Ek Rupeya De-de Baba!

How often have you given a nickel to the beggar on the street? Nickel?! My bad! The Nickel-land does not have beggars. It's only the rupiya and the taka rashtra that has this phenomenon. So anyway, I am not one of those philanthropists who 'have a heart' and flick a coin in the direction of a few tweens begging on the roads. And the reason is that; this coin does not really go into helping them, but is used by their dada to take care of his needs. I always end up counseling these urchins in the following way, "Ye sab kyun kar rahe ho? Sarkari school mein jao aur naam likhao. Kuch kaam kar lo. Vocation centres kitne sare hain.."

Alas! It never helps.

But THAT is not what I intend to elaborate upon. Digressive, me.

We have been doing the rounds of various organisations for the sponsorship of Cognizance 2011 for the past fortnight. Yes, yes! IT is back. Bigger and better (#Cheap Publicity). But as I was meandering my way around the corridors of power, and crawling through the Diplomatic Enclaves, I realised it's a tough job to make someone give you their moolah. Most of the times, they are busy, or not available. Once they do give you half a minute of their useless time, it's all about, "We don't have such provisions for you..". Worse come worse, "We've had a bad experience with such organisations in the past, so never contact us in the future."

So, now I think of these sahebs as variants of myself- the person who is capable of shelling out a chavanni to the needy, but never does so thinking it's futile. Not that this experience is going to change my views of the beggars. I am too old and obstinate for that. Nor am I saying that Cognizance 2011 is going to be a poor show. We've managed a good rakam despite these glitches and there's still oh-so-much-time! But all I am saying is that understanding and sympathy help in making us more human. Humanity is based upon these tenets.

Anywhoo, it's time for us to start our ek rupeya de-de baba routine again!

Article 21

The Indian Constitution is a comprehensive record- a bible- for the Indian Democracy. And if at all there can be a first among equals, the Article 21 of the magnum opus is the most crucial and important to the lives of the People of India.

Article 21: Protection Of Life And Personal Liberty: No person shall be deprived of his life or personal liberty except according to procedure established by law.

Having been a responsible citizen, or so is my belief, I fail understand where does one draw the line between personal freedom, the will to do what one wants without harming others, and the violation of the procedure established by law. As a law abiding citizen of the nation, I am fully aware of my rights and duties. I know that violence should be the last resort- a form of self-defense only. I know that vandalism of public property is a punishable offense. I am aware that contempt of law is unpardonable.

But as an honourable citizen, do I not have the right to live my life according to my choice? Or for that matter, end it if I live the life of a vegetable? Euthanasia is against the law. We cannot travel to some parts of Kashmir, which we are entitled to under the article 21. I understand that there are constraints. It will set an unfavourable precedence. But let us analyze every case on an individual basis and deliberate upon its merits and demerits. As the largest democracy in the world, we have made amendments to the Constitution, and the law. But it is high time that the individual got a say, a platform to voice his desire to live life on his terms.

I can see the India of tomorrow. And I am hopeful that when I talk about the Indian democracy and it's framework a few years from now, I will be proud man.

5.. 4.. 3.. 2.. 1.. !

I shamelessly copy the status message of an acquaintance from school; December is the time of many countdowns. And that gets me thinking.

For one, the paranoia season ends soon enough in our beloved Malgudi with the 4th day of the last month of this calendar year marking the complete independence of the oppressed junta. Then there is the countdown to the festivities! There's Christmas which is to be relished with family and friends, with a plum cake and good Irish coffee. And finally, there's the end of year celebrations. The culmination of another 365 days of productivity (?) and toil (!). The year always ends on a mixed note- of things learned, and things not learned from.

December marks that time of the year where things are drawing to a close. And you are willing to keep the memories tucked in a safe corner of your being. It marks the end of an era, the beginning of another. The cold lulls you into a comfortable sleep so that the separation from the time-moments does not pain you much.

So, if you have made some promises to 2010, don't procrastinate further. There's still some time, and with ample determination, nothing is impossible! Advancing to the next, look back at this year gone by with a sense of achievement and comfortable satisfaction.

I know you want to.

Interlude

The clocks tick slower when you look at them with a hope of passing over the tide. I have absolutely no idea as to why I am posting on my blog, barely an hour before my end semester exams commence. But as they say, to while away those promiscuous seconds, cultivate a digressive hobby.

After the utterly useless Film & Lit course, I have now come to believe that there is nothing as an 'interesting' subject when it comes to this place. Oh and you say that you are totally into Power Systems Operation using Intel 8086A based module? Yah, right! You bet you are. NOT!

So the 4th day of the last month of this year is when I am free. I leave this place for some good 4 weeks. Only to come back to another semester, another year- with new experiences to be added to the kitty of course. In the interim, there's the famous Delhi winter to look forward to. The Museum of Innocence begs me to lay my hands on it. And I shall oblige, happily at that.

Winding up, I have my pen ready. The books will gradually be shelved in a corner, only to be sold back to Indra Book Depot at 60 percent of the MRP as soon as the turmoil ends. Till then, it's time to sit back, and enjoy the ride.

Good luck, you.

Let there be Light!

Very recently, the time-keeper updated his status message about Rajnikanth and how he spread light to the world. No kidding, but that IS fancy stuff! With all due respect to the Robosapien Uno, it's that time of the year again when every dwelling will glitter spectacularly and there will be bashful celebrations everywhere.

There was a time when Diwali used to be about patakhas, patakhas and only patakhas. The sudden bang of an aloo 'bum' and the joy of seeing an anaar explode into a multitude of colours brought great joy and satisfaction. There's something about crackers that draws people of all ages. Maybe the brightness, or maybe the the chance of being a kid again.

Then there came a time when it was about reinventing the burrow. And we did make our contributions to the bigger picture by cleaning our rooms. Old parchments were discarded, tattered posters unwillingly parted away with. But that's what it is! Diwali makes you new again- if at all that's possible. It's brings hope for something different, something novel, something better.

So as I gather the do-aways of the year gone by, I look forward to yet another spectacular 365 to come. Hope the time to follow is great for me, for you and for everyone else.
Stay safe and spread the light!

October, the 22nd!

Sometimes you just can't stop smiling. Not because you've conquered the world, but because things have gone according to your 'plan', if at all there exists one! Sometimes the feeling doesn't sink in till you actually pinch yourself. 'Is it for real?' 'Nah!'... 'Yah?!'

*smiles, again*

I guess god has been very kind. Wishes have helped and prayers have been answered.

So what does a Son do when he starts the 'responsible' phase in his life? He takes out his mother for a date.

Thanks Ma! It's been all because of you.

L

Life is all about milestones. The places you cross, to the places you reach. And at every milestone you leave behind an indelible mark. A mark that says you've been here, and moved ahead. Some milestones are worth remembering, some easily forgotten. However, there are those which lie in the twilight zone- those that are not 'universally' significant, but you tend to remember them for a particular reason. For one, I remember my first 'F' in Hindi. And the time when I had kicked a dog. Milestones, they were!

For most of us, as we like to call ourselves 'simple', the milestones can be easily translated as a mark of success. Then there are those occasions which have a profound effect on you, a major check point of sorts, but we don't like to bring them under the purview of the milestones. They remind us of loss, of failure and of everything NOT nice. They do make you learn, though. And for that very reason, they are a check point for me!

Looking back, it's been a good time on Blogosphere for me. More than anything, writing has been therapeutic. It has made me more expressive and learned- I do read the masters' blogs, I do! A good 50 posts in a span of 16 months have made the journey worthwhile. A milestone, again, for yours truly.

I hope to look back at my 99 posts when I reach the next milestone with utmost content and satisfaction. Insh'allah! like the journey hitherto, the sojourn ahead proves to be an exciting ride.

Let's get rolling then, shall we?

The fireflies shone bright. The hum was a dulcet.
They came, they went. They saw, might I add?

The stage is set, and determination sores.
The pride shall not be hurt.

Shampati has risen to make its mark!

Visibililty? Check!

The rains have given way to the scalding sun for the past few days. Well at least we don't have flood threats in Roorkee anymore. On the flipside, it would have been fun to see a flooded IIT. Imagine the country's pride going down the drain, figuratively and literally.

Today's Sunday morning was a li'l off beat. First off, the realisation that I am left with less than 2 years before I push off to a different platform. It may sound as if I am saying it with a sense of originality to it, which of course there is none, but the feeling was very unnerving. And exciting, if I may add.

It's quite strange how life at college moves towards it's culmination even before you are able to fit in completely. Wasn't getting here supposed to take care of my 'future plans'? Or so I was told. But today, I experience the same uncertainty that was blaring at me some years back. Where to after this sojourn comes to a close? It's time to break the slumber spell, and as is the case with change, no one particularly likes it.

Although I have a vague idea, I need to start putting my show together. There is a lot to do, and unfortunately, a tad bit crunch of time. I see the status messages of people on Facebook and Gtalk as 'I wish life had an undo button' or 'What if there was a way to go back', and what surprises me the most is that they have so much in front of them to do. How can one delve in the past when a bright future awaits?

Move ahead, will you? Rather forge ahead!

Of Thunder and Clouds

It's been pouring cats, dogs and a whole bunch of other pets lately. Global Warming, you say? Surprisingly, no one's complaining. Sure we have potholes to steer clear of and mosquitoes to flinch from, but that's the characteristic feature of every rainy season. What's the fun of enjoying your annual Barsaat without reading news of roads caving in and people admitted to the hospital because of a 'mutated form of dengue'.

Roorkee is no exception, nor is Delhi. The modern vitriolic form of 'i'Flu, capable of causing immense pain to anyone in the apple network, has spared but only a few in the campus. And yours truly happens to be one of the fortunate ones... hitherto. The initial power cuts which caused many a change in the sleep pattern of R denizens has fortunately retracted into oblivion. Department of Electrical Engineering to the rescue. *Proud*

So what's so different about the rains? Why does on feel drawn towards the falling droplets? Why do you feel enticed by the dark clouds, the gentle gale?

Nostalgia. The rains are the major causing factor. You reminisce about the past, look ahead to the future. The present is subliminally forgotten. Maybe it takes you to a place that is as alluring and satiating as the monsoons itself.

As it rains outside the window and I comfortably perch myself on the diwan with Masala Chai and Matar Parathas, I feel revitalised. Home does that you, innit? Aided by the rains. And the khana, of course.

Off to the kitchen for another cuppa chai, if you please.

Plus 1!

She was there when I uttered my first gibberish.
She was there when I had my first fall.
She taught me words, and the beauty of letters.
She made me touch sounds, and how to articulate every syllable.
She instilled in me emotions, and to express myself.
She taught me how to value people, and how to let go if that's the best option.

As you turn another year in life, here's wishing you love and joy unbound.

Happy Birthday, Ma!

Gimme 5!

It takes a 100 folks to make you feel alive.
It takes a few people to make you feel warm.
It takes a handful to make you believe you're not far from home.

The Line of Control?!

I have always harboured outrageous dreams. Deputy Chairman of the Planning Commission maybe? Or what about the Numero Uno of the World Bank? But a defunct 'Secretary, Cinema Club IIT Roorkee' was not on the list of my sky-rocketing ambitions. Yes, I did know that they blindly picked the biggest ghissu in the 360 acre vicinity, and after 26 long months in The Palace of Illusions I don't mind staking claim to the title (*sigh*), but the associated 'responsibility' did give me the creeps from the zeroth hour.

Then there were a few who saw me 'there'. To them, my friends, I apologise. Your foresightedness was a li'l too fantastic this time around. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown and I wish not to stress my bird-brain with more junk. Oh, and for those who are interested, I loathe 'Microprocessors and Peripheral Devices'- the main culprit of my miseries. I will live to see the downfall of Intel. Well, not really. You never know.

So as I look forward to being a part of Kissa Gaddi Ka- 2010, it is with a sense of complacency that I admit that things will be no different from the ones previously witnessed. The onus of screening a film for the Roorkee junta lies with me, and I wish to deliver.

In the meanwhile, let me check the hard-disk drives of the people around me. Fishing for films, Je suis!

Platform No. Fate

Railway stations intrigue me. They always have. At a platform, one can see a plethora of people showcasing a variety of feelings. A train pulls over, and then there are separations, a li'l whine and a li'l melancholy. There's also hope. Excitement about the travel and the eagerness to reach the port of call.

So what makes a railway station so disparate? Is it the congregation of people belonging to the entire spectrum of the society in one place? Or is it the gamut of varied emotions that one can see on everyone's face that makes the place an entertaining one?

Just yesterday, I took my 22nd (or was it the 23rd?) train ride back home. Much to the dismay of my 'local guradian' (!), I shall be giving her extremely important class on Time Delay Simulations a miss on Monday (yey!). And whilst I was waiting for the C-3 coach to arrive on platform 3, I looked around. There was a veiled mother trying to placate her toddler that the 'gaadi' would come anytime now. Fact of the matter: it was running 5 hours late. Then there were the quintessential Indian Youth of today- you know what I mean... The garish shades, the embroidered jeans, the slick oiled hair- waiting for the ride of a lifetime. Where else than at a Railway station?

I reached the New Delhi Railway station a li'l past 11 PM, and as expected, there were hugs warmly exchanged between passengers and their reunited families. There were also some thoroughly disoriented blokes who didn't know what had struck them at this odd hour. I think Delhi does that to you if you have no acquaintance in this big, bad city. After all, the 'common('s) wealth' gets drained in a jiffy here. Need I explain more?

So as I comfortably perched on my ride back home, I couldn't tear my eyes away from the railway station. I wonder now, whether it was the hustle-bustle of the junta or was it my new found respect for the transient pit-stop in everyone's life.

Pack-it full of Sunshine!

9 weeks too many? I guess not.

It feels like yesterday when I carried that 90 pounds of luggage up those stairs to D II/70, and here I am today, packing the same stuff back into the 20 cubic feet odd space. Of course, in between the two events, much water has flown.

I have now 'successfully completed the internship at Accenture Services Pvt. Ltd.' with the certificate lying on the table in front of me. Oh boi! What a time that was. I have no qualms in admitting that I hate the corporate jargon. It's cheesy and very unnerving. I did manage to 'connect' with a few colleagues, some of who will be more than mere acquaintances to me in the years to come.

I went for the 'romp in the wild wild west' too. Ten days of unadulterated fun, a lot of walking, and unending shopping culminated in a very happy me! Sometimes I wish we had better weather here in India. That would make all the difference. Believe you me! And yes of course, the chocolates, and the cheese and the sparkling water. *Dreaming*

Then was the much awaited 'family function and reunion'. The usual gossips of, "Her daughter is so dark! Who will ever marry her?" and "Oh my! How tall have you become. I didn't expect you to shoot up so much since the last time I saw in 1999!" Am I supposed to stunt my growth for 11 years? And the icing on the cake was, "When are you getting married?" And this interrogation was met by all of us, the 29 year old to the 16 year old cousins.

I came back and have ever since been gorging on the best cuisine in the world. The Macher Jhol and the Bhuna Mutton still linger and titillate my palette as I reminisce about it. I have been sleeping like a hibernating bear! And trust me, it takes a musical retreat for my mum to wake me up these days. I wonder what I dream about! Nothing specific, I guess. Or maybe something very pertinent.

So as I gather my belongings - the 8 Luxor Pilot pens, the 4 Classmate registers, the clothes, and my new novels - I cannot but leave without the vast reservoir of my experiences over these 60-70 odd days! I wish I could pack my bed, my TV, my couch, and most of all home.

For now, it's back to Roorkee sans further ado.

My boy!

She walked down the flight of stairs with an elan. Every eye in the room scanned her thoroughly. There were some furtive glances, and then there were some awestruck stares. It was not everyday that Natalie made an appearance at an evening of dance and merriment. The satin white complimented the radiant peach of her skin, the pearls added to the aura around her. She was the object of envy for all women in the ballroom, and the object of lust for the gentlemen.

Natalie was in her late twenties, a widow. Her husband was a liquor baron, and had left her enough to last a lifetime, twice over. She was a philanthropist- An orphanage named after her husband, an old age home and a hospital, Natalie made it a point to be a good Jew. She would pray twice a day, and give alms to the poor on Shabbat. Her family was her priority and having no children of her own, she loved her nephew Jeremy, a six year old menace, immensely. Jeremy was the centre of Natalie's existence. His every demand was met at once. If Jeremy bruised himself, she would feel the pain. Every li'l pout of his tugged at her heart. She saw her world in those button-eyes, the plump cheeks and those pudgy hands.

'Natalie, I want a horse.' Jeremy.
'But you are much too small, love. How can you ride such a large beast?!' Her.
'I am strong. I am big boy.' Him.
' (laughing) Of course you are, my big boy...' Natalie.

And so they played with each other. She read out bedtime stories to him, took him to the zoo and taught him the basic 'R's. He learned how to swim with her, he rode Esteem - his stallion- with her. The two were inseparable. Before she knew it, Jeremy bloomed into a fine young lad ready to go to military school. It was a painful moment of separation for the two. She couldn't leave those hands, the same pudgy digits she'd caressed for 16 long years. He embraced her petite frame.

'I will be back. You have been more than a mother to me, Natalie. I won't leave you.' Those were the parting words from Jeremy to her.

...

She looks out of the window to the vast expanse of her estate. That tender voice, distant yet warm echoes in her ears. She hasn't heard Jeremy in 11 years now. He's supposed to spend the summer with her this year. Tomorrow he'll be home, to his home. She has asked Hilda to roast the Turkey for him, supple and juicy. And beetroot juice, his favourite. She asks Keller to tidy his room- his sword just above his bed. Esteem is long gone, only to be replaced by Thunder- his son.

'Tomorrow, your rightful owner will take charge of you Thunder. You will see what a rider my boy is.' She beamed.

'Poor Ms. Blightner. She's never been the same.' Hilda.
'She loved Jeremy more than anything in the world, Hilda. What a lad! And to die in Afghanistan?! Tragic, indeed.' Keller.

They both shook there heads in pity as Natalie attended to her business cheerfully.

'Stock-Home' Syndrome

She was walking down the alley, having wrapped up her morning shift at the Deli. Abusive customers, juvenile delinquents, sleazy tramps- all of them were frequent visitors to her downtown convenience store. Today had been a particularly rough day for her. Having been insensitively insulted by her boss, she was just beginning to start out her day when 3 boys in their late teens came to the store and fled, taking with them goods worth 37 Pounds 74. The business-lady 'Treasure' was not kind to her as well. Hurling very vivid abuses, Treasure did not leave anything to imagination for the on-lookers on the street.

Recounting all the happenings of the day, she unintentionally took the wrong turn, only to be confronted by a dead end. Putting aside the horrid experiences of the morn, she turned around to get back on the right track, when suddenly she was grabbed by her hands and made to bend over by the force of a Beretta. Shocked, she could not see who her captor was. 'Move', the captor said. If anything she knew, it was that her captor was a woman, not more than her age and definitely very strong. Without a word, they started moving down the oft frequented main avenue, and much to her surprise, there was no one on the roads. They walked down a familiar path, and before she could figure out the happenings, they were at her apartment. Her captor must have surely known everything about her. 'Who is she? What does she want?', she thought.

'Sit! And don't try to act smart.', the captor bellowed. 'What have I done to you? Who are you?', she mumbled. She had seen this face before. Was it at the Deli? Was it at the church? She'd been a good Catholic, except for last Sunday's mass when she had peed in the holy premises. 'How can you not remember what you've done to me? Don't you remember who I am? You brought misery into my life. I used to be a free soul. A happy person, but you! You ruined it all for me!'. She was nonplussed. She had never spoken to this woman before because she remembered people well. She was someone from her past, but who exactly was she?! 'I need something... Get me a Scotch and Soda!'. She complied, remembering how she enjoyed the poison with Eric, her husband of 13 years who left her for a 'younger, more attractive' woman. She moved to the other room. Suddenly, she remembered. She had a mobile. She called the cops. 'Please stay on the line. Our operators will be with you shortly. Thank you for calling County Police'. 'You thought you'd get away with this?!' *thud* That's the last she remembered.

She opened her bruised eyes, heavily. 'You really don't remember anything, do you? Okay, lemme remind you what you've done Emma!'. Emma? That's what her Aunt Hilda used to call her. Only her friends knew that! 'You have made me a terrible woman. You took away my husband from me. My child died at a tender age because of you. You have been a reckless bitch! How can you not remember anything?' Blank. She stared out of the window, trying to remember her own son, whom she'd lost due to adenocarcenoma. The captor had tied her to the bed, and went on narrating her story. Eight pegs down, and almost 3 hours later, the captor could not hold more. She passed out. Panic eased, she had some time. She needed to do something. Of all the things she'd learned, keeping a Swiss knife under her pillow topped the list. She slowly cut her way through the ropes, slashing her palm in the process. Free! She needed to run, get help. She was about to hit her captor with the lamp, when suddenly she realised who she was! It all came flooding back to her. She could not believe her eyes. It was the same familiar face- the high cheekbones, a mole on the lower lip. She was just as beautiful as she'd seen her last. With all her energy, she put her captor on the sofa. Sitting beside her, she could not but feel disgusted at herself for all the pains the woman had gone through. She knew that she was solely responsible for the circumstances. If only there was a way to be good again...

She was making her favourite supper. A 2001 bottle of sparkling water was by the bedside, just in case the 'captor' demanded some. She knew what she'd have to do. Apologise to the lady. Beg her for forgiveness. Of course she would understand her own misery. They both had similar lives, and similar griefs. *Tring Tring* 'Hello?'. 'Evening Ma'am, I am calling from the County Police. I am officer Sheffield. We got a call from your number a few hours ago. Sorry for the delay, but we've been very busy today with the Premier's visit this afternoon. How can I help you?'. 'Oh! Well.. that was.. nothing actually. I had a li'l bit of an issue, which got sorted on it's own...'. 'Sure, Ma'am? I can come up if you want...'. 'That won't be necessary officer. Thanks anyway. Good evening.'

Hanging up, she looked at the captor again. Ironically, the captor had been kept captive by the unforgiving life for many years now. She smiled. She knew what was in store for her. She had developed a strong bond with the woman in bed. Emma's heart went out to her. As she walked towards the bed, Emma sat down and slowly whispered into the lady's ears,'I know who you are, Emma. I always knew it was you. I told them I could talk to you whenever I wanted to, and they! They called me Schizophrenic!'

She laughed.

Confessions of a Travel Bag- European Ecstasy

It's almost been three weeks since I've been living out of my suitcase. When I finally took those last few steps to my burrow last night, I was tired and relieved. I've always loved traveling. Flying gives me 'the thrills' for as long as I can remember. So when it all began earlier this month, I was ecstatic.

Statistics reveal that 2 out of every 5 Londoners is an Asian. I'd take the privilege of modifying the data. 2 out of ever 5 Londoners belongs, even remotely so, to the Indian Subcontinent. Be it the Deli store owner, the Restaurateur or even the trafficwala, you cannot not feel at home in this Metropolis. Unlike New York where the first 'stench' that hits you is that of coffee and Eau de Cologne, London entices the senses with the smell of moist clay, fantastic mall-cities and Fish n' Chips! Harrods is a world in itself, closely followed by the uptight Selfridges. For the poorer minions like yours truly, Sainsbury and Marks and Spencer fit the bill just alright. So there was the triumvirate of Oxford, Regent and New Bond street where a swarm of human bodies were hustling-bustling to get the best 'deals', and then there was the Hyde Park corner where anyone could start their own rant on absolutely anything of no importance. London feels like home, and I know I am going to return one fine day!

Copenhagen, a ninety minutes flight, was a totally different world. The sun never sets in the Viking-land. So when I went for a stroll to the city centre near midnight, It was a pleasant evening walk in Lodi Gardens during late January evenings. The city has a network of canals, and pubs floating on those canals. The food was nothing to boast about, but something unique to the Danish junta is their passion for cycling. I chanced upon a 'suited-booted' gentlemen on a bicycle one day, and as it turned out, he was heading retail operations of Danske bank, the national bank of Denmark. And music! There were singers, pianists, street dancers, African tribal on the streets, in the city centre and in the alleys, all of them adding a new colour to the culturally vibrant fabric of the city. Oh ya! Danish Pastries and Cheese!

Wrapping up my belongings on the twenty-sixth floor of the hotel on a cloudy morning in Europe, I did not want to leave. There was a congenial nip in the air and I could not tear my eyes of the well mowed fields! The wind farms were teasing me to stay and the smoothly flowing rivulets begged me to reconsider my journey back home.

On the flight back to Delhi, I slept for a very short while. And when I did, all I could dream of was the multitude of faces that I had encountered in such a short span and how each, in it's own unique way, was similar to one another.

Rage-neeti!

The late night show at Rivoli on Friday was a decent experience. Discounting the 'Tum mere jesht putra ho' and other cinematic nonsense, the movie was alright in most parts. Not something that I had imagined it to be, but Prakash Jha's Rajneeti was not a letdown either.

Walking out in the wee hours of the night, I could only draw parallels between what I had seen for about 150 odd minutes and our epic, the legend, Mahabharat. The portrayal of characters on celluloid was strikingly, and unimaginatively, similar to what we have grown up with, thanks to B.R. Chopra. That made me drift elsewhere. Who was right and who was wrong in the Great War? Was Karna at fault for feeling humiliated by the ever so impulsive Panchali? Could Duryodhan be blamed for forging an alliance with Karna for their mutual benefit? Wasn't Drona heartless when he sought Eklavya's thumb because he could not stand Arjun being a close second? Was Draupadi irrational in her demand for Duhshasan's blood to tie her braid after she was disgraced in front of the entire sabha?

The line between moralistic and circumstantial behaviour is often very blurred. Winding up Mahatma vs. Gandhi, the story of Harilal- Bapu's eldest son whom he had publicly disowned- made me feel strongly for the gentleman. He was always in awe of his father, and could never come out of his shadow. Not that he did not try, but because Mahatma was 'morally bound' not to favour his children. Should one always blame the 'lesser mortal' because he is not as idealistic as is expected of him? Can't a human being, with all his weaknesses and lacunae, be correct in his demand for justice?

History has always extolled the selfless. It has sneered at the weak, the gullible. But the basic question remains that should someone be looked down upon, or even branded an 'evil', because he portrays emotions- feelings of angst, hope and hurt? Shouldn't we stand up for Karna and understand his predicament at being the 'unwanted child'? Was Gandhi being 'idealistic' in denying his child the right to education- something that he believed should be the fundamental right of every Indian?

Is doing wrong to a 'wrong' person, the right thing?
Some questions can never be answered. And some should not.

Can't you stay?

There are so many times in life when you want someone to be with you, especially when they have moved on. After a grueling day out with family for the tit-bits and Nick-knacks for the auspicious 'coming of age' of the li'l man, we were just reminiscing about the happenings of the day when suddenly the topic drifted to my aunt's sister, who she lost six months ago.

'I wish my sister was here with me. Even though we were not in constant touch, the feeling of her being there was more than comforting..' True, that. The mere recognition of the fact that someone close to you is around makes our daily lives more livable sans grief. We have become so engrossed in our 24 hour day that we hardly have any time to catch up with the ones we love. The random groups like 'Yes.. haan.. sure.. good.. fine.. okay Ma, bye' have become such a reality that you cannot not feel a personal connect when you read them.

'Why did it happen to me? Why us?.. ' The appropriate question that I thought of was 'Why anyone?', but I did not have the heart to look into those lost, glazed eyes and tell her that. I do not have siblings, and I've always considered the grass to be greener on the other side. But yesterday, I could feel the gamut of emotions brewing in her. English, contrary to popular belief, is a rational language. Why else would the lexicon have two different words for the same act- sympathy and empathy? The subtle change of alphabets makes all the difference.

As I was walking back around midnight, I looked around to see any signs of grief anywhere around me. The road was perfectly quiet, except for the usual growl of a street mongrel. A light breeze was swaying me deeper into my thoughts when I realised that as much as we want someone to be with us, they have to move on - In this world, as well as some place else. But what can be done, and should be done, is the we take them along. In our thought, in our speech and in our doings. That's how you remember someone. That is how, you are never alone even when you have no one around you.

Void

I have been trying to delay this post for quite sometime now. Procrastination is easy. Fun, in fact! But there is this wicked devil that gnaws at me at all unearthly hours and raises it's head every time I am on the World Wide Web. Guilt.

I am amazed how guilt can make someone's life topsy-turvy. You have these unwarranted bouts of silence where you look at the lizard on the wall as if you were taking a look at the Kohinoor. The lawn mower on the ground floor seems to be an exquisite piece of art just because you stare at it with such intent, as if it was created to floor the human race with its curves. The thought process during these times is so arbitrary that an infant would chuckle with pride at his own outlook and viewpoint. Much more articulate than you, he is.

Anyway, so to get rid of these pangs of desperation, I decided to write this post. I don't know why I'm going on about it. Maybe I should stop.

Okay. I'll stop now.

So, I'm stopping.

See, I stopped.

Oh wait. One last thing, I took my first ever junta class train ride a few days back. From Haridwar to Roorkee at about Midnight. It was fun. Just that wherever I stood, there were people's feet right in my face. A li'l creepy, to say the least.

Always a first

A first duck and 'Strike Out!'
A first broken faith
A first unintentional blunder
A first unceremonious au revoir
A first 'Thanks, but no thanks My Friend' confession
A first enjoyable Cognizance
A first 'Strike Out, again'
A first home-bound anniversary
A first mutual reconciliation
A first meaningful apology
A first vitriolic blow
A first distaste for passion
A first forgiving temperament
A first 'Okay, let's move with it.' attitude
A first happy good bye
A first 'I have a new life' future

Life (at Roorkee, and otherwise) does teach you a lot of firsts in a very short period of time!

Two can play!

Tit for tat!
Tick, tack, toe!
Scrabble!

Ever wondered how these seemingly innocuous games instill a sense of stiff competition amongst us? At 5, I barely knew what 'outdoing your competitor' meant. But somehow, my daily pastime of playing mundane indoor games, apart from the usual outdoor ones, made me realise the first lesson in life- There's only one place at the top. And everyone is in the race.

Prima facie, I wonder what a terrible thing it was for these table plays to spoil and corrupt young minds. How could anything make a toddler aware of the detestable facts of life? Wasn't it a crime to manipulate a child's psyche and make him think of the 'big, bad world' at such a premature age?

On second thoughts, the induction into the rigmaroles of life has to start at an early stage. If you make a kid believe that the world is all good and that people are there to help you, the child may face gargantuan adjustment issues at a later stage. The make-believe world is a dangerous concept. We have the liberty to dream of fish flying, without realising that all practical knowledge indicate otherwise.

I presume every li'l act, every li'l preaching and every li'l advice is meant to make us that tad bit better at facing the non-conducive situations in life. Tragic as it may seem, my post here would also be categorised as one of those didactic sermons at making you realise the shady intricacies of life.

They say, "Learn from your own mistakes." I wish we could. I wish we were untold those sayings. I wish we never played those competitive games. I wish we played to be on the same team. I wish our only competitor was competition.

But things will go on, as they always do. And I know this is what nurturing demands. If I had my way, I'd go back a decade or more and play those games all over again. Only this time, the rules would be completely different.

A new day, year and Decade!

Yours truly is 20 today.

That's 2 decades or 7300 days or 175200 hours, if not less. In these score years, I have learned, unlearned and relearned a whole plethora of things. But one thing remains with me to this day, and that is my foot-in-mouth syndrome! And THAT shall never leave me, I am sure of that!

Growing up was fun. I made friends - some much more close than the others- and fell out with them eventually. I learned to question the question, and in many cases, blindly followed the leader. I have seen almost half of the world and can proudly proclaim that each culture has influenced my being a to considerable extent.

At 20, I feel different. I think it's the Ready-To-Be-An-Adult? Syndrome (As I like to call it)! I mean I want to transit from the Big-Boy tag to the 'Responsible Young Man' domain, but at the same time, I feel anxious as to how would I cope with failures when I encounter them. I know they're a part and parcel of this journey, but nevertheless, I am petrified.

On the other side, I am looking forward to my Twenties. I'll finish with school in about two years and then who knows where I might be. But a li'l something tells me, all will be good.

I'd take this chance to thank everyone who have contributed to me being the way I am today. To my mother, first and foremost, for bearing the pain of existence for these torturous 20 years. Thanks Ma! And to all the other people - some of them are still with me today, and the others who have moved on to different platforms. I wish all of you the very best in life. Hope to see you right at the top!

Bidding adieu to the teens is painful, but I have this sinking feeling that the party has just begun!

The Good, and the not-so-Good!

Conditioning makes us aware of the fact that there are two kinds of people in this world – the good, and if you call it that, the bad! However, having lived almost a score odd years, yours truly has inferred that people are not bad. They just tend to sway from the good path.

Moral Science preaches that no matter how bad the other person is, the good in you should never be suppressed. ‘Be good to others.’ ‘Never let hatred overpower you’. These are some of the didactic sermons that I, and I believe most of us, have received since the infantile stage of our lives. I have to agree that such utopian behaviour is seldom observed in everyday life, but if you can really muster enough strength to make it happen, the world is yours. You will have nothing to lose in any situation, and will be the role model for posterity.

Everyone has his moments of weakness. Everyone feels cheated sometime or the other. It’s not wrong to feel thus. But if you let this feeling sink in you and make you averse to the people who really care for you, now THAT, is wrong. It so happens in life that we get caught up in the web of discontentment and deceit and fail to acknowledge the good that there is in others. To be able to do the impossible, start looking at yourself, and your actions, dispassionately. You have to let go of the feeling of ‘I am right – always!’ Learn to be honest with yourself. Then only, can one be honest with others.
I consider myself to be morally strong. And I also believe that same is the case with everyone around. If we are essentially ‘good’ human beings, let us not delve majorly in the petty issues of today which in the long run would seem outstandingly juvenile and inconsequent.

Let the good, always and always, prevail over the bad, and the ugly!

Emm.. Err.. Hmm!

I haven't posted a word for quite some time now.

Why?
Has my life become so miserably uneventful that I did not get an opportunity to spill it all out here? Or is it because I am finally getting bored of blogosphere?

Neither.

Oh! Maybe it's because I have hardly been online long enough to key in something long enough to qualify as a post (I am sure Shrey would disagree!). Or, is it because I haven't felt anything unusual for the past 3 odd weeks?

Nah! Not that either.

Anyway, the only 'happening' happenings that have happened (:S) in my life in these past weeks are the Bhawan Days (*drum roll*). It's that season of the year where everyone begs (and even steals) for dinner coupons just to dodge the terror of an evening meal in their respective messes (That's the word!). And you should see the ravenous, food-deprived junta trying to trample each other for the pooris and the biryanis the likes.

What I don't understand is that the menu for every Bhawan day is almost the same, yet people swarm these gathering as if they are going to sample a limited edition of a new type of cuisine - an irresistible innovation by the chefs of IIT Roorkee!

*Baffled*

Anyway, I did like the mishthaan that I hogged on the Govind Bhawan day. And the Chocolate Sundae was such a welcome change from the monotonous Tutti-Frutti at Ravindra yesterday. I like to eat you know. Gourmet, they call it? Nah! Glutton, more like it!

*Thinking*

When is the next Bhawan day?

Virtual Reality

There was a time, not many years ago, when the whole concept of 'chatting' and 'messengers' came up. The world wide web was flooded with billions of curious blokes and damsels trying to project themselves as someone they weren't. Their virtual identity was one to die for. The perfect age, the most picturesque locations, and all that jazz made these folks more desirable than Megan Fox and Robbert Pattison.

Just a simple account of a chat that ensued a few years back (Not me, I promise.);

X: Hi

Y: Hey

X: ASL? (Geez! This one phrase would put the playmates to shame now.)

Y: 22 F Paris (38 M Bhopal, more like it.)

X: 24 M London (There we go again!)

And then the talk went on about how the two were single and how they'd want to 'connect' (in ways more base than imaginable) to lead a 'special' existence. The sweet nothings ended in faux promises of meeting and 'taking things further'.

Now THIS is what makes the virtual world an easy escape for the desperate souls. A simple way out of their miseries and social ineptness to a world where they are desired, and even revered for their alter ego. This problem became a cause of many a crime in the past decade, but today, we have finally realised that this sort of a 'game' has a lot at stake - one's life!

To say the truth, even I'd given Y! a shot long time ago. Thankfully, I never crossed the line. But today too, I see a whole brigade of kids trying to pose as the next 'best' thing in town, and it disappoints me to no avail. So bachchas, Watch Out! (C) There are going to be much better encounters at a later stage in life. Stop wasting your youth on such moribund activities!

Roll No. 6 And All That!

It's been good 4 days since I've (crash) landed in my pad. The bed is as cozy as ever and food just doesn't seem to fill me enough. These are the days!

*Bliss*

And then yesterday was the much awaited (?) Sanskriti School Reunion 2010. According to completely (un)reliable sources, the members of the fairer sex were preparing for this gala event for weeks. Dresses to be decided, accessories to be matched and all that jazz - all this and more took up a great amount of time for these folks. 'Business Casuals', they said was the dress code. I know I am not a Fashion Guru, but THOSE pieces of vegetation that were adorned by my honourable schoolmates were NOT at all professional. Well, maybe for a profession of a different kind...

Anyway, so I met old pals, and also those whom I'd never wanted to meet again. Hi5s exchanged, hugs warmly reciprocated and the usual, "Oh my gawd! Is this you?!" refrain was politely answered. In all of this, I sneaked out for sometime and went back to my favourite hangout spot in that 8000 square metere land. I was at the bamboo gardens again! I remember sitting in the shades of those tall fibrous creatures and reading Hosseini's engrossing novels. I remember the times when we missed classes only to play the mighty Truth or Dare and invariably, I was always directed to ask some random person for a date.

*Smiles*

So yesterday, once more, I sat their quietly and took everything in. The trees were the same, a whole lot taller though, and the ground was strewn with dry leaves. I could see the pond about a 100 yards away, still and unfazed.

And then all of a sudden, I didn't feel alone. I felt warm, and secure. I guess this is what school does to you! It takes you back in time, to a time when you were happy - well almost- and really didn't bother about the undesirable elements. I have no qualms in admitting that school - particularly Sanskriti - was the best thing that happened to me! And I'm sure, nothing can take that away from me.

Did I leave a part of me yesterday in those trees? Or did I gain myself again?

Give me a moment to ponder.

Eggs and ducks!

I am a voracious non-vegetarian! Give me meat, and I will dig into it like a ravenous monster. Due to lack of company, I have to perforce be the 'solemn' ghaas-etarian at R. However, there is this certain 'egg' and 'duck' that I never tasted, and alas! There's always a first time...

The Mid-Term Examinations came in a jiffy, and left almost suddenly. Although, I am glad I am going to head back home this week with my granny's welcoming curd fish and Ma's lip-smacking koyla chicken howling on the plate, "EAT ME!", I feel just a tad disappointed for having had a duck and a BIG egg in two of my courses. Not that I was expecting to vanquish the tests and emerge as the virtuoso of Electrical Engineering, but a zero was not what I was looking forward to, you know! Anyway, in retrospect, I guess it's alright! I know of a lot of folks out there like me who have succumbed to similar situations and they're happy now! Fit as a fiddle and bouncy as flubber (?). Learning experience, they say, is an important aspect of life. And I take it that way.

So with a zilch in my kitty, I know it cannot get worse! I have Holi to look forward to and for one, I am really excited about it! Colours, after all, make life perfect!

Let's paint the town red, now! Shall we?!

And so I say!

The only thing permanent in nature is change. Yet we feel elated when we hear our ol' pals exclaim, "You haven't changed a wee bit!"

I was walking along when someone caught up on me. "How are you feeling now?" "Good, I presume." "Great! Keep running..."

I now wonder whether that was Forrest Gump or was that Forrest Gump!

The really giggly elective professor laughs at every statement she makes. I guess she is obsessed with her diabolic laughter. Encore, encore! And oh! The legendary statement she made, "with reference to any reference" made PiS(S)-Ra(aaa...) fantasize about her day in and day out!

TS is round the corner and I feel like heading home. Now where have we heard that before?

And yah! It's the Sena activism day today. Given a chance, they'd have put St. Valentine's soul to the grave. And if someone paid homage to the battered spirit with flowers, they'd be killed too! No ashleel vyavhaar in the Bhartiya Sanskriti! Got that, buster?

Life's like that!

'Spring' in action!

After almost a quarter year of heavily clad junta at Roorkee and Delhi, and the frosty morning breaths seen emanating from within, it's that time of the year when we like to keep it vibrant. The 'Mugger's' coat has been replaced by bright sweaters and the mink blankets have been done away with. Winter's on its way out and I couldn't be happier to bid adieu to it.

Talking of spring, the first thing that one associates with the season is colour. Regeneration. Blossoms. Rebirth, in its paradigm. It is that time of the year when you awake from a long spell of hibernation, feel alive and have this perpetual smile on your face. Spring. The time to look forward to the prospects of the year that's just begun, and seize every opportunity that comes your way.

Surprisingly, the classes seem to be a tad bit less dreary too. I, for once, did enjoy the last few classes of Electrical Machines (*shudder*). I have a hunch, and a strong one at that, that there are some hormones (NOT those, you perv!) that 'spring' into action this time of the year. They make you upbeat, and tell you to 'push that crap' out of your neural cavity.

Yesterday, I was 'basking in the glory' of the mild form of the helios and believe you me, It felt good. The evening walk to CBRI for a Dairy Milk was not a pain in you-know-where. There's something about these few months that make me see good in almost everything around. And I wish that this time, the season extends indefinitely. Quoting Rahim Khan in the Kite Runner, spring sends out a strong message of "There's a way to be good again!"

Take cue from all the omens that lie strewn on my path, I am going to live it out to the fullest. I know there's not much time at hand, but I guess it's enough for me to stack good memories for the coming few months. There'll be the scorching summer and the sombre fall. But one li'l birdie tells me it's all going to be (KR)aw-e-some!

So folks, I am back to work. I have to pick up all the colours and take in all the fragrances. You never get enough of those, do you?

Let's 'spring' into action!

A way to steal time!

In the past 18 odd months, I have never actually had the time to talk to myself. No, I am not mad. I am not a recluse either. Schizophrenia, you think?! The answer is in the negative. It just happens to be the time that I should have spent with myself, and I couldn't. No regrets whatsoever, but yes! It's better late than never.

The process of moving out was very taxing. Every li'l memory, every li'l moment begged me to reconsider. To think twice before I finally took the step. But I knew I had to, and I knew I was doing it for the best. I can now proudly say that I have my space. My 12x12 is mine now. It will henceforth have my warmth, my feelings and my emotions... only.

I need to get back to a few things. I need to get back to living my life. Where do I start?

1. Reading

For a voracious reader like yours truly, having spent a considerable time away from books was distressing. One who could never get his hands off an Agatha Christie, or a Satyajit Ray, I now feel drawn towards pursuing my passion... all over again. I have my Shantaram waiting for me, blaring at me to pick it up. Oh and there's The Notebook - A decent read from what I've heard.

2. Writing

Blogging is not exactly writing. It's a degraded form of the enchanting activity. I want to write for myself now. Only for myself. However, I firmly believe that whatever has gone in this portion of the world wide web has been very personal, and completely for my recollection. I am obliged that some superior beings have appreciated it. To them, I shall ever be indebted.

3. Croaking

I haven't sung (?) in a long, long time. I need to sit with myself and get back to my favourites-from Lata to Dream Theater. Music is serotonin for my being. I need to cultivate the habit of staring blankly into space, whilst listening to every note with utmost sincerity, all over again.

4. Early to bed

I love cozying in a blanket at the strike of 10. I like it when my covering puts me to sleep. Drifting to dream-land after flipping a few pages of a novel is the best thing that can ever happen to anyone. I plan to do it right away.

I have a lot planned out for me. It's going to be a tough week ahead. Lots to do, and only 24 hours in a day. Hurry, I must! It's Rush Hour time...

Last night, True Love!

"... For you, a thousand times over."

And I ran.

I put down 'The Kite Runner' after reading it a fourth time over. How many times do we feel the urge to do something for someone 'a thousand times over'? How many of us are moved to help those who need us most? Do we realise that a mere pat on someone's back can go a long way in assuaging his pain?

I met a mortal a day,

His sorrow overpowering his being.

"Worry not! Why must you, pray?!"

I was remorseful at what I was seeing.

"Last night, I met a Mademoiselle...
She said she'll stay with me.

I dreamed a happy life ahead,

Look what she's left me to be!"

"You look battered and forlorn.

Why did you believe her right away?"

In my heart, I knew the storm

That was staring the hapless soul's way.

"Last night I didn't pretend.

I was proud of what I portrayed."

"Is this the way she befriends?

Of this Damsel, I am afraid!"

"Last night, I felt alive.

I lived my life again.

I knew not she'd connive

To bring me back the pain."

"Do you regret what ensued?"

My interrogation caught him unawares.

"No, boy! I don't." he pruned

"My love for her, it glares."

"True love is what we set to quest,

You found it in a day.

Go and proclaim to the best,

And overcome this trivial dismay."

I recall the incidence as I write,

The parallelism in it is profound.

I know the True Love's might,

By losing myself, I have found.

Last night was special, last night was true,

I preach myself everyday.

I know mortals like him are few,

The others are all astray.

PS: The above 'attempt' at poetry is not a work of fiction and bears resemblance with someone living, and certainly not dead. I am sorry, YOU! I just had to write.

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