Connecting the Dots Looking Forward...

a forgetful poet

2012-01-27T23:48:00.003+06:00

come back
ink my thoughts
don't disappoint my pen
and the few readers i have,
again.

my words await your texture
my lines forlorn your rhyme
tune my banal words
into a song,
sublime.

come back
if not for me
then for my musings
for no one likes a bland prose
and worse still,
a forgetful poet
who moved on

Prelude to a poem

2012-01-22T23:56:00.003+06:00

The sky was grey and low. A dullness prevailed over the surroundings. Nothing moved except for the cold wind that scurried across trees to sweep away their dead leaves. Obstinate clouds had successfuly blocked the sun since morning and the sun after his initial attempts to peep out had retired and dimmed.The setting was perfect.It was a beautiful winter afternoon to write grim poems.

He opened a blank leaf of his notebook quickly and sat on his desk. Now it was just a matter of time, a patient wait for that moment of nausea to strike. A convulsion of emotions would stir inside him and in an uncontrolable fit he would vomit lines and spread them out on paper.

But not today, today his gloom desetred him. He could not conjure a single thought of melancholy on this perfect day. Restless, he had tried reading several passages of Master of Petersburg to catalyse his thoughts with grief. No reaction.The fact that his faculty of sadness had failed to utilize this opportune afternoon angered him bitterly. He could no longer be sad at his will.What had robbed him of this ability? What would he write now? It had taken so many great authors to convince him that only a great tragedy could infuse in his words a charm that would have a universal appeal. How could Rilke be wrong? Only after enforcing solitude and pondering over a tragedy would creativity find its roots in soul. Now all those hours of seclusion when he endured boredom seemed to have gone waste.He gave pondering one last try.

He read his previous poems.Since when had his thoughts slipped towards the dark and the gloomy.What had turned him so despondent, when did he convince himself that nothing signified anything.

He was very idealistic in his youth, he remembered. He was determined to display that his mind had a certain precociousness that education could not provide its pupil.With a dismissive air, he hid his hard work. He enjoyed practicing the obscure language of mathematics over white sheets in secret, it looked so systematic, so neat. He remembered his old desk, books piled up, notes tucked one leaf beneath the other.A youth fueled with idealism and discipline

He had also pasted one of his father's poem on the wall. What were the lines...he tried to reconstruct...

You cross your fingers if you want
i am going to sail my boat in the storm

empty lighthouse, fog or mist
i am not afriad of nature's fist
.... or dead albatross
nothing can stop me from faring across

...broken oars or broken mast
like polestar I'll stand steadfast
to catch the wind in my sail
and whistle my way....

You cross your fingers if you want
i am going to sail my boat in the storm

A shame he could not recollect the entire poem, all he remembered now were a few words glittering in green ink and his father's signature beneath.

This word,existence

2011-12-12T02:40:00.005+06:00

what was it inside him? a rebel meekly struggling, an angst too weak to burst into vehemence.He hid it from this world by his routine, he yawned along with the others, day after day.He carried it inside him surreptitiously like an illegitimate zygote planted in his head.His morose moods had fed it for over an year. Today, it filled his body from the inside, covered all his organs with black tar. He felt it like an attack of nausea that would not subside. He could bear it no longer, he could not walk as if nothing had happened.It had to be rinsed out of his brain,ejaculated from his veins. But no matter how hard he tried, he could not let it go. It was a parasite he had fallen in love with. It was his creation, afterall.He had nurtured it in the darkest hours of his being, carefully putting thoughts behind his words, shaping it with ideas he coveted, reading it passages from books he loved.It had grown in his stupor,vegetated in his lethargy.It was this word,existence.

The winter morning mist

2011-11-25T01:31:00.002+06:00

The blue smoke filled the room like the winter morning mist. What an unoriginal line he had just written. It hangs in the sky motionless. Another one. He could go on describing it, use his limited vocabulary, make a few paragraphs, draw a margin and fair it down in his notebook. Another second rate creation. However he chose to arrange his lines, they would not convey significance. They were more a outcome of boredom than a genuine interest, a meaningless chore to fill the two hours after dinner and to tire his mind enough for sleep. Never had he been consumed with an insurmountable urge, a moment of heightened passion when the pen etches on paper, an extension of the thought that erupts in the brain. Such sudden urges were confined to writers who sat on his table, mocking at his incompetence. Which angel blessed them? How could they write such beautiful lines, lines that carry a world in their words, lines that expose innermost secrets, lines that gave birth to the next one? Lines that resembled none in his notebook. He scratched his head and saw the blue smoke with a fresh perspective. It turned into ink and blotted everything he had written so far.

ode to the moons on your nails

2011-11-20T01:54:00.001+06:00

if i could rewrite my poems
i would rewrite them all
not one has the words
that absolve my melancholy
not one has its root
in the crevices of my soul

if i could rewrite my poems
i would write more about nature
and only seldom about you
and not one would be titled
ode to the moons on your nails

if i could rewrite my poems
i would befriend solitude
more than my pen
and wait for each emotion
to age inside me
and find its graceful end

A Prose

2011-10-22T00:30:00.004+06:00

For hours he had been sitting on his chair, with his hands on his head and eyes closed. His notebook and pen lay in front of him. He had been thinking about writing a poem.A brimming ashtray ,half written and stricken sentences bore testimony to the sincerity of his effort. What could he think that could turn into a poem? He mulled over his childhood, his youth, his daily routine for some inspiration. Nothing poetic came out of it.He observed his surroundings. A dim lit room, faint smell of tobacco,books that he had read many times, a ticking clock, an old fan with a worn out bearing, nothing peculiar, nothing fascinating enough to make him pick up his pen. Perhaps his flair was in writing prose.

Anonymous

2011-10-09T20:24:00.007+06:00

Some feelings have no name for them

what do you feel?

when the cool mountain air
sweeps through your body and your spirit
declares- it is free and botherless.

when you lie outside in the winter sun
and bask in the warmth of ennui
without a care in the world.

when you read a line in a book
that enunciates a thought you had since long
and you stop to read it again.

when a childhood memory emerges
from the depths of your being
and you understand a part of yourself,
a little better.

when you remember a conversation
with an old friend
and a forgotten smile reaches your face

What do you call them?

when a thought lingers on your mind for days
and you ache for that moment of solitude
to find the right words
and turn it into a beautiful poem,like-
"She smelled the flowers
and knew she was in love."

once a fire

2011-08-29T01:39:00.005+06:00

There is a smolder in these white ashes
somewhere, refusing to extinguish
waiting to flicker
one more time,
in the damp breeze
and fill the night
with its mellow glow.
Yes, there was once a fire here,
whose flames rose to meet the sky.

my goodbye to you

2011-08-10T21:09:00.005+06:00

one day,
we would meet again,
in a different bent of
space and time

free from
the restrains of today
the flaws of yesterday
with only us between ourselves
that day
we would let our hearts
do the reasoning

words would convey what we mean
no emotion would fumble expression
no desires would be left lurking
to form a dark memory

but until that day,
remember me,
my friend

this is my goodbye to you.

a thought to linger on

2011-07-29T21:16:00.001+06:00

another day ended after a long evening
the last sun rays receded in the sky
leaving behind shades of darkness

the tender night caught the falling sky
into her arms and sang a lullaby
everything slowed as
time adjusted to its melody

everyone hushed for the day to sleep
everyone had a thought
to linger on tonight

The Little White Cloud

2011-07-25T00:56:00.002+06:00

Tired of wandering
on whims of the wind
the little white cloud
stopped in the blue sky

For many days
it had swirled and tumbled
in the vast skies,
and had grown weary
like a lone traveler
with a few wrong turns
to regret

It hung in the sky
motionless
with all its resilience

It wanted to be free
from the fetish of the wind
left alone in the vast expanse
with a compass of its own

It wanted to soak the seas
smell the mountains
and perhaps
inspire a poet
on its way.

Black and White

2011-06-17T00:04:00.009+06:00

I found an old photograph
of yours
in a book of mine

Your portrait,
black and white
placed like a bookmark,
between tainted pages,
reminding me
that I had left the story
unfinished

You looked like
a delicate dream
that had realized
it was just a dream,
a void, caught in the net of reality

I read a few pages
and thought it was absurd
to read the same story
again.

Under the Green Shade

2011-05-18T01:02:00.003+06:00

I feel alive but not so lively
without you,I feel young
and don't want to grow old
without you

You for whom I crave to exist
and burn to re-exist. You whose absence
is sorrow and sight warms heart with desire.
You whom I want to hold, love and destroy

In you I empty my despair
In you is rooted the pain I suffer

I no longer wish to hold your hand
breathe your scent or use your
thoughts in my poems. I want you
to fade away remainderless.
I want to forget you.

I want to discover myself
as a possibilty of being
without you.

Sleep for a while

2011-05-03T01:25:00.005+06:00

I want to stop this journey
where hope is but a mirage
to fill an empty heart

Where the roads are crooked
and passers by
seldom stop to give directions

I want to keep my story unpenned
to remain only in thoughts
and meet an ordinary end

Story with no drama
only passive verses
and punctuations at wrong places

I want to sit down in the shade,
let the sweat evaporate
when the breeze touches my forehead
and sleep for a while

Tonight

2011-03-29T12:40:00.000+06:00

Tonight is darker than other nights
Not many stars to guide,
half a moon brooding in the sky,
more black than white
moving slowly

Carrying the burden of a long day
Tonight is longer than other nights;

Tonight is quieter than other nights
I search for your thought,
to fill the immense silence
and move the static time,
but none comes to mind

Leaving me to myself,
Tonight is lonelier than other nighs

I wish

2011-03-14T22:59:00.001+06:00

Oh I wish, we had not kissed
that afternoon, in spring,
when my fingers straying through your hair
coaxed your trembling lips on mine
and honey would have still tasted sweet
Oh I wish we had not kissed
so deeply and for so long
and imagined our whole world right there-
between our parted lips
and life would have been easier to live
Oh I wish we had not kissed
not just in spring, but in every season
lost in each other's arms
and autumn...it would have never come.

Melody of Spring

2011-02-13T15:06:00.004+06:00

Spring has arrived.
Yellow flowers have turned waste lands
into wild gardens
where young lovers
like butterflies
kiss in the bold sun

Winter is gone.
Its haze replaced by warmth
Bright birds and children
are out to chirp
and mock my gloom
with their songs

Standing behind
the wire mesh of the door
hearing the bustle of life
I open the door a little
for the season in me
has not changed for long

Perhaps a stray breeze
will lose its way,
enter my room,
get entagled with the lonely chimes
and fill the melody of spring
in me.

It Flew Away

2010-12-17T16:35:00.001+06:00

It flew away, at the break of dawn;
the little bird whose wings with time
had grown just strong
It flew away into the wind
fresh wings fluttering, eyes watering
eager to see the landscape and beyond
far from the nest that had protected and caged it
for so long ;breaking its truce with time
it flew away.

Winter Storm

2010-11-15T23:05:00.002+06:00

I'll come to you,
before the cool evening breeze
brushes your body
and you miss my arm
around your shoulder

I'll sit with you
for hours, holding your hand,
watching your eyes
as they empty
your dreams into mine.

I'll hide you
from the jealous moon,
waning away
as its light is cold
and your glow, amber.

And when you feel tired
and sleepy
I'll read you my poem;
about us being together
and getting older.

And I'll stay awake to
hold you, lest the winter storm
frighten you
and turn your heart cold;
as it turned mine,
a long time ago.

I pick up my pen again

2010-11-02T00:17:00.007+06:00

No more words, No more verses
No more redundant lines
helping in rhyme.
I had buried my tawdry poems
in the cemetery of time.

I had left on purpose,
the tombstone unetched.
Reminding me
that everything written,
is judged.

But there...
you came again,
to see if my young grave
has that flower
you gave

Yes,
I still have that flower, and
I still have you
deep inside me,
and there is my life, incomplete.

So wanting to meet you
in my words,
in my poems,
in my dreams
I pick up my pen again.

Life

2010-06-21T22:53:00.002+06:00

You were always there,
waiting for me,
to express yourself.

You spoke to me
in sentences,
short and simple
and so I penned you,
consumed by your rhyme.

Slowly,
as time progressed,
I understood you,
I added my own interpretations
and I complicated you.

I could no longer find
the right words
for those subtle expressions
of yours.

My words repeated
again and again,
and I limited you-in me.

I know
that soon,
I'll make you banal.
My words would make no meaning
and my pen will have to stop.

But before that,
I just want to write,
Meeting you was worthwhile- Life.

Old Age Plans

2010-05-17T23:31:00.003+06:00

When I will grow old,
have lots of time to think
and nothing else to do;
Then I will think about you.

I will sit on my rocking chair,
put aside my false teeth,
Sip a little whisky with lots of ice
and try to make sense of my life-
without you.

Sudden thunders and lightnings
would break my reverie.

I will slowly take another swig
put the glass on the side table
and resume to ponder about
your affair with me.

But I guess I will be too old
to remember every detail by then

So I will just shrug my shoulders
finish off my glass of whisky,
Open the windows to let the
fresh scent of rain fill the room
And read a book instead.

Meera

2010-05-11T10:30:00.001+06:00

Meera took to the streets,
shouting her Lover's name,
breaking the shackles of shame
and society.

She strung with melody
Her simple songs of Love,
and soon the whole city
was reciting her poetic affair.

She bothered not for once,
about reason or rhyme.
She had forgotten herself
and everybody else.

Just to be,
Another Lover of Thine.

Walk in the Park

2010-05-09T16:40:00.006+06:00

The old park bench,
by the fountain,
is lonely, this evening.

It has turned its back on the teeming garden
and blooming flowers;
The old park bench is thinking,
this evening.

Its edges have bumped infant heads
and crude curses from gentle mums
have made them blunt.

Many lips have sealed on it,
and Heart signs have been etched, with keys.
Innocent Love, is preserved on it.

Many minds have emptied over it,
Cigarette butts have left holes,
circular and charred.

Promises have been broken,
Gossips have passed ears on it,
Its wood is bending under their weight.

The paint has weathered away at places
and the vulnerable wood has accepted fungus
as a part of it.

The old park bench,
is lonely, this evening
It wants to tell all these stories
to someone, before nightfall.

~ After reading TBG- Search...

3 days of -Josh, Junoon and Jeet

2010-04-23T21:21:00.012+06:00

Now, before you start doubting my mental stability by assuming that I saw, 3 movies that literally challenged the limits of cinema, in 3 days of time, namely:
Josh- where SRK played the Twin Brother of Aishwarya Rai
Junoon- where Rahul Roy convincingly turned into a Tiger using Moonlight and cheap makeup
Jeet- where Sunny paaji played "you-really-dont-want-to-know"

Please let me clarify- "I'm still not mature enuogh for movies with such strong characters."

"Josh, Junnon Jeet- There are no limits" was the adrealin-gushing-blood-pumping theme of our all-expenses-paid annual review meet at Goa.

Here are of some of the "Key Highlights"

Day I:
1. I decided to leave my laptop behind so that the "Review Meet" problem is snapped at the bud.

2. I had terrible food served by male stewards in the aeroplane. The only air-'hostess' looked as if she had just returned from the maternity ward after delivering triplets.

3. Wet Towels are the best way to welcome your Guests.

4. Business Discussions in Goa can impair you psychologically.

5. I met H20+NaCl and C2H5OH on the beach.(I have purposefully used the chemical formulaes to make it less obvious)

Day II:
1. I wake up trying to rememeber how did I get back to the room

2. I wear formal clothes in Goa!

3. I attend a day long conference in Goa!

4. I manage to survive during the conference with aid of SMSes like:
Shashank: I want to run away- into the wild
Me: I am having so much "fun" here.

5. Siddhu Paaji came to motivate us by asking questions like-
Why is Encouragement like premium gasoline?

6. I spot MithunDa on the pool wearing Sparkling Golden Shirt. I felt a tinge of pride to see in flesh and blood the "Disco- Dancer" who gave me my pet name- Jimmy.

7. I rush to meet the king of good times at the Pallalum Beach and drain off the sand back in my private pool.

Day III -

Team Building Exercises made me realize the following things-

1. I am not a team player.

2. I suck at "Networking" but I enjoy making friends.

3. Special mention of a speech delivered by one of my group mates when he saw me not motivated enough to participate in team-games:
" Guys, we are a team here. We have to rise above personal interests and think about only one thing-winning. This is the not the time to prove your masculinity to others but to prove your mettle- to yourself. Its all about channelising your energies towards one goal-Victory."

Now here was an employee justifying our Conference theme of "Josh, Junnon Jeet, there are no limits" in letter and 'spirit'.
I almost clapped with tears gleaming in my eyes.

4. I go to Pallalum again with my Sea-Food crazy friends.

5. I dont't remember much after that.

Day IV-
1. I enjoy the one-last view of the humbling Arabian Sea with Kings.

2. I return trying to justify to myself that a missed "complimentary massage" is not a reason enough to commit suicide.

PS In case you are wondering about the answer to Siddhu's question- "Because it takes the knock out of your engine"
I really liked it, by the way.

A Sonnet, Now

2010-03-10T22:15:00.001+06:00

What were once songs of love
are just deranged sentences now.

What brought to face, a charm once
brings almost a frown now.

What was once just a moment
seems like a long time now.

What was once the whole world
is just a tiny reflection now.

What was once destined to happen
is just a twist of fate now.

What were once moments to cherish
are just memories of pain now.

What was once sumptuous and sweet
has left a bitter taste now.

I remember not

2010-02-27T10:43:00.001+06:00

I remember not your beautiful eyes,
But the way they looked swollen with less sleep
and more tears that had dried in the night.

I remember not your thin long lips
But what they couldn't speak
when you bit on them, to shut them tight.

I remember not your dulcet voice
But the short silences in between
Which meant more than words might.

I remember not the little flick of your neck
and your head turning the other way
to argue I was wrong and you were right.

I remember not the flow of your silk hair
But that you swayed them back and
clipped them again,to hold their flight.

I remember not your soft hand in mine
And the way you held on with warmth
But the sweat on my palm and dampness, slight.

You might say, I remember you a lot
but You see, I dont remember
anything perfect about you...at all.

Old Friend

2010-02-18T12:19:00.004+06:00

Old friend,
When I was with you,
I was with myself.

Old friend,
Our ways diverged somewhere,
And I lost you.

And now as I sit here alone,
by the window
watching the white curtains
flutter in the breeze,
Waiting for your memory to become a poem
I hope you would come by
Old friend
for a little conversation like old times.

Yaaro kee Shaadiyan

2010-02-02T15:04:00.004+06:00

It is that auspicious time of the year, when all your friends are tieing the knot and shamelessly posting their engagement,wedding, honeymoon photos in albums named "My Wedding" ,"Second Innings", "My Big fat Wedding","Finally- Honeymooned","Shit Happens" on facebook. And to top it off, an innocent status msg of "Pics Uploaded :)"

At such strategic "infliction" points, your presence might be cordially invited and if you have that special bond of sharing towel/undergarments/bed with your friend, you would most definitely love to go and watch him suffer for the rest of his life.

But here are a few words of caution-

Avoid anatomy/gravity/species defying dance steps (especially the naagin dance that combines all three) in baraat.The body ache will last for 2 days and remember there is this guy following your every move and making a video of it.

Say no to Unclejis who are forcing you to gulp down neat Blenders Pride even if they are carrying a lifafa of 100 rs.

Keep to yourself any lewd thoughts that might be dying to manifest on sight of makeup clad females. They might be fat and their dress might be skimpy but remember they are all Auntys or their daughters. But there is a catch, if you act too decently you might be mistaken for a potential Dulha on sale and don't all auntys love sale.So try to behave indecently with your eyes.

Eating obscene amount of fatty food and sweets is pleasurable only to the tongue in the entire digestive system. Rest of the organs specifically the end part of the large intestine are greatly troubled.

Wedding gift is probably the last time and maybe the first time you will be gifting anything of some worth to your friend. So avoid giving dinner sets, suitcases, mixers and invest your time in looking for a gift.

In case you fnd that your friends who used to call you up for issues as grave as "yaar, life mai enthu nahi aa raha hai", "yaar woh mera phone nahi utha rahi hai" at weird times have stopped calling and their phones are switched off sometimes from as early as 8 in the night, Laugh on the fools and forget them for their relationship status on Orkut has also changed to Committed.

That Day

2010-01-20T22:13:00.001+06:00

One day,all my pain will cease
And the endless burden of each breath
will disappear like a rain drop in Ocean.

One day, this world of chirades
will clear for me; And everything
will remind me of you,just you.
All shackles will loosen by themselves
and I'll come crying to you.

That day,take my trembling hand
and hold me close to your heart
Till I dissolve in your arms
and close my tired eyes.

I will be with you, that day.
All my pain will cease, that day.

All in that moment, brief.

2009-12-20T23:59:00.004+06:00

I was near you again,
what if, for a moment so brief.
My face had a fresh smile,
And heart beat not echo grief.

I wanted to hold your face
and see if your eyes
are still shy to meet mine.

I wanted to hear you say,
that you too remember me
and your heart also aches for me,sometimes.

I wanted to make you mine, again.
Be with you, Smoothen your hair,
Hear what you have to say,
All in that moment, brief.

A true Devotee

2009-11-16T19:32:00.001+06:00

You show me way, I walk
You give me mind, I think
You give me will, I sin.

But I pray,
Let not my mind, under the burden of sins
believe its not worthy of thy love- dear Lord

Let not my humble soul have a will
stronger than thine- dear Lord

Tell everyone, for in you -they still believe,
that I am your son, and all my sins,
were acts of thou- dear Lord

Show me a way, dear Lord.

Asymptote

2009-10-12T22:48:00.006+06:00

You also left me, my last puff;
Into whom I had breathed life
with every gentle kiss.
You told, you would take me along,
into ashes-grey and white;
And we will get blown away with the wind,
into open skies.

But you also left me, my last puff.

In this season of chill,
you were the last smolder in my dying fire,
to keep me warm
and my senses alive;
But you went ahead alone
And it just might be;
that I stared at you for too long

But you didn't wait, my last puff.

Now what should I do,
but start anew and hope
that my next last puff,
will stay loyal to me;
And burn with me long enough,
to take me into ashes-
grey and white

Sonnet to Sisyphus

2009-10-05T23:47:00.001+06:00

She headed; enchanted and afraid,
into the jungle
full of wild flowers,
thick trees and unknown beasts.
She ran in the wild,
plucked ripe berries,
smelt vibrant flowers and
drank from cool streams.
She chased a lovely butterfly,
fearless and free
into the jungle deep;
And fell in a bottomless mire
where she struggled; then resigned
and was never again seen.

Thoughts Unsaid

2009-08-05T15:43:00.002+06:00

The blue dress, matching earring,
deep string of pearls appearing
like moonlight floating on supple waves
Needless makeup, vagabond hair,
reaching for soft lips where,
Smile, dew drop on rose buds, stays.

Inquiring eyes, raised eyebrows,
Eddies of pink on face that glows
like...like I will tell, but please
to glean all my thoughts unsaid
let me just kiss you instead
tenderly, like the cool morning breeze.

Thus Life

2009-06-27T19:58:00.002+06:00

Destiny
Inevitable results
Unsolicited effects
Cosmological Conspiracy
Disproportionate losses in a zero sum game
Beguiling fruits of Karma

Caught in the strife
Such Life

Patiently smile
Connect the dots
scattered and sprinkled
forming a perfect picture
With certainity of existence
and miracle of probable

Ever unfolding
Thus Life

Paradox

2009-06-24T22:14:00.003+06:00

Shiva, the destroyer God, of Holy Hindu Trinity; Epimenidus, greek poet, philosopher, widely known for creating the simplest paradox and Mother Teresa, epitome of compassion, winner of Nobel Peace prize and the Bharat Ratna met at the pious but chilly setting of Mount Kailasa.

Epimenidus- All Cretans are liars.

Shiva- I should have destroyed Greece,when I had the chance, then there would be no more Cretans and therefore no liars.

Mother(to Shiva)- I don't understand why you do it?

Shiva- Your olfactory sense is commendable mother. Addiction is also a means of destruction, part of my job.Besides,we are talking about genuine Himalayan stuff here. People will pay hefty amounts in future to get their hands on such qualtiy.
Mother- What are you talking about?

Shiva- You know, sometimes my bull, Nandi , chews a few leaves and acts all weird.Quite a handful that Nandi , I tell you.

Mother- You are talking about Marijuana.

Shiva- Mother, will all due respects, how do you propose do rehabilitate all those addicts, when you don't even know what I am talking about.
Epimenidus- Even I love stuff, and I am not lying this time.

Shiva- Still, I would like to destroy Greece, if only I could go back in time.Well, time can come back to me.

Mother- That's what I was talking about. I don't understand why you destroy all the time.

Shiva- Oh that... I do it for you mother.
Mother- For me, Oh please, I already have so much to heal and cure. I think it will keep me occupied for a long time.

Epimenidus-How interesting... An infinite regressive loop, but still not enough to make a paradox.

Shiva- Aren't you afraid of my wrath?

Mother(to Shiva)- You stand between me and world peace.

Shiva- World Peace... such cliche.

Mother- No seriously, Have you ever thought about an utterly peaceful world.

Shiva- You know, as a matter of fact, I have, but there's only so much stuff in the Himalayas.

Epimenidus- How interesting...The destroyer thinking of peace, a contradiction, but still not enough for a paradox.

Shiva- The serpent around my neck is so poisonous it can kill with as much as a hiss.

Mother- Oh stop talking about killing.

Shiva- But you have to understand, without me you would have nothing to do. I suggest we cut half your body and join it with one half of mine, just to clear the confusion.

Mother- Are you out of your mind. All this dope is killing your brain cells.

Shiva- Trust me mother, I have done it many times, with my wife Gauri. God, its tough convincing a woman.

Epimenidus- How interesting...You would become a man and a woman. You could come visit Greece then, such confused sexuality is in vogue there.

Shiva- How naive of you to make such an uninformed remark, for my penis is the ultimate symbol of masculanity. People, especially girls, will worship my penis. I am the man every girl seeks.

Epimenidus- How interesting... But self referencing is still not enough.

Mother- Ok, I am ready to try,since you so insist. I believe in God after all.

Mother:Shiva- Its so much clear, now that I am a part of you.

Shiva:Mother- I destroy to create

Epimenidus- Perfect,All Cretans are indeed liars.
Mother:Shiva- Can we separate now, I can't stand your body odour, quite frankly.S

hiva:Mother- But I apply my special talc, consisting of human ash, every midnight, without fail.

Mother:Shiva- Eew!

Mother- I feel so much better.

Epimenidus- How interesting...Me too.
Shiva- I would like to grant both of you a boon. You see, I am real easy to please. It's one of my weaknesses.

Epimenidus- How interesting...The perfect one, having a weakness.

Mother- Shut up Epimenidus, you say "How interesting..." one more time and I will give you a tight slap.

Mother- Oops! May peace prevail everywhere.

Mother- I want the Nobel Peace Prize

Shiva- Granted. But just to ensure you don't forget me, I will ask Nobel to make a terrible chemical for mass destruction. Explosives happen to be my area of expertise.

Epimenidus- I am not a Hindu.So, I don't want anything from you, and don't you forget, I am liar.

Shiva- I like your sense of humor. So I grant you a special gift. In you lies the key to consciousness.

Epimenidus- How interesting...

Mother- "Of free choice, my God, and out of love for you, I desire to remain and do whatever be your Holy will in my regard."
Shiva- So long, off I go to my dance class.

Rangeelo Rajkot

2009-06-20T22:00:00.002+06:00

Dos and Don'ts
1. Forget two square meals a day when you can snack varities (albiet fart inducing) like, Fafda with green chillies and Jalebi, Gathiyas, Dabeli, Ghoogras, Bhajiyas et al.

2. Strictly no business from 1 pm to 4 pm. Shutters down , Mobile switched off, go home and doze off after a lunch consisting of Sev- Tamatar sabzi and Chaas (buttermilk)

3. After 11 pm , get on your scooter, bike, car, auto, legs, anything; along with your wife, girlfriend, friend, neighbour, aunty, or alone to spend a quality time and of course,have a before bed snack.

4. Stop anywhere and land up at a paan stop. Eat a "phaanki" (a mix of supari, tabbaco, choona) after proper churning with hands. Caution- Don't try to speak, as the red peek overflows from your mouth, so spit it instead, anywhere, obviously.

5. Try 'Sosya' -a chemical beverage with an intriguing name- Sosya

6. Visit the Shamshan- Its the only tourist attraction, scary but true.

7. Drive ignoring all else on the road. And if you happen to bump into someone, smile and say 'Kaim Chho'. Many a great friendships, begin this way.

8.Visit the Swami Narayan temple at evening.

9. Don't visit the race-course or the cricket ground , if you are single. Gujju couples in intimate positions is an extremely disturbing sight.

10. Try the ice cream shakes at Patel ice cream. Avoid the special cabins made for couples on the second floor.

11. Try the cool - Rabdi Chuski, a delicious mixture of crushed ice, black current as artificial flavour, dry fruits and generous rabri topping.

12. Drink the Kathiawadi Chai. 3 Rs for half a cup of ecstacy.

13. Find a "Boss Cold Drink" shop. Decide what to drink when you find it.

14. Drink packaged mineral water branded as Pyaas, only for Rs. 1

15. Learn Gujarati, its sweet.

I remember

2009-06-14T12:55:00.002+06:00

Perennial smiles, Hysterical laughs
Deep conversations, Frivolous gossips
Moving moments, Wasted times
Pulling leg, True friends of mine

Pending assignments, Low scoring sheets
Spilling wine, Talking cheap
Empty cans ,pretty bottles
Matchsticks scanty, Cigarettes plenty

Unusual hours, Wide open eyes
Raving apetite, Cookies to eat
Midnight snacks, Early morning tea
Burning happiness, Peaceful sleep

Ecstasic yawns, Concentration faulty
Indiscrete clicks, Trip to Dhanaulti
No words exchanged, Listening to Floyd
Miniscule tension, Magninficient joy

Robbing me of today and its susepnse
The past lurks around the fence

Envy

2009-05-28T23:39:00.003+06:00

Your joyous self

fills me with grief.

Your radiance,

makes my heart bleed

My Life,

My soul,

My divine light,

I want you.

Destiny is my cure,

Divinity my cover,

Weak is my heart

Craving for you.

My grief is secure

bottled inside

It is my pious pyre

to purge thy desire

I will flow

with the current

into the sea,

Hoping we meet there

Forgive

2009-05-24T21:45:00.005+06:00

No petty attractions,

No real desire,

No craving for flesh,

Out goes my fire

Nothing is right,

It always has been

Complex, Degenerate, Imaginary

Give life to me.

My peace, my quenched thirst,

My solution, My end

What is the reason for which,

I am sent?

Maybe I hold all in hand

and ask destiny to show

Teach me to forgive

and I'll love, live and let go

Why?

2009-05-19T18:57:00.003+06:00

To understand myself better

I follow the strands intertwined

Each leading to an age old cave

With brand new treasure to find.

To know who am I, and

Why am I this way?

With unknown pattern and missing pieces

An impossible jigsaw to play

To understand why they opine,

Compliling random facts and hearsay

Creating my mutated clone,

to my disgust, distress and dismay

To know that I should

pay courtseys and talk small,

Striving for a normal existence

requires masquerading as a winded doll

To learn to be sophesticated

and respect the way things are

To learn to keep secrets

and juggle puppets from far.

To know this all is false,

a mask for cosmic dance

The real is simple and just me

All else, a whimsical chance

To realise the supreme connection

between the whole and me

To dissolve myself in that

and that in me

Not that fun

2009-05-11T21:38:00.000+06:00

Am I not waiting

with my whole heart

For the beautiful truth

to come out and shine

Wait; probably eternal,

Against visible, Against obvious

The burning desire

To unite

What will give the strength

to defeat life?

And to fearlessly wander

inside me, all the time

Will these lonely flames

Burn me to bliss

Or extinguish,

In the confined world

What could be worse

Than to carry the truth

in my mind,

Trying to forget the Divine.

Nai Bahu

2009-04-22T15:44:00.000+06:00

Part 1

“We should not wait for Manish to find a job anymore. We should go ahead with the Gauna ceremony. The new bride will bring her good fortune with her, and her good stars will surely help Manish to find a decent job.” Kamla proposed to her husband, Sukhiram.

“No Kamla, you can’t take irrational decisions like that. Manish is just 21 and he doesn’t even have a job yet. How will he shoulder the responsibility of a married life? Besides in our limited earnings of 4000 from my job, and 3000 from your younger son, Bhagwana, we cannot afford to add another mouth to feed.

“I don’t want to know the mathematics behind it. New bride is like Laxmi for the house. She will most certainly change our destiny for better. And any ways, now I am getting older, I also need someone who can take the household burden off my shoulders.” Kamla was a persistent old lady and her arguments were hard to challenge.

“Bhagwana is there for you. Look at how much he works, he wakes up at 5 in the morning to fill up the water tank and sweep the floor. Then he goes out to clean the cars of all big seths in the colony, earning precious 3000 Rs in a month. He brings by 9 am all vegetables and groceries for the lunch and dinner. He even cooks sometimes for you. After that he goes to school where he does well. He is also thinking of doing an evening job after school but I have forbidden him to exert himself too much. His 12^th class boards are approaching. He should devote more time to studies now.” Sukhiram explained with a certain pride for his younger son.

“He is the younger one but more mature and responsible towards the family. How could you give birth to brothers as different as Manish and Bhagwana? One is a 5^th class pass donkey and other like Shravan Kumar. He will surely be the support of our old age.” Sukhiram’s expectations from an older son were not met, which kept him in a constant state of worry.

“I am not worried about Bhagwana. He will find his way in the world. But for now we have to find something for Manish. Sometimes a wife is needed to boost the confidence of a man. Our Manish will find responsibility and sense after marriage. “Kamla wanted to leave no stone unturned for convincing her husband.

“I doubt that” said Sukhiram practically.

“I don’t want to hear a No. Please agree with me once. Women have more sense of the world than you men. I have a strong intuition for our new Bahu, Seema. You will see how our family will prosper after her arrival. Kamla was already dreaming sweet dreams of a being a strict Saas.

“Ok. If you so insist. Next time when I go to our village, I will visit Manish’s in laws. There we would select a suitable date for the Gauna.” Sukhiram surrendered.

Part 2

Kamla was exceptionally happy to receive such beautiful, milk-like-fair girl for her Manish. All the women from the neighbourhood had showered congratulations. She was so proud today.

“Bhagwana, you will have to sleep in the veranda. Seema will share the room with Mansih from now on. Take out all your clothes out of the cupboard and arrange Bhabhi’s stuff over there.” Kamla arranged for the arrival of her Laxmi incarnate.

Seema, 19 years of age, covered in red saree and a long ghoonghat, stepped inside the room as Bhagwana cleared the space for his Bhabhi.

Bhagwana welcomed Seema with proper respects, even though he knew he would have to start an evening job, to accommodate for the new member. But he was hopeful Manish Bhaiya will get a job sooner or later. He had talked to one of his friends for a job opening at a STD booth. It would be perfect job for Manish Bhaiya, not much physical exertion and nothing much to calculate.

But he was afraid of hurting his elder brother’s ego if he approached him directly. He planned to arrange a meeting between the STD owner and Manish Bhaiya after the evening Arti at the temple. In this way Manish Bhaiya will consider the job not as a favour by a younger brother but as his own good fate.

Although Bhagwana had never tried to show his superiority in terms of the financial support he provided to the family, there was an unsaid mental tension between both of them, mostly arising out of inferiority complex of the elder Manish.

One week passes by.

Part 3

Manish entered the house with a spring in his step. His smile was making good show of all his teeth. “Maa, Babuji, Seema, Bhagwana, listen everyone. I got a job. I met Ramesh unlce of “Ramesh STD and photocopiers”. He said he needed a young man like me to take care of his shop. “Manish chirped.

“I said I will take no less than 4000 Rs for this job and I will join from next week. He agreed to my reasonable demands. You know how difficult it is to find honest, responsible workers these days. I think I should have demanded 5000 Rs.” Manish thought on hindsight.

“4000 is not bad son. It is equal to how much I earn.”Sukhiram reasoned.

“Oh Babuji, you are lucky that an old man like you earns 4000 Rs, but a young man like me should not go for less than 5000, in any case.” Manish’s voice had quickly found arrogance.

“Ok. Leave it, you two. What’s important is that my Manish got a job. I told you, our Seema will bring prosperity to our house. Bhagwana, go fetch some Prasad to offer to our ancestors.” Kamla could not stop congratulating herself for bringing Seema to save their ill fate.

“Maa, I am really happy. If it had not been for the good fortune Seema brought with her, I would have never found a job. I will always take care of her.” Manish was a devoted husband in making.

Seema smiled taking away her veil from her head in presence of her in laws and said- “Today I can hold my chin high in neighbourhood. I am so proud of my husband.”

Kamla was offended by this act of disrespect showing her hair in front of elders, by the new bride. But excusing it for the great news of the job, she decided to let it pass. After all, her good fortune has rubbed on Manish and got him a job within a week of the marriage.

Bhgawana rushed to get the Prasad, feeling happy for his brother, but Seema’s act of removing veil was not received well by his sentiments. He felt veil was a way of showing respect towards elders, and was surprised Maa and Babuji tolerated such impudence.

Part 4

“Devarji, months have passed by, I feel that you don’t give me the respect I deserve.” Seema caught Bhagwana studying in the evening.

“No, there is no such thing.” Bhagwana replied without taking his eyes off the book.

“Tell me, honestly, is something about me that bothers you, or you are just jealous of your elder brother earning more than you.” Seema fuelled a conversation.

“No, there is no such thing. I am happy for Manish Bhaiya, for doing so well. In fact it was I who had arranged... Bhagwana cut his sentence short fearing to hurt Manish Bhaiya’s new gained confidence.

“Then for what reasons you disapprove of me.” Seema persisted.

“Since you have raised the topic, I will let you know some of the things that bother me.” Bhagwana decided to release his thoughts.

“First, you don’t observe ghoonghat even in presence of Babuji. It is not befitting for a young bride to be so independent. People might mistake it for lack of etiquettes. Second, you take so much time purchasing the vegetables, making small talk and even joking with the vegetable vendors. People might mistake you for a loose woman.”

“Also the other day, when you were doing laundry you used double the amount of soap required and washed only your own clothes, leaving the rest in dirty piles. Also, you are the last to wake up in the family, after Maa has already cooked for all of us.” Bhagwana had opened Pandora’s box.

“These are really small things but if you add them up, they don’t portray an image of a responsible Bahu of a respected family. Maa doesn’t say anything as she thinks you are young and yet to learn the ways of a skilful homemaker. No matter how much I ask her to discipline you, she ignores me, thinking you are lucky for us, but that is no excuse for not helping in the household chores.” Bhagwana’s voice hinted of anger.

“So, you think I am a burden on your family. Do you know I sweep the floor twice a day?” Seema was offended.

“But that is all you do in the entire day. What I mean to say that you should respect the society we live in. Brides are supposed to follow some protocols, perform certain household duties, which you should do with pleasure not burden.” Bhagwana tried to contain his anger.

“Who are you to teach me about duties? I know what I am doing. You are not the sole bread winner of the house. My husband brings more to the house. It is natural that I have more leisure than others. I am young and yet to learn and adjust in the family.” Seema defended.

“And you think you are very mature, you are a devil in disguise. I have seen you lusting for my breasts when I bend down to sweep the floor.”

Bhagwana was red with embarrassment. She had indeed caught his raging hormones twice, glancing at her short choli.

“Please, don’t talk like that. Bhabhi is like a mother to the Devar.” Bhagwana flushed.

Seema smiled a sly smile.

“If you don’t want this thing to be told to Babuji, better stop complaining about me to your mother.” Seema patrolled the line between manipulation and black mailing.

“Not to Babuji please, he believes in me so much, I will lose all my respect in his eyes.” Bhagwana begged.

“Well, I know how much you care for Babuji. So, if you agree to wash my clothes every day then I can keep this a secret. And who knows, maybe I don’t mind if you stare at them.” Seema defied her innocent looks.

The unexpected flirtation and embarrassment made Bhagwana leave the room immediately.

Part 5

“You know, Babuji has received a house and huge piece of land from his father. Do you know anything about that, on whose name it is, who will Babuji give it to?” Seema enquired from Manish.

“Yes, that was our ancestral land in the village. It will be distributed between me and Bhagwana equally. That is what normally happens in families.” Manish did not share the excitement about this piece of news.

“Ohhho, you are so innocent. You are the elder son with a wife, soon we will start our own family; our requirements are more than Bhagwana. So, naturally, you should get more than Bhagwana, who anyways is planning to study more, so he will not need that much land and certainly not the home.” Seema spoke with a certain clarity.

“You should immediately start getting in the good books of Babuji, maybe you can impress upon him our requirements when de decides to distribute his wealth” Seema planned.

“Humm, you are correct, tomorrow I will bring Jalebi for Babuji, he likes them so much.” Manish could see the sense behind it all.

“Thats like my smart husband.” Seema said encouragingly.

Part 6

“Maa, I will not cook food today.” Seema said definitively.

“But you never help me in any household work. I have been too lenient for too long. Now you have to assume some responsibility.” The Saas in Kamla surfaced.

“But Ma, I don’t enter the kitchen during these 4 days. That is why I ask you to excuse me. I feel hurt that you think I am a burden to you.”

“No Bahu. I didn’t know you were undergoing the women’s curse. You must take complete rest during these 4 days. I will bring your food to you.” The mother in Kamla resurfaced.

“But there is one thing. You cannot sleep with Manish in the room during this time. You will have to sleep in the veranda” Kamla wanted strict observance of all traditions.

“But Ma, there is no fan in the veranda; I can’t rest properly in all the heat. Could you ask Bhagwana to sleep in the room with me and Manish to sleep in the veranda?” Seema proposed.

“Devarji is like my son, there should be no problem with him.” Seema added.

“I guess so. Bhagwana will obey me.” Kamla was confident.

“And Manish will obey me. “ Seema was confident.

Kamla, was already feeling her elder son’s loyalty shifting towards his wife. A wife can drastically affect the mother son relation.

Part 7

“Devarji, you can sleep in the room. I can’t sleep in the same room with Manish as I am having my periods.” Seema spoke as a matter of fact.

“Bhabhi, I understand. Such things are never said explicitly, and you should not call your husband with his first name.” Bhagwana reproached.

“Oh my dear Devarji, are we not friends yet.” Seema smiled cunningly.

“Anyways, I will sleep now, but don’t get any funny ideas seeing your beautiful Bhabhi sleeping near you.” Seema was deliberate.

“It’s too hot in here. Can’t we afford a cooler.” Seema took off her Odhna from her chest deliberately making the temperature a convenient excuse.

She moved closer to Bhagwana with every manufactured natural movement of sleep.

Bhagwana was trying hard to sleep, but the thought of her Bhabhi sleeping with her chest exposed but for her skimpy Choli, disgusted and aroused him at the same time.

As the night progressed, Seema put Bhagwana to more tests, and the moment she bared her breasts, Bhagwana woke up and left the room. He preferred to sleep with blood sucking mosquitoes on roof rather than sleeping with that shameless woman he called Bhabhi.

The next night was no different. Seema was quick to remove her Choli and expose her breasts. But before Bhagwana could leave the room, Seema held his hands and put them on her breasts.

The threshold had been crossed and Bhagwana was no longer the society fearing, cultured, idealist. He was in another world where shame, respect, virtues, vices, society, relations had no meaning. He did not how long he stayed in this world but it was almost dawn, when he came to his senses.

On the third night, Bhagwana was burning in guilt; he had lost his self respect. He was shocked at his weakness and could not face Bhabhi, Manish Bhaiya or his parents. He rolled his mattress immediately and decided to sleep on the roof, even if it meant, a whole night wrestling match with mosquitoes.

“Devarji, are you going on the roof.” Her voice was serious; it seemed she had been crying.

“Yes, that will be best for all.” Bhagwana had made up his mind.

“But Devarji, at least give me a chance to explain myself. I am sorry for causing all this trouble to you. But you see, I am a young woman and your brother Manish does not keep me well.

She was sobbing furiously.

Bhagwana was at loss for words or action.

“You can sleep in the room. If you don’t trust your Bhabhi, I will sleep on the roof.” Seema gathered herself back.

“No Bhabhi, you don’t need to do that, I am sorry as well. I should not have fallen for temptation. We can sleep in the room, its your last night, anyways.”

Bhagwana sensed no uncalled for movements from Seema, but he could not sleep. His mind was wandering no matter how hard he tried to control.

“Are you asleep?” Seema asked in a low tone as soon as Bhagwana closed his eyes hard enough to call sleep.

This is the last thing Bhagwana remembered before he was lured in the world of pleasure, guilt and timelessness.

When he came to senses he heard Seema crying furiously. Sobbing and taking deep noisy breaths.

“Calm down Bhabhi, it’s not your fault this time.” Bhagwana consoled.

“It is always the males fault. They think women have no feelings.” Seema was making considerable noise while crying.

“Stop creating so much noise. You will wake everyone up.” Bhagwana was getting scared now.

“Everyone should know what a devil you are. You tried to rape your Bhabhi.” Seema yelled.

Soon the whole family woke up and Seema vehemently sobbed and accused Bhagwana.

“You are a pervert. How could you have such feelings for your brother’s wife? Get out of the house before I kill you.” Manish was fuming with rage.

“You are a curse on our family and humanity. I am ashamed to give birth to a son like you.” Kamla moved to tears.

“Babuji, please you should believe me, I can explain.” Bhagwana turned to his father for consolation.

“I have been quiet for a long time. But now you have lost all rights as a son. I break all relations with you. I forbid you to come near my funeral pyre when I am dead.” Sukhiram vanished in his room, without any further word.

It came as a huge blow. He had dedicated his life to his parents and now his held his head in shame.

He left the house immediately without meeting any eye.

Part 8

“Three years have passed. You have not given me any gifts as yet. But I will give you a gift today. You are going to be a father.” Seema said.

Manish was exhilarated and jumping with joy. He had given up all hopes of a progeny.

“Seema I am so happy ask me, any gift you want.” Manish was indeed happy.

“Ok If you want to know what I want. Listen, I want 2 gifts.” Seema had it all planned in her mind.

“First, I want you to buy me a mobile. I want to talk to my mother in the village. I miss her so much.” A mother in law can never take the place of mother.

“The handset is expensive not to talk about the additional recharge required.” Manish reasoned.

“I have found out, nowadays mobile are available on cheap instalments.” Seema had done considerable research.

“But it will add to the monthly expenditures.” Manish pondered over the overheads.

“You work for Ramesh STD. You have expanded their business from photocopying and STD calls, to selling mobile recharge coupons and computer printing. If it were not for your vision they would have closed long back. It’s nothing unfair if you take a coupon or two for your personal usage.” Seema spoke as a matter of fact.

“May be I could. Ramesh ji trusts me like his son. We won’t even notice if a few coupons are reported lost. I can think about it.” Manish acquiesced.

“Second, I want you to talk to Vakeel sahib for registering your father’s property on our name.” Seema pushed further.

“Well that’s not possible. It is not for me to decide. Babuji will decide when the time will come. He is not going anywhere and I am sure my brother Bhagwana will return someday to his parents? I am sure Babuji will forgive him.”

“My dear, you have to take the initiative. Babuji is not keeping well these days. Heavens forbid, if something happens, we can’t risk losing our only family asset. Also, I think if Bhagwana has an iota of pride in him, he will never return. Babuji might go back on his words, but surely we must honour Babuji’s word. Bhagwana should not be even close to his funeral pyre.” Seema spun her web.

“Also, I was thinking that the property registration should be on my name. It will save any future doling out of property to Bhagwana. I know, you can get emotional and weak sometimes. Who knows, evil Bhagwana might try to use you emotionally for some property gain.”

“Moreover, it is you who has been taking care of Maa and paying for Babuji’s medicines. By what right can Bhagwana claim anything?”

“It would not have been possible without you. These are very simple gifts you ask for I would have brought you the moon, if only you had asked.” Manish, proud to be a father, said comforting Seema.

“My dear husband, you don’t have to worry, it is my duty as your wife to make life easier for you. Husband is the only God of a devoted wife”

Part 9

“2 years have passed, since Babuji expired. Had we not sold some of our land, Babuji would not have been cremated with all the proper rituals. See timely decisions always help us.”

“I agree”. Manish said.

“Maa has practically stopped living with us. She spends most of her time in the nearby temple. She doesn’t even talk to me. She has taken Babuji’s death a bit hard. I have a suspicion that her mental balance has left with Babuji’s atma.” Seema continued.

“How can you say something like that about my mother?” Manish was offended.

“She is my mother as well. It is me who takes care of her while you go way for your work and you think I am calling her mad. You know, she doesn’t sleep in peace at home. I feel so sorry for her. Old age is great curse.” Seema controlled the discussion.

“You are right? I worry for her also.”

“I heard from our neighbours about a temple outside the city. It is a brand new temple of all Hindu Gods. Some rich man constructed it in the memory of his mother. It has an ashram with all basic facilities for old, homeless, disabled people. I am sure for a little monthly donation they can accommodate Maa as well.”

“My mother will not leave her own house.” Manish found the whole affair incredible

“But it is for her good. She will be peaceful devoting her whole time to the service of God. You have seen how she has almost renounced family life. And she will have company of other women of her own age. She must be so alone after Babuji left us.”

“Moreover your own daughter is growing up; soon she will demand her own room. I want to give everything to my girl that I could not get. You don’t know how much I have sacrificed for her.”

Seema’s eyes were wet with genuineness.

“Don’t cry Seema, have I ever denied your wishes. I trust your decisions. You wish the best for our family. I will talk to Maa about it, tomorrow.” Manish said apologetically.

“Oh Manish, I will fast for 14 Mondays, praying for your long life.”

“You, me and our daughter, we will be one happy family.” Seema said triumphantly.

Early Bird

2009-04-16T11:19:00.003+06:00

The early birds are no more music,

The folded newspaper has peculiar smell,

The fresh air too cold for lungs,

The soft sun brings no smile,

Morning Prayers, there are none.

I see myself ready for school

with shining shoes and nails clipped

An ironed uniform on limp shoulders

with bag full of lessons learnt.

This torturous time will meet its end

when i start my very own life.

My childhood thinks and curses,

the wretched bus, never failing to arrive

I want to tell him,

How, it does unfold

But I stop myself and hold.

I can't invade little dreams,

I can't tear the drawing notebook,

with geometrical mountains and hut.

Letting Life happen , I goodbye myself,

On the wretched, rickety bus

Kafka on the Shore

2009-03-29T15:51:00.001+06:00

“I want to own a farmhouse”. I replied thoughtfully, when my father asked me, “What is it, that you want to do with your life?”

In retrospect, I think this question must have cropped up in his mind when he must have seen me, his 25 year old, intelligent son with big eyes, doing nothing, staring blankly towards the roof, wasting his potential and dawdling away time.

But my big eyes were lost in a parallel universe, consisting of my imaginations, fantasies, music and food. And it seemed only natural to give the most honest answer. Also, I have always had this strong admiration and fascination for the life of a farmer, working in unison with yourself and nature.

“Do you even know what a farm is?” My father brought me down to the harsh world of complexities.

“What is the most important thing to run a farm in an arid region like Rajasthan?” You answer me this question, and I promise, we will go to a real estate agent to show us some agricultural land.

It was my chance to converge my parallel universe with the harsh world of complexities. I could actually live my dream life.

“Manpower...” I replied hesitantly.

My father gave me a disgruntled look and just left my room without pursuing the matter further.

I have this amazing collection of dictionaries in my room. I picked up Oxford dictionary of difficult words and looked up “arid”. To my surprise, it was absent in the dictionary. The concept of difficult is relative, of course.

I looked up the word in another dictionary, Oxford’s 5000 words you must know, and there it was, defined neatly as an adjective for dry, parched, barren land. I carefully stacked the dictionary and all the words inside it, back at its rightful place, on my bookshelf.

All tragedy arises out of your defects, mine being a miniscule vocabulary. I thought.

I have never been so grossly incorrect.

The question my father had asked was a sitting duck; it contained the answer in itself, for all practical purposes. Water should have been my obvious answer. Rains in Rajasthan are as rare as raining cats, dogs or fishes.

I better start reading all these books I have, I promised to myself, looking at the plethora of books I had in my room. The latest one being Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. I had borrowed this book from my friend and promised to return after reading. I have this awful habit of making hollow promises with no timelines and objectivity.

“I am leaving for Pali, to go check on my convalescing friend.” My father said. “So you better get ready for some driving lessons.” His voice was still reverberating reproach for having given such a dumb answer.

I wanted to tell him that I had figured out the correct answer but I guess he meant me to move my lazy ass to the shower and putting on clean attire.

Also, I prepared myself mentally for the driving lessons.

Pali Marwar, a small town 70 kms south of Jodhpur, is famous for its Gulab Halva, a sweet which has a rich taste of mawa, rose essence and pure ghee. It also has, the not so famous, Government Hospital where I was born. Nonetheless, I am proud to be born at a town which offers such delectable delicacy.

We left for Pali, half an hour later.

“What is wrong with you today?” My father asked.

I clenched the car steering harder and sieved the road for an approaching truck, a cow, a pothole or traffic lights. But all that lay ahead was the straight, grey highway.

“You are driving fine now”. My father completed and smiled.

My father has a sense of humour.

Assuming it as a compliment, I felt relieved. Also it would have been yet another, tough question to answer for the day.

Villages with strange names like Kakani passed us by on the high way.

“Do you know what this village “Kakani” is famous for?” My father asked me in a friendly manner so as to start a conversation.

“Handmade Durries”. I answered confidently.

My father was seemingly impressed. The answer came as a deluge after my arid answer in the morning.

“How do you know?” He inquired.

“I read it somewhere”. I replied nonchalantly.

It was true. I had read it on a highway sign board, a while back, while my father was juggling with CDs to put on his favourite Shammi Kapoor music.

About 40 kms southwards, a small village called Rohet came.

“Is this village famous for something as well?” I asked with new gained confidence.

“Oh, then you will have to take the next right.”My father pointed in the direction of a divergence ahead.

I carefully guided the car onto the kachha road going into the village Rohet. After seeking directions from an effusive Paan waala, we managed to park our car in front of the majestic RohetGarh Haveli. At the same time, I would be correct in saying that the very intricately painted, artistic facade, fails to do justice to what lies inside the Haveli.

“Wow!” Is all I managed to speak.

Owning a Haveli would be so much better than owning a farmhouse. Who needs to work in unison with yourself and nature if you can have your own Haveli replete with all modern facilities and servants abound. Also, manpower would be more important to run this huge Haveli than water.

I kept on looking at the beautiful architecture of the Haveli. At the centre of the Haveli, was a big open space boasting an exquisitely maintained garden. The garden had well trimmed green grass, flowers and trees, big and small. In a corner here, shade of tree there, lay benches and desks, placed deliberately but beautifully camouflaged with nature.

These little hidings seemed soaked with pleasant memories of an aimless chat, a moment with oneself, a gentle kiss, a good time reading, a small afternoon nap. I could also spot a few peacocks roaming in complete peace with their habitat.

We entered the reception area where a heavily built, tall man met us smilingly.

“How may I help you?” He sounded like the manager of the place.

“We were just passing by and my son wanted to see what Rohet is famous for?” My father said.

“You have brought him to the right place.” The towering manager, Rajput by the looks of his moustache, replied with well deserved pride.

He narrated the historic battles, Thakur Dalpat Singh had fought in Marwar and rewarding his bravery, the king of Jodhpur gifted this Haveli to him in 1622 AD. Rohet became one of the most important fiefdom of Marwar.

Now the Haveli has been converted to a heritage hotel. The hotel provides 30 rooms, all having a different interior decoration, a swimming pool, top class Rajputana service, confusing number of cuisines and probably the only time you can live like a king.

I was dumbstruck by the luxurious simplicity of the place.

“Well let’s go now.” My father declared the time to leave.

“No.” I replied.

“Is it possible that I stay here, while you can go to Pali and meet your friend? You can pick me up on your way back. I really like this place.” I begged.

I don’t know whether it was the desperation in my voice or the Handmade durry answer, that guided my father to acquiesce with my harmless request. But, I know that I was happy to get a good 2-3 hours to spend in this parallel universe of mine.

My father asked the manager’s permission, who willingly agreed. Also there were no customers in the Haveli at this time of the season, so I could peek around anywhere I wanted. My father left and told me to meet him at the gate of the Haveli, when he gives a missed call on his way back.

I went to the reception desk to thank the manager for his generosity.

All of a sudden, a big, burly dog appeared from behind the counter. He was this huge German Shepherd with a strong jaw. He stood with his front paws on the reception desk and his face directly in front of me. Contrasting to his majestic personality, his demeanour was very serene and placid. He was like the Haveli itself.

I was startled and took a few steps back.

“Don’t worry. Jimmy is a disciplined Rajput dog. He doesn’t get into small fights, he only wages a war.” The manager assured from behind.

“He is so big; for once I thought you had transformed into a Dog.” I said jokingly.

He received my smart mouth with good spirit and offered it a cup of tea. He introduced me to his dog- Jimmy.

“Jimmy happens to be my pet name as well.” I said meekly.

“But you won’t make as majestic a dog as him.” He replied smartly referring to my skinny looks.

“Do you want to see the Haveli?” He asked.

“Sure, if it’s no bother.” I tried to hide my eagerness.

“No problems, we even have a guide to give you a conducted tour.”

“That wouldn’t be necessary. I will find my way.” I longed to spend some time alone in the garden.

“But he is already here”. The manager handed me Jimmy’s leash.

“Jimmy, you see, is an intelligent dog. He is so intelligent that he will give you a tour of the Haveli all by himself and bring you back here. All you have to do is take his leash and follow him.” The manager said patting the dog roughly.

I looked at Jimmy, the dog, in amazement.

“What, you think only homo -sapiens are the intellectually evolved species” Jimmy said in a kingly voice.

I thought I heard the dog talk. I must get my ears examined.

“You know I am ashamed to share my name with a weakling like you, but since you happen to be the first human I am able to converse with, I will show you the best place in the Haveli.” Jimmy the dog spoke fluently.

“You are most kind.” I managed to say, coming out of my amazement.

I followed Jimmy to my parallel universe of imaginations, fantasies music and food.

“Is this best place, in the garden, behind one of the giant neem tree?”I expressed my desire to go to the garden.

“No, I will take you there later.” Jimmy said with authority.

I was dragged to a room on the first floor, neatly marked 115 in the Haveli.

“This is no ordinary room, this is room number 115”. Jimmy said, showing me around.

“You can read numbers as well.” I was astonished.

“I can even do arithmetic, though I prefer using calculator now. Doing additions is such a waste of one’s mental capacity.” Jimmy said using his paw to scratch his chin.

“So what’s so special about room number 115?” I asked

“It is the room where Wiliam Dalrymple, I assume you know modern literature, wrote his famous book, The city of Djinns.” Jimmy had a slight British accent.

“No way, you are kidding me.”

“I know William Dalrymple has been to the most obscure and interesting places in India. But this is way out of the question.” I countered.

“A rajput dogs never lies and if you want to cross, you can always search your collective human brain, google.”Jimmy replied with a bark in the end.

“You know computers as well”. Jimmy never ceased to amaze me with his eruditeness.

“But the reason I brought you here, is that I want you to sit here on Dalrymple’s desk.” Jimmy pointed his paw towards the desk.

“Ok.” I obeyed.

The desk was quite comfortable. Proper illumination and pleasant breeze filled the room. I f I had pen and paper, I would have written something myself. I checked his drawer; there were a few pencils, yellow with rubber at their ends, papers and some books still lying there.

I browsed the books to find some Japanese books lying there. Amongst them only one had an English title. I took it out, and read its name- Kafka on the shore.

“That’s a god one. You should read it.” A voice behind me said, in a thick Scottish accent.

I saw a silhouette of a balding man, in his mid forties, wearing a khaki trouser and a white shirt.

“I didn’t mean to scare you. Let me introduce myself.” The voice came from the apparition.

“I am William Dalrymple, author people say, but I prefer to call myself a historian. I am currently working on my book- The city of Djinns. It’s about these strange interesting places I saw in and around Delhi. Have you ever been to Delhi?” The ghost was making small talk.

I have been to Delhi. But somehow making conversation with a ghost of a living person seemed strange even in my parallel universe.

“How come you are here? Shouldn’t you be in London or wherever is it that you live.” I asked.

“Oh, yeah I miss the royal society of literature back home, but I like this place so much that some part of me always remained in this room.”

“Anyways you can leave now, as I am writing now and I don’t like any company except for Schubert’s sonata in D major.” William’s ghost said rather rudely.

My scientific, rational human mind had been wiped clean and I was enjoying my newly found parallel universe of talking dogs, ghosts and who knows what.

Jimmy led me to a clearing in the garden. This was the place I wanted to be, the moment I entered the Haveli. There was a white marble bench in shade of a big neem tree. I sat down facing the tree bark. Jimmy lay near me, with his head resting on his paws.

“You can sit here for some time, till I take a nap.” Jimmy said, struggling to keep flies away from his face.

The setting was immensely peaceful. A few birds chirped occasionally to keep me from hearing silence.

On the tree bark were etched a few lines. On close examination I was able to read them

“Kafka sits in a chair by the shore, Thinking of the pendulum that moves the world, it seems”

I don’t know how long I sat there, reading these lines over and over, but when I opened my eyes, Jimmy was gone.

A peacock was standing in his place, instead.

“Jimmy is gone after Mia, the cat. Today he will kill the stupid cat. He was too merciful for too long.” The peacock spoke in a female voice.

“I can understand that you too can speak, but how come you have a female voice. Peacocks are male, aren’t they?” I raised a genuine doubt.

“You see, biologically I am a female, and my sexual preference is also female. So I am like a female gay trapped in a male’s body. For the record, I do like the feathers, they are so colourful. You can call me Leonard.”

I was confused.

“Give my regards to your father. He is waiting for you on the Haveli’s gate.” Leonard Co-Hen reminded me. I checked my mobile but there was no battery.

I wanted to say thanks to Leonard, Jimmy and the manager, but decided against it. I didn’t want to keep my father waiting.

As I rushed to the Haveli’s gate, my father pulled up his car. I was exactly on time.

I sighed relief and took over the driving seat from my father.

He was looking disturbed.

“How is your friend? Is he going to be alright?” I expressed concern.

“He has two fractures and it will take 3 months for him to walk normally again. And just because he wanted to save a dog from getting hit, he rammed his car in a tractor.”

“People are drawn deeper into tragedy not by their defects but by their virtues”. My father concluded.

I drove in silence.

Spirituality and Villages

2009-03-27T14:21:00.000+06:00

I was late to wake up, the hostel body clock had not yet unwound. The only thing that can wake me, other than the aroma of food, is

“Jimmy! Wake up now; it’s time to get up”. My father said. He has this particular way of saying it loudly but in a rhythm of some old hindi song. It is a command and a shock at the same time.

I wake up quickly and become presentable to meet Maya, a single, female, 32, from US who had come to our place, in Jodhpur, through a social networking web site.

“You are kidding me”

“How they come to your place?”

“Why do they come to your place?”

“What web site is this?”

“You get to stay with foreign chicks”

These are some of the common responses my friends give me every time I tell them about foreign travellers putting up at my place.

Well, that’s what you get a when you put together empowering IT technology and a man determined to be powerful, my father.

The magnitude of the age of our foreign guest bothered me, in comparison to other parts of her ASL, as I combed my non-existent silky hair locks, but the name Maya somehow breathed promise.

“Meet my Son, Jimmy.” My father introduced me to Maya.

She looked like a typical foreign traveller, with a pair of cotton, coarse grain, semi- transparent Pyjamas which look very comfortable and must be very cheap. A black open shoulder top with a ‘Hare Rama, Hare Krishna’ printed light cotton cloth covering her bare shoulders. She was carrying a sling bag with all the foreign tourist essentials of medicine, camera, bead necklaces and tissue papers.

She was five-four, with sun burnt skin and average built and appearance.

“Hi Maya, I am Jimmy. I did my BE in Computer Science and then worked for IBM for about 1 year. Then I did my MBA in Marketing, and now I will be working for Maruti.”

I said without pausing for breath.

She was expressionless.

I was stunned.

With an introduction like that I had killed all chances of any further conversation. I vowed to unlearn the answers I had learned for company placements and also whatever formal education remained in my brain.

“You know, the company that makes cheap Indian cars! “

I tried to make up, but the verdict was clear.

After a few cursory glances and words about how much time in India, where you going next, how much you like India, I gave up, and left to have a cup of tea with my mother.

My mom is the most adorable creature in the whole world. Like every spoilt child I can say this with the most conviction.

“The maid servant has not yet come?” My mother was concerned.

“This Maya girl is not that great looking.” I am on very friendly terms with my mother.

“I have to get clothes from upstairs.” She reminded herself.

“I want to eat Dal Baati today.” I love my mother for her culinary skills

“I missed my favourite daily soap yesterday.” She resolved to watch the repeat telecast.

“I think I will bath today.”

Even my mom was surprised at this.

We finished our tea.

We have this very special relation where we understand each other perfectly without having any real conversation. She resumed her chores. I flipped a few channels on our new big TV.

“Get ready every one. We are leaving in 10 minutes.” My father said.

His particular style of speaking makes it a command and a shock at the same time.

And indeed, we have locked our doors, squeezed in our Maruti, with me in the Driving seat, Dad beside me and Maya and Mom at the back seats; we embark on our journey in exactly ten minutes.

“Go Straight”. My father said.

I obeyed. I lifted the clutch pedal too quickly and the car jolted to a halt.

“What was that? You have forgotten to drive?” My father said.

“So where are we heading?” I said as I managed to put the wheels in motion.

Now I am not a bad driver, in fact I am a decent driver, but somehow the occasional little mistakes that happen while you drive, start happening a lot more often when my Dad sits beside me.

“We are going to a nearby village; it would be good experience for Maya to visit rural India.” My father said.

“It would be a good experience for me as well.” I said

“The newspaper boy was asking for payment.” My mother continued from where she had left.

I knew my mom would enjoy the rural visit as soon as she gets her mind of her assumed daily duties. But Maya, she would evaporate in this harsh weather and extreme climate. And she wouldn’t understand anything about rural life. Still, she could take some pictures with village people, to show off to her friends, back at her country.

“I am really excited to go to a village.” She was speaking to my dad.

I hope the village sun won’t steal your excitement. I said in my mind.

Watching funny sit coms can give you a refresher course in seemingly smart, slapstick one-liners. Meanwhile, I managed to dodge a rapidly approaching city bus but crashed head on with my father’s dismissal of my fast depleting driving skills.

“My journey to India would be incomplete without this. I feel a cosmic chain of events taking me to this village.” Maya thanked my Dad for fulfilling her destiny.

I watched Maya in the rear view mirror, waving her hand to school going children. The children waved back enthusiastically.

“India is so full of energy. Everyone is so eager to share and help.” Maya complimented the entire Indian population.

Don’t these foreigners realise it. I pondered. Can’t they see that they are the monkeys in the zoo; and all Indians are just waiting with peanuts in their fists?

I humbled the Indian population.

I swiftly manoeuvred the car, as a cow directed the traffic control of the road.

“You must be extra careful when there are cows on the road.” My father said.

“Your son is driving alright.” Maya came to my rescue.

She is finally over my stunning introduction. I mentally high-fived myself. May be now she can see the cool side of me, I thought hopefully.

“You know the spirit of India lies in villages.” I pushed my case further.

But alas, I had pushed my case in fields where my Dad is an expert- Spiritualism and Villages.

What followed was a discourse on the bare essentials of Hinduism, Yoga, Mythology, Village life, Local deities. In fact my dad was speaking with such fluency and humour, I started enjoying his conversation.

Listening to some beautiful poems on village life, in my dad’s heavy voice, we reached our village. Modi Joshiyan.

We entered a house and were immediately welcomed by the entire family. They treated us like old time family friends and offered us tea and snacks. After customary introduction about our caste and our village, the males and females were taken in separate rooms.

The head of the house offered us opium, the traditional way of welcoming guests by Bishnoi clan. The entire way of consuming opium was quite elaborate and was more like a ritual.

My father summoned for Maya, after taking permission from the head of the family, of course.

The apparatus for preparing opium consisted of a silver stand with two jute filters attached. The big bishnoi in his white turban took out some dry opium from a plastic bag and meticulously grounded it in an ornate vessel. Then he mixed it with water and put it in the jute filters where it collected in another vessel.

He offered it to my dad, first and then to me.

Now this part was really tricky. The man poured some liquid opium in his hand and we had to slurp it from his hand.

Well, as long it is Opium, hygiene can wait.

He offered opium to Maya as well who willingly took gulps of freshly ground opium water. The process was repeated till we could not bear the bitter taste of opium.

We were offered Mango Bite to give our taste buds some respite.

Maya returned to the ladies room where many a village girls had come to see the fair skinned girl from far away land.

Poor Maya, I thought. She would be in a whirlpool of words she can’t comprehend.

“We will go now, to another village”, my father said, cutting short the details of the family dispute, our host had managed over a piece of land.

It was his time to experience my dad’s particular style of speaking that makes it a command and a shock at the same time.

I was told to convey our departure to mom and Maya. As I entered the ladies room I saw Maya deeply engrossed in conversation with a village girl, roughly her own size but definitely younger and arguably prettier. Maya was doing all the listening but her hand was on her shoulders and she has a smile on her face as if she understood everything the girl was saying.

I told that we were about to leave and rushed. It was the ladies room after all.

I and dad waited for the females to appear and bid our farewell to the Bishnoi’s at their huts gate. I listened to their Marwari accent and amazed how dad could understand such different dialects.

I was praising my dad.

The opium was taking effect. It is believed to make you see things clearly.

As the women delayed even more dad asked me to reverse the car and bring it front of the gate.

This was my chance, it was tricky to reverse the car in narrow village lane and if I could give this one flawless performance of precise control of accelerator, brake and clutch I would redeem my position as a driver, in front of dad. This was my chance to drive myself to glory.

I cautiously put the car in reverse and with surgical precision parked it right in front of the gate.

The opium had taken effect. It is believed to improve your driving.

The females had arrived and I geared myself up for the long drive ahead.

“I am not going with you guys.” Maya announced.

Maya was out of her senses. I thought.

“Thank you, Vipin (dad) for bringing me to this village. How can I ever repay you? You are my messiah. You have led me to my destiny.”

The opium had its effect on her, I presumed. It is believed to make you crazy.

My father looked at her face intently. His eyes were growing bigger.

She is out of her freaking minds, she wants to stay here? In a village called nowhere. I was unable to comprehend the depths of this stupid act.

Village people will probably rape her and kill her. I imagined the worst case and highly likely scenario.

“No Vipin, I am not out of my senses. I have found my soul mate here, in Kamla. She and I just connected. We talked and understood each other on a spiritual plane. We must have common past karma.”Maya spoke confidently.

My mom is emotional but she vouched that the two were inseparable in the ladies room

My dad stared at her some more, and started to clear his throat-

I prayed that the opium doesn’t have its effect on Dad. It is believed to make you violent.

“As you wish”. My father said.

Not in his particular way of speaking but it was a command for me and a shock.

Death of Beauty

2008-12-22T21:54:00.000+06:00

To be in the world

Beauty Dies

And it becomes

A skeleton of lies

A silent adjustment

A nod of the head

Leaving the past behind

Keeps walking ahead

It closes the eyes

Makes a compromise

A tormented soul

Hoping it dies

It sees ahead

An empty space

And in shame

Buries its face

What can it do?

But rationalize

From these ashes

No phoenix can rise

Lateral Thinking

2008-11-18T19:03:00.002+06:00

Me and my friend Ashoke went to Arcus, our college food joint. Ashoke ordered for 2 plain paranthas. While the order was being executed, we sat down to have some conversation.

A cat passed by in her own gracefully inconspicuous style, avoiding any attention.

Ashoke: "Why doesn't the cat learn from Dog that we are not to be afraid of? "

Me: "Humm, the Lion is not afraid of us, it has learnt that without learning from Dog"

Ashoke: "Ok... let us create a Lateral Thinking Puzzle"

Me: "Ok.."

A few minutes of intense deliberation

Me:"A man orders for 2 plain paranthas, sees a cat pass by and asks to make a lateral thinking puzzle?"Why?

Ashoke:"A man is driving a bike, suddenly he leaves both his hands, turns around and sits the other way round and wobbles his posterior to make his bike go in circles." Why?

Happy Incident

2008-11-12T19:35:00.002+06:00

I was happy.

Slowly, I went to Sector 14 to buy some cookies to satisfy the deep craving to eat sweet stuff. The bakery store there was full of delicacies.

"Cookies", I managed to say to the man behind the counter (MBTC).

MBTC :"Which one?"

I stared at the counter with my eyes wide open.

On top shelf there was "Wheat Cookies" and below it was "Wheat Cookies Sugar Free"

I pointed to the lower shelf and said 250 grams of this. MBTC took out hot cookies and packed them. I gave the amount to cashier and waited for MBTC to pack my cookies.

MBTC:"Here you go"(handing over the pack)

Me: :"Don't bullshit me, you scoundrel. Where is my free sugar?!"

I was beautiful

The Great Indian Rock Show

2008-11-03T14:34:00.003+06:00

Magical lights, Smoke, Screeching music, Huge speakers, Head banging, Dope, Madness, Passion... Put all these together with some more lights, screams,beats, bass,and wilder head banging -you have a rock show.

"You have to come to The Great Indian rock show"-my friend urged me. "I have been waiting to attend GIR for 6 years!".

Now, i am music illiterate plus tone deaf and i don't have one iota of music running in my viens. I am as oblivious to rock as i am to pop or any other kind of music. The closest i ever got to rock was hearing Limp Bizkit's Mission Impossible track as it was my ring tone on a monophonic mobile handset. And people who know rock even remotely would agree thats as close as Bush got to catch Osama.

But considering the next option would be attending a class, I chose to experience another world.

And another world it was.

As we entered Prgati Maidan in New Delhi i saw a queue as long as Sonali's legs. I have never seen so many guys dressed in black, with Levi's jeans, long hair, sporting a goatee, speaking accented english with fuck after every alternate word, at one place. There were 2000 or more such guys and gals wearing Zaplin, Clapton, Nirvana T shirts looking part of some cult.

I, wearing a full sleeves shirt and a modest John Players Jeans, clean shaven with neatly cropped hair was looking like a freak show!

"Are these guys for real?"- I asked my friend. But he was already making conversation with one of the guys in front of us

"They are tuning their Bass guitar now"

"Yeah! The noise is fucking crazy man, i feel like i will fuckin attained nirvana tonight. "

"The voice is coming from sub woofers, they haven't even plugged in the main speakers"

"Fuck! That is so awesome man"

I listened to this conversation with interest and asked naive questions about Lead guitar, Bass guitar, drums, vocalists and audio equipment which my friend was happy to tell. I also enquired about Death metal, Heavy metal and other bare essentials to satisfy my curiosity.

ACT 1

The show started with a performance from Level 9, an Indian rock band with a female vocalist. An unusual combination to start with and some music which i didn't really like. Some people were enjoying it but rest were horrified and made statements like

"Get off the stage, you bitch!!"

I felt happy that, what i was not liking was not liked by many. Their performance was marked by occassional brilliance of their drummer who made the crowd go wild with his beats. In the end the group perfomed a song by U2, where the vocalist tried to invlove the crowd as well.

Vocalist: "So you guys like U2??"

Crowd was stunned as if she had insulted their mothers, sisters and grannies in one go.

Vocalist: "I can't see you guys, because i have the spotlight on me, but i hope you guys are having a good time!!!". I thought she was really cute to make a statement like that.

ACT 2

After the act was over the next band that performed was "Undying Inc". A heavily bicepped man walked up to stage and started screaming so loudly that i fell a few steps back. The vocalist was holding his chest and screaming so violently that i feared his guts and pancreas would spill out on the crowd. But no body else cared about his pancreas and seemed pleased that they were getting the real rock now.

The crowd was with him and soon joined him in a community head banging ceremony. After one of his performances, the vocalist asked

"Fucking Delhi!You know what the fuck is coming to fuck you now" (Yeah, he had a liberal tongue)

Every one nodded intelligently and screamed Oh YES!!!!

I was like okay, let's see.

He screamed with even higher intensity and crowd banged their heads with matching spine crushing gyrations while their heads spinning in elliptical motions.

I tried to copy that but my neck pain got the better of me. But it was intoxicating and after some time i got the trick. You have to bend your knees, thurst your pelvic and take your head up and down to the maximum you can.

I saw some guys in the crowd going wild and pushing each other. They were throwing themselves on each other and running away. I thought crowd has gotten out of control and a stampede is inevitable. I asked my friends to step away but they said its ok and normal. They even have a name for such logic defying behaviour. Its called a mosh pit.

Act 3 and Act 4 followed.

What i really liked was Them Clones performance of Zephyretta. It was a breath of fresh air amidst all the metal. What i realised that i like music only when the words make sense to me. For me the lyrics are more important than the music. Well it took me rock concert to realise this.

What followed was the ultimate performance, more like what you associate with a rock concert. The last band to perform was Satyricon a norwegian band. I mean just check out their web site they are the real deal, the mean look, the long hairs, the attitude.

They took quite some time to check the sounds and the lights, which got annoying and boring after such ear drum squashing music. Mean while:

Me: "Do i smell hash all over the place?"

My friend: "Oh Yea! The perfume is all around..."

Me: "Well, some one is having a happy time"

But when the band began the public went out of their minds. I have never seen so much wildness. I began to head bang as professionaly as if i was born listening to rock. The passion was all engulfing.

The scene on the stage was out of this world. Three guitarists with long hairs had there knees bent. There upper body was pushed back at an angle of 30 degrees. Yet they managed to hold their guitars, and twist and turn their heads with all hair in front with such ferocious rpm that wind mills would be ashamed.

I being some what detached and dispassionate human being saved my neck from permanent damage but i am pretty sure most guys would be having neck-bandages for at least a week.

As we moved out a guy commented "Tonight, my life is complete!"

Well, i didnt really satisfy my self actualization needs but nevertheless

Rock On!

Depicted usually by folding your middle and ring finger and placing your thumb over them.

Imagine

2008-10-13T22:48:00.001+06:00

Imagination

The way to travel

Lighter and Faster

Than air or Light

You leave behind the matter

Into the pattern of choice

You can't stay there

Bonds have been created

Guilt, Acceptance, Acknowledgment

Freedom is lost, But

Existence is achieved

One part rejoices,

Other Mourns

Matter and Bliss

Ignorance

2008-10-13T22:44:00.001+06:00

Ignorance
Pretension of Knowledge
Asserting , imposing a mask
Half empty , Shallow
Confusing Deliberately
To save the charring of Ego
whose nature is to manifest

Ignorant listens
Choices are limited
He is under a spell now
His desire is to imitate
Vicious circle spirals
Ignorance Smiles
Ego is its slave
Truth its enemy

Lead MDI

2008-07-03T13:16:00.004+06:00

There are two kinds of MDI.

When one MDI is fighting hard to study for next class, managing their projects/academics the other MDI is drinking beer on the dome.

When one MDI is stepping towards the library to learn the other MDI just scoffs and moves towards pub to get on with life.

When one MDI is spending 2 hours analyzing and reading the case the other MDI is gossiping, because it knows whatever the case they will faff their way through the case. Moreover they feel appalled and carp about the instructor if there point of view is not accepted.

When one MDI respects the instructor and wants to learn from him, the other MDI wants to brand the instructor as useless and good for nothing. They want to point his shortcomings, his problems, his incompetence more than anything.

When one MDI wants to sleep on time the other MDI is playing loud music and shouting because they know they will catch up with sleep in class.

When one MDI gives an idea or has an expertise the other MDI just wants to manipulate and use the idea and take credit for it.

When one MDI wants to give an opinion the other MDI spams as it has assumed the sole ownership to opine on any subject any topic or any happening.

When one MDI wants to speak something logical the other MDI is amused, it retaliates by erupting volumes of no brainer statements that cloud any logic left.

When one MDI wants to stand up and make a mark, the other MDI conspires to bring it down.

When one MDI learns a subject the other MDI will crowd him to teach the same.

When one MDI is working hard for the quiz/exam the other MDI is worrying about the seating arrangement and examination instructor, calling it smart work.

When one MDI gets 8 CG , its ghissu . When other MDI gets 6 CG its stud.

Only one thing, one MDI is 70% , the other MDI is just 30%.

Class Apart!

2008-06-12T13:35:00.002+06:00

So, after a nice summer holiday, classes have started to find their way back in my life. Its good to be in air conditioning with all your friends.

A typical class of Strategic Management goes like this for me:

Characters involved
Me, Teacher, Anup(sitting besides me)

Teacher: Globalisation is dead or Globalisation is a reality - that is the deabte.
Me: Firangee ladkiyo kee quality so-so hee hai abkee baar.
Anup: Angrezo bharta chhodo! Simon go back...

Me: Achha bata Simon comission ka opposition kerte hue kaun mara gaya tha?
Anup: Koi aadmi

Teacher: International Business Strategy has to adapt to local environment... What do you guys think about it?
Some enlightened soul: Sir, companies have to customize their business model according to local environment. Otherwise it could be a failure. I call it 'glocal strategy'
Me: Yaar! kahi bahut dur bhaag jaane ka dil ker raha hai...
Anup: Haa... Attendance ke baad chalte hai.

Anup: Yaar! tu koi kahaani suna.. tune itnee books padhee hai.

Teacher: Has some one read the book " The world is flat"
Anup: tuune padhee hai.
Me: Of Course!
Anup: to haath khada kerna...
Me: Paagal hai kya?

The teacher goes on to describe how Thomas Friedman has identified the forces that have made the world a global village.

Anup: Bhai ek joke sunnata hu
Sardarji: Mai tere kaan mai daalonga!
Sardarni: Paagal ho gaye ho tussi... Mai behari ho jaaongi!
Sardarji: Kyu jab maine moo main diya tha tub goongi ho gayee thee kya... !

he he he! some giggles under the table.

Me: Yaar koi logic nahi re gaya hai... class seems boring
Anup: What is logic?
Me: ?
Anup: The way you connect things. For eg: We love a prof.. Prof loves his daughter... So we love his daughter.

Teacher: Can i have your attention please!

Me: bhai kitna time bachha hai?
Anup: Ek aur joke sunaao?
Me: Naa i would get some sleep

Teacher: Now let us look at some examples where companies have failed because they didn't adapt to local environment...

Time flies

Anup: Bhai... tera roll number aane waala hai.. Uth saale attendance miss ho jaaegi.
Teacher: Roll number 91
Me: Present Sir!

PS: This is a dramatised version. Please don't tax your brain to correlate this with the academic rigour prevelant in MDI.

The way things work

2008-05-22T15:14:00.003+06:00

After almost one year at MDI, i can say the following things for sure
1. True friendship is hard to find in a b school. The reason for this maybe the age of the students. People have work ex, they are matureand have seen life. They have wizened enough to make the distinction between friends and contacts. Is it childish to make a friend without keeping a account of favours done and favours that can be drawn on.

2. People who opt for finance are naturally more intelligent than marketing or any other stream. Doing an IT specialization is like passing B com with a supplimentary. What are you interestd in? Is a question people seldom ask.

3. Why MBA? A question that remains unanswered for maximum.

4. Making a issue of trivialities and then mailing the whole batch is the favorite pass time of people. Moreover people who give the most vehement opinion and are efficient with juggling words and expression are respected and congratulated.

5. Summers are when true character is revealed. People do whatever to cut each other's way to a company.

6. Summer training is useless. Too much character is lost to get a summer which makes litlle or no difference.

7. CV is the king. Do whatever it takes to get another line in your CV. It can be club membership or prize in XYZ college.

8. Reading cases is good but then you have to read the case. But still this doesnt stop people from giving the most profound insights.

9. Some people just dont get it....

10 Some people just stay the same...

Illumina- a post written a long time back

2007-10-23T20:22:00.002+06:00

"Aap ko pata hai..mera naam Mangal Pandey kyu hai?"

"Nahi pata" Mai batata hu...

"Mere Pitaji ko koi santaan nahi thee... Phir unhone Mangal Deep Dhoop jala ker Shivji kee pooja karee...Uske khushboo se Shivji prasanna hue aur unhe mujh jaise veer santaan ke prapti hui." "

"Iseliye unhone mera naam Mangal rakha."

For those of you who are wondering what it is... These were my lines as Mangal Pandey in a play. I was enjoying my life watching Prison Break and Heroes but suddenly i got this chance to play Mangal Pandey in one of the Disguised Market Research for ITC - Mangal Deep Dhoop organised by our club Illumina.

The idea is to get a pre launch feedback on a product from cutomers without making them fill forms and getting responsed by involving them in a play kind of situation.

Our was a play based on Ramayana and Mangal Pandey story and since the target base was rural, the event was held in a narby village Pataudi where a huge Raamlila takes place every year. It was a different experience to say the least.

We reached the Mela ground first thing in the morning only to realise that the Mela starts from 2 in the afternoon. Not wasting any time we decided to get out act together.

Yes, we did what we have become so profficient at- We slept under the scanty shade of a tree with newspaper on our faces to prevent the sun from disturbing. Thats what MBA teaches you- to sleep in the most unimaginable circumstances.

After getting some sleep we decided to explore some surroundings and found some thing to fool around.

An amazing experience began as the crowd began to settle in the ground. Hundreds of people flocked to our stall. We were over whelmed by the response.

Children went crazy , people were intrigued to find a bunch of college dudes in their terrain. We were house full. An incident which i will never forget is when an elderly person tried to touch my feet and said " Apki vajah se hee hume azaadi mili hai".

Mangal Pandey was certainly a legend.

I returned home exhausted, exhilirated and emotional.

PS If you managed to click the link, i tell you a miraculous coincidence. Mangal Pandey has the same birth date as me, 19 July!

What is in the air?

2007-08-04T12:25:00.000+06:00

A few days back there was a intranet mail going on where people just had to pick up random or not so random guys and girls, connect them and write a matrimonial or something... Also there was a "Love is in the air" mail which tried to officially coordinate the interaction between interested parties(ohh... the MBA jargon)

All this made me remember the good old college days when I used to plan up ways to propose a girl but hold myself back when some friends of mine(blessed with better personalities) used to come back defeated.

"Who do you think you are ?"

"Are you out of your mind ?"

"We can be just friends, nothing more."

All these were the normal responses they used to get and many would lose nights of sleep to get over the worst failure of their lives.

So i never gathered enough courage to propose any girl... I had made a last desperate but subtle attempt some time back when i published my matrimonial in my blog... I cant resist to share some parts of that post.

Excerpts:

I will write my MatrimoniaL Ad and since i can't afford a 2 inch space in "Punjaab Kesari"(i have a soft corner for Punjabi Kudees you know) i will post it here only.Girls please read it carefully though i would appreciate if someone could save herself the trouble of reading the enire stuff and contact me right away.

~ ~ My Matrimonial ~ ~
WANTED: Tall/Short, Fair(Gori)/Dark(Kaali), Sweet/Sour, Homely/Officly infact any type of girl whose fetaures are better than Kishan Kumar(of 'Papa the Great' Fame) will be accepted as suitable alliance. Age/Caste/Weight/Height/Proffesion/Salary are no bar at all. The girl should be either Maangalik or Non-Maangalik. Widows have added advantage. Girls who smoke and drink have already cleared the first round. Girls who can use pure marwari gaalis have a wild-card-entry and need to contact asap (Bio-Data not required).Also the girl should be tolerant to some of my peculiar habits like once-a-week bath and once-a-month shave. I also can't control the urge to scratch sweaty and itchy body parts and belch after every meal.

I am not looking for any girl-friendship and this notion got reinforced by a party i attended last night...With 8 glasses of beer down and 2 hours of watching couples dance, I began thinking...

"Is this what fun is all about?" Now i agree i do get a bit philosophical when i am drunk but it was not the case this time...People losing themselves and enjoying the feeling that they can touch any girl which might not have been possible unless she was not in her senses...

I started feeling a strong feeling of estrangment and i took a small walk out of the disco. I was beginning to feel uneasy because of the way the air smelt in there. Is this the reason guys and girls become friends? I dont think so... I thought about what response i would get if i told everyone what i felt.

Who are you to give a lecture on moral decadence? Its by choice and not force... Why should you be bothered about it? You are just lamenting because you didn't have a chance to be with a girl?

Yes, why should i be bothered...I thought.

"One more beer please"... I said to the bar tender.

Main kya roj takiye per bethta hu?

2007-07-23T00:00:00.000+06:00

Now i can understand what Saif Ali Khan meant when he said these words in DCH.

To understand this statment one requires to undergo something extraordinary. In my case, I was 3 feet above the ground with four people holding each limb of mine. Around 10 guys were looking at me all ready to do their "thing" at 12 in the night.

This might seem like perfect setting for a gang bang but it was actually my b'day(19th July). Now you must have heard about strange tribal traditions like naked aboriginal canoeists ploughing through a crocodile-infested swamp on a quest to find goose eggs which will miraculously cure their impotency, but wait till you hear this one.

Here if its your B'day, your roomie invites the entire batch to 'celebrate' your B'day on hostel roof top. The good stuff ends here. Now as the clock strikes twelve, people start their "thing" i mentioned in the beginning. People with thier boots on, start kicking your behind with such ferocity that would put even descendandts of Genghis Khan to shame. The assault continues for 5 mins by students who dont even know you (they just get a 'kick' out of it) and some of whom would have scored miserably low in the morning quiz.

You are left with a pain in the ass, cursing the day you were born. But there's some consolation as your roomie gets the same treatment and any other random guy who gets caught. The tradition of adorning a cake on your face happens and then you are left to attend calls from friends and family.

I slept on my stomach that night. The next morning in class it was impossible to sit on iron-chairs we have. You must have heard of people getting a blue eye, you can imagine where i had my blues...

Well all that is over now... Things are getting normal now...There was an apt dialogue in Rocky Balboa which made me realize there is even a philosophical side to all this kicking:
"But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward."

So I have moved forward and started enjoying classes. There is lot of learning invloved especially about movie trivia.

At the beginning of class we pick up any movie and ask trivia questions realted to that movie. For eg
1. What was the name of Saif Ali's first girlfriend in DCH?
2. What was name of Salman's father in Andaz apna apna?
3. Name of Madhavan in RDB?
Currently we are thinking about Karan Johar's name in DDLJ. We dont google out the answers we simply watch the movie all over again.

You can't even imagine how quickly the 1.5 hour class passes when you don't remember the answer although you might have seen the movie umpteen number of times. It creates a sort of virtual mosquito around you which keeps on irritating you as you try to squash it but it keeps getting away. The feeling after squashing it is equally rewarding.

Meanwhile life continues as usual with more quizzes, more movies and people spending 15 lakhs to get a phone number.

Man !! Its raining...

2007-07-15T18:35:00.000+06:00

I am "two cold-call quizzes" old in MDI and now i realise why people remember their college life so fondly. And It's not because of the quizzes. Its because of the hostel life(I was a day scholar in graduation) and the fun that is inherent part of it.

The hostel never sleeps. You will find students roaming in the campus with their cell phones tucked between thier ears and neck,talking ever so discreetly. Some times i wonder if they are really talking or doing mobileneckriyasan(a dying art of strengthening your cervical).

People will stalk all night eateries and cafe to satiate the hunger which is natural to follow after a Hostel mess dinner. Some will go out to get some clean air and then come back after having a "Ultra Milds". Some will have coffee to keep them awake for they might have an assignment to complete or a movie to watch.

Some will play badminton or table tennis till morning for they might have a easy class where they can catch up with a trivial thing called sleep. Couples will shift from where they were sitting so as to avoid becoming overtly conspicuous or just because their asses might be getting numb. Next time I will ask one to be sure.

People will hurdle up in one room and just plain talk and sing songs or discuss obvious mistakes which President Bush made during his tenure. "I dont understand how he got elected at the first place, I wouldn't have given him bloody quater of a vote". Serious, personal remarks like this will come but all this is understandable as the guy might have had a Quater before he reached this conclusion.

The fun quotient will double up, if a guy knows how to play a guitar, somebody will start singing someone will tap foot and an inpromptu hostel version of any song will follow. The Mehfil will end wil people returning and asking each other if something had to be done for the next day. Nobody knows exactly what has to be read so the logical conclusion is to sleep in whatever time that is left.

Thats just the Beginning of Hostel Life and i am Living it, Loving it.

PS: If you are wondering about the relevance of the posts title its just because of the natural low pressure area that would have been created owing to the immense heat that was there for some time. Also i remembered Geri Halliwell's song but i think its "Its raining man..." Anyways it makes no sense either ways.

To Change or not to Change

2007-07-10T23:08:00.000+06:00

It has been barely three weeks here at MDI and already i can sense a sea change in my academic life.

First thing that i have discovered is the library. Earlier the word Library created a scene of nerdy bespectacled students furiously scribbling away notes in their registers from a 1000 page-hard bound book. Another image was of 'duniya ke sataaye' couples who would find a corner and some respite to look at each other and maybe get a chance to hold hands if no one was there. Couples doodling away in each other's notebook was my guess of Why people go to Library. But now all that has changed...

Library is a place where you can go and sit comfortably and sip coffee in air conditioning and may be doze off for some time... Now that i am aware of the true purpose of Library, i visit there often and enjoy the peaceful ambience. (Guys i think i had u for a momemt...Trust me i have not damaged the medulla oblongata and the mitochondria of my brain cells are working just fine. I wont even dream of studying...)

Talking of Couples, a few days ago, there was a news that some couples were shooed away by police at India Gate Gardens. Now i am not against PDA but there has to be a place where you can indulge in such activities. India gate is a place where you show respect to the Amar Jawans and i dont think they would be too happpy to see couples pressing against each other.I felt a
tinge of disappointment...

Before all you liberated and broad minded people start accusing me of being a typical jealous retro guy(which i am ) read on.
The very next day there again a photo of a group of young people saluting the Jawans with genuine look of respect and pride for our country.

All i mean is there are parks, restraunts, hotels where you can do whatever you feel.

Secondly is of Attendance in classes. To put it simply in Engg there was only one chance of going to Class and that was when you found no one in canteen to sit with and your whole group had decided to go to class for lack of any topic of discussion. Here it will take a lion's heart to miss any class as it has a direct implication on your grades. Moreover there is something known as "pre-reads" where you have to go prepared for your class. You can compare the pain to watching "Aap ka Saroor" twice. Nothing more needs to be said i guess.

Thirdly the atmosphere here is quite forward and people have a broader outlook. Girls will wizz past you in mini skirts and shorts and nobody even looks at them twice. Now imagine what would have happened in our college had any girl even dreamd of such clothing. If you are little more observant you can also see strategically placed tattoos, the kind you would have seen only in educative movies.

But Somethings never change Even here i can find Girls who talk with a grammar of their own. A typical sentence from them would sound as:: "I was like half asleep in the class, as in my eyes were closing totally...actually i was studying till 3 in morning you know". What she means is that she was undergoing the natural biological response to tiring. "I was sleepy." This would have been enough.

Some Boys will hit it off with girls from first day and others like me will remain with guys and ponder as to why Girls avoid us.? Expalining this would take an entire dedicated post.

Lastly the only serious difference is:The system here forces you to think and actually understand and apply what you have learned. This is a tough thing to do as you are doing it for the first time. Switching from Rote to true learning is the only differnce.

Reincarnation

2007-07-07T22:05:00.000+06:00

First of all let me tell you the reasons why i was not writing my blog

1. The milkman's buffalo was absconding and i was appointed as special officer on deputation to find the wherabouts of Basanti...(not Hema Malini thats the name of the Buffalo) She was found in compromising positions with the Male Buffalo of Kishan (the other MilkMan). They were put under arrest for public display of indecency.

This makes me remember a piece of news where a Woman roamed around in her undergarments to protest against her in-laws. Its a matter of utmost shame for us Indians where a woman had to shed off her clothes to make her voice heard. And on top of that she was even put under arrest.

Any ways Basanti was not protesting against anyone she was just undergoing some harmonal changes.

2. My mother had read the post where i had written my matrimonial and she had come under emotional turmoil. She was (alas) the only female who took the matrimonial thing seriously. She had made me swear on the holy mother of God that i will not write any such thing on mu blog.

3. I had caught a strange disease where i could not figure out the letters on the key board. This disease had made me miss out on loads of chat on gmail and scraps on orkut not to mention no blogging for a long time. The disease had a even stranger cure. I had to insert my fingers in soft dough and keep it inside for 10 minutes. Thank God I am cured now. Fingering all that dough has made me mentally sick though.

The reasons could go on and on...

But let me tell you the real reason now... Rediff Blog SUCKS big time..
Every time i had some thing to write about the darn rediff interface would change.I got to my nerves and somehow i would loose my train of thoughts and give up.

It irritated me even more to find out that sometimes the font size would change, Sometime the side bar would go, sometime the comments would evaporate.

I was hooked on to it for sometime and tried to rectify it a lot. thatsvipul was like first crush for me. I was hopelessly attached to it...

However i have migrated to Blogger now.

I hope i have found true love this time. Hope to see all of you guys here now.