All so dull all in me

That I love you, I am mean

That I love you, I am weak

That I don’t tell you, I am thief

That I don’t say, I am meek

.

.

Mean, weak, thief and meek

All so dull, all in me

If I ever seek be your lover

I shall always feel guilty

Laughing because alive

It is chilling cold outside. I don’t have to justify this, you know it very well. I was in my friend’s room and we were warming ourselves on the heater he had assembled. Two wires had burnt away so he had hooked two compasses to fix the radiating coils. One more connection evaporated, he fixed his key-ring there. And we both were sitting warming ourselves. He held a knife with a wooden handle in his hand, this was the tool he used to fix the heater.

When I knocked on the door, he was actually fixing the heater. He opened the door, I entered and took place near the heater and he came back and continued with his electrical engineering with the heater. A minute later the heater was ready to go but there were slight changes in its looks. There were two compasses coming out of it like horns, he called them ‘radiators’, God knows why!

“Apparently you are spending hours everyday fixing the heater.”

“Every half an hour I have to fix it. You know, metallic things are slowly disappearing from my room. The other compass is KT’s”

“Oh! I see. You didn’t tell him, did you?”

“Off course not.”

We kept going, from heater to contemporary political issues and more. I admired him for his ‘Jugad’ and felt that the ‘Jugad Joke’ was not all wrong, the one in which Bill Clinton offers to AVB whole America in return for ‘Jugad’ and AVB refuses telling him that his government was also standing with ‘Jugad’.

SPARRKKKK……

There was a bursting sound and electric sparks were coming out of the heater. We both jumped quickly to run. But it ended. Heater went off. I switched off the heater and unplugged it.

He said, “Oh! The radiators got shorted.”

And we both laughed our hearts out. We were laughing because we were alive, as alive as were just a minute before!  And once we were finished, I was abusing him. Accusing him and his types for the disasters that occur.

“You, people like you. Read hindi newspaper, you’ll find people dying every other day doing such mischief. Few days back it was there that three people died refilling cylinders, that is illegal, you know. People get killed. God! We are alive.”

He was not listening to me. He was busy separating his two “radiators”.

He said, not amused or offended, “Such things happen every half hour.”

He raised his eyes to look at me. I was still staring at him with anger. And when our eyes met we were laughing and laughing and laughing and went on for long.

The World So Sweet

“Thank You God for the world so sweet

Thank You God for the food we eat

Thank You God for the birds that sing

Thank You God for everything”

Each day at school ended with these four lines. We were small little kids getting to know the world more and more everyday. And that we are grown ups, almost, many of us would even like to challenge the basic tenets of the above four lines. One, ‘existence of God’, two, ‘the world is sweet’, three, ‘are the birds really singing?’ and four, okay no four.

This is not wrong, nothing above is sacrosanct enough not to be challenged. And we all are happy with our own views and respect other’s views as long as they respect ours. That is a single base for ‘unity in diversity’. We all go with our views and ideologies until we are poking others’ believes and ideologies.

Yesterday i met a person who wanted a ‘Hindu revolution’ in India on the lines of ‘Islamic revolution’ that took place in Iran led by Ayatollah Khomieni. Moreover he wanted it to be strictly based on Hindu ideology. He drew inspiration from the success of Iranian islamic revolution.

He was probably unaware of the recent Presidential elections in Iran and all the storm that it brought and how the Iranian people wish themselves to be seen in the world, Thanks Twitter!

And one more thing, he was a great fan of Bhagat Singh. Also he saw Gandhi in somewhat negative light. How do I deduce that? He said, “Gandhi somehow gathered support but Bhagatsingh and Netaji also played a great role.” True he is in his latter assertion but use of ’somehow’ with Gandhi shows his lack of understanding or disapproval on his part of Gandhi’s ideology.
I would like to put in my one observation at this point. A few movies on Shaheed Bhagat Singh were released in a line. the movies were a hit back then. Unlike other movies, that come and go, these movies created a whole lot Indian youngsters who started seeing Gandhi in negative light. This is a fact and I have more than 50 friends of mine who belong to this lot. And consequently, and maybe not consequently, started believing that Gandhi’s ways were not all right. and some even argue that struggle for freedom should only be a violent one. They often draw analogies from American struggle for independence and French revolution.

Above paragraph was simply my observations. I tried my best not to give it flavor of my own views on the issue. Here I want to put in my views as well. Gandhi Ji was a saint, not a politician. We call him ‘Mahatama Gandhi’ and ‘Mahatama’ means saint. He stood not for independence of nations but for the liberation of mankind. now there are also people who hate him for giving away some wealth to Pakistan at the time of division. I request them to check their basic premise. How did the people who stood shoulder to shoulder in the freedom struggle against the Britishers become enemies all of a sudden? Neighbors killed neighbors.

And as for revolution, be it Islamic of Hindu, I think it is good to first yourself be the one you intend others to be. Others shall follow you if you are right.

As you proceed, as you go on, things come out from things and things start getting complex and at times take undesirable shape. Issues that never actually were issues at times paint the history red.

And as I write, I feel, how simple and how innocently the things started. how beauty became beast and how we forgot those innocent and cute and simple four lines that we started our journey with…

“Thank You God for the world so sweet

Thank You God for the food we eat

Thank You God for the birds that sing

Thank You God for everything”

Nesciii



Now it has been somewhat more than two and a half years that I have been giving business to Nescafe (Nescii we all call it). It began in those initial days in the college when we didn’t roam much so that we may not be ragged. You know it was hard to overcome the temptation to explore the 300 acres of place that was all of a sudden thrown open to us, the inquisitive us. So our initial trips to such ‘social places’ came as challenges. Social places means the places where the seniors would socialize and challenges were the ones posed by friends to test each other’s guts. We always enjoyed betting with others and seeing them go to the place and come out successfully and sometimes not. Some got caught in the ‘chakraviehw’ and all because of their lack of confidence. (Would love to quote Rajput, “All that matters is style and confidence”) Anyone could tell from their faces that they were Facchas, a local term for the first yearites. It was all going fun until one day it was my turn.

Was I caught or not is not material, but yes, that was a shock. I ordered for a burger and I got one, in a paper plate. ‘In a paper plate’ is what deserves more attention.

The Paper Plate…

As I have already said ‘the inquisitive us’, I wish to carry it forward to the present context. So the inquisitive I started observing the paper plate

“to develop the scientific temper, humanism and the spirit of inquiry and reform”

Isn’t it one of the fundamental duties mentioned in our constitution? It is. So conforming to our sacrosanct constitution I started observing that paper plate. And it was cover of a primary class maths book that had been made into that paper plate. Yes, this was the shock. There were ethical issues before me that time, and i gave my mind to those issues finishing that burger! So the question that the burger was edible or not was no more important as I was already eating it! Slowly, with time, I grew habitual to it. Sometime it was Dalda Ghee carton and at others some textbook cover, but the burger was always the same. Then I understood what was all recycling thing about.

Time went by and came across many more cartons and covers and the second shock. And with the shock reappeared all the ethical issued that had been buried in the taste of the burger and were never expected to surface again. This made me believe that things make a comeback, whatever they may be, unless it is American economy!!!

Two days back, in the dark of the night, it was evening in-fact but you know the sun goes under the blanket sooner in winters, he too feels cold! Yes, where was I? Two days back, in the dark of the evening, hungry I, ordered for a burger at Nescii. The air was blowing south, as against always, that is, north. The ever flowing tap was not flowing. The shadow of the tree, casted by the sodium, as against always, was falling on the sleeping dog, who as against always, was not searching in the dustbin and sleeping. And the dustbin, as against always, was not filled. Even all these conspicuous things went unnoticed by me and I ordered for the burger.

And then came my burger. I picked it up and was about to put it in my wide open mouth, when, I suddenly took it to my nose, smelt it, and threw it in the dustbin.

Why? It was because of that paper plate. Till now I had never bothered of the source of that plate. But I could not ignore it this time. It was cover of pesticide and a big symbol of danger and ‘do not consume’ appeared on it. How aesthetically pleasing! This was the second shock.

You might be thinking that wasn’t the build-up a bit too much to reveal this second shock of mine. I too think that, but I wanted to try my hand at what many news channels do today.

New Year Reso

Waking up till midnight (and even late) has become a part of life now. It was not quite the same just a few years back. Today as this year ends and we enter yet another calendar year of our life with its celebrations all around. Hotels are packed, DJs can be heard on almost every corner, its a special business day for the bars. Thinking of my parents, they are probably sleeping sound at home. This New Year thing doesn’t fascinate them. Maybe they have seen too many New Years. Though New Year has lost its sheen to much extent for me as well but the thing has not yet fully gone.

Few years back Star Movies used to telecast Titanic every new year, me and my sister used to stick to the television and watch the movie and our parents would sleep and we would see dad coming to ask us to lower the volume. Waking upto midnight used to be a big thing for us back then and for sure the next day’s schedule was disturbed. And yes, there were many New Year programs also on other channels, some having bollywood celebrities entertaining the masses, some having celebrated comedians trying to make us laugh, sadly their jokes have lost their quality with time and also dignity. That is one change you can see with passing years! We used to jump on to these channels during commercial breaks in Titanic. But now, most of them have synchronised their commercial breaks as well!

We grew, and now from TV sets we moved on to parties. We started celebrating new years in Hotels, where there were special programs on New Year. So what was it all in the hotels? It was food, dance, music, performances…And we enjoyed. Really.

Then we realized that it was boring. It was better to sit and watch on the television only. As far as food is concerned, we now know the value of mum’s food that we do not get to eat for months altogether now. We stopped partying at hotels on new years.

Then came college. New year lost its meaning. For many friends it became yet another reason to get drunk. But they already have many reasons for that. If somebody asked of New Year resolution we just smiled. And many believe that beginning of every semester is a new year. They are right, why should it not be? There are just two differences between the two semesters. One, Holi falls in spring semester and Diwali in autumn. Actually it is always the one week holidays that we look for and not the festival in itself. So this factor is more or less marginalized by this fact. Second, long summer break follows the spring semester and short winter break follows the autumn semester. But believe me, after fifteen days at home you spend one more month at home or one day more, it doesn’t make much difference. So if you accept this the second difference is also marginalized. There you go with two new years in a year!

Today evening we friends were thinking of what to do today. One of us said that we should spend the day that we may never forget it in our life, any ideas? Answer was damn simple, lose your virginity. There were many great plans, but how it ended? Like any other day of year that has gone by. Don’t we everyday aspire to do something that we never forget in life and is it not true that we never do such things, though they happen and mostly accidently. No wonder that no day seemed different to Arcadio Buendia. Was he really insane or much too wise for the time to accept?

And as of now, the condition is that we want to welcome the new year, if at all we want to welcome it, in silence, mourning for the year that has gone by, the doom that it brought to us. And the resolutions, it is just some feeling inside that we don’t want to repeat the same mistakes again. And I will end it with a SMS message I got a while back,

“Keep correcting your little mistakes….Because nobody slips down the hills….But just slips by ‘Little stones’ ”

And that appears to me to be the wisest new year resolution, if any at all.

And having written this, I feel, that this New Year thing has gone finally, though I did not expect this to happen now.

No Remorse

“Little-little surreptitious steps. Not just hiding from others, hiding from the self. Little-little games played, secretly, bearing no meaning, and making the sense of life.”

Chestnut not as always speaks, it wonders, it thinks, and then it weeps. No one has hurt him, he has hurt himself. Chestnut was not as lucky as Kali who ultimately did not cut off the branch he was sitting on. Nobody stopped chestnut, not their fault. Today I come back to find Chestnut where he was when I left, now in pain.

Let the chestnut speak for itself. Let me speak for myself. You don’t know my story. I am hurt, yes I am hurt. But that does not make the chestnut miserable.

With time grew the pain

This world called me insane

Wind of time aged this body

And i started enjoying the pain

Not just hiding from others, hiding from the self. As I said before! O poor chestnut you’ll get lost in these pretences. Why don’t you face the truth? You are not enjoying your pain, Chestnut, you are fleeing away from the reality. You can not enjoy the pain unless you hide some greater pain underneath this pain. Why not face that pain and get over it once and for all.

You talk too much. So listen…

As my body betrays my soul

As the hands go freezing and the body cold

No more hurts injury of any part

But it still pains…my unrequited heart

Why I play little-little games? There you go. What else do I do? I have faced the greater pain, now I just enjoy it. My strength betrays me with this pain, so I play games.

O poor Chestnut, you play games with your agony. Games, bearing no meaning. Tell me how did it happen, maybe I can help you.

You care. Its good to know. You can help, I doubt. No one can help this soul. But yes, I will tell you how it happened.

I always showed her the smile

And never the pain

She thought that I was happy; and left

I bade her goodbye, smiling again. No one to blame

I took Little-little surreptitious steps. Never could I take a bold overt one. And yes, you are right, I cut my own branch. You know it now. Heavens! I cut my own branch. Not as lucky as Kali, true. And I fell. It hurts. No one to blame!

O foolish Chestnut.

Why did you not speak?

Kept bearing all that pain

Maybe you both had the same to say

And you both did refrain

No wonder these games make sense of your life. Poor you, coward you, foolish you. Who was she?

You ask too many questions. Why? Why now? Why did you not ask back then when you left, left me alone?

Chestnut! Is that me?

You always showed me the smile

And never the pain

I thought that you were happy; and left

You bade me goodbye, smiling again. I am to be blamed.

No one is to be blamed. Yes, it is you.

Those little-little surreptitious steps, O you foolish. How was I to know? Was I a devil?

I loved you, i love you

And shall always love no one but you

I fell in love just once; to which

I am still true

Today with a ‘magic touch’ you reveal divine

You say, “I always felt you mine”

It pains, more than ever it did before

I ask, then why did you leave me: left me alone?

.

Why did you not speak?

Kept bearing all that pain

We both had the same to say

And we both did refrain

.

But no remorse; Yes, no remorse

We enjoyed all these years; indeed we did

We enjoyed the growing pain

Enjoyed the life, enjoyed the pain. Off course

No remorse

No remorse.

I am addicted

In the little world of mine i live, in this small room i extend my personality. Sometimes i want to see myself beyond this room, in every room, everywhere, in this whole world in everybody’s heart in everybody’s mind. But that is just what I want, the fact is that I hardy matter anywhere outside this room, to anyone. My living, not living is immaterial to most, and maybe all. But this living is such an alcohol, I am addicted to it. I realise that me or no me makes no difference, I am not the butterfly whose flutter is going to bring tornado anywhere. But I want to live because I am addicted to this alcohol, blue alcohol, life.

I put up my jeans and shirt, the same blue jeans and the same denim shirt, and I am out there in the world, away from this room, knowing that I have to return back to the room and never wanting to return. Being in the room is like facing the reality, facing the hole that my world is in, outside world relieves me of this thought, maybe for some time only, but it does. What I do in the room, I keep lying on the bed, reading random things, again finding escape from the room, and the room threatens me. But the room is the reality and the truth.

Ambitions I have, but I am too lazy to work hard. I have adjusted to this easy going life, though they too cost me. They cost me my ego. I admire the ones i wanted to be like, now their victories fulfil my ego. I have found out that I wont achieve all what my heroes have achieved, so their victory is my victory now. Ego searches ways to help itself. It is such a parasite! Body can go without food but ego can not without its own food. So it decomposes other things to its food. Uses others to help itself.

Life has no meaning; I know that, if it has I know I am missing it. But still i am living it. Life is such an alcohol!

Inside The Wardrobe

I would land to stop but would again take off. Rest, i didn’t need any. My new wings had given me a new freedom. I was excited and was enjoying flying. I would go higher than the eagle; dive to the ground and again in the mid way would open up my wings and spring back up. Space seemed timeless and the joy eternal as it seemed back when i had acquired gills and fins. I could swim in deep waters, dive to the depths of the ocean, exploring a whole new world telling some entirely different history of time. Space seemed timeless and the joy eternal.

Timelessness was overpowered by the oscillating quartz crystal and the eternity was nothing but reflection in that hard mirror that was intact before i collided into it. I have hardly used those gills and fins since then. But now, the wings excited me. The space once again seemed timeless and the joy eternal.

As i open my wardrobe, i find many and many toys, the toys that once meant life and purpose, the toys that once promised to accompany me to eternity. I put the wings in it. I close the wardrobe.

I have a pile of toys that once promised me purpose. And i move with these toys in my wardrobe, but no purpose.

And one day there is darkness. I find myself in the wardrobe, locked from outside. As my eyes adjust to the darkness i find the same world, as outside, becoming yet another toy.

I knock, knock very hard. I push the door but the door doesn’t open. It is locked from outside.

Its too late now.

“Oh toys! Ah toys! Why didn’t you whisper the secret into my ears back then?”

“We did, but you were enjoying the timelessness and the eternal joy, you were tossing the fractured glass ball again and again. It was poised to break. It did! Don’t lament.”

WHY ME?

She came and sat in front of me. I looked up for an instant and could not help myself and kept staring at her. I shook my head and back to the book. But was I really in the book now? As once Swami Rama was overwhelmed by the strong fragrance of flowers in the valley of flowers and lost his mind, so did I, at the beauty unparalleled and unmatched.

Words in the book no more bore any meaning. Again and again I would go through the same line and got not a word of it. Mind it, I did not look up once in the next ten minutes and was still on the same line with no idea of anything at all and wondering at what was happening to me.

Now I fully understand the miseries of the great sages who lost themselves to the ‘Menikas’. The sages, I feel now, are innocent, not to be accused. You can take my words for that.

Half an hour had passed and I was still tossing my pencil looking blank at the book and time and again would steal a look of her face. I could not understand if I was to be thankful to the overcrowded reading room or not, because it was the thing that sent her to sit in front of me.

And then she broke the silence, the silence that had got hold of my mind and was crippling my thoughts. She spoke softly-

“What is the time BHAIYA?”

Having spent half an hour in a fix, I stood up immediately, the mesmerism had finally broken, put my things in the bag and left the reading room.  Did I answer her? No, I did not. I went away growling.

NAKLI BABA

Looking at my palm, yellow dark-yellow, no trace of blood. Skin has hardened at places, like tortoise shell. Nails have grown and are dirty. But these lines have not betrayed the palm, they are still there. These lines, that were once looked at by great palmists and ‘Jyotishis’, the ones who would see the lines of the state premier. I see these lines and laugh at times. What not i was destined to become, what not i had to achieve, the ‘Jyotishis’ would always praise the lines, many of them had never seen better lines before! My parents were always very happy whenever we were visited by the so claimed future tellers, ‘Jyotishis’, huge ‘Dakshina’ (Donation) would follow.

So i was naturally expected to do much, there were peaks for me to conquer and battles to be fought and won. But i betrayed it all. A great sacrilege, after all i had turned down such great ‘Sacred’ conjurers.

But these lines have not betrayed me, they were there in that sophisticated and soft palm, they still are there, now even more pronounced, on this hard, rough and anaemic palm, which is more like a sedimentary rock cross section, preserving in layers my past, my history, but nothing to do with the future.

Things were not bad, they were good enough for anyone to follow that road and reach anywhere he wanted. But, somewhy (sorry oxford has no such word…but i needed it), i could not bear it. I could not bear myself fitting into the block puzzle designed by someone. A puzzle where my palm was the telescope to look what shape the block would take.

I left everything. Did i do anything that i was expected to? The question is immaterial. But as a matter of fact, i achieved nothing that was expected from me, i left much before.

Now there is no shame, this hand stretches before people, with palm always in receiving position. This holy place, where i beg, is kind enough to bring in devotees who would spin a coin or two in this palm and the body keeps going.

I am looked down by other orange clothed(s), because i am not a seeker. I am not seeking anything or anyone, least the God, i do not practice meditation, i don’t know Vedas, i do not bless anyone, i do not perform any rituals. They call me ‘Nakli Baba’. The fact is, i am not seeking anything, i have no interest in anything, even life. I am living just because death also doesn’t interest me.

I AM NOT A DREAM

Standing on the bridge on Solani that leads to old Roorkee, leaning against the railing and looking at the flowing water, I was lost in some other world, world of dreams, heroism and passion. Being a blooywood lover, Hollywood gladiator and……..and somebody pushed me from back and shouted, “Not your Father’s road that you’ll stand anywhere.” Back to the world, world of reality, world of miseries, 75% attendance, two mid sems, and a life in oblivion and not just that, icing on the cake, mess food. And this time it was a guava seller who had almost banged his cart into me. With resentment I said, “Is it your father’s road?” Not ready to quit, he showed me a ticket, “we pay municipality…10 rupees daily.” I shouted back, “You pay municipality to hit me. Why not pay that to me and then hit me. ”

I thought it best not to argue further with that insolent bastard, so I moved from there. Now i was sitting on the bank (!) of Solani. I tried to revert back to my dreams, I had not yet proved my heroism, the thirst of my ego remained unquenched when that bastard hit me. But I could not go back to those dreams. All that came to my mind was a red guava that the bastard had cut and put on display to lure the customers. The gladiator dreaming in the clouds was pulled down to earth by that fruit seller and now was sitting, throwing stones in Solani and watching them disappear in the stream.

And then one stone came hitting the stream, not mine! I turned to my right to see who else was there. A Sadhu in orange clothes was sitting next to me, smiling. I turned my face away at once. I felt like getting up and running away. It was a very natural response and I myself could not understand the reason for it. Actually I was conditioned to that response. I was instructed in my childhood to remain away from Sadhus, that they hypnotise children and take them away. And nothing else is more painful for a child then separation from parents. But I got rational and thought that I am not a child anymore. I can talk to him and put an end to that conception of mine for ever. I turned towards him and passed a smile to him. He was in the process of throwing another stone. He smiled back and threw the stone. He said to me, suo motto, “Dreams end and then other dreams start. Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming….”I was looking at the stream and nodding my head, not that I asserted him, but I was trying to assimilate what he had said. I kept nodding for a minute or so looking at the stream until another stone hit the stream. I then asked, “what when there are no dreams?” The Sadhu smiled and said, “It is still a dream, the dream in which you and me satiate the ego of the dreamer.”

Thunder struck I was, what was that? It was beyond me. No more was I nodding my head and no more smiling. I constantly stared at him with a perplexed look. He smiled and one more stone in the stream. I then asked, “Who is the dreamer?” He said smiling, “To know the dreamer is my quest. But I know one thing, we all dream, so we all are dreamers. But I don’t know about the one who dreams us.” He sent me back in my dream that had been broken by that fruit seller. I pinched myself to confirm that I was not dreaming. I was not, I was there for real and so was Sadhu.

I asked the Sadhu, “What do you do Baba?” He said, “I told you, I search for the dreamer.” I said, “I mean what do you do to earn your bread?” He replied, “I beg.” I was astonished, “What, you beg! Such tall talks about the dreamer and you beg. Don’t you feel yourself a burdon?” having said that I felt that I had gone too far. I got a bit nervous recalling Sadhu my parents had told me about. I should not have said that, I felt. Sadhu was smiling. He should have felt humiliated, but he was smiling.

Yet another stone in the stream “Don’t I make you people feel worthy? You give alms to me and feel great. I satisfy your ego. And about burden, not heavier than you, you think you can change the world! You can not even help yourself from being hit by cart of a fruit seller and you think that you can turn the world upside down!” How did he know that? I was a bit afraid now. I asked, “How do you know?” He said, “I was standing there by your side, you did not notice me.”

I said angrily, “So you are following me?” I was a bit disturbed by it all. I added, “How long have been following me?” Another stone went into the stream. His smile was becoming mysterious for me. He said, “For three lifetimes.”

This was too much for me. I slowly stood pretending to be normal and then ran as fast as I could. He shouted from back, “How long will you keep me waiting?”

I didn’t stop, I ran and ran and……….then I heard Shaw banging my door and shouting, “Saaleee, Don’t you have to go to class? Just five minutes to 9. Come on, wake up…”

That very evening I and Shaw went on a stroll to old Roorkee. We were standing on the bridge leaning against the railing and looking at the two girls who were strolling on the road on the bank of Solani when a Sadhu in orange clothes came and stood beside me and leaned on the railing. I turned right and this time I ran as fast as I could with the Sadhu laughing and Shaw shouting “What Happened. Seen a ghost or what?”

And then I heard a heavy voice shouting “How long will you keep me waiting?” and Shaw was also running away from there. I should not have told him about my dream.

Deep Down The Memory Lane

Deep down the memory lane

I see you standing

I move away, away from you

I don’t see you; am pretending

No you don’t matter anymore

My mind says as I leave

If so, then why so much pain

And why my heart doesn’t believe?

Live from classroom

I thought that it was just me who wanted to escape from the class as soon as possible, but it was not so. least interested in the lecture i was looking at the board where a very senior professor was scribing something and imparting us the knowledge that will make us the great engineers. looking at the board and thinking beyond it, faking sincerity, constantly thinking how to save my one precious hour. and then Rajat turned back, who until now seemed to be very absorbed in the lecture, asked if i had a newspaper or novel or anything else. if i had anything myself i would not be staring at the professor so religiously, the prof was not a lady and i am not gay. and the prompted by rajat, i looked around to find what the heroes of JEE were doing. half of them were busy completing the practical record, half of the rest were miserably looking at their watches. and the rest quarter of the class was taking down notes of what the prof was teaching, and that too when each one of us knew that what was being written non the blackboard was poor imitation of the book we all have. and then rajput interrupted me by asking “what is he teaching?” how could i know, i was busy writing what you are reading right now. and yes, Bhaiya was giggling with Bafna. And Bafna, he was vigorously nodding his head in acceptance to what professor was teaching. and it seemed that prof too was teaching to bafna’s satisfaction. and Rastogi ji was busy religiously copying all what was being written on the board. once a friend said to me “Rastogi is Terminator”. and Arnold Schwarzeneger flashed in my mind, i could not understand. then he told me “He is programmed yaar”. more than a year has passed and now i feel that he was wrong, Rastogi is not programmed. OMG, what was that, Mr. Mohta was arguing with the prof. prof was trying to explain to Mr Mohta and Mr Mohta not ready to understand. but neither of them could do anything, because it was written that way in the book. it is sacrilege to question it! And the big guy of the class was sitting behind me and his presence was vindicated by sporadic swearing that would cross my ears now and then…

The Road Not taken

That i would lie in the bosom of mother-nature and relish what Robert Frost once did and write a or maybe two poems inspired by the limitless beauty of mother nature, i thought having taken ‘what poet you are like’ quiz on Facebook. Facebook said i was like Robert Frost. From then on i tried to gather each and every bit of beauty mother nature has endowed upon us and here i write about some of those bits. As the college campus has a lot of greenery, i had not to go anywhere to search for the Frost within me. I knew the road ‘less travelled by’ lay there only, along the concrete roads i take daily to the EC department. I knew that my ‘miracle apple’ would fall from one of those trees that line the concrete road to my dep.

First discouragement to my pursuit came talking to Dave. Dave and my other friends had gone to Nag Tibba a few days back. It is a seven kilometres track somewhere near Mussoorie. I really wanted to accompany them but couldn’t because of my sprain (Remember?). Dave was describing the track to me. Let me convey you the exact words that Dave said to me. “Jain Sahab, imagining the track is quite fascinating. You imagine green trees, flowers, that you would pluck a fruit and eat and drink water from some fresh water pond make out of some waterfall. It all seems so virgin. It is not so. The water in those ponds in not clean and cold like anything, and you never think in those dreams that where are you going to shit. You don’t even have resources to clean your ass. There is nothing so beautiful about nature, its hard in there, its dirty.” Shock! It was a shock. As if somebody had just shaken my in lying Robert Frost. As if it was an end to a dream. Then i thought, perseverance, yes, thats the word. I don’t have to quit, make my pursuit relentless. I thought that you are not supposed to go to some obscure hill to search for nature, there will always be difficulty. Why not try it out in the gardens of the Administrative block, moreover there is a lavatory in the library that is very close to it, as far as Dave’s genuine question lies. So i went to that garden and started looking at the things differently, trying to rhyme words lying on the grass under the tree until a guard came and asked me to move away from the grass. He pointed towards the board that read “Do not walk on the grass”. But i was not walking on the grass, just sitting. But the barrel of the gun suggested me not to argue with the guards. Already my dear friend illuminate had warned me of the neurotics roaming around to just undo me. Who knows what form ‘Yamraj’ may take? Then I said to Mr. Frost “Sir, your days are gone. There is no beauty left in these gardens or woods. Its just in there, in the TV, Fashion TV.” And Mr. Frost, to my amazement, spoke back to me. “Perseverance. Relentless pursuit. What happened?” I nodded my head, maybe somewhere else, not one of these protected gardens. And at last i was lying on the grass of Govind Bhawan garden, where we earlier used to play Football and now, after the arrival of new warden, there is good green grass tempting the herbivores of the Bhawan. Some people say that when the grass of this lawn is mowed, they make Palak Paneer in the mess. Again i tried to match my frequency with that of nature and tried to resonate rhyming words in my mind. I hadn’t even thought of one rhyming pair of words that the resident warden came and told me that there was a snake spotted at that place a few day back. Now that was enough to make me run from there.

So you see, in this pursuit of mine, how many difficulties i had to face. But you know, i have gathered some bits indeed. And now i feel that Dave was not that wrong.

Loose String

As the time moves, things change, relations mature and life becomes an arena to practice the surviving skills; we are bound to lose things. There comes coldness in many warm relations while other relations get warmer. You cannot keep tied to all the strings from past and the present; you have to loosen some. This is nothing but adaptation, adapting to change. But mere restructuring cannot rid you of the strings you opted to loosen. You can go loosening them till you feel them no more, but you do not get free from these strings. And there are times when you lose balance and are about to fall and then one of these loose strings pulls you back, you don’t fall. Because the string was always there though loose enough not to get noticed.

Need is the mother of invention. Man did realise it and the ingenious man devised methods to deal with it too. As a matter of fact eastern world is more of a collectivist society whereas western world is more of an individualist society. We, in India, respect our parents and separation from them is far from our imagination (not talking in physical terms). So, if somebody talks of mother’s day or father’s day, we laugh at it and say that every day of our life is dedicated to our parents, why just a day in a year? But for westerners, where such separations are very part of their life and normal, such ‘days’ do provide them with opportunity to look at the loose strings once a while. This is no point for debate that we are right or they are wrong. It is as it is. When i got a friendship band, it was a bit amusing. But now i realise it is not such a bad idea. Why can’t i use friendship band to make some of those loose strings heavier especially when you do not want to dissociate yourself from the ‘g-squared’ thing. The thing made me re-live all my years at St Clare’s. I had really lost that string until one of my school friends reminded me of ‘g-squared’.

I know you would have enjoyed the ‘g-square’ story in this article. But that is for me to relish and this is the abstract born out of that so that you may not miss some ‘g-square’ from your own life. (Well, why does my mind drift to g-string each time i write g-square. Bad boy!)

Drifting to the past

If there were no mile stones how would one know how much he has travelled on the road that seems to be practically endless? Though we know to ourselves all roads lead to somewhere, but at times journey gets too long and one needs to know where he is! What if the road is not some national highway but the universal expressway called life? There ought to be some things to keep track of things (Really? This is open to debate.).

New year , anniversaries, birthdays…all act as flags to remind us that time is going by, by quantizing the seemingly analogue and continuous time. Such is the continuity that you divide it into smaller unit, u-sec, n-sec, p-sec…, it laughs back at you; you can always put more zeros in the denominator!

In the course of this journey many doubts arise, and again the time answers all, sooner or later. Time has changed the most rigid, never bet with time! I have seen things change, places change and people change, marred and made by time.

A few days back i felt like taking a walk at night, it was 12:30 am that i left the hostel, knowing not where to go. It had rained for the whole day and the sky was all covered with clouds when i left. It could rain any time, and i would be all wet if that happened. I left it to fate (wondering what i am writing?). I did leave it to fate. It was all so silent and I moved in the wet darkness within and the moisturised sodium light outside. There were sounds of footsteps from the right and then the left, i looked around. It was the reflection of the sound of my chappals, tapping my feet. Laughed at it, thinking that so is life, full of reflections; our own reflections sometimes bothering us. Reached the convocation centre, written in big bold letters, Convocation hall, i thought that how would it be a decade hence if i happen to visit the place. Too early to think, but have already had a similar experience so i somehow feel that it would not feel all the same, rather quite different. I drifted back to my one year that i spent at Kota, and one day it did feel all the different. The day was just the next to that of JEE exam. In the morning i was sitting with my dad at the “Indori poha Corner” and sipping tea, where i had done the same for past one year, but that day it felt that I had never seen that place, it felt so different. I wondered if it was the same place, it indeed was. The place had not changed, i had. Wondering what had changed in me, much had, i was there for an aim, so busy i was in its accomplishment that i had missed the place, being there always. Had i been not there the next morning, i would always remember the place quite differently as to what i remember now. So, maybe, this place will also feel quite different sometimes hence. And then there fell a drop on my forehead, wondering whether rain had decided to wet me, i looked up. Wind had brought down a drop to my forehead which earlier rested on a leaf of the tree I was under. I rubbed off the drop with my hand and moved ahead, thinking that this too will pass.

A Day Out: ADD-ON

previous post continued

The Koton (not cotton) lady

Remember the lady on the reception counter of the hospital. Now this thing almost blew my head off. My reaction to it was “What…What…How can they do this…” Lokesh was staring at her as if thunder-struck. There was an emergency case of bone fracture and the patient was to be plastered. They sent one of the guys accompaning the patient somewhere, we didnt know where. Sometime later he came back with a big packed roll of cotton (God! they didnt have cotton at the hospital. A bone clinic!) Well this was also okay. The lady sent the cotton roll inside that multipurpose room (remember where i was x-rayed). All was tolerable till now. After some time the lady asked one of the ward boys for some Koton (mind it Koton and not cotton). Well, this was also within tolerable limits. THEN….then the ward boy went inside that multipurpose room  and came back with half of the roll that had been brought for the  patient. OMG! And she kept it inside her drawer, maybe used some of it also…Is that how the hospital manages its Koton (not cotton) supply…

“What…What…How can they do this…the cotton was for the patient…”

But I tell you one thing for sure…you get to see a lot while Doing Nothing….

A Day Out

When the things go wrong with you, quite often people ask “Whose face did you see first in the morning?” Maybe they are more concerned with how the day began. Maybe they think that the beginning of the day sets the mood and the mood sets the rest of the day. How did my day start? Okay here it is. I was lying on my bed reading ‘The Hindu’. There was electricity failure and the bloody fan was teasing me hanging from the ceiling. I decided to do away the heat and tease the fan back by ripping off my pants. I can do that, at least in my room. So practically i was lying on my bed, in underwear, reading the newspaper. And then the very first thing that i heard was, “You are a nudist, you pervert.” Hell! It was Shivasheesh peeping in from the window. The ridiculous look on my face was quite an indication for Shivasheesh to get going. Quite a start, right?

Let us go back a little. Last evening i had hurt myself playing tennis. It was like me trying a shot that defied both Newton’s and Einstein’s theory. So i tipped off my ankle and CRACK! Then, Icepack, painkiller and bed, morning, “You are a nudist, you pervert!”

Wow!

Then some mundane. In the afternoon i felt that my ankle had swollen. No, not a fracture, i prayed to god. Went to Rastogi’s room to ask for some good doctor outside the campus, hopping on one leg. Rastogi has some local relatives, so he is a good source of out campus (censored) information. Rastogi was sleeping. Hell! Now what? Ramnik suggested me to call Rastogi, it will wake him up and also i would not have to see his ‘after sleep’ irritated face. I did that. Rastogi picked the phone and he sounded like a zombie would. It was the last call that Rastogi received on his that phone, why, I’ll come to that.

Rusty lives just 4 rooms away from mine. Five minutes later he came with the address of the doctor and gave me a crape bandage (he saved my 100 rupees). Now this is not mundane, because it led to Rusty loosing his mobile phone. So, after i left rastogi instead of going back to sleep went to play badminton, leaving his room open, as he always does. Now, let me put it straight, somebody stole his mobile phone.

Lokesh accompanied me to the doctor. Thanks dude. It was an awesome Rickshaw ride. Later in the night i and rusty would argue over the etymology of the name ‘Rickshaw’. He would argue that it is a Japanese name and i would say that it is an Indian name that too Hindi. I would all the time during the dialogue know that Rusty is right, but i would not accept that.

Back to Rickshaw ride. Me and Lokesh and the rickshaw, the Japanese one. Now one reason why Roorkee is Roorkee. Lokesh was carrying  a bag on his back and one of the belts of it was hanging. They do. Two girls came on activa and gave a blow to the hanging belt and shouted, “Latak Raha hai” (its hanging). Now this is called real poverty, i don’t know why, but it is. We both were looking at our zips.

Then there was a very crowded shop, which my experience told to be ‘Theka Desi Sharab’, the wine shop. But it was Baba Ramdev’s pharmacy. India is changing. The good journey ended and we landed outside ‘Nanhe Munoon Ka Aspataal’. Lokesh insisted me to consult there only. But i thought that 20 year old should not be termed ‘Nannah Munna’. So we went to the right place. Dr. *******, yes, that is the name of the doctor and the nursing home is on Saharanpur road. I don’t know if its a coincidence or not. Well, some very good experiences in the hospital. There was a lady on the hospital reception counter. Now she deserves one full article by me, so i wont tell about her now. Doctor came ten minutes late. That really doesn’t matter, i am too much habitual of that. Everything is late here in India, trains are late, planes are late, we are 5 and a half hours late from Greenwich, I doubt most of us are also late in coming to this world! Well, the doctor sent me to the X-Ray room. Now this was a single room where everything but for consultation with the doctor was taking place. I mean, X-ray, plastering, gossips, chai-pakodis and maybe some forbidden things too. This X-Ray guy got me on the table and got himself hooked up with other nurse who was plastering a child’s leg. Telling his tales of hepatitis and suggesting him to get tested for the same, least interested in me and more in the hepatitis thing. I looked at Lokesh and Lokesh looked at me and we both looked at him, and the X-Ray boy looked at the other nurse. Maybe the hepatitis had reached his brain. At last my photo-shot was done by the very special x-Ray camera. So at last all was done and my pocket was empty by now. Visiting the doctor was like hanging me upside down from a neem tree and taking even the last penny out of my pocket and at the end i was obliged for all that. Happily we returned, happy to find that there was no fracture and just a sprain. But not its been two days and still there is swelling, now i am doubting the doctor and thinking to revisit my Dr. X.

Lost my money and Lokesh’s precious time that he would have invested in the library. Yes, don’t shock, he goes to library as well. Yes, i know what you are thinking. My answer is that he has no girlfriend, and he is not even looking for one. Still wondering why he goes to library? He studies there. But if you don’t believe me i don’t accuse you. Anyone who reads drunkwisdom.wordpress.com will think what you are, Doing Nothing.

There is much more to be told about that hospital, i think i will tell you that in another post. I am tired writing it. It has gone too long. So we returned to the campus all the way back, at half the transportation cost that we paid earlier, talking about the Himalaya Girl (Guess who?) we had met in the morning. And all the way i was holding Lokesh tight so that I may not fall down the Rickshaw on the very good roads of Roorkee, I have already fallen once.

Light a match and the forest will burn!

No government is good or bad. In a democratic setup, it is really the government of the people. The leaders we admire and the ones we criticize all have come from amongst us only, elected by us. They are the real face of us, the face which we might have missed while looking at the mirror.

Let me take the whole thing more pragmatically, considering a few examples. When West Bengal showed the way out to NANO plant and Gujarat provided Tata a new home for NANO, it does not show that a state is progressive or not, it shows how progressive the people are. So, why such differences?

Going back in history, Gujarat has since very long time been a port province, place from where international trade would take place, home of ‘Marwaris’ and ‘Banias’, land of businessmen famous for making cream from water, always searching for avenues to grow their money. On the other hand, Bengal has been a home to poor, irrigated by distributaries of Ganges land has been a home to cultivators and Jute mill workers. Population density has been high and still is. People here, even today, find most of the work in primary sector.

Bengal has witnessed the worst famine and not Gujarat. As noted by Amartya Sen, the famine was caused not by the scarcity of rice, but by the lack of purchasing power. The rumors of war and shortage of grains led to hoarding and price rise. And large population could not simply afford to buy the food. 1943 was year of disaster.

Does this not make it clear why there is a stark difference between Narendra Modi and Buddhadev Bhattacharya? Does it not make clear that if one Modi goes other will come up and one comrade goes other sister will come to do the same? This is because their vote bank demands that.

Change always comes from the ground. So, if something has to be grown, first the seeds are to be sown. So, be ready to soil your hands and clothes if you aspire for a change. Blame game simply won’t work.

P.S. My reasoning may be wrong. If you feel so, please correct me through your valuabe comment.

A walk to remember…

we all are born equal, we all have equal right to education. Really?

There were showers in the day. So the evening was pretty pleasant. After the dinner i felt like taking a walk in the bosom of nature. I took the road to the canal through civil lines market. Half of the shops had already shut down and the remaining were getting ready to close. I heard a shutter go down every few steps. That called for finish of yet another day.

Call it a ritual if you like, the night streets are occupied by the beggars and stray dogs and cows for the rest of the night. As the market was closing and not yet fully closed, the beggars had not yet come to claim the footpath but the animals had started straying in.

I, lost in my own thoughts, practically enjoying everything around, the things that may not be very pleasant for the parties involved, moved forward. I was saying to myself, “A typical Indian marketplace. This is the culture i belong to and not the mall one. Whatsoever it is, i like it.”

The sequence of thoughts was broken by the sight of a boy collecting garbage in his large plastic sac from the street. The boy was badly dressed and not more than 10 years in age. His face had gone black with dirt. God knows where else he goes collecting garbage that can be sold at recycling plants. Sight of such boys in train compartments is quite common. They risk their lives by climbing in and jumping out of moving trains for the sake of some empty plastic bottles. This is their living. Maybe this boy also ventured in trains.

“Scavengers of the night”, this came to my mind very first. These boys constitute the large ‘Army of the Dark’ that clears our posh market places for a new start every day. They never cross our ways in the day time, if they accidently do, they are hated, unwanted. But they are the darker truth of us, the 8% growing us, the shining us, the great engineers us, the claimant of permanent seat in UN Security Council us. They are the truth, the inconvenient truth.

I stood there for a moment. Saw him pick up another refused polythene bag and put in his sac. His back constantly bent hovering over the pile of the dirt. Suddenly he looked up and looked at me. There was an eye to eye contact. I turned away my face and pretended as if i was not seeing him. He moved to a dustbin nearby and started scanning it. I could not bear his looking into my eyes. So i moved, slowly. There should have been nothing there of my interest. But this child sent me back to my 10^th birthday. 18 august 1999. I had gone to school in colour dress, the best i had. I had distributed sweets to my classmates. They sang the birthday song for me. I was happy. Late in the evening there was a birthday party at my home. My parents had gifted me a YAMAHA Keyboard. I loved it, it cost in thousands back then. I hardly played it ever, but i always wanted to have one, so i had it. There was a lot of polythene and cardboard wrapping that i had thrown. I wonder now that it would have earned, maybe this boy’s father, bread for another day. That was all so good then, i don’t feel all the same now.

I turned back and approached the boy. Hesitatingly put my hand on his shoulder. He looked back at me. His eyes full of amazement and fear.

I remember when i was small my mother always asked me to stay away dirty street boys. I always did. I remember when we friends used to play football in the park, children of Raju, the sweeper of the colony, the dirty street boys, used to stand near the end and watch us play. Sometimes they would run and fetch the ball when it went away. We would not thank them; they were obliged to do so. They would all run and compete with each other to pick the ball and throw it back to us.

I again could not bear the look in those eyes. I pushed back my hand and said, “Nothing” and moved away speedily. Could not dare to turn back to look at him.

Thinking what mum would have said.

“Go and wash your hands. I told you not to touch dirty street boys.”

Sorry mom.

YES! YOU CAN DO IT.

life is learning

Today there was a little girl i met at Nescefe, she threw the plate in the dustbin and looked towards me. The look was demanding as if the child needed me to appreciate her. I smiled back and widened my eyes. She moved back to her parents. In a way i reinforced her action of throwing the plate in the dustbin. My reaction was a positive reinforcement for her.

Taking the child to a psychiatrist for some potential disorder can have some unforeseen effects. Like, in a way, it may be telling the child that he has some disorder or atleast that his parents feel so. Parents are the first and the strongest source of reinforcement for the child, and sending him a signal that they doubt his ability can be disastrous. The parents, obviously, want to help the child and this in no ways means that they love the child less, but can it be perceived so well by the child? The consequences may be that the child may loose confidence in him and develop many self doubts. From the very childhood child seeks reinforcement from his parents.

But what if there is not very clear image of the parent in child’s mind. What if that girl thought me some bad man, say told to her by her parents, she would have doubted the thing for which she was reinforced by me. This is a very satellite situation because I am not a part of her learning process as my contact with her was just for once. But what will be the consequences if the child’s image of parents is jeopardized?

The thing is that this raises a question on the ability of the child, which may be thought to be innate. Mental problems are quite different from physical problems. For physical problems one does not see himself as responsible or offensively responsible, but in mental problems one may look that way. If one is told that he is incapable of something, if he is adult, his effort would be to prove it wrong, but if a child, who is still in the process of developing the self, it can be traumatic. The situation becomes worse when the source through which he is forming schemas, he becomes unsure of. The child may grow into an insecure child, doubting the world around and into an introvert. Parenting plays a great role in what the child grows into.

So, the best way to help children suffering from any disorder is to place confidence in them. Get the treatment, it is must, but make sure it is like any other treatment for physical problems, that is what should appear to the child. Put plainly, the best one can do is what mother of Forrest Gump did!

views are personal…not for any reference.

The Diary

This story I wrote a while back, felt like sharing…

My best friend, Naseem Quereshy.

We were in the same class. We would always sit together, lunch together, and stayed after the school to play basketball together. We both were in the assembly coir. We had put in our best effort to learn ‘Vande Matram’ to get into the coir. It used to be a joy to sing in the morning assembly. We used to meet at the crossing where the routes from our houses met, about a mile away from the school. Once away from the sight of parents we used to race our cycles to the school. We maintained a tally in our school diary where a plus one was given to the winner. We really never bothered about the growing tally, it was just about winning. We never did imagine that the sum of the scores would ever reach two thousand. It reached. That was our last year in the school. Our score diary was passed on to me as my won races were more. I could not realise until today that nothing better he could have given me for that win. We were not lucky enough to get into the same college. That is something I wish to change today going back into the past. I was lucky to get into IIT Roorkee. He was luckier to get into NDA. In the initial days we used to chat long on phone and then came in Google Talk which cut short our time of chatting and eventually replaced by rare scraps on orkut. I missed him the most in my first year. The reason was that i was in rajendra bhawan and had to rush to department on cycle every morning. No day was such when i did not remember him climbing the mount everest to reach my dep. Then i reached govind bhawan in the second year and cycle literally got dumped and one fine day i found that my cycle was not there in the cycle stand. It was auctioned by the bhawan authorities. There were many notices put up but i did never respond to any regarding claiming the cycle. So with the cycle gone went away the daily memory of Naseem. The regular ‘Vande Matram’ got replaced by occasional ‘Jayati Jayati Vidya Sansar…’.

Time flies. Four years passed away as if it was just one day.

I got job with an investment bank though i am an electronic engineering graduate. I started earning in seven digits. Life changed its course entirely. Now the occasional ‘Jayati Jayati Vidya Sansar’ was also gone. There was practically nothing to remind me of Naseem.

Much was happening at national level as well. There were blasts in Delhi, Ahmedabad, Banglore. Many people got killed. This all followed with encounter of some terrorists in Delhi. This arose many questions at national level. Police action got under scanner. In Maharashtra north Indians were being harassed. American economy was getting in recession mood. There was shoot-out at Mumbai that shook the world.

I received Naseem’s call a few days back. He was posted in J&K. Now Lt. Col. Naseem Quereshy. He just called and started singing ‘Vande Matram’ on the phone. And i joined him. Then there were gossips for hours. He made me talk to his wife, Radhika, and hear his one year daughter crying. So happy i was for my friend Naseem! Two days later i lost my job as the bank in which i was working filed for bankruptcy and once again my CV was floating in the market. NASDAQ was all red. SENSEX also is red following global sentiments. When global sentiments are depressing there is no point talking about yours. I don’t understand which attack is going to hurt our country worse, the terrorist one or the one which struck me. For i am not alone, there are millions with me accomplishing their dreams outsourcing their services to America and especially when the great economy is taking a bear ride.

Today morning i received a call from Naseem’s wife, weeping like anything for her martyred husband who was killed in an encounter with the terrorists. Statements are being issued by bigwigs, be they political or religious leaders, and being telecasted on the television since the morning. They are calling him a great patriot and all. I really don’t understand them because many of them are the ones who once wanted my friend to stop singing what he loved to. I am writing in my flight to Srinagar where i am going to meet my friend for the last time. I don’t know what his wife will do now. What i know is just that i have lost my best friend, a true patriot, a true Muslim who sacrificed himself for the cause of his nation. I carry the school diary with me. I will be giving it to his daughter. After all Naseem is the one who has won the race that we long back started.

SIGH!

Days went, months went

And the years went by

Now that I look back

Its nothing more than a sigh

I had things; I knew people

And there were those I felt mine

Long behind I left them

As I look back, as I sigh

There were aspirations There were dreams

There were aims all set high

There were achievements There were victories

The charm was lost as the time passed by

A Deep Sigh

I wonder if I have done the things

Or the things have just done me by

I wonder why it was all

All all all that has gone by

Deep Deep Deep, A Deeper Sigh

FAKE It

Life. Wanna live it, just ‘Fake it’.

Hide and seek…I vs ME

Tall is short, short is tall. Haves are have-nots and have-nots are haves. There are people failing in their pursuits every second. Masks have become ubiquitous. In India its very difficult to distinguish a fake saint from a real one, real ones are hard to find. The mask he has worn is so deceptive that it has hidden his real self from himself. Masks were to deceive others, now they are used to deceive self. The reality has got too tough to bear or we have become much too pragmatic. People aspiring to be selfless (They aspire publically! They make it a social event!) have turned out to be the ones holding the biggest egos.

Why are so many people failing in their pursuits so frequently? Because they are masking them from themselves. Be the pursuit spiritual or material, wherever the mask comes in, pursuit has to fail. World has gone manipulative. We manipulate unfavourable to favourable. A good example is what the western banks did to themselves. The restructuring of debts (see CDOs and CDO squares, cubed…), gratification was certainly short lived. It turned out to be suicidal.

Who is at loss? What good is this mask doing? Apparently much and actually none. Mask is a slow suicidal pill. No, it won’t create resistance, it will kill.

Yeh hai Dilli Meri Jaan : Reminiscence (Final Part)

Reminiscence

“Three decades have passed.”

“Yah. Three decades. But you are as beautiful as you were then.”

“Stop it. You just flatter me. There are wrinkles on my face now, hair have also started turning white.”

“Okay, you have turned old, not me. I am still that young.”

“I am losing my physique; you are losing your brain, my old husband.”

“You remember that day; I made lemon tea for you for the first time.”

“I can never forget. For full month we hadn’t talked. You would always sit on the same bench.”

“You would come, jogging. Look at me, we both would exchange glances and would turn our faces away. You sometimes made funny faces.”

“I never realised that I had feelings for you until the day you were not on that bench. When i passed that bench and did not find you there, you know, I was feeling very bad. I was missing you.”

“I knew you would, but was not sure how would you react. I thought that you would hate me though i knew you did not.”

“I never doubted that you were a little crazy.”

“What?”

“Yes, you were. You still are. When i passed that bench and found you not there I feared that you were gone. But I should have known that you would not go leaving the ends open. I could not believe to myself that you would go without speaking to me. I always wanted somewhere within you to speak to me, apologize to me I would not speak to you then. But, yes, later I would forgive you. You didn’t give me chance for that. You were crazy.”

“The story was horrible. You know, i really realized later that i should not have told you that.”

“Yes, I know. I suffered that story of yours. And look at you, you cruel man, you told it to poor, old Mullah-ji also.”

“That was the first time I went upto to the end of that park. That day, God, I was tired.”

“You don’t know how good I felt seeing you there at the end of the park.”

“Yes, I could see that your eyes. Those tears were quite eloquent.”

“I really could not control myself. You were also blinking heavily trying to do away with your tears.”

“Yes, thats true. But I controlled them, at-least for some time. You looked so beautiful. You were standing before me with hands on your waist, tears in your eyes, one knee slightly bent.”

“Yes, and you kept looking at the ground. And then you told me in faint voice that you were leaving that night. Then you stood up, but still you did not look at me. You slowly raised your face, looked in my eyes and said those three magical words. And your tears had betrayed your efforts.”

“We both were in tears. You held my ear, screwed it a little. And then…”

“And then we kissed. Our first kiss.”

“It all sounds like a story now. We were young. We wept. When you’ll tell this to your grandchildren they will laugh.”

“They are too young. At-least a decade more they will take to understand.”

“But our children laughed, tried to tease us as well. You remember when I told it to them. You were blushing.”

“Yes, I was. I am normal. You are crazy. I am not. Its more a melodrama for this young generation. It is no more our time, its theirs.”

“And then we sat down. I was wiping your tears. Then I told you that I had to do packing. You said that you would help me with that.”

“Yes, and you told me that you would make me a lemon tea. You had talked about it so much in your story. It scared me.”

“And you laughed at that, didn’t you.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Its hard to believe sometimes that 30 years have passed. And sometimes it feels like 300 years have passed.”

“You are crazy. Thats why.”

“Maybe.”

Yeh hai Dilli Meri Jaan (PART 4)

How long can the fingers remain crossed, how long can anyone remain without being oneself, how long can one pray to avoid pregnancy having not taken i-pill or used condom? Now it was to be seen that how long I could go without seeing my story bear fruits, definitely, not much.

I would feel, not very long after, that the story should have been abandoned after its first trial(remember my roomy). And more lately I would realise that maybe not!

Dozing off for half an hour on that public bench, I call it public to remind myself that yes it was a public bench not just a private romantic bench and also because I was sharing it with an old gentle man, I moved on. You know all old-men are gentle by default; they may however have been the most notorious of their time. Hey, BUDIA-KE-BAAL, I love them. The same sweet pink stuff in the packets that I used to relish in my childhood better than any other crap, “Hey! Cost?” “5 Rupees BABU-G” he said. BABU-G like PARLE-G, it sounded awkward then. “Give me one” and I handed him a ten rupee note. “No change in the morning BABU-G, you are the first one” he said. Neither did I have. “Okay, give me two.”

The day passed by, with me almost-sleeping in the office. The evening, a beautiful one! Clouds had covered the sky, but it would not rain. It’s Delhi. The city repels clouds. I spent some time on the steps below my apartment, where we sat last night and tried to remember the last evening. My all time favourite lemon tea in my hands. What else does a man desire of? What? What did I just say? Does it mean that I would prefer sitting there with a lemon tea rather than shefali? Oh my God, No. But yes, clouds, me, Shefali and lemon tea. This sounds perfect. Soon came the night and I went to sleep.

Now this is the hardest part for me to describe. But the mere fact that it happened compels me to write it. I can’t pour my embarrassment into my writing else you would really see me blushing. Well, i was sitting on the bench, the very bench, unaware of the harm that had been caused, thinking of inviting her to my place for a cup of lemon tea. She came, no need to tell again and again jogging. I waved my hand and brought a little smile on my guilty face. I later realised that the face ought to be guilty. She would stop or at-least wave back. She didn’t. I saw her right hand raise, my smile grew more intense. Then I saw the middle finger of the right hand come out, my facial expressions reverting back to normal so that they could express amazement and sadness. Then the hand pointed towards me and her lips moving to say fuck-off. Motions of the lips, though silent, were eloquent enough for me to know what they said. Blushing, was I? Furious, was I? It felt so embarrassing, as if the whole world had seen her doing that to me. Every stray eye that caught with mine seemed to be knowing what had happened and laughing at me. Should I move away? Should i keep sitting there with all my embarrassment? And I over came the creepy thoughts. I kept sitting there thinking that it would be submitting to those ‘creepy’ thoughts to move away. I am a man, I have testosterones in my blood. She came back and was passing, maybe a bit surprised to see me still sitting. It was my turn now, my right hand rose and the middle finger came out flying and my lips moved to repeat what hers had said. Now it was fun to see her expressions change, if not fun it was consoling. That disdain in her face kept going as I flung my hand to pose her. And a look of astonishment and offence took it over. As if she was saying, “Hey how could you do that to me? I am a girl. I can do whatever I want. Not you.” I was proud of myself. I stood up and left. Lately I realised that her looks said something else, “You are the one who told me that story.” It was only after that I realised that it was story that had done the harm. I could not believe that it was that bad. Now as I was nearing my flat, O I hate to call it flat at times its the company that calls it flat, so do i, I became more and more obsessed about the idea that it was ‘The Story’ of mine which had done all the harm. I was condemning myself for the harm I had done to myself. Its difficult to prevent your feelings to get to your face at times, especially when you are using whole of your RAM in condemning yourself.

“Asalamalakum janab, why so sad? Something wrong with the ‘mohtarma’? O I saw you both gossiping there on your stairs. ‘wallah..’, what a choice” said mullah-ji. Now this was height. Every tom-dick and harry would now say anything to me. No, maybe I am wrong. It was mullah-ji who woke me up, the present was his gift. There was a sudden impulse to retaliate with some harsh words. But a quick deeper thought gave me a better option. Why not give a last try to your story? If the things go usual way, Mullah-ji would learn his lesson and maybe I can also give an introspection to my story. A win-win thing!

“Walaikumsalam Mullah-ji. O at least someone cares here. Mullah-ji grave wrong has happened. I would want to tell you what all happened in the night. But I see you are a busy man, you wont have much time for that non-sense stuff.”

“No-no son, why don’t tell me today evening. I have enough time in the evening. You should always share your grief. It lessens that way. I myself am a sufi, you know that. I honour all religions and beliefs. Violence and anger, all these are bad. Thats what I believe.”

Mullah-ji did not know that it was going to be the most memorable evening he would have in his life. Maybe!

Mullah-ji knocked at my door at precise 6-30 in the evening. And then started the well iced never lasting session. And I managed to agree him to listen to that story. It was 4-30 in the morning and I had bagged for 5 more minutes to mullah-ji. And then there was some noise, sort of a crowd. It was coming closer. They were a handful of people with bamboo sticks in their hands. I thought that some strike had broken out. I shook mullah-ji, who was practically dozing and to sound more urgent shouted “Mullah-ji run, they are coming to beat you.” Mullah-ji rubbed his eyes quickly and looked in the direction of the mob. Smiling he said, “They are not coming to beat me, they are coming to beat you, arse-hole.” Mullah-ji sounded resolute that he would not ask them to spare me. It was the adjective that he had used that forced me to run. So I ran. It could have been a costly test of the story. Panting i stopped at the corner of the street feeling that the crowd had stopped. The crowd had stopped. Some of them were helping mullah-ji towards the mosque and the others were staring in my direction. I resumed my brisk running. I was outside the ‘JOGGERS PARK’, well in time.

Friendly mullah-ji became an intimidating figure for me from then on, until I and Shefali would go to him and remind him of his being Sufi.

I would never tell that story again to anyone.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Yeh hai Dilli Meri Jaan (PART 3)

SRCC, well that had started sounding good to me. SRCC…how romantic, you don’t even know the name of the girl you are going to dine out with. But that doesn’t matter really, does it? SRCC…it created suspense, a curiosity, something to go on for. I passed the whole day searching SRCC on Google , rather to be more precise Google Images and that to keywords like SRCC girls, SRCC Jogger’s park, SRCC cute girl…and so on. But I couldn’t find any detail of her. I had done some similar thing earlier. Once a guy just struck with me on ORKUT, he claimed himself to be from Maldives. I could not really believe that, so I just scanned whole of his profile like 007 and at last googled the pin code he had entered. It happened to be of Bhopal. I caught the guy, he was from Bhopal. So in search of some similar thing, maybe I could astonish her with, I googled whole day but to no use. So in the evening I got dressed up as i would for any regular outing at Roorkee and reached the park by quarter past seven. I didn’t want her to come before me. i had already done so wrong, no more wrongs to be done.

She was there 10 minutes late. I said nothing, just looked at my watch. “You don’t want me to say sorry. Do you?” she questioned with her eyes overstretched. “No off-course not” actually I wanted her to. “So how do we go?” I asked. “Actually the chauffer will be here anytime, I have called for a Limo” she said looking ridiculous. Okay, Limo, I got it. “AUTO…AUTO…” I shouted. An auto stopped. We got into it. “Okay reset the meter, CP” she said to the auto-wallah. “Madam, give 30 rupees, won’t go by meter” said the auto-walah half pleading. “Come-on get off” she told me and started getting off herself. “Are madam! Okay sit” and he reset the meter. “So, is this bamboo thing in CP?” “No, not in CP. But you know I was thinking about the place and didn’t feel like going there. There are many good restaurants round that place. We can hang out in any one” she said. Hey she had decided it all by herself as if I was nothing, she didn’t even bother to tell me before. “So why not Bamboo garden?” “The place is so dragony, oh i didn’t feel it appropriate to go there” she said. “Dragony! Whats that?” “DRAGONY, dragony means dragony. Haven’t you seen a dragon?” she said. “Have you seen a dragon?” “Hey, now everybody has seen it on Discovery, come-on, moreover its more of China-China thing, than a real fire blowing Dragon.” Oh! Until now I thought that it was just me who was nuts, she too was, who knows a bigger one! Dragony! Huh! Bloody auto-wallah was asking for 30 rupees, it was just 18 rupees away from the park. I saw Pizza-Hut. I hadn’t had Pizza of anywhere else but for hotel Prakash since so long. No Pizza-Hut in Roorkee. “Hey! Lets have Pizza. Its been too long.” “Okay” she nodded and we moved to Pizza-Hut.

“So what’s your name SRCC?” “SRCC! Well that would do”. Could she not have just told her name? Am I mad or something? “Hey! Come-on, I need to know it.” And the waiter had to come at that precise moment. Sometimes you feel so soo alone in this world. Not one person seems to be your side. “Okay what will you take SRCC?” “Hoooonnnn..okay..mushroom pizza” she said. “Well please get us one Mushroom Pizza and two cheese Pizzas. Mind it, don’t use onion and garlic in the cheese ones. Okay” I placed the order as soberly as I could. Then she interrupted as if she had seen a snake, or perhaps a dragon. “What for 2 cheese pizzas. Look at yourself. Okay waiter please cancel the order and just bring in one Cheese pizza and yah please avoid onion and garlic, I am sitting with 1^st century monk.” I wanted to resist and had just started saying something that she dominated my voice by raising her voice and continuing “And thats it. Please” she said. “And what name shall i bill it madam?” asked the waiter. “Shefali” she said. “Hey what was that? I won’t do it with one pizza, and why would you not take anything? On hunger strike?” “Sweety we can probably go to some other place as well after this and won’t you offer half of your Pizza to me?” O yah, I had to. “Oh ya…off-course. Thats not something to be asked. Off-course we’ll share the pizza.” “But Sweety you are so dumb that I have to tell you that” she said again with her mocking smile. “Hey! Stop calling me that. Sweety, I had a girl with that name in my school. And you know this smile of yours, why are you laughing at me?” “Nothing, it’s nothing. You been to Delhi before?” she asked. I now knew her name, at last. Thanks waiter. Its not always right what you think about the world. You think that its going against you and actually its the other way. God doesn’t leave the ones he has made so soo alone. “Yah, once or maybe twice. But it was just going to some places and get going. Though i have been to CP, as you call it.” “I’ll show you around. You have some hobby?” she asked. “Hobby…yah! I love to make story and tell them to people. I love that.” “So you are a dreamer?” she asked. “A dreamer, no..NO..not a dreamer, actually  I make up stories from things around me. So not maybe a dreamer, a juggler perhaps. Juggling the facts and events and situations…” “Tell me one” she insisted. She insisted. Oh someone wants to listen to my story. That never happens. Once I had told it to my roommate; it all ended with his changing the room. He told me later that he wanted to kill me after that but had somehow controlled himself. I thanked him. Actually the story had gone too long, it happens with me when i tell story, it lasted for 12 hours 17 minutes; still unfinished. But i knew that the story was good, it was only that my ex-roomy didn’t have enough patience and that he slept in the practical the following day, whose consequences he had to bear. And he thought that it was all due to my story. Perhaps he was wrong, or at-least I thought so.  The story started. Pizza came and got finished, bill was paid, we roamed around, we had coffee somewhere, we had momos, much more kept happening and the story kept on going. She was a patient listener. It was 5 in the morning and we were sitting on the stairs of my apartment, apparently on the foot-path. The story was still going on. I had to nudge her several time as she would doze off, okay, maybe more than a hundred times. I had stopped in between to wish Mullah-Ji “Asalamalakum”. This time he had replied with a satanic smile on his face seeing her beside me. It was hearing the azan that she stood up. “Hey! Just 5 more minutes.” “Thats something you have been telling me for the last, i suppose, 7 hours. You see, I have to move on. Time doesn’t stop!” and she moved on. I accompanied her upto the park where she asked me to leave and said that she would go herself now. I granted her that. And I went to the park to sit on that bench, I sat there for half an hour or something. Her departure was somewhat like that of my ex-roommate. Fingers crossed.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Yeh hai Dilli Meri Jaan (PART 2)

Things looked really beautiful. Whistling, slowly I walked towards my flat. Small tea stalls had appeared all from nowhere and Tempo-walas were wetting their moustaches with the dark-brown fluid supposed to be tea. And the tea wanders; they were boiling milk in the same tea again and again, like our canteen valah. Elders of the families were proving their worth to their now-grown-up children by fetching milk pouches from the mother dairy booths. All this appeared so sweet to me. As i reached my flat, I turned for once and looked at the mosque. I wanted to kiss mullah-ji. Back in the flat I went and lay down on my bed. Now what? Now what?

Hey, what would we do tomorrow? I mean she would be there daily, and off-course, I would also be there daily. So what? We’ll just say hi and will it keep going on that way? NO…nonononono…But what do I do? I got up and logged-on to Yahoo answers. 608 points, Chestnut, Level 2. Hmmm. I would do away with 5 points if I asked a question…but I asked.

Question: Hi! Help! Met this girl, what to do?

Details: Hey I met a very cute girl this morning in the park, we’ll meet tomorrow too. I think I feel something for her, or maybe i’ll feel in a day or two, i know myself! Okay it’s just the first meeting and just a very little of talk, but still. It’s my first time. I don’t really know what to do. Help…

And there were answers flooding all within minutes. But not of much help. MRSHEKHAR, supposed to be a top contributor, suggested me that it was infatuation and I should think twice…WTF…Some TOMSON said, O how so lucky, I wish you all the best. Some JIGSAW said you better tell her that you love her. I am sure Jigsaw never had a girlfriend or was some enemy of love. I had lost all hopes of answers from Yahoo and just refreshed the page to give it a last try. There were two more answers. RAMAN-T said that the girl won’t come there the other day. Now some of these guys just write anything for 2 points. I immediately reported this user, RAMAN-T, for abusing the community norms to Yahoo. And the last answer was by LOV-GURU, again a top contributor, Invite her for a coffee. Hey I got what I ought to do. Ask her for a coffee! Wow. 10 Points go to LUV-GURU.

I am sure no one is interested in all the mundane things I did rest of the day. Nor was I interested in all that. The day passes somehow and came the night and the anxiety. I went to bed early with alarm of 4:30 set in the mobile. Though I went early to bed but could not sleep up to late, anticipation of the next day, things to be said, things to be done, an unknown fear. How would she react? Will she just laugh and jog away? Will she get angry and say that “You all boys are like that” or will she ask me to get lost or will she agree. No no, don’t think all that, go to sleep. We’ll see how she reacts. But what if she refuses? Just go to sleep. Okay, but is it all going to be fine.

Alarm woke me up in the morning, at 4. I jumped out of the bed. There was no frustration to be jerked off. It was still dark outside. There was a lamp post away from the mosque. A cow was lying in the silhouette of the mosque. To my amazement the face of the loud-speaker was away from my window. I smiled and went to the kitchen. Brush in the mouth and lemon tea in the cup. I leave the flat quarter before 5. Mullah-ji was coming from the direction opposite that of the park. I shouted from distance “Asalamalakum Mullah-ji.” “Walaikumsalam janab. Very happy!” said mullah-ji. “Sab upar vale ki meharbani hai.” I replied and moved on.

Now I was seated on the bench, the same I put my butt on the last day. Waiting for her, looking at my watch time and again. I was getting impatient and nervous. I was so un-nerved that I started thinking of RAMAN-T. The bloody had predicted that she would not come. What if she really didn’t come? O you bastard, RAMAN-T. I’ll screw you then. But why was I getting angry with this RAMAN-T. And there she came. “Hi”. “Hiii”, she said and came to sit beside me. She was sweating, as was she yesterday. O, she still looked so perfect in her shorts and those sports shoes and the pink socks that had slid down. SRCC… “Come on, up to the end of the park and back, jogging” she said. “Up to the end of the park? I won’t make it”. “Come on, at least try” she said. “Okay”.

“Do not breathe in from your mouth, just nose.” She instructed. I nodded my head tired enough to take words out of my mouth. “Hey, slow. You’ll kill me”. She slowed down but still too fast…I quit much before the end and stopped and sat on the round… “You keep going…I can not go further…I’ll be here only..”. “Hey hey hey…common..try…its not far now…just near the end…”she tried to encourage me. But i had already given up. She also stopped and sat there. It was too hard for me to think now, was breathing hard and it seemed that the world had come to an end. But after all it did not appear all that bad to die that way. “I thought i would invite you for a coffee today and you have already half killed me…You’ll kill me full if i take you out”. Words just popped out of the mouth. And i was wondering what i had said. I was still breathing hard. “So now you won’t ask me for a coffee out now? Right?” she said as her facial expressions changed, I felt I had annoyed her. “Not at all, no coffee with you… It scares the hell out of me. I was wondering if we could go out for a dinner, now”. “Is that a proposal for dining out?” she asked, but not much change in her facial expressions. Now i was worried. The look scared me. Her back that was bent up till now had gone straight; it reminded me how my cats used to go in attention position when they would sense a danger. It was something like that. I was not a danger! “Where?” came a calm question. Hurray… “You tell, I don’t know much about this place”. “Bamboo Garden is good, its Chinese” she still appeared to be thinking. “Hey! One thing. I don’t eat onion and garlic.” I said meekly, making it the least offending as I could, “I am a Jain”. Had i really to say that? She was a girl, didn’t I remember that. But i had to tell. “So what do you suggest, go to some Vaishno Dhaba…” she perhaps wanted to add some thing more when i interrupted, “Hey, I know one good Vaishno dhaba nearby…”. Maybe I didn’t understand the situation. My fault. “Just shut-up. For heaven’s sake shut up. You want me to dine out with you with truck-wallahs.” Now i realised something had gone gravely wrong, i had to mend it. “Nonono…i didn’t mean that…just a bad joke that was…we’ll go to Bamboo Garden. I’ll definitely find something there to eat, i always do at all places. So what time”. “Yes you always find something to eat, I am sure of that. You are eating my brain now.  Outside the park at seven thirty.” And she stood up to jog away. “Bbye..” i said. “bye”,with  a plain bye she replied. She had gone just a few metres when i realised that i had missed her name again..nono not now…i have to ask it..now and i shouted in panic “But what’s your name?” “Evening seven thirty…bye.” hey thats not a name.

So still SRCC…for one more full day…

TO BE CONTINUED

Yeh hai Dilli Meri Jaan

“Allah-ho-akbar-allah…”

And I woke up. It was 5 in the morning. Looked out the window, somebody had turned the loudspeaker of the mosque towards my window. There is a mosque across the street. I got up unable to keep up-to the loudspeaker. Closed the window and went to the bathroom to jerk off my frustration. Eyes were still half closed. I decided to discover the locality in the fresh morning air. It is the only time in Delhi’s summers that you can take pleasure roaming on the roads. Well, got to the kitchen, took water in the frying pan and added tea leaves and sugar. Put it on the stove for boiling. Now as I stood before the wash basin looking at myself and thinking weather to brush or not, arguing with me that the bed tea doesn’t call for brushing teeth, as the tea was boiling. I took the toothbrush and put it in my mouth at last. Still somewhat sleepy, took out a lemon from the basket and squeezed it to the last drop in the boiling compound. Lemon tea was ready. I love lemon tea.
5 minutes later I was descending down the stairs to mark my presence in the morning of Delhi. The loudspeaker had gone silent. There was a mullah-ji coming out of the mosque. I said “Asalamalakum” with all the rage and anger. Mullah ji courteously replied “Walaikumsalam”. It seemed that he understood my feelings. I moved on.

“JOGER’s PARK managed by Delhi Municipal Corporation”. That’s what the board read. Ah! I got a place to go at last. There was a whole lot of life inside. People were enjoying their retirement with their dogs, some even had wives, and some even had their grand-children. So it was a park with a long pavement, I don’t know how long, because I would never go to the end though I would come to the park for the full next one month, for my entire stay in Delhi. And yes, there were trees around and benches every, I suppose, hundred metres.

I put my butt on one, the first empty I found, and observed everything going around curiously. And then a panting girl, sweating profusely, came and sat beside me. SRCC…Sri Ram College of Commerce. That was written on her T-shirt. Why would one go for jogging in college T-shirt that too in a public park? Don’t know. She was wearing shorts and sports shoes, RBK they read. So perfect she looked. I said, in a meek voice, “Hi!”. “Hi!” she said in a tired voice and rose and jogged away. It was a bit embarrassing. As time passes it all got more embarrassing. I was trying to argue with myself. “I didn’t do a crime” “But what was the need” “But what was wrong” “OMG I am feeling so embarrassed” “What for? I just said hi” “She got up and moved away” “She would have any how moved away, had I said hi or not” “But it was vulgar” “Vulgar? You crazy! It was fine” “No no no…It was not fine”…

Was busy arguing with myself, and maybe lost in myself also because I could not notice that somebody had come to sit beside me until that somebody said “Hi”. It was SRCC. “O…ya…O  hi!”. “So what you doing here?”, she asked. What did she mean? I also wanted to know that why was she wearing college T-shirt. “I…O…sitting…actually…you know…I happened to wake up early today…somebody had turned the loud-speaker of the mosque to my window…so…so I thought that I’d take a walk…so..thats it”. “You are new to Delhi?” she asked. “New to Delhi, O Yah! I am new to Delhi. Came for my internship, you know. Yesterday only.”

“So you study commerce…”. “Yah..doing my BCom honours. So what do you study?” she asked. “O, me. I am doing my engineering, came for my summer intern here.” “Yah, that you have already told. Where do you study? I mean that.”. “Oh! IIT Roorkee…doing engineering. Interning here at SYLOR communications.” “ IIT! Good…You got intern in Sylor! Thats good too.”. I had said Sylor and not Qualcomm. Had she even herd of Sylor? I hadn’t until they offered me this intern. And had she not heard Roorkee?  I had done away with all the rage that I felt for that loud-speaker. I rather felt good about it. And the one who turned that speaker towards my window, was such a kind guy. I felt that it was no one else but Prophet himself. “You run daily?”. “Yah. 5 Kms daily” she said. “5 KILOMETER. Really? Thats too much. Getting ready for some marathon or so?”. “Oh No. I just feel good doing so. Its good if you exercise daily”. I looked at my tummy and said nervously “Yahhhh”. She saw me looking at my tummy and laughed. O she laughed! She laughed! She Laughed! She laughed stupid, she did not appreciate. O Yes. “So whats your name?” She asked. She asked my name! “Chestnut…o nonono…its Chinmay…I…actually thats my username…”. “Too much on the net! Hun…Nerdy”. She called me Nerdy…OMG…she called me nerdy…wow. “Okay will meet tomorrow” she said. “Oh…sure. Will meet tomorrow.” And she jogged away. And I said, probably she didn’t hear, “Bbyeeee”.

On the seventh sky, I moved back to the small flat the company had given me to put up. O..I didn’t ask her name! Shit! So she is just SRCC…

TO BE CONTINUED…

Whats in the blood?

Being a descendant of one of the world’s oldest civilization, I often wonder what makes me so different. I haven’t read the Vedas or the Upanishads. Gita’s thickness gets the guts out of me. Any of the religious texts? Better call me an atheist. I have read about Gautama Buddha in my school books as I have read about Harrapa, Mohan-jo-daro, Congo, Nigeria or America. But still I am the part of that one big culture. The only possible answer is that ‘Its in the blood!’, or to be more precise, in the genes.

Each one of us carrying a tradition evolved over millenniums; pride, knowledge, culture, rituals and guilt of millenniums. I feel like donkey carrying cotton and thinking salt; who gets into the water to get rid of the salt and comes out heavier.

My ancestors have not left much for me. We have prejudices attached with almost everything. Society i am in is much too conservative for Napoleons and Vasco-de-gamas. Confirming to incumbency is a virtue.

I am proud of my rich history. Arthashastra by Kautilya is perhaps the oldest writing in the field of public administration. Mallanaga Vatsyayana’s Kamasutra is among the earliest writings about the art of making love. We are the inventors of zero, Lord Mahavira is credited with the invention of the theory of probability(Vikalpa), Buddhism is believed to have had a great impact on Saint Issac or Jesus Christ. But were they all good conformers? Was any one of them? Probably(Oh! my thought jumps back to Mahavira each time I use this word) No. They were not.

There is also one thing worth taking a note. We are not inventors. We did not invent the steam engine. We did not invent electricity ,telephone, anesthesia, computer…the list is long. Did we invent the wheel? I don’t know. But we are great thinkers. We are pioneer in literature, propounding theories: theories of society, religion, medicine, astronomy, sex and much more. We can juggle with our brains.

We are believed to have skipped from agrarian economy to service economy, skipping the industrial revolution. Indeed it is true. Though still about 60% of the population is engaged in agriculture but if you compare the GDP figures, we are service economy. We have skipped the industrial revolution unlike most of the developed countries of today. How could we? When there could be a start we were busy fighting the British and later, under the regime of socialist government that had taken all production in its own hands and would not let any private person to offer it competition or even do ant hell thing. How could we even imagine of industrial revolution?

Had we invented the steam engine how would it be like? India is the second most populous country, only next to China. India is the country that believes in the Charkha and needed it to give some work to all. Our most policies that have addressed the mass have been anti-industrialization, anti-mechanization. NREGA, brought in by the incumbent UPA govt. is no different. Govt. covets for industrialization, but somewhere within it knows that it wont fetch the vote. It is the Charkha that made the villages self sufficient, it is NREGA giving work to masses now. How could or can we dream of inventing steam engine? VOX POPULI VOX DEI. Machines that take away human job are not welcome here.

Our farm lands are still small, farmers are still poor and per hectare harvest is still low. Farming is labour intensive in most part of the country many times leading to disguised unemployment, a big problem. Diversification is minimum. In such a scenario how can you imagine employing big harvesters and combiners in the fields.

Large scale industrialization is an option. It will create more jobs and people will depend less on agriculture and those who would, would be compelled to use machines in the farm. Almost a month back I was in this village called Nagla Imarti near Roorkee talking to a farmer, harvesting his crop. Roorkee is in Uttaranchal and is a newly made state. So the government is giving many tax and other benefits to set up industries there. The plight of the farmer was that the labour force he used to employ (mostly the Dalit landless women of the village) have now found jobs in the new industries set up in the area. So he is facing shortage of labourers and so the daily wage rate has also gone up. Now he is looking for other ways, and the other way he was talking about was mechanization.

What I felt meeting him was that industrialization is the thing that can help us, make lesser people depend on agriculture and simultaneously promote mechanization in agriculture. This in turn will increase the per hectare yield of the farms. It seems to be all win-win situation. But I am a bit skeptic about it. A few weeks back I saw a five minute video from China on BBC. It showed the devastating effect that industries have had there. The only thing I could say seeing it was “China is dying”. World is not just outsourcing its production to China but also a myriad of diseases, ecological and environmental problems and maybe a lot more worse than we know (We know so less what is going in China as compared to any other country). The last two things I got to know about China were the blocking of Twitter and the other was death of many babies by consumption of poisonous milk.

Well if such are going to be the consequences, I am happy with where India is. But I certainly do hope that we can do better and there is always a better way to do things( we haven’t found Taylor’s one best way yet! have we?)

Well! theres much more for the chestnut to speak. But it seems that it has gone much two far for now. Let the growth of the sapling be steady and moderate. Chestnut doesnt want to grow like China!

Bbye…

Ab Initio

My first post, well its not so that i have started the blog just for having one, in fact i have some things in my mind that i want to share. But this first post may just appear arbitrary things written altogether. Let it be so, i have things in my mind which i shall come to eventually.

I was thinking of my identity(call it the identity vs. role confusion stage of Erik Erikson’s if you wish!). With time my aspirations have changed(shall i call evolved?). I am going to be 20 soon and still feed on my dad’s dough…well thats not that bad as it may sound, most people at 20 in India are like me. But now the time for me to enter the professional life is coming close, already completed 2 years of my engineering at IIT, just two more. But that is not the confusion, I’ll have to make my choice of the path. My parents want me to land in civil services, as my sister has already. But here i want to try something new, want to start work of my own. Well thats entirely up to me, but its for sure that if i come across some very powerful vision, i’ll surely go for it. I won’t give a damn for this world.

Chestnut speaks. Chestnut is a shady tree, gives respite to the tired travellers under its shadow. Its leafy, its big, its grand. So does the speaking chestnut aspires to. A shadow for those tired, tired of anything. Be it surfing on the net or surfing in the sea, be it playing or be it life itself. Chestnut is to provide shadow. New meanings shall also find way with this chestnut. Like not only shadow but a path, a path. Lets see what comes up next and whether this chestnut tree is able to live upto its aspirations and expectations. Chestnut lives for hundreds of years, only time will tell what quality did it live and all the travellers will witness the fate. Closing for now with a new hope, an aim and all the best wishes for this sapling of chestnut. I’ll most curiously watch how this chestnut grows and to what. I am just a Gardner.

Bbye…