she had’. She wished me luck and urged me to forget her. I tore the letter up. Years went by and I forgave her. I just could not forget her and yes, I pasted the letter back and saved it between leaves of an old book.

Two decades and two failed marriages later, here I was sitting in this shoddy tramp club gulping down pale ale to while my evening away only to find her shaking her torso at fat, stinking truckers who could just put forward their arms and grope her for a dollar each.

All my love I had for her came rushing back to me and swelled in my mouth. I picked up another pint and gulped it back inside. I eased back on my chair and spread my legs. It was about time I decided that I would show the girl her place. I smiled at her and nodded. She evaded any further eye contact.

I held out a ten dollar bill and signaled her to come over to my side. For a single buck broad it was a reasonable bait. And no, she could not resist. She came by and flung open her legs and played on like girls her clan should. She lingered on doing her bit till I flung the money over her. She picked it up and stood up straight and with a practiced ease, smiled back and whispered a ‘Thank You’ before moving onto the other side again.

I couldn’t let her go like that. I had spent years and days which felt longer than all those years questioning myself if it was my fault. I couldn’t let her walk all over me again. After all she was the one who was naked not me. Right? So, I pulled out my wallet again and flashed in a twenty this time. And yes, she came over again. A twenty is usually hard to come by in such joints and I guess it didn’t matter to her anymore where it came from. She came around and moved down. A twenty entitles the person to use his hands instead of eyes to see such girls. She came in close, waiting for me to get value for my money. I kept my distance and threw the note over to her again.

I can’t say if she would have felt more humiliated had I gone ahead and become all touchy-feely with her or by the way I threw money at her with spite. But, she kind of wrapped her routine quickly after that and stepped down from the stage. As she was about to head for her room backstage, I came across and stopped her.

“How much for a lapdance princess?” I scoffed.

There was no room for pretence left any more. She was a pole dancer in a rotting pub and I was a creepy old man, alone in an alien country, on pretext of work and looking to just vent it out into some trash can. We both understood each other well. Time had peeled the old plaster off and the naked bricks were both ugly and primeval.

“Twenty”, she paused and then added 'Mister”.

“How much for a VIP treatment?” I pretended as if my wallet was bursting at seams.

“Hundred Fifty”. She quipped and proceeded to light a cigarette.

Her eyes met mine and she looked up and pierced right through me. It was a gaze that looked down upon me. She was the one who was standing there holding her underwear in her hands and I felt ashamed at my nakedness in front of her even if I had three layers of clothing over me.

And then she did the most unusual thing I ever expected. She smiled at me. The same old smile which she gave when she won an argument with me – the same smile she had on when I had seen her in front of her house the first time ever two decades ago. I quivered. Her smile had unsettled me. I didn’t know what to do.

“Do you want it?” she asked nonchalantly and pointed a finger to her bust before blowing a smoke ring on my face. I felt flushed out. I was hoping she would break down or something and cry out her story to me. Maybe there was a tragedy, maybe she was destitute and was doing it all for much needed money perhaps for an ailing parent, husband or worse a child. Her brazen behavior left me gasping for words to fall out of my mouth. Perhaps I had failed again trying to be her knight in the shining armor. Maybe I was the one who wanted to be rescued here.

“Why..?” I began my sentence but could not complete it.

“Go home, you don’t have the money to buy me.”, she added. I was surprised she could still read me that easily.

“Why..?” I tried and failed again.

She let out a sigh and then a short laugh and shook her head. “You are such a loser…”, she guffawed and waved me aside and went back inside backstage.

I stood there stupefied just like the day she had taken off, not knowing what to do again.

“Excuse me, do you have to go in?” a male voice behind me asked.

I looked back to see a short bald man looking at me with eager eyes. His hands had a few bills sticking out of them. Perhaps he was the next in line for her ‘special service’.

“No”, I replied, stepped aside and let him in.

“I don’t have the money to buy her" I muttered under my breath before taking the exit door.

The Supreme Vice

2011-12-11T06:30:00.000+05:30

“Started on a short story after ages I guess and attempting the noir for the first time. I guess I am a little rusty here. Let’s see if I can hold someone’s interest till the end.”

There was something sinister about that knife. I fell in love with it the moment I saw it. Sitting naked in its majestic glory in the show window of that antique store. It enticed me the moment I saw it. The cold smile of that piece of steel made me stop in my track and take notice almost immediately.

For a long time, I just stood there on the road looking through the glass veil that separated us. I could not help marveling at its sheen and smooth contours. If you can describe in words the glory of a violet sky accentuated by a slowly dipping orange sun into the horizon over sea, you would be able to explain the way that shining edge dipped into its handcrafted handle. Unlike any other blade I had ever seen before, this one wasn’t flat but thick and rounded in the middle, more like a well fed voluptuous harlot.

It was fascinating and mesmerizing. I could have never imagined myself driven to a trance like that by any magnificence of the world let alone by some piece of metal crafted to draw blood. I looked at the price tag attached and I couldn’t suppress my smile. It was well within my reach and I could just draw my wallet out and buy it. I moved towards the door of the shop and stopped again. It was almost as if the blade had posed me a question. Was I worthy of holding it? Did I have heart enough to wield it and hold it to my chest?

What was I thinking? It was a crazy thought. Me talking to a lifeless article sitting in a store’s display window – perhaps I was going insane. I looked at it again from the corner, right before I stepped inside the shop. There was a reflection off it, a sharp sparkle as if it winked at me seducing me towards it. “Come, own me”, it said. “Hold me in your hands and play with me. Rest me like a child on your chest. Show me around like a fresh catch and kiss me with the passion of your first love”. The knife would not stop talking.

The next few minutes were a blur. I stepped inside the store and pointed towards the dagger. The shopkeeper looked at me and let out a little scoff, as if jeering my effete existence and holding it impuissant to even lay fingers on the torso of what I wanted to buy. Nonetheless, money was exchanged and before I knew it, I was back at my place holding the silver blade in my hand.

There was something about it I could not describe in words. It was both enchanting and beguiling. For some strange reason I did not leave it at the showcase of my sitting room but carried it to my bed for the night after the dinner. It almost felt like I was sneaking in a woman inside the house for fulfilling a dark desire. As I switched off the lights and put it next to me on the bed, I felt that my pulse was rising and my heart was beating faster. It was a cold dark night in December and I could still feel the beads of sweat break over my brow. I realized the reason for my uneasiness in next few seconds.

The dagger for some reason seemed to be glowing in dark. It was emitting a pale ember fluorescent light off its handle. I moved my hand to touch it and felt a stinging pain where my hand touched it. The knife seemed to be hotter than magma, yet it seemed to sit easy on the bed without burning it or anything. And then it happened again only this time I heard it loud and clear. For all I knew the whispering of the knife was real. I could hear it talk to me. “Touch me” it said. “Feel my girth, run your fingers over me, claim me. You are the chosen one,” it continued.

A talking knife? Was it real or had I lost it already? I felt stupid mustering up all my courage to ask it back “Chosen for what”?

The blade shot back “Chosen to quench my thirst, you fool! Why do you think I called you out of the window? You have the mark. The mark of the raven and this is your destiny. Quench my thirst and seek the glory that has eluded you forever. Ignore it and remain ignoble till eternity”

“How”? It was all I could say.

“What do you think how?” it snarled. “My tongue craves human blood. Feed me what I need or I shall consume every one of your kin and clan.”

“Who are you?” I was petrified.

The knife seemed to gleam and the soft whisper it began talking with, was raised to a gruff baritone now.

“I am the vice that shall never fall. I am the thirst for human blood. I am what moves power, kingdoms and moral fabric of the society. I am the burning fuel in a spiteful brother, the vengeance in an ungrateful son. I am the greed of a gambling husband and the unsatisfied soul of a philandering wife. I am what drives sisters to spit on their families and daughters to shed their shame. I am what will exist even when nothing else would. I have and will survive all apocalypses, for I was born to drink the elixir of life itself. I have waited centuries, waged wars, wiped off races and drained valleys and wombs alike. I have travelled around the Earth several times, watched civilizations take birth and turn to ashes. I have withstood the hunger, the greed, the lust and the gluttony and I shall prevail long after your soul is lost”.

It waited a second before adding “I am your nemesis and you better pay heed.”

“No” I cried and tried to get up, but my feet wouldn’t move. The bed seemed to have sunk in and the harder I fought it, the deeper I sank. It was as if I was lying on quicksand with my limbs paralyzed. I looked at it again and the saber now seemed to inch towards me and growing in size every second. I couldn’t take it anymore. My body quivered and I lost sense of all reality around me. It was as if I was sitting in the middle of a whirlpool and my orientation and sense of direction was all lost.

It was some time before I regained some vision. I could see the walls of my room opening up and before I could realize it, I was standing at the corner of the street I lived at. It was dark and a thick fog was beginning to build up.

I was barefoot and standing in my night suit and though it must be around the freezing point, I did not feel any cold. I found the strength of my limbs returning. In fact, I felt rejuvenated. I could see my arms and thighs swell up. I had never experienced such strength. My body felt invincible as steel and yet fluid as water. My left hand seemed to be as strong as a hammer and in my right hand I was tightly clasping ‘the knife’.

My thoughts were not my own any more. I felt walking under a spell now and stopped by the wall of a house and huddled there in dark. It could have been a few minutes or a few hours, I can’t recollect how long I sat there in the same position like a rock, before I saw someone walking hurriedly by the road. The shadow passed by through the light of a lamp post and I could faintly see the face of the person who was walking towards where I sat, waiting. He was an old watchman perhaps in his mid fifties. I could not for say anything about his origin though. He was perhaps someone you would find herding sheep on a dingy hill station in the east but he walked straight and brisk.

I didn’t give him much time to think. I sprang up the moment he got within an arm’s reach and in one swift stroke of a painter, slashed his throat. He gasped and gagged and his blood gushed out. I let my face and chest soak in the warm red spray for a while. As he fell down I let the knife bite into his chest once again and let it inside his body soaking itself in into the mushy pulp he was reduced to. I wiped my face and eyes with the back of my hand and with the other pulled my weapon out of the dead watchman’s heart and kissed its wet point in reverence. The blade seemed to smile. I had fulfilled its desire and assuaged its anger.

“You did well”, It hissed. “Do as I say and I shall let you rule this world as long as you live”, it continued.

I woke up the next day with fuzzy thoughts and found myself sprawled over my bed. The night hurt badly in my veins. My limbs were cramping up and I doubled up in pain the moment I tried to get out of the bed. I looked around and did not see the knife anywhere.

Was it real that happened? Or did I just dream it all? I wasn’t drinking last night so it could not be a hangover of something. There was no sign of a struggle anywhere. I looked at my feet. They were clean. I couldn’t be running barefoot on the road, if that was the case. This gave me some hope and I felt better. With another struggle I managed to get up and move out of the bed. The bathroom was clean as well. I undressed and got into the shower. My body had no trace of any blood on me. I guess I was dreaming after all. Maybe my headache was a symptom of some other potential ailment. I could not zero it on. My thoughts were still unclear but at least the walls on my room were not moving anymore.

I moved out of the shower, made me some coffee to clear my head and came back into the room. I looked around on the bed and all around it but I could not see the knife I had bought a day before. Where did it go? I thought I had kept it next to me on the bed, yet I looked everywhere and could not trace it. I called out the servant in the house and enquired if anyone had been in the room while I was asleep.

“No sir, none”, he replied meekly.

“Did you pick anything from here? Did you clean up? Did you see a knife on the bed? Did it fall under it”? I shot out.

“No sir, nothing” he was scared now.

I dismissed him and went about searching frantically for my nocturnal tormenter all about the house for hours. Not a whisker seemed to have moved from its place and yet my prized possession was nowhere to be seen. Was it all a dream? I couldn’t have dreamt it all. I clearly had bought it. Suddenly, I wasn’t sure of anything. I had to make sure. It was almost past noon before I decided to step out of the house. I nearly ran all the way to the store and looked through the glass window as soon as I was near it.

The knife I thought I had bought a day before was sitting easy in the same show case like I had seen it. However, it had lost its sheen and the magnificence that had drawn me towards it. I kept staring at it like a hungry dog waiting for it to speak to me again. It didn’t.

I was stumped. I did not know what to believe any more. Maybe the headache in the morning was a symptom of my impending craziness, some sort of schizophrenia maybe. I didn’t know. I stood before the window and it must have been long because next I knew, the door of the shop opened and the shop keeper who I thought had sold me that knife less than 24 hours ago stepped out and tapped me on the shoulder.

I was expecting him to ask me if I needed anything or worse to shoo me away. Instead to my horror, he just smiled and said, “Thanks for the drink last night.” “Master Zode,” he said and pointed to the knife in the window, “Master Zode, was happy with you for your service. He has something for you.”

He thrust a small packet in my hand.

“This is what you need to make a down payment on the house you have been planning to buy. Keep up the good work and there would be rewards galore and don’t worry about anything. He shall guide you and protect you till the time you are honest and dutiful”. He smiled and stepped back inside before I could even say anything.

My head was in a swirl. I kept looking at the packet in my hand and back at the knife in the window. It was beginning to sink in. I dragged myself off the road and into a by-lane and walked back to my house.

As soon as I entered in I found my servant waiting for me.

“Sir, be careful when you step out for your evening walk” he said. “Someone killed the old watchman last night.”

I looked at him suspiciously waiting for him to add anything else.

He stood in silence waiting for me to acknowledge his news.

“How, how did it happen?” I stuttered.

“No idea sir. The police found the body in the morning. The throat was cut open with some weapon and his heart was ripped out. The word on the street is that perhaps someone wanted to rob that jewelry store at the end of the road and the watchman caught the gang in time. He must have fought the robbers who, while trying to escape killed the old man. Poor fellow sir, he has a school going son as well” he replied.

“Hmm...Go home and take an off tomorrow. I am unwell and would rest now” I said and let him go.

As soon as he left, I opened the closet to keep the packet I had received from the shopkeeper earlier in the day and went back to my room. It was near dark but there was a faint light on my bed. I turned the sheet over and there it was. The knife had returned.

“Brace up, we are going out tonight” it hissed. “I am just about as hungry”.

“Yes, Master Zode” I replied and flopped on the bed.

Just Something That Rhymes…

2011-12-09T06:30:00.000+05:30

There's this place,
that you can't see
where I sow & grow
what belongs to me

It keeps me alive
it keeps me sane
it helps me wade
through your pain

What lives beneath
I won't ever share
Call me a cheat
I damn don't care

Drain me all good
grind me to my bone
'nuff of your fine skin
your hair, lip & tone

your smile won't buy
coz I no more sell
you keep them charms
and I won't ever tell

you give me all words
& it's still all the same
If you need to know
I see through your game

My mind's a traitor
and my heart's not mine
you keep your world
I know I’ll be fine

I shall walk good
as soon as I can
You work your street
I am, my own man

I shall rise as I have
walked the loop before
kill me again if you want
I shall still have my core

you can't bury me yet
no matter how it knells
you keep your music
and I shall keep my hell

And The Agony Continues…

2011-11-27T07:48:00.000+05:30

I can’t believe that I am actually posting another article on Mumbai attacks. I wish I had a short lived memory like our lawmakers and judiciary and would have forgotten all about it. Sadly, I haven’t and year after year I wait for a verdict and the final justice to be delivered.

I have nothing new to say on this except that my anger and hate on this topic hasn’t subsided at all and I am still just as mad as I was last year and the year before that. Perhaps more now when I see people going berserk on their social profiles with a song that goes ‘white skin(na) girl-la, girl-la; girl-la heart blackk’ and have wiped off the memory of the attack and the butcher who still lives on well guarded and fed in our z level security jail. Tell me why not this Kolavari now?

I shall say now more but just copy and paste the same post that I made last year on the subject. Find it here or read it below and if you can spare a thought sit back and think if you can make a difference somewhere.

Another year goes by and we the tax paying population of this country are still paying for Ajmal Kasab’s bread, clothes and security.

The Indian population has a short memory span and we truly believe in the policy of forgiving and forgetting. We have already forgotten people behind the Fodder Scams, Stock Market Scams, Common Wealth Games corruption, Satyam Corporate Scam and more recently people behind LIC Housing Schemes corruption saga and we have already forgiven the Kargil war, the 2001 attack on the Parliament, the 1993 Mumbai bomb blasts, the July 11, 2006 serial blasts in Mumbai local trains, the 2008 serial bomb blasts in Delhi and I am sure many more such killings and attacks.

Well, now we are all set to forget the 26/11 attacks on Mumbai as well despite the fact that this attack was unprecedented not only because of its severity but also by the nature of the raw brutal force that a handful of militants doled out to take an entire city hostage for over 48 hours. 24 months have passed and here we are still sitting pretty on the verdict, waiting and playing a political drama and carrying out a legal judicial battle for someone who butchered scores of people at the CST without any remorse.

Maybe my opinion is not important, as I do not hold an office of legislative or judicial relevance on the subject. Maybe there is a larger political or strategic gain (which is beyond my comprehension) involved in keeping Ajmal Kasab alive all this time. I don’t know. All I know is that multiple lives were lost that day and as the entire nation witnessed the horror showered by a handful of paid terrorists, there were wounds inflicted on the dignity of the nation which would never heal.

Personally I am against Ajmal Kasab’s hanging. In fact, I would appreciate it more, if the Indian judicial system can dare make an example out of him. I would rather have his limbs severed in full public view (perhaps right in the center of the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus where he opened fire on people) and he is forced to live at the mercy of people, eating and living like a dog for the rest of his life.

I know this is just wishful thinking on my part and none of this shall ever happen. Maybe one of these days, his death penalty would be revoked and he would be allowed to “live happily and safely” serving a life sentence in one of state owned jails – till the time another IA-814 episode is repeated and he is ‘rescued’ by his fellow colleagues.

However, I refuse to forget one of the saddest chapters in the history of this country and my heart and prayers go out to the families and friends of people and security personnel who lost their lives this day 2 years ago. I wish and pray that they get their due justice and find their peace.

Revisiting previous posts on the subject:

Life Under Siege

While the Flame is Alive

365 Days Later

The Verdict

When it doesn’t make sense…

2011-11-11T17:30:00.000+05:30

Barren vastness,
silent beats
burning ground
and tired feet

You wish there was
a hole in the wall
to escape through
As darkness falls

The head isn't right
and the heart aches
the night returns
before day breaks

The seas and oceans
the world & its ways
Gods no longer listen
how hard one prays

No shore in sight
and still no sound
there isn't a boat
or a sign around

You wish it would
just come to you
but love isn't just
what you could do

It makes no sense
the words are all lies
it wouldn't matter now
if you vowed all skies

The journey now ends
and I lost my bet
I shall forgive you
but I won't forget

She Walks In Beauty…

2011-11-02T07:30:00.000+05:30

The title stems from Lord Byron’s poem and the post hereon is born after watching an episode of Kahkashan on YouTube this evening (In fact it was the series of episodes on Asraul Haq Majaz and the first part can be found here) and I was bowled over all over again by the graceful beauty that I have forever adored – Tanvi Aazmi.

I would never know the reasons of her being so selective about her work and why she did not choose to accomplish and want more out of her acting career, the fact remains that the Indian cine-audience have been deprived of a persona that could so easily blend charm, grace and dignity into a series of roles that I see she could have fit well into.

My belief in her talent and adoration for her came back strongly upon watching those handful of episodes. So, I kind of snagged a few screenshots and am sharing them here below. And since, these episodes were more than a decade old (sigh) I am sure she doesn’t look the same way any more, but then I guess this is how I would like to remember her though.

Keep up the good work lady and if you ever happen to stumble by this post (I am sure you won’t though), drop me an email, comment upon this little collage down here and well, you could send me more recent of your pictures maybe. :)

Shoot, What You Eat

2011-10-28T06:30:00.000+05:30

Tried a few things recently – Clams, Oysters and Baby Octopuses for dinner and shooting the food wallpapers. Needless to say, loved it all.

Incidentally no post processing was needed on these pictures since I could get enough time to adjust and shoot directly under the yellow incandescent lamp.

Some Diwali.. Eh?

2011-10-27T04:30:00.000+05:30

It had been a Diwali of firsts..

First Diwali ever that I have been away from home, first ever that I have been officially working and getting my brains gnawed at (having my brains chewed on is not the first time though), first ever that I did not light a lamp or anything (well, I could have just did not feel up to it), first ever that there has been silence all around and first ever that doesn’t feel like one actually.

The funny thing is that I don’t even feel much except for that sensation in your head when your subconscious keeps reminding you that there is something special waiting to happen when in reality nothing is actually on. I mean, I am not sad or low or anything, just that it feels different like the time when my folks decided that I was old enough not to need a birthday party any more.

I agreed to the decision made that time only to start saving my pocket money three months before my next birthday was due and when it came around I just went out and had a party on my own. Maybe I should go ahead and do something just for the heck of it, maybe crack open a bottle or two and binge on some exotic sea food. Not a very religious idea but then I don’t really remember when was the last time I just let my guard down and went crazy just because I liked it that way…

But then who am I fooling? I guess I was never bred that way to be able to just stand up and break free from the system and live life on your own terms. In a moderate middle class reference frame of values, you really don’t get much choice. You don’t have an option to waste your time and your parent’s hard earned money on ‘trying out’ things and ‘explore’ and ‘pursue’ what you are good at. It always is a make or break case and more often than not, you are expected to make it and well make it big enough to recover the material invested in/on you.

Ah well, back to the Diwali thing, I guess festivals are over rated after all. The only fireworks that really work for you are when you have a spark inside. There isn’t much left anyway. Not after I spent that last 2 hours watching the back to back episodes of a re-run of ‘That 70’s show’ (the truth is that they still were 2 best hours spent in the day). I guess I shall get up and drink to that…Cheers Diwali.

Mausam

2011-10-22T01:30:00.000+05:30

एक रोज़ वो भी था जब

ख़याल सीने पर रुकते थे

हर जज़्बा शोला,

हर हर्फ़ अंगार होता था

आसमान के सफों से

तब आशार बरसते थे

नज़रों में कुछ अपनी

बर्क सा जूनून होता था

अफसानों की तब फुर्सत

सुनने वालों को भी थी

हर ज़बान पर अपना

किस्सा तमाम होता था

लफ्ज़ नामुमकिन हों तब भी

हर बात का तब

एक ही मतलब होता था

हुई मुद्दत

किसी शाख़ पर गुल देखे

कोई वक़्त तब

कहाँ ऐसा होता था

बेशक ना मिली हो

तुमसे नज़र कभी

ख़्वाबों को अपने

कहाँ यह मालूम होता था

रंग और बहते थे

आसमान पर तब

जब तेरी

यादों का मौसम होता था

Long Live Ajmal Kasab….

2011-10-13T08:00:00.000+05:30

Hate me for the title but this is perhaps the longest I have followed a news and waited for justice that I guess it is unfair to both Indian population and the true martyrs of our nation that someone like Ajmal Kasab now dies of some freak illness in his protected jail cell or as it looks more likely – of old age. I would rather wait and wish for his longevity and good health till the Indian Judicial system wakes up from its slumber and brings about an honest ending to this agonizing wait.

Right from November 2008 when Kasab and company landed on the shores of Mumbai and took the city under siege, to the days that followed when the sentiments were still high and then later when even after an year the ‘fair’ trial went on and on, to the day when the verdict on the trial was announced, I have kept following the news and the proceedings on the case.

If I was not already dejected enough by the agonizing wait and the realization of the fact that it was the hard earned money of the taxpayer’s money that was going into the upkeep of this ‘esteemed guest’ of the nation, the recent development on the case with Supreme Court staying Ajmal Kasab’s death sentence on October 11, 2011 has left me wondering if the nation needs another Udham Singh to step out and shoot the dog in his corner of the world.

Adding insult to the injury, the Apex court has permitted the appellant Kasab to amend his special leave petition to furnish additional grounds to challenge the capital punishment awarded to him by a Mumbai special court – the punishment which was confirmed by Bombay High Court as well.

I don’t want to know if this is in line with our democratic values and the elaborate constitution that we boast of to the world for clearly this is not in line with the legacy of the warriors and patriots who sacrificed families and comforts and their lives for the honor that they believed and lived by. I am reminded of Chandrashekhar Aazad who saved the last bullet for himself but did not give himself in to the British. If he was alive today, what would he think of the entire episode? Would he have allowed someone to walk around and slay innocent people on the streets and then sit pretty in his home?

I do not wish to be driven blind in rage or hatred towards this one low life who perhaps did not even know what was he trying to achieve. I am just disheartened and saddened by the snail pace of the judiciary and the way this entire saga has shaped up over a course of about three years now. It’s a sorry state of affairs and I feel just as wounded over what is going on in the name of a fair trial as a child who got orphaned or a man who lost his beloved or a kid who got trampled under someone’s feet on that fateful evening at CS Terminal.

But don’t you die now Kasab, at least not now when I have waited all these years to see or hear the account of how you broke your neck at the noose or cried hoarse when your eyes popped out and your feet got numb. Wish they would just cripple and maim you in public and leave you on the street to live at people’s mercy and their garbage. If that happens, I am sure every Indian would really wish for a very long life for you. But just in case you are reprieved and are given an easy death, your wait would not end soon. Your corpse would forever be restless in your grave and the reverberations of your gunshots shall forever resonate in your ears.

As It Sinks In…

2011-10-12T07:20:00.000+05:30

Jagjit Singh – the Ghazal Maestro passed away on October 10, 2011 and it takes more than a day for the sad news to sink in. With his demise, dies one of the few things I had always wished for – to be able to attend one of his concerts and hear him sing live on stage.

I don’t even remember when and how I got hooked onto his music. All I remember and know is that during my early teen years, every word that he sang filled my heart with an emotion that was both sublime and fervent. It would take me to a different zone within myself and I would just sit and hum all that he sang through long summer afternoons and longing winter nights. His music gave vision to my daydreams and hope of a fulfilling love perhaps to million others like me.

I remember how I would save my pocket money during those days and spend it all in one go to buy his audio tapes and which I still treasure as one of my proud possessions. From his ‘Live in Concert’ series right from his Albert Hall recordings to the soundtracks of the TV serials ‘Kahkashan’ and ‘Ghalib’ I played every song over and over till it seeped into me. Needless to say, much of my earlier writing bloomed from that music.

When the era of audio tapes was giving way to MP3s and CDs, I remember it was as early as year 2001 when I bought my first blank CD (an HP blank would then cost 150 Rupees a piece) and all I did was to copy all possible sound tracks from his albums that I could find. It was the first CD that I ever authored. I was still a trainee in my first job and I had to request at least 3 people just to get hold of a writer to burn that disk. His has been the only music that has found its way into every CD, every music player, Ipod, phone or a computer that I ever owned ever since.

As I sit remembering all what his music meant to me, the first song that comes to me is ‘Hothon Se Choo Lo Tum’ – an all time favorite and one that remains ever close to my heart. Over the years I collected and listened to various renditions that he lent to those lyrics and every time that I heard it, I interpreted and loved it differently. Incidentally, this was the only song I ever dedicated to anyone. I have never known a voice other than his to stir a Krishna Bhajan or a simple Ram Dhun as soulfully as he could.

It feels so hollow to realize that there won’t be any new verse to be heard in that velvet voice any more. But then legends like him never really die and I am sure he shall continue to live on in the hearts of his ardent followers and fans alike. Rest in peace dear Sir, you will be dearly missed.

Time to Stop? Maybe…

2011-10-10T08:30:00.000+05:30

This blog used to be a reflection of how I often saw myself - not very long ago. It now shoots a flare once in a blue moon. I guess I have become a little more callous and a little more thick in the head. Ideas don’t come to me as they used to earlier. I can’t let my fingers find their own space on the keyboard and no longer I feel the urge to key in every random thought that is born in my head.

Maybe I am getting old, maybe more mentally than physically. Ever since I started writing, I never had too many people visiting these pages, hardly any readership or any followers here. People who have been following my posts are the ones I know anyway and they have all been very supportive – sometimes more than I expected. But then, the idea was never to hunt goodwill or win hearts but just to seek a vent and give a space to all randomness that blanketed everything in my head at irregular interval. I have had my share of writer’s block before but in recent times this whole exercise of keying in how and what I feel about certain things (and which is abstract most of the times) seems tiring. I have been repeating myself way too often and I guess have reached a point where I am beginning to bore myself.

Perhaps, I have stopped growing both as a person and as a thinker and have confined myself to the marginal consciousness that is all that remains when you bury yourself to the rigors of earning a livelihood and stop having those little conversations with yourself. Maybe the realization finally dawns upon me that I shall die as a nobody much like millions and billions others inhabiting this planet and that I see the futility of it all – perhaps the existence itself.

I guess I should have stuck with the blue pill. The red pill, I chose is a path that I feel incapacitated to walk now. The flesh on me rots – little every day and my head loses its edge. The blades are a little rusty and my wings all tattered. The fat slob refuses to leave me and my lips are chapped with all the glue that I use daily to paste a smile.

I have tried dropping various different anchors now but I guess my boat shall still wander off and eventually sink down with its dead weight. Maybe I should just walk away and find myself a new clerical face and forget that I existed. I guess I am in my own twilight zone caught between darkness and light, between life and death. In fact, I am all lost and do not even recall what time of the day it is and what follows next – the day or the night.

Its more like the static picture where you can’t tell if it is a sunrise or a sunset. Just hoping that I would know soon – just as I know about the picture below that I shot from my balcony.

Have a Heart

2011-09-25T07:45:00.000+05:30

How many hearts does one need in a lifetime?

Two, if the first one fails you and you need a transplant.

Three, Four, Five if you take into consideration the changing times and the morphed values of the recent era and the fact that people today find it convenient to fall in love over and over again and more often than that.

Seven, Eight, Nine if you consider ordinary celebrities and cases who add colors to Page Three.

Ten, Twelve, Fifteen, Twenty maybe more if you add in the list of thriving harems or as they once did in the East.

& FORTY, when I decide to cook my own dinner.

Here is what I am talking about. I got a packet of Fresh Chicken Hearts (yup, they sell these separately here), added some chopped onions, tomatoes, coriander, coconut milk, cardamom and turmeric and voila I got myself a super dinner dish that would have made PETA stage a protest at my door. Gladly it turned out just perfect to be relished with some nice Paranthas. Come on now, don’t give me that frown….Have a Heart :)

The Sufi Sings…

2011-09-24T07:30:00.000+05:30

My recent reading has been the kalaam of Baba Farid and I have come across some very fine couplets rich in meaning and easy to imbibe. I may have lost my voice but the Sufi sings in loud and clear.

Here are a few to read and cherish and well those who can’t follow what they mean, drop in an email. Maybe I shall be able to translate and interpret them for you. The transliteration is done using google and though I have tried to be as accurate as possible, I can’t totally guarantee the word to read the same way as in Punjabi/Multani dialect in which they would have been first uttered. Nonetheless a good read overall. Enjoy.

चार गंवाया हंड के

चार गंवाया सम्म

लेखा रब मंगेसिया

तू आया केहड़े कम

फरीदा ख़ाक ना निंदिये

खाकों जेड़ा ना कोई

जिवंदियाँ पैरां तले

मोयां उप्पर होई

रत्ती रात ना निकले

जे तन चीरे कोय

जो तन रत्ते रब सयों

तिन तन रात ना होय

काले मेंढे कपड़े

काला मेंढा वेस

गुनिहाँ भरया मैं फिरां

लोक अखेंदे दरवेस

देख फरीदा जो थिया

दाढ़ी होई भूर

अग्गों नेड़े आया

पिच्छा रह गया दूर

फरीदा कोठे, मंडप, मढ़िया

एत ना लाये चित

जे मिटटी पई अटोल्वे

होसी न कोई मित

In case you feel like listening to them, here’s a link. Click HERE

पुराने पन्नों से...

2011-08-26T03:30:00.000+05:30

पुरानी रद्दी में से एक स्कूल की किताब निकली. बीच के पन्नो में कभी कहीं खाली बैठे हुए एक तस्वीर खींची गयी थी. बात उस वक़्त की है जब शायद यह तस्वीर हर बच्चे की किसी ना किसी किताब के हाशिये के किनारे कभी ना कभी ज़रूर बनी मिलती थी.

पन्ने की ज़रा सी खाली जगह पे अचनाक बरस पड़ने वाले सफ़ेद बादल उमड़ आते थे, बादल - भरे-भरे से गोल किनारों वाले जिनके आस पास काली लकीरों से खींचे पक्षी उड़ते थे. बादलों के नीचे भूरे पहाड़ जिनके बीच में से आधा सूरज उगता दिखाई देता था. सूरज ऐसा कि जिसके सर पे सरकंडों जैसी किरणें झांकती थी. उन पहाड़ों के बीच से एक नदी निकलती थी - बिना लहरों की बलखाती, रेखा गणित या भौतिक विज्ञान के सभी नियमों से परे. कभी कभार कोने में एक पेड़ भी उगा दिया जाता था.

अगर बसते में रंगों की डब्बी होती तो बरबस सूरज नारंगी, पहाड़ भूरे, नदी नीली और उस के आस पास की जगह हरी हो जाती थी. कभी समय की किल्लत नहीं होती थी, हाँ, अगर धैर्य छूट जाता तो हरी ज़मीन के ऊपर पांच पंखुड़ी वाले अनेकों फूल एक साथ हरे कर दिए जाते थे नहीं तो धीरे-धीरे लगन से पंखुड़ियां बनाई जाती थी और इन सब के किनारे तिकोनी छत वाला एक घर ज़रूर रहता था जिसके बगल से एक चौकोर खिड़की झांकती थी. खिड़की पर चौमुखे किवाड़ होना अनिवार्य सा ही था शायद.

अब शायद ऐसी तसवीरें नहीं होती. सीमित विकल्पों का दौर जा चुका है. अब शायद तस्वीरों में वो घर नहीं बन सकते, शायद ज़हन में भी नहीं हो पायेंगे. नदी सूख चुकी है. पहाड़ों पर से लोगों ने पेड़ काट दिए और पत्थर फर्शों में डाल दिए हैं. तिकोनी छत वाले घर अब चौकोर इमारतों के लिए गिरा दिए गए हैं. शायद अब वो पन्ने नहीं रहे...

आज का सच शायद अब यही है. बरहाल, अगर किसी को अपनी बनायी वही पुरानी तस्वीर मिले तो ज़रूर भेजे...

Walls…

2011-08-25T17:30:00.000+05:30

We live in our own prisons and shall succumb to the walls that we are building right now. The mind is trapped and the legs tied. Wish I could show you how I burnt my fingers picking out the right words from the furnace of my head. The eyes are sore from last night and the echo of your words bang against my door every hour or two.

I wish it was a different place. I close my eyes and try and believe that it isn’t my room, that this isn’t my life, that perhaps the little brook still flows under the bridge. Sadly, it is not same anymore. The clock on the wall ticks on and the sound resonates in my head all day long. I hear it even when I am out of the room. It’s almost as if the clock is hung on a nail inside my head and ticks from within me. I would have tore it down had it not been too high for my reach. Tick – Tick – Tick – the booming continues.

Yesterday the colors of the paintings I did years ago melted down. They made a smudge and then quietly flowed off their frames leaving the bare canvas behind. It is surprising how the russet canvas stood naked - ashamed of being alone perhaps. I tried coaxing it to sleep but it just sat there sobbing in a corner. For now, I have draped it with your shirt – remember the one you left in my closet the last time you came over.

I thought I would write to you and I took out the notepad and my pen from the drawer. I didn’t realize it was so long that I had picked up the pen for the ink had dried up and the nib wouldn’t budge. I ended up scratching the page and leaving little scabs of ink all over it. The wounds inflicted so wouldn’t let the page rest either. It kept whining sitting on my drawer all last evening.

Last time I checked the attic, I had found a violin there. Maybe my father or my grandfather used to play it. Maybe it was acquired from a garage sale or a shady flea market off the coast of a forgotten country. I don’t know. Though the strings were intact, it kept making screeching sounds whenever I set my chin on it. Its yelping accused me of raping it. When it grew cold last night, I fed it to the fireplace in my room. You should have seen the way it burnt bright. The little crackles of its wood was perhaps the best music it made in centuries of its existence.

This morning I woke up early. The sun had not risen then. I sat by the edge of my bed. The cinders of the violin in the fireplace were no longer warm. I kept looking out of the window to the urban jungle out there. Maybe it is about time that I scraped the old paint off my windowpane and painted it fresh. I guess I shall do it blue all over again – the color of the sky and your eyes.

Come by and look through it again. I shall brew some coffee and leave you a message on the beach when I go out to buy the paint.

Bringing Down An Angel

2011-07-15T15:30:00.000+05:30

I am the hand that torched your wings

Burnt them down to cinders

& made you a mortal

I shall not be forgiven

But then, to this sin

Let me hold you close O’ angel

And sin again

Till the time

This Earth can hold us no longer

And we plunge down

Into a hell of our own

Be consumed

By that infinite abyss of fire

And in that passionate embrace

Let my smoke mingle with your ash

The Midnight Solace

2011-06-04T07:30:00.000+05:30

It stirred up again and as I looked out of the window onto a scrappy ugly lit Jersey cityscape marred with a frowning sunset, I could feel myself being hollowed out. The creeping darkness held me hostage again to my abstractions. I must have stood by the window looking out at nothing in particular for a long long time for the next thing I could sense after the numbing silence was my aching knee.

I flopped down on the bed and rolled on sleepless for a while before getting up again and switching the TV on and putting on some comforting in vacuous, mindless commercials – comforting because they always lull me to a nice slumber but, they too turned out toothless on this particular occasion. I sat up grimacing and not knowing what else to do. That’s when I got up again and found you snuggled up in your own universe – probably waiting for me.

I guess, you have always been there for me on days and well, nights like these and no matter how hard I try and resist you, I guess I always come around rebounding from walls and find my sanctum in you. I found you again tonight and you kept your promise and satiated my being again.

Should I actually thank you for being available for me at my beck and call or just bask in the fact that I can cheat behind your back and get into one lunch dates and one dinner stands with likes of lettuces and salads and can come around and take you home as and when I want. And you know what, the thing that I find best about you is that I could go ahead and order you on phone.

And for those you dimwits out there who still haven’t got it, Here is a small picture of the love of my life I was talking about – My Apple Pie.

Unlearn and Relearn

2011-05-30T08:30:00.000+05:30

I looked back and then ahead again. The adrenaline kicked in and I felt a slight rush of blood go to my head. I took a deep breath and went through the basics in my head one more time. One final look in the window confirmed that the coast was clear. I finally pushed the button and let the engine roar before shifting the rod and allowing the rubber to graze on the pavement. The take off was smooth and I set sail – the destination wasn’t really the final goal; the road was…

I guess the training from last two days held me good. I did exchange a few curse words with the GPS by the time my trip ended but the important thing was that I came around unscathed and little lighter on my stress levels.

Well those of you who haven’t been able to figure out what this post is all about. It is about my unlearning my Indian driving skills and trying to learn the ways of driving around in US of A.

It has now been a week and a half since I started out and though I am not really the ‘Numero Uno’ on the roads and “Interstates” as such and it is, trust me, such a pain to follow the GPS on these loopy Jersey roads that it seems better driving down in lanes of Chandni Chowk than in this part of the world but the good news is that I am still holding out.

Well, with this post I first would want to extend my heartiest thanks to a gentleman who goes by the name of Saurabh Goyal and who really stretched himself to help me gain enough confidence to spin the wheel on my own. I am sure he had his heart in his mouth on couple of occasions that he volunteered to be my co-pilot and despite me venturing onto the left side of the road on multiple occasions, he held onto his faith and well, as far as I can say, the Lord did the rest.

And, today I, actually happened to take the car out for my first joy ride that I was planning ever since I started driving to office. There is this slow winding road, flanked by trees and plenty of green around on my way to work and every time that I crossed this particular stretch, I would imagine myself come down here at leisure and take a stroll around the park and click some pictures. It finally got realized this morning. I got up early, had a quick shower and headed out with keys in one hand and camera in the other.

For once, I actually felt at ease with both the car and the Garden State Parkway, could make turns without much issues and finally reached some place without having to listen to the GPS lead me along wrong forks on the road. Needless, to say I enjoyed it and here are a few pics that I took from my morning walk today.

(You could click on the thumbnail below to have a better view)

The Elusive Life

2011-05-19T17:30:00.000+05:30

I spent whatever time I had on my flight thinking about if life at all made any sense. I have been playing along the way things have come my way, often drifting with the stream in the direction it wanted me to. Things have been generally good otherwise and I have no real reasons to complain but still it seems that a larger portion of my being is now empty and the resulting vacuum won't just go away.

One of my friends who I confided in, advised me that I should be concentrating on my work and should be devising more ways to make more money at this juncture in life. I am no longer the carefree youth (I wonder if I ever was) and still some years away from being a dreary and sad old man (wonder what gives him that idea) and that it won't be long before I go senile and eccentric (as if I am not already). Overall it sounds like a good school of thought and I would have agreed without fail and followed his word, but then there is something which burns inside that doesn't let me be a complete machine succumbed to a standard time table in life.

I guess the rebel in me is now transformed to a silent conspirator planning and scheduling things sitting in a dungeon and is longer the hot blooded extremist who would pull out a sword and run into a shower of arrows. However, this conspirator is more dangerous than the adventure seeker and does not allow me to settle down as a dignified loser. The fire flares up at times and lets out thick and dark smoke which though propels the blades of random endeavors but also blackens the walls of my being. I end up moving a step or two forward and choking on my own breath.

Maybe this ordeal shall end soon and I shall lose the remaining urge to do something with myself and my life. Maybe I shall soon accept the defeat and will go down as a humbled aged champion. I don't really know when will that be and whether I shall get to know when it happens but it shall happen for sure. Time spares none and before one realizes it the sand slips through the fingers.

I lost the last 15 years planning to do something big. Perhaps I shall lose the next few analyzing what I could have done differently. It's a sad thought - this and maybe I shall not really like it when my daughter grows up and realizes that what a waste I had been. The worst thing is that I still don't know what standards to set or what else to expect from life as such. The meaning and the purpose still eludes me. Perhaps I should consider myself an achiever if I can inculcate enough wisdom in my child to take lesson from how I let go and if she could do something path breaking to feel content at the end of the day.

Don't really know if at all I would be able to do that. I break another stanza; I end another day and add another wrinkle.

Filling The Blanks…

2011-05-17T19:40:00.001+05:30

Hmmm..the blog looked dead. It has been quite some time since I last wrote in anything. For a change, it wasn't the lack of ideas but just inadequacy of time. I had entangled myself in a web of unending tasks and difficult situations which began with my decision of vacating my current house and relocating back to my native place. Precisely then, my travel plans were finalized and this coincided perfectly with my brother in law’s wedding.

Simply translated this implied a fortnight of hard labor, travel, packing, unpacking, shopping and scheduling and re-scheduling everything which meant less time for family, lesser time for self and perhaps absolutely no time to give vent to all what went through my head. As a result only a single post in the month of April and none whatsoever till this one and well this is more like news from my end than actually a reflection on anything. My abstractions will probably take a longer time to find their way back to my head but then 'better late than never' is still a good policy.

I shall perhaps use the next few days to continue writing and updating Riddhie's stories that I have been holding on to for a while..so, in case you are a friend you would know what I am saying and where to look for.

I shall close in on this minor update thanking a couple of my friends who kept coming back to the blog and kept nudging me for writing more. All I wish to say to them is “Keep coming back and I am sure I shall have a few stories to share in the days ahead”.

Thanks once again.

The Game

2011-04-09T10:00:00.000+05:30

I am amused at your sitting in silence with your head turned away, not wanting to look at me. What amuses me more is to see you checking the flowing water with your fingers for any messages in a bottle that I might have sent your way. I look at you from the other side and watch you fiddle with the rocks on shore and decide to play along in this little game of yours.

Perhaps you want me to cross this little brook between us and reach out to you. Maybe my calling over from my end is not enough for you or maybe it does not quite comply with the rules that you have set for your game. I call out and you decide to look away again; we could play like this all day long and I guess it would not tire me one bit.

Maybe I should wait for a while before calling out again. Maybe I should let you think about how you would want to win this and then wait for you to stand up and make your declaration and then we could go back home picking berries on our way.

We sure can’t go on like this forever. Soon the tide shall rise and the gap between us shall widen. You shall then have to walk all the way to the bridge to come over to this side. The light fades fast these days and we must return before it is time to drive the herd home.

The cool spray rises again and the foam splashes your face. I can see through your veil and see your eyes sparkle. Maybe its time for you to throw your hair back and laugh it all off. The sunshine bounces off the gleaming water and glows off your face and I think I saw the little drop run from your hair to your lips. You pinch the tiny drop and let it die there in agony, perhaps letting me know that you have been angry all this time.

I can’t say for sure now. I thought I would let you play for a while and we would return to the woods and lie down on the grass and watch the clouds just as we always did. I guess I need to find something to get your attention now. Maybe I shall catch the rainbow painted butterfly you always wanted and call you to have a look. Maybe I shall fill my palms with the morning dew and honey and invite you over for a sip.

Be there, till I return then. I shall bring in your prize and we shall announce you as the winner. The game is fun but I am not sure if I want to play it again now.

Champions and The Morning After…

2011-04-03T08:00:00.000+05:30

India won the Cricket World Cup 2011 last night and there were unprecedented celebrations all over the country. People flocked to streets shouting slogans and cheering for India and showering praises on MS Dhoni – captain of the Indian Cricket team and rooting for his leadership qualities.

In his word to the nation in the presentation ceremony that followed after the match, MSD did mention that had India lost, he would have been stoned with numerous difficult questions about the choice of Sreesanth instead of R.Ashwin and the changes in the batting order revealing the fact that the Indian masses are equally quick about worshipping their heroes and pulling them down. The effigies are burnt as easily as the hoardings and posters are raised.

There was a lot of speculation about the winners and which way the game would go before it began and news channels and TV reporters had a great day just talking about who would play what part during the game and this changed to a mad race of complimenting players and getting their sound bytes once the game was won. Clearly, this was not just a game, it wasn’t just any other tournament and it wasn’t just your everyday run of the mill TV coverage. The emotions which ran after the match were definitely not fake. On one hand you saw the veteran Tendulkar being carried by the team mates in sheer exultation and respect that only can be associated with legends and the little master himself being jubilant and excited as a school boy, on the other hand the likes of Yuvraj, Harbhajan and even the skipper had welled up eyes. It just wasn’t any other win.

But as I sit on this quiet Sunday morning and flip through the news channels, I see the same mad footage of people toppling over each other to get into the frame of the TV cameras and shouting for India, the emotions inside me are a little subdued than last night. Come tomorrow and I am expecting similar conversations and chatting in the office cafeteria and I guess the frenzy would die down after a day or two, Probably the media shall continue on the same line for another week or so and the noise on the TV too would settle down. People would go back to their mundane lives once again, the politicians would try and search for another distraction to keep people’s attention away from the vital issues of corruption, price rise and inefficient bureaucracy and India shall live another day, another week, month and another year in the same fashion as it did before April 2, 2011.

The morning after silences all warriors. The battlefield lays barren and the victors sleep in their tents after a gale of laughter, frolicking and boisterous dancing a night before. They were lauded and glorified last night but the rising sun brings in another day – perhaps another battle, perhaps the soothing lull needed for normalcy. The triumphs are cast in stone and set aside, maybe to look at another day for deriving some lessons out of it and for now, we shall return to the expectedness and the ways of life which prevailed before. However, let us bow down once again to the apex moment of celebration for the Indian Cricket in years to come.

Well done, India.

As India Celebrates…

2011-03-31T09:45:00.000+05:30

It is only befitting that I make a quick post about the celebrations last night after India beat Pakistan at Mohali after a seemingly anxious last article written before the match.

It is undoubtedly one of the biggest headlines on all national dailies and every TV channel and newspaper this morning has been talking extensively about how people gathered on the street dancing, shouting, screaming, beating drums and bursting firecrackers as the last Pakistani batsman fell. I was riding back to my place after the match and at every major crossing I could see youngsters on their bikes and cars shouting slogans and going berserk with joy.

I guess Cricket is perhaps the greatest unifying bond across the length and breadth of this nation and no matter what tournament the Indian team is playing, a victory against Pakistan be at home turf or overseas always infuses that extra gush of blood in the veins of every Indian cricket lover.

About the game last night, an article on Times of India website aptly reported “The quality of cricket didn’t really live up to the occasion but the ebb and flow of emotions - from exuberance to unease to disappointment to hope to joy to sheer mad exultation - more than compensated”.

However, all said and done, it was a great win indeed and history beckons the Indian team to win one of the greatest cricketing challenges two days from now. Will Indian team rise to the occasion against the mighty and gritty Lankans is for time to tell. My instinct tells me that maybe it is the time to bring home the cup – the cup that counts..

Keeping my fingers crossed and waiting anxiously (well, a little less than India – Pakistan game actually) for the upcoming final.

Good luck India.

Rooting for India…

2011-03-29T10:00:00.000+05:30

It’s only a game of cricket and not war, I repeat and can’t even convince myself. It is one day to go before the India Pakistan World Cup 2011 clash and the excitement is all time high. It has been ages since the two cricketing nations met in a stadium on the Indian soil and the spectators are expecting a 440v high tension game with national pride at stake.

Usually I am not the kind to feel charged up about a game like that but I guess the sheer history of the two nations adds the necessary fuel to the fire. I am upbeat just like every other Indian fan and praying for India’s win. In fact, it is not only a win that is wanted – every Indian fan wants the Pakistani team to be thrashed, beaten and humiliated in all departments of the game. Personally, I want Sachin to score a huge century, Sehwag to throw Pakistani bowlers out of the ground every second ball, Gambhir to pick up his bat and burst Afridi’s skull open, Yuvraj to repeat his 6 sixes, Zaheer to pick up a hat-trick and well Indian fans chanting “India…India…” all the way along.

I guess, I have always been a little extra vocal and explicit with my words when it comes to expressing myself about Pakistan. I guess my patriotism stems from the anti-Pakistan sentiments than core love for the country much like most people of my generation. Before the wounds of Kargil could heal, India bore the scars of the attack on the Parliament, the serial bombing in Delhi and then the Mumbai 26/11 episode. ‘Samjhauta express’ and ‘Aman ki Aasha’ my foot, I’d rather eat tons of TNT and explode in Islamabad.

While this upcoming clash on the Cricket ground has become an open opportunity for the political honchos in both the nations, the sheer sentiment on the street can not be ignored. I have heard my friends swear that they shall stop buying all products endorsed by the cricketers if India lose, and then there are others who are willing to forgive the Indian team the defeat in the finals if they just win the semi-final against Pakistan.

We shall all know which way the tide shall turn in little over 24 hours from now and whatever be the outcome this match would be talked about for a long long time. Such big games can create history and provides an opportunity to every member in the Indian squad to be a hero.

So, join me in wishing the Indian team and praying for a colossal win over bloody, mother**** Pakis tomorrow and expect a stinker of a post the next day if India loses (they better not)..

A Picture is worth a 1000 words…

2011-03-25T13:45:00.000+05:30

India won a hard fought battle against Australia in the second quarter final of the Cricket World Cup 2011 last night and well..the picture below sums it all up. Handiwork of some reporter on the field who managed to click this one from a deviant camera angle as Yuvraj Singh screamed in exultation and Ponting got down on his knees in anguish.

A proud moment for all Indian fans and well just hope that Paki players are crushed in the same fashion coming Wednesday.

The Decent Policewala

2011-03-03T10:00:00.000+05:30

I don’t know if you would find this to be as amusing as I thought it was, but it was something I never expected. In fact, for a moment, I really thought I was on candid camera or something and someone was probably playing a prank on me.

It so happened, that late evening yesterday I went out to buy some stuff from a shopping complex right behind my housing society. As soon as I was finished and drove out, I was stopped by a policeman. It was a make-shift check post and I was asked to show the car’s registration papers and my driving license as per the normal procedure.

The cop who stopped me was a lean lanky figure with bushy whiskers, fair skin and gentle eyes. As soon as he looked at the car’s registration papers, he began questioning me about the details. I wasn’t perturbed by his interrogation as this I believe, is the part of routine procedure.

It was what he said after he confirmed the model and the year that I was all amused. He started with “भाई साहब, आप यहीं रहते हैं?” and pointed to the buildings of the society behind his back? (Oh yeah, I was surprised. One normally doesn’t associate good behavior or an informal conversation like that with a constable from Haryana Police).

“हाँ जी” I replied.

'”यहाँ तो लोग गाड़ियां बेचते रहते हैं?” he said, “आपकी नज़र में कोई गाडी हो तो बताइए. Alto, 800, Santro कोई भी चलेगी”.

“OK”, I said.

“आपकी वाली भी, अगर आपने देनी हो तो” he continued in the same spirit.

I was really amused now. Couldn’t figure out if he had stopped me for verifying the papers at all or just to finalize on a second hand car. He proceeded onto give me his number, not fine me for an expired ‘Pollution Under Check’ certificate (mine expired a week ago) and even shook hands and smiled as I drove away.

The only thing which he perhaps did not do was to point his gun at me and run away with my car. (He seemed to be a little too nice for being a cop which got me really suspicious).

All the same since I ‘promised’ to look for a suitable deal for him, all you people out there let me know if you would like to sell your old hatchbacks to a relatively decent ‘पुलिसवाला’ and I shall let him know.

This episode also reminded me of one of the comic characters I had almost forgotten. For those who have favored shoddy Indian comics over their glitzy American counterparts, here’s a piece of nostalgia for you.

See This…

2011-02-07T10:00:00.000+05:30

1. Have you ever spent more than a 1000/- on a lunch or dinner in a fancy restaurant in a mall or a shopping place?

2. Have you ever bought an item of clothing over 1500/- and could not wear it more than 2 or 3 times? (and I am not even talking about your wedding outfit that you must have bought for at least 20,000/- on an average and just worn once)

3. Did you ever buy a toy for your kid for over 750/- and it was broken in the very first week?

4. Do you go out to a multiplex to watch a movie twice a month? (considering that average price for a ticket these days is at least 150/-)

5. Did you ever lose money in the pockets of your jackets or pants and did not care about it?

I am assuming that if your response to any of the questions above is Yes, then you sure fall into a set of people blessed with the joy of making enough money for your sustenance in a metropolitan.

Has it ever occurred to you that for an amount that you would have spent on a crappy movie could have bundled enough joy to last multiple weeks for a child deprived of the gift of sight?

Try this once, for about 5 minutes in the morning, tie a ribbon around your eyes and wade through your own house blindfolded. Every stumble and every bump on the knee would give you an insight into the lives of thousands of people born visually impaired and trust me the sheer experience of living through the experience even for couple of minutes would make your heart swell.

I shall not go at length and describe what one can or should do. For a start, just visit the link below and if not anything more, try and generate some awareness on your social networks:

Check THIS update and contact Esha to know how can you help.

The Fire and The Smoke

2011-01-31T14:00:00.000+05:30

Tried coming up with some smart rhyme and embarrassed myself – yet again. I guess I have lost all sense of poetry for that matter. Maybe I should stick to just puking my words on this little journal which perhaps no one else reads, but for the friends I call up and ask (when it matters).

When it is silent outside there are a few things I can hear clearly. One, the ticking of the clock on the wall over my desk and second the sound of the crackling burning wood inside my head. It is strange when I think about it. The head plays its part in inundating the heart with emotions and at the same time fills my being with emptiness. The fire rises but often there’s no smoke that can escape from any open windows.

The life is a room where I checked in, few years ago. I guess there is a story which belongs to this room – a story which is different from mine. Maybe someone hanged himself from the ceiling in this room, maybe some one gave birth to a kid on the floor here, I can’t tell. The room just stares back, doesn’t really answer my questions.

What would you do if you discovered one day that the place you have been calling yours has a story which you did not know all this long? Hmm…kind of “Dhobi Ghat” like. Go watch the movie if you haven’t done so as yet. I know there have been mixed reactions to it. Only very few have sat through it till the end and it is only those few perhaps who have actually liked the Kiran Rao attempt. I guess, you just need to separate the movie from Aamir Khan and then it somehow feels right. Am not promoting it though – go figure out yourself.

Coming back to the fire and the smoke, the eyes are not holding out too bright these days. The vision fails after a distance and there is some sort of unnerving but silent commotion. There are no reasons though – just a vague feeling of being entrapped. Don’t know how much more abstract can I be. Will there be an opening? Will someone come looking? Would I be found breathing or will only the carcass be discovered? Who knows….

It’s a sorry state of affairs if I look at it like that. I know I am all vague now and you must be wondering why did you choose to read it at all? Sigh…

Enough said I guess…I shall return to my tomb for now. Come back later, when you feel a little more strongly for me. Come back when lust overshadows your sensibilities and no reasons are needed; come back when you are tired and weathered out and have no one else to go to. Maybe I shall meet you then and we can have a small chat sitting here by the grave, soaking ourselves in the rain.

For Esha and The Cause…

2011-01-02T13:00:00.000+05:30

I received a new year greeting card by regular post this morning from a very special person. Now she is special not because that I know her personally or we share some special bond or friendship, in fact I have just met her 2 –3 times; she is special because of what she believes in and what she stands for.

I salute the effort and her philosophy and the work she is doing for making this world a better place.

I urge all my friends and people who have stumbled upon this post to please visit “http://www.braillecards.org/” and the blog “http://eshabraille.wordpress.com/” and get to know what Esha is all about.

I would like to place a special word here that the idea behind Esha is not to do philanthropic work but to create self reliant, dignified job opportunities for the visually impaired. Please also note that Esha DOES NOT accept donations.

The following is an extract from their About Us page:

“Esha is a bunch of volunteers who are together because they believe in the same thing - that being blind does not have to mean being unemployed.

Founded in January 2005 by an IIM Calcutta alumnus, Esha is a non-profit initiative working towards making the blind self-reliant. It is now a self sustaining bunch of volunteers who join for the love of the work, and because they believe in the mission of self sustenance for the blind.”

I would request you to please click HERE to know how can you help.

PS: For those who want to know, the name of the person I have written about is Nidhi and not Esha and you can contact the organization by sending an email at the following address: esha_braille@yahoo.com

The 2010 Diary

2011-01-01T11:40:00.000+05:30

I remember being retrospective about the year 2009 almost at the same time an year ago. (Read ‘As I Look Back’) I guess its time to do so for the year just gone by.

2010 was an year of varied hues. Apart from the regular crests and troughs, the year was special on more than one ground. I look back at the year gone by and the following things come to my mind.

I, THE TRAVELER

I spent the first three months of the year away from family and friends on my first trip to CA, US. The experience of visiting Hollywood, Six Flags and Universal Studios makes me want to go back over and over again.

I also met some very nice people during this period. (Devender Sir, Manvinder, Rob, Srikanth, Jai, Soheila, Liz, Matt Kott and everyone else at Amgen). I would like to place a special word of thanks to Rob for all his time and patience with me. He truly went out of the way to extend a helping hand. Had it not been for him, I guess I would have felt all lost on this trip. This time also saw me rediscover a few people I had known earlier. I guess spending time with Saurabh Goyal on the Amgen trip helped build a new camaraderie on both personal and professional front which I hope shall go from strength to strength this year and times ahead.

THE NOCTURNAL ME

If January to April were spent away from home, the next three months saw me give ample time at home. I spent these twelve weeks working in the Pacific Time and working from home, supporting the project remotely. Sleep had never been a problem for me and this meant that I had all the time in the world during the day to pursue my interests and laze around.

This period was also essentially spent in looking after Priyanka who was now expecting our little princess – Riddhie. The routine medical check-ups and monitoring the diet plans and other things for Priyanka took all the time left and before I realized I was already sitting at the last quarter of the year.

THE MIXED BAG

This year was an astute reminder of the fact that joy and sorrow go hand in hand. Priyanka’s mother decided to walk out on us barely a fortnight before Riddhie was born. It was a tough period both as a daughter and as a mother for Priyanka and those couple of days were really testing on the emotional front.

However, time heals everything and with our little butterfly bringing in new colors in our lives everyday, I feel blessed to have our angel and thank Almighty for His benevolence and kindness. Pray that good days and good times continue shining the road ahead.

THE 2011 SAGA AHEAD

Of all things that year 2011 promises to bring, the one I see right now is a string of family functions and gatherings around the planned weddings in the family. All people close to us have decided to tie the knot in first few months ahead.

I wish everyone all the happiness in the world but I guess this also means shopping for clothes and accessories for self and others (something I hate to the core), travelling, smiling incessantly and greeting people you feel like kicking and etc. etc. etc.

Well, probably I shall get more fodder for thoughts and since I have done a little badly than last year on my blog, I guess it might just be a blessing in disguise. So till that happens, enjoy the feeble sunlight on this first day of January 2011 and well, take care.

Reality Check…

2010-12-28T21:30:00.000+05:30

You know what I did before I got married?

- Anything I felt like.

A Brand New Heart

2010-12-27T13:25:00.000+05:30

I need a brand new heart.

I guess the one I had for so long has really worn out. The austere valves no longer pump the same ebullient blood in my veins as they once did. The edges are all blunt and the beat does not reverberate the same music into my soul any more. The poor mass of flesh is no longer incited by beauty, nor stirs up any enthusiasm at any wonder of the world.

The canvas lies barren and the colors are all dried up. Perhaps the blood in the veins has also thickened and hence tires out my central pump in no time. The crimson sap of life needs to be scraped off its floor time and again for it to maintain a livable volume. The emotions that would once take me to higher realms fume out easily at little rise in temperature.

A vocal chord goes out of tune, a mass of grey cells cinders out without much smoke and a tear takes out the sight off an eye and all because the kernel of existence is depleted of strength and energy as the monotony takes its toll. The fagged core can’t be blamed though. I guess in an attempt to turn the lucent flame blaze, I set my candle afire at both ends. The jaded embers now mock me as I sit alone craving to go back in time.

But I shall let my cerement wait for me a little longer. I am not willing to be palled by time as yet. Somewhere at the back of my mind, still exists a dream which springs up once in a while and reminds me of what it could have been. I pine to run those last laps of my race once again, yearn to be a captive of my lust and gluttony and paint those rainbows in sparkling, vivid hues of my blood all over again. The pain though excruciating has been toothless in killing the hope. My eyes still look up at the slightest hint of light.

Maybe a new heart shall come with its new God, perhaps who is a little more merciful. I don’t know. The dawning Sun shall bring its own set of questions and a new quest as well. I shall bide my time till then and wait till a new beat is received.

Until then, I shall let the fuel of life, scathe my core all it can, either till it wipes me out or the hope and desire that lives within it.

The Sound of Silence

2010-12-26T19:00:00.000+05:30

I shall use this long drawn silence to talk to you. I would use these pauses to tell you all I wish to say. The vacuum extends from all what is trapped inside me to your being. I have always relied on you to interpret these unsaid sentences. Very often, you have surprised me by translating them to perfection. Hope you still have the power left in you to read the unsaid.

I do not wish to clarify any thing. My stand perhaps, has not changed one bit. We have had extended conversations from which nothing can be quoted. We have talked a lot about things that were and perhaps would have been. Such dialogues have only given birth to meaningless strands of words with undue emotion attached to them. It seems that the actual voices just kept breaking on the stones at the shore, their screams being lost to barren solitude.

Maybe one of these days, you shall discover the writing on the wall. Maybe someday the sound lost in the clouds shall be reflected back somehow and you shall be able to pick the signal on some radio. If that doesn’t happen, I promise you that I would leave a message by your bedside when I move out. Just reach out for that blank sheet of paper and try and make out the spots where the letter got wet. Maybe you would be able to feel the creases on the sheet with your fingers and know how I held it to my heart. Check for the perforated edge and the way the holes tore through. Maybe you shall be able to decipher how my fingers moved and trembled along as I separated the sheet from the notebook.

If everything fails and you do not see anything, come by and read my epitaph. I would leave the stone blank for you to come and pick the sound of silence on it. It is the sound I would leave behind, taking along a thousand unsaid words.

My Eureka Moment

2010-12-21T09:00:00.000+05:30

It happened this morning as I was riding to work.

I had to make an early phone call to San Francisco and I was wondering what would the local time be by the time I would reach office. I was doing some mental mathematics adding and subtracting hours and minutes to the India time when it struck me. Wouldn’t it be better to have a wrist watch that could show global time. Now true you have watches available already in market which have memory to retain multiple times but I was thinking about more of an online watch to which you could make a voice command “Local time NewYork” and it could connect to the Internet get the time and read it back to you.

Think about it. This wrist watch could be Internet ready. It could have a bluetooth transfer facility to sync data with your mobile phone and could perhaps use some sort of a wireless transfer to use your mobile phone to connect to the Internet. You could then have local time from any part of the world. In fact not only the time, it could offer you the local weather reports, stock prices and other applications that your smart phone offers.

In fact the more I thought about it, more ideas started floating in. Perhaps this watch could be envisioned as an extra screen of your mobile phone that could be worn on wrist with a strap and displayed world time, changed wallpapers and perhaps be used as a mirror by holding the phone cam to your face and using the screen on the watch to beam the camera capture. Maybe your girlfriend would then ask you to focus her phone’s camera while she did an outline with her lipstick.

I saw this idea to have significant potential. The size of smart phones is still bulky to carry them comfortably in your pant pockets. Perhaps you could then just rest a tablet phone safely in your bag and let the watch carry out the basic operations for you. The vibrator mode on the watch could alert you of any incoming calls or messages and you could choose to take it or ignore it right from your watch.

I was riding the wave of my imagination and began creating some nice mental specifications to sell it for millions to a potential buyer when I ‘googled’ in to find links to approach and my dreams came crashing.

Someone had already stolen my idea. Damn. I was so close…could have bought that mansion on Malibu and that Ferrari outside it in a week but for some moron who had already ‘thunk’ the thought.

Here is what broke my heart.

This one is being manufactured by LG by the name GD910. It is the 3G watch phone and would perhaps hit the markets on a commercial scale soon. For those, whom I got interested, this GD910 watch phone boasts of a full touch screen, MP3 music player, voice recognition, Stereo Bluetooth, Text to Speech (TTS) engine and 3G support (7.2 Mbps HSDPA). It doesn’t have a built-in camera (as yet) and has a curved tempered glass face, high quality metal casing and is about 13.9mm thick.

I guess I am beaten at the race but then LG guys, if you are listening…maybe if you would have sought my advise I could have made these watches/phones look much better.

The Fair Fight

2010-12-16T11:00:00.000+05:30

We can fight forever if you feel like. If this brings you joy, I shall indulge you as long as you want. You can seek your solace from the pain that you inflict upon me. I shall grant you your sadistic pleasure if you just mention it once.

We can carry on this argument till the end of time or maybe till I lose my breath. I shall let you have the last word – when you want it. You can draw my blood and let it wash your feet. I shall bring you my knife if you have forgotten to carry yours.

We can change the rules of this battle at your command. I can pretend to run if you feel the urge to hunt me down. You can break that lash on my back. If this delights you, I can go down on my knees and beg you for mercy.

You know that I can’t win from you. At least not in your territory. But then if you want a fair fight, meet me outside the place that you own and rule – “Meet Me Outside My Heart”.

The Rush Hour…

2010-12-15T20:00:00.000+05:30

Cold December morning, the wind cuts into the face. The lips quiver and the fingers go numb inside the gloves. The jugglery with gear shifts, throttle and brakes leaves one gasping for air. The tyres groan at the sudden jumps and the body wiggles and wobbles as you attempt snaking through the morning traffic. You avoid crashing into the milkman on his ‘Rajdoot’, save a few monkey cap clad apes who just jumped off from the moving bus ahead, take the call from office with the phone tucked in the helmet or curse the other biker who ‘won’ the race to the next traffic signal and it charges you as nothing else can..

I ride from my place in Gurgaon to my office along the Noida expressway on a daily basis. The 42 km long daily ride (one side) fluctuates between 40 minutes on an easy day to about 90 minutes during the peak hours. I know the roads and I am acquainted with all the potholes along my route too. Yet, every day it’s a different ordeal, a new adventure.

There are unruly bus drivers to negotiate and wilder fellow bikers to counter. There are lean and pale looking cyclists bobbing along the sidewalks and there are pot bellied, balding middle management staff in their hatchbacks talking incessantly on their bluetooth devices (while driving of course) to watch out for as well.

Every day some bus driver attempts to run me down, some car wala thinks that he can jump over me, other bikers invite me to race along the expressway and cyclists and rickshaw pullers challenge my sudden braking skills. The adrenaline rush is simply amazing.

I guess no where else in the world would you find more spirited (often literally) people on the road. The red lights are just an indication to go full speed. India might not see a F1 racing star for another hundred years but every day, thousands of Delhi dwellers dream and aspire to compete with Schumacher (even if he has long called quits) on their ‘Furraris’ (read WagonRs, Santros, Estillos, Altos and even 800s). The countdown timers at the traffic lights are installed only to indicate ‘Get, Set, Go..’ for all our budding Grand Prix champions. It is also legal to stand in the extreme left lane and zoom to the other corner to turn right.

If you still do not know why did the chicken cross the road, try and figure out why do people attempt walking across the road at all. With the recent new found success at the XIX Commonwealth games and the Asian games, more and more people have started seeing the road as a spot to practice track events. Age, caste, creed, gender – the road discriminates none. Everyone is allowed to run as they please across its breast.

Now try and mix a Grand Prix aspirant in his super cool Alto (with Ferrari stickers on the door and super woofers blasting “Main tera amplifier..” ) with a budding Milkha Singh on his daily road running routine and garnish a few Jason Statham (Death Race) type blue line bus drivers, a few AK Hangal type cyclists, Rajnikanth Auto-Rickshaw drivers and you have the stage set for the new XBox 360 game called ‘The Office Goers Challenge – Race for Survival’.

To cut the long story short, I am currently playing at the expert’s level.

If you think you can better my score, meet me tomorrow when I start for the office and let’s burn some rubber on the tar.

Vrrrrrrrrrrrroooooooommmmmmmmmmmm for now…..

Riddhie’s Own Blog Website…

2010-12-07T10:07:00.001+05:30

I guess I finally did something worthwhile and finished off at least one thing in time. For those who are yet unaware of my new endeavor, this is about Riddhie’s own blog website. It is available at riddhie.com.

I haven’t added much as yet but have a definite thought process around how I want this to shape up. I guess the content would automatically get added in due course of time. I am keeping her website with public settings as of now and would let our friends and family send in their wishes and comments. There however, exists a rider for the readers and hopefully people shall be sensitive and intelligent enough to adhere to the norms. There is a picture gallery added with 3 albums at present. I guess this too shall be build over time.

So, looking forward to your suggestions, comments and feedback on the website. You could drop me a mail or simply use the ‘Send Wishes’ link at the new website for the same.

The Silent Night

2010-11-30T10:00:00.000+05:30

I would have celebrated this silence had you been a witness to it. The darkness looms large and the cold air sweeps in from the broken glass of the bedroom window. My head is too heavy to allow my hands to move and wrap myself in a sheet. Unmoved, I lie flat on my stomach with my shoes still on. Sleep jeers on like slow death – tormenting with its tentacles while keeping itself at bay.

It took a lifetime for my parched throat to win a long and hard battle against my limbs. My arms whimpered and searched for the water bottle I had thrown by the bed side a night before. The bottle yielded a mouthful and I slumped back again. The arm retracted and finally came down with a soft ‘thud’ on the pillow next to me.

The heavy pall of silence engulfed the night again. It refused to budge no matter how hard I tried pushing it away with contrived resplendent imagery.It hasn’t been long since I moved out and decided to be on my own. The shackles had cut deep into my being. Perhaps it was the continued tinge of pain that I had gotten used to and that was what I missed now. It was almost as if someone who had been subjected to years of deafening noise was suddenly thrown into a silent valley. No matter how deep the silence is one constantly heard the screaming noise in one’s ears that once had been a part and parcel of life. Perhaps the theory is true for people and relationships as well. The pain refuses to subside and when it finally does one is uncomfortable at the loss.

I guess my abstractions continue to soar and for once I do not wish to let them fade away. I have always believed that death is only a punctuation, an abetment to carry on in some other form, in some other place – afresh. It is life in the shadows that irks me. The cusp of light and dark, the eerie black light between the night and day is what makes me unsure. However, there is little I can do at the moment.

Maybe I shall just let things be and not struggle to move them at my pace or as per my liking. Perhaps for now I shall let the silent night rule as I keep awake looking out of the window for the day to break.

“I - Abstract”

2010-11-29T14:00:00.000+05:30

I have a life wrapped up, much as one of the unused carpets in my house. I move on one step at a time and fall back a dozen. Maybe I should just turn the other way round, at least that ways I shall run eleven steps a time. The logic defies the gravity of thoughts.

I lie flat on my back and run the fingers along the clouds. The magic no longer titillates. The feather fingers along the silk of your back no longer inspires that cold shiver along your spine that once made you curl into my being. The magic slips away from my fingers like sand.

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I get up from my corner and get to my desk, only to find that the chair I used was sold to the scrap dealer long time ago. I can’t stand the ordeal, well no longer now. The patience and the back have both been worn out by the constant grinding of the rope against the corner stone. The elixir of thoughts no longer can mask the stench from the well.

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I am abstract today, I guess I have always been so. Perhaps there was a time when you could read and decipher my abstraction. Maybe I did not go anywhere and it was you who lost the little power to read my soul. Maybe the torrid rains did wash the words off the pages.

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I can see that the grey clouds have settled in below the ceiling of the home that we built in your notebooks. Ah…those were the days…when the silence prevailed and the furtive glances would say it all. It’s different now, isn’t it? We are verbose yet the meaning eludes the frame of all the words said.

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I guess this has been tormenting enough. I have been circling around the wound, licking it along the sides and perhaps avoiding the blood completely. The scab brushes against my stubble and I shirk back – don’t know if I shall ever be ready to go back in time. I know the formula though. I have learnt that to travel in time one needs to run at the speed of light. However that too only enables you to visit the future. Maybe to go back, we should allow all others to run ahead of us.

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I shall sit by this brook and watch the sun go down behind the grey hills as you decide if you want to slow down and let years go by or if you wanted to walk with me at my pace, holding my hand. No matter what you choose, I guess when my eyes and knees fail me, I shall still be around waiting for you to come by. Maybe then our warm silence shall rule us again.

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I am surprised at the way every sentence I wrote began with an ‘I’. Did I become so predominant that my ego eclipsed the shine of your countenance? Or is this just another figment of my imagination that you no longer beam the radiance of your smile when I am around?

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Agony…

2010-11-26T00:42:00.000+05:30

Another year goes by and we the tax paying population of this country are still paying for Ajmal Kasab’s bread, clothes and security.

Revisiting previous posts on the subject:

Life Under Siege

While the Flame is Alive

365 Days Later

The Verdict

About the Hiatus…

2010-11-16T10:54:00.000+05:30

This is perhaps the longest that I have been away from this blog. Much has happened since the last entry and this. It almost seems like a new life, a new beginning altogether. For those who do not know, I have been blessed with a baby daughter and the last few weeks have been spent in adjusting to this new found joy and responsibility of fatherhood.

I shall probably share my initial experiences and accounts of my special moments with the little princess in days to come, probably on this forum or a special separate one. But nonetheless, I shall try and regain some control of my life and try and write more often or as life permits me now.

Let’s see how things shape up from hereon..

Sitting on a Time Bomb

2010-10-01T21:14:00.000+05:30

The much awaited verdict from the Allahabad High Court on the Ayodhya dispute was finally out yesterday (September 30, 2010). Though much water has already flown under the bridge and the issue doesn’t invoke the same sentiment as it did 18 years ago when the Babari mosque was torn down, the fear that the centre and the state government displayed on this was unlike anything that I had seen or known before.

Earlier in the day, I was in conversation with someone in the family and thought that the idea of building a structure like a school or a hospital which could serve members of all community alike was better suited in the interest of the nation. It was only later in the evening when I went for a walk and ran into one of the security guards posted in my locality that I actually saw where the takers on the issue were. This guy was a lean, frail elderly man with gutkha stained teeth and crooked legs. As I was about to pass him, he came across and with a basic courteous bow asked me “Saahab, faisaley ka kyaa hua?” (Sir, what was the verdict?). I was a taken aback a little.

In the cocoon I had built around myself on the issue, I believed that the Ayodhya was only an ailing political issue that had nothing to do with either the younger generation or the common man as none had time or energies to spend on an issue which has always been instrumental in dividing people than doing any good. And here was a guy who wanted to know the details on how the land where the disputed temple/mosque stood was being divided as if he would pull out a dagger if the verdict was not in line with his interest.

“Why do you even want to know? How does it matter if there is a temple or a mosque?” I asked him.

“Nahi Sahib, wahan toh mandir hi chahiye” (No Sir, it has to be a temple there") he was adamant.

I felt my stomach churning. I was in school during the times when the Babri mosque was demolished. I could recall that an uneasy rest prevailed everywhere during those days. We were confined to the household for a few days that followed. There were provocative cassettes of Uma Bharti and others in the saffron brigade and on the other side, green flags were hoisted on rooftops and mosques and specific localities. For a brief moment, I could see those days returning to scar people again. I thought it was futile arguing with this guy. His thought process was shallow and he certainly could not see the issue in light of national interest over what he was fed and brought up on.

I walked off in disgust only to land up at my local barber shop for a hair cut. Incidentally my barber belongs to the ‘other community’. Javed normally, as if by rule, is a cheerful happy go lucky kind of fellow. But on this day, as I walked into his shop, he looked solemn.

“Kya hua Hero? Muh kyon lamba kar rakha hai?” (What happened? What’s with the sullen face?”) I asked him.

“Kuch nahi sir.. woh Ayodhya ka faislaa aaya hai?” (Nothing Sir, the verdict on Ayodhya is out). He replied.

Clearly he was dejected at whatever he heard and could interpret. His movement and body language suggested he was definitely not in best of his moods. He went about his task in a mechanical sullen way. As I paid him for his services and walked out of his shop, I heard him curse the verdict and the judges who passed the verdict and the system and all he could think of.

This morning I was very disappointed with the tone in which Times of India projected the judgment. The headlines read “2 parts to Hindus, 1 Part to Muslims” instead of 1/3 parts to 3 parties. I fail to understand if they were trying to interpret the judgment in communal light or simply trying to instigate people to trash the verdict altogether and spark off another riot. Whatever be the case, the ground reality remains that the can of worms is open again. I guess it is only a matter of time that someone would light the fuse again and a political party would jump in (Mulayam Singh almost started off this today) to seek mileage on the issue. Just hope that our judiciary and the apex court looks at the entire matter with a more humane aspect when the case is presented to it (as it looks certain as of now) and comes out with a judgment that leaves no loose ends.

A hospital, school or maybe even a cricket stadium instead of a temple or a mosque would serve the people better..just that I don’t see that happening in the current state of affairs. The calm before the storm lives on as of now.. let’s see how long does it last.

Wasted

2010-09-19T09:23:00.000+05:30

It’s been overcast and clouded for most part of the day with intermittent heavy showers. With the perennial shortage of electricity and long power cuts in my part of the country, it’s been a day of long hours, beady sweat and standstill nothingness. I wasted a larger portion of my life and the day today dreaming about things that could have been different.

A fool’s paradise indeed.

The stagnant monotony and the gawky awkwardness of being a nobody in my own life is not helping the cause either. I decide to write something and this what I come up with.

The following things need a turnaround:

I need to curtail my idle time – maybe I should pick up some course.

I need to re-cultivate my reading habits. It’s been a long long time now since I finished a book.

I need to be better organized with my finances, time, job and papers.

I should finally pick up those brushes and bottles of color that I keep buying and at least try and paint something.

I need to work better and look for ways to make more money,

…..Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Too much to do.

Maybe I should just trash the list and go back to being a bum on the couch watching a dreary rerun of an old movie I have previously seen and spilling food all over me.

Farewell…

2010-09-13T07:30:00.000+05:30

I shall let you go as you asked me to. Maybe you are better off without me, maybe you shall find peace in the vast emptiness that will spread itself behind me. Maybe you shall be content with what you had before I ransacked your inner sanctum.

I shall let you go because perhaps you deserve a new morning, a brighter warmer sun and the brewing cup of tea just the way you savor. I shall let you go because the resplendence of a chandelier better lights up the marble of your body than it reflects the half baked clay of my being. I shall let you go so you can seek laughter in the springs and paint the valley green - there isn’t much color left around in my palette anyhow. I shall let you go because I must fulfill all that you ask of me.

And I shall go, not because I am tired of you or because I have worn my bones or have lost hope for better love. I shall go because I can’t see you in silent agony, waiting for me to come to you at the end of the day. I shall go because I need to learn to let you be in your world – the world which was a placid lake before I jumped in and caused whirls of commotion and disaster to wreck what was legally rightfully yours. I shall go because I must face myself alone and learn to be someone I know I never will be. I shall go because I can no longer live to be myself. I shall go because you finally gave up on me and because I need to learn to die and since once I must, I guess I would take your leave now.

Before I walk out of that door I shall let you a secret that I kept from you. I never believed in an after-life or reincarnation. This just means that I shall not return, not even for your sake. Do not grieve me for I shall walk without leaving a print behind. I shall not make a sound as I pass by your window and I shall hold my breath as I sigh last at the moon tonight. I know you shall not turn around now or open the door again and this maybe the last time that I bend my knees on the flight of stairs to your house.

I entrust you to the time and destiny once more. If our paths cross again some day, I shall hold you to my heart and feel your face with my fingers just as ever. Maybe you shall gel into me then and there would be no questions left for me to answer. But, if that doesn’t happen my love, then this becomes our final moment of truth. We part away, for once and for ever, the hatchet buried deep in our soul, the wound set to remain fresh till we breathe our last.

Farewell !!!

India Shining?

2010-09-09T08:15:00.000+05:30

I took the following pictures from my balcony this morning. The little boy was accompanying his father who worked as a trash collector in the residential complex I live in. Incidentally our neighbors on the ground floor had bought a new LCD TV recently and perhaps trashed its box today which was picked up by this boy. Can’t say if he viewed it as a toy or sellable cardboard that could get him his meal for the day.

Personally, I thought this was a glaring picture of the growing economic divide in the country. People on one end of this divide vie for luxury and comforts and are willing to spend obscene amounts of money on their gadgets and electronics while others continue to toil hard for their square meals and are denied basic education and health care.

Don’t want to add much.. the pictures speak for themselves.

Paradise Lost

2010-09-08T09:38:00.000+05:30

It was a beautiful day. The spring breeze blew gently spreading the bright sunshine over the little hill and the blue sky was flanked by cotton clouds. Butterflies hung about adding colors to the bushes laden with white roses.

Little robins and sparrows sang from the trees. The grass on the sides of the path was fresh and green. The fountains ran clear water and I could almost see a feeble rainbow in the spray as I walked back holding a hot cup of freshly brewed coffee after a hearty lunch at the office cafeteria.

Perfect day at the paradise, I thought, yet something was amiss. It was as if the painting lacked a certain shade or as if a symphony had a certain instrument slightly out of tune. I just couldn’t pinpoint what it was till the phone rang.

The monotone at the other end of the phone told me what I dreaded most. “We can’t do anything Sir” was all I could follow. There were some complications and the weather was partially responsible for what happened and they tried their best but could not revive the functioning was what I was told.

I disconnected the phone and flopped onto the first chair that I saw. I could not finish my coffee and flung the cup in a bin nearby. “What would I do now?” I wasn’t ready to believe it. My entire life came crashing. I had always known that all good things come to an end, but this was too soon. I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye like that. I looked skywards. I hated the Delhi traffic. I hated the incessant rains all the more. They were the ones responsible for my tragic loss.

The memory when I first saw it was still fresh on my mind. The reference was sent in by a friend and I looked at the pictures online and fell in love at the first sight. Beautiful was all I could say and soon we were inseparable. Little did I know that this habit would be the nemesis of my golden relationship.

I clearly remember that fateful day. It was the 25th of August. The Delhi traffic during the office hours is killing and I had no choice but to take my bike to wade through the snail pace traffic in the morning. The sky was clear when I started off from home but as it had to be, dark clouds came out from nowhere and it started to pour cats and dogs within no time. I looked hard to find a cover but there was none. I rode like a madman, snaked through the lines of cars that had started piling up, rode over the footpaths and where there were no paths at all but it was almost 15 minutes in the downpour before I could find any shelter under the roof of a bus stop and it was all too late by then.

My bag was dripping wet and love of my life – my laptop was wet as well. I looked around in despair. Maybe I wanted someone to step up and tell me that everything would be fine and that it would have braved all the water and would spring to life the moment I would call it by pressing the power switch. Instead an elderly gentleman came by and told him in a coarse voice “You should have covered it before you stepped out”. I wanted to snatch this guy’s umbrella and run it through his throat. Last thing I wanted now was useless advise.

I stood there for almost two hours waiting for the Rain Gods to find something else to do. Once, it stopped pouring I rushed to a nearby service center and got my laptop admitted to what looked like their ICU. The guy asked me to leave my baby there and wait for their call.

And now, when the call came in, I knew the worst had happened. The perfect day was ruined – the paradise raided….

PS: Well, those who might be inclined to ask, most part of the post is fiction except that I am still reeling through the after-math of motherboard burnout on my new desktop and crippled for most work that I did from home.

A Picture and A Few Questions…

2010-09-05T10:01:00.000+05:30

The following picture was published in ‘Times of India’ on September 02, 2010 on the eve of Janmashtami. The picture shows a Burqa-clad lady carrying her son dressed up as Lord Krishna for probably some festive celebration at the school.

My mind has been abuzz with various thoughts ever since I saw this picture.

We often find vivid descriptions of rising communal tension and the unrest due to growing religious divide splashed across the print and electronic media whenever some unpleasant situation arises. From early on children are sensitized and ‘fine-tuned’ to see the ‘difference’ between people, but we hardly ever inspire our kids to believe that religion does not cause the divide and people do?

This picture raised the following questions in my mind. Is this the face of revival of secular tolerance or is it just another routine that the parents must follow as directed by the school authorities? What about the scenario back at this woman’s home? Did a fundamentalist elder at home ask her not to dress the child as a Hindu God? Did the child enjoy this activity of being painted all over his body and the experience overall? What happened after he went back home? Did the child realize that religion is just a path to speak to the same divine force and that Allah and Krishna might just be two sides of the same coin? Would he have learnt that?

And more importantly, what did you tell your child this Janmashtami? Did you just say we were celebrating the birth of Lord Krishna or did you realize that it was also the celebration of the basic philosophy of being true to your work and duties and the ideology of love that Krishna stands for???

I am reminded of another post I made last year on the same occasion. Click HERE to read on.

The Violet Spell…

2010-08-17T17:26:00.000+05:30

The overcast grey afternoon quietly slipped into a mesmerizing violet evening. The blue light filtered through the windows and gave the room a magical tinge. The ceiling fan kept playing the curtains as if on a soft song and the shadows flickered around over us.

She moved just a little and set her head on my arm using it as a pillow. Her face was a picture of poised serenity and for a moment it seemed that I was floating easy on a bed of tranquil seas. Peace all around and a moment of contentment - could one wish for anything else, anything more? I watched her silently move into deeper slumber and snore just a little now or then. Inadvertently, a smile floated on my lips.

I ran my fingers through her hair just as I always did. She seemed to like it even in her sleep. I could see the corners of her lips quiver just a bit as if waiting to break into a smile. I watched her for a while – till the sun dipped into the horizon and a gradual and complete darkness enveloped the room and our being.

In that darkness, the realms of time and space gelled into one unifying bond that held me in my position still looking into blind darkness where perhaps her face was. The time paused briefly and I became a part of her warm silence.

I closed my eyes and felt her fingers on my palm. Her hands were cold. I leaned and pulled a sheet over her. The little movement was detrimental to her trance and she opened her eyes.

“What’s the time?” she asked in a broken whisper.

“Time for me to get up and get going” I replied and a cold sigh escaped my lips.

The violet spell was finally broken. Another day went by and it was time to get up, switch on my computer and log on to another night of my graveyard shift.

Karz..

2010-07-28T06:05:00.000+05:30

I never thought this would ever be completed. Perhaps still a little far from where I wanted this to be, it somehow scrapes through and manages to make it to this post.

तुम में, मुझ में जो समय था

उन पलों की जमा-पूँजी से

अब यादों का सूद आता है

मैं कतरा-कतरा जोड़ रहा हूँ

लम्हा-लम्हा बचा रहा हूँ

तुम्हारे खतों की एक गुल्लक

और लफ़्ज़ों के कुछ सिक्के हैं

तुम्हारे दुप्पट्टे की गांठों में

मैंने सिरहाने छुपा रखे हैं

मैं पुर्ज़ा-पुर्ज़ा समेट रहा हूँ

दिन और पन्ने जला रहा हूँ

हँसने रोने के बही-खाते

और अपने रिश्ते-नाते

बकाया निकलते हैं मुझ पर

कुछ मेरे दिन, कुछ तेरी रातें

मैं हिस्सा-हिस्सा बिक रहा हूँ

किस्सा-किस्सा लुटा रहा हूँ

मेरे ज़हन में दर्ज़ तसवीरें

जाने कब से सहेज रखी थी

इन तस्वीरों के जुड़ते ब्याज से

अब साँसों की किश्त जाती है

मेरे तुम्हारे बीच उस वक़्त का

मैं अब तक हिसाब लगा रहा हूँ

कुछ तेरा, कुछ अपना बाकी

मैं यह क़र्ज़ चुका रहा हूँ

Another Candle Added…

2010-07-23T18:05:00.000+05:30

Another year whizzed by.

I look back at what I wrote 364 days ago about crossing over to the third decade of my life. Some moments of introspection and I arrive at a quick synopsis of what changed and what did not in one year. (Read about “The Crossover”)

Just before I started keying this in, I gave away this day. I feel it no longer belongs to me anymore the way it used to, but more to someone else now.

My waistline added another inch. The weight refuses to go down. I am still a glutton, have a terrible eating disorder and (still) unwilling to do anything about it.

I guess I have become a little more social, finally attended two school reunions and met few people after ages. Let’s see if I can continue to do so.

I am still totally uncertain how my career graph would progress from where I am today despite making, what I think were, all the right moves.

I have touched new lows. I have drifted further apart from where I wanted to be. The distance continues to grow every passing day.

Got in touch with someone who thought that I was special years ago. I guess I was stupid enough then to snub people who cared.

I have a new blood group now. It is called ‘Nescafe Black’. That reminds me, I need to fill my cup again.

This post has become more cryptic than I thought it would be which just goes on to prove that I have not become any clearer or lesser abstract in my thought process.

It still feels ‘just another day’, ‘just another date’ but thanks to everyone who cared enough to remember this day and wish me. Thanks once again.

Bye

2010-07-15T22:00:00.000+05:30

She wrote a little ‘bye’ on the screen and probably closed her chat window. I waited a while before I could make out what it meant. Didn’t know what to say, I sent in a smiley and wrote “wish you all happiness……….”

The ellipses at the end probably reflected the silence that engulfed me. Silence was all I was left with, long and deep and impregnated with a thousand thoughts in my head.

I would like to believe that she waited on the other end as well…waiting for me to write something that could make her say anything silly and then bring about a smile to both of us - a smile to end the argument, to be back, forgive each other once again and begin afresh.

It didn’t happen.

The chat window kept looking as I sighed and switched off my terminal. Probably she switched off hers too and the contact was lost. A love story finally ended over few bits of text.

The Reunion (July, 2010)

2010-07-13T15:47:00.000+05:30

“ We prayed and sailed together then and the sun lit us alike. I remember as we shared an early dawn, the first monsoon showers and the fresh flowers of the spring. I recall the laughter that warmed us then and the breeze that cooled us all together.

To the guests of my life,

I owe you a word of thanks for you shaped most of what I became later.”

__________________________________________________

Time flies. It sure does.

There are a couple of things I have always hated about growing up and perhaps drifting away from people and friends has always topped that list. I have never been very social but then there have been a few people I have cherished all along and it feels so very strange when you realize you haven’t really seen that special pal from school for over a decade now.

I met a couple of my friends from school this weekend. I was in touch with few of them and was meeting others after a gap of over a decade and a half. I guess it took us all a couple of minutes to gather how things had moved on and after the usual pleasantries and questions of whereabouts, time went back a couple of years and it all settled down to the rounds of leg pulling and carefree laughter as in days gone by.

It seems hard to believe that there was a time when I would meet most of these people on a daily basis. I am sure life, as we all know it now, shall never be the same again. Maybe we all shall meet again one of these days and warm ourselves in the sunshine of fair memories and freewheeling smiles and take a break from our mundane cycles to relive the days gone by – even if it is for a few hours.

For now, I guess I shall just look back at the picture taken at the venue and smile.

Time to Make Stuff Up

2010-06-18T03:28:00.001+05:30

There are no comparisons or parallels drawn with Jon here and I really hate cats. But this particular strip from yesterday’s ‘Times of India’ really made me wonder if it’s time for me to make stuff up as well.

Throw me some ideas maybe.

Dekhtaa Hoon…

2010-06-11T08:16:00.000+05:30

अधूरी तसवीरें जादू भरी होती हैं, नज़र मिले तो बे-रंग पटल पर सैंकड़ों कहानियाँ कह जाती हैं, नहीं तो प्रत्यक्ष से परे अपने भीतर सिमट जाती हैं. इन पंक्तियों में भी सिर्फ एक पल का सार है, गहन अभिव्यक्ति नहीं, कैनवास पर अनैच्छिक उभरी किसी रेखा की तरह, नज़र आये तो तस्वीर, नहीं तो महज लकीर...

देखता हूँ,

कि तुम देखती हो.

उस दिन हम शायद

यहीं कहीं तो बैठे थे

बहते पानी में पाँव डाले

मेरे काँधे तुम्हारा सर रखे

तुमने हाथों से पानी में

नाम कुछ यूँ ही लिखे थे

यह नीला प्रतिबिम्ब कहीं

पत्थरों पे छप गया है

सोचता हूँ

इन लहरों पर छोड़ी

तुम्हारी उंगलियाँ साथ ले चलूँ

पानी की यह अतृप्त बूँदें

तुम्हारे स्पर्श सी छलती हैं

मैं अंजलि में तुम्हारा हाथ भर

अपनी आँखों तक ले आता हूँ

मेरी उँगलियों से छन कर,

तुम फिर क्यों बह जाती हो

धारों के कांच के परे

देखता हूँ,

कि तुम देखती हो

उस दिन तुम कुछ कह रही थी

बात रह गयी थी कुछ बाकी

क्या कुछ बोल रहे अधूरे

या सिर्फ मेरा मौन था बाकी

तुम अपनी ख़ामोशी की

एक अदना चिट्ठी लिख भेजो

मैं अपने लिफ़ाफ़े में तुम्हें एक

सांस की दूरी भेजूंगा

सांझ - प्रभात की विडम्बना

और कुछ सवाल लिखूंगा

तुम्हारे बिगड़ने - मनाने

का बाकी हर मलाल भेजूंगा

तुम्हारी चुप्पी का जवाब लिखते

देखता हूँ ,

कि तुम देखती हो.

पिछली रात, सफ़ेद चादरें

चांदनी में भीगने डाली थीं

सुबह की ओस में इन्हें मैं

छत पर ही छोड़ आया हूँ

तुम इन्द्रधनुष में ब्रुश डुबो,

इन्हें अपनी आँखों सा रंग लेना

मैं दिन ढले इन्हें ले जाऊंगा

अपनी आखिरी नींद से पहले

इन्हें ओढ़, मैं फिर जगने तक

इन सलवटों में तुम्हें सहेजूंगा

मुझ से पहले जो तुम जागो

तो मैं यहीं सोया मिलूंगा

सपनों की मरीचिका जीते

देखता हूँ,

कि तुम देखती हो.

The Verdict

2010-05-21T02:37:00.000+05:30

The terror attack on Mumbai had prompted me to write actively and hooked me to making posts on this blog.

Read the previous posts “Mumbai Trembles – Life Under Siege”, “While the Flame is Alive” & “365 Days Later”.

There were moving articles in leading dailies narrating and re-narrating the accounts of the horrors of the terror attack and families of victims demanding justice relentlessly.

After over an year of the courtroom drama, the trial concluded on March 31, 2010 and on May 3 the verdict was pronounced – Ajmal Kasab was found guilty of murder, conspiracy, and of waging war against India. On May 6, he was sentenced to death by hanging. Ujjwal Nikam, who was the public prosecutor on this case was evidently happy and so were the families and kin of the victims.

A victory on legal grounds but all is not over yet. Apparently there is a dearth of hangmen in the country and with the legal system providing various courses of mercy appeals, chances are that it might still be some time before Kasab breaks his neck on the scaffold.

The following things come to my mind:

What are the chances that such acts of terror will not be repeated?
Kasab is a small fry in the entire scheme of things and the Pakistani plot. Was giving him a fair trial which lasted over an year not a waste of tax payer’s money?
His impending execution adds to the security woes and deployment of extra forces to just guard him. Why not put this on a speed request and execute him at the earliest?
There are not enough hangmen in the country to execute Kasab. Why not shoot him in full public eye?

And finally, am I happy at the verdict? - YESSSSS.

However, personally I think putting him into the waiting list to be hanged is absolutely stupid. I want him dead this minute and am willing to act as the hangman too, if possible. Maybe I should run a poll on one of the sites and see how many people actually come forward to the Question Would you volunteer to hang Kasab? Well, I do.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

PS: This is a later addition. Click HERE to enter the poll – Would you volunteer to hang Ajmal Kasab?

Confessions of a Foodoholic !!!

2010-04-27T00:01:00.000+05:30

# I have important things to do before my dinner..(Lunch ->Snack in Between-> Coffee with Cookies->Juice with the TV->Chocolate break...maybe another chocolate break) Whew..it takes a lot of work to maintain your 105 kgs.

# I am taking up sports big time from now on. I am training to become a Sumo wrestler.

# I am a chick magnet. Sadly the only chicks I am interested in are the feathered ones done Tandoori types.

# I was picking up the maternity dresses for my wife at a shopping mall and the sales lady came up and told me the size I had picked won’t fit ME.

# I checked the wii store. They still don’t have an ice cream eating game board.

# I am sick of all the fat now. Maybe I shall go and just clear the fried chicken (all the fat, you see) in the refrigerator….I shall clear it right into my belly and wash it down with 2 cans of coke.

# 6 packs.. that’s all you got??? I have million pack abs..they are just so close together that from a distance it just looks like a circle.

# It’s fun watching the reruns of the reruns of the same shows from last week, especially when you can have a refill for the refill for the refill of the same ice cream tub that you had when you watched the show for the first time.

# I really love the way my chair caves in an exact same size for my butt to go in. The best is that the hand rest now has a cavity for my candy bars too.

# Do you burn calories moving your jaws? I guess I must be burning more than anyone else that ways.

# People have eating disorders when they eat between meals. I am sure I don’t have that. I just don’t stop between my meals, so technically I just have one meal in the entire day. My breakfasts lasts from 9 AM to 9 PM that’s it.

# Oh yes..I am munching in just as I key this… (Is it OK to lick that peanut butter jelly from the keyboard if it spills over from the sandwich).

Yashodhara Waits…

2010-04-12T07:00:00.000+05:30

Wrote this couple of years ago. Somehow stumbled upon it today and thought of sharing it again here. I regard this as one of my better works. Read on and share your feedback if you feel like..

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night stood well past midnight. A barn owl hooted somewhere outside filling the emptiness of the night. The crescent moon hid itself behind the thick blanket of clouds. It appeared that bosom of the sky would soon burst open and heavens would wail their heart out. A cold sigh escaped my lips and another tear broke and fell to the ground. The lone night stands witness to my wait. A wait – which had now lasted centuries; a wait which is now my destiny and there isn’t anything I can do except live my fate.

I had everything at my disposal, all the riches and comforts of the world and yet I lamented in agony. The resplendence of the world and all the grandeur and splendor did not bring me a single moment of peace. The music of the world is a requiem to my soul. Cast into stone I drag my being from one end of the day to another. I still wear bridal raiment but my emotions are garbed in white. I bath in and soak in the anguish of being rendered desolate with every beat of my heart. I often wonder what did I do to be punished so. Why did God choose such a life for me?

I had been loyal and did love him with all my heart. I had never been the cause of his unhappiness or brought him grief for any reason. I did what ever it was in my capacity and often beyond it to keep him happy and content with me as a wife and the mother of his only son. The son who was the apple of his eyes, the one he doted on night and day. I never sought any worldly pleasures for myself or made requests from him. I worshipped him and considered myself more than blessed for just being in his company.

Yet on one similar stormy night, he walked out on me without a word.

I have still been unable to understand if I had done something to cause him to pour his wrath on me in this fashion. I clearly remember that fateful night. I had finished my chores of the day and came by and rested my head on his arm. He appeared thoughtful but I had no vision to foresee what his chain of thoughts would lead to. He was gentle and crooned affectionately to our son. I can distinctly recall as he held Rahul close to him with tenderness and kissed his forehead and told him to take care of his mother. Only if I had little inkling to what would that decipher to…

I was looking out of the window by our bedside and had exclaimed that it was a restless night. The wind whistled past the trees and made one uneasy. He did not say anything then and came around and lay next to me. The day had left me exhausted and I soon dozed off. That was probably the last time that I ever slept sound. I curse my sleep till date and have not been able to find rest for it was due to my sleep that I never got to know when he left my side and went away.

Since the night my husband left me at the mercy of my destiny, I have waited for him looking out of the window at the road that he might have walked. Every night since then I leave out a lamp burning by the window sill, lest he comes back the same way and has trouble finding me.

As a habit now, I looked out again. The visibility was low and the large undergrowth on the abandoned demesne did not help either. My heart felt empty.

Often I thought about the day that he would return and wondered what would I do? Would I be elated at his sight and go around and hold his feet and implore him never to leave me again or would the lava of anguish guzzling inside me, break loose and I be compelled to complain and be angry with him or would I just be stoned and die at his first glimpse, my wait being completed. I do not know.

I was told that great auspicious signs had preceded his birth and soothsayers and astrologers had predicted that he was born to become either a great ‘chakravarti’ king or a great holy man. How I wish someone had predicted the kind of husband he would be or at the least someone told me that I shall live to be a stone in a palace, flanked by riches and luxuries but no real life.

People bring me his words and his wisdom and his news through his scriptures. They say he reached beyond the reach of time and conquered the Future (Desire), the past (Regret) and the Present (Accomplishment) yet, for me the time stands still. They tell me that you, my Lord survived and battled all austerities for six long years before you, son of great king Suddhodhana and queen Maya got enlightenment and proclaimed the eightfold path as the key to lead one’s life.

But Lord, to you shall I ask, when you return, if my centuries long series of adversities and asperities are still not adequate, for me to be united with my soul, which resides in you.

You left me and Rahul and became the great ‘Shakyamuni’ searching Nirvana while I, still a humble mortal, subjected myself to the fate you chose for me and lived my life standing by the door you walked out from, never to return and am still standing there even in my after life, restless as ever. I never sought anything more than the happiness borne out of your love and the only glory that ever gladdened my heart was to be called the wife of prince Siddhartha. I ask you the wise one, to tell me if my little demands from life were too difficult to be fulfilled?

Had you confided in me what your heart sought when you decided to leave me, I would have gladly submitted myself to your wishes and set you on your quest myself. Why did you have to tiptoe your way out of my life? Did you fear that I would stand in way of your pursuit or did you know that you would not be able to look me in the eye before going away?

I don’t know my Lord, if you ever thought about me or your son ever again after stepping out of your palace and severing ties with the world. I don’t even know if you did achieve, what you set out to attain. What I do know, is that you, my Lord have been unjust. I seek your forgiveness as I accuse you of being so but no matter how the world looks upon you and worships you, I still see you as the person who vowed to be my provider and protector when you married me and who did not keep his word.

You are the supreme enlightened one, the Buddha, the teacher of ‘dharma’ to the world, and I pray that our paths cross again and I shall wait many more endless centuries through the circle of time and space for you to come by again. I would then dare you to look me up in the eye and tell me if you think it was righteous for you to leave me desperate and destitute.

Fifteen centuries have passed since you went away Lord and I still stand by the door and wait. My ashes flew through the air and touched you centuries ago but my soul still haunts the place where you left me. Time has changed what ever there was yet my still eyes watch the direction that once stood guard to your midnight elopement.

I, Yashodhara, wife of prince Siddhartha wait for my Lord, my husband to come by and salvage me from this endless cycle of life. My soul awaits his touch, my being craves his mercy, my nirvana awaits his return…..

O Buddha, your Yashodhara waits for you by the same ruin every night…

The (Unsaid) Indian Privilege…

2010-03-23T11:22:00.000+05:30

Away on an overseas trip, I spent my last Saturday taking a walk in the laidback and quiet neighborhood of Thousand Oaks.

As I walked past a park I saw a fellow ‘brownie’ running after his son, who I later got to know was just five years old. This guy probably hailed from Gujarat. I had no official confirmation to this and I gathered this trivial piece of detail purely from his “Eenglisss”.

The exasperated father kept chasing the little monster (he literally had created), who for no explicable reason kept giving him ‘The Finger’.

This is how they went..

Father: SSSStop it Nnnnow and come back. Aa kai taro baap no rasto nathi. (This path doesn’t belong to your dad)

Son: (Looks at his dad, says nothing and just keeps walking)

Father: Breejesss, Commm Heere.

Son: (Says nothing but sticks out his tongue and up comes the middle finger)

Father: “O.. Gadhera!!! Manes na phett no che ka dhor na phett no che?" Taapi maa dubhi mar. COMMMM HEEERE RIGHT NOWWW.

(I somehow managed to get the translation for this “ O donkey!!! Are you from the stomach of a human being or from the stomach of stray cattle? Go drown in a lake.)

Son (with his impeccable rolled ‘r’s and Brad Pitt accent from ‘Inglorious Bastards’): No way Misturrr. I am staying Rright Heerre. (and thus came the finger again).

I was smiling at the scene when the father caught me looking at him. He nodded and smiled back sheepishly. Maybe he wanted to say it wasn’t his fault and that the child was a brat because he had inherited his mother’s genes. I was particularly amused at this scene. Dare you say something remotely like this to your father back home, no matter what age you are, you get enrolled for some real nice ‘disciplining’.

I walked over to his side and he came around as well. He took off his baseball cap he was wearing, wiped sweat off his forehead with his wrist in true Indian spirit, introduced himself as ‘Dhawal Patel’ and we got talking. It’s surprising how two people who barely share a connection get talking and pour themselves out in an alien environment.

Dhawal: You see, my son dialed 911 couple of days ago and cops came around. I scolded him for doing so and he called the number again and told the cops that I was hitting him.

Me (Well, I just thought he was an idiot. Why could he just not keep his phone out of his kid’s reach): Oops. What happened then?

Dhawal: Had a lot ….(paused)…lot of explaining to do. (paused again)… Now I can’t really say anything to him.

Me: (You IDIOT): Hmmm.. I guess you don’t have these problems in India.

Dhawal: Oh no Sir. Back there.. My dad would just give us a look and we would all sit in a line. Here.. “main bhes aagar bhaagvad jevun chhe”(reading bhaagwad puraan (a scripture) to a buffalo)

Me: (He confirmed he WAS an IDIOT): Uhmm…so, what do you plan to do now? (I thought he would say something like taking him to a therapist or some psychoanalysis jargon, I was so proud of him when he replied this…)

Dhawal: After 3 weeks, I am planning to go to India. He is coming with me. As soon as I land at the airport, shall give him the taste of Indian mirchi right below his ears. “Aah maru lai peerau” (he is drinking my blood). Wahin jaake agli pichli sab poori kari liu (Shall compensate for all past and present there itself).

Me: (Oh, I love this guy): Ha.. ha…ha.

Dhawal: I swear on my mother I shall spank him so hard, he would sleep on his stomach all life long.

Dhawal continued for a while before his master (master Brreeejesss) decided to turn around and walk him home. I could not stop laughing all the way back to my hotel. This was patriotism at its best – someone craving to return to his motherland, only to box his kid’s ears. That, Sir, is one privilege no one can deny an Indian parent.

So, next time you think about leaving India and settling abroad or want to criticize your nation, just thank your stars that you were not born in a country where parents are robbed, humiliated, blackmailed and even held hostage by their kids…trust me, you SHOULD be thankful for it.

Kal Raat Fir…

2010-03-17T13:10:00.000+05:30

कल रात चाँद ने

परदे से झाँक कर

तुम्हें खुद में देख सकने का

सुकून मुझसे छीन लिया

मुझसे रात भर यह तुम्हारी

खैरियत के किस्से करता रहा

ना एक पल खुद सोया

ना मुझे दम लेने दिया

मैं किस्से सुनता रहा

वो कहानी सुनाता रहा

बे-अदब हवा शाम से ही

खिड़कियाँ टटोल रही थी

जैसे शायद आज कहीं

तुम्हें छू कर आई हो

मुझे तुम्हारा पता देना

चाहती थी शायद,

कमबख्त

अपनी बदहवासी में

कागज़ में संभाले

तुम्हारी टूटी चूड़ियों के

टुकड़े बिखेर गयी

मैं रात भर फर्श से

टुकड़े उठाता रहा

अपनी आँखों से

कांच छानता रहा

बाहर अंधेरों से झांकती

हलकी मुलायम चांदनी

तुम्हारे बालों सी

मेरे चेहरे पे गिरती रही

तुम कहीं छुप कर

हँसती रही

मैं रौशनी ढूंढता रहा

परछाइयां हटाता रहा

अभी यहीं तो था

मेरे हाथों में

तुम्हारा चेहरा

जाने कहाँ छिटक गया

लाख तलाशा पर

नज़र नहीं आया

शायद किसी और को मिला हो

मैं उम्र भर इंतज़ार में रहा

कि शायद कोई लौटा जाएगा

उँगलियों से मेरी यूँ ही

वक़्त फिसलता रहा,

साल घटते रहे

मैं दिन बढाता रहा

डाकिया देहलीज़ पर मेरी

कल फिर तुम्हारे नाम का

ख़त छोड़ गया है

तुम्हारा पता अब भी

जब कोई मुझसे पूछता है

जवाब यही देता हूँ

कि यहाँ तो नहीं

पर अब भी यहीं रहती हो

ठिकाने पर अब तक मेरे

हसरतों का आना जाना रहा

दीवारें देखती रहीं पर अब

वो मेरा आईना ना रहा

कल रात एक बार फिर

सपने जागते रहे

चाँद किस्सा कहता रहा

मैं सुनता रहा

वो सुनाता रहा

End of a Search…and a story.

2010-03-16T04:17:00.000+05:30

My search ended yesterday.

I finally found you after nearly a decade. I waved at your reflection at the first chance I got, without realizing that you were perhaps no longer the person I once knew. I can’t put in words what I felt, when I saw you. Perhaps now, you shall never get to know my side of the story too.

There is now a lifetime between us, probably more. I embarrassed myself yet again yesterday when I called out to you from across the road. Just, didn’t realize your hands were full, with other hands.

I still don’t know if it was wise on my part to even call out to you. We had parted without a goodbye and it still remained unsaid. Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be.

You looked away and I chose to let you go - again. The person you walked away with caught my waving hand and from a distance nodded his acknowledgement. His little gesture told me all that I needed to know.

I smiled back and walked away in another direction; a little tear dried off before it could fall.

Dedicated to the ‘Minnie Mouse’ and the train trip in a previous life.

The Recipe

2010-02-26T07:30:00.000+05:30

Ingredients:

Flour of Teenage Dreams

1 kg

Sugar of Sweet Nothings

750 gms

Raisins of Promises

A cupful

Almonds of Night Long Calls

As per taste

Water of Your Eyes

1 Heart full

Pepper of Unfulfilled Hopes

2 Teaspoons

Chocolate Mass of Romance

2 Heart full

Oil from Tender Emotions

As Needed

Cinnamon of Gifts

For Garnishing Only

# Take the flour of teenage dreams and sieve it through a fine mesh of time and challenges

# To this mix, add the raisins of promises and the sugar of sweet nothings.

# Throw in some almonds of your all night long phone calls, as per your taste.

# Add the water of your eyes to it.

# Add pepper of unfulfilled hopes into the dough and knead it well.

# Roll the batter on a flat surface of monotonous life and using the knife of daily routine cut out small heart shapes.

# Whip the chocolate mass of your romance and a handful of your verses that you wrote for her in a separate bowl and set it aside for years of companionship.

# Heat some oil from tender emotions in a wok and shallow fry the little heart shapes till they turn golden.

# Take them out on a platter of life long commitment and pour the chocolate mass of verses in small quantities over the heart shapes.

# Sprinkle over some cinnamon of little gifts and cuddly toys for garnishing.

The dish of sweet moments of life is ready.

# Serve warm and tender and consume over a lifetime.

# Serves 2 only

# Total calories - enough to keep your soul satisfied even if you run an empty stomach.

Have You?

2010-02-22T05:17:00.000+05:30

Have you ever done this?

* Have you ever sat in silence and just savored the light in your room fade out as the night takes over?

* Have you ever stopped yourself from calling someone special just because you hung up a minute ago?

* Have you ever woken up early only to watch her sleep?

* Have you ever held yourself back for a brief moment to wipe that tear off her eyes just because that little pearl in her eyes made her look ‘Oh, so beautiful’?

* Have you ever gotten up in the middle of a game, and walked over to the kitchen when she is doing the dishes and stood behind her watching her flip back her hair from her face, with the back of her hand?

* Have you ever felt that words are useless and saying ‘I love you’ is so limiting and insufficient for all that you wish to say?

* Have you ever just held her hand and said I would never let you go?

* Have you ever read a joke book only to remember a few so that you could make her laugh and then watch her laugh?

If you haven’t done that already or do not understand what I am trying to say here you shall probably not be able to interpret and see the following in the same light.

However if you are with me on this and wish to visualize the essence of all what I said in one single frame, watch this freeze from ‘Silsila’.I took it from the song ‘Neela Aasman..’ sung by AB himself.

There are only a few things which I believe I shall never get tired of and I guess one of the top items in that list is the AB version of the song ‘Neela aasmaan so gaya’ from movie Silsila. I can listen/watch it over and over and over again and have it almost on all music CDs that I have burnt till date. I guess I must have heard this song over a million times in all my years of existence and it still makes my heart melt.

Watch it with me once again, HERE

So, Have you ever sung “Neela Aasmaan So Gaya” to her? Tell me, Have you???

Random Stuff I discovered recently – I

2010-02-16T04:50:00.000+05:30

“Just thought it might be interesting to put down certain things I discovered recently. I am putting the list as ‘Part I’ coz I am sure I shall keep discovering these things about me and life as I mature (read grow old) and perhaps shall care enough to document it again some time in future as well …”

# There are a lot of things I would not buy even if I could afford them. For example, a pair of Jeans for 1300$ which I saw yesterday. Hell no, I guess I only buy cheap clothes from the street for myself.

# I don’t really miss people and family and friends more than I miss plain ‘Sambhar-Rice’.

# I shall never be as fit as I was 5 years ago. The bulging waistline shall never cease growing and I shall always have a terrible eating disorder and that I shall always be in a denial mode for the same. (Yes, people I accept I am an obese ice-creamoholic)

# I pretend to work more than I actually do. (I guess, It balances out as my office actually pretends to pay me more than it normally does)

# I really don’t like to shave my face and given a choice I would rather keep a loooong beard. (You know, natural wool to keep your chest warm)

# Pesky kids annoy me more than a thousand mosquitoes buzzing around my ears on a warm summer night. I would actually give them a nice tight one across their faces (only if their parents left them alone with me for a minute).

# I can sit with a straight face through most funerals but I can always cry watching Amitabh Bachchan die on screen. Be it Deewar, Waqt or Shakti…(Oh, yeah.. well…try watching Akshay and Amitabh starrer Waqt in one sitting). I have still not been able to convince myself to watch ‘Paa’ for the same reason.

# I can’t trust any one with the steering wheel in their hands when I am sitting in a car. If I am in a car, I’d rather be on the driving seat. (Nothing worse than being killed by someone who could not push brake pedal in time)

# Love is in the air but I guess I have always had a stuffy nose when it came to Valentine’s day. I can swear and curse at a anyone who tries selling me a Valentine’s day card. (Come on bring your gun along and let’s shoot that guy who is selling roses by the corner).

# I learnt that turning around and looking back at a woman with a four feet wide butt is rude. Maybe they should just put her in the zoo or a circus and I could pay for a good look. (Made me wonder how her ‘stuff’ would hang out from the edge of the toilet seat.) Well, the random discovery here is that I can be mean and gross too.

# After watching ‘Ishqiya’ I actually went back and looked up if ‘Ch.. Sulphate’ was a popular term. I was so sure that it might be a term coined by students of some engineering college.

# I am not much of a curser and do not swear or abuse generally and certainly do not approve of people who do that but I did like Vidya Balan use all profanities in the movie (Ishqiya) for some inexplicable uncanny reason though. (Weird, am I??)

# I kind of like it when people leave their comments on my posts.

Who needs the Valentine’s Day??

2010-02-14T06:48:00.000+05:30

I am not averse to romance and love and actually write a lot of mushy stuff (check the ‘Romance’ label in the right panel) but somehow I after all those years of my existence am yet to come to terms with the concept of branding the 14th day of the 2nd month of the year as the day of love.

Ask any level headed practical guy about it and he would agree with me that Valentine’s day, is just another day of the year. In a recent survey carried by a leading dating site, 94% of married men said that any money spent on Valentine's day is a pure waste.

I practically find the concept of Valentine’s day pretty dumb. Demonstrating your love and proclaiming it in the loudest possible manner seems to have become almost obligatory. The dinner reservations, the gifts and flower arrangements and the need to add an element of surprise year after year makes it all the more demanding.

To top that, there is undue pressure on men to meet the globally accepted standards set for the day by the corporate world. You not only spend twice the amount of money on flowers, candies and dinner than what these things would cost on any other day of the year but also may not be appreciated at the end of the day (Simply put, you may not always be successful in your attempt of getting laid).

And even if you are not happy about the whole situation, you can’t move around with that grumpy face. You have to live up to your obligation and be (or portray to be) cheerful, attentive and sincere about it. You might still want to call yourself lucky if you are just able to pull through the day without disappointing your woman (or women, as the case might be) after all your portrayals of an ‘honest’ attempt.

I guess if I wanted to announce my love, I would do that in ways that are more real, subtle and more ‘me’ than being guided by Hallmark or Archie’s cards. If I wanted someone to know that I cared, I would not buy a fabricated greeting card to say so. Pledging an eternal allegiance to someone should be more natural and be done on a regular basis and not because you are expected to do so on a certain day of the year.

Anyway, to each his own.

For guys who share my views on the subject and agree with me on this, I would like to share contents of an interesting ‘Down with Valentine’s Day’ website which hosted a petition that read as under:

To: The World At Large

We, The Undersigned, believe that Valentines day, in its utmost entirety, should be struck from the yearly calendar due to the profiteering of corporate interests and gratuitous flaunting of affection.

Sincerely,

You could go to this website and mark your signatures on this petition HERE

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------And for the ladies who still are expecting any chocolates or Valentine’s day gifts from me, I would like to share a small joke I picked up from the net this morning:

A young woman was taking an afternoon nap. After she woke up, she told her husband, "I just dreamt that you gave me a diamond necklace for Valentine's day. What do you think it means?"

"You'll know tonight," he said. That evening, the man came home with a small package and gave it to his wife. Hoping that his man had got the hint, the woman was delighted and opened the packed eagerly.

The packet contained a book entitled "The meaning of dreams".

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Well the following few lines sum up all that I need to say on Valentine’s day actually. Thanks and due credit to the person who penned it (Isn’t mine, so I won’t take any credit for this beautiful verse)

Hearts & roses & kisses galore...
What the hell is all that for?

People get mushy and start acting queer
It is one most annoying day of the year

I’ll wear all black for rest of the week

and get so drunk that I can’t speak

So that’s the story, what else can I say?
Shoot the cupid, hell with Valentines Day!

Be There…

2010-02-11T05:38:00.000+05:30

There will be times when my voice won’t reach you, times when you shall rest your head on my chest and still won’t hear my heart call out your name. There will be times when the dust of long days shall mask the faces of friends and foes alike and it would be impossible to tell them apart. There also will be times when life shall not make much sense, when all reason shall fail and you shall look towards the skies with a question in your eyes.

There will be days when the weight on my shoulders shall become a load on your head, days when silence shall become deafening and you won’t be able to hear my cries in the resonance of calling predators. There will be days which would refuse to move along and give way to the evenings and days when the burning sun shall fail to dry your eyes.

On all such times your anger shall coagulate in your veins and cease to flow or seek a vent. On all such times your heart shall pound your soul even if you let a sigh escape your lips. On all such times, a part of you shall rebel against the Gods and crave to prick open the scabs left by the sore memory. On all such times you would want to close the window and stand by the door and on all such times, the wait would be a lifetime.

For all those times I can only tell you to be resolute and let water in your eyes turn to ice; for all those times I can only wish that you stand tall and brave the winds and can only urge you to keep hope for rainbows to shine through after the rain. For all those times I can only pray for sun to shine your way and can only advise you to not worry about the shadows.

For all those times I shall want your heart to take strength from my love; for all those times I shall pay you a visit in your dreams and shall whisper my poems in your ears. For all those times I shall be the wind and would gently blow through your hair; for all those times I shall be the glow of fire to warm you through harsh winters.

For all those times I shall sit by my grave and look at the flowers you brought me…

And for all those times I shall just tell you to “Be There” because I shall always be around.

Zibaahkhaana (The slaughterhouse)

2010-01-31T14:10:00.000+05:30

Came across an article on the new age cinema in Pakistan and how a low budget horror flick by the name of ‘Zibaahkhaana’ (meaning Slaughter House and translated to Hell’s ground by the makers) was making waves at horror film festivals. I could even find a trailer for the same on YouTube (Click HERE).

Well, I have always had a despise for the Pakis and of course a brave heart to see blood and gore. I took the trouble of downloading and watching ‘Zibaahkhaana’ to see what was good about the same. Well, as it turned out it was no better than the Hollywood B-Grade Zombie films that were churned out during the 70s and early 80s and I am not even talking about the cheap powder caked faces for makeup.

So, just in case you share my relish for blood and gore and cheap horror flicks, the word of advice is buy yourself a pirated DVD of ‘The Hills Have Eyes’ and watch that instead and don’t waste your time and bandwidth getting the ‘acclaimed’ horror flick from across the border.

Or better still if you just want to be disgusted, here is my attempt. The pictures were taken couple of days ago at a nearby ‘Zibaahkhaana’ (the local butcher’s actually). The shots are incidental as I had just gone to buy some mutton and was in time to witness a beheading, skinning and chunking. The pictures are taken from the mobile but I guess they depict enough to be understood.

The following pictures like my other posts can be disturbing for the weak hearted…

And please, if you now are going to come back and advice me on merits of being a vegetarian and act like you are Maneka Gandhi v2.0 yourself, just meet me at Kareem’s for few succulent Shammi Kebabs and a Rogan Josh handi and we can talk about being animal lovers.

But then, of course I love animals… you know, they taste so good !!!

When Love Ends…

2010-01-30T04:58:00.000+05:30

I wanted to pour myself out in a letter. I wanted to write down an account of all what was happening and tell you that something somewhere was horribly wrong. I wanted to apologize for all nasty things I was saying. I wanted you to know that this was not normal and things should not take this course. I wanted to tell you that it was ‘me’ - the one who belonged to you and wanted to implore why were we doing this to each other. I wanted you to know that I love you and have always loved you just as ever and it was one thing that I believed, would never change. I wanted to put all of this in words for you to read when you were a little less angry. Maybe then you would have cooled off again and we could have gone past this little bump as well. Maybe had you not denied my request to meet, we probably could have ended up all our arguments just as ever – holding onto each other.

Instead, you chose to remain angry and I chose to concentrate on other things happening around me. As a result - though knowing that our underlying feelings and emotions haven’t changed, our superficial selves remained entangled with trivial bonds that attached us to our other lives and we called it a day.

The letter that I wanted to write eventually never saw the light of the day. All that could have made a difference remained unsaid. The silence tore through the years of companionship, through all the seasons of belongingness and ripped the single soul that we shared in two pieces. The sharp corners of cut glass words pierced through the sheets of softer dreams and the feathered promises burnt and showed the scalded skin beneath. The woeful tale of love being lost to unmindful speculation and untended careless parts of speech repeated yet again.

When love ends, the world turns just a tad off-shade. The hues are a little less brighter, the vision just a little blurred. It is as if you are watching the world through an old 14” TV. No sharper images, no visible contrast. The days pass off in a haze and before you even realize it, the mirror announces that your days are over. The silver in your hair oozes out and your toned temple is reduced to a withered tomb.

When it happened to us, you decided to return to your make believe world of presumptuous happiness and I wandered off to a distant oblivion that separated us for a lifetime. The window that we had was lost forever. I realized it the moment I turned around, probably you figured that out too, yet we did not turn back – neither to claim each other or the life that we had. Another birth got wasted. Another lifetime went down the drain.

Perhaps we shall meet again, some day, some other life. We shall meet to never part ways, to never lose out on each other and to never give up. Perhaps you would be born as a line on my canvas. Maybe I would be reincarnated as a mole above your lips. Who knows? Maybe this is just a gate that we walk out separately from, only to find each other in the light that shines outside.

Till then, I bid you farewell my love. I shall wait for you on the other end of the road. Walk over when you are ready and I shall carry you and take you home, our home.

R.I.P

2010-01-27T03:26:00.000+05:30

I have been dead and gone for long, to now be back again

There’s no more ice in my eyes now, In heart no more pain

I see my truth is all cooked & roasted and the lies are all lore

I no longer fathom my waves now and wait to break on shore

Soon the pain shall fizzle out and wounds on my soul shall heal

I shall grow my wings again and will no longer stagger and keel

The prayers are now not needed, I have no Gods left to please

I am happy to walk by my shadow, May your Hell Rest In Peace

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Few things:

I am not dead as yet.
This blog is not dead as yet.
I shall be making few more posts before the month ends.
This is my poem. I wrote it.
And No, I don’t care if it sucks.

As I look back…

2009-12-31T21:20:00.003+05:30

As I spend my last few hours of 2009, I am tempted to look back and see what I wrote as this year started. I came across the following post (Read Here) where I promised myself that I should strive to keep my thoughts flowing and maybe get a few more readers on my blog. I am not sure if the latter happened, however a total of about 50 posts in 2009 is not bad considering that personally I went through a lot of ups and downs in the last few months – specially on the job front. The fact that I could initiate another blog (Filum Chillum) and act as an admin to yet another (XDSC Alumni) fills my heart with both self satisfaction and pleasure.

Looking back at other things that happened - It’s been almost an year since the Satyam scandal happened and a little over that since Mumbai was held hostage by a handful of militants and well, the trial of Ajmal Kasab still continues as I key this in. If this was not enough we have the Ruchika vs. DGP Rathore’s case reaching to a conclusion after 19 long years and to a verdict which shames the largest democracy in the world. The details about the case indicating Rathore’s misuse of his authority as published in the ‘Times Of India’ today disgust me and probably I shall pour my anger on this in a separate post.

Personally if I try and look back at what I gained and what I lost during these last 12 months and try to draw a balance sheet for 2009, these are the things that come to my mind:

I did not lose even one ounce of weight. Instead, I added two inches to my waistline.
I did not paint anything in the whole year. I guess I have lost how to hold a brush actually.
I did buy a lot of new DVDs - almost all heard of art movies. Added ‘Mirza Ghalib’ to my collection but I am still hunting for the DVDs of ‘Gaman’ and ‘Garam Hawa’.
I switched 3 organizations in one calendar year, have finally joined something which I never thought I would.
I did not buy anything significant for family, got myself a new bike though.
I saw my folks a little lesser than I thought I did last year. Somewhere along the line, I am losing out on who I was couple of years ago.
I did make a couple of new friends. Yes, Ravin I am talking about you, so read this and smile.
I still could not venture out to buy a house for myself or even apply for a house loan. I guess the gap between what I need and what I can afford widens.
I finally bought a new phone this year though this one is much cheaper than my old black & white one and No, I am still not impressed by all those BlackBerry or touch screen phones available.
After having planned for eleven long months, I finally went ahead and did a photowalk at Humayun’s tomb. The pictures were pathetic though. Let’s see when do I post them on my picasa albums.
I lost my new pair of Reebok’s in their second week from outside a temple.
I have been planning to visit someone very dear to me for a very long time. 12 months passed and I am yet to do that…

I don’t know what tomorrow shall bring. Maybe the coming year reopens a few wounds, maybe it heals a few, who knows? I guess celebrating the onset of a new year is about keeping the hopes alive. Hope – the inherent driving force of human nature. Hope to look forward to, hope to keep moving on.

With this thought, just like the last year, I wish all my friends, family members and readers a Very Happy New Year 2010. May the new year brings you peace and contentment in what ever you yearn and strive for.

My Wonder Years…

2009-12-23T19:58:00.000+05:30

About a quarter past 4, third week of December and the feeble sunshine of the setting sun looking to give up its battle against the approaching cold evening. As I left office, I looked up towards the sky. It’s a funny feeling - the cold wind bites your face and the little sunshine from the setting sun gives you a warm tingling sensation.

And every time this happens, my thoughts wander off to you. I remember myself from the years gone by when I would be out in this weather on one pretext or the other and come by to see you. Somehow I still clearly remember the golden glow on your face from one of these days. As you stood in the balcony reading a book, the sun lit up your countenance by all the fire it contained. The wind blew your hair and the orange hue all around made me stop and savor the moment.

I drank the nectar of this vision as much as I could and stood in a corner hidden from the eyes of everyone around. It must have been a lifetime because when my spell broke, the grey evening was shedding its adolescence to grow into a youthful starry night - bejeweled and crispy. I remember all those nights which slowly melted away into lazy mornings and kept me awake. A pocket transistor played songs from a previous era in a hushed volume and I snuggled into my quilt holding onto the pillow weaving dreams with open eyes - the silence of the night punctuated by my cold sighs and an occasional whispering of your name.

Those were my wonder years. I basked in that thin melting sunshine, looked at clear blue skies lying on a mat on the roof and wondered what the next day would bring for me without a care in the world. I played my heart out in the open fields and ran home to open arms. My cycle could take me anytime and anywhere I wanted to go. My friends knew what I was thinking and I could decipher their smiles without anybody having to say anything.

Somewhere along the line I let go of things. I let go of the colors that held me together. It’s a different story now. Each day begins with its own expectations, its own deadlines and schedules. Life, it seems is an unending excel sheet now. I am recording my minutes and losing my years. I don’t even remember when was it that my first grey hair appeared, the last I know there’s one in my beard now. The athlete in me gave way to this ugly looking obese technology worker I refuse to recognize in mirror at times. The wonder years lost to the blunder years and here am I. I am no more intrigued by the crossroads, am not bothered by which road to take. I shall walk on until my feet refuse to carry me, until my neck breaks by the weight on my head, until the day doesn’t end.

So long my wonder years…maybe I shall see you run past me on some other cross road. For now, its another day, its another deadline tomorrow.

Off My Shoe..

2009-12-09T14:22:00.001+05:30

“It happened this morning. People who find descriptions of gore distasteful are requested to skip this and advised to recite nursery rhymes for a while... I on the other hand shall keep dishing out tales like this coz as I see it, real life often needs to be scraped off a shoe.”

- HT

As my foot touched the ground I felt something sticky under my shoe. I got off my bike, shifted my office bag on other shoulder and lifted my foot to see what had stuck below. Whatever it was, it was gooey and sticky and …fleshy and red.

The lump was more like a little ball of dough but it had gotten into the grooves of my shoe sole and had adjusted into it perfectly. However, the thicker portion stuck out and it made walking difficult for me. I was wondering what it might be when I remembered what I had seen on the road in morning – a victim of a fresh road accident.

The driver of a container truck had probably lost control in an attempt to make a sharp turn and ran into a biker who again probably could not brake in time and rammed into the turning truck straight on. The bike might have slipped throwing the biker under the wheels of the truck squashing him like a tomato under a hammer.

An accident of this nature in the rush hour on the main road ensured that a traffic congestion ensued immediately and every passer by had an eyeful.

The rider probably was on his way to work. His stomach and his lunch box were strewn all over the road and had got mixed in the splat. His being was faceless now. A twisted arm, an open joint and teeth were thrown all around. The toasted footpath on one end was washed with blood which flowed like viscous ketchup. A few police constables lurked around in the vicinity like vultures on a kill. The truck was empty, probably the booty and the driver were already taken care of. The body was still around though, probably waiting for an ambulance to wade its way through the bursting traffic.

I guessed that the ‘thing’ under my shoe was probably a portion of the guts of a fellow biker. It might have found its way on my shoe as I swerved and turned in the traffic near the body.

I looked around for some stick or twig to pull it out but could not find any. I did not wish to touch it with bare fingers fearing some infection. What if the man was suffering from some disease and had thrown himself before the truck? I rubbed my foot on the ground, trying to raze it out but the piece of meat just got aligned with the level of the sole instead of coming out.

What could I do now? I thought hard. Maybe I could leave it just the way it was. Probably it would solidify or maybe shrivel (I didn’t know how human flesh would behave) and then would come out on its own. It felt creepy to be carrying flesh from someone’s stomach or something on me all the while. I enquired the guard around if he had something that he could help me with. He went in to some dirty corner and got me a broken piece of glass.

This, I thought, should do the trick. I scrapped and tugged at the piece, rubbed and pricked and grinded and cut in till the time the little mass of flesh decided to let go my shoe and came off. Relieved at last, I shifted my bag again and kicked the little piece to a corner of the road where it rolled and finally fell into a drain on the side.

I fumbled for mint in my pocket, popped one in my mouth and headed to the elevator to begin my day at work.

आपकी याद आती रही…

2009-12-08T15:17:00.000+05:30

One song I heard years ago and rediscovered recently. Putting in the lyrics below and then the video from YouTube. Heard it in a loop so many times yesterday कि गाने की याद आती रही रात भर.

Enjoy !!

आप की याद , आती रही रात भर
चश्मा-ए-नम मुस्कुराती रही रात भर

रात भर दर्द की शमां जलती रही
गम की लौ थरथराती रही रात भर

बांसुरी की सुरीली सुहानी सदा
याद बन बन के आती रही रात भर

याद के चाँद दिल में उतरते रहे
चांदनी जगमगाती रही रात भर

कोइ दीवाना गलियों में फिरता रहा
कोइ आवाज़ आती रही रात भर

PS: The previous video (original from the movie) was removed from YouTube. Here is an alternate one.

‘Dilli Ki Sardi’

2009-12-04T08:19:00.000+05:30

Just happened to start very early for work this morning and captured the following shot on the way. This is possibly Delhi’s first brush with morning fog this season.

Good to be out when you are covered and warm. The winter, I guess is lovely only to those who view it through a glass door and on a full stomach. It definitely invokes no romance when you are compelled to ride a bike in bone chilling temperatures with wind cutting in through your woolens and numbing your fingers and toes.

For now, I can look at this picture, bite my sandwich and sip on my espresso and exclaim..mmmm dilli ki sardi !!!

Forgive the change..

2009-12-01T20:23:00.001+05:30

“When you are a little kid, you are better bit of everything - artist, scientist, athlete, scholar. Growing up, it seems is like a process of giving those things up, one by one.

I guess we all have one thing we regret giving up. One thing we really miss. And we gave up because we were too lazy. We couldn't stick it out. Or because we were afraid”.

- Quote from the TV series ‘The Wonder Years’

I guess I started up with a lot of things myself. When I was younger I wanted to be a cartoonist. Everything around me could be translated into white and black lines and crooked noses and funny faces. Life, as I came to know later, added colors. In fact it added so many different hues that I lost track of the count and control of which shades to add and hold on to and which ones to lose from my palette.

It’s been over an year now since I sketched anything. Probably even more since I touched the brush to paint a plain sheet with anything visible or worthwhile. I now make enough money to buy myself a book of the finest sheets which I always wanted as a kid but could never afford. I can now even buy the best of colors and brushes, even those fancy carbon pencils which I would always ask for when I went to buy any stationery but never really bought.

Life changes and it changes you as well. The people around you are no longer those who you knew couple of years ago. I guess the trick is not to fight the pace of this change – just to forgive yourself time and again for losing that innocence and for having grown up.

365 days later..

2009-11-26T18:12:00.000+05:30

26-11-2008. It was the day that Mumbai – the financial capital of the nation came under attack by a handful of militants who came to kill and be killed. I remember having felt strongly about it then and made an entry on this blog about Mumbai being under siege. A month later I followed this entry by another one about agitations and protest while the flame was alive.

365 days later, I wake up this morning to see an interesting headline on one of the leading dailies. It read “31 crores and counting”. Apparently this was the amount of money that was spent on the trial of Ajmal Kasab – the only terrorist who was captured alive and put to trial. One year later, the trial is still on and the judgment is yet nowhere in sight, and this is when there is video and photographic evidence available where he can be seen wielding a gun.

Apart from the above, there were innumerable accounts of people who survived the 26-11 ordeal, there were stories of others who were not as lucky, about a stray dog who was wounded (I am amazed at the editor who approved this one for print actually), about a constable who was hit by a bullet in the stomach and still can not eat without experiencing pain and many other tales that would invoke empathy and sympathy from the reader. (Things that sell like hot cakes in India – tragedy and sorrowful emotional tales and accounts of life of ‘others’). There were still other accounts where singers and people from entertainment fraternity were organizing shows in commemoration of the martyrs of ‘that’ day, someone was planning to produce a film on the subject.

Somewhere along the line I guess, the questions and the lessons learnt from 26-11 have got lost. I still don’t see any political party, any leadership stepping forward to answer the following questions: Are we safer now? Will this fanaticism ever end? What happens to the victims? Will the culprits to such acts ever be punished?

In the last one year, there have been agitations against film stars and their films, media offices have been ransacked, people have been beaten up on the roads on pretext of language and accused of being outsiders in the country where they have been born, political parties have tried all possible ways to gain mileage on the issues that supposedly affect and interest the common man, real estate prices have shot up again, Pakistan has been handed out nuke weapons and know-how by China, Naxalite menace in the eastern states have been on an upswing and I have changed three jobs…

However, questions that matter still remain unanswered.

Writer’s Block..

2009-11-19T16:43:00.000+05:30

Thanks to my pals, Calvin & Hobbes, I guess I don’t have to say anything more on this post.

Smile, call me up and give me some ideas.

I, The Living.

2009-11-11T23:09:00.000+05:30

Winters are setting in. The days are getting shorter and the air cooler. The evening today had a tinge of pink to it. The sky was resplendent with a feeble sun which peeked through a fluff of clouds for a change as it went down. I sat at the corner of this evening, gearing myself to get out of the office when my thoughts went out to you.

Probably we had spent one such evening together. Just can’t remember if it was this life or a previous one. It seems so long ago when I used to look at the setting sun. I have forgotten the days which gently faded into the dusk and churned out bright starry nights. I guess it was a different sky altogether. This moon does not know my name and I can’t recollect its face. The stars shy away behind their blanket of clouds. Difficult to say if the fog is shielding them or is it just the mist on my eyes. Really can’t say.

I get on my bike and fire it on the road swerving and veering through the dragon tail of the traffic. It’s a long daily ride back home. The truck ahead brakes abruptly. I stop in time to avoid ramming my head into it. I look up, half indignant, half relieved and notice the hues in the sky again. Deep purple almost turning into the smoky shade of black that is so characteristic of these still early days of winters.

The traffic light turns red again. A beggar crosses over, a traffic policeman signals and stops the procession of cars at the other end, an elderly lady gets off a bus, a tired looking man turns off his scooter, some one abuses another some one in an angry tone, a street urchin spits his ‘gutkha’ on the road...

Life moves another inch. I pause, exhale and acknowledge my being alive.

Filum Chillum !!

2009-11-01T20:23:00.000+05:30

Over a week since I posted anything.

It had been an eventful week otherwise. I am between jobs again. Nope, not been fired but a deliberate switch. The time between the last job and the next one has given me an opportunity to do something that I had been planning to do for some time now - unleash the cinema crazy in me and find a vent for all the 'Bollywood' lava that has been accumulating over the years.

To this end, I am attempting a new blog titled "Filum Chillum"available HERE and under the link in the right pane under 'My Other Sites'.

I guess, I have already spent a substantial portion of my life watching movies and a reasonable fortune in procuring the Video Cassettes, VCDs and DVDs of Hindi movies across all genres and all ages. I am hoping this blog to be a platform to talk with all my friends and readers about all those hundreds of movies that I have already watched and the thousands others that I am planning to.

I am opening the blog with a brief about myself, Indian cinema and the reason for having this blog (Find it HERE) and following it up with my take on the Big B's Coolie as it happens to be a top watched film of a very dear friend (Read it HERE).

I aim to include reviews, plot synopsis and my opinion on the movies from yesteryears and the contemporary times and across all genres including commercial and parallel cinema, B-grade stuff and classics from the early era of Hindi film making.

Please feel free to drop in your comments, criticism and any suggestions that you might have for helping me out with this notion of running another blog on Hindi movies. I shall look forward to hear from you.

The 'Fair' Affair

2009-10-21T18:59:00.000+05:30

Last week on my way back from the office, I saw a giant wheel lazing around in the open grounds behind the HUDA market near my place. Festive season around, the place was being used to hold a small traveling fair.

Now honestly speaking I am not much of a carnival enthusiast and definitely not the kind who would hop on a swing for amusement. I just don’t see the fun in sitting on a funny bunny and going around in circles only to throw up later. However, I had been craving to take out my camera and click a few pictures for many days now and this seemed like half an opportunity.

The fair was rustic and rural in terms of the rides it offered and the kind of tents that were put up. It did remind me of some of the primitive village carnivals I had the chance of going to in my younger days and I decided to give it a try.

I stepped inside the temporary gate that marked the boundary of the fair and immediately saw the potential to take some very interesting pictures.

These are a couple of shots I took.

Death of Well: I am sure that the owner wanted the sign to say ‘Well of Death’ but somehow could not get the translation right. This is necessarily a cage with slant walls wherein a rider would attempt to ride over the walls without falling down on the ground. (Check out the climax of a movie called ‘Saatwan Aasman’ starring Pooja Bhatt and Vivek Mushran if you have not seen this thing before. I doubt if sighting this would be easier than finding the DVD for the movie I just referred). Calling it Roohani Circus did not help either – sounded more like a B-grade horror flick from Kanti Shah than anything else.

Ruby Chitrahar (below): Though I did not step inside this tent claiming to hold a ‘Kalchar’ (Cultural) programme. The hoarding did promise a colourful programme including 5 songs (Paanch gaano ka rangarang program), I thought the ticket price (150/-) was a loot compared to what was on offer.

Jaadugar (Magician) : Now this was by far the most colourful and arty area in the entire pavilion. The posters were more than interesting and contained the following:

Icchadhari Naagin (Really can’t translate this): Interesting to see that the poster had film star Rekha on it from one of her older movies.

Ins(h)aan ka Aakhiri Roop (Last form of man): A skeleton as the last form of man would have been an easy portrayal for the artist. However, what I did not understand was the relevance of two scantily clad women on either side of the skeleton.

Pighalne Wali Ladki (Girl who melts): The poster was a collage of Rani Mukherji, some girl from some sari commercial, a skeleton and random scenery in the backdrop. Never knew Rani could melt.

Other Pop Art: If you have been to such fairs earlier, such artwork would seem pretty ordinary to you. However on a closer look, this does look interesting and probably highlights the way rural mob is targeted and lured into the dirty tent spaces for some con act.

Chalta Firtaa Photo studio (Mobile photo studio): Now nothing could get funnier than the instruction written on the board on this ‘Chalta firtaa photo studio’.

The better shots: Well these are couple of OK shots that I could take in under the fading light and shadows playing - a guy fixing the electric wires, the giant wheel, a child selling colors for ‘Rangoli’ and some random lamps for Diwali.

CLICK HERE for the complete set if the above pics got you interested.

Sweet Smell of Approaching Winters

2009-10-20T20:39:00.000+05:30

An early youthful night flanked by thin flimsy mist, a lonely pathway with no disturbance of moving vehicles and jasmine flowers oozing the sweet and lingering freshness in the dark. Top this concoction with some evening dew and generously pour some deep silence around to make an aphrodisiac for the romantic spirit. Call it enchantment for the soul. I drank a cupful last week in the heart of Delhi as I walked by a strand of night blooming jasmine.

It’s mid-October and the evenings in my part of the country are fairly pleasant. There’s definitely something magical about these mild wintry evenings. The air touches your being and calms your nerves like nothing else.

Those who belong to Delhi know that this city at this time of the year doesn’t offer you any solace. With festival season being on, the market crowd becomes maddening and the traffic appears to be bursting off the seam of the roads. Long queues of cars laden with flashy packets and festival sweet meats crawl at a snail’s pace like a trail of ants on the black veins of the city. The noise is deafening and the pulse reaches volcanic fervor when tempers fly.

I guess I just got lucky. I had stopped by at a friend’s place to offload a Diwali present and decided to park the car at a distance and walk through a back alley. As soon as I set foot inside the lane I knew I had the right decision.

The lane opened to a small community park which was flanked by shrubs of jasmine along its boundary. The sweet scent of the flowers rose from within the park and spread within the entire lane signaling the onset of the winters.

Mmmm.. winters are approaching and soon the city shall be talking about the evening mist and morning fog, best places to buy sweaters and hogging on tandoori food. The fat Punjabi aunties laden with all their jewellery and their Amritsari English accent will be all over the lanes in Karol Bagh buying shawls and woollen(s) for their respective Sunnys, Buntys and Sweetys. Others more sophisticated ones shall be thronging the malls wearing monkey caps and polo necks. The girls from the NCR shall be competing with each other on who can carry those high boots and short skirts with a sweater and a top and somewhere along the line, people like me would be wrapping themselves in a quilt and shall sit at home watching the Idiot box exclaiming..”brrrrrr kitni thand hai…agar pakode mil jaate toh….he heh he”

I can already smell the sweet approaching winters and well…some Tandoori Kukkad on my plate.. !!

Verses and...

2009-10-13T10:17:00.001+05:30

My last post was a poem I had written long ago. The two comments that I received on it were similar. While I still deny and fail to see any similarity between my poem and Nida Fazli's 'Fateha' or 'She Walks in Beauty' I can not but marvel the beauty of verses that Nida Fazli strung together in 'Fateha'.

I have had friends asking about 'Fateha' so here is the poem for those who wish to read it.

I also happened to find a recitation of the poem by Nida Fazli himself. Use the following link to download it and listen to it in Nida's own baritone. (www.tandonz.com/others/Faateha.mp3)

I don't know if I am infringing any copyright laws here. Let me know, if I am and I shall take this down, but as of now, here it is....

She Lives On..

2009-10-08T23:54:00.000+05:30

This is something I wrote in my previous life. I remember her today just as I always have, in silence, in my dreams and in my prayers.

SHE LIVES ON

She lives on.
In my smiles and tears
In my cries and prayers
In circles and my lines
In days that shine,
She lives on.

She lives on,
In moments to spare
In joy and despair
In clouds very bright
In proud starry nights
She lives on.

She lives on,
In droplets of my dreams
In clarified sunbeams
In dew that shows
In laughter that flows
She lives on.

She lives on,
In my breath and my air
In my beats that I share
In skies and on land
In clouds and on sand
She lives on.

She lives on,
In this life and beyond
In times that move on
In darkness and in light
In visions of delight
She lives on.

She lives on,
In all that I know
In all where I go
In slumber and awake
In all that it takes
She lives on.

She lives on,
In intelligent notions
In rage and motions
In my lows and my highs
In my hopes and my sighs
She lives on.

She lives on,
In flashes of my pride
In moments that I ride
In my grounded knees
In my battered pleads
She lives on.

She lives on,
In stooping silence
In brooding distance
In solitary waits
In forlorn dates
She lives on.

She lives on,
In traveling sips
In my dry lips
In roving touches
In hidden blushes
She lives on.

She lives on,
In fingers that are mine
In each of HIS signs
In the meaning of love
In ….heavens above.
She lives on.

"Happy Birthday"

Pahaad (The Mountain)

2009-09-24T22:53:00.000+05:30

I hate going to Haridwar for any reason what so ever but somehow find myself visiting the place every three months on one pretext or the other. Somehow the way the place is entwined with the Hindu culture leaves one with little choice when the question of following one’s customs and practices arises.

I am no staunch fundamentalist nor connected to the saffron brigade anyhow. Just a commoner with standard religious beliefs passed on by my parents, I am definitely not the kinds to swear by ‘Ganga Maiya’ unless of course you get me drunk to the brim.

The last long weekend of 14^th – 16^th August took me to Haridwar once again - this time bound by the obligation of presence on some religious ceremony to be held on the Ganga Ghats as a mandate.

Though I have couple of interesting anecdotes from this trip, let me introduce you to ‘Pahaad’ to begin with.

I was walking barefoot from the Ghats to the car parking. Barefoot because someone probably needed my shoes more than I did and took the liberty of taking them away (without permission of course) for this life time when I left them for exactly 3 minutes. Anyway, so I was walking down and saw this kid talking to a street hawker selling bhutta (corn on the cob grilled over coal).

The kid wanted to have something in return for his 2/- coin.

He was dressed in a long shirt which might have been white when it was bought but appeared Earthy brown now and it certainly was way too big for his little frame. He eyed me suspiciously as I stood next to him for half a minute before letting a smile escape. His teeth were tartar infested and dyed yellow with a huge gap between his upper front teeth from where he would stick out his tongue every now and then.

I smiled back and asked him what he wanted. He stood there for a while before gesturing back at the corn. I looked at the hawker who appeared resolute as not to sell anything to this kid on the street. My appearance probably softened the vendor a bit and he handed out to the kid probably what was his lunch for the day.

I asked the kid what his name was.

“Pahaad” (The Mountain) he said.

I asked him why did he call himself ‘Pahaad’?

He looked at me, smiled again and then pointed to the peaks and hill tops in the backdrop and said “Woh Pahaad hai, woh mera papa hai, isliye mera naam pahaad hai” (that’s a mountain, he’s my father and so my name is ‘Pahaad’).

I asked him where his parents were.

He replied, “Koi nahi hai” (there's nobody) and looked downwards as if shy at exposing some secret about his life.

I asked him if I could take his picture and he gladly posed.

Here he is - ‘Pahaad’ for you.

I don’t know if ‘Pahaad’ would be able to keep up his smile in days to come or manage to survive doing something other than begging. So much for the Hindu pilgrimage and Ganga Maiya and all virtues associated with the holy dip.

Read about the entire travel diary from the trip HERE.

A Piece of My Being..

2009-09-23T23:48:00.000+05:30

I have been calling up a lot of people these days, reminding them of my existence. Each day the rising sun brings me a fresh map - a voyage to be taken for the next 24 hours. So far, I have complied without many complaints. It's just getting tiresome lately.

There are bundles of papers lying around. Some contain pieces of my heart, others just have toenails wrapped inside. I have packed my life, my dreams and memories in each of these sheets, just couldn't manage to find a binder to stack them all in one neat pile. These sheets lay strewn all over the floor of my room - a dingy space with a a table and a cot inside.

I wish I could bequeath all I have and walk away naked to another lease. But maybe that is not for me to decide and will for. Maybe each shred on my being shall have a claimant of its own and together they shall come and take what belongs to them. I wonder what shall you get? Will it be a piece of my heart that I have been saving for you or will it be lost to someone who has been a stranger all the while.

I wonder what shall remain of me when I am all sliced up and distributed. What shall become of the rose shrub I had on my window sill? Would someone take that too? And what about the letters that you wrote to me, will they be pieced up word by word and claimed like other chunks of my soul?

I wish you were there to tidily pack me up for my journey. Cover me up with the silk of your hair and burn the incense of your kohl eyes to perfume my being. I would want to leave organized and ordered as I lived all along. I wish you were there to take care of my diaries in the locker - burn them up with me or maybe just take them with you.

Maybe I would have left the pen on my table for you or the unfinished canvas in my room or would you have liked that coffee mug from which we drank from once - one sip at a time. These are the things I guess, I owe you.

Maybe some kin of a heir would come and stash them up. Maybe the earnings of my entire life shall be thrown away or sold in scrap and only the purses shall be counted and secured.

On the shelf shall remain the dried up bottles of paint, a half written letter, an open box of chocolates, an unfinished book and a picture from the trip taken together - lonely, forsaken and unwanted.

The Silver Lining

2009-09-13T22:52:00.001+05:30

Lying on my back I looked skywards and kept searching for the little rabbit in the clouds for long. It’s been some days since I last saw it. It was easy locating and talking to it earlier. Couple of years here and there and the sky I used to know has grown up to be a stranger. The eagles that I would see soaring and carrying messages to the clouds on clear winter afternoons have gone missing. Probably they perched somewhere on that big fluffy nest shaped cloud and stayed there.

I guess you are way down the hill when you start reminiscing about when you were last nostalgic looking at the sky. My head’s already started spinning at the very thought of it. The verve of life is no longer a stream but a spurt of erratic and broken trickles. The rise and shine mornings wake up disgruntled and peeved at the sunlight filling the room. The light seeps through my glasses that I forgot to take off before I went to sleep the night before and pricks my lids to force them open. I wake up to another day, another promise, another me and the same life.

Magic, if there is actually anything by that name, invokes awe only for the first time. When the trick is repeated the delight and the enchantment of the unexplained somehow loses its touch, even if the mystery doesn’t die. The first recollection of a magic trick is meant to last till the end of time. I guess the same is true about life as well. You live your time only once and it doesn’t come back. The recollection lasts forever; sometimes the ink makes a mark on a paper; sometimes it hides itself in the head.

I guess it would be impossible to find even a single person on this planet who does not want to relive his life. No matter how wonderful and accomplished it has been the first time around, everyone wants to repeat what was good in it and rectify what went wrong. Needless to say, it never happens, won’t ever happen.

The story and script of life can not change once it has been written. The indelible ink on the fingers gets seeped into the blood and becomes a part of you. The vast sea of loneliness becomes a muscle in your heart and slowly sucks in your life. This black hole continues to grow till you raise your arms and give up.

Soon, in not many days from now, the only remnants of your being would be the raisin skin and dried guts. You can’t find a use of either. The hollow skull sees nothing and the limbs can’t even persuade a canine to gnaw at them. The lump of muscles which inspired sighs once can only invite sinister cries. It is then you realize that the curtains are drawn and the act on stage can now only linger on in blurry eyes and jaded dreams. However, the mist shall take over this as well and the visuals would be lost forever. The faces would lose their features and the names of memories shall vanish as well.

Maybe the only silver lining to this dark cloud is the possibility that when this happens, I shall finally wake up next to you. The sun shall beam its golden rays once again over white cotton sheets and your hair would fill any space between us. My fingers would find your face again and I shall run them over the contours of your lips as I always did in my dreams. Maybe then the light would fill our hearts. Our individual shapes would then merge into a single form and we shall become a part of the eternal light itself….two parts of one soul… united forever.

Again...

2009-09-11T00:56:00.000+05:30

Seems ages since I wrote anything and the way I feel right now, this sure can't be a happy entry.

It's almost midnight. I had been trying to catch some sleep for quite a while now. After a lot of tossing and turning and being at unrest for no apparent reason, I am finally out of the bed and in front of my computer and keying this in.

The world is silent around me except for the sound of the rain lashing the leaves of the trees outside. The noise, no I can't call it music given my frame of mind right now, the noise reminds me that it has been raining incessantly since last night. My mind has no respite. It has been running around, hopping from one flash in the past to another. I have been wandering like a ghost it seems, reeling in the days already gone by and with nothing in front of me to wait for and look forward to.

I guess my blood is coagulating. It's been some time now that it has developed a mind of its own and has started working its own glacial pace and refuses to trickle down from my veins to the ground. Couple of weeks ago, I bought some very high quality drawing sheets, the kind I had always wanted to buy and paint on ever since the days when I used to hold a painting brush more often than my toothbrush. Somehow, I have not been able to even open those sheets and spread them on my table, let alone run a line or paint a curve on them.

The smoke inside me no longer chokes my lungs. I have adjusted myself to live with my eyes shut. The blindfold does not rake a commotion inside me anymore.

Each day passes just like the other. Every morning I give myself another lease, somehow manage to motivate myself to get out of the bed and find a purpose for my being. Every day I try to find a path breaking solution to the same problem. Every day I plan to see another sunset. Every day I hope that it would end differently. Every day I fail myself.

Maybe somewhere along the corner is a night that won't see the day. Maybe I am actually plodding on waiting for that night to fall. The sleep still eludes me. My head still refuses to call it a day and throw in my towel. I walk on to live another story, tell another lie, break my mould and crush my heart again....

Again, a day ends in a silent tear. Again I crave for the time that will never return. Again I call you from my wet window sill.

Again I look towards the starless sky. Again I feel my heart wrench. Again I forget my face. Again....I miss myself.

The Chewing Gum called Love...

2009-08-18T21:27:00.000+05:30

“Maybe that whole love thing is just a grown-up version of Santa Claus; just a myth we've been fed since childhood. So, we keep buying magazines, joining clubs, and doing therapy and watching movies with hit pop songs played over love montages all in a pathetic attempt to explain why our love Santa keeps getting caught in the chimney” - Meg Ryan in Kate & Leopold

I have always believed that love is an overrated emotion. People who have been fed and bred on M & Bs and the idea of love as something to last one’s lifetime probably are the ones who have either never experienced this emotion first-hand or are the ones whose love stories have had a short life span. Love is the chewing gum of life – breath freshening to begin with and a dry stalemate before you spit it. Those who end chewing while the sap lasts probably have the taste lingering on in their breath for a much longer time.

Think about it. “.. & they lived happily ever after” is only a mechanism for writers to conclude a yarn for which they either do not wish or just cannot think further. Romeo and Juliet had to die for if they continued to live further probably their ever after would have turned to a cud chewing routine, much like everyone else. Imagine, Romeo coming back from work and asking Juliet what was she cooking for the dinner and her replying that it’s the regular ‘Daal-Roti’. It certainly would not have invoked the same sentiment in the reader as probably their dying a premature death did.

No matter how fanciful a love story and how passionate its characters are; the truth is that the magic lasts only until the time the characters can keep re-inventing themselves to keep each other interested. Of course, one tends to argue that despite life’s mundane routine seizing over the passion and sublime reflections of the heart, there still are quiet evenings and tender winter mornings that can keep the flame burning till the end of the time. However, the chances of running out of love just like the sugar in your kitchen shelf one day are definitely higher than the prospects of keeping the fireplace alive forever.

Over a period, people get wary of each other and then there are very few things left to talk. A passionate love story concludes at the altar. The social enzymes in the marriage absorb all what is juicy in a relationship and then the microbes of the routine life slowly cycle the roughage back and forth into a cud-chewing exercise that lasts a lifetime. Most women would have heard the line “but honey, we are married now” from their ex-lover spouses who would be unwilling to let go of the game on TV to go for a walk in the moonlight. Likewise, most men would have said this over beer to their friends “I don’t know what has come over her. It wasn’t so earlier”.

Often the gravest of problems are simple puzzles of communication and once sorted out the dying flicker can be rekindled to warm one’s heart and the golden glow can be savored on for long. How that happens and if that happens, is surely a subject matter for another discussion.

However, for now I shall let you, my reader, ponder on my cerebration on love to be the life’s chewing gum. Make an uproar, comment and share your feedback if you want to disapprove or differ from me. For those who agree, chew on.

Wishing you a fabulous Birthday..... Love You....!!

2009-08-14T20:52:00.000+05:30

I would like to begin this post by thanking one of my best friends for inspiring me to this unique title and provoking my thoughts to actually make this post.

It is Janmashtami eve today and I have come back from work minutes ago. As a routine the first thing I do is to get online and look up messages on mail and FaceBook. I was particularly incited by one of the comments posted by my pal Richa today. Now she is not claiming to be the modern day Meera professing her love for the divinity or something but as I see it, her comment came across as one of the best prayers I have seen in the recent times.

To quote her words, she wrote "Hey Krishna , Hey Gopala, aapke BirthDay pe karm kar rahe hai....aur phal ki chinta bilcul nahi kar rahe ...........Wish you a fabulous Birth Day.......Love You..........."

As I mused over these simple lines, it appeared that she had summed up the entire philosophy of the deity in these two lines. Essentially speaking isn't worshipping Krishna Janmashtami all about celebrating 'karma' and love? I do not wish to sound too spiritual or religious but then when I actually sat down and thought about the significance of Krishna in our lives, it just concluded to these two things.

Now how often do we think about performing our duties and carrying out responsibilities as path to salvation and how often do we actually get the confidence to call out Lord as a friend? Isn't confessing 'God I love you' something pure and child-like innocent in its own right. I wonder when was I able to do that last or when it was last that I had a flowing conversation with my inner self or someone in heaven above. I am sure as children most of us were far more religious and God fearing than we are now.

Probably the 'Chalta hai' attitude has seeped down deep into our being. The value systems that we imbibe today are the contorted and twisted versions adopted as per our convenience and ease. A dip in the Ganges answers most of the questions that our conscience asks us, isn't it? A shopkeeper fleeces a thousand customers a day, a medical professional doles out unnecessary medicines to his patients for making those few extra bucks or a government official may extract millions from a welfare scheme; at the end of the day visiting a temple on a Tuesday or a mosque on a Friday assures them a quick fix solution and eases them of all their load.

The other occasion to seek divine intervention is the time of dire need. It is then that one is able to quickly recall all prayers from the closet of one's being. Be it some sickness, a calamity or a personal loss everyone wants to emulate Mr. Bachchan and claim "Maine Aaj tak tujhse kuch nahi maanga Bhagwaan..."

Anyway, I do not wish to trigger something that may infuriate radicals amongst us or hurt someone's belief system. Personally I am not very religious myself to believe in day to day 'Aarti, Keertan or a Namaaz". It however did feel refreshing to read something like I love you Lord and I guess if there were more people who could consider themselves upright enough to hold such a conversation with their God, I am sure Earth would become a much better place to live in.

On a personal front, I shall try and see if I can get to say the same myself in days to come.

For now, I would just conclude here with another word of thanks to the Riches girl, for leading my thoughts to something I wouldn't have otherwise been thinking about. To all others, I can just suggest, try saying 'Love you God' a couple of times and probably you shall also see the point I had been trying to make.

Judgment Day !!

2009-08-10T19:18:00.001+05:30

I am the silent observer to my life. The days are passing by and I can just stand and watch them go. No two moments are alike and yet it is impossible right now for me to distinguish one day, week, month or year from the other. Last couple of years have just whizzed by without leaving any mark except on my face in form of a couple of added wrinkles and grays on my head.

It seems that there is nothing left to do and somehow it makes no difference if life were to end right away or go on indefinitely forever. The mundane routine has set me in stone. It is difficult to bend, move or even consider fluid notions. The head is a rock and I have shoulders of sand.

It has been some time since it drizzled. The barren land scorches and open cracks do not shelter or house anything. The mirror does not recognize me anymore. Maybe I have said this before, maybe I am experiencing déjà vu. I don’t know. Maybe I have been like this – distant and forlorn since a lifetime now. Who cares?

There’s a thin line between dreams and reality and I guess I have been on the borderline way too long for my liking now. Schizophrenia – one is tempted to argue; I still don’t know. The days flow into dreams and the nights stall at the jutting edges and spires of reality and this reality again is hushed by all what is dark and lifeless. I toss and turn and lumber my way through the night – yet again.

I am the zombie of my past life – disconnected with what is around, crumbling to pieces for mere existence, and yet refusing to rest in peace. I don’t know if I have a choice or am I just supposed to continue carrying the load on my head for all times to come. Tethered by a chain no longer than my limbs I wish, I was nailed to a cross. Flayed by my spirit and urged to soar, two parallel worlds hold me down and dust fills my lungs every time I raise my head. I wish I was a mortal and not a time traveler caught between different lives.

The enlightenment is not what one thinks it is. The path to salvation is paved with listless dreams and lifeless hopes. If it were to mean forgoing all sense of taste and sensitivity to desires, severing one’s tongue would have been the easiest of options. Interest is lost over time and the tedium of living in the same body propels the search for illumination. Reclusion is just a side effect not a seed for truth.

Truth itself is contradictory. It nourishes on the blood of perceptions and devours the carcass of reference frames. What you ultimately hear is a contorted version of your truth and my truth. Truth in its absolute form is much like smoke, without a form or attribute to it but beautiful and mesmerizing to look at, if you have the eye for it. What is bare, naked and ugly is truth stemming out of conceived and often abhorred hereditary traits passed one from one living parasite to the other.

I guess my truth can wait. It can wait another lifetime, maybe more. Maybe it still needs to travel a couple of other universes, a few more unraveling light years before it finds the eyes to see and appreciate it.

I guess until then, I shall keep changing my garb, get a new skin maybe or find new dust to mix in. Till that time maybe you can sit and wait by the door; maybe, light a wick or two for me to find you in the dark or choose to hold my hand and share my grave. Maybe we can burst out from the ground as tiny pods of a vine, our beings entangled in the open sun for rains to soak us. I shall let the wind carry my words to your lips and sky to bear witness to all what I promise you.

And together we shall wait so, till my judgment day - our judgment day.

Flour of Teenage Dreams	1 kg
Sugar of Sweet Nothings	750 gms
Raisins of Promises	A cupful
Almonds of Night Long Calls	As per taste
Water of Your Eyes	1 Heart full
Pepper of Unfulfilled Hopes	2 Teaspoons
Chocolate Mass of Romance	2 Heart full
Oil from Tender Emotions	As Needed
Cinnamon of Gifts	For Garnishing Only