A Vertiginous Manifestation of a Stimulating Life

A Mountain To Climb

2011-08-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

Clouds will forever dither

Odysseys never wither

Arduous it may be to summit

Easy it is to plummet

Balance is the key to thrive

Lofty goals needed to drive

2010-09-05T09:29:00.000-07:00

The stone lay there untouched by the streaks of a palm. The wind only swivels around it. Water never reaches it. Light only dissipates shapely shadows below it.

Every stone however has a story to tell.

Transitions of joy

2010-02-18T11:09:00.000-08:00

Faint clouds of balloons eking out a sigh of air barely visible with the naked steamy eyes. A drop of rain accompanied with the smell of wet earth. The rustle of the midnight shrubs with the toads croaking berserk. The satisfaction of a tramp gulping the first morsel. The fecundity of a mother caressing the first abdominal lump. The unlimited vistas devoured atop a mountain. The eternal wait for the returning muse. The childhood scrapbook The rhythm of sound hypnotizing every audible cell. The hidden tear that rejoices with every act of humanism. The shooting star that wishes to make a comeback. The drowsy cup of invigorating tea that is strained out into a mug. Tom hurt yet graceful in defeat against Jerry. The first red rose exchanging hands without any hesitation. The nail-biting finish erupting in a hurray. The final Cadbury chunk that melts all around the palate. The cliched ending "..and they lived happily ever after". The continuous feet lashed by the evening waves. The fulfilling of a dream before being woken up. The sweeping comfort accrued by a nomad in a different culture. The rendezvous of a pen with paper scribbling over the absence.
....

Concubine

2009-11-20T23:13:00.000-08:00

Cacophonous overtures.
Glib whispers.
Puerile affection.
Drifting impulse.

Blunt dagger springs impromptu.
Stealthy flourish of hopelessness.
Oozing out with eventful failures.
Memories hardly a remnant.

The Moment Story

2009-11-01T01:38:00.000-07:00

Once Upon A Time:

The constellations seemed to smirk at each other. Each one trying to belittle the other one with its pattern. Such was the pattern in their behaviour.

It was midnight and it was the exact same beach. Same pattern. Ann sat there by the shore taking a final look at the stars. They were there at the exact same place as envisioned. Same pattern. And mocking each other. "It does work", she thought.

A tear made a quick appearance on her sand swept turquoise eyes. The heart felt the deep murmur. Hesitation. But she could not let this moment go. She had earned the moment.

With a lot of conviction, she finally turned her neck and looked behind. The corner of the iris felt the presence of a very familiar figure. Her father. He was right there. Pitching up the tent in the white sand. In the Maui sand. At the best beach she had ever known.

It was the moment. With the only man she had ever loved.

She mustered the courage to get up and ran up to the same man with a 12 year old gait.

A Long Time Before Once Upon A Time:

Ann ran to her father and tugged his leg. There was an unknown fear in her eyes.

"What happened to my princess?"

Multitude of tears billowed down the cheeks. He sensed something wrong. She had never cried before. Ever. Confusion enveloped him. But he knew why. In an impulse, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her tightly.

That feeling, that warmth calmed Ann. A few sniffs. It was calm at the beach. They were there alone. At the best beach in the world on a wonderful moonlit night with clear skies.

"You okay, my darling"

"Why did God take away Mommy, Papa?", she whispered still in his arms.

He hesitated. A spasmodic spasm. He patted Ann gently on her back.

"Papa, will you ever leave me?"

He hugged her. He kissed her. He whispered back.

"Never, my child. Never."

That feeling, that warmth.

Indeed, it was a great moment. The best for Ann.

A Few Moments After Once Upon A Time:

Ann ran up to her father and tugged his leg. There was some unknown happiness in her eyes.

"What happened to my princess?"

"Papa, I just want to say that I love you a lot"

An angelic smile beamed on his face. In an impulse, he lifted her in his arms and hugged her tightly.

"Now my 12 year old has grown a lot. Has she been watching a lot of Hollywood?", he retorted back at her playfully, still in his arms.

"Papa, you are the greatest person I have ever known. I waited for this moment all my life, this very moment to tell you this - that I love you a lot."

He found all this a bit bewildering. Confusion earmarked the wrinkles on his face.

"Woah woah woah! What is my little child saying? Are you ok, darling? Is everything alright? Tell Papa what is happening?"

"I do not have much time, Papa. All I need is a tight hug", she whispered.

With that she lunged deeper into his arms and cried.

A Few Seconds Before Once Upon A Time:

The entire world is watching. A loudspeaker blurting.

"The countdown is about to begin. Our winner, the 87 year old Ann MacMahon has just entered the chamber. And is about to embark on her 5 minute journey. We wish her luck."

"5...4...3...2...1..."

The Melanin Story

2009-10-14T12:10:00.000-07:00

She counted the tower of small change. One final time. Every bit, trying to make sure, her handful of math knowledge using the fingers doesn't go wrong. Her lips mumbling all the while to serve as an accomplice. Cuteness prevailed. Finally came the last trinket adding the long awaiting smile on her gleaming face. She had saved enough to procure the magical potion. Gathering all in a small handkerchief, the 10 year old ran out of the tarpaulin shack. Muddy puddles aside and a jump over the sewage drain later, she was on her way to happiness. A few huffs. A few puffs. There she stood, in front of the general provision store. She recollected the moment she saw the ad on that rickety TV. The round faced owner returned a suspicious glance at a dark child in tattered clothes holding a funny round piece of cloth. 'What?', he thundered. She bravely marched ahead and handed the pouch of change. 'One Fair and Lovely, please.'

At the same time, Jason and Philip felt the tyres below them hit the tarmac. They were in Mumbai, the Slumdog city. A city they had heard so much about - very much like home, New York. For Jason, this was a big moment. Two months of internship and he was already flying with his superhuman boss to new places to handle new clients. His hard work was surely paying off, but his admiration and respect for Philip had been growing consistently; so much so that he considered Philip to be his mentor and a father-figure. Philip adjusted his suit and tie. Extracted his LV briefcase from the cabin. A few moments and they find themself at the immigration security counter. A simple smile at Jason and an intense security check for Philip later, they arrive out of the terminal, in the grimy heat. Suddenly came a huge barrage of men rushing towards them. Taximen. Tuk-tukmen. Or automen as they refer locally. All after them. No, wait. After Jason, who was shrugging them off. The show has just begun for the black Philip.

The duo reach Film City soon. John Abraham was shooting for an ad film there. Get two tones lighter and be confident. Get Garnier. A cool crore for just a few hours of work. Later that night, he thanked his racist stars that he was born gora. He also thanks all the bigoted Indians for their obsession for 'Fair and Handsome'.

Next to the 'Fair and Handsome' ad in today's Times reads an interesting article. The Indian community in Sydney labels the Australian people as inherently racist. Street protests are earmarked for the day. Reports suggest that this has been triggered after a series of muggings and robberies (3 in all) which featured Indians as victims. However, the police have confirmed that they have no concrete evidence that race was a factor in those incidents.

Leaving aside the newspaper, the mother expectantly waited for her son. The time read 7pm and 'they' should be here soon. The able son and his to-be bride. The bride that she had never seen. An MBA from IIM and working in a top notch MNC with a seven figure pay. Now why would this woman say to the same able-bodied son an hour after: 'Beta, but she is not sundar, she is kali...'

A commercial in the middle of the 7pm show: Two men, one with light skin and the other with dark skin stand on a balcony overlooking a neighbourhood. The dark skinned guy turns to his friend and says, 'I am unlucky because of my face'. His light skinned friend replies, 'No, because of your color. Take this'. He hands a whitening cream. Soon, the darker skinned actor is shown several shades lighter and he gets the girl he always wanted.

Maybe, you are watching that commercial and are about to begin a game of chess. So why not start with a black move?

Sunday Diary

2009-09-20T11:35:00.000-07:00

The snooze hit me. Sunlight should generally percolate in. But being Bangalore, there is a reasonably good wager between the sky gods that no one comes remotely close to guessing the climate. Ablutions and musings apart, what else was left to do. Garam chai, TOI, boiled eggs, raagas and feeding the fishes.

Carl Fredricksen wanted to hate that morning. The retirement home agents had rang the doorbell and were carrying that obnoxious 64 watt smile. And what a mockery he made of them. The house was afloat in mid-air in no time and he was off to fulfil the dream - Carl's and Ellie's. A home right near Paradise Falls in South America at the top of the precipice. The journey had just begun and the thousand balloons bloated away towards the cumulus clouds.

Ahha...UP seems fun. I was very sure of procuring that tabooed single ticket. Thanks to my ever dependent bike, I reached Inox the moment the kids were getting accustomed to the dark hall. C'mon Pixar: hold me, thrill me, kiss me and yes kill me.

Russell - the wilderness explorer, Kevin - the bird and Doug - the dog, tag teamed to beat Muntz, the haughty explorer.

Smile. Pixar never ceases to astonish.

When Kafka Tamura woke up, hazy lights passed by the window. He was still a few hours away from Takamashi station. Yes, he was the strongest 15 year old in the world. But the future was uncertain. Nay, he was strong. The bus entered a bylane by the highway and announced a 20 minute break. An hour still left. And that is when he met Sakura, the petite lady.

Ummm...now what? Ummm...fortunately, the backpack contained Murakami's 'Kafka on the Shore'. Ummm.... Jayanagar 4th block CCD. Empty. Outside. By the ledge. Cloudy skies. Tree lined avenue. Hmmm.

Nakata was dumb. He was talking to Mr. Otsuka, the black cat. The cat seemed pretty annoyed that a human could converse in its language. But that was the only special skill Nakata had. After the childhood accident, he had mutated from an fairly intelligent kid to the dumbest 'thing' around. He could never spell, read or write after that and was surviving on the 'sub city' from the Governor. Now, he was old. Today, he was looking for Gomu, a lost cat. Mr. Otsuka had never seen Gomu, but wished Mr. Nakata the best.

I sipped the warm delicate frothy cappuccino (yes, I just used 3 adjectives here). The flavor of the those drenched coffee plantations levitated in my head. Looked around. A bittersweet couple resolving their issues. A couple on their second date (no way it was their first). The coffee felt let's say, misty. Group of teenie-weenie friends who am sure watched Friends all day. The sandwich came. A guitarist and his sycophant friend who went gaga over his unskilled skills. Enough. Back to the book.

I was blogging after a long time. Maybe this is a book on my life. Maybe, there is strength to be gained from the wandering aimless life, I am managing to live. Maybe, every moment of this day is captured somehow in the dark wee hours of the night. This time - by me.

I biked home. As I pedalled back, I was thinking of the pressure cooker I had just bought. Hopefully that will enlighten me and take me back to the good ol' culinary days. 'Into Thin Air' for 50 bucks was another great deal. The mind kept wandering. A thought crossed my digressing mind. Why not blog the day's events? Sometime in the wee hours...by me.

Balance

2009-06-24T12:04:00.000-07:00

The 45 Minute Story

2009-06-03T12:48:00.000-07:00

I boarded the bus. It was a Volvo this time. Whatever comes first has been my motto; the regular rag-tag diesel munching bus or the smart sleek red cold one, it doesn't matter. Time and destination is the essence. (Albeit, there are times when the journey matters more than the destination; but in Bangalore, it is healthy to give up that ideal.)

The transporter welcomed me. With indignation. Without a seat. It was fine for me. All I needed was a fine cozy corner to spend the next 45 minutes standing. How accomodating could the corner I found be, with the cold air blowing right above me. I glanced at the dial on my cellphone. 9.30 am. Soft but a determined sunlight bursting through the glass onto me, where it died a frozen death. Reconstructing the final moments of its demise philosophically took me a minute to decipher. 44 minutes remaining. I should have carried a book, I thought.

I surveyed the people around me. A genial gentleman stood right next to me, balancing via the top handle. Had an extremely ill-fitting dress sense though. Now don't get me wrong. But I'd never wear a Hawaiian-beachwear-blue shirt to go along with teal trousers. In such a eclectic dress, I'd also rather not wear light brown 800 bucks worth sneakers (well, disregard the price, not the sneakers though). To top it off, would I carry a leather suitcase, which had the hallmark of a top notch brand (Can't reveal the brand as I am not brand conscious)?

Ticket please, a square jaw mumbled from somewhere. Turning around, a square jaw-faced guy who also had a square face gave an appealing look. Or was it impatient? Difficult to guess, but I think it was more the latter - the way he eyed me suggested that. The conductor who is supposed to be conducting is indeed conducting - impatiently. Majestic, I said. As I reached out for the wallet, a strange question mark took over my brain cells (the Riddler types!). Was the term "conductor" defined for the bus waala type or for the musical symphony? Not that I care. But I wanted an answer. Now. Etymology gave me hope. Latin gave me hope.

Meanwhile, the appealing dude continued to get irritated by me and before he could lambast me, I gave him the perfect change he always aspires for. And boy, how thrilled he was. That cherubic smile reflected that (ok, cherubic is for kids - but he gave a kid-getting-a-lollypop look, so!). I was the ideal passenger. Yay!

And then a bigger yay. Or maybe a gasp. As she boarded the bus. A breath of fresh air. Scented by the glory of Ponds and a dash of uhhh - which perfume could that be - frankly, I dunno - not good at perfumes you see. The thin kohl, the absolutely straight pitch-black shimmering hair, the rustle of the green bangles, the art laden droops from the ear... (some 10 other things, which cannot be revealed for lack of space)... yada yada yada. She found the immediate corner next to mine. Yay! She surely saw me...maybe from the corner of her eye. Ohh, she also was...yada yada yada. I maybe swooning right now to everyone's embarassment, but she really was...yada yada yada. The next moment, she broke my heart. Out came her cellphone, the glimpse of which bought a lissome smile on her face. Eagerly, pressing the answer button, she started eyeing the non-existent horizon dreamily. That was it. I was always late.

Thank the Volvo god, that a wail hailed the end of this ignominy. There she was. A two year old, who understood me so well and had to feel hungry right then. Enveloped in pink, she was the cutest thing ever. To tell you something as a matter of fact, babies have this wonderful social sense of getting the maximum attention. Either they should just smile at every possible grown-up or wail the loudest in a radius of 20 meters. Whatever they choose, sympathy is garnered. Food is gathered from all directions - cake pieces, biscuits etc. Smiles are handed for free. That way, I was able to see the different side of all the mostly sad morose faces who basically were as bored as me - or were as bitchy as me. (Am I really bitching? I thought I am just describing life the JD Salinger way).

The wail continued. The genial gentleman was actually too nice, smiling uninterruptedly at the baby - my apologies to him, probably he is some hot-shot fashionista deciding to travel than being chauffered. The conductor kept conducting in his cherubic manner. The...the...the girl was still dreaming...with the phone to her ear.

I looked at the dial. Still 30 minutes to go. I turned a lil bit and moved my attention the other side.

Who's next?

Prison

2009-05-07T13:51:00.000-07:00

It moves with blistering speed. Sting. The joviality cannot last long. Whack. It has been splattered. Death.

The night is calm. Blood oozes out. Won't make matters worse.

Outside, a mongrel howls. The eternal cacophony had died down, but could never be silenced. The hernia will continue within. Lowest common denominator pain.

The eyes can continue to waffle around. Nothing would act as a soporific.

The thin luminescence is thin enough. The chains are too strong though. A light strand of the foul odor enters the lungs and tries to choke the senses. Rather it was already too desensitizing.

Claustrophobic.

4x7. That's all the space humanity needs. To suffer. To repent. To be brutal. To kill.

The Internet

2009-04-21T13:52:00.000-07:00

Breathless

2009-04-19T13:12:00.000-07:00

Paris. Jean-Paul Belmondo as Michel. Jean Seberg as Patricia. He a gangster. She an American student.

A bout de souffle (Breathless, 1959). Godard's finest. One of my favorites. Some lovely quotes, which abound in my head:

Michel: "There's no need to lie. It's like poker. The truth is best. The others still think you're bluffing, so you win. "

Patricia: ''I don't know if I am unhappy because I am not free, or if I am not free because I am unhappy.''

Michel: "If you don't like the sea... and don't care for the mountains... and don't like the big city either... go hang yourself! "

Patricia: "We look at each other in the eye, and it's no use. "

Michel: "Reminds me of the one about the condemned man. Climbing the scaffold stairs, he trips, and says, "It figures..."

Patricia: "It's sad to fall asleep. It separates people. Even when you're sleeping together, you're all alone. "

Michel: " It's silly, but I love you. I wanted to see you, to see if I'd want to see you. "

Patricia: " We're hiding like elephants when they're happy. "

and finally the best -
Patricia: "Do you know William Faulkner? "
Michel: "No. Who's he? Have you slept with him? "

---
Source for the quotes

The Cafe Coffee Day Story

2009-04-13T14:18:00.000-07:00

The whiff of smoke decided to curl this time. An instant later, it formed a circle. Slowly vaporizing into the steamy humid Sunday afternoon.

Life had come full circle.

They sat there looking at each other. A tear had already made an unpleasant appearance.

On a steamy Sunday afternoon in Cafe Coffee Day, history was being repeated.

"What made you do this?" she asked.

A second tear somehow eked out of the other eye and made its presence felt.

Another whiff of smoke. No curls this time.

"I thought it long and hard. I had no choice," he said with the same trademark nonchalance.

She palpitated. Those words ran through her heart faster than what the blood could imagine.

"Is this really happening?" she thought.

Without any further drooling, he removed the sheaf of papers and placed it on the desk. A pen rolled on top of it for a moment and aligned its tip over the Gandhi photo of the government document.

She gingerly picked up the document and read the part that mattered the most.

Another tear.

The signature came very soon. He had hesitated for a second.

She grabbed the document and took a long drag. This time the cigarette felt better than the last time. The smoke was happier than before.

He could not hold himself anymore. Tears enveloped his face now. With utter disregard to an ogling waiter, a few yards away.

"Slut....bitch...whore, may you burn in hell" he squeaked to her in the mad reverie. She returned back the cute yet evil grin. He stood up, picked up his briefcase and handed the same ogling waiter a 500 rupee note, before storming out of the cafe.

The waiter observed the prim gentleman in the decorous Armani suit get into the Prius and scream onto the accelerator. He gazes towards the table where he had turned into a cry baby. The sexy lady (with the deep cleavage) was picking up her purse and getting ready to leave. He knew her. He had seen her before. Every few months, with different guys. But a similar sheaf of papers.

Ache

2009-04-07T13:43:00.000-07:00

Moments of apocryphal hysteria
Lucidity of the skulduggery

Pebbles wet from the massive tide
Confusion under the hegemony

The Arachnid Story

2009-04-02T14:00:00.000-07:00

The arachnid moved calmly. It was not scared. No fear, it was beaming loudly. The fleeting movement of its nimble limbs, the peering tiny slant eyes, the arched back, the weaving of the secreted enzymes as a yarn and a host of other extraordinary abilities made him stand out as the alpha creature of his species. Most importantly, what stood out for me - NO FEAR. Maybe, it had not known a human before this.

I tore through the left flank of the primeval web. With mild trepidation, it stared at me. Wondering what his next step should be. Any other creature who knows the wrath of man would have run for cover. Here was someone who did not even know the wrath of God. Without a moment to lose, it jumped to the periphery and started rebuilding its decapitated home.

Two days later, its new mansion was ready to be experimented upon. It lay dozing there near the center fiercely protecting its territory and keeping an eye on intruders. At the edge lay the carcass of a monster mosquito. So this was very likely his siesta time. I poured a few drops of water. The web shuddered under a few tiny droplets and many links gave way. Heartbreak. Another long stare. Contemplation. Give up or bow to man. Chooses the former and goes about another torrid round of hard work.

I was in awe. Bowed to him and gifted it two mosquitoes - which bore my blood.

Maybe, animals can fight the tyranny of man. Size doesn't matter.

PS: Pure fiction. No animals were harmed while writing this.

An Ode to M

2009-03-22T14:15:00.000-07:00

The essential tea lover knows his tea very well. With a spring in his step, he wakes up just before the sun struggles to come up in the horizon. Pours the vaporized fluid in his saucer and slurps it. The right ingredients in the right quantity. In a minute, the saucer is in the sink. And there is so much joy in his heart. Well, there has always been joy in his heart.

The day would pass on schedule. Lunch at 11.30 am sharp means two rotis, a spoonful of fried vegetables and a bowl of dal. News and nap the order of the afternoon. Doting on the 10 year old A, the order of the day. Night descends - dinner is scheduled at 7.30 pm and after tying the mosquito net, he is in bed by 8.30 pm. Life has to run orderly, he tells me.

I was in tears when I lifted his body over my shoulders on the way to the funeral pyre. As the smoke billowed above, his life hurried past me and how much I learnt from him. As I immersed his ashes and bones in the sea nearby, I realized the emptiness lingering my heart.

Will miss you lots, Dada.

To my Grandpa

1930 - March 19, 2009
Teacher. Gandhian. Honorable. Principled. Proud. Loving. Will-power. Respect.

Summer

2009-03-01T10:00:00.000-08:00

Beating down, dry and bold
Smarting under attack, it ridicules

Recovery the key, evident in the archives
Prescient it is, ashes of time say so

Eons to fandom, miles to travel
Hopes don't just float, evaporate they

Stronger than the bourgeois white,
Annihilation comes calling, seeks thee

Blasphemy

2009-02-17T16:33:00.000-08:00

The blasphemy eradicates the remaining vestiges of the lurking sanity. Tinge of sadness from the innards manifest themselves. Color gets blanched. Purity vanishes. Its not what was wished for.

Sweetness lies in the tongue of the beholder.

Slurp.

Bad chai, I say.

The Room 102 Story

2009-02-06T11:00:00.000-08:00

Act II:

The door bell shrieked.

Scenario 1:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. She decided, it is better to give up.

She gingerly inched towards the door. Pangs of guilt enveloped the innocence that wanted to scream. The teak monolith glared at her, suppressing a wooden laugh. A knob overturn and it's all over for her.

Scenario 2:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. A steely determination still lay somewhere within her inner being.

Shaken but not stirred; she held the sharp knife - the same she used a few minutes back. They are all the same, she thought as the door lay a few paces away.

Scenario 3:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. She had to hide.

The window. The parapet. The ledge. Climbing the balcony. Stairs. Wall. Road. Freedom. She knew she was fit enough to do this. Destiny had to be averted. Moments later, she lunged for the window.

Scenario 4:
The sweat dripped profusely. Her heartbeat raced faster than time. The time had lapsed into submission. Hapless and lost, she felt dizzy.

The corrugated knife - the same one she used a few minutes back - felt light. Past memories zoomed as portraits. Life had no meaning for her. It has to end. Soon. Now.

Another bell ring.

Act III:

Scenario A:
The silence was numbing. The commotion had died. Maybe, its all over and we should head back, they thought. But she persisted. As far as she knew, the room next to theirs was almost always empty; though sometimes frequently by an aloof young lady. Suspicious and quiet, albeit never prone to nuisance. They had heard a man's voice sometime back followed by the screams. This new generation, what can you say...

Scenario B:
There was a flip in his step. Why is she taking so long? The idea of giving her the gift and gaze amorously at that cherubic face, it seemed so dreamy to him. So perfect! The gift she so direly wanted lay in his hands- gift wrapped. The tiny insignia on top of the gift read "With lots of love". Damn! Why is she taking so long?

Scenario C:
The two cops were genuinely annoyed. This was just the kind of situation they attend to everyday and 9.9 out of 10 times, it turns out to be a trivial family fight. They were police officers for mother-sister-freaking-sakes and no social crusaders to uphold family values. They wanted real gun action where they could exert real power- no soap business. Alas, some goddamn neighbor calls after hearing a scream and there they are: hoping for that 0.1 chance of real action. Now what's goin on here?

Scenario D:
Room No 102. He checked his Blackberry Storm again. Right. The apartment building also seems right. He glanced around. The 3 other closed doors stared back. Teak ones. Relief was evident on him. The pimp had confirmed this was the rendezvous. He knew, he can't be fooled with the amount he had paid. Why am I getting so excited? Or jittery? The crisp white shirt was indeed perspiring in the cold night. Life to change after the door opens.

Act I:

Scenario i:
He struck her with the monstrous hand that had besmirched many. Never dream more, you piece of shit. Another kick.

He gloated and headed for the fridge. In the corner, the sobs continued.

A few minutes later, death greeted him.

Scenario ii:
The lock clicked. She was home early. Ill, tired and weary. Rest and nap direly needed. That should rejuvenate enough to cook for two.

TV noise in the bedroom. Is he home already? Shock and awe. Betrayal.

A few minutes later, death greeted them.

Scenario iii:
He entered into her very being. It was egregiously blatant. How could he do this to me? She could not take the pain and the humiliation. Along with the scream and the sob came the realization.

A few minutes later, death greeted him.

Scenario iv:
They made love. He felt himself levitating in the Garden of Eden. True bliss. He never wanted to leave her from his grasp.

An excuse. A bathroom break. A sudden spasm in the back. Sob.

A few minutes later, death greeted him.

Goa juxtaposed

2009-01-30T22:32:00.000-08:00

The kayak bobbled a bit over the turquoise waters. Entered the pub. The beach umbrella was direly needed to shield. Guess what the waiter received - zilch. Every socket clucked and let itself loose, every epidermal pore felt the infusion. The boatman seemed amiable and eager to take us to the sea. Strawberry tart cake for the celebration. Was I clumsy or was it the hammock? Bob Marley - love the wailers and the wailing. "Sorry Sir, no rooms", he said; "Shit", I said. The brilliant luminescence of the setting sun encapsulated my singing soul as two boats silhouetted past each other. Another puncture, while I hallucinated. Dolphins playfully whistled at me and moi winked back. I have to go find that lighthouse. Catch you guys at CCD, Calangute. The 400 year old mummy would have winced in its coffin as my D80 aimed to get his shot. To the Dropadi chef - you are the best ever! Open your eyes and open your mind, open your door and see the waves rush by. 10 years later, Chapora fort and the ships. "Now now, Snoop Dogg resembles you!". Palolem is the best beach. The Ayurvedic oil shone and glistened on me. The lost world aka the uninhabited island was so idyllic and serene, need some other worldly languages to elaborate more. The pub ambience could have been better. Seems as if all the beautiful people in the world descended on this one road on Saturday night. Chocolate and banana pancake...mmmmmmm. Would you believe me, if I told you that I could see my feet clearly in neck-deep-green-hued Indian and not Mediterranean waters. It was a wonderful group to be part of. "Hey Darren, one more drink please". 10 years later, R, A and myself overlook the sea; Dil Chahta Hai. That was a such a relaxing massage - my first. The waiter acted too smart; we were Indians na. Those churches were UNESCO World Heritage Sites. I am skinned with an ebony tan. "Am awake having chai, will pick you guys from the airport in an hour". You get the exquisite Goa cashew fenni potion, when you take the good karma of vodka, rum, whisky and tequila; the bad karma is the stink. A kaleidoscope of hundreds of stars and the sound of the waves is a good combination, understatement I say? I am already too far into the sea; should I kayak farther? Experience - Bangalore drivers are unable to navigate well to take you to your destination; onus is on you to be their GPS - all night. Loved the humus and garlic bread. Baga was horrendously crowded with locusts...oops...tourists. "Are we dressed well?", we asked each other on Saturday night. Anjuna has a rocky outcrop. It was very windy and turbulent waters when we set out to see the dolphins. A click here, a click there; I love my D80. The beach shacks we were at Palolem was on the first level, made of coconut/palm/bamboo, with the sea right across and live music playing right below. Our car shredded all rules of punctuality - we were late by over 4 hours. I can't swim, who cares?!? "Hey Darren, one more drink please". There is no one on the island, no amenities; to stay back, prearrange everything. I dozed off on the beach tan-chair beneath the umbrella in the middle of the day. Very apprehensive to get a massage. Patnem beach, a kilometer away from Palolem, stands second. On the other end of the fort, a river meets the sea; ideal for huge flocks of birds. "Should we head to the beach and not stay by the pool?". Bought shorts and trunks there. We sang late into the night, much after the birthday boy dozed off. Reserved the beach shack from www.campsanfrancisco.com . It is very difficult to enter the sea through a kayak; drag it deep before the waves begin and then climb. For the party crowd, North Goa is ideal eg. Calangute, Baga, Anjuna; for the leisure and offbeat driven, head South to Palolem, Benaulim, Polem. It was dusk and preferred to sleep rather than shop. I continue to wonder why Caucasians continue to tan barenaked and never get a sunburn at midday!

Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to dear R.
Happy Birthday to you.

Hic. "Hey Darren, one more drink please".

The Wall

2009-01-10T11:37:00.000-08:00

The Yin side:
Darkness. Cold. Loneliness. Blanch. Nightmares. Drudgery. Hypochondria. Abjection. Insomnia. Scavengers. Abyss. Fatalism. Black. Puerile. Disdain. Rock. Diminish. Prism. Lucre. Torn.

The Yang Side:
Peace. Love. Happiness. Stars. Trance. Utopia. White. Grass. Sunshine. Culmination. Brim. Purity. Mirror. Opportunity. Truth. Fertile. Sparkle. Balm. Path. Vivacity.

New Year. Hampi. Harmony.

2009-01-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

Midnight descended. No semblance of light anywhere. Million stars waited with bated breath. The cosmic dance was evident from where I sat. By the river-side. The soft flutter of water was music to every life-form around me.

2008 was driven out, kicked into its guts. 2009 was heralded as a few crackers from across the river lit up the trance-like inertia. Peace with myself. Surge of emotions. All of them positive.

Hampi played the transition role this time. Every other year, it had been some pub, discotheque or in a crowd of humanity. Every other year, it had been spent with friends. This time, capriciousness took me to a less trodden path. Which I ultimately savored. Similar to my Mahabalipuram backpacking trip earlier last year - but much more intense and surreal.

The first day of 2009 will be remembered as one without hangovers. Sunrise at Malyavantha hill (above) added a dash of strong spice to this potion.

All through the day, I continued to be impressed by the ruins that lay every nook and corner. Kings, palaces, artisans, domed gateways, temples, the statuettes - a treat for the eye; romanticism uninterrupted. Plainly put, it was unbelievable to see random but beautifully etched temples every 100m!

The best part here is that there were very few tourists. Gives me breathing space. Definitely no Indian tourists. This manifests a general lack of knowledge and appreciation - which is sad.

I trekked up Mathanga hill as dusk settled on the landscape. Sunset came. Hanuman (the picture alongside) loved it too. The city of billion boulders will sleep soon. But it will continue to breathe. In its beautiful precious history.

I will continue to breathe for a beautiful 2009.

Adios 2008

2008-12-30T13:28:00.000-08:00

My structure runs on time. Dates hold important memories. Recollecting moments that hold significance and their anniversaries comes naturally. Boring like that Dil Chahta Hai guy. But that's me. As most blogs go, this post is a reflection of the theme of the times.

What were italicized and bold this year?

1. It is worthwhile to hit the rock-bottom of the abyss. Soul needs mending. Lessons to be learned. It's for the good.

2. Happiness is a state of mind. Optimism and motivation are inherently linked to it. Staying happy is one's own decision.

3. Love thyself. But equally love those who matter.

4. Be tolerant of everything. No two think similarly.

5. Life need not follow the same old sequential path

6. Goals and dreams drive the pursuit for excellence.

7. Traveling adds meaning to life. Each experience can be exhilarating.

8. War and hate breeds a spiral cacophony of violence. History has never witnessed success for the "eye for an eye" jingoism.

9. Music is a balm.

10. No media is unbiased.

Ending this year on a semi-introspective note here.

Physically, in solitude in the ruins of Hampi.

A wonderful 2009 to you all.

Pebbles

2008-12-22T13:06:00.000-08:00

The rustle of time.
A tick here, a tick there.

The itch continues.
And it rubs hard.

The pain will die.
Pleasure to linger.

Pebbles stay round.
Let the water figure.

Moonwink

2008-12-21T12:56:00.000-08:00

Fly me to the Moon, and to Venus and to Jupiter
Taken with my Nikon D80

The Journal Story

2008-12-21T10:24:00.000-08:00

Submitted it for a flash fiction contest on Livejournal. And made it to the top 100. Tres tres happy!
-----

I live therefore I am.

I have seen it all. Conception in lonely times. Nature's fury. Almost freezing to death. Grotesque creatures. Water. Smelly places. Mutations. Flight. Intelligence. Brown. Journal.

In the next 450 words, my autobiography is succinctly explained. The future is uncertain. But optimistic.

I owe my birth to an amoeba. It needed me - a cell to survive. I was too glad to help. Sometime soon though, it got bored of me and broke me off into two. Reason he gave me: dude...need to go this. Gotta spread the genes.

One fine day, I got gobbled by a slimy tentacled hydra. It was funny the way it happened. And know what, all my subsequent hosts believed they were handsome.Ask me for Christ's sake? Ohh wait, Christ comes later in the story!

Evolved into a crude spiky puny fish who thought it was huge. Entered the guts of a salmon. Polar bear. Dinosaur. Mammoth. Hyena. You name it. Every living creature's deepest "gut" secret I know.

Meteor came. Things were screwed. I lay decomposed. Probably would have died a natural death. Guess I had some will-power though. Gotta spread the genes, you know.

Ice age came. Water rose. Brrrrr. Would have been engulfed forever under ice. My saviour turned out to be a silly old sea weed. He was nice unlike anyone I ever saw. I still celebrate the anniversary of our integration.

Life changed. Warmth around. Was shuttled around between planktons, fishes, whales, octopuses, squid (the one-eyed funny ones), shrimps. Until I entered birds. And I loved them for their flight. It was cool to be a part of an eagle's wing. Saw the world with an eagle eye's view. Pun intended!

Discovered man after he thought eating a dodo's eggs was in vogue. Men are serious capricious guys. You never know what they are up to. And yeah that Christ guy I talked about - he apparently was some sort of messiah. Realized it while residing in someone's brain. Him and others like Allah, Krishna, Buddha were these alpha dudes whom my hosts always thought of and were willing to fight for. Wish I were part of those. Maybe some distant cousin of mine got to feel them.

Here's also an axiom from my experience. Men are eternal flirts. Women are eternal attention-seeking! Not eating my words.

From man, I moved to flora through a hermit who died in the Himalayas. Grew big into a tree. Could see beautiful snow capped peaks around. Ahh, life was so beautiful. Until I was cut one day and put into a shredder. An interesting avatar evolved. I became paper.

So it ends here that I am a paper in a journal. I will be written on soon by a historian who wants to etch on me an encyclopedia of evolution on Earth. Right from the first cell. From me.

I smirk. Maybe its joy. Life has turned full circle. What a long quirky journey! Isn't it?

Returning back

2008-12-21T10:18:00.000-08:00

Back after a loooooooong time. The writing juices continue to invigorate me. And found it imperative to continue on this blog. After all its home.

What follows are the few blog posts I chittered the past few months :)

To Sabeel

2008-07-05T12:40:00.000-07:00

You will always be No. 1. Get well soon, my friend

(One of my closest buddies. A really bad accident. Internal bleeding. Multiple fractures. Far far away)

The Weird I

2008-06-18T11:58:00.000-07:00

I prefer solitude over socializing. I like my cell phone to stay quiet.
I don't aspire to live a luxurious life. I can survive on a few basic amenities.
I am not a big fan of money. The goodness in humanity is more important to me.
I dream big. I dream of doing too many things. And I know I will achieve some of them.
Parents, work and friends (in that order) are the three most important entities.
I have no intention of getting married.
I believe in a soul mate - someone who fits my impossible criterion. She will be the one whom I love.
I am a forever optimist. Nothing is impossible. More an idealist.
I supposedly offer very good and rational advice.
I am nice to everyone. Empathy encompasses me. I cannot do evil.
I believe age is just a number. Activity x need not necessarily be done at age y.
I never hold grudges/enmity against anyone.
I never try to prove anything to anyone. I just do what I want to do.
I will always be found happy. The purpose of life is to stay happy and keep people happy.
I am an agnostic bordering on atheism.
I am tolerant to every thought or idea. Live and let live.
I never follow the herd.
I do not have a good sense of humor. I love to laugh at myself.
I never regret in life.
I am generally thought of as boring and weird.

The Pub Story

2008-06-03T11:56:00.000-07:00

He hustled past the crowd. With his mind spewing a smoking rage of destruction. I had to do it.

A few elbows later, the bar was reached. He adjusts himself clumsily onto the high seat. Looks around at the bartender through the veil of bloodshot eyes. Scotch. Been eons, the last time he felt liquor.

I had to do it.

It felt warm as it entered the esophagus. Moments of the past hour suddenly whizzed past him. Flashes of his evil side.

I guess I had to do it.

He was rotating in a whirl of emotions. The peg after the gulp. Golden. Loud music. Anger.
In a flicker, he gulped the waiting element. Every drop. Accompanying it was a deep stir somewhere within him.

I dunno if I should have done that

The eyes kept getting redder. One more. Clutching his hair, he bent down over the table. A small tear disturbed the surface. The peg came. The gulp overcome as it came. One more.

What have I done?

The tears flew a lot more faster. More disturbances. One more.

WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Behind him, the world carried on. Basking in their own mistakes.

Phoenix Rising

2008-05-27T12:36:00.000-07:00

A moment in your life, when you look at the mirror and smirk
Shivers running down the spine, twitching spasmodic screams
Eyeful of tears filling up the void of an uncaring vacuum
The wrath of the shadow, overbearing and unbecoming

It is a simple gray hair. You are getting old. Live with it.

The Phoenix has risen from his four month old grave.

The journey continues.

The Road Not Taken

2008-01-14T10:11:00.000-08:00

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveller, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference

-Robert Frost

The Crossroads Story

2007-11-04T10:03:00.000-08:00

Tiny wisps of clouds in the sky. So liberating, thought S.

Why can't I be like them? Free, iridescent and always moving on.

The bright fall morning piggybacked a cool breeze blowing from the south along rue Guy. As she gloomily trudged herself on rue de' Maissoneuve, the conundrum kept getting difficult to solve as she approached the crossroad with rue Guy. Immediately, the wind hit her with mocking disdain.

This was where it had all begun. Gazing at Norman Bethune with an apoplectic glance, she reached for the bench. With her back to him, S removed the crumpled tissue leftover and smudged her smudgy eyes.

The wind gathered steam. Her jacket was good enough to ensconce her from any ruthless disdains. The sniffing continued though, littering drops of pain in every direction.

---
Finally, the cold wind bought a smile to M's lips. The black ones had opened up and the wind could get a taste of the nicely ordered teeth inside. He was euphoric. No...jubiliant.

Luck enfin brille sur moi! Dieu est grand. (Luck finally shone on me. Oh Almighty, you are great!)

Today, he won't stay hungry. He will treat himself to the corner dollar pizza.

The grizzled hair had been falling due to the stress. Illegal in this new country. A life totally arcane and non-existent. A life incomparable to his home in Morocco. Except for the lucre.

With a forged identity and a stash of wrongdoings, he had somehow made it to Montreal. A month of job bootings later, he finally got the dream job. Dish-cleaner. It would all accumulate up to a 1000$ a month. He would easily survive with 150$ and the rest would go to his wife and children back home.

He found a bench. He needed time to swallow the feeling. Sinking will take eons. Introspection. Dreams fulfilled. Light. Rainbow. Beyond the heliosphere.

Dieu est grand, M muttered loudly.

With an obvious disregard to a lady sitting on the same bench a meter away.

---
P scribbled the final stanza.

Ummm...not too bad this poem of mine. The Trapeze's Final Jump.

He pored over the bright sun illuminating the sky and wondered if it could inspire him to write something more jazzy. Clutching the coffee, he moved his heavy body up from the chair. After a bit of struggle of course. The Tim Horton's attendant asked him if he needed help. He politely refused and moved out in the sun. On his wheelchair.

The wind shook him. But he was too strong to be shaken.

Today is just the day dedicated to us poets, he joked to himself. Eccentric, wavering and omnipotent

He liked the empty space just next to the bench. As he pumped some power to get himself moving, he noticed two humans on the bench - solemn and soulful in their own right.

P had already found the theme for his new poem. The Bench. Maybe, he could sell this as another best-seller of his.

---
Norman Bethune looked on. He had been standing there for years. Below him, lived K. Drunk and lonely. But forever happy. Babbling something. About how life is beautiful. Ragged, senile and haggard, but basking in the limelight of reciting every dialogue from Frank Capra's 1946 movie "It's a Wonderful Life".

Another swig.

In a zany quirk, he shouted "It's a Wonderful Life, isn't it people? My fellow brothas and sistas"

---
S turned around and gave an amalgamating look of disdain and total cynicism.

M turned around, hollered Oui and gave a big thumbs-up.

P turned around and gave him a sarcastic smile wrinkled with poetry and lameness.

Norman Bethune stood there - as always. Glumly, savoring the crossroads of life.

Three Songs

2007-10-28T10:33:00.000-07:00

I enter the bar. Dimly lit. A festooned stage few meters away. Am led to a corner table with a flower vase on it. The performance begins. And am mesmerized by the sensuality.

[ Film: Howrah Bridge, 1958
Song: Aaiiye Meherbaan
Music: O.P. Nayyar
Singer: Asha Bhosale
Featuring: Madhubala and Ashok Kumar ]

I was so blown away by her. Never have I and never will I see a more beautiful woman. The ravishing element juxtaposed with the sweetest innocence.

I asked her what she would be doing tomorrow. To my heartbreak, she was to leave tomorrow by train.

Ummm....let me see how I can woo her. All I would need is a jeep driven by my buddy.

[ Film: Aradhana, 1969
Song: Mere Sapnon Ki Rani
Music: S.D. Burman
Singer: Kishore Kumar
Featuring: Rajesh Kumar and Sharmila Tagore ]

Its so cool that she also likes Alistair Maclean.

Ahhh. But it is so tough to depart like this. However, I know she is due to return in two days. Till then, I need to think.

I fix up our date at this beautiful tower I know.

[ Film: Tere Ghar Ke Saamne, 1963
Song: Dil ka Bhanwar
Music: S.D. Burman
Singer: Mohammed Rafi
Featuring: Dev Anand and Nutan ]

I think she has agreed. Yippee!

---
Hindi cinema was at its pinnacle over 30-40 years ago. Epitomized by the legends.

Three of my favorite songs spiced with a fictional story.

Snippets

2007-10-21T11:12:00.000-07:00

Snippets from the past 3 weeks:

1. Got the dream apartment. Just for myself. Interior designing scribbled somewhere inside me.

2. Trek to Skandagiri rocked. Good fox's eye view from the top. Brownie, the mountain dog was damn handsome.

3. Mysore - a sweet small city with a baggage of history. The Palace was electrifyingly lit up in all its finery.

4. Exactly an year since the greatest trek/trip of my life.

5. Life is a spicy poetry whose stanzas act on their own whims. Need a Gibran soon.

6. Exactly a month since it ended. I am alright now.

7. Finally have the entire Beatles collection. Every record.

8. Monica Bellucci performed splendidly in the grotesque Irreversible

9. Mumbai seems to be surging ahead over Bangalore.

10. Waiting for Cassini to experience Titan

September's Diary

2007-09-29T13:56:00.000-07:00

I am in a deep dilemma. Quandary of sorts. Its hurting my head at this specific place. Ummm...after move aside my grey hair at 10 latitude and 45 longitude of my sick head, move an inch towards the left. That's the place. That's where this dilemma is perplexed if it should take the right branch or the left one.

It about deciding whether Bangalore could eclipse my hometown Mumbai as THE favorite city in the world. It is a tough one because despite its shortcomings, my heart is with the latter. And I only feel it when am away from home. I always thought I could never stay there for long, but its pull is stronger than gravity. So much so that I even dedicated my thesis to this lovely city.

But Bangalore has slowly risen to the challenge. Its been a month that I have been here and apart from a few irritants, it has caught my fancy. Its growing on me. The weather is not as stolid as Mumbai's. And the greenery makes me go green with envy. Overall, as I almost near my first month birthday here - its been pure oxygenated pleasure.

Another huge reason is my current job. I am part of a start-up comprising 3 people and we are already the BEST company to work for in the world. Pun intended. We have
- Creativity blooming every hour. I have the most abstruse ideas, but it is still added to the specs. There is just so much passion to innovate and learn.
- Brainstorming. Everyday, a new idea is followed by moments of brainstorming to make it perfect. Time stops, because it goes onto the wee hours. The whiteboard bears the brunt.
- The perfect team. Three guys who have no egos to rule over others.
- Mandatory gym membership. Health should never be undermined.
- Music classes. Violin...aah.
- Friday Night movies. Gives me the chance to carry on with my hobby of foreign cinema. The two landmarks witnessed - the German "Wings of Desire" and the French "Amelie". Am so in love with Amelie, since watching it.
- Tryst with a good Cook. He does cook really well.
- A homely office. There is no lobby and no attractive glass facade. It is a sweet residence converted into a workplace.
- Bean bags. The best rest for my lazy bums.
and lots lots more...

I have been a happy lad. And it has further gone up by notches being here. Its somewhere close to Pluto now. Cannot be seen by telescopes. I cannot ask for more.

A snapshot of my home/office here. It is in black and white currently. Once we become popular, the Eastman shades will smudge them. And the day we are big, the 1600 million colors will be "holi"ised over them.

Life 3.0 has begun like a dream.

Guess I have boasted enough. Or is my happiness cackling?

Wishes Of A Lifetime

2007-09-21T16:03:00.000-07:00

I have been tagged. Not as a criminal. As a blogger whose stimulating avatar needs to be careened into words. By a fellow blogger Annie, who will have to undergo the misfortune of reading a cathartic and vitriolic post. Serves her right for victimizing innocent bloggers.

Its the first tag that has been affixed on this blog's soul. And it asks me all the wishes that I want to get fulfilled over my remaining lifetime. After that, the aliens are going to kidnap me away from Earth to their paradise of alien virgins.

Now, here lies the crux of the essence of the problem. It has a very easy answer. But it cannot be etched as the list is too long. The pages keeps growing everyday. I had begun to write a bestseller book on "100 Things To Do Before I Die". Suddenly, I read the Hitchhiker's Guide, suffer an excruciating writer's block and I had to add a zero to 100. The Zero addition hasn't stopped hence.

Enough of bakwaas. Here are the top 6 desires. There are millions more, but they need some breathing space from the capricious me.

Tech Entrepreneur: The schizophrenic geekiness in me seeks to become a tech evangelist. Bill Uncle aka Windows Uncle, Jobs Uncle aka Apple Uncle and Larry Uncle aka Google Uncle run helter-skelter after seeing me in competition. Possibility not too far in the horizon. Its not even close to the horizon. Just an year away from it hopefully.
Write A Book: Another block had stopped me from doing this. My 10 page prologue is still awaiting further streaks and dashes of vocabulary. But it has to be scribbled at all costs. When it is complete, all that is required is to force a few friends to read it - pure third degree torture. What follows after they read it cannot be disclosed here.
Trek and Climb mountains: Alas, my current work has ruined my yearly pilgrimage to the Himalayas - specifically Everest planned for November. But it will be conquered till the Advanced Base Camp someday. And of course, there are a lot other mountains lasciviously wanting to experience me - other than the Kanchenzonga - up, close and personal like K2, Mont Blanc, Kilimanjaro, Nanga Parbat, McKinley etc.
Symphony Violinist: Been enthused by the violin all my life and even learnt it for a while. Will need a huge effort to appear on stage with this sexy instrument and just sway along to the tunes of the conductor smoothly. Messrs Zubin Mehta, are you listening? You better not, if you want to keep earning.
Wildlife Photographer: The Serengeti will beckon me someday and my future Nikon D80 should capture the most exquisite pictures. Most of them will have yawning creatures.
Art Movie Director: After watching countless art movies and foreign cinema, directing one will be huge pleasure. Certainly, it will be in black and white, with a lot of abstract dialogues, a 5 minute imagery of a man just thinking, a few aesthetic nudes and so on. No wonder sadistically, the Censor Board will have a painful time reviewing it.

That is enough for today. The book of a million dreams will be out soon to find out more. Ensure your donations come to me.

Current mood: Desperately trying to extricate himself from the tag. Thanks Annie!

Sanity

2007-09-15T12:46:00.000-07:00

My iris moves left and right. Confusion? Maybe. But the nerves respond back- Hey mister, you are never supposed to be like this. So the confusion is extricated out.

I try to invoke the sparkle. It might just burst out - laughing. Or maybe crying. Sadistically. It is being tried for the first time. Eulogies might flow. Draining themselves in the aftermath. I still try. Who knows? The nerves might be right.

The ring still echoes. Quixotically. It is ridiculing me. Blood impulses shudder at the thought. Red screams all around it. Ears playing tricks? Chromophobia can never get the color into this avatar. Audible hegemony is incumbent.

The floating never ceases to stop. Immortality is a pea's throw away. There, my alter-ego yearns to love me. The stratosphere thinks this is enough and throws me in the vortex of an endless abyss. Life never ceases to live.

I am insane.

I close my eyes. The iris fades to white, the sparkle gets rekindled, the ring stops its cacophony and the floating floats.

Its time to dream and be sane.

The Beach Story

2007-09-06T13:02:00.000-07:00

The moon went into hiding. Shy was drenched all over it. Digesting so much love was cumbersome for it to grapple with.

The clouds had come in at the right time. But they won't aid it for long. In minutes, the agony of having so many unloved scars on its surface with hurt it again. The Sea of Tranquility with its massive desolation will scream the most.

Millions of miles below, the two are at the beach thinking how life has given them what they wanted. Each other. Eyeing the gorgeous moon sneaking behind the clouds, they look at each other again. And kiss again.

The frothy waves turn a bit dark with the sudden absence of light. But they cannot lose their color. They were too overwhelmed witnessing the romanticism played out on the beach. The moonlight might shimmer on them and make them look pretty - to no avail. They roar to their best - to no avail. They still couldn't find a partner.

Another kiss later, he extracts a bottle from his rucksack. Old Monk. The finest Rum. This orgasmic moment of happiness should never be forgotten. A toast, a sip later, they again kiss. Time freezes again.

The moon looks onto the waves. The waves look up to the moon. Maybe there is really something called Love, they silently chuckle.

----
Totally fictional! Hopefully non-fictional someday!

The Last Hurray

2007-08-30T10:48:00.000-07:00

After my resignation, the last day was never far from the horizon. It is due tomorrow. Multitude of feelings rushing through me. Here's a poem I badly scribbled - but should convey what all I feel. I call it The Last Hurray

Dreams in my hand, hopes galore
The time has come for the bye to flow

Wonderful has been the phase, memories are etched
Greyer maybe the hair, never will they be eroded

Leaders were awesome, peers were cool
Their hand of support always touched my soul

Friends were made, smiles abound
Life will be prettier, if they are found

A humble thanks may not be enough, there is a lot more
For feelings like these are not seen in any lore

I depart with a final teary bye, to tread a lonely road
The way is full of joy, taking beautiful moments in my fold

I owe it a lot of people for making my life better at the workplace. My cheers and gratitude to them for persisting with me.

Life 3.0 has just begun! With a bag full of surprises, risks and dreams in store.

The Art Of Happiness

2007-08-27T11:27:00.000-07:00

The World is just about to end. Armageddon is near. The reason is not due to a stupid directionless meteorite. Nor is due to climate change - not this early. Its just plain and simple. Not rocket science. Happiness is dying. Almost extinct. Asphyxiating to survive.

The World needs more happiness. Humans are supposed to have evolved to stay happy. And we screwed it up royally. And all that effort (alien-hours) gone in mutating to an organism of complexity O(n raised to infinity) , yet inherently simple is wasted. No wonder, the aliens show utter disdain for us - they never show up. Why would they, if their purpose to see humanity grow up as a happy fat unit continues to fail?

I am a happy lad. I gave up all the sadness, moroseness, sullenness and disappointments long time back. There was so much of it that it required a few dustbins. Am no Dalai Lama nor am I Sri Sri Ravi Shankar nor am I Deepak Chopra. They are uber cool. I am a simple lad, who believes in happiness being the nirvana of our lives. No need to search for it or to pursue it. Its within us. All that needs to be done is to read the lines below.

So get ready to hear a few fundas of mine - on how to stay happy. I'll be happy if it succeeds for you. Even if it doesn't. Even if you sue me. My 5 paisa below - considering the inflation, it will be 2 paisa tomorrow.

Make someone's day: Not at all cryptic. Aim to help out someone during your 24 hours. After adding the lazy sleep - 16 hours. It can be anyone. Family, friends, boss, watchman, driver, beggar. Anyone! A smile, a word of praise or kind soothing words is all what is required.
Never give up hope: When the aliens designed our world, they programmed it such that there was an "if" check for every eventuality. The perfect software! No maintenance or support needed. Which means that there is a very good chance that our lives can hit the most beautiful, happening, hep line of code we never expected to reach. Think about it! By just staying positively optimistic and working for it, those lines of code are much approachable.
Crashland with a smile: The examination of our lives also includes moments where we go down and down churning in the whirpool of sadness. There's always gravity you see. It has to drag apples down. Accept it and walk on. As a compromise, stay sad for a while. But don't hypenate your life with it. Sleep over it and get your smile back.
Dream and pursue: Poor animals can't dream. They begged for it. Somehow stood on two limbs for it. The birds crooned for it. It was a special gift to us humans. A long term vision that can help define what we are and what we want to be. And yet, we give it all up. Carry a not-so-secret desire and keep it flaming in your hearts till you get it. A dream or a vision gives us a simplistic map to pursue the route to eternity. Eternity is not what matters though, the process does and pursuing it will make us happy.
Keep the faith: Trust humanity to do the trick. A cruel old haggard can be bought to tears by making him hear to Mozart. Why is that? Our hearts are still red - with love - even if we try to make it black. Even if we make everyone our enemies. Spread happiness to your near, dear and enemies. And stick to it. That's our faith!
Love your kin and kind: Make a few friends - for life. Care for your friends and family so much so that they get exhausted with you being around. Trust me, you can expect the best birthday celebrations ever.
Give back what you got: Philantrophy is pure unadulterated happiness. The dough that you earned is never truly yours if you know someone who slept hungry tonight and you didn't do anything about it.

Become a Beatle fan: Brim your Walkman with all the possible Beatle songs. Create magic within yourself.
No swearing: Some naughty perverted linguists are to be blamed for this. Stay away.
Travel the world: Don't eke out your living for buying household goodies. There's so much diversity and babes...oops sorry...cultures in the world to see.
Pursue a hobby: Is that too tough? It was always a hobby, so why stop it!
Never say 'No Time': The most lamest excuse. We work for 10 hours. Add 2 hours of gossip. 3 hours of socialising, hobbies and commuting. We still are left with 9!

Now that you are done reading, please pursue the same. For any other issues, am always available at this blog. Stay happy!

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1. The Hyderabad blasts really demonstrate how soon we are reaching the End.

2. George Orwell's 1984 is the best political literature ever written.

3. This post is the 100th one. Raises my bat to celebrate the century!

4. Life is about to change dramatically in all departments.

5. Thanks for reading this post. I enjoyed boring you.

The Cinematic Genius Called Bergman

2007-08-21T13:44:00.000-07:00

Guess am a bit late. But had to pay my homage here to the greatest filmmaker of the past century: Ingmar Bergman, the Swedish director, who passed away a few days back. Have managed to devour just 3 classics of his (blame the slow broadband, the insufficient peers) and he's already at the top of my stack. I would also rank Akira Kurosawa with him - shoulder to shoulder - but thats for later.

The most identifying characteristic in his movies is the deep sense of humanism. There is a certain amount of retrospection, fraility of human relationships and the essence of survival. A closer inspection might even make one feel if its a parody on humanity. That's the class of Bergman. Symbolic and wonderfully intuitive. And his favorite characters: Max von Sydow and Liv Ullmann are a class apart in acting. So, here are his three gems:

1. Smultronstallet (Wild Strawberries), 1957: A wonderful potrayal of an how an old man at the fag end of his life, struggles to come to terms with all the doings of his life. Reminisces his past, mulls, contemplates his victories and coming to terms with his desires. My first introduction to Bergman, who added a fan to his name.

2. Sjunde inseglet Det (The Seventh Seal), 1957: A knight at the end of the Crusades finds himself facing death at the hands of the Grim Reaper (Death). To save himself, he challenges him to a game of Chess. All around this, the knight is constantly questioning the existence of God and hopes He unravels himself to save the misery of Black Plague around. Lot of philosophy and symbolism abounds in this classic. With a lot of questions asked. It needs to be seen more than once to understand what the director wished to convey.

3. Vargtimmem (The Hour Of The Wolf), 1968: Its the time between the night and dawn, a time when most people die, a time when fear takes over, a time when ghosts and demons are at their best. Bergman's only horror attemp, although there are no horrific elements involved. A lonely artist and his wife in a lonely island. Hallucinations abound. Their relationship is explored. Paranoia. Multiple interpretations can be deduced and that is what makes it a classic. A bit draining but a lot of hidden meaning.

But before you get going with Bergman's genre - a disclaimer that you might either love it or plainly hate it. The movies are slow, takes time to sink and requires complete patience and dedication from the viewer.

I love them. Too many to see - 62 of them - and I have started counting! And I owe it to him to make me fall in love with black-and-white cinema. There's too much beauty captured in those two colours.

May his soul rest in peace forever! Amen!

60 Years Later

2007-08-15T13:31:00.001-07:00

15th August, 1947:

Its midnight. Three wails and cries were heard.

Three umbilical cords were cut. One with the precision of a surgeon, one with a scissor operated by a sophomoric nurse and the third with a blunt knife allegedly/ruggedly by a midwife.

One at a posh hospital in Delhi, the second at a rundown dispensary in Mysore, the third at an unknown village near Gorakhpur, UP.

The only string that bonded them was that they were born free.

15th August, 2007:

The first one, whom I would name Pravasi has just come back home. To see the land of his birth. To extract from the far recesses of his memory, the childhood he had spent here. He is a tad disappointed that he is not able to remember the local dialect fluently. All those 45 years spent abroad in comfort. A California seaside duplex. Interacting with the who's who of the world. Munching tacos and burgers at every go. But never completely accepted. And the mother still willingly opens up her arms for him. He made the right decision. With that, Pravasi unfurles the Tiranga with a cautious euphoria. The Mother is proud of Pravasi's contribution.

The second one - India - had to work his way out to be what he is. Getting educated was the biggest prize of his life. He owes that a lot to his parents, who despite all the hardships, saved enough to send him to school. His English speaking skills attracted a government job, where he fought the license raj. Starting with a basic of Rs 300 a month, he worked his way up the ladder the hard way. Today, he is optimistic of his children's future. A nice bungalow in Bangalore. Married children working in top notch IT organizations. Life's good. With that, India unfurles the Tiranga with unbridled enthusiasm. The Mother adores India.

The third one, Bharat does not realise the importance of his birthday. Was it fate? A life gone awry? Hard work never reaped dividends. Back breaking work at the fields. Countless days of hunger. Droughts. Floods. Why were the Gods so agnostic to him, when he has tended to Him every single day of his life? Why hasn't the price of pulses gone up all these years? Why are the shehari-babus getting richer? He thinks of his three children. Maybe he should have dispatched them to the city to work in inhuman sweatshops. With that, the emaciated Bharat still raises the tiny paper Tiranga in his hand and salutes it - with no hope. The Mother loves Bharat and is very concerned.

This is the story of my lovely country.

Jai Hind!

Xibalba - A Violin's Dream

2007-08-10T12:47:00.000-07:00

I had to write this. I seriously had to. It had so swamped my mind, that it was getting unbearable.

Ever heard a tune, which is just so beautiful and heavenly that it never leaves your soul. Its right up there whispering at all times and perking you up to listen to it again and again.

I am in the midst of such a phase and its totally bewildering. The most important reason that I loved this composition are the emotions it evokes. And there is only one instrument which can do that - my favorite - the violin. Being a keen aficianado of the violin (well, classical music as such) and who has spent some time learning it, I am pretty much confident and certain of the comment I made above. So, I repeat it again. There is no other instrument as soul- stirring as the violin. It can cover the entire gamut of human emotions with surprising fluidity.

Below is the dreamy tune which has been blowing my mind. From the movie "The Fountain" which I will go ga-ga over, someday. The whole album by Clint Mansell should reside in every classical music fan's top drawer.

Its called Xibalba - the underworld as per the Mayan mythology. Close your eyes, listen to it and experience the beauty. Realise how a violin's dream comes true when it can stir those dour emotions within you.

Ahh...breathtaking eh? A tear around? The exact feelings and emotions running through me:

Feel the transition of a human's
journey.

The soft subtle start with a low humming bass coagulates with the birth - the beginning of life. A certain innocence and the thirst to know more.

A haunting chorus follows. The gentle violin and the humble rendering bass takes you through the joys of experiencing the young life. The ups and downs, the anxiety, love and the secret gossips.

The violin takes over gradually. Its the mid-life crisis. Wanting to reach high, but bound by limitations. More mature but unstable.

The final chorus juxtaposed with the violin and the intermittent keyboard - captivates you to a sense of euphoric high. The end is near. Introspection. Life
is flashed back to understand its real purpose.

Its the end. Death is the road to Awe.
Love is the central theme between the mind, the soul and life.

Or maybe you can check out another track from the same album. Maybe "First Snow" will take you to a different stratospheric crescendo.

Or maybe, this gentle keyboard tune makes you feel humane, loved and immortal. You might just levitate in the air after hearing "Together We Will Live Forever".

Maybe, I convinced you why nothing comes close to classical music. And the violin of course.

The Resignation: Life 2.0 to 3.0

2007-08-06T11:44:00.000-07:00

It was 5.30 am, Saturday. Two cute air-hostesses greeted me as I made my way to 11-A. Thankfully, a window seat. I never preferred any other. In just a few ticks, the flight would depart from the Mumbai airport all the way to Bangalore.

I settled myself cozily and amicably with 1984. But I could not focus - my mind could not grasp the sudden change that had just enveloped my life. The last week contained tumultuous yet exciting moments that I could foresee a gradual drift from Life 2.0 to Life 3.0.

I resigned from my current job last Wednesday, the 1st of August. A job which was just so cushy, hardly 15 minutes away from my nest and which I could enter even at lunchtime and leave anytime, which was challenging in a lot of ways and where I had established an amazing rapport with so many people, where I made a few friends for life and where if need be, I could opt for a better work profile, head abroad for a while, mint money and spend the next days of my life in this highly branded IT company, whose stocks are the most sought after, even by the most risk averse investor.

And I resigned!

The sun loosely peeked out of the clouds. It was still hazily dark and the cat and mouse game between the sun and clouds created an enticing treat for the eyes. A rainbow joined in the fun. I did not see any silver lining. Maybe someone else saw it.

Life 1.0 was the transcendental phase of my life. The phase when I did my MS in CS abroad. A phase when I learnt the true meaning of my life. The purpose of my life. A phase when I decided what I wanted to do in life. A phase which has defined me in terms of my behavior and attitude. This was the time, when I fought the most against all odds - to survive. A single instance of "I like the way you work. Good!" from an Italian, who had cursed and hurt everyone other in his scarred 50 year old life, would probably be the most important italicised words in my life. Standing in a roughly ironed shirt and grey trousers, I remember being embarassed hearing all the praise showered on me at the end of my successful thesis presentation. To sum it all up - this was the phase when I discovered happiness. My Gross Domestic Product - GDP. Never will it be pursued. The true Art of Living.

Thou shalt forever be happy.

I glanced below to snatch a liberating view through a few fluffy clouds. A silent lake stood still. Stalks of rice fields trying to feel the touch of dew drops. The crimson sky all the while, trying to pervade its influence through light.

Life 2.0 was the learning phase. A time to get a hold of myself and start planting the first seeds. It did involve a lot of cumbersome monotonous tasks, but I tried to make it as intuitively interesting as possible. The introvert to extrovert process had already begun, but it was in this phase that I could reach halfway through - which I feel is good enough for me. The environment around gave the right macro model of our world and made me realise of what exists and what all can be done. A moment to remember would be standing on the Goecha La Pass at 5200m and gazing at the Kanchenjunga right above my physical soul. Also, the creation of this blog to whom am so indebted to; just the perfect personal diary. Basically, the phase was about giving myself the chance to learn and implement Life 1.0's philosophy. And master it to take it to the next level.

The jet cradled itself on the runaway and parked at a predetermined spot. As I got out of the plane, a 20C breeze sneaked past me. Nice.

Life 3.0 just began last week. Just when I was planning on implementing my own idea through some venture, I learnt about this start-up company. And decided on a short weekend trip to Bangalore to work things out. Funded by an American entrepreneur/investor, the ideas are revolutionary and exciting. I haven't been able to sleep the moment my first discussion with him had begun. And am fortunate that I made it along with a good offer. Luck's surely playing games with me! Different city. Different world. Reunion with old friends. Most importantly, the roots have struck firm and the sapling's just eeked out of the soil.

I think I am crazy. No...weird. No...Both.

Over the weekend, the sessions with my boss turned out to be awe-inspiring. Or maybe mind-numbing. Ideas were brainstormed over coffee. And there is a huge challenge out there waiting for me. With long horns. Life will be interesting soon. From the 6th of September, when I join.

I entered the claustrophobic flight on 9pm, Sunday. The same air-hostesses greeted me (remember the cute ones?). Seat 15F. Window. Snuggled happily and moved to the bookmarked page of 1984. Tuned on Nirvana's The Man Who Sold The World after a while.

Sometime later that evening, I peered through the window. It was dark. But I managed to see some stars. A few shooting stars. Someday. Someway.

----
I wrote this to open up my life to this blog, since all the while it had been largely hidden. Being a diary, I also wanted to note the moment when my life took such a huge turn.

The Paradise Story

2007-07-28T10:43:00.000-07:00

Karim clutched the bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. An air of listlessness hung over him - a growing sense of palpable fear.

A tear suddenly screamed out from somewhere with him and he rushed inside to the dingy kitchen. Asma, his mother struggling with stoking the fire, suddenly felt a tug of arms around her with small squeals of cries.

Just as she turned round, the boy ran out.

"Whats wrong, Karim?"

But Karim was already out in the street. The tears had stopped rolling. A muezzin's prayer swamped his mind. He was more determined than ever.

He took a sharp left at an alley, where he had been just once before. It was a lonely path thinning down to a lone green door at the end. A soft knock later, he found himself in a dark room with three other boys like him. They smiled at him with total apprehension.

A beefy bearded middle-man greeted the four and led them to a corner where four heavy rucksacks lay.

"You four are the chosen ones. Very few in this world are handed a chance like this. So I hope you will not disappoint us."

The four looked at each other. Karim gave a forced nod to imply his earnestness. So did the others.

"Here in this bag lies your destiny."

They reached for their bags and felt it. Karim's mind forwarded to the moment he would press the button. Life would never be the same. Paradise.

"Take the bus to the Central Train Station. It will be very crowded. So just remember to press the button at the right place at the right time. May the power be with you"

The indoctrination was over. The man led them to the door, which was shut in no time.

An ephemeral silence enveloped the four as they made their way to the bus stop. Karim's mind digressed to what his mother and father would be doing at this time.

Father would be at his warehouse amidst all the junk scrap metal dealing with scruffy looking gentlemen. Mother would be nursing his 1 year old brother, who would have just woken up - with whatever food was available.

Should I have told them 'bout this?

As he mulled over the philosophy of life, he realised he was alighting the bus. He was already at the Central Train Station. It was bustling with people as expected. The four slowly made their way to the place where they would be doing the job. The security officers did not care to give a group of four kids a second glance. Perfect.

As they reached the designated location, Karim removed the strapping off the button stuck alongside the bag. And felt it in his hands. A glance at the time revealed it had to be done now. They peeked over at the people around hoping no one is watching them.

An instant later, they pressed the button together.

Suddenly a train steamed over to a stop from nowhere. It had the letters "HOGWARTS EXPRESS" imprinted in bold. A Hogwarts attendant found them, checked their bags and assisted them to their seats.

As the train chugged along, Karim's anxiety reached its peak. He was going to Paradise. The Hogwarts School of Magic.

-----
:)

Hahaha. This is in keeping with the current trend - a Potter movie and a book. Have just read the 1st book.

Been a bit laggard at blogging. An update soon.

Jumping Dancing Jack

2007-06-28T13:04:00.000-07:00

I did the most inexplicable, the most unimaginable, the most ridiculous thing that I had ever done in my life: DANCE in front of a live audience!

I am like a walking-talking robot who still hasn't been programmed to jig smoothly. Or think of a Physical Training instructor, who teaches kids to exercise - all his life, he's been too stiff to be nimble with his arms and legs. One fine day, you ask one such robot or a PT instructor to "rock n roll". Yeah. I heard a lotta gasps.

It was a minor guest appearance role as a dancer. But I had to sweat and slog myself out to do that 1 min role. No doubt, the means is always better than the end: it was helluva fun to learn to dance. Add to that, making new friends: my fellow dancers being unknown entities a week back. As the team gelled over a resort outing at Arnala, the unknowns transmogrified into relative knowns (A water rugby game played a major role in this mutation). The dance idea popped up from somewhere. With 24 hours left for the show, I was dragged in - to my horror. But I am so glad they did that.

Cleared the Dancing 101 course.

---
Read up Leo Tolstoy's short story "After The Dance". A dark and a sweet one. I liked his writing style - maybe Anna Karenina someday!

The Life Of Me

2007-06-16T08:33:00.000-07:00

Je suis back after quite a while. A conked keyboard and an exasperating customer side issue made matters worse. Better late than never.

A few moments that were missed by this diary:

1. Embarked on this wonderful roadtrip along the Mumbai Goa coastline, some three weeks back. My beloved little car throttled upto an amazing 1000 kms over 3 days (with me driving most of the time) and was treated with a mindboggling landscape, sun-kissed, white-sand, private beaches with glistening blue waters. Feels a lot better, when you run away from the madding crowds and just randomly park your car on a secluded beach to swim off. I would term it a "cubicle" trip and not an out-of cubicle one. Why? Coz the trip counted 3 other cubicle-mates. Yeah. we have the coolest cubicle (of 4) in the entire office. There is never a moment of sadness...smiles abound...and we rock all the time. The trip snaps here.

2. I entered the Francois Truffaut zone after a tryst with his 1953 classic "The 400 Blows". And it was awe-inspiring. Had been watching a lot of Kubrick, Kurosawa stuff along with some eclectic movies. I have begun to develop this as a hobby - to devour the best in world cinema. Subtitles make it really easier. And it has really been a pleasurable experience. Makes the current generation of even decent movies seem masala crap. Takes you higher in the intellectual fiefdom scale. For starters, the South American based "The Motorcycle Diaries" and the French "13 Tzameti" gives you the perfect introduction of how this kind of cinema can crank you to think. For a list of this wonderful genre, check this out. Of course, I still love a few Hollywood ones - Aronofsky's "Requiem for a Dream", "PI" and "The Fountain".

3. On the movie note, I watch Rajnikant's "Sivaji - The Boss" first day first show - something which am proud of - something which gives me the power to boast of - something which very few people in this world have done. I had never had a better time in my whole quarter-life, while watching a masal movie. I do not understand Tamil, despite being a half Tam. But Rajni's histrionics makes up for it. And the hysterical crowds made it super memorable with all the hoots, whistles and their total devotion to Thalaivar - Super Star Rajni. A toast to him to give one and all, a sense momentary happiness. Be it rich or poor.

4. On the work front, its been generally too strenous to talk about. Leaving for home at 1 am seems to have become the norm. I try too hard to push myself to the limit, in the process giving up on other things that need attention. I have known myself to be a workaholic. But the lengths that am going is hurting myself and I believe I need to calm down. Hoping to change myself on this front. As an aside, am really fortunate to be working with the current team. There is an amazing team-spirit which makes it so easier to work and have fun. Again, a toast to each of them.

5. The rains are just around the corner. And it takes my happiness rating to a higher level. I do hate the puddles and the perfectly circled potholes. But why blame the monsoon? The tiny droplets are too poetic and luscious to be cursed. Uhh...lemme see, if I can scribble a few bad lines on my favorite season.

Gloom sets in his eyes, tears abound within
Despair runs through, the heart
is screaming
He looks upto the sky, pleading for change
The sun smirks,
there is no respite my friend

Far in the horizon, they hear
the tragic tale
They may be dark, but make great
friends
All wishes are granted, as they cover the sun's fury
And pour
out in all their glory, erasing all the misery

6. I have been thinking to take some social cause after my Greenpeace membership expired. This time, I wish to be closely associated with educating socially deprived kids. An update on that soon.

7. I can't stop listening to "Waiting On The World To Change" by John Mayer. Great song to begin one's day. Of course, no one creates magic like The Beatles.

8. Super excited about the upcoming Everest Base Camp trek in October-November. Have done the basic research and have fallen in love (finally) - with Everest. The trek would take up an enchanting two weeks and I have my best pals - Anup and Ram - for company.

Guess, I need to update more frequently to avoid such long boring posts:)

An Year Old

2007-05-26T11:34:00.000-07:00

Been on a sabbatical. An untoward glance at the date and time suggests that am in time to celebrate my belated first 365-day hodge-podge here. Join me in celebrating with a special Grammy award winning composition (in Eastman color) :

Happy birthday to you
laala laa laa la la
Happy birthday to you
laaala laaa laaa laa laa
Happy birthday my dear blog
laaaaala laaaa laaaa laa laa laa
Happy birthday to you
laala laa laa la la

**Claps and eats the cake himself (selfish, eh?)**

^ ^

Been quite a wonderful journey!

Soul Cousins

2007-05-03T11:56:00.000-07:00

Heaving all around thou and cherubic smiles wide
Clasping tiny nuggets of silly tantrums aside
They come cheering and poaching
To be hurled high and dry

Splash of drops borne with glee and mystery
Innocence written all over their pages of history
The sense of belonging never shies away
When they love to blast you all the way

Such moments are rare to find
Tiny pearls clinging to you
Happiness reigns supreme
Right now and forever

---
Dedicated to my cousins with whom I had a wonderful time at a water park this week.

The Warming Story

2007-04-18T10:44:00.000-07:00

18th April, 2021,
7:13 am,
Mumbai

I get rustled from my deep slumber. The eyelids flicker a little, the pupils dilate and a thin ray of light struggles to hit the retina. Nerves tingle sending signals to the cranium "Wake up buddy, its a beautiful Sunday morning"

I turn around and feel my 10 year old. He is nicely draped in a polka dotted bedsheet, innocently dreaming of fairies and elves. Alongside, his mother had the serene sleep enveloping her tired self. Both deserved what they were enjoying now - it had been a tiresome long week.

But this didn't seem a normal Sunday. I could hear voices all over. Was I hallucinating? I lazily stumbled over to my 5th floor window and eyed what it had to offer. The moment the world turned upside down. Not just my world, but the wordly Earth I knew.

Down below I could see a huge swathe of mankind running haywire on the road. They were screaming Kalyug, Apocalypse. Dogs howling, cattle running, death seemed grossly near. I could not decipher the ongoing hullabaloo.

Suddenly, the door bell rang not once but seemingly a million times. I ran over and opened it in a huff. My neighbour stood there. And without saying much, he just beckoned me and my family to get to the terrace immediately. Before I could ask more, he was speeding away upstairs with his family holding a small bag of essentials. And behind him followed all the other tenants shrieking and heaving upstairs.

Something's really wrong!

She had woken up by then. And not surprisingly, very concerned (She still looked good with that expression). I turned on my mobile TV and it was screaming in bold.

MUMBAI TO BE SUBMERGED. RUN FOR HIGHER LAND.

The horror was distinctly evident on our visages. I ran in to pick my polka dotted treasure, while she stuffed some hard cash, mobile and a sumbrella into a bag. Just before leaving, I managed to grab the dozen bananas lying on the table. Never before had the three of us reached the terrace in our pajamas. But we weren't alone. I recognized all the families there, all of them literally shrivelling with fear, all of them looking west - the direction of the sea.

11.14 am

The water had climbed upto the 6th floor level. And it was gleefully and sadistically aiming at us, just one floor above. The sun was beating hard. Amidst all the pandemonium, I had opened the sumbrella and cuddled my two frightened possessions underneath it. I dared not expose any of our skins to the sun which would willingly fry it to skin cancer. At one such timestamp, he asked

"Papa, are we going to die?"

I fumbled a bit. But I hugged them tightly.
"No way beta, don't you worry. We will find a way out of this soon"

I tried to find comfort in my own words. And ensure that hope is not lost in him.

"Papa, but why did this happen? Why is there so much water suddenly?"

I was stunned for a second. I knew the answer, had known the answer all along, all through my life. This was expected one day.

I struggled through the pages of my vocabulary and let the following out:
"Son, you see, the Earth was never this hot when you were born. It was getting hotter every year though. People like us just began to cut more trees, drive more and send out more smoke. And today morning, I think all the ice that existed just melted in the sea. Its called global warming"

He blinked at me dreamily. I could sense the thought-processes his small mind was going through. He just looked down into nothingness.

She plucked a banana from the bunch, unpeeled it and fed him. The tears were not visible, but the trauma and the pain surely was.

There was already a stench of fish and dead carcasses. Nausea.

8.42pm

It was finally dark. I nursed my tired hurting arm, all the while accustomed to holding the sumbrella - now folded back in the bag. The water was just a meter below, beyond which lied my world earlier, now devoured by the sea. The miracle bananas had served my kid well. She however looked dead weak and sleepy. Not that I was on high-energy steroids.

The horn did ring. Of a small boat. Beyond which came hundred small speedboats. All with huge torches. The entire humanity on the terrace shrieked in unison.

HELP

8.53 pm

We were all packed onto a speedboat.

Bodies lay floating everywhere.

9.17 pm

We alighted on the small hill at National Park. And felt land. A few steps ahead, a TV was placed around which hundreds had gathered. And beaming

BREAKING NEWS: MUMBAI SUBMERGED. MILLIONS FEARED DEAD

I clutched both of them tightly and led them to the refugee food area. What a "warm" Sunday!

A Treat For the Ears

2007-04-08T09:03:00.000-07:00

It was last Sunday. Fools Day. And I pampered myself with a new cellphone - a Sony Ericsson W830i. The crux of the matter in this 4" x 2" un-scrawny instrument is the 1GB memory it piggybacks. I can dance, eat, swim and snore in all that space with all my favorite music idols.

So, the first thing I did after unpacking is pump in lot of tunes. Listed below are few of those gems:

Hey Jude - The Beatles
Until The Last Moment - Yanni
Hollow - Dream Theater
I Walk The Line - Johnny Cash
Waiting On The World To Change - John Mayer
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
December - Collective Soul
Nocturne for Violin and Piano - Chopin
Leaving On A Jet Plane - Chantal Kreviazuk
High And Dry - Radiohead
The Sounds Of Silence - Simon And Garfunkel
Sunrise - Norah Jones
Fur Elise - Beethoven
Politik - Coldplay
Your Woman - White Town
Love Me Tender- Elvis Presley
Faithless - Buddha Bar
What A Wonderful World - Louis Armstrong
Comfortably Numb - Pink Floyd
Where The Streets Have No Name - U2

These just constitute around 60 MB. A lot other treasures are swimming in shoals totalling upto 1GB.

May the force be with music. And my cell. I do hope that it intermittently helps me make calls.

Idiot's Boxes

2007-04-03T12:10:00.000-07:00

I press the yearning button to life. A few colours pop on a screen, human-like voices emanate and a few humans resuscitate to life.

They seemed to be dancing on a green field. A decent looking gentleman suddenly runs up to a brown patch and blasts a white object to another gentleman, who with his wooden kinda shield flogs it away. A melee ensues with more gentlemen scrambling for the white object. Alas, it disappears far away followed by loud hooting and jeering.

Bored, I click the next button on the itinerary.

A loud jarring thunderous sound irks me. The camera closes up on a middle-aged lady with anger in her eyes. The victim - a hot young girl in designer sari - effuses loathsome sobs in a multitude of glycerine tears. Vermillion is smudged on every woman's face. Men just seem to be puppets in this regime.

Bah. Click.

A huge banner "Breaking News" masks most of the bandwidth. A wonderful example of flouting rules and obscuring the "behind the banner" details. A vivacious lady blabbers on some violent incident. Suddenly, two old guys start bickering over the issue of who's responsible for the violence.

Fingers fiddle. Click.

Two black guys, who think they are cool, mumble incoherently in a raspy voice. They think they groove well by moving their hands. Semi-nude chicks, who think they are hot, cling to them like leeches. Oh yeah, there's some tune playing in the background.

Duh. Click.

In the middle of a black muddy ditch, two pigs cuddle up. A caption below reads 'A Pigs life'

Gross. Click.

Old Chinese warriors with long dreadlocks smattering pure English jumping up and down.

Grrrr. Click.

Dumb, fully-clothed, zombie-like, anorexic girls walk ogled by lechers.

Click.

A cat running after a mouse.

Wow. I put down the clicking instrument.

In a minute, it displays "The END. A Hanna Barbara Production"

I click the abominable red button.

Silence.

I pick up the yearning book happily and turn to the bookmarked page.

The Boast of Quietness

2007-03-25T09:09:00.000-07:00

Here's a poem by Jorge Luis Borges, an Argentinian writer. The "Inheritance of Loss" starts off with this. I couldn't turn to the next page.
---
The Boast of Quietness

Writings of light assault the darkness, more prodigious than meteors.
The tall unknowable city takes over the countryside.
Sure of my life and death, I observe the ambitious and would like to
understand them.
Their day is greedy as a lariat in the air.
Their night is a rest from the rage within steel, quick to attack.
They speak of humanity.
My humanity is in feeling we are all voices of that same poverty.
They speak of homeland.
My homeland is the rhythm of a guitar, a few portraits, an old sword,
the willow grove’s visible prayer as evening falls.
Time is living me.
More silent than my shadow, I pass through the loftily covetous multitude.
They are indispensable, singular, worthy of tomorrow.
My name is someone and anyone.
I walk slowly, like one who comes from so far away he doesn’t expect to arrive

----
Am astounded. Yeah. Time is living me.

As an aside, here's a quote by Albert Einstein, which really really made me laugh

Some men spend a lifetime in an attempt to comprehend the complexities of women. Others pre-occupy themselves with somewhat simpler tasks, such as understanding the theory of relativity.

The March Return

2007-03-17T07:41:00.000-07:00

Hmmmm...

Back after quite a while. The accelerator's been pushed too hard and the brake just fails to respond. Before crashing and burning myself up badly, I discovered on a Saturday morning that I haven't been really committed to my life partner - this blog. So with due apologies, I hereby embark on another beautiful journey with it.

As always weird things have been happening all around me. Or maybe am weird. Updates:

1. Been a rollercoaster ride the last 3-4 weeks. Lots of ups, ups with lots of twisting and excruciating churnings of the soul. A crash too. New experiences added the extra zing. Yeah...I adore the sine wave called life.

2. Work somehow gets appreciated. Somehow I get the feeling, its all been fixed.

3. They: "I believe you are capable of doing this. So can you please..."
Me: "Uhhh...well...yeah"

4. Paradox. Irony. Oddity. But the dream remains. First steps taken.

5. The Last King of Scotland is memorable in parts, The Departed is f***ing stupendous and 300 is bloody, gory, grossly aesthetic.

6. Experienced the most surreal sunrise ever from Taramati Peak. Not to forget the fleetingly orgasmic sunset at Konkan Kada. A thrilling shivering night in a cave.

7. Muscles finally seem to be responding.

8. Hair's long enough to irk Mom.

9. A Hundred Years of Solitude conquered. Thank you Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Kiran Desai's Inheritance of Loss and Wodehouse's Imperial Blandings waiting to be devoured. But first, Ms. Rowling.

10. Still single? Yeah. Forever? Maybe. Do I care? No.

The E.T. Story

2007-02-24T07:43:00.000-08:00

They were cruising at an abominable high speed. Even light felt dazed to be left behind.

From the cockpit, Xdf*rt?wy cast a glance at a bright yellow star on the right. His bright oval eyes immediately synchronised a telepathic conversation with Te3rqwg%n in the adjoining room. Translated simply, it meant "I see a young galaxy here. I believe we have something".

A few plasma meters away, Te3rqwg%n 30th arm chuckled in delight. He pinged back "Will join you as soon as I finish my helium asteroid soup". His 23rd and the 32nd arm set off to the task of clearing the slimy ashen soup.

In no time, their entire being were huddled over the right window as they approached the star. Xdf*rt?wy eyed the laser switch which lighted up immediately.

An electronic voice boomed "Yes...present your question"

Xdf*rt?wy winked and the question popped "What galaxy do we have here?"

A trillion byte processor hummed for a hundredth of a millisec and the same voice boomed "My results tell me that this is a newborn galaxy. Age - 4.54 billion years only. The star supports 8 planets, millions of asteroids, a few comets and satellites"

"Do you have a name for this system?"

"Radio waves suggest that it is called The Milky Way"

Te3rqwg%n beamed "Hmmm...radio waves...which means there is active motion life out here, isn't it?"

"Yes. You see the blue planet there at 24, 43, 45? Its called Earth. It sustains motion life and no-motion life in humungous proportions"

"Lets get closer", said Xdf*rt?wy as he nodded at his steering wheel. The bulbous craft veered onto the direction of the coordinates.

Te3rqwg%n zoomed at the blue planet and exclaimed "Its so ethereally beautiful. How is life out here. Can we pitch our descendency here?"

A minute heave of processing later, the voice spoke "I agree it is beautiful. 21% of Oxygen, lots of carbon and nitrogen. Very much habitable. But my radio waves suggest otherwise. There is so much evil among the dominant species here called Man. It is ruining the entire architecture of this hallowed system"

Te3rqwg%n pondered "Evil. I know this word. This thing existed eons back at home. Evil in what form? What is happening here that makes you think evil exists? I wish my children could inhabit this planet. Please tell me."

"This dominant species called Man is killing his own fellow kin. That is evil"

An alien gasp flew across the room. All of Te3rqwg%n 's 64 arms clung to his head in shock.

"That is so unbelievable. How can any life do that? Even our violent shows cannot think of such an idea to gain viewers. I find it unrealistic. Can you zoom onto a place and show me such unlively acts?"

"Not a problem. My radio waves suggest the word IRAQ. Zoom your iris to 34,87,12. Can you see the smoke there? 6 lives were just lost. Zoom to Kashmir at 43,66,48. See the mayhem there. Check out Africa at 88,11,38. Slavery. Poverty. Colour discrimination..."

"Stop it...stop it. I can't take it anymore", cried Te3rqwg%n.

Xdf*rt?wy bawled "What makes them do this? My intuition tells me that some wily green pieces are to blamed for this"

The voice continued. "Exactly. Its called money. Add a mish mash of power, to it and it gets real bad. They are destroying the other splendid organisms and the ecosystem around them. I believe we should stay away from this self-destructing world"

Both Xdf*rt?wy and Te3rqwg%n nodded in appreciation. "Yeah. We do not want to kids to get a sniff of this place. Please blacklist this planet. Lets move on."

"Done. Our next destination is Proxima Centauri", agreed the voice.

With that, the craft flew into eternity.

The Second Tryst With Destiny

2007-02-11T08:50:00.000-08:00

The four executives alighted from their respective executive cars and were immediately escorted to the posh private lounge room upstairs. The room at the Taj Hotel, Mumbai was the exclusive preserve of the rich and the mighty. And these aliases were frequently synonymous with their names. In a true optimistic sense.

Tonight would define the pecking order. Their might to take on the world. Their efforts to catapult India Inc to a new threshold level.

Sir Ratan Tata (I would prefer to call him "Sir" right now before it is bestowed), B. Muthuraman - managing director of Tata Steel, N.A. Soonawala - Tata Sons vice-chairman and Koushik Chatterjee - vice president of finance, Tata Steel began to set themselves up for the biggest challenge in their lives. The video link was tuned and they were immediately in sync with their warriors in Primrose Street, London comprising Arun Gandhi - head of Tata Group's Mergers and Acquistions, Richard Murley - N M Rothschild & Sons, Jitesh Gadhia - ABN Amro, the Deutsche Bank and the Credit Suisse team. The room was brimming with excitement coupled with pangs of nervousness. A long long night loomed large.

Project Colour began soon and it became the cynosure of the media's attention. Tata's bid for Corus had begun. The markets were agog with bets on whether it would be the favorite Cardiff (CSN) to clinch it or the underdog Truro (Tata Steel)

The slugfest continued till the wee hours of the morning in India. The bell rang at the UK Takeover Panel’s office at Paternoster Square for the final 9th round to begin.

The tension was palpable in the rooms on either side of the teleconferencing session. Amidst the final negotiations, a sealed bid was decided and with the click of a mouse, it was sent over to the Panel.

Half an hour later, India woke up to salute its son take on the world. The scoreline: 608 pence a share to CSN's 603. The cost: a mindboggling 12.1 billion dollars. A former colonial steel company had gobbled its earlier imperial master's prized possession.

A humble bow to Sir Ratan Tata and his team. India is with you.

The Country House Story - Part II

2007-01-28T09:11:00.000-08:00

A strong recommendation to read the next post first, this being a sequel. Unless you are as confused as I am.

Scene 1, later that night:
Mr. Myers grappled with the candle and clumsily lighted it. The dim glow lit up the room in an aural manner and he headed straight for the staircase. As his thin legs disturbed the void silence with its light impact on the floor, many faces stared at him viciously. The huge murals on the walls with their aristocratic history behind them didn't particularly enjoy this intrusion and their discontent was evident. It didn't last eternally - in an instant, the glow of light vanished onto the upper floor to disturb the other lazy noblemen.

The echo of steps seemed to follow Mr. Myers to a room on the left. He reached the landing in front of the room's door and recited a small prayer. A prayer he is used to mumbling everyday considering the toll the War has taken on his family and friends.

Mr. Myers swung the door knob. In the orange glow of the room, he could make out his 25 year sister. Mary, the critically deranged haggard blonde of his remained immobile in bed. He moved past the window and headed for her.

So peaceful when asleep, he thought.

He nursed his hands over her forehead and gave a small peck. The last time he had seen her she had been wailing. So egregiously, that he had instructed Jane to lock her up until she gave up.

And where'd my loyal servant be? Strange! I expected her 'ere, thought Mr. Myers.

He reached over to the nearby table to pick the three pronged candles. A thin sweat percolated his brow and bloomed in the light. He walked over to the dark remote corner of the room, where Jane had her makeshift bed.

Jane, where art thou? he called.

In a flash, he could see a being soiled up in red all over. Blood. Totally flabbergasted, he bent over to see who it was.

Jane! Holy God.

In a flash, a huge serrated knife plunged into his soul. Not once, but twice...thrice...it continued atrociously. In the dim candlelit glow, Mr. Myers could feel his life growing dimmer. Though, not before he caught the final glimpse of his beautiful sister's hair soiled to red. And her undying urge to kill.

Back in his carriage, Jack Mason still appeared hellbent scared over the scary human-like form he had just seen in the window - and its murderous clutching of a dagger.

Scene 2, later that night:
The old nobleman welcomed the Bishop and graciously thanked his visitor. He accepted Father Benny's jacket and hat and placed them on the wooden wardrobe near the door. While doing so, he turned on the room switch.

The entire room bathed in chandelier lights gave the room a complete Orwellien look. It seemed to the Bishop as if he was transported back in time. The wonderful paintings lent that extra bit of history. The gentlemen and women on them however didn't seem very friendly.

My son, is it true from what you have told me. The lady and the terrible misfortune that has befallen her

Yes Father, I couldn't save my dearest from the terrible fate of things. The urgency of the situation demanded someone like you to be here. You shall see it for yourself. Please follow me, Father.

Suddenly, a huge shriek beamed the air.

Oh my Lord, that is my wife's voice. Fiona.

With that, he hurried over to the steps shouting "Fiona, are you fine?". The Bishop desperately tried to keep up with him. At the top landing on the first floor, the nobleman hurried over to the left and entered the room at the end of the alley. The Bishop huffing and puffing a few seconds later entered the room and an emotion of disbelief hit him.

A teenaged girl lay handcuffed to the bed. She was violently being jerked and flung in the air. Her eyes were red crimson and her body fluids were blown everywhere. An ugly stench enveloped the room.

On the floor of the room lay a middle aged woman sobbing gently. The nobleman had her in his arms.

Father Benny immediately removed the Holy Cross and his Gothic scriptures from his bag. He discreetly asked the nobleman and his wife to leave the room.

In the presence of the two beings alone, the whole room shuddered in the orange glow. The violent breathing of the girl and the peaceful serenity of the Father catalysed the eerie atmosphere. Father Benny read out a long passage from his scripture and pointed the Cross at the girl's eyes.

Hallelujah! Praise be to the Lord! Tell me who you are and what intentions do you have.

The bed thundered from below. The girl in a raspy voice boomed "Revenge" over the repeated thunder.

Go away, Praise be to the Lord! There is no one here.

Suddenly, it all became silent. It remained so for a few minutes.

Father Benny moved to the bed and examined the sweet innocent thing that now lay on it. He nursed the girl's forehead. Untying her from the handcuffs, he covered her with a blanket. As he left the bed, a strange feeling enveloped him.

The nobleman, overstruck with grief, had accompanied Fiona to her room and put her to sleep. Returning back, he was perturbed with the sudden silence inside his daughter's room and decided to check on the Father. What he was greeted with would remain forever etched in his mind.

The Bishop was on the floor, his eyes vermin-like green and letting out a high woman-like shriek. Over him lay his daughter with a Cross in her hand plunging it into the Bishop's heart hollering Revenge in a man-like voice.

Back in his minivan, Pathan Khan was still ravaged by the shriek he had heard at the countryhouse - so ugly, so other-worldly.

The Country House Story - Part I

2007-01-18T11:09:00.000-08:00

Scene 1:
The horse plodded over the cobbled stone path leading to the driveway of the antiquated house. Jack Mason was relieved. Finally. The incredibly herculean task of guiding his horses in such an incredibly foggy clime at such an incredible hour was finally done with. He could have avoided this circumstance had it not been the alluring reward of 10 mighty pound sterlings. The nobleman also seemed too desperate and troubled to get to this country house, unmindful of the hour and travails the journey involved.

All's well that end's well, he thought in his Yorkshire accent.

Mr. Myers alighted from the coach and instinctively eyed the top left window of the house through the enveloping midnight fog. The emanating orange glow calmed his nerves and he put on his black hat before rummaging through his wallet.

Aye Sir, yaa have been ery kind to drop me ere at this ungodly hour. Ere's yaa payment n a extra pound to convey ma appreciation.

Its ma pleasure, Sir. Jack plucked at the wealth offered to him, staring at him. With that, he hit the whip and chugged his horse wagon to life en route to Westminster.

Mr. Myers navigated a key onto the lock and whirled it round. The door sprung open with a creaky noise. In no time, it was banged shut from the inside.

As Jack jostled past the driveway gates, he managed a slight glance at the eerie window - a human silhoutte moving past its curtains. He whipped his horses harder. Somewhere not too far a dog howled. A long and scary night ahead.

Scene 2:
The minicab swerved into the driveway overlooking a medieval house. Pathan Khan had never imagined dropping a passenger for a 100 pound fare. Of course, it was way past midnight. Of course, it was way too foggy. Of course, it was way too remote - even the Gods would need a map. Despite his initial nays and hesitation to drive this far, the pound power ultimately lured him. The Bishop had seemed very nervous. All through the way, the Bishop was quietly mumbling silent prayers, crossing his handheld Cross every minute and pondering over Latin Gothic books. There was some inherent palpable fear clearly felt in the backseat of the car.

Weird people, weird ways!, he thought in his Lahore accent.

Father Benny pushed open the car door in a haste and handed over the prize to the lustful waiting hands.

Thank ya son for that quick ride. May God bless ya.

Not a problem, Mister. Good place here. Far. Bye.

Father Benny sprang to the house door despite the darkness and rang the doorbell. A light flared up in the top left window. A pavement light lit up into action immediately.

Pathan turned on the ignition and jerked the vehicle into motion. Slowly. He was curious to see the occupants of this abjectly desolate country house. As he slowly purred his car to the end of the driveway, he glanced back at the house door through the thickening fog.

An old nobleman with a black hat opened the door and let Father Benny in. The door was shut in an instant.

Weird people, weird ways, Pathan thought. Just as he sprung his minicab into second gear, a loud shriek percolated the air. Fourth gear. Zoom. Somewhere not too far a dog howled. A long and scary night ahead.

Memories

2007-01-09T11:29:00.000-08:00

I stand tall
Second from the left
The Atlantic beckons
In all its lustrous glory
Time will pass
Time will stall
The future is cloudy
Decked in silver linings
But friends never die
For ever and ever

He and I

2007-01-03T10:28:00.000-08:00

The young boy peered over the deck railing and gazed at the shimmering moonlight in the still water. The magical reflection percolated his soul and knocked on the doors of enthusiasm. Chewing on the great moments the boy had spent, he touched the wood to ensure it remained within him forever. The ferry soon reached its destination. The lad jumped over the cobbled stone ramp with a sense of jubiliation. Running over to the counter, he bought the needed tickets and pegged his accomplices to follow him. Within no time, he was bobbling halfway in the air - not to forget the twisting and churning of his entire being. His abdomen cringed a few times. A lot of banging and jerking followed after which he ran over to the nearest homosapien gathering close to a pedestal. All of them seemed to perform some wierd rituals involving body movements of the extreme variety pumped up by some cranky tunes. The boy hopped in with his pals and debuted with a special tribal routine

At the stroke of midnight, the boy could hear the tune "I Dream Away...le le ee le le" from Desert Rose. A huge voice boomed Happy New Year, so are you enjoying here at Esselworld?

I joined the chorus of Yeahs. And grooved beneath the Mumbai sky as if there was no end despite that it might make Mithun forget his dancing skills. After the delirium ended at 3 am, the last few ounces of energy and sanity were spent on the few remaining supposed daredevil rollercoaster rides. A quiet body-aching supper at 4am gave me enough calories to tread back home. Leaving on a Ferry...

Wish you all a wonderful 2007! Keep dreaming.

An Ode to Majhi

2006-12-25T08:09:00.000-08:00

Circa 1977. Majhi came out of the voting booth, peered at the noon sky with contempt, strapped his turban tightly and trodded along the field. Life had been harsh and the Emergency didn't help matters. For a moment, he mulled over how his vote could unimaginably create a change in his life. But a true Gandhian never questions the power of democracy. His optimistic part of the brain still believed that his voting choice would ultimately benefit small landless poor farmers like him in this impoverished part of rural Bengal. After all, wasn't he being lauded in the slogan Jai Jawan Jai Kisan.

As his feet felt the dry hard soil, his optimism grew dim - ultimately pitch dark. It had been a bad year. Miserable weather. Unfriendly to him and the crops. As he passed the small Shivling beneath the centuries old banyan tree, he prayed. With tears in his eyes, he headed back home wondering just how and what he could feed his kids today. Hunger was just an everyday nemesis he had to grapple with. Maybe I should beg again today - just like yesterday.

Two months later. An army of Red Communists marched through the village shouting victory slogans. Majhi had returned back from his 1 acre dusty field and was about to leave for the daily begging ritual near the highway bus stop. His suffering was palpable - thin and frail. All he could do was raise his puny fist in support of the party he had voted for. And he just hoped that their pre-election promises are acted upon.

One year later. Majhi and his family are well fed. With more land, more powers and a better panchayati system, life has never been better. All thanks to the new Left government.

Ten years later. A white Fiat car parks outside Maji's dilapidated mud house. Two teenaged kids run into the house and wake up their baba. Majhi puts on his best and the only shirt he owns. A few steps later, he finds a visitor he has known since his time began. In a crisp white shirt and jeans, Rehman called out "Kemon Accho, Majhi?" and runs to hug the only childhood friend he had ever known. Majhi, a bit uncomfortable, manages a smile and somehow returns the hug. A conversation ensues after the initial complimentaries:

My dearest Majhi, I have come to take you and your family to the city. There is no money here. Come to Calcutta.

No Rehman, am happy here. This is my land, my world. If each one of us farmers leave the countryside for the lucre of the city, who would provide food to the country?

Don't be so idealistic, Majhi. There will always be farmers - farmers who will always remain poor. Sell off this land and join me. I need trusted friends like you to help me in my business.

No dear. I can't leave this place. My ancestors have lived here, died here and so will I. Plus, I am optimistic that the government will someday realise the true worth of us, farmers.

Soon, Rehman left. Majhi, like every other night, slept hungry.

Circa 2006. A government car stops in front of an old mud house in Singur, West Bengal. Now old and barely able to see things, Majhi still manages to offer them water. The government servant gives him a paper and explains him a proposal to build a car factory at the field where his land stood. He would be compensated with 13 lakhs and his two sons would be assured a job at the plant. With tears in his eyes, Majhi says

Am sorry son. I can't leave this place. If each one of us farmers leave the countryside, who would provide food to the country?

----
In the midst of India Shining, industrialisation and unprecedented growth, let us not forget the millions of Majhis whom the govt has neglected and because of whom, we get to eat that daily morsel of rice or wheat.

The Overbridge Story

2006-12-17T08:43:00.000-08:00

A daily ritual to head back home requires me to walk for a kilometer, take a railway overbridge to cross over to the other side and ease into an autorickshaw once I stagger over to the other side. Generally this is the time (around 10ish) when I catch up with my buddies on my Nokia.

Overbridge Night 1: I took that final step and moved past the hawkers. And not surprisingly, I was smiling (as always) the reason being a funny incident narrated by a pal through the airwaves. In a flash, I saw her. The first thing that struck me were her beautiful eyes. She was wearing a maroon-yellow salwar - more importantly, it was so elegantly worn that it made her look like a fairy. I forgot the anecdote narrated from the other side and I just ogled at her as she passed me in a flicker of a second. Of course, she gave me a flicker-of-a second look. Soon, I came out my reverie, cursed myself and steered along. Back to the smile and the silly jokes.

Overbridge Night 2: I was pondering over a technical issue this time. And to my horror (or my delight), I saw yesterday's eyes again. This time, she was in a silky green apparel - straight out of some God forsaken Paradise. Of course, I ogled at her and she gave a I've seen this guy before look, which lasted for more than a second. It got over too soon as we ambled past each other. I spent a momentary second looking at my watch. The time.

Overbridge Night 3: A really hard day at work saw me hurrying up the steps of the overbridge - damn hungry you see. The first instinct was to peer over the bridge horizon to find a known stranger. Alas. Traversed the bridge and was just about to alight on the first step, when my revelation was seen boarding the first step. Oh my God! Time stood still. Our steps matched; me downstairs, she upstairs. Our eyes met; mine black, her's mascara laden brown for some really good amount of time. She couldn't hide her smile; a faint one appeared on mine. We crossed each other. This time, I looked back and so did she. Time started ticking again. Yeah. Oh my God!

Overbridge Night 4: A Friday when am generally in my best, cool, funky look. I was on the phone and I told my pal at the other end to hold on for a while. I was literally scanning the passer-bys and my watch. Slowly and cautiously, I passed the first set of hawkers and looked over again. Damn! Have to see her today. Lo and behold - my prayers always seemed to be answered - I see her from a distance in a beautiful ensembled tanktop and jeans. I had decided to really flash my smile today, expected the same, take my first baby steps in the world of girlfriends and eventually ask her out. In a flicker of a second, I see her smile at me and move her arms across the waist of someone I didn't know. He was tall, ragged (not rugged), scarred, wearing an ill-fitting shirt, torn jeans and a bandanna. As we crossed, I didn't look back again. Damn! Hope I never see her again

---------
Most of the story is fiction, except for a few facts

Yeah. Nice guys finish last!

Of course, I'd prefer to remain nice.

Birthday Kicks

2006-12-09T11:41:00.000-08:00

Celebrated my birthday last Tuesday (5th) which made me feel older than usual. Yeah, hit 26 and could imagine myself more mature. However, let me remind you that am still a kid at heart.

Was splashed a tasty cake all over my ugly face, which made me look better. Smacking my lips carried a new meaning. And then arrived a few pizzas for my team, which I would have to sponsor ultimately. All I got in return were a few kicks left-n-right seduced by some good leather Woodland shoes worn by my faithful team guys, all in full view of my giggling team gals. Good icing on the cake, eh? I must thank these guys for making my birthday so memorable. That was very sweet of them.

And not to forget the many friends who called me from all over the world. A special thanks for remembering me and keeping the faith. My daily work status to my boss mentioned "Unfortunately, I could not work today. I will compensate for it".

Since I haven't been able to make you smile, here's Garfield saying "Hi"

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

Don't even hesitate to watch "The Prestige" - a beautifully spun web of magic, ambition and competition.

*trovert

2006-12-03T06:23:00.000-08:00

I am a loner. In other words, an introvert. A lot many people would subscribe to that.

I am an extrovert. Always smiling and happy. A lot many people would subscribe to that.

To tell you the truth, am both. Had been a compulsive introvert for most of my life. The last three years changed me and once in a while, I move over to the other side. As of now, am gradually closing in to the centrist position.

Somehow, I don't I think I can ever be a complete people's guy - a hardcore extrovert. I wouldn't enjoy it too. I still sometimes prefer moments that I want for spend with myself. And I just can't befriend every random person. I need the initial greetings, the smiles and the idle chatter.

Crossing the border by itself is a big achievement for me.

Before you ponder over my disambiguated thoughts, here's what I did yesterday. Well, I was part of a trek group and I was alone. Trekked alone, chatted with a few people and enjoyed the beautiful landscape that greeted me. And sang along with the hardcore extroverts in the bus.

Enjoy this snap from my photographic armoury, which says a lot about my personality. The tree being my introvert side and the cactus riddled with thorns, the extrovert one. The tree has outlived its life and will not grow an inch more. The cactus is short, will grow and try to match the tree - with more thorns.

DUH! Better stop thinking and marvel at the splendor of Sudhagad Fort - a 4 hour drive from Mumbai. If you wish to savor more snaps of that trek, check my Flickr link.

The Weekly Masala

2006-11-24T10:06:00.000-08:00

The Story:
I was in a hurry. So, here I was hurrying up to apply the final traces of Cinthol onto my face, running out of the shower, trying to get into my cumbersome clothes and using my hand as an unwieldy comb. Whatever happens, a good amount of time has to be spent on tying shoelaces and ensuring everything's zipped - matter of dignity you see. The car keys were usurped. Their rotation was the only hope. As a human who has to attend meetings to fill his stomach (pun intended), the thought of reaching late, knocking the door and smiling sheepishly before taking the seat seemed horrific. Yeah sometimes, my eccentricity leads me to situations when I just cannot help myself saying 'excuse me'. I turned my humble beast into ignition mode and whirred it into action. Not too long after, it was zooming at a Schumi speed which would surely get me a ticket. I was sweating. And it rolled down faster when I realised that the PUC of my beast had expired yesterday. The men in white had to avoided at all costs today. I think they read my mind as I saw them lurking somewhere on the horizon. An immediately decelaration followed and I humbly followed an antiquated rickshaw emitting plumes of black smoke and a groaning voice. Perhaps, the policeman will find a problem with the rickshaw and the law of averages suggest that the next driver should be left scot free. As these thoughts and sweat flew, I hit a beautifully eroded pothole. Damn! Did the sun forget to rise from the East today? Something got hit below my seat. My car was drop dead slow after that hit and from the corner of my eye, I saw the tall "enemy of the day" in crisp white ironed clothes. I started to push the accelerator and the policeman beckoned me with his hand. Is this really happening? I slowed down and began to move to the side of the road. He was indeed eyeing me. Well, there goes 15 minutes, a few hundred bucks and a normal entry into the meeting room. I parked, stayed rooted to my seat and he came over to my window. His mouth opened and all I heard was this sentence. "Son, take care of that pothole the next time. You just missed blowing your engine."

The Music:
I must admit, though with a deep internal conflict, that I love British bands. You ask me and I would name U2 to be my favorite, Coldplay soon to be my all time favorite followed very closely by the Beatles. There is something so British like in these bands that conjoins the three and that something is what I really love. The guitar flow, the bass and the amazing vocals really stimulates my mood. And today, I present to you one of my favorite Beatle songs - I have been humming it since the last three days. Its from Abbey Road and its called "Here Comes the Sun". Sung by George Harrison, there is just so much optimism in the tune that it can show a melancholic soul the right path. My suggestion: don't deprive your ears with this amazing rendition.

The Book:
On the lookout for a nice, sweet, controversial, witty and a beautifully composed novel? Go ahead and buy "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Lee Harper. It has won the Pulitzer prize and there's no reason it wouldn't. The story is in the first person mode seen through the eyes of a young 6 year old girl set in rural Alabama in the 30s. In a time, when racial prejudices were at the peak, her lawyer father takes up the case of black man charged with the rape of a white girl - an unknown occurence then. Carefully detailing the social mores of the American society back then, the novel is wonderfully scripted and a must read.

The Movie:
I finally caught one of Stanley Kubrick's famous work. The masterpiece called "2001 - A Space Odyssey". I had read the novel by Arthur C Clarke and I had found it jaw-dropping awe-inspiring. The movie with Kubrick's handiwork rendered the book perfectly. Leave the few differences with the book and this movie should take anyone's breath away. With dialogues covering just 30 minutes, it is the eerie images of space, the mystery of an alien monolith stone, the dawn of man and the evil HAL computer that makes one appreciate filmmaking at its best. No wonder it ranks in the top 100 all time movies list by IMDB.

Once upon a time, there was a book...

2006-11-16T13:33:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time, there was a bookmarker - the protagonist of our story. Once upon a time, there was a bookworm, who enjoyed using bookmarkers in satisfying his insatiable hunger of reading. Once upon a time, there was a bookie, who with all his ill-gotten wealth wanted to satisfy his son's desire to read innumerable books. Once upon a time, there was a Booker prize winning book. A chronological juxtapose of the scenario suggests the bookie buying books for his bookworm son hellbent on using our heroic bookmarker, who in turn loved Booker prize winning books.

Our story begins with the bookmarker's first tryst with paper. Non-recycled ones, of course. The Master - referring to the bookworm in a puerile sense - was gifted Treasure Island by another bookie uncle. And there was immense glee on his generally vapid face in being able to use the lazy bookmarker finally. So started our hero's journey in exploring the antics of Jim Hawkins, Long John Silver, his parrot and his motley pirate crew. The Master forgot all about the Industrial Revolution because after this book, there was a new RDB type revolution brewing within him - the desire to devour as many books as possible. The bookmarker, though overloaded with work, could not ask for more. It was given an appraisal rating of 5 and it had to subserviently serve its Master obsequiously.

Soon came the Hardy Boys and the Nancy Drews. The adventure stories thrilled our bookmarker akin to an edge of the page excitement. And after the fights - sometimes catfights - came something our bookmarker learnt about...ummm...love actually. All of the sudden, the Master decided to explore a new genre. Science Fiction. Fantastic Voyage was stolen and our bookmarker was literally blown upside down during its traversal. Scientists turning miniature and exploring the human body inside out made our hero mull over the vicissitude of life; made it ponder whether it could ever become the Master himself and have a choice without an audience vote. The SF hangover never got over with the entire Asimov collection gulped and burped over 6 months. By now, our bookmarker had trespassed every archaic corner of the universe and every green-eyed alien seemed a neighbour. And all of a sudden, it happened one day...God had arrived.

Shakespeare had arrived. Ignoring his looks, the bookmarker placed a bet that he was the greatest Earth Idol ever. The audience vote did not disappoint him. The humble Bard flummoxed it with his honest yet complex weaving of Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and the accompaniments. A lot new human emotions made a favorable debut with the hero. And for the first time, with the emotion of love seeping right into its cranium, it asked the question "Do I love my Master?" And in a fleeting moment came the answer in the affirmative; the proof of it being a kiss pecked on it by the Master. And out of nowhere, it began humming romantic songs and was transported to the Swiss Alps - someday to be reproduced by Yashraj Films. Someday, the lovey-dovey stories had to end and the final gong rang in the form of political thrillers. A yet unexplored genre was brimming with the likes of the Archers, Forsyths, Ludlums, Grishams etc. The bookmarker was amazed at the speed with which some of these books were run over. Reason: the Master was in his engineering undergrad and other than the last few days before the exam, he hardly touched a book concerning his curriculum. The monotonous life ended years later and the bookmarker got its first opportunity in reading a Booker prize winning book. It got addicted and to this date, the love message sent at the application layer reaches only a Booker prize winning book. However, this should not be trivialised as a KANKy sort of infidelity with the Master.

The story has to end here abruptly because the bookmarker is still crazy about Bookers; because the bookie Papa still has lot of black wealth to support his son's Booker love and the tax authorities are blind; because the Master doesn't kiss the bookmarker anymore and needs to get a life; because I am woefully short of words.

The Lord Of The Mountains - A Trek Diary to Goecha La

2006-11-12T06:15:00.001-08:00

Yeah. Yeah. Been a wee bit too late to be writing this. But then has anyone ever lost tons of sleep due to persisting hallucinations?

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Disclaimer: Am no Tolkien. Am not attempting to be one. But am surely a big fan of his fairy tales. And this ain't a fairy tale.

Prologue:
Long long time ago, the Earth was a huge mass of land made of Laurasia and Gondwanaland. And when these two collided, Pangaea was formed with the Himalayas as the post mortem of their fight. The two plates hit it hard in a place near present-day Sikkim giving rise to Kanchenzonga, the third highest peak on Earth and revered by the millions of Buddhists all over. Standing at over 8000m, it is aloof to all the wars, weapons of mass destruction and crimes humanity commits way below it. It reigns immortal in the dimension of time. Humans are mere mortals before it - aptly experienced at Goecha La Pass at 5000m, the closest point one can get to it.

Frodo aka Anup Patnaik was always of the merry sort believing that a thing either falls in the "rocks" or the "sucks" category. Leading a humble spiritual existence with his Apache in Bengaluru, he was doubly excited when the idea of the trek came up. Immmediately, an "Outlook Traveller - Trekking in India" was bought along with a 2000 buck sleeping bag.

Sam aka Ramprasad Madhavan was intially confused whether he should join the trek or please his Korean clients. He was also confused whether he enjoyed trekking. A lil bit of coaxing always helps in his case. Frodo played his part well by dragging his Bangalore chum for trek shopping. Of course, he would be missing his new found love (plus some rasam) all the while during the trek.

Gollum aka me had always dreamt of going to the North East. And when circumstances decided that it would be Sikkim and not the North East sisters, he was a tad disappointed. He had been there before. But the idea of a trek to Goecha La was exhilirating. I call myself the evil Gollum because I planned the trek for 5 days over the general 7-8 days due to work constraints. All despite a few protests. No one seemed to have done this trek in 5 days! Stupid Gollum.

SonAm was an orphan and had worked his way up as a guide and a cook for tourists in idyllic Yuksom, Sikkim. He was accustomed to the geography of the West Sikkim and accompanied enthusiastic trekkers on the way to Goecha La. He had the perfect understanding of distances and the right mettle to satisfy what his customers seeked.

SangCho, the porter was the baby of all. The 20 year dimunitive farmer boy from Yuksom had the cutest smile, the strength of an ox and the maturity of a very wise man. He had always wanted to visit Goecha La and here he saw an opportunity. There can't be anyone in this world who can hate SangCho.

Shiva and Dadu, the 65 and 70 year old porters were strong able men and were known all over the Yuksom valley as carrying 25-30 kgs on their backs as easily as a Hindi film actor carries his heroine.

The Story:
Before the curtains open for "Day 1", the miserable and apathetic journey suffered by both Gollum and the Bengaluru gang is worth mentioning. Gollum's train from Mumbai was 8 hours late even before it moved its iron ass, he was suffering a bad cold due to the Diwali pollution and by the first night in the 3AC compartment, he already had his long forgotten and unused asthma puff out. By the time he reached New Jalpaiguri (NJP), he was 16 hours late, grossly weakened with cold and congestion, 6 hours away from Yuksom and wondering if there will be a trek possible. Frodo and Sam had to endure lots of Bengali eunuchs and chatter from all sides, but they did thank Lalu whose rule to ensure that atleast 10% of trains reach on time worked in their favor. Due to Gollum's delay, they stayed overnight at the Hilton in NJP for a measly 200 bucks and thankfully left for Yuksom to make the trek arrangements. The cab ride to Yuksom, which should have included Gollum too, eased their pockets by 80 per head with other fellow travellers. And poor Gollum had to make that ride alone late in the night shelling out 1600. Stupid Lalu - our Sauron of the trip. The reunion finally happened in a small wooden cottage "Pemaling"(200 bucks per night) at 12.30 am with cold sub zero winds enveloping Gollum all over. With each snuggled in their heavy blankets, they snored. Their merry little journey was about to begin in 7 hours.

Day 1:
Luck smiles. The morning Himalayan rays does stir some magic on the soul. It just invigorates all. A simple registration with the local police station later, it all began with the always cheerful Frodo, the energetic bearded Sam and the slow but motivated Gollum trudging across the Yuksom fields with their heavy backpacks (avg 12 kg). SonAm led the way. To their chagrin they realised that their porters SangCho, Shiva and Dadu were carried 25-30 kgs of their rations with ease and were outpacing them pretty easily. Their destination for the day was supposed to Tshoka - a trek of 11-13 kms over tropical valleys and ravines with the last 4 kms a straight uphill 60 degree inclined climb. A normal fit trekker would accomplish this in 5-6 hours. But for Frodo and his bunch, it was arduous. Every climb hurt. Gollum was miserable with having to control his breathing to avoid another asthma type situation along with a not-so-great stamina. He always stayed behind the pack. Sam used his short bursts of energy to good effect but it withered after a while. Frodo who was literally jogging at the start of the trek slowed down gradually and also began to find the climb tough on his ankles. 5 minute rest breaks were the order of the day. Two rope bridges over glistening waterfalls and yanking away from a few domestic yaks (with bells on their necks) later, they reached a small hut at Sachen at 2pm. About 6 kms had been covered. This would be where lunch was to be cooked. Out came the kerosene stove from Dadu's bag - along with lots of onions, tomatoes, masalas and all that one can imagine. A few noodle bags were shredded. Ummm. Before that came the hot chai - superbly accompanied with Marie biscuits. It felt like a Thanksgiving vegetarian feast in the middle of the Kanchenzonga Forest Reserve. SonAm told them that it gets dark by 5pm and only by running can they reach Tshoka tonight. With distressed glares and legs, they decided on aiming for it. At 3.15 pm, the trio almost doubled their pace. It was hard - it really ached. It was just the first day and if the 30 degree climbs were a problem, the 60s were just waiting for them. They carried on. At 4.15 pm the huge bridge over the Prek Chu River passed by. The loud roar that the river made with its descent was music to the ears and for a moment it felt like a painkiller. It was all uphill from here. 2 kms to Bakhim and 4 to Tshoka. SonAm recommended camping at Bakhim. Of course, everyone nodded. It began at 4.30 pm. One just had to look vertically UP for the next step. A twig here, a crawl there, few stones tumbling down - it was all happening there in semi darkness. Half a kilometer away, it was pitch dark and a single torch saved the day. Holding each other's hands, the trio and SonAm reached the Bakhim outpost at 6pm. So shellshocked were they when they realised that Dadu, Shiva and SangCho were already up there making chai for the trio. A wooden house awaited them and they somehow straggled to the nearest bench and collapsed. Phew! What a day, it had been! An hour later, out came the Royal Stag Premium Whisky. It was in the whereabouts of -5C. The hot rush through the throat was more like Benadryl syrup as Sam suggested. Over a dinner consisting of rotis and sumptous aloo subzi, an hour long chat on beliefs, spirituality, religion ensued which opened the hearts and minds of each of them. Just before 9pm, the three experienced the heavens at night. Every nook and corner of the sky seemed to be on rent with a star or galaxy egging to be filled up with it. The sleeping bags were the antidote to all the aches and pains. Lights dimmed slowly and it end of day 1. However, not before Frodo, Sam and Gollum saw a shooting star and made a wish - to emerge victorious!

Day 2:
Some birds really do sing - long tailed magpies really do. A beautiful song awoke Gollum from a hallucinating experience at the tip of dawn. Sooner, Sam and Frodo were up too. And all Frodo could wonder of was a decent place to shit. The bushes, mate! So as Sam and Gollum admired the beauty around them and clicked, not too far there was a rustling in the bushes. Soon, the time came for Gollum and Sam - ultimately Gollum did admit that it had been the most natural way of performing the act. The scent and the substance had been laid by the trio for future explorers to discover. Back to edible stuff! A hot spicy aloo broth had been cooked as breakfast and by 9am, the backpacks were up and ready. The day's trek would be the most enduring one - a total of 11 kms from 9000 ft at Bakhim to 13,200 ft at Dzongri, where the air would gradually start thinning. If Day 1's antics were to be repeated, reaching halfway would be a milestone! So it started. The fresh legs and energy did help one and all despite the straight uphill climb. And Tshoka was breached within an hour. This was a proper habitable settlement with dozens of houses and a few shops. Fortunately, SonAm's aunt lived here, which meant offloading useless items from the backpacks and collecting it on the way back. The average backpack weight after Tshoka would be around 7-8 kgs. Thankfully! Jackets, tuques, gloves were added to the caravan - without them, a man would freeze in 5 minutes. Sam was desperately asking for time to shop for a few Tibetian stuff for that special someone - Frodo and Gollum never have to worry with that perspective. At 11.15am, after a ridiculous trolling with time, it started again. The tropical forests gave way to coniferous ones. Dzongri was not even conifer - it was barren and fully laden wih snow. The next pit stop would be Phedang - 6 kms away. Gollum once said that this stretch, despite being a nice wooden trail, is akin to climbing over a 1000m at over 60 degrees incline and is the toughest section of the trek. Even the most experienced trekker would swear by it. Even the yaks bell their bells, when you talk of this stretch. A nice chat with a few Americans on the way gave some respite. Most were medical students from all over the US and the trio on enquiry did find that they had a few altitude sickness tablets to spare - something the trio were really thankful for as Yuksom didn't have those. The Phedang barrier was finally blown apart at 2.15pm. Be it Gollum, Sam or Frodo - it just meant running to the polyester mattress laid by the porters, dropping the backpack and dozing off for a while. Excruciating doesn't even come close! But it was breached and the view from the locale said it all - the snow clad mountains were easily all around them, the conifers were beginning to thin and life @ 4000m seemed really cool (pun intended). Then came the chai and the hot lunch. Frodo and Gollum slurped on egg noodles, while Sam was content with regular ones. The vice of jealousy did erupt here when a foreign group pitched their tents right in front of them. A 5 day trek really cannot afford that luxury of camping every 6 kms. The porters had relaxed, the trio had relaxed and even SonAm was chilling out. Suddenly Gollum's watch announced it was 4pm and all hell broke loose. There were another 3-4 kms to go and that would mean trekking again in the dark. The trio convinced SonAm to aim for Dzongri, no matter what. There were more torches now and after a further climb of 2kms, it would be an easy trek over snow. At 4.15 pm, the blip of seven men on the Phedang radars would move again heading first to Dzoraelli Point, where the first view of the entire clan of the Kanchenzonga would be visible. By now, climbing uphill was commonplace and the legs were accustomed to getting streched in finding the next higher rock crevice. At 5.30 pm, just about twilight, the Point was reached and it was outer-wordly. The trio folded their hands at the sight of the majestic Kanchenzonga flanked by Pandim and Kabru. It was more than a treat to the eyes. Of course, they never knew they would getting really up, close and personal with them. But as they say, first impressions matter a lot! The day still had not ended for them. Half an hour was Dzongri. And after a long long time, there would no climb. Out came the torches and the first brush of the shoes with the snow. The soft snow made matters easy as it is not hard on the feet. Within no time, the Dzongri Trekkers Hut welcomed the gang. It was full of foreigners and a tiny corner was carved for the trio. It seemed the trek is never attempted by Indians - either one saw foreigners or the local Sikkimese porters and guides. In the dim hut, it was again discussed if it would be possible to finish this colossal trip in 5 days. Stubborn Gollum stuck to his rut that he would not extend the trek and miss the train back home even if it meant not reaching Goecha La - it would be tough for him anyways considering the altitude and his deteriorating breathing problem. Frodo and Sam tried to make sense to him, suggesting for a back-up plan if things didn't go the way they were supposed to. It was finally decided to take it on a day-day basis and decide accordingly. The dinner followed with each morsel containing rice, dal, subzi and papad. Everyone wished for sweeter dreams. After all, as per the early itinerary, Dzongri had to be reached by Day 2.

Day 3:
At the first light of dawn, the eyes flickered. Reason: A 45 minute visit to Dzongri top at almost 4800m is a must for every living creature in Dzongri. Just because at that height, one gets a panoramic view of the entire Himalayan range in the vicinity. No backpacks were needed. SangCho accompanied the trio for the endeavor, while SonAm, Shiva and Dadu embroiled themselves in cooking up a breakfast. The route was all uphill and this time it took a toll on Gollum who finished almost 10 minutes behind Frodo and Sam. The early morning cold air is really thin at those heights and the breathing does get laborous. But what greeted them all was simply mind rupturing. Being a very Buddhist area meant that a high human-accessible hilltop like Dzongri Top was spiritually revered by them and the prayer flags at the top were proof of that. Add to that the early morning blue skies and the first sun rays kissing the mountains. It was an awesome sight to behold. Of course, the Top was all snow clad and sitting anywhere would mean a nice frozen ass. The shutterbugs continued - for the first time all the cameras were in full use despite a concern whether the batteries would last till Day 5. It was a total paisa vasool place. Back in Dzongri by 7.30 am. A separate thin hut there acted as the loo. All it had was a long open cavity in the centre. Pretty interesting concept! After an output, there should be an input and a breakfast of bread toast and omlette created the balance. It was all hunky-dory by 8.30 am after which the walk began again. The day's trek would be the most easy-going. Amazing views all around in superb weather conditions with nothing much to climb. Day 1 and Day 2's efforts seemed so far away. An interesting snippet here is that this part of the trek is way more colorful in spring than in fall due to the blooming of the rhodendron shrubs. After all the effort of two days of trying to gain altitude came a point on the way after 6 kms - a straight drop of over 1300m at the bottom of a valley near the Prek Chu River. The trek henceforth till would be on the sidelines of the Prek Chu right upto its source. Such a descent should be a treat. As such, it was way lot faster to traverse without the need for rest. But a downhill walk means a lot more stress on the legs, toes and ankles. On the other hand, an uphill climb requires stamina, energy and a bit of knee power. Gollum really loved going downhill, while Sam found it really troublesome. And so, Kokchurong at the bottom of the huge hill was won around 12.30pm where one and all could hear the sweet strumming of the PreK Chu river nearby. A 15 min breather near the Trekkers Hut elapsed before 15 minutes and it was time to move again. The Prek Chu was crossed over a rickety bridge and the next destination Tangshing was 3 kms away. It was a wee bit uphill trail though not as bad as Day 2. All this uphill, downhill, uphill trails made the three wonder the true nature of a trek - it is essentially a mixed combination of both which gets involved in deciding the best possible trail to a destination. Around 2.15 pm, the playground of Tangshing came into sight and with it a host of tents and a Trekkers Hut as always. The trio were itching to experience a tent's life n the Himalayas and it would seem possible today. Though as per plans, Tangshing wasn't supposed to be the final stop for the day. It was to be at Le Mune 3 kms further up the Prek Chu. The problem was that there was only a small wooden cabin there and it was already occupied by other porters. The gang's tent was only a 3 man one and it could not accomodate 7 of them. Realising this, the trio were disappointed. But SonAm relented that the porters would manage somehow and that they would head for Le Mune after food. Aloo lunches do help in such conditions due to their starch content and the instant feeling of hunger satisfaction. By 4.15 pm, the backpacks were shouldered again and it again seemed thatthe night trek factor would seep in as earlier days. Fortunately the stretch, mostly over thin streams and rivulets meeting the Prek Chu, was covered soon and in the final twilight hours, the tent pitching process was gathering steam. With torches on, the end product was a dream come true for the trio. They decided to avoid dinner and doze off sooner. The temperature outside was already close to zero and it was expected to dip a lot further. To the trio's horror, SonAm and SangCho had decided to sleep outside in their bags beneath a few rocks. There was no other solution in sight. The older Shiva and Dadu would be accomodated in the tent. It is no wonder that these so called Sherpas are the strongest and the courageous in the world and no amount of salutes can complement it. Inside the tent, a few candle games were demonstrated by Frodo and sleeping seemed to be the last thing on his mind. Not to forget the first ever Colgate smiles posing for snaps in that tiny space. It all had to end soon. 3.30 am would mark the continuation of the trek all the way to Goecha La and back. As the brains hallucinated, sometime in the night Dadu and Shiva joined the sleep circus in the tent and somewhere outside beneath a rock, SonAm and SangCho - the true heroes - dozed off to sleep.

Day 4:
The Judgement Day had not even begun. At 3.30 am in the Prek Chu valley far away from the maddening crowds, even the celestial beings would give up monitoring mankind - it was that remote. And the chilly winds reminded one and all that the day's experience won't be easy at all. Would have been around -15C at that time. In such frigid temperatures, SonAm and SangCho had set themselves the task of cooking up a heavy early breakfast. There were no huts upto Goecha La, which meant no food till everyone returned back to the tent. It also meant Shiva and Dadu would stay put in Le Mune and there would no need to carry backpacks. While the cooking continued in the open air with a single kerosene bottle flame as the light source, Frodo went around to a distant corner with another flame - as usual to shed his innards. Doing the act at 3.30 am at -15C in the open air is a different matter altogether! Around 4, the food was ready to be served. Puris and spicy ginger-garlic infested aloo subzi surely made the body feel warm and energised. Not too long after, with the bottled flame as the mashaal or guiding light source, the 5 embarked on the seemingly distant but not too far Goecha La Pass. Winning it would be decided by the motivation level, the weather, the energy levels etc. It was a tough ask to trek in the darkness despite the single light source as there were many small streams on the way, which had frozen to the point of being slippery. The sun would later break them apart. The torch bearer, either SonAm or SangCho, would wait for all to climb up the smallest incline or the smallest ice sheet of frozen water. An hour's walk later at 5.30am, the real originator of the Prek Chu became visible in the early light. Samiti Lake. Witnessing the birth of the river they had been seeing all along the way was a dream come true for the trio. Surrounding it ever so close were all the peaks they had seen from far. From all those snow-clad peaks emerged thousands of brooks meeting the Samiti - a silent green wonder on its own - and from it broke out the Prek Chu over a cliff. Fascinating! Like the Kanchenzonga, the Samiti was deeply spiritual for the Sikkimese and they had recently banned camping there. There had been incessant reports before that a lot many foreigners would bathe naked in the lake which had incensed the government into taking the action. Mincing no words, a walk along the shorelines of the Samiti is an outer-wordly experience. Nature's perfection at its best! The next viewpoint was Zemathang - a straight uphill climb over a barren hill surrounding Samiti at over 5000m. Air was really getting thin here and all forms of flora had disappeared. Infact no life form could exist there. It reminded Gollum of the Mars landscape as seen through its robots- all rocks and stones. Very eerie. This stretch was covered really slowly. 3 minute rest breaks were taken after every 7-8 minutes of climb. The exhaustion was ripe on everyone's faces and the altitude added to the problem. At every such break, an attempt was made to capture all the amazingly close above 6000m snow clad peaks on camera. Be it slow, such potraits but would rarely be again seen in a person's lifetime. The morning rays had descended on all the peaks and fortunately the weather was perfect. Around 7.30 am, the prayer flags at Zemathang were caught by the eyes from a distance. Just before reaching it though was the most dangerous part of the trek - a thin trail of rocks to walk over and a deep valley on the left. Any false move and it was nirvana right then and there. It literally rquired crawling step by step and once that was done, the sight was a splendour to see. It is really tough to explain whatever was seen on this day in appropriate words - only one's presence there can bring in a hue of emotions. Zemathang as such is generally thought of Goecha La by a lot of adventurers, who head back after visiting it. It is at the same altitude as real Goecha La and the trek to the real Goecha La Pass can be very dangerous in inclement weather conditions. The majestic Kanchenzonga, lot many unnamed glaciers and the path to the Pass is seen from this viewpoint. Surprisingly, a huge arid desert of some kind is visible and has to be negotiated to reach Goecha La. Frodo, Sam and Gollum looked in the distant horizon towards their target - the Pass 2 to 3 hours away and contemplated. All the three were motivated - Frodo the most, Sam hesitant at first but coaxed, Gollum very much only if his breathing allowed (he was carrying his puff). All bets were off and the break at Zemathang didn't last long. The first obstacle was a straight deep descent onto the Goecha La "arid desert" valley. So steep that a single stone movement would cascade many deep below into the valley. Going down meant it was run over in no time and in no time the long stretch over the desert ensued. It might have been over a kilometer of walking on sand of all things with the mountains peeking over the five. And when that ended, it was a zigzag way to reach the base of the hill above which the Goecha La Pass loomed. At this point, Gollum requested the rest to go further and that he would want to be really slow in covering the last part. If he didn't feel right, he would head off over to Zemathang and wait for the others to return. SonAm asked SangCho to accompany Gollum whatever the situation be - reaching the Pass or back. Frodo and Sam lumbered ahead with SonAm and Gollum with small steps and breath in control slowly trudged along. It was an uphill climb of sorts and halfway through would take over the trail. Gollum took 2 minute rests every 5 minutes and gulped down the ice cold water of the Prek Chu. The water seemed to give him energy to move ahead despite it being not the right thing to do. Around 10 am, it was done. Frodo and Sam had done the impossible. They had breached Goecha La. And 15 minutes later, they saw a tiny figure in a green jacket slowly limping behind its guide in a yellow jacket. Gollum reached the Pass with a deep satisfaction and collapsed on the snow to take a breather. They all found it straight out of a dream. The Kanchenzonga - the third highest peak in the world was right there above them. So near. Obviously far in terms of an altitude of 3500m. Very few humans get to experience such a spiritual peak so close. A countable number of them, if you just talk of Indians. As mentioned earlier, words are short for such moments. Adjoining the Pass were the other peaks with all their snow run over steep deep inclines. There was a dark green lake below the Pass - very likely a source of another river. Looking towards the big K - the route ended there for all trekkers and it was illegal to go further even on narow trails. Proper mountaineering equipment and a permit is needed to go ahead. Frodo spent some time pondering the road ahead and found another lake, albeit frozen, at the base of the big K. The cameras were out in full strength and the prayer flag bought in Tshoka was tied at the Pass. Proof of the trio's footprints at Goecha La. After an hour at the Pass, it was time to return. The second leg of the trek had begun. Going downhill wasn't a troublesome task for anyone in particular and retracing the steps back gave all the time to think of all the effort that had gone in feeling Earth's beautiful creation first hand. In a matter of minutes, it started snowing and with it came the winds which had evaded them till then. The tuque and the jacket played its part well on this occasion because the freezing breeze hit the head hard especially in the desert region of the valley. Zemathang followed and Samiti was to follow. By this time, every step was badly energy sapping. It was around 1.30 pm and with no food in the guts, the reserve energy was used up. SonAm moved early than the gang to cook up a meal before the trio reached Le Mune. Finally at 2.30 pm, the famished three reached up to Le Mune only to find that no food could be cooked. The stove had gone horribly wrong. Dadu and shiva were unsuccessful in repairing it and only at Tangshing, with the help of other porters, a good meal could be made. Sam and Gollum had by then reclined in the tent, sipped on some orange juice with Marie biscuits. So tired were they that it was decided to take a short nap till 3 and then head off for Tangshing with Sangcho. SonAm left for Tangshing right then to take up the meal issue. The very short nap did make matters lot easy. At 3pm, SangCho packed the tent and herded it onto his basket. Off to Tangshing. On reaching it around 4.30pm, a hot meal of rice and vegetables followed and sooner, the backpacks were up again to head for the pitstop of the day - Kokchurong. It would involve running in the dark again - this time with the kerosene bottle flames. A lot of the stones on the way troubled Frodo, who found it really tough to find his way in the dark. Around 6.30 pm, the Kokchurong Trekkers Hut welcomed the seven. The sleeping bags were put hastily. Sam, Frodo and Gollum dozed off immediately with the latter deciding not to have dinner. Sam and Frodo gulped in some food later and returned back to sleep. Except Day 1, the itinerary had been strictly followed. But Day 5 would be of the "crossed fingers" type. Too much to be covered and which had never been covered by a trekker before: Reaching Yuksom by the end of day, albeit following an different route till Phedang from Kokchurong. The big K would encapsulate the trio's dreams that night.

Day 5:
It all started too late. Upto Phedang was was easily a trail of easy ups and downs, but still a good 8 kms away. It would take 3-4 hours easily going by the gang's speed. From there, Tshoka was another 6 kms downhill. Finally, Tshoka to Yuksom - a day's trek would be 12 kms mostly downhill. A whooping 26 kms expected to be covered in 1 day. Yeah Gollum was stupid. But the good part here was it was all mostly downhill and with a bit of luck, all those distances could be covered in double the time than before. SonAm estimated that with a consistent speed, YukSom could be reached by 6 pm. The porters woke up a bit late and instead of 5 am, it was 7 am when the first steps were taken. After a breakfast of hot dal and rice. The first stretch was along the Prek Chu passing through a dense tropical forest. Frodo found this part of the trail exhaustive. At 10.15 am, Gollum made the breakthrough at Phedang where a huge group of Indians had arrived with some instructors. They were part of the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute and as part of their coursework, were heading for a base camp nearby. Soon, Frodo and Sam arrived and by 11 am, they were en route for Tshoka. This distance, when going uphill was the most excruciating - but downhill seemed way easier. The three wondered with amazement how they had trekked this tough section 3 days back. By 12.45 pm, Tshoka was breached and it was a welcome invasion. Lunch had been cooked up. And it arrived in the form of noodles. Sam continued his shopping endeavour and the rented jackets were returned back. The offloaded items at Tshoka had to be filled up into the backpacks again, but that was taken care by SangCho and Dadu, whose baskets had become a bit lighter by now. At 2 pm, Tshoka was seen in the distance and headed for. Frodo now felt much better. Going downhill, Bakhim was astonishingly covered in half an hour, the long Prek Chu bridge in another hour. It was 3.30 pm with another 8 kms left. Sachen by 4.30 pm. By then, it was really getting dark and this was where the problem started. There was no light to guide them. Dadu had the kerosene and being old and faster, he had galloped ahead without caring to no one knew where. SangCho jogged ahead in the darkness to find him. He was finally found around 6 pm. By then it was too dark to walk with just a single torch. SonAm and SangCho attached a jute bag at the end of a long stick, dripped kerosene on it and lit a huge flame. That took care of most of the problems. But a lot more of kerosene was getting used. 3 kms away from Yuksom, SonAm found some rubber which he lit with kerosene and that never died. It burnt till the end of the trek. Around 8 pm, Yuksom was finally won and there were moments of joy everywhere. Frodo, Sam and Gollum relaxed themselves at Sherpa's house - the person from whom Frodo had arranged everything in Yuksom. Fresh chai arrived, snaps were taken and the overnight cab for NJP arrived in no time. Money changed hands - arranging for porters (200 a day), cook/guide (300 a day), food items et all cost the three around 16000 bucks. The final byes were waved and the cab whirred into motion. The cab was booked for 2200 bucks because there was no one who would take them to NJP that late in the night. It was all over and the screaming legs in the cab were evidence of that.

Epilogue:
On reaching NJP at 4 am and the train four hours away, it was decided to use up the Hilton to clean up oneself. The past six days, there had been no thought to bathe and shave. The Hilton served its purpose really well and by 8 am, the train for Kolkata had chugged along. They just snored in the train. As Lalu's Indian Railways go, the train's engine blew up with Kolkata two hours away. Frodo and Sam had a connecting train for Bhubaneshwar, while Gollum had to board one for Mumbai. With the engine blowup, all plans had gone haywire. Backup plans were made with Gollum booking a flight ticket and Frodo/Sam aiming for a late night train. By the time the engine problem was sorted, the connecting trains would have been on their way. Luckily, Gollum's connecting train was also two hours late and he promptly cancelled the flight ticket. At Kolkata, they parted ways for the way back home. The trek had served its purpose - uniting the three friends for a common goal. And it wasn't darn expensive at all - 10K per head overall - considering what was achieved. Goecha La won't be forgotten in the annals of their lives and hopefully this diary contributes to that endeavor.

----
Thank you for reading, if you did. I hope that this diary serves a good information stop for anyone wishing to head for the Pass. My best wishes. (Do look out for SonAm and SangCho if you are heading there - they rock bigtime) . More snaps in the Flickr link alongside.

My Experiments with Life

2006-10-14T13:54:00.000-07:00

Time, not age, is taking its toll on me. There are so many beautiful and esoteric things to explore and appreciate, but there is so less time this world has to offer us. I tried to change the wall clock's settings back by an hour - to no avail. I have hence decided to jump into the whirlpool and compiled the "101 things to do before I die". I have begun to experiment with life lately. Trying to indulge myself in a melting pot of hobbies other than what my 45 hour a week work schedule - trying to make mobile phones enrich relationships faster and better - allows.

The first and the more important experiment involves upgrading Blogging 1.0 to Blogging 2.0. I started off with blogging as an experiment and as I progressed, realised that there's more to me than just writing gibberish. Being a dreamer helps. It helped me write stories. To some, they are boring while for some, there is a lot of humane perception in them. Methinks, there are very few stories which carry a universal appeal. The crux is storytelling is an extension of myself which I wanted to explore. I have begun writing a story, the residue of which will be in the form of a book a few months down the line. A foggy flowchart is ready in my mind. Just littering words on a canvas remains. Of course, this activity will be a background "daemon" process over my hectic work schedule.

The other experiment will be in exploring the genre of world cinema. I have been lately catching some amazing cinematic works. These are not the stereotypical Hollywood types. These boggle, stun and awe the mind into submission. Ever heard of Tarkovsky, Kurosawa, Bergman etc. Just watch one of their movies and you might stop watching the regular Hollywood fare. Here is a good link to start with. And if you want to grapple with the highest rated movies of all time, check this link.

And how can I forget music. The soul of planet Earth - I wonder the fate of humans if music didn't exist. If you ever get a chance, tune up to the likes of Beethoven, Mozart, Bach etc. Plus the classico modern compositions of Yanni. Being a violin aficianado, I have to add the name of Paganini the great and the man in his present avatar - Itzhak Perlman. Someday, I will blog on one composition of his that is so synonymous with humanism.

Lastly, travelling always gives me that ephemeral joy of achieving Nirvana. This weekend, am leaving for a place which will synergise me with the mountains. The 6-day trek on the holy Kanchenjunga should make me forget all the ills of the world; it should be the perfect tryst with nature - a oneness with the elements of Earth. I should find my book's canvas here, relate to Tarkovsky's Zerkalo here and synch to Mozart here.

The Jungle Story

2006-10-06T12:54:00.000-07:00

Chirp Chirp. Sunday morning. The crimson sun broke through the innumerable irritants on the way to touch the soft soil. And as it did so, it invigorated the spirits of the innumerable flora that traverses this landscape. The black canvas of the dark was splattered with varied multicolored hues - green being the dominant one.

Its been like this since time started ticking.

I woke up from my deep reverie. I had such a fascinating dream last night. Dreams of desire, a mate, food and a life of satisfaction and pride. Well, seldom do dreams come true!

My limbs really ached and needed some stretching. I stood out in the sun and gave my body a real hard jerk, tweaking out every muscle to perfection. The soft warmth of the sun and the pure 22% of oxygen air catalysed the orgasmic sense of pleasure in my soul. Life in the forest is primal and unadultered joy. No artificial contents added.

I trudged past a few shrubs and found the perfect spot. Shed off all inhibitions and littered the place with the liquids and solids of my innards. What a relief !

The moment seemed so perfect. Bright blue skies, a pleasant November breeze and no one to stop me from plunging into the river and enjoying a nice long bath. Now that Mama's not around, its my life!

I left Mama just a month back. It had been too much of a problem bearing her whims. Don't go here, don't go there. I wanted to live life by my terms and could not take her orders for long. A long discussion ensued and I broke off. She never tried to stop me, because as I understand, she was proud to see me take this step. However, now that I recollect that moment, in that pride I could find a hidden tear. That moment really hurts my tiny brain, now that there is no one to love me. I wish I could find her again and throw a surprise that her son has become emotionally mature enough to miss her. I wish...I wish...

I buried my head into the cold water to extricate those memories from my mind at present. I just could not afford not to miss such a wonderful day.

An hour passed. Two hours passed. Suddenly, through the corner of my eye, I see a flutter in the bamboo undergrowth. Holy Sher Khan! But is that a tigress? Days like these are hard to come by. A babe tigress with a lustrous skin ambles past and just chills out near the pond.

Gawd! She knows she is in my territory. She knows I am ogling at her and she is so cool about it. I think she likes me. Of course, she is justified. She could never ever find a strong virile male with long whiskers, bold skin tones and a good sense of humor. Will she be the one, I've been waiting for?

I rush out of the water and move towards the beauty. She eyed me - infact that was a very lascivious look. I move around her, smell her and the Tigerympic games began.

Three hours passed. She let out a large growl and headed back to where she came from. There goes my sex bomb, carrying with her my future.

All that effort was really draining and a baby Sambar could be the right dose. More spicy would be an adult Sambar. Apologies for my humor. I moved my ass up and headed towards Kankwari Fort in the middle of the Reserve. Those mammals love being there, despite my countless attacks and can never figure out my attack strategy. I loitered on a thin trail leading to the Fort.

Suddenly, out of the blue emerge two human creatures with a long stick-like thing in hand. It was directly pointed at me. I let out a ferocious growl. How dare these cretins invade my territory? I was about to pounce on them, when a loud noise accompanied by a stone like thing hit me in my guts. My body was ruptured in a second and blood oozed out in heavy spurts. Before I could scream further, my eyes grew dim. But before it went dark, I saw her...lying behind those humans' legs....my sex bomb. Dead! As I began my fast journey towards death, a lot of moments flashed before me - Mama licking my face showering all her love, me yapping at my mother's nipples, gorging on my first ever prey, celebrating my victorious fight with a competing tiger and finally, the moments I spent with my sex bomb. Did it have to end this way today? Why me? Why her?

Eyes Wide Shut.

Chirp. Chirp. It was evening in the Sariska Tiger Reserve.

Its been like this since time started ticking.

----
There is no other beautiful creature to roam this planet! And you wouldn't see it in an another 20 years.

Support Project Tiger.

No Subject

2006-09-30T11:24:00.000-07:00

I was ecstatic all this while. Bouncing in the air for that matter. Might have broken a few tiles and cots for that matter. Life has been beautiful. No *writer's block* and its been four months and 67 posts. Until today.

Senseless hyperbolic talk follows.

Been so busy that the donkeys are heehawing with delight. Musharraf found his alter ego in Bush as seen in a worldwide televised press conference: the former fool publicising his *sci-fi* book and the latter fool appreciating his efforts. Tom gets hurt again in his pursuit of Jerry. Rabri believes Laloo is best management teacher. Three cheers to KANK for not making it to the Oscars. Deception Point by Dan Brown is the stupidest thriller ever written. The WTO is a mud slinging duel between governments with no final bell. The ubiquitous Himesh has discovered his true place nowadays - at home. The lymphocircoma of the intestine is the most grieved disease in the world. Norah Jones has the sweetest voice on Earth. Just a matter of 20 days for my 6 day Kanchenjunga trek to begin. Alonso is four asses ahead of Schumi in the Chinese Grand Prix qualifying. Itzhak Perlman's violin theme for Schindler's List is the most emotionally cathartic music ever composed. Garfield's snooze reckons him to grab a bite before continuing his nap again. I look forward to eating an eclectic mix of pav bhaji - rasam toppings on a pizza spiced with schezwan and mustard sauce. True blue writers are never blocked by writer's block.

My mind is a nomad obsessed with scrounging for water in varied oases

Dumb and Dumber

2006-09-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

Dumb: I am working on creating a new religion. Yeah baby yeah.

Dumber: Ohh really! I love this. How do you go about this?

Dumb: My dumb brain suggests me to start off with writing a book.

Dumber: Woaah! A book. I hate books. I love comics.

Dumb: Dude, don't you worry! This book is never to be read.

Dumber: So then, is this a book with lotsa pictures? I love pictures. Make it a fat book of pictures.

Dumb: No dear. It will of course be a fat book. But with no pictures. Only good things.

Dumber: You mean good things like burgers, pizzas, icecreams, cars, women, money?

Dumb: Uhhh...yeah...sorta. All this comes in the end. Before that, the readers have to follow the steps, I suggest in the book.

Dumber: This is confusing. How do I get all those good things, without reading the fat book?

Dumb: Ahha! You need not do anything. After the book is over, I will enlist a few people who will give you an understanding of the book. I call them preachers.

Dumber: P-R-E-A-C-H-E-R. Is this spelling correct? One more thing. Are these preachers nice?

Dumb: Yeah buddy, the spelling's fine. These preachers will be very nice to everyone and know what, they will try and convert everyone around to pray to our God.

Dumber: WE have our own God! That is way too cool. What does HE do and where is HE?

Dumb: Super cool! But dear, HE actually doesn't exist. All we will be doing is to write super good stuff about this God, so that people believe in HIM

Dumber: If HE doesn't exist, then why this new GOD? We already have a FEW around.

Dumb: Power, my friend, POWER. The whole world loves God. And once people start loving our GOD, we can influence them through the preachers. We will have the power.

Dumber: Ahha! I am getting the whole thing now. But what about the miracles, the Gods are known to do.

Dumb: Magic. My preachers will take care of that. Generally, we won't have to worry much about that. You just talk about God and people will follow you.

Dumber: Interesting! Can you do a favor for me? Please accept my suggestion for our God's name.

Dumb: Sure! Shoot.

Dumber: Thanks. I have always loved Popeye. Is that name fine?

Dumb: Uhhhoh. Will think about it.

Dumber: You rock man! I never knew you were this dumb. I love religion and God.

Dumb: So do I, dear. So do I.
---------------------

Found this vitriolic? My apologies to all those theists, who are reading this (coz am not one). This influenced me to post.

The world ain't a Truman Show. No one's watching you. Even if you kill each other in the name of HIM.

The Elevator Story

2006-09-16T07:11:00.000-07:00

M ran along the atrium desperately to catch the elevator. A taste of a knee here, an elbow there and of course the regular stumble later - not to forget the Excuse me and the Am sorry - he managed to force open the closing doors, Spiderman style. Immediately, 4 clear and 2 spectacled eyes ogled at him with a silent grimace. To avoid the honorary disgrace, M once inside, looked down at his shoelaces. What he did might have been improper. But then he cannot afford to be late for the meeting. He was sure he might admonish someone someday who might commit this act. Whatever! All he wished was that the 36th floor turns up in a flicker, so that he could deliver to his boss the stupendous business idea he had conceived. And walk back home with a fat bonus.

L pouted at this sudden impropriety inflicted by M in the elevator. Some people are always in a hurry. Born and raised in a poor drug afflicted African American family, L always felt that life was a chess game with the white pieces always trying to checkmate the black ones. But with his belief in himself and Bob Marley, he coaxed the American Dream to visit his doorstep. Started with a McDonalds home delivery job in hand, he somehow worked his way through college. With a few dollars in hand, he applied for a Stanford MBA and since, the greenback never seems to shy away from him. And here he is, in the Elevator of El Dorado, about to convince his client to invest in India, intermittently dreaming of a beach-house in Jamaica.

C's mood of the day: flirty. The break-up hangover had left her for the better. Life is so good, when you are single. Away from all the tantrums, back to the innumerable choices. The moment of irritation lasted only a second, as M entered. The cuteness factor in M crept C all over inside. She was eyeing him through the glossy mirrors in the elevator and just wished that he glances at her, atleast once. No guy can escape her beauty and charm after that. Being blond, intelligent and pretty carries with it benefits that no man and reality shows can ignore. Of course, being a secretary of the CEO handling a multinational corporation carries with it benefits that no human can ignore. All the while, C's mind started racing - Which firms are listed on the 36th floor? She was already forboding a date with this cute guy sometime soon.

P twitched his glasses as M barged in. He twitched them again as he continued reading through the case file. It was a complicated affair - fighting against an organisation accused of monopoly and unfair trade practices. He was carved with honesty and with just that trait - though it seemed utopian to many - he got successful and set up his own law firm in this hallowed place. His clients, an aspiring go-big organisation, repeatedly thwarted by their competitor's efforts to buckle them down, had approached him offering to pay 500 bucks an hour. P, never enticed by money, had accepted it after a thorough analysis of the company's claims. P reviewed the final pages of his compiled casefile to be presented to a jurisdiction court at midday. Ohh, how I wish Christmas was near. Ohh, how I wish the 58th floor was nearer.

It was 8.46 am. The elevator suddenly shook like crazy. M, L, C and P and their dreams plunged into an infinite abyss and blackness in this elevator of the North Tower of the World Trade Centre on September 11,2001.

M, L, C and P are a handful of the many victims that suffered that day. This is my ode to them and their dreams.

------
Know I should have posted this on the 5th year eve, a few days back. But guess you understand the metaphor in my last post. Time and death never waits for anybody.

Heartspeak

2006-09-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

It seems so crazy. But somehow-someway, my honesty, frankness and heartspeak has never let me down.

Cut to Thursday, when my new boss called me over and suggested me to take up an impossible-to-accomplish assignment. I was chosen specifically for this task over 250 other associates. But with a catch that I remain committed to work till Feb, 2008. For me, such tasks make what I am. They get the best out of me and I have never disappointed anyone before. This assignment thrilled me to no end and my mind egged me on to take it up. A simple nod would have sealed the deal. However, the heart stopped me right there. There are a few things that I hold very close to my heart. And making a commitment now would have ruined all that. Plus, I have never believed in killing a gentleman's trust. I pondered over all this for a day: mind vs heart. The next day, I mailed him.

----------
Dear Boss,

I express myself better in writing, hence this. This mail is to convey my decision on the commitment you asked for, till Feb 2008. I would like to tell you that it will not be possible for me to give such a commitment, specifically for two reasons:

Reason 1: hinting a future career change

Reason 2: a genuine grievance which I had raised with the company; alas no response

I understand your dilemma and hence this frankness. However, I can assure you my complete dedication and services till June 2007 after which I cannot promise anything. I like to take up challenges and I ensure that I fight it. Also, I hope this communication between us remains confidential. If you wish, we can talk further on this.

Thanks & Regards,
Tejas
-------------

My decisions never lead to regret. I am simply optimistic and look forward in life.

Friday morning: My boss thrusts that all important assignment on me. Raises the Reason 2 grievance with the top management. The bee is no longer a metaphor for busy. I am.

The Airport Story

2006-09-05T12:27:00.000-07:00

J looked at his watch. Its time. The moment had arrived. The time stood still, flooding his cranium with a motley of mixed emotions. Thrill. Angst. Love. Fear.

"I really hate to do this alone. I am gonna miss you so much dear," said J to his wife of 14 months.

G gave him a small peck on his cheek. "Will miss you too baby. But don't you worry about us. Its just a matter of 4 days. It will pass by without a blink."

"Next time, I'll ensure that they allow you and S to join me for such foreign jaunts. You know P always takes his wife and kid with him, wherever he goes," J chuckled.

"Sweety, don't let such petty issues trouble you now. Go and savour your first ever foreign trip. Of course, both of us will be there with you next time," consoled G.

"A final call for all passengers heading for London Heathrow via BA6355 to please check-in their luggage"

"Ok, I'll make a move." J kissed the sleepy S on her tiny forehead. A warm hug with G later, he trudged along slowly towards the check-in counter. A final round of goodbyes ensued and he could make out G's lips crying out, "Have a safe trip" from the distance.

J was amazed at the scene the interior confines of the airport presented. It looked like an age-old government office. "No wonder why the Indian media always complains of the dilapidated airport," thought J.

The BA check-in counter was officiated by a smart gentleman.
"Can I please have your passport and tickets," he exclaimed. J handed over to him. A minute passed.

"Can you please pass your luggage through this conveyor belt?" He promptly did that. The BA officer stamped his passport, stuffed the boarding pass within it and handed it back.

"Thank you Sir, have a nice flight"

"Thank you very much," replied J and started heading towards the BA gate.

Suddenly two tall uniformed men sprang me nowhere and blocked J's path. "Can you come with us for a minute?"

"Excuse me, but is there anything wrong? I am getting late for the flight."

"Yes. Its important. Follow us. We want you to verify something"

Beads of perspiration dropped down J's forehead. "Now what. Why can't bad luck look for other people to screw."

C with his bushy mustache was waiting for him in the dark closed room. He looked at J sardonically.
"Are you J?"

"Yes"

"Are you travelling to London?"

"Yes"

"Whats the purpose of visiting?"

"Business"

"Hmmm...Is this your checked-in luggage"

"Yes"

"Do you know what's inside the bag?"

"Yeah. A few clothes, toiletries etc. Am only heading for a 4 day trip."

"Ohh is it? Do you know what this is?"

A small pouch containing a white powder was thumped on the table in front of J"

"No. What is it?"

"Don't act clever buddy. Tell us before we start kicking your ass"

"For God's sake...tell me what's going on. I am already late for the flight. Please let me go. I have to be in London tomorrow."

C thundered above him "How dare a drug peddler like you talk to me like this? You stupid ass. Where did you get this heroin from?"

J looked at the white powder with shock. "Heroin. Oh my God. How the hell did it get in there. G had packed all my stuff. But G and heroin....I don't get this. What is happening?"

"I don't know anything about this, Sir"

"That is a run-of-the-mill dialogue. Don't you have anything better to offer?"

The seconds clicked. The other two uniformed men suddenly pounced on him and held his arms tightly.

J shrieked "Please let me go. Am innocent"

J was crying hoarsely. Like he had never cried before. The next two minutes, the entire room brimmed with the surrounding grief

----------------------------------------------
Suddenly the lights in the room lit up. There was laughter all around. G was laughing too. C was Cyrus Broacha.
BAKRA.

Quixotic at 2.30 am

2006-09-01T14:00:00.000-07:00

1. This stood third. Am I elated? Sure! Am I zapped? Yeah! But I am flummoxed too. How could this happen? Were there more than three entries?

2. I received a Gold Credit Card. Ok India, here I come to catalyse that growth by a percentage point. Starting tomorrow. The first hit on my "Priceless" Card will be the rickshaw fare .

3. Returning back after cackling with laughter watching Lage Raho Munnabhai. Circuiteshwar was capriciously funny but the accolades go to Munna's chemical locha. The glitter provided by Janvi (Vidya Balan) was more lustrous than gold. Oye Circuit, apun ko koi aisich ladki dhund ke de.

4. Since every other blogger is a poet by heart, I feel its time for me to unleash one on you. Its past midnight, so requesting all below 18 to desist from reading this 'A' rated poem.

Jack and Jill went up the hill
Purpose was to run the mill

The sky turned dark
Breaking every light apart

It bought the rain
Without any refrain

Every life got wet
Surely I could bet

Things went wild
Which weren't mild

Nothing was missed
Everything was kissed

Over an hour gone
A new love was born
Hey, you perveted mind
Why are you so blind?

One was a husband, one was a wife
When will a bum like you get wise?

My apologies. Please, no brickbats with one footwear piece. A pair is welcome. Eggs are fine as I am eggitarian.

5. Don Quixote: "I 'm a loafer by nature, I'm too lazy to go hunting for authors who say what I already know how to say without their help"

I Have The Power

2006-08-30T13:08:00.000-07:00

A small awakening rustled inside me today. It started off with a flutter and as the hour passed by, it gradually aggregated into a hurricane. All inside me. It lambasted my soul like anything and really spiked an urge to do something about the problem. No, it doesn't concern the loo.

A gentleman by the name Sailesh Gandhi visited the office today. This charming 50 year ex-IITian is one of Mumbai's well-known social activists, who while giving up his cushy job spends all his time advocating the use of the Right To Information Act to the unaware. And I was party to one such awareness session today; someone who despite having an indepth knowledge of the Act and the associated citizen empowerment, could never figure out a direction to use it. Tonight, my RAM is updated with all the nitty-gritty details.

The RTI Brahmastra now gives me an opportunity to bare open that cupboard full of lies and corruption behind closed government doors. I now have the right to ascertain the name of the corporator in charge of the potholes - you see the potholes near my place have very few roads. I now have the right to determine the amount of dough spent on my ward, the land laundering process, the garbage collection timings etc. All the information on my fingertips in 30 days. Withholding anything makes me the darling of the media after exposing all the scams. It just costs me a paper, pen, literacy skills, 10 rupees, an envelope and 10 minutes . A simple letter to the Public Information Officer stating the query from the confines of my home and the work's done. The ball is always in my court. If a slumdweller can do this to avail a ration card legally, why can't I? If I can do it, then anyone can do it. If everyone does it, then the politicians will asphyxiate to extinction - and join the exclusive gang of dodos.

Every such freedom struggle has to be hampered and hijacked by the ruling class and this one is no exception. The government is so threatened by the success of the Act that it plans to gag a few rulings within the Act. It has been toned down for a while since they plan to do surreptitiously. However, a petition drive is on the way to make the govt accountable and to prevent any amendments to the present Act.

This hurricane brewing within me is bigger than Katrina(the fiery one), something which even Katrina (the Salman one) cannot anticipate!

The Everyday A's

2006-08-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

A: You know Apocalypse is near.
B: Hell! Wasn't the pothole near? And isn't Utopia nearer?

A: Blame it on the pushy world, the veneered politicians, the engulfing materialism, the prickly egos etc.
B: Boy! Don't you dare blame Garfield! Instead, why not fight the germ of the problem?

A: Let us impose a ban.
B: DUH! You enjoy enforcing impotence? Why not give people the freedom to choose?

A: I am the best.
B: Well. Aren't you the new pest found in colas? Why not feel humility within your veins?

A: Money can buy everything.
B: Phew! Did you forget the "Mere paas Maa hai" dialogue? Why not watch less of Richie Rich and serve society?

A: That black cat just crossed us. Wait. Lets go around it.
B: Cool! Didn't know you were such a bad omen for the cat. Why not use that iota of pigeon brain and be rational?

A: Forward this to 5 friends and be lucky...
B: Ahh! Aren't you a single jerk with a stupid job profile? Why not watch DCH and feel friendship?

Here were a few of the A's that we encounter in our everyday lives. And we really need more B's to talk sense.

Unbridled Desires

2006-08-26T12:02:00.000-07:00

I walk over to her. She is still ignorant of my presence. Damn it! How could all this effort of lascivious wooing go abegging? I had been so nice to her. I have always loved her with all my heart.

I have had enough. I had to do it. I grab her and tear her blue attire. She begs to be freed, but then I was in control. I then tear open her gold inner strut which reveals an amazing voluptious body. Immediately, I start feeling her with my mouth. And instinctively, she melts too and gives in completely. I realise that she wanted me too as badly as I wanted her. I carry on with my act which I think will last for another 20 minutes. Am I dreaming !?!

30 minutes later.

That was a damn tasty Diary Milk chocolate. Mmmmm!

Left in the lurch

2006-08-24T12:32:00.000-07:00

Today, the world abandoned me. All that fame is down the drain. Being the youngest, I thought, always had its advantages. Infact, no one has even come close to peeking at me except a kid who keeps circling around me. But then it could be my own undoing. My icy cool nature might have played a part in this agony. I stay so far from all my brothers. Add to that, my eccentric habit of moving in the opposite direction relative to my siblings.

I might be the god of the underworld, but does it amount to anything now?

I am Pluto. Was termed a planet all this while. Until this evening. Boo hoo hoo.

The Maestro and the Nightingale

2006-08-23T12:52:00.000-07:00

The twain did meet. AR Rahman and Lata Mangeshkar. For Lukka Chhupi in Rang De Basanti. So, you are probably wondering - "Gawd, its August and RDB was released in January. You sane?' Actually, it so happened that I caught RDB on television this Sunday and more than the movie, I was looking forward to catch a glimpse of this enlightening song. Now, you would ask - "Gawd, isn't Rubaroo the best and the most *enlightening* song of RDB?". Well yeah, it indeed is. Until I heard Lukka Chhupi.

I still remember the time, when I spent half a February Sunday listening to this masterpiece. And since this Sunday, the song hasn't left my lips. And invariably, it brings a few tears...I dunno why. Please spend a few moments with me to understand this gem of a song - a conversation between a concerned mother and her mischievious son. And do close your eyes, when you hear it.

It starts with a sweet strumming of the guitar. Coupled with a childish twang of a jaltarang. Lata's yearning for her son is felt in her mellifluous voice. Only Rahman can fuse such a combination.

Lata:
Lukka chhupi bahot hui
Samne aa jana
Kahan kahan dhoonda tujhe
Thak gayi hai ab teri maa
Aaja sanjh hui
Mujhe teri fikar
Dhundla gayi
Dekh meri nazar
Aajana...

Ahhh. Rahman, in his high pitched emotion brimmed voice, starts off echoing the beautiful lyrics penned by Prasoon Joshi. Feel the soft rhythm of a synthesiser and a harmonium(!!) with the intermittent guitar moves.
Sense the feeling of freedom here.

Rahman:

Kya bataun maa kahan hun main
Yahan udne ko mere khula aasman hai
Tere kisson jaisa bhola salona jahan hai yahan sapnon wala
Meri patang ho befikar ud rahi hai maa
Dor koi loote nahi beech se kaate na

Lata:

Aaja sanjh hui
Mujhe teri fikar
Dhundla gayi
Dekh meri nazar
Aajana...

The jaltarang is back in action. Man, I love this instrument. But then I never knew the introduction of tabla would flutter my heart so much. Rahman's a genius: Tabla, Harmonium, Guitar. At the end of the stanza, the flute adds up to a wonderful rendition.

Lata:

Teri raha take akhiyan
Jane kaisa kaisa hoe jiya
Dheere dheere angan utre andhera
Tera deep kahan
Dhalke suraj kare ishara
Chanda tu hai kahan
Mere chanda tu hai kahan
Lukka Chhupi...

The emotions are right there. A chorus, a guitar-tabla-violin flow and Rahman's succulent melody stirs you
within and might just ease out into a few teardrops. Reason: the boy despite all his dreams and everlasting freedom longs for his mother. Touching.

Rahman:

Kaise tujhko dikhaun yahan hai kya
Mere jharne se paani maa todke piya hai
Gucchha gucchha ka yeh khwaabon ka
Ucchhal ke chhua hai
Chhyaya liye bhali dhoop yahan hai
Naya naya sa hai roop yahan
Yahan sab kuch hai maa fir bhi
Lage bin tere mujhko akela...

Now comes the high point of the entire song. And the best. Confirms my belief that Indian classical music with its medley of SaReGaMas reigns supreme over any other form. Lata and Rahman have synchronized so well -
classic to the core. The pure euphonic taals emanating out with the tabla, harmonium and flute takes you to the zenith of pleasure.

Lata:

Aaja sanjh hui
Mujhe teri fikar
Dhundla gayi
Dekh meri nazar
Aajana...

I bow before thee, Rahman. If there a modern age Mozart, it has to be you. I just cannot digest such a wonderful symphony.

Photographic Instincts

2006-08-20T05:55:00.000-07:00

No intention to make this a photo blog. But couldn't resist myself to display my photographic wares from Korigad.

The Fortress called Korigadh

2006-08-19T09:26:00.000-07:00

The fight continues. Sea vs the Hills. It was hill time today.

I am back from not-so-exhausting trek to Korigad Fort, located in the Sahyadris close to Lonavala. In the days of yore, when Shivaji ruled the Maha Rashtra, this fort played an essential role in fortifying his territory. The qila bulwarks cover a 1.5 km area and can only reached after shuttling over 500 steep steps. There is a green plateau inside the fort, where a lone temple stands.

It was heart-warming to see such an archeological splendour well preserved and non-commercialized. Except for a few cellphone towers which irked me to no end.

The Goa Diary

2006-08-18T09:25:00.000-07:00

This post is exclusively dedicated to my fellow Goa pirates. It might be a long, boring and arduous read for many. But my sole purpose is to etch the wonderful moments, the verdant landscape and the lissome sea in words. Something to bloom me during my gloom 70s.

Friday: It all began with the Mumbai darshan. Though the bus began its journey on time, the ridiculous policy of picking every passenger from every nook and corner of Mumbai ensured that I endured every possible city pothole. Montu and Intekhab boarded at 5.30 pm instead of 4 pm, while Vijay, Amrita and Richa could finally enjoy the cool confines at 8.30 instead of 5 pm. The camaraderie had begun.

Saturday: The tropical paradise seemed far away with the bus goddamn 6 hours late. A sense of euphoria crept in on alighting the bus - we are finally there. Met Aniket there after almost an year. A local bus ferried us to Benaulim with narrow streets and lush greenery greeting us along the way. The cottages were ornately designed with a Portuguese flavour and the itch to get into our rooms lingered. Soon, the Bangalore gang joined us in the form of Anup, Kruthi, Ram, Harsha and Akhila and boy, wasn't it a joy for me to see these chums after a drought of 1.5 years. Be it the loitering in the pool or the lunch/dinner at Pedro's - the beachside shack - it was all about revisiting memories, forming new friendships coupled with a lot of anecdotes. I still remember the twilight at the beach - the waves lashing our urban feet.

Sunday: The day began with the treatment of a feverish Harsha, who recovered in no time. After a relaxed breakfast (included beer of course) at Pedro's, the pirates finally got to rent their mean machines: bikes. It was all merry after that. Life is exciting at 70 km/hr. A short jaunt to Mobor beach and a ferry ride across a backwater later, the Cap-de-Rama loomed in the horizon. Its a fort with its ramparts overlooking the confluence of the sea and a river. The clincher was that we were alone there; far away from the madding crowd. An hour left for dusk, we reached Palolem, probably the best beach I have ever seen. The waves were perfect for a non-swimmer like me and I found it immensely tough to get out of the sweet yet salty sea. The rain made its presence soon after; the pièce de résistance; an experience to behold; an experience of tasting the sea and the heavens together. The exultation of meeting Ankur and Paritosh at the beach shack cannot be explained in words. We all had given up on them joining us. That made us 14 in all. A 2 hour ride and the night was spent at the Benaulim beach under the canopy of the moon, drinking Old Monk - a favorite with the pirates.

Monday: The morning began with a stupendous jog on the beach with Ram. After a brunch at Colva's, we headed off to North Goa. The initial pit-stop was at Fort Aguada - a prison at the edge of Mandovi river. A gigantic lighthouse and the luscious view was too captivating for the eye. At the adjoining Sinquerim beach, a dilapidated ship lay in ruins and the pirates did itch to get onto it and scoot it away. Some wonderful snaps there by yours truly gives me enough confidence to pursue photography further. A few miles ahead, Calangute was at its touristy best. A day before, 6 IT guys lost their lives there, which meant my phone never stopped ringing. A decision to stay over at Vagator further in the North was a great one, because we ended up finding a dream resort for peanuts. Rakesh joined us there taking the number to 15. The night was spent by the poolside, intermittently mixed with old songs, philosophy, jokes, stars etc.

Tuesday: Vande Mataram! The rocky beach with the monsoon winds early in the morning made the perfect setting. A snap to remember: an inscription of our names on the sand. The rains and the poolside games made the entire experience exhilarating. After the final group snap sessions, the pirates packed up and left for Benaulim. The lovable bikes were returned and the Mumbai - Bangalore gangs parted ways thereafter. Bade sad goodbyes with a promise to have more trips. The bus journey back was the least tiresome - the chatting never stopped. All through the night.

Wednesday: It had to end. It did end. I was back in office at 2 pm. And dozing off in my seat in full view of everyone. Coffee saved my life. But no antidote can get me out of the Goa fever.

"Absolute Hights" thats what we have coined the trip as. It will jostle our minds till no one knows when!

A Dog's Life

2006-08-17T14:22:00.000-07:00

Life is too short. Why not live it up like this pal of mine? Ignorant of the vagaries of the world, he is soaking up the fresh early morning air of Goa. And so was I, when I clicked this snap.

Goa-witched

2006-08-09T12:16:00.000-07:00

Its Goa ahoy. The pirate is heading for Goa this weekend with his bunch of cronies. A lavish beach cottage is yearning to welcome them. The sun, sea and the sand will enrapture them in their own sweet way. The Jolly Rogers are expected to eat, drink and sing until the shrill sea stops them on their tracks. They will recollect the good times they spent together under the canopy of a full moon.

It is the undying friendship between these pirates however, which will be the crème de la crème of the entire reconnaissance. The treasure of love between them can never be found by any Sindbad.

Billions and billions of blistering blue barnacles...where is the rum?

The Good And The Bad

2006-08-06T11:37:00.000-07:00

I cut my silky long locks.
The Good: I can feel the air kissing my pate.
The Bad: So now how do I woo Bipasha?

All the cats and dogs poured today like rain.
The Good: I got to devour on some delicious onion pakoras (fritters) at home.
The Bad: India's economy enters into recession mode as shopaholics stay back.

Over 50,000 dogs culled in China for rabid reasons. Another 5 lakh awaiting the same fate.
The Good: The cats are ecstatic that they won't have to live a dog's life anymore.
The Bad: For the Chinese, it means a tremendous loss of meat.

Pesticides found in soft drinks.
The Good: The Hard always reign over the Soft.
The Bad: Never thought Sachin, Aamir and Aishwariya were pests.

Half of U.S. still believes Iraq had WMD.
The Good: America is what it is due to this half.
The Bad: America is what it is due to this half.

Its raining dollars for the Indian IT sector.
The Good: More moolah for the I.T. (Income Tax) Department
The Bad: A Dollar for Service, A Penny for R&D.

Jenson Button wins the F1 Hungarian Grand Prix.
The Good: Our colonial masters can sometimes win a game they introduced to the world.
The Bad: The English media blaring all over the world about their Superman.

Paris Hilton to magazine: I am celibate.
The Good: The magazine is British.
The Bad: Tomorrow, she might influence Pamela to say she is one too.

A Sleepy Harangue

2006-08-03T12:03:00.000-07:00

Sleep. That beautiful activity in our everyday lives. Nowadays barely ekeing out six hours a day. Relegated to the background by work and stress. Deprivation manifested by dark circles, irritable behaviour and a host of stealthy ailments. Amusingly jostled as an account to be sparingly used on weekdays and compensated on weekends.

The sleepaholic in me cannot sustain without the mandatory 8 hours. A warm glass of milk acts as the perfect soporific. The moment I close my eyes, I am on a rollercoaster ride. Sleep takes me to that wonderful nether world, the sub-conscious mind, where everything is possible. Being an true blue optimist ensures that all my dreams are rosy. I might be falling off a cliff, but there is always someone to save me. Besides conjuring up beautiful images, dreams has given me a few clairvoyant calls into the future. I don't even need a snooze to rouse up. The 8 hours are hardwired. I wake up. I smile and do so the whole day. No exhaustion. No stress. My version of the 'Art of Living' is incomplete without adequate sleep.

Finally, please don't be harsh on me to club sleep with laziness. Laziness is exclusively for 10-hour-sleep weekends.

Bushwhacked

2006-08-01T11:24:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I stumble
Sometimes I wobble
Sometimes I wonder
Sometimes I sneer
Sometimes I grin
Sometimes I swagger

Am I Bush? No, am not!

The Socializing 3.0 edition

2006-07-29T09:03:00.000-07:00

Remember the 5"x7" yellow postcard? Remember the blue inland letters, your papa jotted onto in the wee hours of the night? I atleast hope you remember using your wily tongue to stick those winsome stamps. All in the name of remembering that loved one. The handwritten letter has always been romantic and will always be so. Be it for a mother, lover or a friend. That was Socializing 1.0 Gamma edition. Tried and tested. Sometimes executed by a pigeon.

Suddenly the world just shrank into half. The neighbourhood postman fleeting disappeared from the limelight. A pudgy little device took over from him in the form of a pager. But his big Daddy, the Mobile Phone gave the world the Moses it needed. Apart from bridging all the possible seas, it paved new ingenious ways in sealing business deals, marriage proposals, contract killings etc. The Youth icon, the SMS introduced humour in our daily lives and is the most invaluable tool for the Yash Chopra genre fans. The non-socializing elements gorged themselves onto games, cameras and the jerk-special MMS. Socialising 2.0 edition. Eating it, drinking it and snoozing on it.

Welcome to the Socializing 3.0 Beta edition. Not fully tested, but turning out to be a humongous success. I am talking about the latest fad of joining online social networking groups like Orkut, Hi-Fi, Friendster, Fropper, My Space etc etc. This edition unlike the others, introduces a add-on into people's lives - meeting new souls. What outshines it is that one can never lose touch with old friends and relatives. Its relatively free. An update via a simple ping or a scrap brings back those beautiful memories. The way its going, the day is not far when a new lexicon enters our dictionary: online marriage.

All the 3 editions are intertwined and compatible. However, the scientist in me is already gearing up for the 4.0 edition. Holograms.

My Role Model

2006-07-26T14:37:00.000-07:00

Calvin: I understand my tests are popular reading in the teachers' lounge.

I am Mumbai

2006-07-25T22:07:00.000-07:00

I. Mumbai. Bombay. City of Dreams. City of Fortune. City of Commerce. City of Bollywood. City of Local Trains. City of Fashion. City of the Gateway. City of the Seven Islands. City of the Vada Pav. City of the Bindaas.

Right from the Armani clad Colaba businessman to the Koli fisherwoman in Virar, my Mumbaikar epitomises the high adrenaline urban way of life. Time never stops in my bustling streets. A minute lost is a business opportunity lost. The 15 million populace carry out their daily regimen with an unflagging, unflappable and unflinching spirit. Binding them all is my Heart, my Holy Grail - the local train. This iron beast might seem rusty and archaic, but it pumps over 6 million commuters a day. I am also blessed with paradoxes all over me. Do not be surprised if you find a slumdweller's shanty right next to a corporate bigwig's mansion. Vegetarian Hindus living next to meat eating Muslims is commonplace. I dare you to find me a peer city which can boast of a National Park right in the soul of its concrete body. I am free. I am bold. I am just waiting to be the best.

26th July, 2005. The day that bought me to a screeching halt. The day when I was left at the mercy of the rain gods. The "City of Disintegration" was born - my new alias.

I might have a huge fan following, but I could not satisfy them that day. No matter how hard I tried, I just could not fight against the apocalyptic thundershowers. I had seen it coming. I had sensed the ensuing destruction. Atleast now everyone understands my plight of being slowly buried under my own weight. Flagrant commercialization, indiscriminate construction and the huge inflow of migrants is creating a major strain on my resources. I was once tree laden but now am gradually being shorn of all that greenery. My bountiful rivers now stink of garbage and are nothing more than an open drain. I am sick and I really need a good makeover.

11th July, 2006. 6:24 pm. The moment that cringed me. The moment that left an indelible scar on my psyche. Leading many to re-christen me the "City of Terror".

Just when it seemed that it couldn't get any worse, the blasts tore through my Lifeline. It hurt where it hurts the most. My Pride. And it hurt more because I feel it was committed by one of my very own children; someone whom I had nurtured and provided solace. My freedom was taken for granted. My tolerance was tested. But at the end of the day, I feel vindicated. It surely is satisfying that I did not have to bow before such inhuman instruments.

The Sword of Damocles might seem to be hanging over my head. For the conspiracy theorists, this signifies am impending doom. It is true that there are some elements within my caretaker group who are still stuck in the Excalibur rut. No matter how hard one tries to extricate them out, they refuse to budge. These few elements are the main catalysts for my rapidly deteriorating situation. But I am someone who stands for Hope, Optimism and Spirit. And they too always stand by me. They always come to my rescue. The rains might have crippled my denizens for the day, but those very people braved the rising waters to reach out to others. The blasts might have terrorized many to run away. Instead, I could see droves of people lining outside hospitals to donate blood and soothe the injured. My tears of sadness are wiped out by such acts of humanism. I do however feel the need to convey to my caretakers that the Spirit in me cannot be relied on forever and that there is an urgent cry for change.

I do not want to sound boastful. Nor do I want to sound like Dominique Lapierre's "City of Joy". But I feel that there is an idiom I ultimately deserve after all this mayhem. The "City of Spirit".
-------
-------
Submitted for an essay competition at my workplace. Not concerned about the outcome. I am simply basking in the glory of being in Mumbai's shoes.

Beauty of the Behemoths

2006-07-23T12:24:00.000-07:00

"Sea or the mountains?"
"Beach or the hill station?"
A lot of people have asked me this question. And my vote always seems to waver.

The sea has played the protagonist in some beautiful moments associated with my life. I have sat on the edge of a rocky cliff, peered over the surging sea and witnessed the most amazing sunset ever. I have kayaked on an ocean with seals jostling below me and snubbing me from the shorelines. I have a T-Shirt imprint of a photograph featuring me and four of my best pals' backs gazing over the shimmering sea at Lands End. The sea reasons me to think about infinity, the unknown depths, the limitless horizons that abound in our lives.

Cut to the mountains. Its all about the associated mysticity and the adventure. I can never forget those gruelling yet enjoyable treks. I can never forget the heavenly view of all the major Himalayan peaks at 11,000 feet. I can never forget the struggle in watching the birth of a river right out of a glacier's womb. I can never forget the mysterious monastery perched at the top of a huge hill. I can never forget the never-ending-brute-flow of water from hilltops behind all the fogginess. The mountain reasons me to think about the goal, the adventure and nature.

Today's vote would go to the mountain. An absolute tryst with nature - trekking, rain, greenery, oxygen, waterfall.

Rage against the Censorship

2006-07-19T10:49:00.000-07:00

Censorship feeds the dirty mind more than the four-letter word itself.
~Dick Cavett

I can't help but use that four-letter-word on our government who committed the heinous sin of banning a few websites. Most of them falling under the beloved 'blog' category - the new age information renderer. Aren't we living in the world's largest democracy? Gosh! The country's name joins the famed illustrious company of China, Pakistan, Zimbabwe, Saudi Arabia - countries which love gagging their own people's right to express.

I doubt whether the babus have enough literary sense to understand a blog or better use the Internet. Some of the websites which faced the axe are nowhere close to spreading propaganda; two of them are infact pro-Republican parties based in the US, who never comment much on India. One of them is not decipherable because it uses Chinese characters. Another, a right wing Hindu website might be considered the ideal choice for pro-censorship baiters but then do inflammatory statements justify bans? Did the same government convict a Modi or a UP Muslim politician who demanded a Muslim Pradesh? All the government needs are scapegoats to blame in an attempt to shield their own weaknesses.

As far as prohibitions go, people are cunning enough to find their way in a maze. This BBC article lists a few of the banned sites. To evade the ban, go to pkblogs.com and enter the banned URL.

I stand in solidarity with my fellow bloggers in condemning this reprehensible act. Jai Hind!

Up, Up and Away!

2006-07-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

Its not a bird, its not a plane, its not Krrish, its Superman. Woah! Look at him fly.

I watched Superman today - the legal version - in a multiplex. I have grown up reading the Tinkles, the Chacha Chaudhris, the Tintins, the Phantoms, the Supermans etc. Watching a superhero movie is an extension of myself. So, dare I miss the opportunity today, albeit alone!

Even before the national anthem could begin, I could hear a kid wailing "Superman" behind me. He just couldn't wait for the action to begin and so did I. And then an amusing moment. A middle aged lady with a husband and two kids had to settle on the seat next to me and boy, wasn't she alarmed at having to sit near a lone stranger. I felt myself thinking whether watching a movie alone was a taboo or whether I looked like a flirt.

Well, I liked the movie to an extent. But the impression that I had of Superman as a macho dude completely evaporated. He is depicted as a wimp, a romantic fall guy who cannot fathom the loss of his love. A metrosexual in general terms. But, a thumbs up to the graphics team for the rollicking jet scene. My heart just stopped breathing that moment. And here's the tagline which caught my ears "To sell news, you need three things: Sex, Terror and Superman"

The world really demands a saviour like Superman. A true superhero. Someone who trashes off all the hate in the world. Someone who takes all of us into the Cartoon Network universe, where no one dies and where the good always triumphs over the evil. Unfortunately, the only Superhero the entire humanity (except me) relies on, is either non-existent or is too busy to open the Earth file in which case, He needs to be bribed.

The Art of War

2006-07-14T10:38:00.000-07:00

"Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions. He who can modify his tactics in relation to his opponent and thereby succeed in winning, may be called a heaven-born captain."
- Sun Tzu, Chinese military strategist in The Art of War

I am no warmonger. But, when the enemy slaps you on the left cheek, I'd never advise you to proudly showcase your right cheek. Not in the present generation. The enemy, these days has no heart, no religion, no territorial boundaries. His life is only guided, lets say propelled by a mad ideology. He sees success in every soul killed, which further motivates him to exterminate more.

To counter such invisible insular entities is a mighty task, though not impossible. A fluid approach is needed to be able to percolate into the enemy ranks and cause tension. An approach to make the enemy implode from within. The Art of War suggests determining such an approach governed by the five laws below to triumph over your enemies:
1. The Moral Law: An approach where people unhesitatingly support their leader
2. Heaven: An approach which take the time and the weather advantage into consideration.
3. Earth: An approach which takes the ground situation, distance and danger into consideration.
4. The Commander: An approach where wisdom, sincerety, courage, benevolence and strictness reign supreme.
5. The Method and Discipline: An approach which marshals and organizes the resources systematically.
Let me add the 6th Law for the new generation -
The Non-Machiavellian: An approach which takes into account protection of innocent lives and a human touch.

The Israelis are surely following the first five laws in wiping out the whole of Lebanon. All major infrastructure installations are being blasted to smithereens by the Israeli forces. Reason: Lebanon seems to have kidnapped two Israeli soldiers. They aren't even ready to be hit on their left cheeks. But the absence of the 6th law will make Israel suffer for generations to come.

Indians have been hit on the left and right cheeks with an ever bloody nose. Going the Israeli way will lead to a continous and vicious spiral of violence. Tactically implementing the 5 laws and abiding by the 6th law is the key to success for the Indian government.

Mumbai's 7/11

2006-07-11T12:14:00.000-07:00

How cruel can a human be? How evil can a human be? Can such a human live a life of dignity and peace after committing such a gruesome act? I am referring to the terrorist responsible for blasting Mumbai local trains today. Eight bombs ripped apart over 200 innocent people; people just like you and me; people who dreamt big in the suburban chaos that is Mumbai; people whose only mistake was to board that crowded first class compartment on a Mumbai local around 6 pm; people who had families eagerly waiting for them at home. What remains of these people are their ruptured innards, scattered limbs, grieving families and watershed dreams.

But then our Mr. Terrorist ceases to forget that Mumbaikars are a resilient lot. Despite the monstrosity of the attack, hundreds of locals embarked on a quick rescue operation, escorted the injured to nearby hospitals and donated blood. And the trains are already up and running.

Its a day to contemplate on the future of humanity. Peace on Earth.

A Red End

2006-07-10T12:54:00.000-07:00

Yeah. Yeah. I know. The fairy tale ended with a red card. The reaction was totally unexpected and ridiculous. The Effect this time ruined France and gave the Italians a not-well-deserved Cup. But aren't geniuses mortals? Maradona might have reached the pinnacle of soccer greatness in 1986, but he had to taste the dust in 1994 after testing positive for drugs. Zidane might seem godlike with his skills but he proved that he is as emotional as all of us. Zidane was either racially provoked, called a 'militant' or as some reports suggest, his sister was called a whore. Guess, sometimes honour takes over nationalism.

I appreciate FIFA for awarding him the Golden Ball despite all the drama.

L'Effet Zidane

2006-07-09T07:03:00.000-07:00

4 Hours:50 Minutes:33 Seconds - Time left for the singing of the national anthem
7 Hours:50 Minutes:33 Seconds - Time left for Zizou to hold the Gold Cup. Time left for him to claim the Golden Ball. Time left for Paris to rejoice like never before.

Though I had anticipated an Argentina vs France clash, its not too bad. That clash would have really tested my choice for the favored team. But now that we have France, it has to be the Zidane effect to take them through. The present generation is damn lucky to see him because I am sure his name will be echoed with the likes of Pele and Maradona. I am just hoping that he delivers that killer goal. No matter what the result says tonight, I wish that the Italians, the stadium, the media and the French of course give Zizou the farewell he deserves.

Enjoy the visual spectacle offered tonight along with a billion other humans - from Siberia in Russia across to Tierra del Fuego in South America.

Damn. Isn't it boring that we all have to sleep early, Monday night onwards?

Laughathon

2006-07-08T10:14:00.000-07:00

Have you ever taken part in a Laughathon? I am not talking about the desi comic show, which has taken India by a laughstorm, which has a Bihari and Sardar as the two hosts and which has a pretty petite damsel taking India by a heartstorm. I am talking about the last 24 hours of my life, which has been nothing but a laughjerker - includes painful spasms of the stomach, jaw and neck muscles. LOL. All this due to an old (pun intended) Montreal friend Ankur to whom I am dedicating this blog entry.

This guy is on a brief sojourn to India. Being the gracious (pun intended) host, I received him at the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus Airport in Mumbai on Wednesday night - the eve of the France Portugal tie (see thats why the pun was intended). However, I could only find time till last evening to meet him at my city's favourite spot - The Marine Drive. He was with his cousin Vijay, cousin's wife Amrita and a common friend's bro Ankit. The Laughathon timer started right then. The dude has such a great sense of humour, timing and wittiness, that we all ended up staying over at Vijay's place, rolled all over the floor and hardly caught a wink of sleep. The guffaws and cackles lasted an entire 24 hours. Unfortunately, a few of his friends (and my friends) in Canada could never understand his crude Mewari style and fortunately, he found the perfect audience in us. After getting a hold on our senses, we dropped him onto a bus - full of farting men and women - on his way home near Udaipur. Guess, he's already been afflicted with fart flu. Please laugh, that was a joke.

This was just a starter. The asli mazaa is likely to be witnessed soon at a friend's reunion meet in Goa.