cerebral-concoctions

Unfinished Business

2012-01-25T10:58:00.001+01:00

Well, its been ages since I have come face-to-face with my blog. And we aren't even estranged! So finally, after having been accused(!) of lethargy, laziness, disloyalty to blogosphere in face of zippier social networking and microblogging sites and running out of 'creative steam', I decided to take some 'action'. And since I almost always write about childhood, lost joys from the 80's and 90's and more miscellaneous blasts from the past, I decided to run through my old posts for some inspiration. But then, who wants inspiration when you can have salvation! So, to cut a short story shorter, I have decided to publish all those unfinished drafts lying abandoned among their much-complete, reasonably-commented over cousins in my blog dashboard. Open-ended stories that leave a lot to the reader's imagination are a rage nowadays. Open-ended films too! So why not open-ended blog posts, right?

I have skipped the drafts that ended much before you could even say 'draa...'. They would have been too open-ended, even for a well-endowed imagination.
I hope I have redeemed myself with this post and I shall not henceforth be accused of mind-block, writers-block or any such vagaries. QED.

15th October 2011 | Untitled
There was a 'right way' to put the audio cassette into its cover,
There was a place for stamps and 'stick-em-stones' in the top drawer,
There was a trick if the floppy disk got stuck inside,
There was a carrier for a bum-hurting bicycle ride,
There was a secret stash for summertime ice candies on sticks,
There were stars, 'v.v. goods' and neat red crosses and ticks,
There were peep-holed numbers on the phone that turned into a tizzy,
There were yarn-spinning, tale-telling neighbors who never got too busy,
There was one channel to watch morning, noon and night,
There was a wooden ruler for every hand in a class fight,
There was a fountain pen and a blotting paper too,
There was a home-made concoction for the annual bout of flu,
There was a pen friend in a difficult-to-spell place,
There was a tailor who made frilly 'umbrella' dresses with lace
There was always one more person to squeeze into the backseat,
There was a glass of 'Rasna' when you walk in from the heat,
-------------

15th October 2011 | Untitled
There he was, a raggedy old man,
with a toothless grin and parchment skin,
breath rasping and whistling with the wind,
reed thin bones rattling within.

Holding a bowl close to his heart,
He walked to where we stood,
Tasting raindrops as they trickled down our faces,
Feeling the clingy wetness of a newborn brood.

"Look my children....loooookkkkkk"
His palm uncovered the bowl just a tad bit
"Look how they lie in there....
Oh, look how perfectly they fit"

Smothered smile, hurried hush,
Heads nodded in a collective whole,
Ten eyes inspecting the invisible contents,
of a weather-worn bowl

"They were quite big once,
Oh yes, needing a sack that too,
I couldn't get them to sit still,
as much as I tried to...
They would leap and jump,
from day to night,
-------------------

11th April 2010 | Untitled
Like the breeze that blows across the meadow
Silently stirring, casting no shadow
I walk alone along the street
Whistling in tune with my feet
Like the wind through a crack in the window

Like the sea touching every shore
Letting go and asking no more
I walk amidst the summer dresses
My face caressing the wind-blown tresses
Of perfect strangers I met not 'fore

Like a frivolous bee
On a springtime amorous spree
I devour the scents of the bazaar
The mundane with the bizarre
Feeling insanely happy and free

Like rain on a parched land
Satiating the hungry sand
I let the city fill me
With all I can smell, hear, touch and see
I let it hold my hand
And take me where it wants
To sights unseen and familiar haunts
-----------------

16th November 2009 | Untitled
Its been quite a while since this location has seen some activity. Just like the good old ODIs and test matches losing out to their fancier sibling 20-20, blogging is also fast relegating its place to the pesky 'what are you doing?' and the naughty 'what's on your mind?' of the www world.
everything in a jiffy...hail the quickie !!! But let me not digress and stick to my original plan for this post. Actually this post is a celebration of a phenomenon that dug its feet in the ground and is braving the onslaught of the 'fast and the furious' craze that is sweeping the world. Ladies and gentlemen, presenting to you Bollywood. You may be in and out of a McDonalds with a full belly in 5 minutes...but you still got to keep that $$$ glued to the seat for 3 whole hours to watch the split-second softening of the father's face on the train station as he lets go of his daughter's hand to send her to her beloved to walk (in this case, ride) into the sunset. No shortcuts here...no brutal edits. Just good old stories taking their own sweet time to crawl from that white screen with lots of text on it to those defining bold words THE END.
Stalking and watching the girl from behind the college wall. 3 months. Getting to know the girl's name. + 2 months. Writing your first love letter. + 1 month. Discovering your family's longstanding feud with the girl's family. - 25 years. Fighting goons, hired policemen and emotional blackmail alike. + 3 months. Holding the girl of your dreams in your arms as the police takes away the repentant cruel uncle and his hired goondas and the flowers and kissing birds cover the screen. Priceless. Laying the foundation for a sequel. + 9 months. See? Whoever proposed that the world is moving towards a faster life has jolly well left Bolly out of his calculations.

Yeah yeah....I know my account of Bollywood is outdated by atleast 10 years. The kissing birds, holding hands, family feuds are so passe...they died with the late 80s or maybe the mid 90s...but hey
----------

Inevitable

2011-04-09T19:57:00.000+02:00

Just how long
can you hold a flight
by its wings
in the hope that
the passion in those feathers
would soon flutter and die...
Just how long
can you cup a bud
in your two hands
praying that it would
never embrace the world
with its blossoming eyes...
Just how long
can you cage freedom
behind bars
with the audacity to believe
that the spirit is no stronger
than the metal that encircles it
Just how long
can you tether to reality
the wild child of imagination
grudging it the giggles
and squiggles of laughter
of its make-believe world.
Just how long
can you put your arms
tight around a moment
lest it run away
in the blink of an eye
and be lost forever
Just how long
can you push back tomorrow
willing it to return
to the land of its origin
and never be the reality
that you wake up to.

Rabbithole...

2011-02-19T14:40:00.002+01:00

Aren't humans boring
and terribly non-exciting
working for a living,
pushing and fighting
burying a dream or two
every passing day
one has got to be real
feet on the ground, they say!

And that is why, my friend,
I write of butterflies
masters of their will
creatures of the skies
free to soar and dip
and then rise again
gliding on wingfuls
of sunshine and rain

Aren't adults a mess
with thousand thoughts
and a million minds
calling the shots
divided loyalties
and fragmented hearts
like actors on a stage
playing their parts

And that is why, my friend,
I write of children
with minds and hearts as pure
as dew in morning sun
feeling thinking and
living in totality
knowing not what is
an alternate reality

Aren't humans mundane
with limbs that walk and hold
eyes that see no far
and fingers that simply fold
limited in nerve and sinew
and the length of our bones
fenced in by our frames
shackled by our skintones

And that is why, my friend,
I write of magical elves
wish granting fairies
and babbling bookshelves
figments of imagination
on a flight of freedom
residing on the ramparts
of our so-called wisdom

Isn't it wonderful, my friend
to be able to escape
the smallness of our being
the monotony of our lifetape
turn words into wings
and fly with the butterflies
gurgle with the children
and experience magical highs
Words are but rabbitholes
in the fence of our lives, my friend
escape routes to a world
far from a reality that we cannot mend.

existence

2011-02-18T14:16:00.002+01:00

I am the silence in your conversations
I am the blink of your eye
I am your moment of solitude
I am the sound of your sigh

I am the night of your day
I am your last ray at twilight
I am the peace in your darkness
I am the horizon of your sight

I am the stillness after the ripples
I am the lull after the storm
I am the calmness in your being
I am your familiarity, I am your norm

I am the pause after your breath
I am your moment of solace
I am the melancholy in you
I am the breeze on your face

I am the quietness in the noise
I am the meaning in what you do
I am your endless search
I am the nothingness in you

on life...

2010-12-18T20:15:00.000+01:00

Shakespeare talked of the world being a stage, and human life being a series of seven acts. Closer home, Vedic philosophy had it all sorted out into four clear-cut compartments or ashrams – Brahmacharya, Grihasta, Vanaprastha and Sanyaas. But is life really that simple? In our age and time, when people have babies first and then get married, couples take a break from their blissful Grihasta state to find their true calling in life only to get back together again after realizing that having to do the laundry, pay the bills and cook three meals a day all by yourself is not so cool after all...I am pretty much willing to bet a one-month salary that the good old bard would be tugging at his beard in frustration…and our sages would be left dumbstruck from not being able to express their frustration for the lack of swear words in Sanskrit.

One evening after a particularly heated conversation with a friend over how simple or complicated life is, (never mind the fact that we did not even touch consensus with a ten-feet pole!) I went back to reflecting over these ‘stages of life’. Besides, reflecting on random matters of dubious distinction is a great hobby, now that coins have lost their sparkle and stamps are pushing the envelope trying to stay alive, battling electronic phantoms. And I digress…true to my hobby :)

Coming back to my reflections, life does not seem to me like a cake that you can clearly cut into slices and put on different plates to be handed out one after another. It seems to me more like a bag of peanuts. You never know when you get a perfectly salted one or one that leaves you cursing the genus, species and whatever else there is to the whole nutty lot. There are no stages. There are just phases. And you never know which one it is going to be.

Someday you wake up feeling the feeling that you can’t exactly nail down, but know it is there. The feeling that makes you want to bounce off the bed screaming ‘I love you’ to no one and everyone around. It could just be the previous night’s awesome dinner or a beautiful dream that just did not make sense but was beautiful nevertheless. It could even be a butterfly fluttering its wings in Timbuktu. You don’t care what brought about that feeling. All you know is ‘life is beautiful’. So you sing your way through the shower (to hell with those notes and octaves!), dance your way through breakfast, smile like an idiot when the autowallah extorts ’meter + 10 rupees’, give a handful of coins to the beggar at the crossing, lilt a ‘good morning’ to all your colleagues and coo sweet nothings to your PC even as it shoves a 404 error in your face. Phases like this usually don’t last long. They are probably like the fillers that go in between the main acts on stage. But as long as they last, ‘aal iz well’ in your world!

And then there are the ‘(unprintable word) the world’ phases. They are like weeds. Stubborn and irritating, coming back with a mind-boggling frequency even after you have gotten rid of them. These are the days when you just don’t want to open your eyes to those smug little morning rays and take the day off, even as apoplectic team members spend an entire morning Googling to find out what on earth is ‘Caribbean equine flu’ that has struck you down 2 days before the project deadline. And if you feel benevolent enough to drag yourself out of bed, chances are you will leave the water faucet half-open to drip down the drain an entire month’s water quota of a small village, smirk while thinking that the beggar at the crossing could have done a better job with dabbing that red color on his bandage, ask your colleague how she feels being allergic to water and deodorant, and then get back right home to tell your wife that her new yellow dress is not being too kind on her tyres, and then turn on the TV volume to let the cat-fights and beeped-out abuses of reality TV drown out the real abuses coming from the kitchen. To be honest, these phases aren’t all that bad. After years of social conditioning, after an entire childhood of being taught the difference between ‘what you want to say’ and ‘what you should say’, these phases are like the whistle on a pressure cooker. Relieving. Liberating. But the ‘bringing peace to the world’ phase that inadvertently follows it can haunt you for a long long time. This is where the gender war goes 1-0 in favor of women. When you back up your ‘to hell with the world’ phase with biological reasons, no questions are asked. Game.Set.Match.

I have a postcard that says ‘there is a secret part in everyone that loves being miserable’. This brings me to the third phase. The sour, horrible-tasting peanut that takes you by surprise and pulverizes your palate, even as you quickly spit it out. The phase where you see the world in negative, no matter how Technicolor it is. Remember those Greek tragedies? Those opera singers bursting out of their corsets, with painful shrieks bursting out of their contorted mouths? This would pretty much be the background score drumming through your head all day through – even as you sulk about how rude the autowallahs in the city have become, worry how global warming has made the city ridiculously hot, wonder what it must feel like to be homeless and penniless like the beggar at the crossing, answer every ‘how are you?’ with ‘why…what’s wrong with me?’, pity yourself for uninspiring work, virus-affected workstation and back-stabbing colleagues who you are sure are plotting against you even as they stand at the water cooler whispering and laughing intermittently. In this phase, everything in this world sucks…and no, am not talking about gravity! It is like pathos, conscience, guilt and all those ten thousand complexes having a picnic together in your head. And then we take refuge in the past, shutting our eyes, rewinding those little tapes somewhere in the back of our head to 10-20 years back and wondering what went wrong and where!

Finally, we have what I like to call the ‘Miss India’ phase. Right from the moment that the alarm shakes you out of bed, you know you are the one. Morpheus’s Neo. Nietzsche’s Zarathustra. The one to Save The World. You finish your bath with just half a bucket of water to save the other half, pack the left-over breakfast to hand it over to the beggar at the crossing, threaten the auto-wallah with police action if he takes even as much as rupee over the meter reading, spend every ticking second of the 2 minutes at the red light trying to motivate the beggar to take up some work to feed himself, offer to finish off your colleague’s work because you know she has a little baby to look after and stay back late to help the guy in the next cubicle draft an apology email to his girlfriend with a proposal in the P.S. I love these phases. I mean, what’s life without some bravado! But the journey from the pedestal to the rock solid ground can leave you bummed out, especially if you land on your perfectly mortal bottom.

And this to me is life! Not some compartmentalized, sorted-out stack of events. But just a mixed-bag of random, crazy phases that come and go at their own whim, in no particular order, with no fixed lifespan…just like those peanuts in the packet. Tomorrow I may be 40, 57 or even a much-lived 84, but I know life will still be about waking everyday and either discovering that I love the world or realizing that I hate the very sight of it; either agonizing that the world just doesn’t seem right or prophesying that everything is going be all right. Life will still be about opening my eyes every morning and finding a new me. It will still be about taking a deep breath and thinking “this too shall pass”…

wallet woes

2010-03-08T10:34:00.001+01:00

A place for all the bills
for every rupee you pay,
fading ink and crumpled edges
in wait of that fateful day
when the new shoes will break
and a claim to repair you will lay.

A place for business cards
of friends at their first job
the new tattoo parlor
or just the regular business snob
people best kept at a distance
not to socialize and hob-nob

A place for all the slips
from the money spitting machine
I wish I had hit the 'No' button
and just seen my balance on screen
Reminding of fat pay cheque times
and of three-digit balance days seen

A place for a thousand different cards
promising credits and discounts alike
Gold. silver.platinum - have em' all
I wonder what it would be like
if someday the "lifetime free offer" guys
go off on an indefinite lifetime strike

A place for souvenirs and sundry
old photos. id cards. and notes
out of circulation since the big T.
chits best made into paper boats
If there ever were a 'obese wallet challenge'
guess who would get the most votes !

(After a mammoth wallet cleaning session....glad I don't own a tote :)

Ray

2010-03-03T09:05:00.000+01:00

dancing through the window
tiptoeing on eyelashes
tickling bits of dust into a frenzy
I play peekaboo in quick dashes
caressing cheeks and hair alike
giggling as they avert their gaze
I am just one among a thousand
powdery morning rays

we touch the morning dew
it vanishes in thin air
petal by petal we prod
the blossoms open and bare
and as the time keepers
march ahead hand in hand
we charge across miles
setting ablaze oceans and land
I refuse to let go
of my juvenile gentle touch
even as the harsh noon rays
snide and chide me much

In vindication of the self
I make one too many sweat
Slicing through sheer curtains
I end a siesta mid-breath
Swirling in the tea cup
setting the biscuits on fire
But I get no more fiery
just as the sun gets no higher

I meet them on the horizon
in a cooler shade of crimson
My pals of the morning
as wearily they move in unison
And a mass of light, 'em rays
blink, flutter and die
In silence they give in to darkness
they say no last goodbye
I stand alone in solitude
weary yet faintly alight
Giving in to the hungry night
I am the last ray at twilight...

1989

2010-02-27T15:57:00.001+01:00

At five, I had friends
with runny noses and grimy hands
half tucked ink stained shirts
and pink hello kitty hair bands
friends with lunchboxes laden
apples, jim-jams and rolls
flipped open and shared
even before the lunch bell tolls
friends who smuggled my bag in
on days that I was late
and covered my three feet high self
as I squeezed in from under the gate

some came home to me
as sniffling and shivering I lay
swathed in five layers,
they held my hand and declared
like grim old pygmy soothsayers
"You will be well in just a day
Shoo...scat you bad bad flu !!"
They made me laugh
till my sides hurt like crazy
they got back class notes for me
on days I felt too lazy
Friends that helped me plan
a birthday bash for my dog,
and gladly ate biscuits instead of cake
when the dog played the greedy hog

Friends who were oddballs
some ate chalk
others drank glue
some nibbled on erasers
one claimed he once flew
yet another could moonwalk
At five, I had friends
with broken teeth and grimy hands
Young foolish tots
they sure knew how to be friends... :)

Vogon Poetry

2010-02-10T18:52:00.000+01:00

My friends thought I was joking
when I said I am an alien
My freak quotient shot up
in a day by ten gazillion

I showed em' my control board
they oh-aahed and said 'fancy'
I even pulled out my tentacles
they called me cute n pansy

I stood in the dark for a day
till my batteries all but ran out
I got 'em charged up in the sun
and still they had some doubt

meanwhile my leader up there
in gynaemeda seven
drummed his fingers in impatience
and looked up at the heaven

my ten years of undercover life
as Rajinder Parsad Sahani
was falling apart in seconds
as they called it a 'Kahani'

And then the divinity radar
picked up my SOS beep
riding on a cloud of dust
came a red and yellow jeep

Out jumped a young lady
mike n camera in tow
she drew a big red circle
covering me head to toe

flashes popped, cameras rolled
i grunted and spoke into 'em
moved my tentacles, flashed my lights
and even showed 'em my pink phlegm

The next evening on prime time
'Alien attack' made the headline
the young lady with the chaste hindi
assured you all was not fine

They asked 'who is he'?
or could 'he' be 'she'?
will the aliens capture earth?
and will they set humans free?
why did they abduct the cow?
was it for the milk?
if they wear clothes like us
will they next want our silk?

And thus my ten year long mission
was finally a success
after a secret small town life
disbelief, ridicule and stress

Now my leader full of glee
to take me back will agree
for now humans are aware
that aliens are out there
all thanks to a TV channel
who even have a panel
discussing us 24x7
for which I thank thee heaven

(an entirely uninspiring bit of prose, inspired
entirely by a feature on aliens on a 'certain' news channel
all characters in this post are completely fictional...and no,
I do not know any Rajinder Parsad Sahani...dead or alive, tentacles
or no tentacles :)

mirror mirror on the wall...

2010-01-12T13:20:00.001+01:00

Whoever said a mirror
was all gloss and shine
Whoever said a mirror
told you all was fine

The mirror of lore
where pretty lasses of yore
the fairest of em' all
smiled and stood tall
is but a fine tale
told to chubby children
huddled up in quilts
mouth agape and pale

The mirror of the modern day
is deep, dark and got lots to say
comes in all shapes and forms
and follows no rules o' norms

Sometimes it is a friend
who is just being 'honest'
at times it is the mentor
putting you on a test

The stranger on the road
whispering as you pass by,
Or the office gossip
trailing you on the sly

or just a well-wisher
too eager to disagree
and the online personality quiz
ten clicks and its free

everyone's a mirror
showing 'you' to you
everything that you are
everything that you do
tall, slim, fat and stout
maybe an occasional horn or snout
at times you are the devil
at times almighty incarnate
sometimes beauty embodied
sometimes a balding pate

so if I were to spin a yarn
for my forthcoming progeny
changes in the tale of yore
I would make a many :)

the commemorative post...

2010-01-09T13:02:00.001+01:00

Sitting in the library, working on something that needs to be done by today evening POSITIVELY, I suddenly realised that its been quite a while since I wrote something on the blog...actually, since I wrote something. Period. I would love to claim that I have what they famously call the 'writer's block'. Except that my affliciton has long limbs, hooked claws, hangs upside down from trees and is spelt S-L-O-T-H. There was a time (which goes on to say a lot about my age I guess..sigh!!) when I would wait for a spark of inspiration to write about. Many of my friends found their colourful lives gloriously blown out of proportion under the euphemism of 'fictionalization' and emailed back to them as word doc attachments. They discovered previously unknown and unexperienced facets of their own personality. The Lopas, Shaileshs and Hemas of my world found themselves referred to as L, S and H on my blog, more to lessen my guilt about taking creative liberties while writing about them than to protect their identities. Cut to twenty-ten. And whenever I am gripped by an urge to write, when the words spur a sudden neuron activity sending a tingle down my arms into my fingers, I just shut my eyes and wait for that urge to pass. Like a wave of nausea that washes over you and then goes away with a deep breath.

And just as I logged into Blogger, the '99 posts' text on the Dashboard caught my eye. So this would be the 100th post. So it had to be a commemorative post. While the rest of the world writes about the best and worst of the year that just whooshed by, I will sit and write about my little-over-5 years on Blogspot. From sending messages to close friends, friends of friends and just about everybody within the six degrees of separation to 'check out my blog' to getting to know from somebody you hardly speak to that they have been following your blog and quite liking it. From opening the blog ten times a day on a 56kbps dial-up connection to see if there are any fresh comments (ohh...the excitement of finding a new comment and the subsequent fall of all joy and hope when you find that the comment is from an online pharmacy offering you a 10% discount on 'performance enhancing' drugs) to email alerts about new comments and followups. I could just go on and on with these from-to statements. I guess it is just one of those many things you learn with age. That thing they call 'nostalgia'. (Strange how close it sounds to nausea).
But just when I was too busy composing my commemorative post, I realised that 14 out of those 99 posts are drafts. Sudden strokes of imagination that flashed and were flushed soon after. So technically this will not be the 100th post. Never mind. My profile has not been updated ever since day one - except for the picture which I thought back then was a nice sepia. My blog page is still linked to the blogs of some of my friends who gave up blogging after an initial burst of enthusiasm or moved onto newer and quicker pastures like FB and Twitter. And there are none of those fancy widgets or much-needed monetizing options on my blog page. All in all, it is just as it used to be 5 years back. With the addition of a lotus-bud picture, which really doesn't serve much to liven up the page. And so my much-touted commemorative post turned into yet another regular rant. But hopefully this time I shall take stock and shift my attention lock-stock-and-barrel onto some more writing. Both on and off the blog. So any of you gets a new Orkut testimonial or a handwritten card from me extolling your existent and non-existent virtues, five months before your birthday, please DON'T PANIC :)

Epiphany

2009-11-24T12:34:00.004+01:00

An excerpt from 'Notes to Myself'
by Hugh Prather

I talk because I feel, and I talk to you
because I want you to know how I feel.

My statements are requests.
My questions are statements.
My trivia is an invitation to be friends.

My gossip is a plea: Please see me as
incapable of that. Please respect me.

My arguments insist: I want you to show
respect for me by agreeing with me. This
is the way I say it is.

And my criticism informs you: You hurt my
feelings a minute ago.

reflection

2009-11-23T11:43:00.004+01:00

Dug up something from the past...

You are everything I hate in me
Perfect ivory whites smiling
when you want to cry
Lips dancing to cheer
all when the heart is wry
Eyes jade with envy
None but one you see
Wanting to possess
but being owned not
Expecting the world
but expressing naught
Walking away at will
Drawing close on a whim
Leaving the other empty
At times filled to the brim
The taunting laugh. The brusque word
Throwing caution to the air
Hiding more than you reveal
With not a care to spare
Wanting the other to think
the way you think and feel
Treating every yes and no
as though it were a deal
Spiteful in giving
Revengeful in loving
The skewed morality, the flawed soul
The two faces each playing its role
to perfection
No trace of affection
Wanting to do a thousand things
Uncommitted to a single one
Not settling for the moon
'cos you think you can have the sun
Lost in thought
Unfounded in act
High on opinion
Sub-zero on tact
Living in a fantasy
Holding on to a dream
Turning your back to reality
Humming when you want to scream
Captive in your freedom
Deceptive in your truth
Zealous.Jealous.Shallow.Callous
Euphoric.Ennui.Morose.Free.
You are everything I hate in me
You are everything I hate to be

p e a c e.

2009-10-05T16:31:00.003+02:00

so what does it take to make
your peace with someone?
a sorry. a phone call.
or maybe some writing on the wall.
a meeting over coffee.
a shared smoke. a tad too sweet tea.
flowers for the romantics.
apology in blood. more fancy antics.
a joke you can't help laughing at.
a kiss. a hug. a smile. the doff of a hat.
a word. a touch. maybe just good old silence.
with the moments ticking by
a fight.insults.fists.slaps
tears smarting and stinging the eye.

when all is well and ends well
and peace is made with someone
you sit back and wonder how long before
you make your peace with all that was said and done

great expectations

2009-09-20T17:49:00.002+02:00

expectations.
what color are they? the grey of a pregnant cloud?
or the yellow-green of bile rising in your throat?
in what shapes and sizes do they come?
big round encompassing circles?
pointy skinny triangles that poke, no matter any which way you turn them?
how do they look like?
knitted eyebrows? wringing hands?
sheepish grins? sneering lopsided grins?
i would like to meet one of them.
look them in the eye.
and then walk away.
whistling my own tune.
down my own way.

the inner circle

2009-09-08T19:20:00.002+02:00

sometimes i want to fly....far far away from them all
doubting thomases and peeping toms
snooty susies and cheap floozies
comments and opinions galore
politics and perspectives
attitudes and agendas
lilacs and magentas
bitch sessions. cat fights
and a whole lot of puppy love
cheap thrills. expensive tastes.
carbon emissions and plastic wastes.
what nexts and why mes
i-told-u-sos and let-me-bes
future planning, living in the present
getting in touch with the past
fashions that come and go
things that are built to last
tantrums, arguments and jealousy
joy, happiness and ecstasy
frustrations. disgust.
hunger and a lil bit of thirst
love and war
war and peace
peace and solitude
solitude and bliss
mourning and celebration
thumbs down. standing ovation.
wants, needs, cravings
the haves. the have-nots
and the we-dont-cares

sometimes i want to fly away from them all....
but i am a part of them. they are a part of me.

Unbreak...

2009-08-15T19:16:00.002+02:00

habits made. habits broken.
promises made. promises broken.
hearts won. hearts broken.
trust earned. trust broken.
bonds formed. bonds broken.

a day to mend.
a lifetime to unbreak.

if...

2009-08-07T18:46:00.005+02:00

if for every dream dreamt
there would be memories
if every regret entitled you
to a second chance
and each mistake made
could be undone
if every laugh laughed
could be held in the hands
and cupped to the ear
if for every nightmare
two hands would protect
and hold you close
if every moment spent
could be earned back
and spent again
if every tear that fell
tickled the lips
into a smile
if every thought that
crossed the mind
could be frozen for a second
and let loose again
if life could be lived again
through all the ifs
and enjoyed all the same...

Travel Drivel

2009-07-07T11:49:00.003+02:00

It would be highly presumptuous of me to call myself a 'traveller'. As a child the only travelling I did was from my home to my native place for summer vacations and any other sundry holidays that dotted the calendar. Add to that the occasional trip to Pune or Mumbai to visit family and friends....that would pretty much sum up the travel diary of my early years.
But as I grew up, I had the good fortune of travelling to quite a few places, taking a few thousand photographs and doing the quintessential touristy things.

What amazes me even today is how we form a mental image of a place much before we even set our sight on it or foot in it. Earlier it was word-of-mouth - that "oh-so-reliable" source of information that made or mauled a place for us. And maybe an occasional postcard that a distant relative had sent from london - more to inform you that he is in london than to give you a dekko of the Big Ben and the big fat red buses.
My sister's stamp collection is largely responsible for my mental image of Australia being the 'pregnant pearl'Opera House and that of Kampuchea (which I later learnt is Cambodia) being a big fat half-green half-brown lizard with its tongue sticking out. Based on what the next door Kumars (or Silvas or Subramanians or Joshis, depending upon which latitude-longitude you are sitting on) say after their recent vacation to Singapore, you decide whether to mentally scratch it off your travel list or to convince your better-half about how it would make more sense to go to Singapore than to invest all that money in the stock market (what with the erratic sensex and union budget et al) and then spend the rest of your weekend sashaying on the streets of Singapore and giving a thousand-watt smile in front of the lion fountain..all in the Singapore of your mind.

I was jus doin a quick top-down of my immediate "must-see" list...and heres what i found:

Sicily : Old houses with balconies facing the road, bullet marks in their walls, old women sitting on porches sewing wrinkles onto little pieces of fabrics, men in suspenders with slick hair and lopsised charming smiles and mysterious ways, chunks of tomatoes drying in the sun, the smell of bell peppers frying in olive oil wafting onto the roads, faint music playing in the background. I guess it would not really take a Freud to guess where this one is from. and strangely, the whole mental picture is in black and white...

Calcutta : When you have two 'Bongs' (one dyed in the Bengali culture from head to toe and the other reluctant to be typecast as a Bengali and yet retaining a healthy nostalgia for the Calcutta of his childhood) giving you a healthy dose of Bengali music, "shorsher maach" and stories from the "DomDom ilaaka" and "Bara Bazaar" everyday (I hope I have got the pronunciations right....with all due respect) it is difficult not to fall in love with Calcutta. It has always meant to me wide streets with trams and cabs ambling by, women with big eyes and tiny puffs in the sleeves of their saree blouses, steam rising on the streets out of nowhere, the fervour of Durga Puja and spending days cooped up in an old apartment engrossed in writing a book as the sounds of the streets ride piggyback on the strands of light entering through the tiny crack in the window. Where 36 Chowringhee Lane meets Parineeta meets the Calcutta of my friend's stories....

This could just go on and on..right down to the last place on my travel list. And its the same story. Same vivid mental image- meticulously put together from fragements of hearsay, pictures, wiki and facebook, memories, movies and music. Just like a jigsaw puzzle. A montage.
I guess we almost always see a place much before we actually see it....

eavesdropping...

2009-06-30T13:22:00.002+02:00

N: ...its just a temporary phase...this too will pass
K: even a storm eventually passes...but leaves in its wake
a trail of destruction...
N: hmmm....
dont worry..i won't let this draft turn into a storm
K: hmmm...

twilight zone...

2009-06-30T10:14:00.003+02:00

when the dusk has just bade
its goodbyes to the skies
and the dawn is still away
by a few hundred miles
the twilight comes dancing
with twinkling stars in its eyes...

and it casts shadows
long, dark and brooding
so near, so close
you can almost hear their hearts beating
and all thats hidden, comes to fore
fear, confessions and a secret meeting

it casts a spell,
holds you in its sight
in a hyponotic hug
of no day, no night
no time nor any space
no wrong and no right

and as you lay entwined
in its magical glow
it sings its last song
and with a last bow
vanishes into the dark
with no promise of a 'morrow...

mid-afternoon reality check...

2009-06-25T11:18:00.002+02:00

As a child, I would often chase the little yellow butterflies and pinch their wings between my two tiny chubby fingers. i loved the powdery yellow trails they left on my fingers...
I would run barefeet on the fuming mid-summer afflicted roads to get my hands on those elusive dragonflies. They would twist, turn, dodge, accelerate and whirrrr away in a split-second. But then I would stealthily catch them unawares and tie a string to their tails. I loved to feel the vibrations in my fingers as they pulled on the strings with noisy protests...
Rainy musty twilights would bring the fireflies out in hordes. They would come out of their hiding places and sit on the grass, lighting tiny lamps under the beads left behind by the rains on the blades of the grass. I would sneak behind them, cupping my tiny hands to cut off the light from the world, and lift them up with a gentleness almost incapable of a child. And then transfer them carefully into a transparent empty camera-film can. When I had them all in there, I would retreat to a dark corner with my own little 'lamp' where the tiny fireflies shone just for me.

Looking back after almost two decades...I feel I haven't really changed much...

'part time' analysis...

2009-06-22T09:56:00.003+02:00

There is a part of me that is the 'eternal optimist'. you know, the types...gung-ho about everything, always looking for the silver lining in the darkest of clouds and on not finding one, would just dab on some quick silver paint on it. This "me" believes that everything happens for good, for a purpose. So if I dont catch that little fish today, it will go on to give birth to thousands of little fishes and one fine day I shall have my own 'sea food festival'....see? the power of positive thinking...

And there is the dark gloomy "me" that is allergic to positivity and hope. It loves being sad. If no real problems are at hand, it is extremely creative in coming out with imaginary issues. I once got this postcard that says " there is a secret part of you that loves being miserable. Once you accept it, life gets much simpler and better". They should probably have added a caveat that this secret part of you likes to show its ugly side more frequently than you would like it to... and is an attention hogger....

Oh and besides these black and white divisions, my brain is also divided chronologically. So there is a part that is clinging onto the past with all its life. Its dendrites are deeply rooted in everything from my first day of school to how the distantly related aunt snubbed me on my cousin's wedding day to the second prize i got for shot-put in school (the ONLY sports prize i have won so far :|) A wee bit of my brain is sane enough to live in the present. But it is so occupied with the mundane - like remembering to take a breath every now and then, sending me hunger signals and loo-break signals ten thousand times a day - that it just does not have time for any other constructive thinking. But a majority of my brainspace is leased out to the part that lives in the future. it takes care of everything - what do i wear tomorrow, will the sky fall on my head tomorrow, whose birthday is it next tuesday, what happens if i marry some x y or z and then wake up one day to find out i dont really like him (followed by a quick panic attack), what do i see myself doing 10 years from now (that one is thanks to all the job interviews and like) This part has all the questions but not the answers. It is this part that drives me within sighting distance of insanity and back...

Not to forget, the part that thinks too much and analyzes almost any and everything under the sun...'the dissection specialist' as i call it. always trying to read between the lines even if its just whitespace, swearing by semantics, semiotics, body language and signs. and then sits with the laptop at 3 pm on an idle monday afternoon to blog all about it.

But then there is one part, inconsquentially small but incredibly useful at all the crucial times.....the one whose presence I am extremely grateful for. The one that is super impatient and doesn't care two cents about walking out midway during a longwinded self analysis for a cup of chai. the one that knows that the whole is always bigger than the parts and watches amusingly as each part struts its stuff, knowing very well that this too shall pass.... :)

the kite story...

2009-06-21T16:56:00.002+02:00

i once saw a little boy
in the open lush greens
fat drops of tears and lament
flowing down his rotund cheeks

why, prayed i, do you cry
my bright eyed little one
there yonder, said the boy
up in the blue wide sky

i made it with my hands
that kite red and blue
i caught it as it fell
and cheered on as it flew

guided it through the gusts
pulled it out of gales
held on through the storms
to the strings of its heart

and look at it fly
with no strings attached
with miles of air between us
our beings so detached

i wiped his tears, held him to my bosom
little did he know, the child
the day he taught the kite to fly
he gave him his world of freedom...

afterhours...

2009-06-20T21:10:00.003+02:00

...and long after they have all gone
friends, aquaintances and family
back to their own worlds
of 'lived ever after happily'

the void returns, grinning and teasing
and creeps into its usual place
and as i look, it looks away
then slow and steady it holds my gaze

And in its eyes
i see today as it is
devoid of all masks
and each of life's falsities

in that one moment
it all comes back to me
the sudden twist in the gut
and an all-sweeping melancholy

and today is a blur
tomorrow is even so
but the past is all mine
to touch and go

all ifs and buts
surround me - unabsolved, unvindicated
wondering how i have lived
by the terms life has dictated

i hold the void by its little finger
and escort it out to the ramparts
with a last sigh and look
it kisses me lightly and departs

and i return to my reality
in part, never in the whole
the void has left in my life
a big 'void-shaped hole'...

homecoming...

2009-06-03T18:45:00.002+02:00

she came back today..as silently and unexpectedly as had she left me one fine day last october.no questions were asked back then...no explanations solicited or offered. nor did i feel the need for it today. ironical isn't it? my whole being thrives on these little scrawls that she attaches so much meaning to. words.sentences....paragraphs. the minutes, hours and years of my life....
but today am happy in my sea of silence with no ripples of words titillating the surface.

change they say is inevitable, but old flames dont die.

Bizzare...

2008-10-23T20:00:00.003+02:00

Two days back I was sitting in class with a long-dead great grandaunt of mine. And after class we walked to my apartment in Bangalore where we did homework together over piping hot coffee and samosas.
Last night I walked out of my hotel room to find Sachin Tendulkar staying next door. My husband (damn…I don’t recollect his face!!) was very glad to meet him and they both agreed to let me play in the team’s tour to West Indies.
And that is why I love dreams…the space time boundaries just go ‘poof’ and you are effortlessly treading across generations and continents alike with the unbounded imagination of a young child.

Vagaries of the filled inbox

2008-07-19T10:00:00.001+02:00

‘600 messages? That’s a helluva lot !!!’, I thought as I read the description off the back of the box in the Mobile Store.

Cut to June 2008…a year later and I sit on the bunk bed in the PG (Paying Guest, for the uninitiated) contemplating which message to delete from the deluge that of 580 messages that inundates my Inbox.
I scan through the messages one at a time reading them from start to end, right down to the sender name. I have done this a thousand times earlier. When the person with you is having a personal conversation on the phone and you want to make yourself unobtrusive while keeping an ear on the conversation, open your phone and scroll through the messages. When you are waiting for a friend at the mall and want to avoid eye contact with the thronging mobs, Inbox comes to the rescue. But today I look at them the same way a barber looks at a full crop of hair wondering which portion gets the snip.

Messages from my sister….no!! They are sacrosanct. I cannot delete any one of them even if it just says ‘Have I left my purse at home? Reply stat…’
Birthday wishes…sacrosanct again. And also useful to crosscheck if the same people remember my birthday the next year.
And then there are the stinkers. Messages that are loaded with accusations and politically incorrect words. Ammo in a cellular war. Someone once said that hatred should not be carried in one’s heart. Well…too bad he forgot to specify the Inbox. And so they stay on for the day when I can look back and have a good laugh as to how silly we once were.
There are some forwards too. The usual set of inspirational messages, graphics created using standard keyboard characters…creations of a jobless mind encouraged by free sms schemes. They are the first ones to be given the boot and they get just one chance to make me smile or bring a lump in my throat to hang on to that coveted Inbox space. Surprisingly today all of them manage to do so. Either the jobless minds are getting more creative or I am mellowing with age.

There are messages from a friend, which go somewhat like this
Message #1 : breakfast
Message#2: cm to mess
Message#3: chai
Message#4: dinner?
Message#5: sleepy…night mess?
And they go on in this infinite loop… one for each day spent on campus, only interspersed by a few other messages sent across the table during frustratingly boring classes. I attempt deleting two or three of them. But somehow they seem a part of me….my only link to the campus life that is now plain history. These messages are like pointers that open up a boxful of memories in my head as I read them. Priceless.

Messages from a friend who had jaundice ‘ I had chicken today…lightly cooked but it tasted awesome’…little moments of joy. Farewell messages sent from the train….little moments of sadness. Messages from a friend who has suddenly stopped being in touch with me….little moments of retrospection. EOL. End of List.
And I start all over again. This time just sighing and smiling to myself as I wonder what it is that makes it so difficult for me to press that little red ‘delete’ button.

chance encounter...

2008-07-15T17:09:00.003+02:00

I got a mail about the greatness of the woman....I smiled to myself and spent a day gloating in the glory of my gender.
Sipping coffee in the evening at the campus adda, I saw a woman running through the streets with two crying children in tow, searching for her husband who had just bought himself alcohol induced relief from poverty with the days earnings. Her hands were moving fast - joining together one moment to plead with him to come home, moving as far apart as possible the next moment to hold her children close to her.....
I gulped my coffee in one go - a toast to the greatness of the woman in her and in thousands like her in unknown, unnamed streets of India.

Reality check...

2008-07-15T17:02:00.002+02:00

You know you have to a pay a lil more attention to your personal life when-
somebody asks you to name 10 men you would like to have in your 'harem'
and after thinking for what seems to be an eternity, all you can come up with is -
George Clooney, Roger Federer and a couple of teenage crushes..... :|

post from the past...

2008-03-29T15:09:00.005+01:00

something written months ago and left as a draft...may it see the light
of the day... :)

I wonder from where I learnt discontentment...when did I move out from the comfort of my cradle and start coveting the leather upholstery in my neighbour's sedan?
When did I stop running after the butterfly and start chasing higher pay packages?
There was a time when the only place with grey faces was my drawing book .When did I start seeing shades of grey in myself?
It seems like just yesterday when cynicism was yet another of the tough cookies in a spelling bee. When exactly did it make the shift from my rote memory to my conscious behaviour?
I wonder.....
How was I naive enough to think that metamorphosis is only a complex geographical phenomenon for rock formation?

Realisation...

2008-03-12T16:29:00.001+01:00

Misery is self-made.
Is that why we hold it so close to our hearts and refuse to let go?

Passing by...

2008-03-04T15:59:00.003+01:00

I look at the guard stand up in attention as the top honcho walks by, a frail hand trembling with the effort of staying taut and touching the temple. The honcho walks past with a perfunctory nod of his head.
The humble salute is a helping hand for the small sense of self of that big man....
I smile to myself at my own philosophical interpretation and walk away with a little icicle of pain in my heart.......

sometimes CRM is just a piece of cake

2008-02-21T13:59:00.007+01:00

A week-long course on Customer Relationship Management(CRM) and the class was all jazzed up with the fundas. Discussions on "what kind of customer are you?" would spill over into the chai-break. While K admitted that he was the "show me the price tag baby.." kind of buyer, S asked for some sensitivity on part of the seller (read that as: never EVER say "maa'm that size won't fit you"). I was too tipsy on the whole 'Customer is the king' concept to do some "constructive contribution" to the discussion, till the chai-boy sobered me down with a big fat drop of chai on my bag.

*********
Three not-so-glorious weeks later, my friend and I walk into the Imagine store. My friend wanted to enquire about the Apple Protection Plan..and I...well I was just visiting. Before you assume that I am an Apple fanatic who goes visiting an Imagine store a good 10 kms away just to ogle at those works of art..lemme clarify. The day was Valentine's day and the store owner had casually mentioned to my friend the previous day that there would be cake in the shop....a good enough reason to go visiting :)
So lets get down to the dirty details...
Entry: My friend and I.
The normally minimalist and antiseptic store is oozing oodles of the Valentine spirit with red and white "dil-shape" balloons fluttering on the floor (remember Dil to Pagal hai?). And if you look at the heavens in exasperation...gotcha...they are smugly hanging from the ceiling too...
The pink iPod nano is being touted as the ultimate valentine gift on posters all around. The men in the store can't take their eyes off the price tag while their girlfriends are drooling all over the floor (yeah...dil shape balloons et al). I say my customary hellos to the owner and the staff while trying to rip my gaze off the two cakes kept on the centertable. Just one small piece had been cut off...just the way the Apple is bitten.
My hands start itching. I pick up a balloon from the floor and fiddle around with it. The owner tells me to put it down. With a Ohkay fiiiinee....I let it join its dil-shaped brothers on the floor. I hover around the cake area looking at the products, reading the description tags and waiting for them to offer me the cake. In my mind, I am rehearsing how to say "Oh no I am full really" and still accept the third piece of cake. But no cake is offered. My friend is taking a lot of time and I have browsed and re-browsed annnndd re-re-browsed thru the products n number of times.My feet are beginning to ache. I target a plump lil balloon and make him the object of my frustration. A kick here...a kick there...a stare from the owner.....peace..I walk away.
Finally I decide to take matters into my hands. "So I thought there was a cake and all..." breezy.very very breezy.
"Oh...its only for couples"
I think the owner is joking.
"But why? Valentines day is not just for couples. I wish my parents happy valentines"
"thats okay...but the day is basically for lovers and couples"
Still joking right?
I half smile "Oh save me those cake saving tricks"
We always have this buyer-seller banter going on. Nothing new.
The owner walks away. Casually..unobtrusively.....which I think is to cut me a slice off the cake. And DOESN'T COME BACK.

Here I am..well..here we are (my friend was interested in the cake too), Apple loyalists, brand campaigners, emotionally attached consumers and whatever jargon there is to it...with our mouths wide open, wondering what we have done to deserve such treatment. I thought buying a macbook, getting an extended warranty plan, getting a couple of repairs done, spending hours in the store and recommending the store and the brand to any and everybody in sight is good enough to warrant some cake. But looks like the store owner's Valentine spirit was just limited to those sickly ugly balloons.

So I still love Apple but the Imagine store has just got itself ticked out of my favorites list.
With due respect to my CRM faculty, I think customer relationship management is just a piece of cake. And my dear Imagine store owner, if you are reading this....hurry to the bakery, you have my address.

Pain

2008-02-10T11:02:00.000+01:00

Reflections on one of the most telling scenes of human pain and anguish that I have seen

His belly was full of anger; resentment that had been passed down to him as though a family heirloom. With every word that he sang, the thick bile of anger rose from his guts and shook his body with a vengeance. "Who decides what merit is....isn't sowing seeds in a straight line in the black cotton fields merit?"..the words formed on their own. He could not stop them, He didn't want to stop them. He could hear his voice ringing in his own ears. A voice full of pain and anguish. A cry of despair. A scream of a wounded animal. He beat the drum faster to drown out the voice. More venom spewed out of his singing mouth. He could feel the droplets of his own spit settling themselves on his bare arms. Impure spit....impure arms. "Why isn't the air polluted by my breath? We share the same sun"..he asked the vast expanse of barrenness before him. He knew there were no answers. He knew there would never be any. The drums were beating faster now. Possessed, captivated, maddened. He knew every being was full of anguish. So much of pain....that if every human were to give a voice to that pain, it would be a loud scream that would reverberate throughout the entire universe. "Why? Why?" He gave one final flight to his anger, his pain and put down the drums. He felt empty. He felt immense solitude. He felt something somewhere move in his own universe.

no title....

2008-01-22T19:13:00.000+01:00

Missing a warm hug
to make me feel snug
is it the winter breeze
or is it just the blues ???

A long time ago....

2007-12-31T10:10:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I wake up with a sackful of butterflies in my stomach anticipating a surprise test.
Sometimes when I close my eyes, I am standing outside the gate to Sky lawns parking my cycle, thinking whether to have the veg mayonnaise sandwich or the chilli cheese one.
Sometimes when the cold Ahmedabad breeze caresses my face, I am sitting on the wall in the freezing January fog with a cup of coffee sending piercing pangs of warmth through the woolen gloves on my palms.
Sometimes when I am sitting at Chai gate with my friends, having Laloo's ginger laced chai served a sipful in a cute little ceramic cup, I am sitting at Nagarji's redi having sam chat and coffee with another group of friends.
Sometimes when the day ends in Ahmedabad, the lights go on in C'not and the pigeons return to roost on the Pigeon path.
Sometimes when I am in the auto waiting at the traffic lights amidst the chaotic city traffic, I am riding my cycle like crazy in the middle of the road, my hands off the handlebar, concerned friends in pursuit shrieking their disapproval.
Sometimes when I am brushing my teeth standing at the washbasin, the mirror reflects the Rajasthani dhobin with the paloo pulled all the way over her face.

Sometimes I don't know where I am...
Sometimes I don't know what I am to whom...
I didn't leave a part of me behind in that place....I just carried a part of that place inside me, into this place... into this time.

Yet again...

2007-12-27T06:56:00.000+01:00

Am I the river meandering along my way…bending and twisting myself in any whichever direction…
Am I the river desiring to touch new lands in my final journey towards that all-consuming ocean…
Am I really that free spirit which is not bound by anything except its own imagination…

Or am I the piece on the chessboard, counting the squares, calculating the moves each time…
Am I the brave knight or am I the crafty bishop with its crooked ways or am I just the unassuming pawn trundling along with hopes of a nobler destiny at the end of the road…
Am I just one of them, moving as per the rules, hoping for a win but preparing for a paltry draw with the game of life…

Am I right in asking myself “Who am I?” when all others have failed with no answer in sight…
Am I really courageous to look myself in the eye and answer the question or am I just indulging in calisthenics with words…
Am I the one I think myself to be or is my mind playing mind-games with me?

on my mind...

2007-12-15T19:31:00.000+01:00

The disillusionment on realising that you are living in a much diluted version of someone else's beautiful dream.........

A page from the past...

2007-12-09T15:12:00.000+01:00

Here's something I wrote 6 months ago....just felt like postin it out here....

Experiencing a homecoming without going home…how would that experience be? Well….I had never actually pondered on it till I set foot in Bangalore. The cool morning breeze hit me...just the way it would on mornings a year ago… Maybe the gods were with me too…I found an auto driver willing to charge me as per the meter reading :) The 5-odd km long déjà vu made me recollect everything which till that moment seemed forgotten in a hazy vague misty past in my head. The name of the school where my CAT classes used to happen, the restaurant in the street corner, even the number of the bus that I took to office. It might have just been another morning of 2005-06. And that’s when the whole ‘homecoming bit’ dawned on me and I swallowed it as a wobbly lump in my throat.

As the auto rounded the corner of 8th cross road, nostalgia swamped me in its welcoming arms. The house had changed. The place where I had stayed on the first floor was gone. In its place stood a proper house with a sweet old couple. The terrace had to be moved to a less important second floor. I entered the ground floor apartment. It seemed so much like home. The bed sheet, the pink and beige slippers that my friend had, the soft toys frolicking on the bed. The kitchen stood all equipped and set for cooking and yet the cobwebs and carelessly discarded wrappers slyly slipped to me the information that it had been a while since she had cooked.

I took a long refreshing bath. The bathroom had the same narrow washbasin, which so irritated me and the same kind of door, which split from the hinges at the slightest excuse. My wandering mind was seeking solace in these minor details.

I was hungry. The choice was obvious…pasta. I offered a light to the good old stove and it responded with a passionate burst. Hmm…. old flames don’t die ☺
Pasta, mango-flavored Tang and Lord of the Rings. I devoured them all for lunch. The bus journey had taken its toll on me and sometime later I slipped into a migraine-laced sleep.

The evening was in its prime as I emerged out of the house. A light drizzle had sizzled on the sun-baked roads and finally made its peace to settle in little puddles. I walked down to the BDA complex, unconsciously scanning the sea of faces and bodies for a familiar face or even a shirt or skirt or bag. The efficient booking system still marveled me…a year later. Having booked my blore-goa return ticket, I went to book the ticket to Pondy. What I thought would be a cakewalk turned out to be a nightmare. Not a single ticket to Pondy on Friday night. Well…there was one. But I was not given the seat as it was a “Gents Seat”’ (it amused, angered and pleased me at the same time) So I had another day in Bangalore. Hallelujah!!!

Meeting after a year and still being able to carry on from wherever you last left off…that’s a luxury you can have with very few people in your life. And so it was with my friend and me. Roommates for a year and a half, there was so much to talk about. It went on right through home into ‘Village’ restaurant and into CCD (the weekend ‘adda’ as we called it back then), meandered through the walk back home and ended just when the fairies of the night hushed us and led us by our hands to the chasm between today and tomorrow.

This moment...

2007-10-18T18:26:00.000+02:00

a song that ruled my heart and mind three years ago.
a close friend's wedding snaps.
the peace of solitude in the hostel room.
diary entries written a year ago.
the tension of pending work lurking at the ramparts of my conscious mind.
Dilbert cartoons with cubicles n coffee guzzling managers
a mild bout of tonsilitis
offliners on msgr to two of my closest buddies
a gentle night breeze
a sudden craving to go home.

Do the Diu !!!

2007-08-28T07:38:00.000+02:00

After many months of planning and postponing and replanning, we finally decided to 'Do the Diu'. So on Friday night, there we were - a group of 8 people on the bus to Diu, all set for the overnight journey with packets of chips and peanuts. I was overly excited about the trip for two reasons...well actually three reasons.

a) Goa Daman and Diu was one Union territory before they decided to make Goa a state ( a landmark day for all the MLAs who till this day are 'party-hopping' and making the best use of this decision). So I was curious to know what Diu is like.
b) Having stayed close to the sea most of my life, I feel a special bonding with the sea. Surprisingly the more I stay away from the sea (Pilani,Bangalore,Ahmedabad), the more I feel attached to the sea.
c) Fish Fish n more fish :D

So once we reached Diu and dumped our luggage in our rooms (the very "creative rooms" made out of cargo containers) at Sea Village, we hit the sea. Then we had breakfast and hit the sea again. Then we had a quick spin of Diu, had lunch and hit the sea again. I learnt to float. It is an amazing feeling to just surrender to the water and lie on your back staring into the clear blue sky above. I rediscovered swimming. :)) I realized that playing frisbee in water is twice as much fun as playing it on land. Post-dinner my chicken and fish-chilly laden belly did not quite agree with my heart's decision to hit the sea. So I sat overlooking the waves (or rather just the white foam on the waves visible in the inky darkness) and had silent conversations with them. Come next morning, and we hit the sea again. And then we did the quintessential 'Diu Darshan' on bikes. Fort->Diu Church->Gomatimata beach->Nagoa beach->Naida Caves(spoooookkyyyy.Do not even attempt to go there in the night). And took the night bus back to aapnu amdavad.

Some learning from my Diu trip:
a) Whoever coined the term 'sun-kissed' was definately sitting in the shade. (This sentence was written with one hand while with the other I was applying Lacto-Calamine on my terribly sun-burnt face :( )
b) Never ever go to Diu on a secret trip. Your tan will say it all when you get back. (thank heavens our trip was a well-publicised trip on the weekend and no classes were bunked for it :D)
c) Imagine this. You are all bathed and clean, wearing the last pair of dry clothes that you have. You have sworn a lil' while ago that you are DONE with the sea and salt-water. But now you stand on this cliff, just three metres away from the spot where a thousand white droplets of water from the waves crashing below rise up in a frothy mist and engulf you. WHAT DO YOU DO???
Just walk those three metres and get soaked to the skin in the frothy misty shower. Never know when you will get such a moment again :)
[Note: spending a day and night in sea-water covered clothes causes a mild to severe itching and rash on the skin :( ]
d) Diu is not very similar to Goa in terms of the people and culture. But you find a very strong Portuguese influence out there -just like you do in Goa. But what the heck....its a grreaat place for a quiet and peaceful vacation.
e) Fish is yummy whether you have in Goa, Diu or Timbuktu...... :)))))))))))) [burp!!]
For all those who have been inspired to do the diu after reading this - try the fish at the 'laaris'. You get to choose between a 40 Rs. pomfret, a 50 Rs. pomfret and so....and its aaaweeessoommmee.

Note: (for mum n dad): all the floating and swimming was done in very shallow water, within a distance of 5 meters from the shore, in the presence of people who are good swimmers with prior experience of saving people from drowning. The sea at Diu is very placid and "user-friendly" :)) :p

To end the post....a link to the lyrics of one of my favourite songs...which seems much more relevant to me at this moment.
The Sunscreen song :D

Caveman instincts....

2007-08-13T17:49:00.001+02:00

We all rushed towards the mess with posters. The rival camp was already there with their posters and had cordoned off the area closest to the door. The door was closed and would open only an hour later. And there we stood - a grimy mass of paint-covered limbs and sloganeering faces filling every inch of the staircase. All for occupying as much of space on the mess walls as we can with our posters. Fun and games. And yet I have seen best friends in opposite camps screaming into each others faces with a language that would make their parents think about their bad karma in all their past lives. Even a budding romance is put on hold during the 'Poster War' week and the girlfriend is all too glad to give the silent treatment to the dude. All for just one objective - possession. Possession of space. Possession of the cobweb-covered mess walls which reek of stale dal and rice and don't even elicit a second look (or whiff :) on usual days

And this got me thinking (which given the commotion and the push-pull that went on in that one hour is indeed an achievement) that 'what if humans were devoid of this urge to possess? What if the caveman had never used clubs to possess any and every woman that caught his fancy?' It would save me all those hours of going early to the popular classes to possess a seating place on the bench, floor or the windowsill. I thought of all the fights that I have had with my sister just because she wore my T-shirt or used my mug to drink her daily Horlicks dose. Images of my favourite shoes, book and perfume were flashing in my mind. I had a vague recollection of a protest march that my sister and me had staged (complete with slogans and posters) to coerce my parents into buying yet another Barbie for us. I got thinking about how the entire family had stood at the door as we sold off our ten-year old vehicle and kept waving till the number-plate disappeared around the road-bend. And then there was this time when my friend and I had a crush on the same guy and fought for hours over him (despite the fact that he didn't even know that we exist).

On a lighter note, I thought the filthy rich would probably throw away their money without the urge to possess it and I would get a part of the booty. But would I even want it ? Or would the filthy rich be filthy rich without the urge to possess? And then I had this scary apparition of a woman handing over her child to vagabond-like character who is standing at her doorstep and asking for her child. And that jostled me back into reality. Back into the pushing and sweat-dripping blob of bodies waiting to clamber over tables and beams - all for that last inch on the grimy mess wall. And I was thankful to the fighting. Thankful to the urge to possess. Thankful to the caveman who plastered another caveman's brain to the ground to possess the hairy cavewoman with the cute dimples. :))amen

A visit to change it all....

2007-08-01T12:33:00.000+02:00

I hate going to somebody's house when i don't really know them. When they open the door half-expecting you to be a door-to-door salesperson (i guess its the kurta jhola look that makes them think I have some homemade pickles stowed away in my jhola), my mouth runs dry before i break into my toothiest grin and introduce myself. And the greatest fear that grips my throat and makes me nauseated at the very thought of visiting people i don't know is WHAT DO I SAY? I mean I love to talk and all that. But after I know their entire family tree, the name of the dog they owned in 1978, the entire school curriculum of their third child and the 'inside story' about all their neighbours, WHAT NEXT??? I hate gaps in conversation when you just lie back on the couch and grin like an idiot or dust imaginary crumbs from your shirt, while your mind is desparately trying to grab onto another thread of talk with a longer runtime potential.

And thats exactly what went through my mind when they told us that we have to do a field study for our project. I am working with children and my field study involved spending time in the school with the Senior KG Class. (which was a really nice experience....the bunch of kids were well-behaved and my bag didnt get plundered. Neither did they make fun of my red chappals with big black knobs between the first two toes - which I have realised over some time are objects of derision among the very old and very young and everyone in between :(( ) I also had to go to their homes and interact with their parents and siblings which was what bothered me in the first place.

Anyways...there I was in the auto fighting an urge to stop the auto and go back the campus. Finally after 15 minutes of road-rage and gujju galis by irate drivers, the autowallah deposited me in front of a huge pharmacy. Another 10 minutes of asking around and walking finally got me to the society where the child stayed. I took a deep breath and walked up to his house. Thankfully, I had met his mother and sister earlier. That would spare me the 'oh-are-u-another-salesgirl?' look.

The door was open. And through the door I could see atleast ten people bustling inside - eating, cooking, hurrying about. I had called earlier, so they would be expecting me. But maybe they had had some unexpected guests. What should I do? I stood at the door and didn't really have to wait much, for I got dragged in with a nice boisterous welcome. They were all unknown faces and yet seemed so familiar when they gave me that understanding smile. I made a feeble explanation about how I was late cos I had a little trouble in locating the house. But it was lost in the hoopla of making way between all the people and escorting me to the first floor. A glass of very cold water put me at ease. Who I had mistaken for 'unexpected guests' were actually family members who now surrounded me as I sat on the bed and pulled out my guideline questionnaire and book and pen. Two little girls with big round eyes which followed every movement of my hands. An elderly woman who sat on the floor with the mother and gaped at me with faint curiosity (thank god I left my chappals outside the house). A bhaiyya and bhabi duo who sat next to me and nodded vehemently when I told them about my project. And of course, the child under study, still in his school uniform scrawling away to glory on his slate oblivious to the fact that he is a guinea pig (albeit in a social setting :)

I started with the usual questions about age and family details and stuff. They are 6 siblings the eldest one being 23 years old (married with a 2 year old child) and the youngest one being 6 years old. The mother proudly said 'India is such a huge country thanks to women like me. What is this 1 or 2 children thing? See...I bore 6 children. If we have to play cricket , we dont even have to look for outside help. We will make a great team." She laughed as she talked and playfully hit me on my arm while making a point. She then went on to explain how people from her community have many children in the quest to have a son. She is a very spirited woman, considering the fact that two of her children are deaf since birth. But never once did she speak of the problems and difficulties.

Somewhere in between the conversation, a cup of tea surfaced from the ground floor. I was thankful for it . But the mother held it in her hand and would not give it to me. I guessed that she may not want to interrupt my questioning process. So I kept quiet for a while. But still she wouldn't. Finally I gave up and resumed my questions while watching the tea getting cold in her hand. Her reluctance I later realised was because she had asked for biscuits to go with the tea and didn't want me to finish the tea before the biscuits arrived. Later I had the reheated tea with half a dozen biscuits. :)))

For a novice surveyor, I do a decent job. But this cheerful lady almost had me. When I asked her husband's occupation, she said 'majdoori' which is what day laborers do at construction sites. The family looked quite affluent. I never knew majdoori could be so profitable. I was thoroughly confused. I changed the tack of questioning. But it still rankled me. So I hazarded another question 'does his father work quite far away?' and the bhaiyya-bhabhi duo nodded and informed me that he owns a jewellery shop nearby. And the entire lot of them laughed politely at the ignorant visitor (yours truly) who had in her academic zeal and confusion missed the giggles from the little girls and the gleam in the mother's eye as she said 'majdoori' with a poker face.

The more I spoke to them, somehow I felt drawn into the family and so much a part of them. I understood their subtle jokes. I could grasp the mechanics of the mother daughter relationship when the daughter jovially called her mother as 'uneducated' and 'angootha chaap' and she retaliated with how she managed the family jewellery business so well. They invited me to stay over for dinner with promises of yummy Rajasthani food and offered to drop me back to my hostel. I so wanted to stay. Or rather my stomach wanted me to stay and the rest of me agreed. But then thinking about my earlier feelings and reluctance made me feel guilty and I didnt want to impose my 'hale-n-healthy' appetite on them. So I refused.

After having taken some photos (more because I felt like it than for academic record), I said my goodbyes. They all stood at the door, waving me goodbyes as the mother accompanied me till the road. The small walk was seized as the perfect opportunity to advise me, a young girl unknown to the ways of the world, about how it is unsafe to travel alone and that I should not do it again, especially so late into the evening. (I considered telling her about how I once travelled from the airport to the campus at 1 am all alone....but spared the the good lady a cardiac arrest by keeping mum)
And then she made sure I got safely into the auto (which was driven by a sweet-looking old uncle and not some young driver with shifty eyes) and haggled with the driver to reduce the fare from the usual 40 rupees to a special just-for-this-good-little-young-lady 30 Rs. She asked me to visit again and held on to my hand till we drove on.

I still feel paranoid about visiting people I dont know. I still have the dry-mouth syndrome when I stand on their doorsteps. But after that day's visit, I have this faint hope in me that the next family I encounter might be like them. And that is what makes me go on. :)

Mid-20 crisis??? ;)

2007-07-09T21:02:00.000+02:00

There was a time
when a casual glance
but not a word to say
foretold a happy day

A time when love
seemed magical
And schoolgirl crushes
were perfectly rational

A time when closing your eyes
to a romantic song
You swayed to the music
and hummed along

A time when you believed
in all thats beautiful
In dreams and in reality
you played nobody's fool

But today is different
Ground in harsh reality
Life seems so real
so devoid of beauty

Love is a game
for the young to play
it seems so distant
from where you stand today

Are you a cynic
Or a dreamer gone to sleep?
has time drowned you in its tide
too far and too deep?

Today you listen
to the same good ol' song
and sigh and switch off the ipod
the battery's drained - its been so long.

Thoughts in motion

2007-06-23T12:15:00.000+02:00

(Written in the train en route to goa from bangalore)

Sitting by an emergency window has its own advantages. Besides the obvious, its the unhindered view of the world outside that I enjoy. And the world rushes by you as you go chugchugging along to your destination.

A shepherd chasing his lambs and goats down a narrow pathway. Colourful clothes hanging on a clothesline against the uniform green and brown background of nature. A stationmaster standing at a tiny window in tin shed- the green flag fluttering against his white vest. Impatient yet curious faces waiting at a crossing, observing you as though you are a face in a framed potrait. A light rain starts up. I put out a hand- relaxed and lifeless on the windowsill and feel the raindrops on my open palm. They feel like the tears of an old friend. A song comes to mind from nowhere - "pani pani re"
The breeze blows curls of hair all over my face and the familiar train smell of burning fuel clings onto my skin.

The train hurries by at some points and leisurely glides through at other places- just like life. Dark clouds loom all over the sky. They seem to be suspended mid-air by invisible threads, against the light blue sky. The land is dry and tilled- the lines in the soil are furrows of worry on its forehead-awaiting the rain. There are a thousand shades of green in the surroundings. The sky is a bowl of water and the clouds are formed when the gods dip their shaving razors full of soapy froth in the sky bowl. I know that I am tripping and Im enjoying it. The beauty of the moment is making me want to cry. I want the moment to last but I want the jouney to go on. I want life to go on.....

Just a thought...

2007-05-28T11:56:00.000+02:00

Its amazing how you get attached to fictional characters in books...sometimes even more than how much you allow yourself to be in real life. Its amazing how the make-believe sorrows make you cry or how you laugh with the happiness that is carefully constructed with a melange of words.

And when I think of it...I feel that every page is a key that opens the doors to the character's life. Doors through which you can see every thought of his/hers...good or bad. Doors that let you into the privacy of their bedrooms as easily as they let us access the public porches of their lives. You read into their words that remain unspoken. You know their fears, ambitions, secrets, regrets....the way you can never know a living person. And when the character dies, the loss is as though you have lost an old friend...or maybe even more. Th image that you build in your mind, the face that you construct from bits of words and phrases doesn't leave your mind...and the dull ache remains.

Everytime I decide to maintain that no-mans-land between reality and fiction. And yet I end up crossing it; and when the line between the two blurs, there is no looking back. You see bits of yourself in the characters...the fears that you refuse to accept, the regrets that you refuse to let go, the secrets that you smother inside....somewhere the fiction of our lives connects with the reality of the character.

for all ye bored ppl out there...

2007-03-19T20:12:00.003+01:00

Ten odd books leaning on each other, with the cobweb covered wall and a much-read and flipped thru copy of Hitchhiker's Guide (hail douglas adams!!....followed by a brief prostration before the book :) supporting them at one end.The bookmarks peeping over the pages at the world outside. A stack of books at the other end of the table. Magazines, college newsletters, classroom notes, an overdue library book, a colour palette with remnants of a thousand different hues (tip for the shoestring budget students: never ever wash the palette. a drop of water can revive even the deadest and dullest scrap of color :), a pink polythene bag full of poster color bottles, other flotsam and jetsam collected over the semester piled up in one big stack (not the LIFO variety though...sorry to disappoint all ye geeks :)

And sandwiched between the two, a small wooden platform with an idol of god that has accompanied me ever since i left home...and photos of other gods (well....actually just 3 representatives of the 33 crore gods that we have :) before a tired mind indulges in blasphemy lets move on.....

a mug that says "i am one in a million" filled with pens(none of which actually work...they are just for the kleptomaniacs who frequent my room :) and some unsharpened bamboo sticks ( victims of a sudden fascination for calligraphy which died away as soon as the ink dried on the first A-Z trial sheet). The ink bottle hiding behind the mug testifies to the same.

a half-empty bottle of chyawanprash (mama's obedient girl...:) a bottle of fevicol (not for gastronomic reasons...pls note)
a coffee mug which has provided shelter to more specks of dust than to more drops of coffee till now....

photos of my parents and my sister....(home is where the heart is..even after 6 long years :(
a deformed distorted face made out of terracota ( my first experiment in the ceramics lab :)
a yellow smiley softball....the ones which u can gladly fling at the wall and give vent to all your frustrations on a bad day
(next to the deformed terracota face...it seems so paradoxical...almost like life....)

two dvds sitting pretty in their glossy polythene covers. A passive reminder to get rid of the 22 GB of movies thats been occupying my hard disk...

A packet of Tang....(ahmedabad heat and heatstrokes.....)
A tsunamika doll....another doll on a keychain....(a symbol of the "sisterhood" :) and the guardian of a bunch of keys for whom life is always a roller coaster ride :))

A plastic container full of trinkets and the like.....(gals will be gals :)

A laptop for someone who is bored enuff to the sit at 1 am and describe her desk.
A watch whose hands keep shaking with wrath, as though saying "good night bugger...cut the crap and off to sleep"

mid-afternoon blues

2007-02-17T18:10:00.000+01:00

Anguish rises to the throat like bitter bile from a much-starved stomach!!! It drowns the words, silences the scream and strangles the breath!!! A solitary tear finds its way to the eyes. Falling down softly over the cheek, leaving a trail of miseries behind…catharsis.

Pain is stabbing the heart with a sharp dagger blunted at the tip. Ripples of pain wash over the lub-dubbing lump of flesh and fade away. They don’t reach the face….they don’t reach the ends of the lips, curved in a smile. A song is playing in the background “Why are you smiling so much beloved…what pain are you hiding behind that smile?” Life creates beautiful montages in its wake…

Why the pain? Why the pangs that arise at irregular intervals making one wanting to scream in anguish and pour the cup that brimmeth over in one’s eyes for the world to see? PUO I call it….pain of unknown origin. A steely resolve grips the heart. A quivering lip bites on a finger….an amnesiac mind racks itself for a beautiful memory. And the canvas splattered with visceral pain is painted over with a collage of happy memories. Forgetting is haute couture…camouflage is street fashion…

A pair of kohl-lined eyed are looking out of the open door at the world outside. The birds are reveling on the tree in the soft evening light. The evening brings to her doorstep a procession of unannounced visitors as faces from the past file in through the door and enter her mind. The tree is dancing in a thousand blurred images. She wipes her eyes and closes the door. Darkness rushes in through the crack in the door. Darkness is her anodyne…..

Fallin to temptation

2006-12-23T11:36:00.001+01:00

There was no Adam..there was just an 'Eve'
The place was not paradise...
The serpent....welll....there were a few !!!

She resisted.....but she cudnt...
with the feeling she cudnt grapple
and finally she fell to temptation.....
A bite from the apple.....!!!

n thats the story so far
c'est tous....c'est ca.....!!!!!

jus like that.....

2006-12-16T12:51:00.000+01:00

sometimes the world smiles at you
sometimes it conspires against you.....
sometimes the truth seems so harsh
and sometimes the vilest lie is true....

isnt life complicated my friend ?
doesnt it trouble your head
sometimes u just surrender to it
and at times u try to get ahead....

oh rave and rant as much
tomorrow is another day
today i'm burdened with thoughts
tomorrow i cast it all away :)

Going in circles....

2006-10-09T17:16:00.000+02:00

The more I learn....the more I realise how much I dont know, the more I feel like a failure, the more I strive to become a success, the more I try to learn.....

I am but a dot being taken for a ride in this vicious circle.
And Iam enjoyin it...... :)

Uncapped memories.....

2006-10-04T18:03:00.000+02:00

I went to the store yesterday with one of my friends who wanted to get some shopping done. I just wandered around the store in my trademark style, checking out the stationary and wondering how on earth can a box of pencil colors cost 500 Rs/-
And then suddenly my friend ran up to me....clearly very excited about something.
She waved a orange and white can in my face "guess what this is?"
"A deo" I was confused as to what had her gettin all excited about a deo !!!!
"Its Cuticura yaaar.....remember? As kids we used to get Cuticura talc in the orange and white tins which used to rust too soon !!!! They have come out with deos now !! just check it out"
And she sprayed it on the back of my hand. A whiff of it....
Unknowingly my friend had uncapped a whole lot of memories bottled inside me.

Memories of spending the summer vacations in a big house which surprisingly never tired out my tiny feet....

Memories of sitting on the porch and listening to the roar of the sea while mom oiled my hair with freshly made coconut oil....

Memories of playing 'ludo' with my grandmother and howling at the top of my voice after losing the game.....

Memories of my uncle as he lifted me up to peep into the parrot's cage....and pulled me away the moment I put my little finger in for the parrot to bite....

Memories of eating the mango pickle which was always a little more salty to last longer...

Memories of the storeroom with creaky doors which had all the mangoes and jackfruits kept in it...and yet was too spooky for any of the kids to even attempt to enter it...

Memories of the entire family gathering together for a late-night game of cards...with the loser going to bed with an extra duty of making 'chai' for everyone next morning.....

Memories of walking to the beach just in time to say 'gotcha' to the sun hiding behind the ocean...and coming back home with a thin film of salt water and sand coating our tiny bodies...

Memories of evening prayers said in unison and touching 20 odd pairs of feet to seek blessings so that I might stand first in class...

Memories of a mirror with a wooden frame...part of my grandmother's dowry !!! watching myself in the mirror...combing my knotty hair with the comb which lost teeth faster than a child....and taking the rusty tin of Cuticura talc to transform myself into Snow White "mirror mirror on the wall...who's the fairest of them all"

Memories of old photographs hanging in the drawing room....looking down at us with approving glances....unhampered by the garlands that hung around them.....unseen unknown forefathers from a different era coming to life through black, white and sepia....

"Doesn't the smell remind you of childhood?", my friend had a dreamy look about her....
But I wasn't there to reply.....I was sitting on the porch in a farway place in the seaside house, under a flickering bulb....watching my grandmother cleaning the fish for the night's dinner !!!!

The butterfly effect

2006-09-24T09:48:00.000+02:00

"I have got some news to tell you", she whispered to me. Leaning across the table with her lean arms, she looked every bit secretive and conspiring as she sounded. Her almond eyes were narrowed in an unconscious attempt at highlighting her words.
I took a huge gulp of my latte and braced myself for the latest chunk of gossip that I expected her to come out with.

"You know Rajiv right? Of course, you know him.....you share a common friend right? Whats his name now???? The guy with the funny spiky hairstyle that makes him seem soooo gay....."
"Aniruddh. Anyway what were you about to tell me?" I cut in with the impatience so very typical of true-blood Ariens.
"Relax honey....whats the big hurry?" She winked and went on to light a cigarette. Marlboro Lights....her usual....!! She took two drags and blew rings of smoke in the air above us. Seeeing the faint crease of contempt on my forehead, she laughed....the usual mocking laughter Iam so used to.

"Yeah....so the point is.....well...Rajiv and I are...whaddya call it... "going STTEEADDYY" !! She rolled the last word on her tongue to add to the effect. Two thin fingers were making double quotes in the air.

"WHHAATT???? But you were....I mean...I thought Pritam was....." I stopped abruptly...suddenly aware of how incoherent I sounded.

"Yep...Pritam and I were going steady....But you see....its all very unsteady now"
The same mocking laughter rang out again...maybe a tinge of sadness in it

"Cut out the crap Dorah"...The suspense was just killing me.

"Okay...fine" She took one more long drag on her cigarette and flicked the ash on the scarlet red tablecloth. "Lemme put it this way. You see that butterfly there? If you try to hold on to it, pinch its wings between your fingers, enclose it inside your fist...do you think it will be happy? Do you think it will stay? No...mon cher ami....it will just fly off. Pritam treats me just the same way....I feel so...so f#$$%#$ stifled". She finished her Irish coffee in two quick gulps. I was still toying with my latte.

"But Rajiv...he is such a sweetheart. He knows I want my freedom. He lets me free....and I choose to go back to him and be near him....just like the butterfly. Life's so much better with him. I thought about it a lot....and I have come to a decision...so please dont try to talk any wordly sense into my head"

I guess she would have seen the thoughtful look on my face. I buried my face in my cuppa coffee.

She dug out a 100 Rs note from the back pocket of her denims and put it on the bill. It didnt take me all my engineering studies to know that the discussion was over. I picked up my backpack and stood up.

"Rajiv treats me just like a butterfly. And guess what...with all the experience that I have with men...I can bet my a$% that even if tomorrow I were to become a moth...he wud still treat me like a butterfly"....With a final mocking laugh she ruthlessly flicked the cigaratte butt into the ash tray...the coup-de-grace

As we walked outside....I stopped to enjoy the pleasant late spring weather. Four or five butterflies hovered above our head. Lovely, colourful creatures...they were busy in a dance of their own....oblivious to the fact that they make and break relationships, blissfully ignorant of the realisation that complex human decisions are based on their simple and seemingly useless dance.
I wondered.....and moved on....

Musings....once again

2006-08-27T22:32:00.000+02:00

I am standing at the metro station....the after-office crowds are jostling me as they hurry on to waiting wives and eager kids waiting for their chocolates. A particuarly hefty man pushes me dangerously close to the tracks. All the 'sorries' and 'its okays' said and done, he carries on...while i resume my earlier position next to the pillar. There is a one-legged beggar sitting at the next pillar. 10 pairs of well-shod feet pass by. 3 coins land in the rusty pan infront of him. 3 Rs to feed a stomach that has been starving for 3 days....I walk towards him and put a 10 Rs note into the pan. The note rustles uneasily in the loud company that it has encountered. The beggar looks at me with disbelieving eyes which cloud the rumbling of a hungry stomach. I smile and walk on. On other days I wouldn't have given him a second look. But today is not just another day. Today....I am lonely. Lonely in the company of a thousand strangers. Lonely in a blur of faces which seem as though they are cast out of the same mould of apathy. And loneliness recognizes loneliness.....we both are lost.....clamouring for attention in a busy world.....which has no time for individuals like us.

Lonely......the very word has a melancholic feel to it.....!!!! You cannot say the word with a smile on your face.....and yet am smiling....as I softly repeat the word over and over again to myself....!!! A small tear teases the corner of my eye and then runs away as my eyelids try to hold it back..... It slides down my cheek and upper lip and lands with a gentle 'splat' on my tongue....!!!
maybe this is what they call swallowing one's sadness.....

I tell myself I am not alone......there is a whole world out there waiting for me...caring for me......and i hear a tiny voice callin out to me....'who u kiddin buddy?' There is a soft nudge at my waist. A small boy is selling magazines.....He thrusts a magazine into my hand.....a scantily clad woman stares at me with sultry eyes....!!!! The boy catches my eye and gives that knowing look......!!! Two dimensional fantasies are a good anodyne for four-dimensional problems....!!! I return the magazine to him with a stern shake of my head. He gives me the same confused look that the beggar that given me earlier......and then another knowing look....!! I choose not to dispel the doubts that he has over my orientation....and walk away disgusted

We are together again...me and my solitude....!! We make quite a happy couple......content in each other's company, revelling in each other's undivided attention, walking hand-in-hand to a common destnation....a common destiny....
Two hands go up in the air at a nearby distance.....two grinning faces approach us. Acquaintances.....fellow travellers who u meet on the way in this journey called life....spend some time together and then they either walk move ahead or lag behind, only to catch up with you at unsuspecting turns on the road. They suggest coffee at the Espresso-express coffee bar on 19th lane....I hesistate...!!! The station is a cocoon....a shroud that I have willingly pulled over myself....I am a child cowering inside the safety of this big blanket......
My hesitation doesn't go down well with them and they half-drag me out of the station and into the auto waiting outside.
After a good 15 minutes of red signals and honking drivers and smoke spewing trucks....there we are in the cushioned comfort of mellow coffee smell and lounge music. We have grown apart...me and my loneliness..it seems to have taken a dislike for my new company.

Orders are placed...orders are taken....irish coffees and mochachinos are in the making....
They seem to have started on a private conversation of their own.....between whisperings and mock slaps and rolled eyes....they have to have escaped to a world of their own. I am a silent spectator - like a person on the doorstep peering into the house, watching the drama unfolding in the living room of an unknown house.
Now they seem to be getting into an argument.....it is followed by a fight....a mock duel where the only objective of the fighters is proximity to each other ! The waiter returns with the coffees and interuppts the fight with a polite clearing of the throat....in a very 'butler'ly manner.
Intimacy mingles with bitter coffee smell......oblivious to the bitterness of the eyes that are peering down into the cup more out of uneasiness than out of interest in watching the swirling cream in the coffee liquer. Shuffling feet stop each other from rising...until they come to a consensus....!!! I excuse myself....a urgent work has cropped up....I need to leave.....
They throw a carelessly said 'hope u had a great time' at my back as i walk out......I cant stop a smile....

My solitude follows me......and this time we walk on in undisturbed peace......

reflections...

2006-08-04T22:10:00.000+02:00

they laugh and dance in drunken stupor.....the smoke clouds their blissful smiles...but they dont seem to notice..while the sober minds sit back and analyse....!!!!
who is stupid ? them or us ?
who is happy ? them or us ?

all their happiness is contained in their glasses....glinting clinking glasses shining in the crooked rays of the nightlamp. ours is contained somewhere deep inside....the light not seeping through....

drops of fizzy nothing mean everthing to them....they..the blissful souls..the creatures of the night....

sometimes i wonder.....what happiness is.....

comfortably numb...

2006-08-03T17:22:00.000+02:00

The digits on the cellphone screen show 11.55 pm. The rain is strumming on the windowsill...i hum along in a steady rythm !!! The mannequins accompany me in a silent symphony. Those eyeless, mouthless figures who are bound to their destiny by layers of fabric and flimsy thread.

There are footsteps outside. I look up from my table. No one. I am still the sole person in the room. Peace. I get back to my drawing board. The breeze blowing in through the open window is fast lulling the paint into a deep crusty sleep. I wake it up with two little drops of water..and there it is awake again..flowing with energy !!! I feel happy for no apparent reason. The paintbrush dances away in a state of inebriated bliss on the paper....its bold trail adding to my joy...snails, raindrops, swaying green fields, swirls of colour drown me....im drowning...gulping greedily...

A careless drop of paint spills on the paper...an involuntary scream echoes in the vast expanse of the room. The mannequins mock in dumb amusement...
I feel guilty...sad...and I walk to the window to watch the rain...

There are mails waiting to be read....forgotten blogs lying in dormant disconnected wait....there is a whole world out there with a 'me' shaped hole in it....but the curtain of colour has designs on me. It surrounds me, smothers me...refuses to let go and I surrender with sheer passion.

I get back to my drawing board. The digits on the cell phone have morphed into 12 shaped squiggles.

I can hear a computer keyboard tapping away furiously....in some far far away land in some remote past !!!! It seems angry, frustrated, helpless....
There is a rythmic sound fast catching up and drowing out the keyboard's cries.....
I turn around and scan the room for the source of the sound....I can't hear the keyboard anymore....the newer sound is louder now....a musical rythm floats around....and then I see it....the sewing machine...

I laugh till tears stain the paper.....but somehow I don't mind it.....!!
I think they call it midnight madness...

Ahmeda-(not-so)-bad :)

2006-06-29T17:33:00.000+02:00

So here I was...at the Ahmedabad railway station...me and my three bags...running well over a quintal in total weight (courtesy my three bags :) !!!
And then to cut a long story short....to put all the mundane events in the FF mode....auto rickshaw->NID->NID hostel->orientations->classes->new friends->new roommates followed.

* This is the third time in 5 years that am shopping for the 'mattress-pillow-bucket-mug' combo !!!! Nomadic life at its best :)

* The balcony of my room offers a beautiful view of the Sabarmati river. Working till 4 am and then gazing at the river through the inky darkness of the night....a feeling beyond mere words !!

* Yesterday was my first taste of rain in Ahmedabad....it rained for a good one hour.....!!! neither the hell-scorned rainfall of Goa nor the now-u-see-it-now-u-dont rainfall of bangalore...!! a soft caressing rainfall...soft enuf not to hurt and yet hard enuf to drench !!!! and not a single soul with a raincoat or an umbrella!!! bikes, pedestrians, old, young, students, bags moved alike on the roads enjoying the drops getting into their eyes and open mouths....!!! Now thats called the spirit of monsoon :)

Moodpic...

2006-05-30T15:00:00.000+02:00

I am waiting.... for what? I dont know...
for whom? I dont see...
for how long? I dont count...
what will be at the end of it? I don't care...
and yet Iam waiting.

Random???Maybe...

2006-05-23T16:11:00.000+02:00

A packet of lays.Floating castle.Google earth.near-death-encounters.Planes.Thunderstorms.Missed chances.Leaning Tower of Pisa. Podcasts.
George Bush.Chewing gum.Coffee shops.Jazz.Europe.Itunes.Hurricane
Katrina.Nazis.Times Square.Job security.Switzerland.MBA.Password.S*** pool.Bright
kid.Sinusitis.Disneyland.Concentration camps.LBS.Wireless.ID Card.Racial discrimination.Visa.Pink slip.Dinner plans.Cab booking.Germany.Unaccepted calls.Test cricket.Photography.Bad landings.Regrets.DNS(not the networking term...u dodo).Bangalore-to-Goa.Interns.France.Radio.Shane Warne.Lopsided grins.Statue of Liberty.Tapped phone-calls.Smoking Gun.GMAT.Advertisements.Team leadership.Design.Cotton.2 hours....

It was a much desired conversation that quite unexpectedly landed on my palm like an elusive drop of mercury; and then slipped out through the crinkled ends of my hand when i held onto it...into a thousand pearls of random words....leaving behind a silvery trail on the lines on my hand.

Linked to Pictionary...

2006-04-28T18:56:00.000+02:00

Check out my first post on Pictionary !!!
Anyone wanting to join Pictionary...please drop me a line !!!
The rules of the game are simple
1. get a pic
2. form a story around it
In the same order that is....

Pages from the past...

2006-03-21T14:59:00.000+01:00

Its been a while since this blog has seen some action....!!!!
Well...pardonez moi for the lack of new concoction......!!!!

The apologies done with...this is a draft that I composed maybe a month back. It was renegated to the long list of drafts adorning my blogger dashboard...!!! I just discovered it now...and found it very amusing that the very fact that it is an incomplete draft is ironical considering the content of the intended post...!!!
Check it out...!!

For all those people who were a part of my life...and now are nothing more than smiling faces in my album. Flashes from the past reentering my mind on a reminiscing trip...only to be renegated again to a amnesiac memory.

For all those people...about whom I knew every little detail...the scar on the right eyebrow, the dark brown pupils set distinctly against the white of the eye in perfect dark-chocolated rimmed circles. They are now blurs..blobs of flesh fading away into the distance.

For all those people...who are still a part of my life...and yet arent a part of my life. Voices heard on the phone...on birthdays, festivals...

I am...

2006-03-15T16:00:00.000+01:00

I am the evening sun...
wanting to rest my tired self...wanting to immerse myself in the calming waters of the ocean..!! And yet I cannot...for the little boy answering his exams is clinging onto my last rays. I cannot let him down.

I am the express train...
passing through the lush green fields, gazing at the meandering river..its crystal clear waters sparkling like diamonds. I long to run through the fields...the yellow mustard flowers beckon me.!! And yet I cannot leave my track...for the seven hundred passengers have trusted me with their lives. I cannot let them down.

I am the water bearer...
the leather water bag grinding into my hip. The hot desert sun burning onto my parched skin. The mirages playing hide and seek with my delirious mind. Eternal sleep beckons me.!! And yet I cannot...for the desert life awaits me with thristy eyes. It has trusted me with the elixir of life. I cannot let it down.

I am Atlas...
shoulders sagging with the weight of the earth and its worries. The flat ground invites me to lay down...my spine in perfect harmony with the ground. And yet I cannot...for I lifted the weight onto my shoulders...for today..for eternity.
And I cannot let myself down.

Amen !!

but it rained...

2006-03-10T15:27:00.000+01:00

It rained in Bangalore last night. Not the multi-directional jets hitting you with the fury of the heavens, the way it does in Goa. But a light drizzle..just enough to soak the earth and adorn the breeze with that smell which can give Chanel a run for their money...only if it can be packed in a bottle.

I stepped onto the road at 9.30 in the morning and the breeze hit my face..gently...just like a mother lightly slapping a child for making a cheeky comment. The divine smell had persisted through the night in the cracks of the tarred road and was now rising upwards with the heat of the morning rays.
I carefully negotiated the wet patches on the road, not wanting to get my sandals all wet and dirty. The road was jammed...as always. Bikes and autos alike were being manouvered through the gaps, drivers at their slithering best.
I hailed an auto "C V Raman Nagar chalna hai" !!! "10 Rs extra madam" !!! usual story....waited for 5 minutes. After 6 autos, one which didnt come with a price tag of +10 extra !!! Its become an everyday duel...the autowallah v/s me...prize at stake..10 Rs..and maybe a deeper sense of pride and principle.

The auto inched ahead through the traffic. The heady smell of the soaked earth transported me to a different place...to a different age.
An age of new raincoats which oddly smelt of bubblegum; the mickey mouse prints smiling incorrigibly at the raindrops pelting down. An age of opening new fresh notebooks with lines in set of three...and smelling the pages. Polished black shoes getting soaked in the puddles, the water seeping up through the nylon socks. Umbrellas turning inside out with the strong breeze. Uniforms not drying in the rainy days...the sheer joy of wearing casual clothes to school. Splashing water on the puny kid who always had a runny nose. Endless memories pouring down...just like raindrops that poured down in those days. crystal clear droplets mirroring moments lost in the years.

"Yahaan se left...haan bas yahhin rok dijiye" I had reached office.
After paying him 30 Rs (even these electronic meters are rigged!!), I walked along the driveway to the entrance. The huge airconditioned edifice stood before me, intimidating, stifling.....!!!! I looked at the beehive hanging down from the roof....the bees were involved in a dance of their own...carefree creatures of the world. I took one deep breath and swiped my card. The whiff would last me a day...

Thought process........

2006-02-28T15:52:00.000+01:00

Uncertainity looms ahead
an all-enveloping fog
I am but a drowning soul
Looking for the proverbial log

No..you can't help me
My eyes are tight shut
my mind is closed
and wrenched is my gut

I wait all alone
lost in the same thought
counting the challenges ahead
reminiscing the battles fought

'It will be okay', they all say
'the sole ray will shine
just cling on to hope
and tomorrow will be thine'

But that feeble voice
gets stronger by the minute
'just let go' it commands
'just get out of the rut'

Future embraces me with its
strong unyielding arm
promising to make me happy
and not to cause any harm

But today plays the Thomas
uncertain about the morrow
cautioning me about future
and the impending sorrow

And so shall it be
I shall wait
for the moment of reckoning
hoping its not too late...

Don't let me die...

2006-01-31T14:42:00.000+01:00

"Puchu...I am not feeling well.", Nisha dumped her handbag on the couch and sat down on the arm of his chair.
"Must be the food we had in China Haus last night", Pushkar didnt take his eyes off the editorial in Economic times.
" No...its not that. I have constantly been having this giddy feeling. And today after lunch, I suddenly couldn't see anything. Everything was dark for about...hmm..5 seconds maybe. Freaked me out totally..."
Pushkar carefully folded the paper and put it away. A deep frown was burrowing into his forehead. Nisha was watching him with asking eyes.
He smiled..."Dont worry...guess its time to see the doctor..."

******

Dr. Mehta was in his office. The last patient had been a psychosomatic guy in his 60's who kept concocting strange symptoms and demanding stranger medicines. Dr Mehta had scribbled all possible placebos he could think of in his scrawny writing on the prescription. And just to make sure that the guy doesnt return, he had charged him a very hefty fee.
He buzzed the receptionist to usher in the next patient. He took off his spectacles and rubbed his temples with his weary fingers.
Nisha peeped in with a very nervous look "Good morning doctor"
A broad smile spread across his face. A doctor's smile.

******

"Hello...Rajesh...I need you to do a MRI for patient no #102. And send me the report by this evening. Yeah..on the way there."
Rajesh Kumar Tripathi put down the receiver. Life in the MRI and CT scan department was extremely graphic. He loved the fact that he could read people's minds.
He smiled at his own pun and got up from his seat. Patient 102 would be just on his way. Or maybe...it wasn't a his. It could be a her...a beautiful single girl in her 20s. Pushing his luck a bit too far...she could be from UP...maybe Allahabad..he gave himself 15% chances that she was a Brahmin....
"Excuse me...I was scheduled to get a MRI done now..."
He mentally scratched out number 102 from his list. Maybe 103 would be 'the one'.
Silently he escorted Nisha to the inner chamber for the scan.

******

The lights in the pathology department were off ,save for one room. Ishani Khan was poring over the slides through the microscope. She had to send the results to Dr. Mehta before she left. She was concentrating hard..trying to block the distress signals that her stomach was sending her. The very thought of having a pizza out of a carton, surrounded by the little red-capped bottles with samples of body fluids and body wastes alike was so unappetising. Just two more slides and then she would be done.
"Dr.Mehta...yeah Ishani here. I just checked the slides. Its malignant. No Dr. Mehta...there is no element of doubt. Its a case that even an intern would identify.
Okay Dr. Mehta..have a great evening."
The final light in the department went out.

******

"But Dr.Mehta ....its very clear. The tumor is so big...we have to operate immediately. In fact, I am shocked that she didn't show any symptoms before. Its really weird."
"Dr. Ryan...isn't there any other way out ? I mean...we have seen cases like this before and the chances of the patient recovering from the operation are very low.
What..what chances would you give her?"
"See Dr. Mehta...going by the years of experience that you have had with such cases...I dont think you need my opinion. But I would say...without the operation, she has about a month. With the operation, maybe about a year or so.
"But what if..during the operation...."
"Its all a game of dice..."

******

"Okay Pucchu....what is the doctor's verdict? Listen...I am a strong person...I can take it....tell it to me"
"Its going to an operation...on next Saturday..thats 15th I guess...a major operation.....but nothing to worry"
"Oh...I see.....is it a hammoraege ?"
"No..its a tumor."
Nisha turned away from Pushkar and moved towards the open window. She didnt know if it was the cold wind or the word 'tumor' that sent the chills down her spine

******

"What is it Pucchu?"
"Its nothing dear...just a document which says that I take responsibility for whatever happens in the operation...a responsibility that I take as your husband. Just a formality..."
Pushkar signed on the dotted line. It was not the first time that he was taking responsiblity for somebody else's life. And yet he couldn't get himself to do it.

******

Dr. Mehta put on his gown. He scrubbed his hands one last time and put on the gloves. The nurse holding out the gloves was avoiding all eye contact with him.
He was a much revered and feared figure at the hospital.
Nisha looked very frail in the hospital clothes. The anastheisist was just explaining to Nisha how it is to be under anasthesia when Dr. Mehta walked in. Dr. Ryan was already there in the operation theater.
"Okay? So you clear ? Alright then...here we go...just the prick of a needle."
The anasthesia was fast closing Nisha's eyes. All she could see were blobs of colours around her..in a hazy blur.
Just before she closed her eyes..she held onto Dr. Mehta's sleeve.
"Don't let me die", she whispered. And then she was still...the rhythmic breathing the only sign of life in her.

******

The red bulb outside the operation theater went out. Dr. Ryan walked out, followed by the anasthesist and the intern assisting at the operation. The frustration was writ large over the intern's face...while Dr. Ryan's face was a hardened mask. Years of surgical practice had set his features into an impassive mould. Inside the operation theater, the nurse was trying to go about her job in her usual manner. But it was difficult for her...she had never seen Dr. Mehta this way.
Dr. Mehta was holding onto the pale hand sticking out from under the sheet...the only part of the body exposed to the outside world...pale and lifeless.
He was saying over and over again "Iam sorry I couldn't save you Nisha...but I tried.....I didnt want to let you die."

Dr. Pushkar Mehta (fondly called Pucchu by his family) had failed to save his most difficult patient...his wife.

Rehan's 12th birthday party...

2006-01-23T14:51:00.000+01:00

I have known Rehan Kamat since 17 years. How we met is a very interesting incident that happened in the KG-1 classroom of Bal Mandir Primary school. Rehan was opening his tiffin-box when I noticed that he had strawberry cream-filled waffers inside. I absolutely adored them. Mine had the same old chapati-with-ghee-and-sugar, carefully rolled and packed in a tissue. Mission 'Flick-the-waffer' germinated in my mind...and I raced across the room. Just when I was about to scoop it out of his tiffin-box, Rehan looked at me with his big solemn eyes and said "Can we exchange our tiffins? I love chapati..but Mamma has no time to make it".

We were the best of friends in our primary school days. The first 15 minutes of classes would find us both kneeling down in the corridor, making faces at each other-habitual latecomers. The interval bell saw us transforming into a twin-headed torpedo which ran amok in the playground, knocking down the unsuspecting kids, finally transforming back into our human forms in the principal's office. We always considered it our duty to give the teacher a good 100-metre run before confirming our bottoms to the benches. After school, we would stay back to play on the see-saws and swings, just the two of us. Our favourite game was Vikram and Betal..I would climb the neem tree near our school and hang upside down with my tongue out and my hair loose. Rehan would then take me on his back, a la king Vikram with the ghost Betal, and I would then have to escape before he dumped me in the nearest puddle.
The evening sky would find two silhouttes returning home - the bags slung across their shoulders, the uniforms covered with a melange of colours, the occasional wound conspicious by the handkerchief tied around it.

Rehan's mother worked in the bank of India. His father was an Assistant Engineer in the Electricity department. They were out to work from morning to late evening. Probably that is why Rehan came up with the "Mummy-Papa" game where I would alternately play Rehan's Mummy or Papa and pamper him. My barbies would be twisted at all possible angles and turned into toy scooters which I would then present to Rehan, who was my child. I would wash his hair under the garden-tap, wipe it with the soft fluffy doormat (which was our substitute for a turkish towel) and comb it with my Barbie comb.

And then one day Rehan's parents came to my house. It was in our 5th standard.
Rehan and I were playing with my new set of cards in my room. I could hear the voices from the other room. They were shifting to a new house. Rehan's dad had been transferred to a new place. They had already enrolled Rehan in St. Joseph's High school which was closer to their new house. I asked Rehan if it meant that we would never play together again. He threw the cards at my face and ran away. Standing at the door he looked back and said "You are a stupid Neeli". He always called me Neeli.

I didn't go to see Rehan off when they left their house. Things weren't the same at school too. It wasn't really much fun being a single-headed torpedo and knocking down the other kids. The other kids found Vikram and Betal very tacky. So after being by myself for about a month or so, I started noticing that there were other kids in class. Playing kitty-party and home-home with the other girls wasn't half as much fun. But it would do. I missed Rehan terribly.

The next time we met was at Mehul's birthday party. Rehan wasn't his usual self at all. He was very silent and gave monosyllabic answers when I questioned him about his new school and friends. He even refused to join in in the game of passing-the-parcel and sat all by himself, staring at the cake. We met quite a few times over birthday parties. Me, with my group of new friends and Rehan with his sole friend - the half-eaten birthday cake.

He would call me up sometimes. I dont remember when..but somewhere down the line the monosyllabic answers changed to words and the words changed to sentences. He would talk about a new friend of his...Soloman. Soloman was an Israeli. His dad had been to India and fallen in love with the country. So he had shifted to India. He stayed close to Rehan's house. I conjured up an image of Soloman in my mind - Blond hair, fair skin, lips redder than the red poster colour and blue eyes. When I told the same to Rehan, he laughed "You are a dumb Neeli...Israelis have dark hair and dark eyes. He looks almost Indian".

Yes...I was jealous. Rehan was my first friend and the best friend I ever had. And now all he talked about was some dumb Israeli guy who probably didn't even know how to catch dragonflies and tie their tails with a string. I wanted to meet Soloman and push him in the nearest puddle on his oh-so-fair Israeli face. But I never got a chance to meet him.

10th January...1996...I still remember the date. Rehan called me up to invite me for his birthday party. My first question - "Will Soloman be there?". "Of course Neeli..he is my besss"...I banged the receiver down.
There were a thousand questions in my mind...was he a better friend..did he run faster than I ? Did he get better things in his tiffin box ?
I was very excited about meeting him and a trifle scared too. What if he was this school bully type character who could push me down with his index finger ?

16th January...Rehan's birthday. I was wearing my best dress..the pink one with the Snoopy-face print and "Am I not cute" written under it. Rehan's mom welcomed me in with a quick hug. She was asking me about how everyone at home was...but I wasnt listening. My eyes were scanning the twenty-odd faces for a Israeli face which looked almost Indian. Nah...he hadn't come. I sat down near the TV..watching Top Cat on Cartoon Network. Aunty brought in the cake and put in on the table. Chocolate....Rehan loved chocolate flavour. I turned back to Top Cat.

There was a tap on my shoulder. It was Rehan. "Hi Neeli...I want you to meet somebody over here. This is Soloman...my best friend. and Soloman..this is Neeli..my..well..'bestest' friend. You know Soloman...she thought you had yellow hair and blue eyes. See Neeli...his eyes are black. and his hair too. And he plays football so well. Well..we have stopped playing Vikram and Betal now...its for small kids. And we have kind of grown up now !!"

And then Rehan went on telling Soloman all about me. About how I would knock down a whole group of 4 or 5 kids on the playground, about how quickly I would climb the tress to play Betal. He actually called me his 'bestest' friend.
Well..things were going on fine....except for one thing.
There was no Soloman

(Rehan Kamat was diagnosed with schizophrenia. The doctors said that it was in his genes. Maybe lack of attention and loneliness had triggered it off. Symptoms - Silent spells, hallucinations. After two suicide attempts, he was admitted to the Guardian Angel's school for the mentally ill. My 'bestest' friend Rehan has been there for the past 7 years)

Krishna - Part II

2006-01-16T13:50:00.000+01:00

"Om Shanti Shanti"
The words escaped out of Amma's lips as she dipped her index finger in the blood red of the kumkum and made a perfect circle on my forehead. I could notice the mild tremors in her hand. The hand which had held me steady as I walked on my own little two feet..the hand that had held my hand gently yet firm, as we zigzagged through the busy highway after school. The strength was escaping through the fine wrinkles on her skin.

Amma sat down next to me on the cane sofa. The red of the kumkum was still clinging onto her fingertips. Red...blood red...the color that made her my mother and the frail old man in the rocking chair my father. Amma and Appa seemed to have their eyes fixed on me. I knew it was one of those times....

After my board examinations, I had decided to move to the city where I could pursue my engineering. The day I told them about my decision, we had sat in the same positions..the four of us...Amma, Appa, me and the heavy silence. Amma struggled to maintain an impassive, stoic silence while Appa debated with himself in a passionate display of struggle on the otherwise placid face. The verdict was in favour 2-0.

Weekends meant a 3-hour long journey home on the rickety bus and long walks with Appa in the fields. I dont quite remember when the weekly trips turned into monthly trips finally trickling down into unexpected, infrequent visits at the mercy of assigments and hostel "party" sessions. A job offer in the city had ensued. The jury had met again..the verdict 2-0. The trickling stream of visits had meandered over the years - the streak of red showing through..the red of blood.

I caught Appa's glance. The stern black eyeballs had mellowed with age and dissolved into limpid pools of water. But now they were fixed on me. I folded the newspaper and kept it away..."What is it Amma? Is...is anything wrong?"

The tremors in her hands were steadying themselves on the arm on the sofa. I looked at Appa. The man who was my hero all through my growing years, sat coccooned in silence, his gaze fixed upon Amma..passing onto her the strength for uttering the words.

"You remember you asked me many times why I named you Krishna..." the cracks in the voice broke the silence. "The time has come to tell you...."
The next few words were lost in a deluge of emotions, choked words, missing connections put into place. My head was spinning...the words were going around in circles..life had turned a full circle. ADOPTED...the word repeatedly rang in my ears. I was the Krishna...the adopted child...brought up by the generous Nanda and Yashodha. So I was not the dark-hued god...I was not the Gopal surrounded by his Gopikas...I was the adopted son. And who were my parents...? What was the prison that held them in shackles...poverty, relations which could not be named, death....what was it?

Amma and Appa had adopted me...a puny half-starved throwaway from the orphanage. The doctor had diagnosed Amma as incapable of bearing a child. The prescription had been my entry ticket into their lives. The voluntary job transfer to the village and the deliberately avoided family visits had been the wall my parents had erected to shield me from the truth. The faces of the distant aunts loomed infront of my eyes...gushing about how I looked more and more like Appa everyday. The lies flickered in their eyes like hellish fires.

My parents...no I didnt have the right to call them parents...they had revoked it with just one word....ADOPTED. The red...the blood red that tied me to them was just a dye they had injected in the crystal clear of the world, to blur reality. Appa...my hero....my idol...a privilege that was granted to me by the adoption certificate and not my blood. Amma's index finger was still stained red as she wiped away the tears from her eyes. But now it was just the red of kumkum...kumkum that you buy from any shop in the market.

I got up and walked towards the door. Krishna...Krishna..Amma and Appa were calling out to me. Yes...I was Krishna...a figment of a wise man's imagination who wrote an epic, a ghost from the past...thrust into the turbulent waters of reality.

I walked into the fields...the sky was stained red with the remnants of the evening sun. The smell of ripening mangoes whiffed in and out of the leaves. There was a silhoutte in the distance...running across the horizon. A boy of maybe seven-eight years...the full moustache jumping up and down as he ran....a black mark on the sleeve of the oversized shirt.....Somebody was telling a story in the background...a story about three-limbed gods and one-eyes demons.

I turned and walked back into the house....

Krishna - Part I

2006-01-12T13:24:00.000+01:00

"...Om Shanti Shanti".
Amma got up after the twilight prayers, tightening her face against the rheumatoid arthritis. The tiny flames in the lamps reflected themselves in the thousand faces of the diamonds in her ears. As she came into the room, I smiled with anticipation. This was the most enjoyable ritual...Amma touching Appa's feet after the prayers. Appa would always retaliate with a funny blessing and be cursed in turn with a sharp remark said through cheeks the colour of spring roses. At 60, Amma would still blush with the shyness of a 16 year old.

Amma and Appa. The center of my universe. The peak and nadir of my life. Every memory, incident, experience of my life is attached to them. At one-and-a-half, i wiped my running nose with the back of my hand and said in my best baby voice "Ammmmmaaa" for the first time. Amma prayed for the rest of the day, offered her tears to god. Of course, I don't remember any of it. But I have lived the moment through the innumerous times that Amma talks about it - when I lie down in her lap, when I go against her will or just when a leaf from the past drifts into the present.
It was not until I was a good two years old that "Appa" entered my vocabulary - a lapse on my part that has cost Appa heavily in all those family gatherings where he is always chided by Amma.

Family to me always meant the three of us and our dog Tommy. Relatives were aplenty, but they would come into focus only on special occasions - weddings, births in the family. And all they would do is pinch my cheeks and gush about how i had grown so big and how i resembled Appa more and more while Appa would stand by my side, beaming at them with a full-moustached grin. No relatives would come home..sometimes I got a strange feeling that my parents avoided inviting people over as much as they could.

Appa was my role model ever since I was old enough to indulge in hero worship. And in a country with 33 crore gods and larger-than-life filmstars, it doesnt take long.
I would imitate Appa's walk on those evening walks - straight back, long steps, arms hanging loose by the sides, head held high, purposeful yet casual. And when the Dhobi would get Appa's clothes, the smell of coal still lingering in the stiffly ironed creases, I would run up to my room and wear the shirt and imitate Appa's baritone in front of the mirror. I would draw a moustache with Amma's kajal and walk around the house in the same gait. The shirt would be back in the closet before the first sound of Appa's LML Vespa richoceted off the whitewashed compound wall. All the folds in place, the collar facing upwards. Just a faint mark would remain where the overgrown sleeve had taken a dip in the murky waters of the kajal container.

Weekends were always fun. Freedom from the cane-wielding teacher was just one aspect of it. Appa always took me out on long walks - through the fields, mountains. Philosophy mingled with lessons of life and spread across the evening sky in the sweet-smell of ripening mangoes in yellow-orange hues of the warmth of father-son bonding. And the days events would be recounted to Amma over the evening's meal, the rhythmic pauses halting the narration as Amma coaxed another ball of rice into my mouth. Nights were adorned with dreams of waking up a morning to find myself fully grown up -just like Appa, the full moustache tickling the tightly shut pink eyelids,curling the corner of my mouth in a surreal smile.

I would always sleep next to Amma - my head rested on the soft pillow of her arm.
And she would regale me with stories about three-headed gods and one-eyed demons.
Even as my mouth fell open - more out of excitement and interest than exhaustion from the day's activities - a soft hand would close it. Amma always put her hand over me as she slept - as if to reassure herself that I was there with her.

"Amma...why did u name me Krishna?", I asked as soon as she had started telling me about the dark-hued god on one of the humid summer nights. The room rotated about the ceiling fan in rhythmic grating sounds. "Is it because I am dark ?", the darkness of the night had rubbed off on my spirits. Amma's soft laughter wiped the dark soot off my heart. And then she was silent for some time. "No..my little rosebud, you are not dark. I shall tell you someday about it..someday when you grow up." The silence of the night put the thoughts to sleep.

I would ask her about my name many times- as a child, as a teenager.
The last time I asked her, I was nineteen. It was a rainy evening and Amma was wiping my head dry with a linen towel. I had just returned from an after-college meeting with my friends.

"Because...my little Gopal...You always have so many Gopikas around you", Amma whispered into my ears with a sly edge to her voice. Needless to say, I never asked the question again.

<...to be continued>

Tathastu...(May it be so)

2006-01-04T09:49:00.000+01:00

Special Thanks to:
* Shailesh for giving me the name for this post...may we have many more of these wonderful discussions !!!
* Sanat for giving me the idea of a sequel to 'The Flight' Too bad..I couldn't name it 'airborne ghost' though :p :p

The last rays of the sun glared at him through the ventian blinds. He raised a weary hand to shield his eyes against their wrath. The fine beads of sweat on the back of his hand entered his eyes and became one with his tears. They stung his already bloodshot eyes. Pull down the blinds, his mind told him. But his body refused to obey. He was a bundle of wrinkled shirt, alcohol breath and bloated cheeks dumped uncerimoniously against the wall in the corner of the room. The remnant of whatever had been a cellphone held tightly in his hand, the jagged ends of the plastic casing making ruby red satin ribbons on his palms. The half-empty bottle of whisky had done nothing to ease the pain. God......why dont you let me die ? he screamed with his face upward. The wooden ceiling answered him with a familiar creak.

And through the alcohol-induced haze, he could see the face of his mother. The bindi on her forhead perfectly round. her eyebrows doing a ballet when she laughed with him, writhing with the agony of the tandav when she scolded him. But now they were just lying in their place..motionless..lifeless..dead. As though the 5 years of her death had finally caught up with her image in his mind.

"Amma...Karthik hit me with the bat...why doesnt he just die. Then he wont trouble me na". "Kanna...you shouldn't say such things. There are tiny angels all around, who say 'Tathastu' and what you say will come true". "But Amma, I want it to come true...." The eyebrows frowned in slight worry and then smoothened themselves out in silent admonishment of the child.He was five then. But the image of the tiny angels with their gossamer wings floating in the air making words come true, had etched itself in his heart.

When he was seven, his grandfather died. The teary eyed mother tried to explain the event to the saucer-wide eyed boy, Taata has gone to god. He has become an angel now. But what the wailing ladies and stoic men of the house failed to notice was a shrill seven year old voice So Taata will also be able to say Tathastu and make things come true, Amma ?

The last ball of the innings...two runs to win. "Lil' angels...please make us win"...and they had obliged with a 'Tathastu'. It had been his magic word guiding him through the tough tests, nail-biting cricket wins and the occasional fights where the other guy ended up with a bloody nose. A carelessly made wish would be hurriedly followed by a quick slap on one's own face followed by a "please..i didnt mean it" look at the heavens.

All those moments of reckoning flashed in front of the eyes now. A reel...moving fast...then slowing down...to that moment..to that silent prayer...each syllable of the answer ringing in his ears...pausing for a second before moving ahead. He buried his face in his palms, seeking solace in the criss cross patterns of lines on his palms, which had brought him here.

"Yes ma...what do we have here...aah let me see. Your son. Hmm....19 year old you say.....engineering second year ??? good good....one must indulge in education. Okay kid, show me your left palm. You are very stubborn, aren't you ? The Dhanaresha is very long. You will have a fine life. But do not forget to keep your mother in luxury. All these young kids...go off...to foreign lands and forget their amma and appa....Bad...very bad"
" Will...will my son go abroad too ?"
" Yes...why not ?why not ? His education line is very strong...he will go to America very soon"
Palms were read...palms were greased...palms were folded in respect....palms were pressed to the lips in pride and affection.

"May my son be happy in America. May he not fall prey to the vices of smoking,
drinking, and all the foreign women who trap boys of good families with their fair skin and rose-pink lips". And while incense sticks burned and panchamritam was offered to the gods by the frantically praying mother with a kancheevaram saree in downtown Madras...the cigarette burned in one hand while the other clutched a can of Heineken..the eyes checking out the fair skinned damsels in the nightclub in downtown Chicago. The angels did not bless the mother with a 'Tathastu'.

The tape moved faster now. Amma's passing away...the cracking voice over the phone conveying the news of the heart attack. The dull pain..rising again in raging flames...only to be calmed down by the deluge of alcohol.

And then Anne had come into his life. Maybe a creature with gossamer wings had muttered the magic word in all those lonely evenings when he wished the fingers held wisps of shampooed hair and milky-white skin instead of the Marlboro.
American..23...2 past relationships..parents divorced..party freak....strong interest in Indian culture..she had captured his world.

Anne...whose face now filled the screen of his mind....a closeup..the lips parting in a smile...the wisps of golden hair getting into her eyes. He raised his hand to get the hair out of her eyes. He loved the way she smiled when he did that....in all the 5 years of their relationship. But she didnt smile now..she turned her face and walked away...the gold of her hair burning against the last rays of the sun.

The tape moved faster...that evening...the fight..the abuses..the work pressure, the hurled book, the sobs, the hugs....she was walking away....the call...the buzz of the airport in the background.....the beep of the voicemail...the news announcement.......

Blank...the screen was now blank. The cell phone dropped out of his relaxed fingers. The bottle of Jack Daniels stood empty....the last rays of sun had vanished behind the ventian blinds.....blind..the smell of darkness mingled with the sweat on his back....the wall was damp.
The bloodshot eyes peered from behind the palms. She was an angel now...with gossamer wings....making words come true....her pink lips smilin...just the way they had when he told her about his tryst with the winged-creatures and his belief in the magic word.....part glee....part mockery...and sheer amusement....Tathastu she whispered into the hollowness of the room.

The flight....

2005-12-27T08:06:00.000+01:00

"This is the final boarding call for the flight BA-134. Passengers please pay attention".
*****************

"Excuse me Ma'am....Ma'am...I think your phone is ringing."
"Oh...I didnt realise...thank you"
"Hello"
"Hi....."
"Please dont make this difficult for me...!!! You didn't have to call...you know how hard it is for me to go through this"
"....I know !! You at the airport ?"
"Yeah...just about to board the flight"
"Listen...I didn't mean a thing I said yesterday. I was just a little bit upset. I mean...its not your fault really. Its just the work pressure. I understand perfectly how much you care for me. I was just a big idiot"
"....."
" say something please. We have such a beautiful life...we dont have to wreck it over such a small issue"
"This isn't just about yesterday"
"But you cant just leave me and go off..."
"I just need a break...I will be back when I can get over all this ugly feeling. Maybe you need a break too"
"Iam sorry...."
"Don't be !!!!"
"......alright. Maybe you are right. But please come back soon...I cant live without you"
"Oh please..lets spare ourselves the cliches"
"I mean it....

******************

"Excuse me Ma'am..would you like something to drink"
"Huh? Yeah...an orange juice please"
"Sure ma'am"
"Thanks"

******************
"Hey dude...whats the thing with ya ?? You look so screwed man"
"Shut the trap Eddie"
"Awrightt...dont get sore man...!!!! Mannn....if you believe in all that rebirth and shit....remember not to get married in your next birth..."
"What the.....get the hell outta here !!!"
******************

"Excuse me Ma'am...you cannot use your cellphone in the plane"
"I know...I am so sorry...but this is really urgent"
"But Ma'am...its against the..."
"Please..I will not be long.....Hello..."
"Ma'am...please"
"Oh crap..its the voicemail...Hi..its me..!! I think I dont need the break...I was a big idiot to even think about reconsidering things !!! I know how much this means to you..and me !! Just wanted to tell you that I am taking the next flight out of Paris for home. Sorry....please forget this ever happened"
*****************

"And we have a breaking news..There has been a plane crash. Flight no BA 314 from New York to Paris, carrying 350 passessengers on board crashed about an hour back off the Scotland coast. As per the latest updates, no survivors have ben found. Over to our correspondant at the site of the wreck...."
*****************

"You have a new voice message. Please enter your access code...."

In retrospect...

2005-12-20T15:14:00.000+01:00

On friday there was a 'Reach-out' programme in our office. Various NGOs had set up stalls where they sold products made by physically/mentally challenged people. I was looking through the products with a couple of my friends and stopped at a stall which had some paper products. Brightly colored cards, bookmarks, table mats et al were lined up on the table. I was just contemplating picking up a couple of bookmarks for my lil' collection when I noticed that the guy at the counter had deformed hands. Also each hand had some fingers missing. And yet he was taking money, writing out the receipts, handing out the change with such ease. There was a certain fludity in his movements, a certainity which masked the pain that he was undergoing.

Catching my eye, he flashed a bright smile. I got back to the task of picking out the bookmarks, a caught-in-the-act look on my face. As usual I was confused about which bookmark to pick. I just turned to consult my friend and oops...i knocked over the little plastic box that had been kept to accept donations. The "shortlisted" bookmarks fell out of my hand. Embarassed to the hilt, I set the box upright and said a sheepish "sorry" to the guy. He flashed the same bright smile at me. It was a perfectly normal accident. And yet somewhere deep down I felt that my sorry had other connotations. It was almost an apology for being clumsy with ten fingers intact on my hand. It was a tribute to his victory over his disability. And his smile was an indication of understanding and a graceful acceptance of the apology.

***

Saturday night...there I was at the annual day celebrations of a company, with my friends. Wide open grounds, flashing lights, milling crowds, decorated stage, food stalls (which obviously were the star attractions).
And then there were a set of blind kids who performed a group dance. It was so stunning. They arranged themselves into different formations. It was amazing how they found their partner's hand just at the correct beat and how all the interlinked hands went up in perfect synchronisation during the crescendo.
Everyone just sat dumbstruck till the host reminded the gathering that the children can just hear us and not see us !! And then there was a sudden uproar of claps through the audience.

The children were dressed in bright clothes and had flowers around their necks and wrists. The stage was lit with a combination of lights -red, blue, UV, strobes !!!
The audience were rapt in attention. The smiles were wide on their faces as they clapped not just for the performance but for the performers. But the children could not see all this. Their sole motivation were the sounds in the darkness. And yet it was one of the most spirited performances I have ever seen !!!

***

Return of the work-a-holy-ics anonymous

2005-12-15T15:07:00.000+01:00

Rhyme of the ancient programmer...

When the room was dark
and there was no light
I had a nightmare
when?? oh just last night !!!

There was a noose around my neck
I was sitting in a chair
facing a cluttered screen
and everyone else was there

There were bugs crawling
with their limbs-fore and hind,
all over my body
and creeping into my mind !!!

I tried hitting a button
with relief i was about to slump
when the screen pronounced
the sentence "sys core dump" !!!

There were loadsa other buttons
I tried hitting them all
Nothing worked, nothing changed
and then...i got a call !!

Said the hoary voice
You are the one..
No one will help you
to save u will come none...!!!

The noose tightened
I was choking
I screamed and cried
yet everyone was working !!!

And then I found a note
'Users guide' it said
thousand lines of junk
in panic i read !!!

To come out of your dream
use Ctrl+Alt+Del
for this escape route
gladly my soul i wud sell !!!

And so just when my last breath
was holding onto a thread
I pressed the magic buttons
And all i saw was red !!!

cos on the screen were written
two words - maybe it was a curse
"Fatal Error" it said
and suddenly things were much worse !!!

And then i woke up screaming,
my heart twisted like a sickle
Maybe thats what happens dear pal..
after too much work in a cubicle !!!

Potraits-I

2005-12-13T14:18:00.000+01:00

Well...this is a new endeavour that has kind of wiggled its way into my imagination some time back !!!! what i want to do..is to pick out a picture and then build a story around the picture !!! maybe just a more voluntary and enjoyable form of the picture compositions that used to figure in the english question papers in school !! :)
so here goes...

Chocolat...
"Mom..look at that fisherman", a 7-year old finger pointed in the distance.
"Oh yes Ron...the sun has gone down. The fishermen take their boats and go out to the sea. They return in the morning with their catch", the doting mother explained.
"But papa goes to fish at the creek and never takes a boat. And he never goes at night..."
An amused smile of understanding.."Oh no son...Papa is not a fisherman !!! And this happens in India..not back home in Stratford at the creek".
Silence trying to fathom the difference between 'going fishing' and 'being a fisherman' !!
"Can i go look at him?" the eyes never left the fisherman.
"Oh well....but be careful honey"

The boy half-ran towards the boat, leaving behind 7-year old footprints in the sand.
The fisherman was arranging the net inside the boat, rough callused hands arranging the net in neat folds. He stood there, clad in only a loin cloth, completely oblivious to the round, saucer like eyes that watched every move of his. The eyes watched his hands as they lifted the oars in one sudden heave and deposited them into the boat. They watched the effort in the age-hardened eyes, the wrinkles on the face that cringed with pain, the beads of sweat which glistened on his skin.
The eyes watched the muscles as they strained against the skin, the face defiantly relaxed and calm. The last rays of the sun danced on his face. The eyes smiled gleefully at the sight - the blissful smile of 7-year old eyes.

The boat was ready for the evening's rendezvous with the sea. The net sat regally on its throne flanked by the oars. The sides were wiped clean of the sand and the occassional barnacle that clings onto them. The boy caught the fisherman's eye and he saw a flicker of energy and excitement in them. The boy smiled and the shrivelled beedi-blackened lips broke open into a smile in return - three pan stained teeth greeting 25 pearly whites. And then he turned. He was pushing the boat into the sea, the teeth grinding themselves into the defenseless gums.

The boy stood in silence looking at the fisherman. The dark skin seemed like chocolate...dark chocolate which seems sinful, hard and yet melts at the slightest hint of warmth. The beads of sweat were droplets of moisture when the cold chocolate is left out in the open..exposed, unprotected, vulnerable.Chocolat..they call it in a more exotic manner. And this was exotic for him. Every time the skin moved, it was the chocolate flowing down the stem of the spoon, in jerky movements which have a certain fluidity in them. He loved the color - deep, dark, having its secrets !!!

The boat was almost in the water. The fisherman waited for a wave to lift it out of the sand. And the sea obliged. The boat lifted off the ground with a sudden lurch and the tired muscles clambered into the boat triumphantly. The fisherman turned to look at the boy and waved at him.
The boy smiled and waved back. Chocolate always made him happy. He stood looking at the boat until it surrendered itself to the sea and turned into a speck on the horizon !! The chocolate melted away with the last rays of the sun and blended itself with the flow of the sea.

The boy turned back and retraced his steps...the bitter-sweet taste of chocolate in his 7-year-old mind !!!

'Booked' for the day...

2005-12-06T14:58:00.000+01:00

Okay...so here is a tag that I will surely relish carrying out !!
Thanks Hems for this :)
And yeah...am goin to add a few categories of my own too :p :p

Books that I liked the most

This is like picking out the shiniest diamonds from a sack full of them !!!!
Tough call...but nevertheless...!!

1) Hitchhikers Guide to the galaxy -Douglas Adams
Absolutely Stunning - nothing in the world can beat this book !!!!
No words I use here can sum up what the book is all about...!!
So if you haven't read it...please rush to the nearest bookstore or surrender yourself to the 'Total Perspective Vortex' (oops...got a paradox here !!)

2) Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
Absolutely stunning !! Made me fall in love in Rushdie (fatwa and three wives notwithstanding). The book is a mosaic of emotions, magic and beautiful imagery woven into a story which makes you feel like a kid in a toy shop. Well..maybe on a more colourful note, the book is like a perfect cuppa coffee !! The taste lingers long after the story is over. But it is definitely not something one can finish over a cuppa coffee...!! Quite a heavy read...

3) Godfather - Mario Puzo
A book which I have read about 6 times...and can gladly read again !!!It gave me my obsession with Michael Corleono (and Al Pacino..thanks to the celluloid version). It gave me my fascination for Italy (Italians more specifically :p :p), bell peppers fried in olive oil....and anything remotely Italian.
The book made me a deal I just couldn't refuse :))

4) God of Small things - Arundhati Roy
Sheer poetry. Never before had the 'fountain and love-in-tokyos' on the head of a child seemed so beautiful. A book which I returned without reading just because "public opinion" had it that the book was "crude and filthy"; and picked up 4 years later only to fall in love with it. The innocence of childhood and complexities of adult life set against a beautiful backdrop.

5) To Kill a Mocking Bird - Lee Harper
Amazing book which I can read over and over again. The story is narrated from the perspective of a child, and before you know it you are transformed into a child again, running with a tyre down the road, climbing trees on a mid-summer afternoon.
And aside to the girls, you will definately fall in love with Atticus Finch...well...i did :) :p

6) The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho
What i love about the book is its simplicity. A short fable which teaches you what life is all about without thrusting down your throat obscure, abstract sayings and too-idealistic morsels of wisdom. Left quite a big impression :)

Authors i like
1) Salman Rushdie - Magical...absolutely magical !!!!Amen !!
2) Douglas Noel Adams - I worship this man !!! thats about all I can say !!! :)
3) O Henry - Just read three short stories of his...and have already started loving his style of writing. Makes you want to be a child again..and be presented his book on your birthday by the cheerful old uncle next door.
4) Enid Blyton - for having created a whole new world of picnics in the woods, solving mysteries during summer vacations and burly old policemen screamin 'Clear orf' :p :p

Unusual books that I liked
1) Siddhartha - well...cant really call it unusual !!! The only reason that I put it here is that I never thought I could enjoy such a deeply spiritual and philosophical book !! and I was stunned !!! A must read by everyone who feels restless about life in general...

Cartoons i like
1) Tintin - can swear by the 'blistering barnacles' and 'thundering typhoons' that its the best !!!
2) Asterix and Obelix - for the sheer creativity in naming the characters
3) Calvin and Hobbes - humour at its best !!!simply makes my day
4) Suppandi - how...i mean just about how can somebody be so dumb ??? ?!!!!
5) Archies - Ultimate timepass....:)
6) Dilbert - exclusively for people trapped in their cubicles !!! scott adams takes amazing digs at the "corporate culture" !! :))

Books that I want to read
1) 100 years of solitude
2) Love in the time of cholera
(have heard lots about these two books)
3) 1984
(after the impact that animal farm made...)
4) The Impressionist
5) English August
(have been wanting to read this since 6 years)
6) Shalimar the Clown
(for the sheer love of rushdie...)

Books that I have left halfway thru and want to complete
1) Satanic verses (for the sole reason that I cannot read this ebook for long stretches in office)
2) Lee Iacocca - autobiography
3) Tipping Point - Malcolm Gladwell

Currently reading..
Atlas Shrugged - Ayn Rand leaves a long lasting impression on your mind !!!

Whew !! Thats about it all !!!!
Can think of loads of more categories...but can spare that for some other tag (hey..for those of u who know german..pun unintended :p :p)

I now pass on this tag to Sanat, (for donning the garb of a reviewer with hiddenmoon :) and Ojas, (in memory of all those books read in the Remote Sensing Lab of NIO :)

Moodpic -II

2005-12-05T11:01:00.000+01:00

Thoroughly STRESSED at the moment...
got a deadline this evening...
swamped with loads of work which makes no sense....
and yet have got time to spare to pick out a moodpic...:p :p

Moodpic-I

2005-12-02T14:41:00.000+01:00

Just felt like postin a pic...which reflects my current mood !!!!
deep in thought and yet relaxed...

absolutely random...

2005-12-02T14:08:00.000+01:00

scorching heat on bare cheeks...
a slender leg perfectly fitting into the narrow shadow of a pole...
crystal clear water glistening in a pool..
an unshed tear for everything that ever went wrong...
the feel of skin on a chequered blanket...
the feel of the bone crumbling to bits....
the steam rising out of a bucket of hot water...
the fragrance of shampoo entwined with the curls...
the smell of the creme on sunburnt skin...
the whispering of the breeze through the gap in the window...
the stillness of the fan rotating at the fastest speed...
the melody of the silence...
the soothing feeling of a wet towel wrapped around the neck...
the trembling of the door in the perfectly still night...
the surge of energy through the tired limbs...
the trickling of the last drop of water down the throat...
the soft glow of the laptop in the heart of the room...
the murky smell of yellowing pages in a second-hand paperback...
the goodnight whispered into the phlegmatic ears of a softtoy...
the dormant hug of a pillow with large flower prints...

Don't ask me why I have written this...!! As the title suggests...these are
purely random thoughts that just crept into my mind...!!! no connection...they
make no sense at all...and yet i feel a certain sense of poignancy in them !!
Amen !!

Fiction..or fact ??

2005-11-28T14:00:00.000+01:00

Disclaimers: All the characters are purely a figment of the author's imagination.
Any resemblance to any person or incident is coincidental !! :p :p

(scence 1: The intimation)
The official drummer could be heard miles away. He had a deep bass voice and beat the drums as though he were a washerman beating the grime out of a pair of unwashed denims.

"Hear Hear Hear....
Sir Walter is here
to face the beast
do not worry the least
for he is smart, he is cool
though he looks like a dorky fool
and lest he succeed in the quest
he shall be welcomed as the best
into the elite club of the brave
If not, may god bless his grave"

(scence 2: the departure)
The balconies thronged with people like buses in the metros of a far far away place called India. Young and old alike elbowed others around them in order to catch a glimpse of the hero. Young ladies scratched and bit their counterparts in the bid to pass on their silk hankies to the bloke. And he stood there, the knight in shining armour...armed to the teeth, not a chink in his armour !!!! He was prepared to face the beast. He had been preparing for a good four months...and now the hour of reckoning had arrived. There were prayers, there were tears...and fears too !! All blending to build a climax which would give a certain Karan Johar run for his money.
He started marching towards the lair of the beast. There were drumbeats accompanying his steps...oh hell..those were just his heartbeats !!!!

(scene 3: the lair of the beast)
He reached the lair of the beast. The beast was nowhere to be seen. His heartbeats had stirred up a warcry in him. He scanned the area. Thousands had tried before and thousands had failed...but he knew he would succeed...after all..he was the "one".
And then he saw the beast. It was hideous....!! His mouth gaped open as wide as the four lane highway in the kingdowm. He had heard from the ones who had tried before that the beast always changes form. But what he saw was what he hadnt imagined in his wildest dreams. He had conjured up a tail...but there were poisonous thorns. He had etched out a moustached smile...and there were ferocious fangs playin peekaboo from under contorted lips. He had heard a purr in his mind...but the beast roared.
The beast lay in wait...he had to make the first move.

(scene 4: the heat of the battle)
He went round the beast in his best battle stance - daringly defensive yet cautiously attacking. He tried to pick vulnerable points from which he could attack the beast !! But the beast was like the rock of gibraltar...some knights had even nicknamed it 'The Wall'. He jabbed at the beast from all directions, his lance moving faster with each move. Some wild shots ended up puncturing the air, pregnant with the tension and fervour. Others made small holes on the beast's hide - mere mosquito bites on an elephant's calloused heel !!

(scene 5: the climax)
Sweat trickled down onto his face. Time was ticking by. He hadn't much time to win the battle. He had tried all the tricks that the knight's school had taught him. The studied approach that the more eminent knights had recommended. The 'around the bush' strato that some mavericks had talked about. And yet the beast grew bigger by the moment, mutating into more hideous and ferocious forms. The beast was patient, just watching his struggle in an amused manner.
In a last ditch attempt, Sir Walter went berserk and started yelling, running around and jabbing at the beast with all the force that he could muster.
The beast was irked and it lunged at him. With one swipe of its paws, it yanked out the only muscle of his body which was loose at one end. The dismissal bell rang loud and clear

(scence 6: the aftermath)
Sir Walter returned to the kingdom - weary defeated and teary-eyed. The young ladies returned back to their rooms with a toss of their haugthy heads, to mourn the loss of yet another silk hanky. The old returned to their beds shaking their heads, muttering something about youth not learning from the past. The curious ones asked him what had transpired. The scribes were furiosly etching out onto their stone tablets. The analysts asked him how the beasts looked, hoping to make predictions and get yet more students into the knights school.
But he said nothing...!!!!! He just walked on to join the thousands who had tried to tame the beast and had failed.

(scence 7: 30 years later)
The epitaph on Sir Walter's grave reads

" Here lies the great Sir Walter
Who never but once did falter
He tried to bell the beast
And anticipated a huge feast
But he returned torn and lost
Having paid a heavy cost
And never spoke or sung
Cos the cat got his tongue"

Spectrum of thoughts...

2005-11-21T13:42:00.000+01:00

The cold wind stung his face as he stepped out of the building. A three-odd-day-old stubble was not protection enough from the ravenous cold that was biting everything in its path. He zipped up the sweatshirt, pulled his cap over his ears and continued walking down the road with his typical swagger. There was a slight drizzle. He looked up at the sky - the sun was defiantly holding onto the rays of light, surrounded ominously by murky grey clouds. They were fast closing in.

There wasn't a soul in sight as he turned round the corner. Drops of rain were trickling down through the small gap in his sweatshirt, washing away the grime of the day's work from his muscular back. Streaks of grey on a wheatish canvas. He ran his hand through his hair. The diamonds that had cosied themselves on the furry coat were perturbed. They whooshed down the forehead and pierced his eyes. He shook them away with an amused smile, his eyes glinting with the shine that they left behind in their wake.

The cliff lay just ahead of him. The glass blades that stood defiantly had now given in to the two pronged assualt by nature - the beads that the heavens perspired had pinned them down while the wind strangled them. He walked to the edge of the cliff.
There was a bright hunchback rainbow that lay on the horizon. The colours were still fresh. He could smell them - the heady smell that greets you in a new apartment. He peered into the vast expanse that lay between him and the horizon. His eyes were a darker shade of the sky. He shut his eyes - a premature end to the consummation between the light and the dark.

And yet he could see the rainbow. Bright - it almost spelled VIBGYOR, the behemoth of the science techer by its side making him repeat what each letter stood for.
The Violet was the embossed letters on his office door "Shyam Mehta - CEO" ,imposing and regal. The Indigo was the tie he had chosen at the Van Heusen outlet after much goading by his wife and a fine display of flattery by the salesman. The Blue was his eyes as he drove a hard bargain at the latest acquisition deal - intense, compelling and passionate. The green was the envy of the Sharmas in 101, Prestige Towers as they watched the latest addition to his fleet of cars rolling into the driveway - the bitter bile transforming into words spitting themselves out of contorted lips.
And oh, the yellow was the zardosi border on chiffon saree that had wormed its way from his wife's eyes to his credit card statement. The sheen was blinding him. He shut his eyes tighter. The orange danced in the crystal glass as his fingers curled around the stem. He didn't drink..not even socially. The red unfurled itself infront of his feet - pleading to be trod upon. He stepped ahead.

His eyes opened wide as he almost lost his balance. For a moment fear turned them into a panicky black. And then they were back to their usual icy blue.
He looked at his watch. It was 6 pm. He had to go back to the building. The party would have got over by now. There would still be some souls clinging onto the last shreds of the evening. He would take the 'tools' and get back to work. And then someone would walk across the room - the size 8 Lee Coopers leavin their muddy prints on the floor, which glistened more with his sweat than with the phenol. A stamp of disapproval on his work. And he would start afresh - mopping away the prints from the floor, occasionally bending down to remove the styrofoam cups that lay strewn around. Work was an infinite loop for him.

He turned back for one last view of the rainbow. The colours werent there. The zardosi saree and the tie had been shrouded by the carpet. The letters had been peeled away. The green had settled itelf onto the grass. And the orange had clambered onto the rays and the crystal had shattered into thousand shards, which split the rays into the beautiful illusion before him. The dream drained out of his eyes. He was walking away from the dream - but he would be back again.

Tag-tix

2005-11-16T12:57:00.000+01:00

Nithya has tagged me.....so here it is...
my attempt at crystalling my thoughts into seven points under captivating lil' headlines :))

Seven things I would like to do before I die...(wow...scary thot !!)

1. Start my own company..be my own boss
(did someone talk of cubicle-induced hallucinations ???:p)

3. Visit Sicily (The-Godfather-effect) and Florence and...well..a thousand more places

4. Write a book....or maybe a bit of journalism (sting operations anyone??? :p)

5. Do something which touches lives....(i dunno wat it is..but m shure will find it someday....guess m too confused at the moment)

6. Go on a backpacking tour all by myself to lonely places on the face of the earth (Any recruiters from Discovery or Nat Geo reading my blog???)

7. Make a bonfire by the beach...and sit alone with a cuppa coffee by the fire...watching the sun set !!!

Seven things I can do....ahem...can i write more ????

1. Read for hours and hours altogether without even hearing a word of what people around me are talking (spare me the textbooks though !!)

2. sketch designerwear-clad models with disproportionately long legs (no prizes for guessin who the designer is...)

3. talk non-stop on any topic...

4. argue with vague roundabout logics...until the other person is thoroughly confused or the argument gets ugly n i start cryin :D

5. cook (well...no quality assurance given...and NO...m not potrayin myself as a prospective bride :p :p)

6. eat 5 and 1/2 gulab jamuns in half a minute (dont ask me how i got to the exact figures :p )

7. list 6 things which i can do :))

Seven things I cannot do

1. Sit quiet for a long time

2. Stand in a queue

3. Take crap from people without retorting back

4. Eat curd (yuck...i tried honestttlllyy !!)

5. Stop eating nonveg (i tried this tooooo !!)

6. Go on a diet (reality "bites")

7. Sit in a cubicle the whole day and debug chunks of code....(yeah yeah...i know wat m sayin....but as i said reality "bytes")

Seven things i say the most

1. macchan...

2. goddamn/bloody (its a close call)

3. what the...(i stop at that !!)

4. as in...

5. No da (my every sentence starts with that :D)

6. shit man...shit ya

7. abbee yaar....

Seven things that attract u to opposite sex...laws of attraction huh ??? :p :p

1. Wit and Sense of humor

2. Sarcasm (chandler bing rocks)

3. i-dont-give-a-damn-attitude (a la Rhett Butler)

4. Ability to converse

5. Expressive eyes

6. Lopsided smiles (shucks...m movin to the candy-floss domain....retreat !!!) :p

7. Chivalry...at times...

Seven Celebrity Crushes

1. Rhett Butler (havent seen the movie..this one is from the book)

2. Al Pacino (as Michael Corleone)

3. Richard Gere

4. Irfan Pathan (the latest addition :D)

5. Pierce Brosnan

6. Roger Federer

7. Nagesh Kukkonoor

(hmmm.....there is still strong urge to add more....but lemme just play by the rules...)

..so Amen...I rest my case !!

oh yeah....i have to pass it on...so here goes...

Hema...the lady at the sea...who loves the little joys that life offers and Damak....the "hyd and seek" guy...and mind u damak...u cannot put an "additional info required" tag on this one :p :p !!!!

enshackled freedom

2005-11-09T13:42:00.000+01:00

The first rays of sunlight sneaked in through the small window in his room. They danced on his wrinkled face,weaving their way through the week-old stubble, illuminating the dark circles under his eyes,urging him to open his eyes and greet the new day.But darkness held his eyes tightly from the back - like an old friend who plays the 'guess who?' game.The dejected rays withdrew from the muffled room and carried their dance to more a receptive audience - the flower beds outside the building and the gardener in his soiled dhoti with a half-smoked beedi put away safely over his ear.

Footsteps.A face at the door.He opened his eyes and peered in the darkness.
"The warden wishes to see you", the loathing in the voice echoed across the dank room.He got to his feet.The familiar tapping of leather shoes on the cement floor.
"Aah...Gopal..I guess I woke you up a bit too early.But then..I have wonderul news for you.You are going on a vacation", the voice was devoid of any emotion.
Confusion.A melange of apprehension and guarded triumph.
"You see..the committee is happy with your behaviour.So we have decided to let you out on parole for a week.Mind you, not a luxury all guys here on 'lifer's are given"
Retreating steps into the darkness.

Joy.elation.ecstasy....the smell of fresh clothes on a grimy body. The feel of a three-decade old ring on a callused finger.The shoe bite of a worn-out shoe. The first unsure step outside the edifice that housed the 'scum-of-the-earth' as the city tagged them.Murderers,rapists,petty thieves,tricksters, politicians tainted by scams - all painted in the black-white stripes of uniformity under law.

The sunlight was too bright.Eyes shut themselves into tiny slits in protest.And yet they were wide open with excitement.with apprehension.with fear.The city looked hostile and yet strangely familiar.He took but one step and was lost.He could might as well have been a newborn child opening his eyes to find blobs of brown,white and black all around him that contorted into funny shapes, orifices that opened to reveal tiny structures in shades of white,off-white and yellow......and noises that peaked at dangerously high pitches when he smiled. The city was a potpourri of noises - the vehicles, the masjid around the corner, the soft bells of the church, the election rally.....a symphony in itself. He took a deep breath. Ten years is a long time.

The house was still there.The people were there too.The ones who had been spared the axe of time.The tears were there too.Ten years of suffering had not dried them.The flowery faces had wilted into wrinkles.The toothless grins had grown into pan and cigaratte stained grins -root canals et al.The radio had relinquished its position to a 15" black and white TV.The grumbling granny's corner had given way to a framed photo with a garland with white plastic flowers around it.

The rice was soft.And yet it brought a lump in the throat.The dal was not pungent and yet a tear trickled down the eye with the first morsel.The soft mattress whispered sweet nothings to the calluses on his back deep into the night.
And the next morning the rays returned with their fine dance,cajoling him into opening his eyes.This time he obliged.

And as the sages said,time and tide wait for no man.The stopped clock with it 'rigor-mortis'-ed pendulum could not even wring its hands in despair.Tears flowed again...prayers were said...the house was hungrily devoured in a long last look and eyes were shut. And then there was darkness again.

The journey back was like a slow motion sequence in a bollywood flick.The sights that had enthralled him over the last one week,played over and over again infront of his eyes.The little joys of life that had finally crept out of their hiding places after a ten-year long game of hide-and-seek returned back to their elusive positions.
The cacophony of the city, which a week's freedom had painfully separated into a thousand different sweet sounds, had returned again - indecipherable,intimidating.

The edifice loomed over the horizon.As the metal gate clanged shut-he didn't look back.It was quick..the transition.The ring was back in its place - a tattered bag with a tag - no.1298. The worn out shoes were dumped on a mountain of anonymous chappals,sandals,shoes and a few lucky nikes and leecoopers.

The familiar tapping of leather shoes.."So Gopal...had a great time ??? Is there anything else you would wish to do before you return to your cell???"
"yes...I have to make a request...do not free me again.do not grant me enshackled freedom...." and he surrended himself to the black-white stripes yet again.

The door shut on his face.And there was darkness once more.

Once upon a time...

2005-10-26T10:03:00.000+02:00

"But you promised the kids two days back Vineet...." Nisha called out from the kitchen over the rhythmic noise of the blender. "Okay then...leetts go" sighed Vineet and lifted his tired back from the sofa, just as the two "monkeys" as he called them, jumped on him with delight.

The drive to the park was..well, just as a drive would be on a friday evening on the Bangalore roads. A good one hour later, there they were...the thousand odd bulbs on the 'Fun World' hoarding, mirroring the glow in the eyes of the children.
The "monkeys" jumped out of the car and dragged Nisha all the way to the ticket counter - Aryan,6 on the left and Karan,4 on the right - while Vineet drove on to the end of the parking lot. As Vineet returned to the entrance, the parking ticket in hand, the day's exhaustion weighing heavy on his breath, the kids cried out in unison "daaaddyy..lets try the giant wheel. You didn't let us the last time. Now we have become big boys.....pleease".
"Hmm...okay fine..but go with Mummy...I am too tired today"..Vinnet slumped on the nearest bench.
"You make such a lousy dad"...Nisha retorted as she turned to go with the kids
"..but a wonderful husband" she whispered with a quick peck on his arm....the marital bliss glowing crimson on her cheeks.

Vineet smiled at the sight of Nisha shrieking with fright as the giant wheel picked up speed. Nisha and the kids had brought in a sense of peace and completeness in his life. He had found happiness in every small moment of his marriage, whether it was Nisha pondering for hours over which saree to buy or changing Karan's nappies with Aryan clinging on to his neck. Vineet drifted away to sleep with the smile still in place.

As he woke up, his eyes blurrily took in the milling crowds and delightful kids. He had slept for a good half and hour. Nisha and the kids would probably be on their nth ride by now. Through the blobs of colour that transformed into people of different shapes and sizes, he saw a face which looked very familiar. As he caught the lady's eye, he saw just cold indifference in that look...the look of stranger. And yet he had caught on to that momentary flicker of recognition in her look. There was a boy, of maybe 5 or 6 with her. They were coming his way. Vineet turned his face away from the two.

She settled herself on the same bench, right next to Vineet. He turned to her with his lips curled in the slightest hint of a smile -"Hi". "Hi",she smiled back. "Your son?" he asked, his eyes scanning the place for the person who could be his father.
"yeah". "Whats your name?" he put on his best kid voice for the boy with a red-yellow 'Nickelodeon' cap crowning his head. No reply. He bent to take a closer look at the face under the red-yellow cap. The vacant look in the boy's eyes struck him like a thunderbolt.
"Vikram cannot understand what you are saying...he..he is mentally challenged" - the lady put in words what the boy conveyed through his eyes.

"I....well...why....that's so.." Vineet fumbled with his words. For once, the corporate lessons in public speaking and effective communication didn't come to his rescue. He faced her with a strange sense of guilt and pity written on his face
"Don't be", she was reading his face like the daily newspaper supplement "I don't want him to grow up with eyes full of pity watching over him. The looks will haunt him all his life, the way they haunt me when I sit in solitude. And well, dont feel sorry for me either..I knew it was going to be an abnormal child. A blood group mismatch. The doctors had warned me."
"Then why? You could have..." Vineet could not get himself to complete the sentence.
"Its not that easy. I wanted him to get a chance to live...to experience life, to come to this place just the way other kids do, to feel the soft slushy mud on his feet, to gaze at the raindrops cosying themselves on the fabric of his shirt...it's been a tough decision"..her voice faded away.

The cold breeze tugged at Vineet's skin...his eyes had been fixed firmly on a group of children playing tag-n-catch, a facade for the thoughts that raced through his mind. There was no sign of Nisha and the kids. He turned to face her. She had opened a pack of 'Hide and Seek' biscuits and was feeding Vikram. She offered him some biscuits. He broke a piece and held it infront of Vikram. The pair of eyes moved from the biscuit to him and back, devoid of the glee that the choco-chip biscuits normally bring about, devoid of any comprehension.

Vikram was on his fourth biscuit now. "Thanks for feeding him. He loves these biscuits.Atleast...I think he does.And sorry...he has messed up your shirt"
"Thats the least I could do". Vineet's mind went back to the days when Aryan would slobber all over his office clothes. He hated it. Nisha had a name for it "fatherhood blues" she would tease him.

Minutes of silence."So...you here with your family?", a nonchalant question. "Yeah, with my wife and sons", a nonchalant answer. " Nisha is a good wife.She loves the kids and me. Aryan is so smart..he is all of 6 and knows all the answers. Karan is 4..so he knows all the questions. Life is..." Vineet realised he was rambling on incoherently. He gave a nervous laughter "well..Iam sorry".

She didn't reply. Silence again. Then she smiled with understanding -"Its okay. I think we should get going. Shouldn't we Vikram?" The nickelodeon cap remained in its position, pointing downwards where its bearer had fixed his gaze.

"So...where is his father? I mean...your husband isnt here?"
The cracks in his voice betrayed the tension behind the phlegmatic tone.
A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead and into his eye, replacing the tear which was never there.

"I didn't get married Vineet. As for his father...he doesnt even know about Vikram.
Or atleast he didnt till now..."

"Why??" Vineet kept repeating the word to himself more than to her.

"Its okay Vineet. I saw the look in your eyes the day I had that asthma attack. Through my struggle with my breath, I could see your struggle with your emotions. You could have walked out of that hospital room and out of my life. What made you hold on for a year longer...I don't know.
So when you called me up to call it quits, it wasn't a shock for me Vineet. I had seen it coming. There were no questions to be asked. No explanations sought.And there was no point in me telling you about Vikram. You could not handle it then...you cannot handle it now."

She placed her hand on his shoulder. He wanted to cling onto it with all his life.
"Go on Vineet. Take care of Nisha and the kids. Vikram and I are just fine."

He watched her walk away, the red-yellow cap bobbing up and down the path.
The tears refused to stop. And there she was - a hazy blob of colour, just the way she was when she walked into his "happy complete and perfect" life that windy evening.

of weekends n bachelorette parties...

2005-10-11T16:59:00.000+02:00

Well well....so after what seemed like an endless chain of "at-work-weekends"...there it was finally !! The ultimate weekend which takes you back in time some 2 or 3 years....to a non-descript place which means the world to its inhabitants...a place where almost every day is like a sunday and yet weekends are special !!!!! weekends which are greeted by the toothy grin of the dhobin at the door, weekends with the "one-hour-oil-champi and head baths", weekends with the discussions in the Qt over the latest "enlightening gossip" -courtesy sunday times, weekends with the special grubs and long siestas, finally culminating in a steamy (hold on hold on!!!)..coffee over heated discussions !!!

whoa...looks like i am back on the memory lane !!!!
so its >> (yup..that the fast fwd button :p) to this weekend when we had a bachelorette party for one of our friends...infact the first one of us to willingly step into the trap, which we euphemistically refer to as marriage !!!

so there we were with corny ideas for the party and cornier ideas for gifts....shoppin for a greater part of saturday !!!
and what was the result ? well..we got the gifts...but only after we got masks which would cover anything between 1/3rd to 2/5ths of our faces !!!!clowns, scarred n bald burglar faces, the-kid-with-a-moronish-look...u name it and we had them in the 2-D form !!!!! and of course, trumpet-shaped whistles and the little bottle with soap solution and a loop of wire -your own kit for making soap bubbles !!! :))
Not to mention the 2 or 3 snack breaks that we took....(shopping builds up an appetite u see !!)
The occassion demanded some personal shopping too -on account of a broken sandal, faded bag n so on...n 'voila' the lil' genie had just done a disapperaing trick out of the 1000 bucks in my wallet !!!

come sunday, and there we were at the venue, decorating the house with balloons and colored paper (oops..did i forget to mention them !!)

and there it is...a quick summary of how things can go just the way u dont want them to....

>> u lug about 3/4 bags full of party stuff only to realise that u have left the most important gift at home !!!

>> the guy at the cake shop refuses to write a message on the cake....and u have a icing-cone all to urself for demonstrating ur calligraphy skills (gosh...why didnt i attend that summer course for calligraphy in school ??? )

>> the person in whose honour the party if being given is on a fast....n can make leeway only for one-meal-per-day sans onion n garlic !!! (whew !! we actually found a restaurant which catered to the needs)

>> all your cryptic clues for the gifts are ripped apart by just about everyone in the group !!!!

>> when the waiter at the restaurant says "should i repeat the order"....ur ears choose to interpret it as "could u repeat the order" !! n there u r...rattling off the names to a laughtrack -courtesy your friends !!!

>> you raise a toast to the "guest of honour" with apple juice in micky mouse and donald duck adorned styrofoam cups (dont ask me why !!!!!)

>> you rent a cd player and a movie boasting of the "sexiest scene of the century" only to find that the scene has been "snipped off" the disc -courtesy censor board !!

>> the party ends with another mini party sponsored by the "guest of honour" (now..why did i put that here ????sponsored treats are always welcome :p :p)

>> And you realise the party is over....just when u forget all about the major issue pending at work and get into the party groove !!! Time sure flies fast !!!

So now...its time for the accounts to be settled (strictly on monetary terms folks..dont read between the lines !!) , updates to people who couldnt be there and sharing of snaps !!!!!
A weekend to relive 4 years of togetherness....and weeks,months and years ahead to relive the weekend !!! :))

So all you singles out there, start your quest for the "better half" !!
May there be many more bachelorette parties and invites to the same in my inbox !!!!

Amen !!! :))

fishy-tails !!! :p

2005-10-03T15:55:00.000+02:00

I just fished this joke out from a very tired n bored mind

Baby fish: Mummy Mummy I dont want to go to the 'school'
Mamma fish: Why beta ???
Baby fish: Becos there are very 'fishy' things happening out there !!
Mamma fish: Oh stop 'cra(i)bbing' and go now
Pappa fish: Come on son...be a man(???i dont know wat u call a male fish :(( )
and its 'fry'day today !!!! its weekend time. :))
Baby fish: okay i will go...but only if u promise to get me the latest
'fis(c)her price' toy
Mamma fish: no...first 'fin'ish this glass of bournvita
Pappa fish: why have a 'roe' now ?? i will get him the 'toy'
Mamma fish: but..but..he is 'hook'ed to these games
Pappa fish: thats okay..i dont want to feel "gill"ty about not giving my child
what he wants
Baby fish: yippppeeee.......!!!!!

Omigosh....finally the lack of good fish in blore is gettin to me !!!
So its good'buy' from my side....:))

sleeping child...

2005-09-29T15:13:00.000+02:00

She woke to the sound of raindrops drumming faintly on the terrace. A fine spray sneaked in through the fine gap in the window and settled itself on the rug in sparkling pearls. All groggy from the 9 hour long slumber, she painfully opened her eyes wide enough to find her way through the clutter in the one-room-apartment to the bathroom. A haze of cigaratte smoke engulfed her as she entered the bathroom...damn the guy in the next room who comes back at unearthly hours and thinks that the loo is actually the best place to have a smoke in !! She coughed for a good 5 minutes - and then admonished herself silently for thinking that he would actually quit smoking out of respect to her lungs. She opened the tap full three rounds...water trickled out in a thin stream and finally stopped, all the time mocking at her with strange gurgling sounds. She got out of the room, walked down the stairs to the water pump and switched it on. Raindrops caressed her cheeks and washed away the remnants of the nights dreams from her eyes. For some moments she stood still, her closed shut not too lightly not too tight. And it brought back memories of a time long ago in a place far away where caring hands would button down her bright pink raincoat. When tiny size 3 black and brown sandals would wade through knee deep waters. When an upturned umbrella would be reason enough to come back home and not attend classes. When hot pakoras and milk with bournvita would compensate for all the runny noses and bitter cough syrups. A strange chill crept into her. She hugged herself tightly and got back into the room.

The water had now given up the resistance and surrendered itself to the flow. She triumphantly made gurgling noises at the tap and suddenly felt herself blush with embarassment at her own idiosyncrasy. A good half an half later she emerged from the bathroom, the smell of soap lingering onto her skin. A demure fragrance holding its own against an arrogant cigaratte smoke. She took out freshly ironed clothes and smoothened out the stray crease. The raindrops continued their dance on the terrace. Five minutes and 3 cosmetics later she was all ready to face the day. The raindrops had got into a frenzy and pranced about on the terrace in a trance. She was getting late. The shirt cringed at the idea of getting itself wet in the rain and the trousers had wrinkles of worry all over them at the same thought.

The clock in the neighbouring house struck nine thirty with a friendly chime and she had no other choice. Bracing herself against the torrent, she stepped out onto the terrace. Only if she could find an auto soon enough... !!! The raindrops egged her on to join them in their dance. But she had no time for them. No time for nostalgic thoughts. No time for reveries. Her steps quickened. But there was no sight of an auto anywhere on the road. The familiar yellow-n-black was missing this morning. It was then that the last evenings headline struck her. "nationwide stir" !!! She ran towards the bus stop cursing herself, cursing the autowallahs and cursing the system for making them go on a stir. The roads were full of puddles and water seeped out of manholes and flowed with a newfound sense of freedon onto the wide roads. Her stomach churned as she walked through the water. The busstop was deserted except for a few souls who greeted her with smiles of empathy as she got under the shelter.

The sight of a bus on the other end of the road made everyone stand up and walk to the edge of the road. An unwanted bus number would be greeted with sighs while the lucky few would smirk with delight and get onto the bus. Somehow it reminded her of the small kiosks which she would cross on the way to school. Oranges and apples were just a cover for the gambling that went on in these places. A group of ten-twelve odd workers gathered around the place, waitin for that one number which would change their lives. And the damsel of fate would play peekaboo with them, take away their sweat-drenched money and yet they would return the next day with renewed hopes and borrowed money.

And as though waking her up from this reverie, a car sped by splashing water on her. She started counting till ten - a trick her mom had thought her when she was still a very impatient and cranky child. Just when she crossed 10^2, she saw the number that made her break into a smile. She had seen her bus. But what she failed to see what the number of people who were sitting/standing/hanging from the bus....!! It was an arena where warriors in formal attire, armed with briefcases and lunch boxes fought with each other for the coveted seat. Strategies were being devised in each mind as to the best way to get to the next available seat. Scheming brains were calculating the probability of a getting a seat. Wet umbrellas and dripping jackets were makeshift shields in the battle. A fat lady left a stamp of her size 6 foot on her shoe. Scuffles were breaking out. She had neither the intention nor the inclination to be one of them. And just when she had resigned herself to 20 minutes of standing, the seat right next to her got vacated. And before the battling warriors could notice it, she had already ascended onto the coveted throne.

And thats when she noticed the bundle of pink and yellow lying on the lap of the lady in the next seat. It was a girl, maybe about 3 or 4 years old. And she was blissfully sleeping in her mother's arms. Blissfully unaware of the raging feud about her. The raindrops adorned her face...swaying with the silent breaths that she took. There was something beatific about her face. An angel of peace and patience in a mad mad world. The smile on her face said a silent prayer to the lord 'forgive them lord for they know not what they are doing' !!!

She looked at the kid and the latent energy of the sleeping child somehow found its way into her. The glow of patience touched her and she sat there -immobile, not batting a lid, hungrily taking in the lesson that the sleeping child was imparting her.

The bus stopped with a jerk. She stood up and pried her way to the door through the still-battling warriors. As she stood on the last step, she looked back. And there it was the bundle of pink and yellow...still smiling at the folly of everyone around her.

The driver honked impatiently screaming at her to get off the bus. She smiled forgiveness and got off...forgiveness for herself. Forgiveness for everyone around her.

work-a-holy-ics anonymous....(I)

2005-09-15T15:04:00.000+02:00

Fed up with hours of working on a bug-fix
made me so frustrated as to send a one-liner mail to one of
my friends - "why do we have to work??"

and pronto came the reply - "interesting question..but why do we
have to receive a pay-check at the end of every month??"

...and it was back to fixing the bugging bug again...!!! :))

what's in a name???

2005-09-14T14:49:00.000+02:00

As I swiped my card today morning at the office entrance...i just happened to reflect upon the fact that names are of absolutely no use. cos when i swipe my card, all that the blinking light on the id recognition device gets from my swipe is the 8 digit employee number. When people want to contact me in office, they again know me as extension number so-and-so or cubicle number so-and-so. So why do i need to have a name ??

And this is not a phenomenon that starts at work. If you are an Indian, in all probability your parents would have decided a pet name for you long before you even made a grand-entrance in some sterile hospital room. And you would have carried the tag of 'Chunnu' or 'Baby' or 'Dolly' right through childhood and maybe even through your adult years. And all this after each member of you family spent days consulting the stars and 'google'-ing 'baby names' sites for naming you.

In school, it is the roll no or the id no that becomes your identity. Your friends have their own special ways of calling you...(There was a 'miss runny nose' and a 'miss funny voice' in my school too)
Even the teachers seem to call u by every other name except your own.."you there on the last bench"..."you there dozing in the corner"..blah blah !!!

On the net you are know by your IM-id or your email id (some of them are quite misleading...ever tried cool_dude@xyz.com or hot_babe@abc.com) !!
Or worse still whenever the people in the computer support team call me up... they insist on referring to me by my IP Address. And that makes me so mad...I could almost murder them !! But whats the point I would still be a mugshot with a number in the files and a number on a pinstripe background in the cells.

And the irony of the situation is that while im blogging this iam surrendering myself to the blog-name that in retrospect sounds very corny to me !! :((

Before my gray-cells (or whatever is left of them) decide to commit harakiri...lemme not think more on this !! i rest my case...cos i have no intentions of being a numbered headstone with some heart-touching words upon it...!!! :))

a day of trivialities..

2005-05-04T21:46:00.000+02:00

When i came across Arundhati Roy's 'God of small things...' i always pondered upon Ms. Roy's choice of title !! And it took me till today to understand in full gravity the importance of trivialities in our lives !!!

>> a seemingly innocuous statement got me in trouble with a dear friend !! what seemed to me like a trivial remark meant great offence to my pal n to the third party who refused to play the silent spectator like most third parties n was very vocal in her disapproval of the remark !!!!

>> i just realised that a very trivial act of mine had touched the hearts of two people so much so that they took two pages each in my autograph book to thank me for the same !!!! (and it goes without saying that i took two more pages in their autographs book to gracefully accept the thanks while tryin to play it down at the same time!! c'est rien, mon cherie)

Thinking about how much importance people attach to all the little things in life brings me to something i read sometime ago (dont remember where) about how something as little as increasing the storage capacity of a mail inbox makes the day better for thousand different people !! And today being the day of realisation..how could i miss out on that one ??? The people at Yahoo! just increased my mailbox space to 1 GB...hallelujah !!!! If i were one for the spirits...i wud have drunk one to the little things in life n to the profits of Yahoo!

Just as a passing thought...delving into a bit of etymology...trivia (three roads literally) comes from the fact that people met at road intersections and had discussions !!! Then why does trivial imply something of very less importance ??? Think about this the next time u are havin a chat at the nookad shop over some chai and pakoras !!! :D

shoe-per dooper !!!

2005-03-10T22:01:00.000+01:00

Just happened to have a very interesting conversation today with two of my peers.
It goes something like this...

J: (in the midst of removing his shoes) guess what...my shoe has been sticking out its tongue at me !!! well..am not going to care much...it is such a 'sole-less' being.

N: can't really blame it...can we ?? after all it is being 'booted' about day in and day out...!!

The convo till now is repeated by J & N in a highly amused manner to H. Not to be beaten at the game, H retorts

H: mine is much worse...it is just developing teeth

N: ouch...that must have been a nasty bite !!

J: why dont you just sho(o)e it off ??

By now N is trying her best to keep the game alive or rather bring it to an end with a final punch...a la Ali !!! If I had been more morbid and less euphemistic..maybe I would put it as giving the game a befitting funeral with the best of the lines etched out on the headstone.

N: hey guys...lets cut it out...its such a s(c)andalising conversation

H: it stinks (did anyone talk about toe-jam???? yucks!!!)

Unfortunately (or was it ???!!) the conversation was prematurely aborted thanks to a task which was much higher on the priority list than our sole-barring conversations !! Hallelujah !!!!!

bliss-ters n raindrops!!!

2005-03-09T12:20:00.000+01:00

When the rain gods decide all of a sudden to
shower their blessings on this end of the world (read it as
a parched desert..with all its due share of hyperboles!!!)
and when a overworked person has some few minutes of time
on her hands..with an unusually fast net speed...the result
lies behold !!!!!

oh the bliss of a drop
of the elixir of life
gushing down a parched throat
without a single strife !!

oh the bliss of water
murdering the leaping flames
like an all covering shroud
hiding all the mortal shames !!

oh the bliss of lightning
and deafening strokes of thunder
heavy showers striking the desert
nature's miracle or blunder !!??

oh the bliss of time
on your much worked hands
composing worthless prose
with equally worthless strands !!

crash landed at home !!!

2004-12-20T19:13:00.000+01:00

Am back home after a very tedious flight journey ...courtesy the de-icing procedure at CDG, technical fault of unknown origin at Vienna and a grounded copter at Goa airport....!!!

Well...special thanks to the wonderful lunch at Mumbai airport, Hitchhikers guide to the Galaxy and the 'Kareena-Shahid'news story running on all the news channels...for keeping me company during the 4 hour wait at mumbai airport !!!

Looks like blogging is going to be a lot more frequent now that there are lot many memories and even larger number of family gatherings to talk about. But net here works at an amazingly slow speed....(one more excuse for my frequent bouts of good old vintage laziness)!!!

Lots of unfinished drafts....thread of thoughts left unwoven with a knot at the end to remind me of the times when the French food was not heavy enough to lull my grey cells into deep slumber of inactivity !!!

But first a good nights sleep to catch up on !!!(or rather another good nights sleep to catch up on !!) 'Jet lag' is what I tell all those who call up at 10.30 am only to catch a very 'just-outta bed' hullo on my end of the phone...!!! May not be a very plausible excuse..especially some 5 days after reaching home...but sounds very swanky ;)

So long....Bonne nuit...gute nacht....good night...im outta here !!!
:)

Of cocktails and graphs...

2004-11-27T21:18:00.000+01:00

Everyone's life is a cocktail. Each ones cocktail differs from the other's.

Well..I may just sound like yet another of those innumerable homosapiens who love
to ponder upon the true meaning of life. But any other better statement coming out of the mashed matter which my brain is at the moment would just about qualify for the achievement of the century.

After a long stint of relentless work, after guzzling down nearly the whole of the insides of the coffee machine, after hours of sitting infront of the computer trying to make sense out of code which to me a month back seemed like the epitome of perfect reasoning and logic in the making...the best i can manage is the above statement.

And after all...life is but a cocktail. Some people just dont have the punch in theirs.....while others just get heady with one sip. For some time I try to be an analyst...more like the managers who spend the late hours of the day in office with those graphs and charts, trying to decide the best way of action for maintaining the liquidity level..or simply deciding whether the lady with the bright red lipstick in cubicle 4 makes a better choice to be booted out of the company than the short nerdy man in cubicle 6. Only its not liquidity level or any employee id:12344 thats being analysed at the moment. Just am trying to analyse the composition of the cocktail that I was talking about which I happen to have in my glass at the moment.

There it is....the graph as I can clearly see it circling the rim of my glass...snaking all along the way. Looks like the ones I used to copy paste from some site right onto my project reports in college. Well it does have more curves than you can ever expect at Milan Fashion Week.

There you go...a mix of late hours into the textbooks and early hours in the coaching classes. Hmm....more of content and less of punch. Typical drink for the
first time visitors to the pub. Slow and steady rise...!! A tumultuous stretch lasting for around 3 to 4 years equivalent of the rim. High in places and meandering like a dying river in the rest. The type of combination that one expects when the visits to the pub start figuring more frequently on one's calendar and when all the sense of adventure is poured generously into the glass. More like a fiery tequilla with a slice of lime on the highs while plain old tomato juice with a dash of pepper and tabasco on the lows....!!! And then peaking for a stretch of about 6 months...seeing new highs...seeking to shoot up and away from the rigid boundary that is the rim of the glass. A combination like never tasted and tried. A combination which only a person on buddy terms with the bartender would dare to try.

A cocktail which fires up the insides with just one sip giving a hangover enough to last a lifetime, stronger than even all the martinis, vodkas and tequillas from all the taverns of the world put together and an olive to top it all. And then I see a steep fall...!! Gauging its length, seems like almost a weeks equivalent in time. No punch, no kicks..more like a citrus punch - the only punch it has is in the name. More like a person trying to adapt to a no-alocohol kind of life after the doctor has put an expiry date tag on the liver after a thorough checkup. And then abruptly the graph stops....there is no information, no figures, no status reports to go on.

The lights go off...the analyst locks his office. He has a satisfied look on his face. He has just analysed the past thru the graphs which are now safely locked away in his mind, each rise and fall burned in his head just like the nerds in the cubicles burn MP3s on the cds after office hours. But yet he is clueless about the future. Each day comes and goes...the graph has to go on circling the rim of the glass...spiralling down the stem until it comes to a point when it can't go on.
And when the last drop of cocktail has been downed and all the colored bottles of liquer cleared from the bar, when the drinks spilt by the inebriated few have been wiped away, there stands the empty glass with the peaks and troughs - a testimony of a life which was.

strokes of joy

2004-11-08T23:39:00.000+01:00

Well...too many things have been happening over the past 1 or 2 weeks. I had not even recovered from the extreme fatigue of the 4 day Italy trip that we had...(a rather Colossal trip I shud say..no pun intended!!)...and voila, there we were...8 people and a bag of croissants bundling themselves into the train to Paris !!!

The L'Église Notre-Dame with its intricate stained glasswork and ambience right out of 50's movie made all the gals in the group go "oh so romantic..." almost in symphony. And as usual, the guys just contorted their faces into an expression which can be easily mistaken for a severe case of constipated guts.

I always like to have a private conversation with god. The ones without any frills attached...no formal introduction, no formal prayer. Just a one-to-one talk where I do all the talking. And there I go ask forgiveness for the nasty looking brat who bullied me in kindergarten, eating all my lunch one hungry afternoon. I ask god to forgive "miss-snooty" who made fun of my dressing sense in high school. And then I emerge out of the prayer room, an apostle of forgiveness and god's own "ombudsman", my ego a lot heavier than my halo !!!

Yeah..so after the church, there we are again, the octet and the bag, minus the croissants (its amazing how all that praying kicks up your digestive enzymes) standing infront of the Opera. Opera always reminds me of Bianca Castafiore with her earsplitting "Ah my beauty past compare, these jewels bright I wear!" in Tintin books. And the Opera had each of its glass panes intact in place...doesn't look like they have many performances going in there. And neither did i catch a peek of the crème de la société with their status precariously balanced on their monocle, their stares sharper than the even the sharpest staccato octaves and chords of the opera divas.

And after everyone vettoed, almost in unison the suggestion of attending a performance in there (dunno what made me suggest it in the first place...would you buy split personality with a weird taste!!), we were on our way to see the one and only 'La Tour Eiffel'. And voila, there it was staring at us magnanimously, bestowing upon us the sudden realisation of the promixity to the monument which probably has lent its glory to many a movies in the already cluttered romantic genre.

Our decision to climb up till the second floor of the tower was inspired more by the lesser tariffs than by our faith in our daily doses of energy drink. After a nearly 300+ steps (frankly, i lost count of them after sometime) climb and 32.5 curses later (i remember each one of them clearly though...that 0.5 was thanks to my friend punching me halfway through the profanity, more out of frustration than out of her sense of righteousness...with due 'respek' to her elementary school moral science classes) there we were on the first floor majestically poised above an even more majestic city !!!

And with the help of the friendly information boards (which surprisingly had notes in English too), we were trying to locate major landmarks in the maze of buildings, each not much different from the other. And there I was pointing out the Musee de Louvre to the tourists around me who looked all confused and lost in the maze of concrete below...Entry my dear turned not-so-dear friend

hey what you doing here? come over to the other side...The Louvre looks so cool from there!!!

There goes my last shred of dignity etched onto the metal in deep marks 'Born Loser' alongside a barely visible 'ich liebe Gunther'...marks of love by a deutsches Mädchen

After a 360-degree view of the city, there I was walking up to the second floor, not any wiser than I was before about the Parisian landscape.

There's a feeling I get when I look to the west
And my spirit is crying for leaving
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
And the voices of those who stand looking

Woe oh oh oh oh oh
And she's buying a stairway to heaven

The sheer excitement of making it sans a stretcher to the second floor was dampened only by the extreme fatigue in our legs and the mad rush to catch the lift to the 3rd floor. And there we stood amidst gaping mouths of tourists and clicking cameras and couples romanticising the moment with all their hearts. The feeling that you have standing up there, up on a monument which you have always dreamt of visiting only through the heavily marked and dog-eared pages of the history textbook, staring down at a place which no author however expressive, no artist however imaginative can do justice to...it almost felt like we had conquered le tour Eiffel. Had someone handed a flag to me at that moment, I would have planted it right there as a silent witness to our great achievement.
That probably explains the number of names that have been etched out up there in the metal with anything ranging from ball point pens to car keys.

With the night sky over Eiffel and the blue beams spanning out, the city just lit up as though in celebration of the beauty that Paris beholds. But I liked to imagine that it was our 'conquering the Eiffel' that they were celebrating. The commercial streak in me makes me think that probably a champagne store up there would do glorious business !!

Tired limbs and frozen hands
not one can descend to earth
when energy does drain out
of bravery there is a dearth

so there were the eight travellers
in the farthest of the far corners
returning back to reality
may god bless the elevators

Well..I am just hanging on to the last shreds of our dignity by putting our descent to the earth in the elevators in prose. Poetry was probably invented by someone who wanted to present all his failures in a glorified version to the world.

And when you are so tired (more at the heart than in the bones), the exhorbitant costs that people quote for the souvenirs just doesnt reach your brains. And having spent almost a fortune on buying a distorted piece of metal which looks like the Eiffel put through a thousand compresses and run over by a million elephants drunk on mahua for almost everyone back home who would put himself through the torture of listening to our French experiences in lieu of the souvenir, we took the metro to one of those corners of the city which reminds us of home.

And what better than a dinner in a restaurant serving cuisine from back home to end the fabulous day !!! So fate be it, it was 8 souls with satisfied appetites and grumbling legs that returned to their homes that night after a trip to Paris.

The 4 kilometre walk back home from the station did nothing for our legs but it was during this walk that we actually ruminated about the day and there it was..the realisation staring at us right in our face, just like the Eiffel did earlier in the day !!!!

in the aftermath of the noon...

2004-10-25T17:06:00.000+02:00

The alert flashes yet again on the screen. It is a reminder i set for myself, which now lies obscenely overdue at 3 days. I can feel the mouse slipping out of my grip and rushing towards the 'Snooze' button. One 'click' and the reminder retreats in defeat, vowing to return with vengeance. A lady is crooning away in the background..resting only for a mere 3 seconds - just enough for the 'Repeat' button on my Winamp to get into action. I have lost count of the number of times the lady has started singing all over again...she deserves some rest. But the wicked streak in my fingers is at its best, refusing to oblige her with a soft click on the 'stop' button. And she croons on...

One look at the system clock assures me that there are 4 more hours to go before i can officially call it a day and return to my dishevelled apartment with dishes in the sink that remind me of the dinner party we had last week. The silence in my cubicle betrays my state of inactivity to the outside world. A couple a rapid clicks of the mouse and few random taps of the keyboard breath a sense of life into my cubicle which is rapidly sinking into a lethargic slumber. But belive me...aimlessly minimising and maximising a couple of open windows does not serve to amuse even a 3 odd months old toddler.

The mail alert in the corner of the screen reminds me that i should somehow lay my hands upon the DVD of 'You've got mail'. I would have opted for a P2P had it not been for the 8 simultaneous downloads of F.R.I.E.N.D.S -season 9 sucking every ounce of speed from the processor. Well...yet another damsel in distress with a virtual memory problem sending out a SOS. My mind races out of my seat, down the stairs and right into her office where I can rectify the problem. My feet refuse to oblige. It must be the stubborn genes in me (which my mom sometimes blames on her great-grand aunt) all congregating in my toes. The meek surrender smiley (it goes like ^:)^ ...ever tried it??)mocks at me from behind the yahoo messenger icon.

Reclining in my new chair with a backrest that bends back in proportion to the amount of fatigue in my body, and munching on the walnuts which were passed over to me by the gal in the next cubicle (hallelujah !!finally found a good purpose that these cubicles and open workspaces serve..expect more about them in my next few posts)...i evoke many a 'are you comfortable? should i get you a pillow?' responses from my cubicle-sidies !!(its amazing how coining such terms makes you feel that fraternal bonding in the air). They dont even care to camouflage the sarcasm with a smile..hasn't anyone ever heard of sugar coated cyanide ???

"But Jesus was saying, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." Luke 23:34

I hear bells...but christmas is 2 months away. Santa would probably be too busy making some last moment additions and deletions to the 'good kids' list...surrounded by pointy-eared elves in a costume similar to the one that i wore to my 1st standard fancy dress competition. The bells don't stop ringing. I am tempted to think that it is Santa sending me a last minute reminder to do some good and maybe scrape through as a small note scribbled in the minutest of handwriting in the footer of the 'coveted list'. When was the last time i ever tied a string to a dragonfly and hung it upside down from a tree ? or collected fireflys in a see-thru case and fashioned my own table lamp out of a convoluted sense of aesthetism? Looks like i do have a chance of making it to the list, more out of my apathy towards life than out of my good-heartedness.

Having derived some consolation from this realisation, i pick up the phone. Yet another task to be done...yet another deadline added on my calendar. By now im swearing under my breath...there goes my last chance of getting a gift for Christmas.

Another alert flashes on my screen. Its a message alert on my messenger.Its the gal in the next cubicle again...sending out an interesting link to a site which has some amazing illusions. Sometimes when i have nothing better to do, i imagine myself as a philosopher and give sermons to myself on how life is nothing but a big illusion. I tried explaining the same to my colleagues at the lunch table one day. But i guess lesser mortals are just too weak-hearted to see the big picture and accept the harsh reality. The word 'illusion' is now avoided worse than the bubonic plague at the lunch tables...!!I cannot even talk about illness because by the moment i say 'ill'..everyone has said their goodbyes assuming that the 'usions' will follow like a faithful labrador.

As i open the link to the site, my screen is bombarded by a thousand different popups...!! By the end of the evening, I have won an all new digicam (which they promised to deliver at my doorstep in 2 weeks), have signed up for a newsletter which gives the latest in all relaxation techniques, have got an account on a site which will actually pay me to use their email service and have got a pop-up blocker installed on my system.

I glance at the system clock which says 6.25 pm. But I know better than to trust it. Thanks to the friendly warning 'Is your computer clock wrong ?' with the little sandclock icon that kept turning up and down. What a boon for the unfortunate creatures whose spend a whole extra 5 minutes in office all because their system clock "chooses"(refer to my previous post) to run 5 minutes slow.

I decide not to get fooled by the chicanery of the clock. A few letters entered into the searchbar and there i have some 12,345 records giving me the exact time as it is now. Having convinced myself that the clock is indeed correct (which i am sure it is doing to win my trust so that it can catch me unawares in the near future), i start the systematic ritual of logging off from my system. I always liken this act to the much debated act which we euphemistically refer to as 'pulling the plug', the only difference being that the the misery and suffering being put to an end in this case is all mine. A couple of 'endtask' and 'close' button-clicks later...it is all done. C'est tout, c'est ce

The lady stops crooning. The chair springs back to its position. The walnut shells lie in the trash-can whispering sweet nothings to each other. The screensaver valiantly tries to hang on to the last shreds of life, flickering momentarily before the screen goes black.

And yet again my cubicle slips into a deep slumber of inactivity...

" They told me it was the lunch
some blamed it on the heat
they cursed the dim lights
nor did they spare the seat

speculations and accusations
not a clue we could find
but i know its right there
right up in the mind "

choices..

2004-10-23T20:51:00.000+02:00

hmpf !! Choices...sometimes i wonder who made them. Take for instance now: i started creating this blog for myself (why??because i chose to !!) . I was asked to choose a name for my blog. Whats in a name anyway. A blog with any other name would still remain a blog. Thinking of it now..would "the-nameless-blog" have been a better choice ?

And just when the last tinge of doubt and apprehension over my choice of name was fading away from my mind, i had to choose a design for the same. Should i opt for black...nah..thats too negative. Reminds me of the English classes in Elementary School...chapter 5, page 36 of the Grammer coursebook "...as black as the devil's heart" !!
Or should it be grey? Not going to help...associated with too much of wisdom..grey cells, grey hair..so on and so forth. Pink reeks of romance (thanks to the candy floss love stories of Bollywood where ever other day the oh-so-romantic hero leaves secret bouquets with Shakespearean ballads written over pink cards dipped in oodles of 'Dioressence' (courtesy:Christian Dior) for the oh-so-beautiful female protagonist)

Just when i had gone over the previews of each design one thousand and one times and each one looked no different from the other...I noticed the 'verdana' font size 10 text which said that I could change the design any time I chose to. Well...so much so for the critical evaluation of each design and colour !!

Choices and more choices..thats what life boils down to finally. My day starts with a choice and ends with one. My computer whom i like to regard as my truly faithful companion thru the thick and thin of life (did anyone talk abt hard disk crashes??) just loves to shove the question into my face whenever I make any decision 'Are you sure ?' with two little buttons that seem to lure me with equal intensity towards them. Each time i ponder over my decision for what seems like an eternity. And the few times when I click on the 'yes' button, more out of frustration than discretion, turn out to be the times when i accidentally delete my presentation just minutes before my seminar.

I go to the restaurant for lunch and again i am faced with a fusillade of choices. The pangs of hunger which drive me to the restaurant faster than any Pest Control agency can drive the rats out of your house, seem to be forgotten in the war of the choices. My stomach doesn't seem to mind though...even if it does, it has no choice but to be silent except for the occasional growling reminders which evoke 'how-so-uncouth' responses from the ones around.

When work meanders around drooping eyes, I walk to the coffee machine. And there you go, a whole set of new choices. Sugar? Milk? Decaf? I walk back to my office with the weirdest combo i can think of (all my sense of adventure poured generously into the not-so-generously-sized coffee cup)...wide awake even before i could take the first sip of my drink.

I can just go on and on about how choices ruin our lives...but I have to go home and cook dinner. Now what can i possibly cook ?(rings a bell...doesn't it ??) Life would have been much more simpler had it been a set of commandments written down in a user-friendly manual.

"page 356: thou shalst cook pasta on the 23rd day of october 2004 for dinner, boiled medium for 15 minutes and 34 seconds, tossed in 41/2 drops of olive oil for 5 minutes and 30 seconds, topped with fried onions and tomato slices cut at a .6 cm thickness...."

Well...I was just thinking that i have started on such a negative note...i think i shud have rather chosen the black coloured template for my blog. As a mark of protest for this life where all you get is to make choices and more choices. Or rather...pink adds a soft touch to the tough life and even tougher choices that you have to make. Or maybe if after all this random rambling, if i still show signs of wisdom, then grey would make my day....
Well...can I just choose not to choose?