In the eye of Storm

I

2011-09-28T14:26:00.001+05:30

For all the avoided truths, for all the lies wasted
The dreams changed their course, the life switched its path
Stuck in the maze of could have, should have, would have,
I follow hope like a musk deer.

I ran so hard that I lost direction
I dived so deep I turned shallow.
I look behind for what has been left behind,
I look around for what has been carried away.
Here I am, left with myself.
Walking in the void, nothing touches me, nothing catches my attention.
Hung between the coordinates, I glide through the nothingness.
I am a man without a fate, a journey without a destination.

I watch in silence as the curtains fall
and the stillness creeps in.
I reach out with my hands
and all I can scratch is emptiness stuck in my nails.
The plaster of the past doesn’t come out,
it remains and makes its presence felt.
Something alien, something that doesn’t belong.
something that should be gone. but doesn’t go..

The magic in the moments is not gone
but the moments are not magical anymore.
Love stories were always to end in happiness.
But the credits are rolling now n smiles are yet to follow.
I always believed in happy endings. I always was a masochist

My life, as I had dreamt of;
My dreams as I had seen them;
My vision, as I had imagined it to be;
My imagination, that went haywire.

A Desire gone awry!

2011-06-14T16:27:00.002+05:30

Well, a few select friends of mine know how lengthy, tedious, confusing and humiliating is the process of phone selection for me. Cell phones and I share a history which may not be as long as for many others, but it has been eventful nevertheless!

It was our first year in DCE and only Pandu had a phone from Vodafone amongst all of us. Once I asked him if I could make a call, an urgent one, and he refused. Yes Pandu, I still remember it! And for the next two years till I got my own phone, I kept asking him again and again for one elusive call and he kept refusing!

Anyways, this post is not for Pandu, it’s for my Desire. My still born… errr… malfunctioning new phone. Anyways, we shall soon come to that. But in general its about me and my phones. How dependent I become on them. The first as well as the last thing I see in my day. The only thing that I used to take to d loo at times as well, so that I could very well entertain myself while its taking time ;)

I remember when I was deciding on N70, I committed one of the worst mistakes of my life. If I ever write a book Chetan Bhagat style, it will feature in it. The suggestion that I should get married and get the phone in dowry was blown to ridiculous proportions. Despite all the encouragement, am still single and have changed phones twice since then – both on my own expenses.

My last two phones, N70 & E-72 both were purchases with one parameter in mind – durability! And being Nokia phones, they delivered greatly on that, but on that alone. If I start commenting on any other parameter, it would take ages!

So when my last phone was lost under mysterious circumstances in Buenos Aires, I was very sure of not buying a Nokia. The loss was however paramount and the void that it created was almost equivalent to a break-up. Heavy hearted and after weeks of deliberation internal and external, I zeroed in on HTC Desire S. Ordered it online from a website that was to become a part of my career and then waited patiently for it to arrive. And when it did arrive, it was brought to me in an almost dead condition. It wouldn’t just start for one hour, despite repeated futile attempts. I kept a brave face in front of my cynical friends that obviously this is the way smart phones boot for the first time. But over the next 2 days, it rebooted almost every 15min on an average. By average I mean that sometimes it would remain functioning for a couple of hours at a stretch, while to balance it out it would reboot multiple times while rebooting itself!

At first I was irritated, then furious and then disgusted on how a phone this expensive could function like that. It reached such levels of malfunctioning that it became rather hilarious. It was quite a sight to watch it attempt a simple basic act of getting switched on. The feeling that i was eventually left with was pity! Just imagine yourself in place of the phone, trying to get up in the morning and eventually falling asleep again and again during your attempts to do so!

Anyways, after a couple of calls to the website and the company they agreed to refund the entire amount with which I have now purchased Samsung Galaxy S.

It’s not the best of the phones, but when it doesn’t crash and reboot, I feel relieved. And when it doesn’t make me wait for eternity after I press on something, I feel the choice wasn’t all that bad. After all, a wedding would have been much costlier!

Rain and Snow, Snow and Rain!

2011-04-08T03:33:00.005+05:30

One falls thunderously, while the other comes surreptitiously.

Rains, when they come, announce their arrival beforehand.. The first drop never surprises. That't why sometimes it touches the longing in someone's eyes or liberates the song from someone'e lips. But when snow falls, it's silent everywhere. It arrives and settles down quitely in the courtyard, it sleeps off on your window without waking you up. It isn't shortlived. It stays despite the sunlight the next day, while the rain runs down the drain.

Burf aur baarish. Baarish aur burf.

Ek girti hai garaj k baras ke, ek aati hai raat mein chupchup ke.Par burf theher jaati hai.. Baarish ki tarah kshanbhangur nai hoti. Paani to beh jata hai, barasta hai, bhigota hai aur fir apna raasta dhund leta hai.. Burf dheere dheere risti rehti hai.. jahan raat bhar baarish teen ki chat pe naachti gaati rehti hai to burf pal-pal aangan mein apna dera failaati rehti hai..

This rain, it washes away all the mistakes I have made. It carries them away into the ocean where they finally rest. But hereon, the rainwater gathered in my courtyard refuses to hide any more of my pain. It throws back the reflections of all my scars that the rain couldn’t wash away. The downpour has washed away all dirt that lay on the surface, but has revealed what lied beneath.

But my snow does nothing of this. Though it doesn’t wash away anything, it brushes everything under it. It doesn’t turn into a mirror and becomes judgemental. It lets me be. But I know it transitory, for once the snow goes away, everything will return to redeem itself. The past is going to be the future again. So I must prepare for what is imminent. And like always, I don’t have an answer to my own queries.

So I stand at the horizon and look out. There is no one here and I see nothing but the clouds. The only sound I hear is of my own breathing. I know somewhere behind these clouds You must be plotting Your next move. Thinking if You should splash me with the deluge of your wrath and stir the dead life in me. Or would You rather pacify the storms inside me with the snow. I know not what You will decide.

Come drench me, I wish to cry. It’s been long, since I did. Come heal me with Your snow. The bleeding has been going on for long.

Am high..

2010-12-21T13:42:00.006+05:30

Living in exile home looks like a distant dream,

No boat in sight, I look at the running stream.

One day, maybe one day I'll wander far enough to find a bridge,

One day, maybe one day in this desert I'll spot a ridge.

Life, as we know it. Love, as we want it.

In all their forms, hidden or shown.

In all their shades, bright and dull.

In all their expressions, subtle and loud.

I loved, and I lost, but at least the cycle is now complete.

I haven't lost faith, but love somehow looks now obsolete.

I know not what I write, for i have no sight,

I know not how I look, but i know i have a blight.

For now am high on love, on lust, on the unspoken assurances, on the broken promises.

I survive on the unshed tears, on the infectious smiles.

I mourn the future that will never be, on the past that will never be the future, I mourn the destiny deleted.

Am intoxicated with that longing and long for that longing itself.

Jo khatam hoke bhi na khatam ho, ye kaisa anjaam hai..

Jo padh ke hum samajh hi na payen, ye kaisa paigham hai.

Dhundte rahe hum unhe har chehre mein barson,

Jisse ek akhir baar milne ki arzoo thi, unki yaad ko ye akhri salaam hai.

Autumn

2010-11-12T13:56:00.011+05:30

The Autumn has come. A period that tells you that the rains have done their job. They have relieved you of the scorching summer heat that you were burning in. And now the time has come to give way to the winters. Cold and dark winters. When those very rains which brought joy mean more gloom. When the drench that you were craving for a little while earlier sends shivers through you.

When the sunlights turns golden and brings a sad shimmer on everything it kisses. When the wind through your hair tickles your earbuds. When all you feel like doing is to sit and look at the landscape endlessly for it reflects on what has passed by..

I sit at your banks O Neva, and look into your eyes and see myself. And everything that has flown throw me. Sometimes I was the one rowing myself around you, and sometimes I was just drifting according to your flow. Sometimes you tried to dissuade me from going where I was going, sometimes you cheerfully sprinkled water on me. Looking at my past in your eyes, I now realize that you were watching over me all the time. You recorded everything for this autumn. Perhaps you saw it that one dusk, I shall sit on your banks, my feet hanging just over you and my eyes blank yet looking for some answers when they stare in yours. I look at you and see how far I have come. My life is just like yours perhaps. They started from somewhere far away. From a terrain that is completely different from this. And your journey has been a short one as well, but not without a few sharp turns. When both of us left what we once stood for and changed course completely. While I look into your eyes, I know you understand me completely.

And then a leaf slaps me on the face disrupting this little romance. I take it in my hand and look around to find where it came from. And I see a tree standing in the middle of the park. Its leaves turning into all colors, only the green is missing. But it wasn't always so. Just a few weeks ago it was full of life.. So you say to me Neva. But it is more pessimistic than you. In your depth you swallow the shallowness of seasons. You tell me that you will continue to flow endlessly. Looking at you I never come to know if you are bustling with warm joy or splashing the chill of cold water. But you carry everything with you so effortlessly. Unless the winters freeze even the last drop of warmth in you. But that doesn't last for so long, or does it?

These ducks that swim in you also deceive me. They look so calm, so much in control. They never let it be known to me how vigorously they are struggling underneath to stay afloat. How their feet are endlessly paddling for them to display such serenity.

That is why I like this autumn laden tree. It tells me what the reality is. It doesn't deceive me. When I see its yellow drying leaves, I know next comes the winters. Cold and dark winters. Some leaves are still not dry, but the life that ran through them is gone. What is left is reminiscent of what once existed. The softness is only to smoothen the transition to harshness of the cold. The leaves are still hanging to the tree for now, but the bond is broken. Every gush of air takes away a few. The same leaves that refused to leave the side of the tree in good times, are now deserting it. And it stands helpless, looking at each falling leave with cold eyes. What in the world he would not do to pick them up again. But it knows that he wouldn't be able to. So through the cold eyes it smiles and starts the preparation.

Autumn gives the tree sometime to gear up for dark and gloomy days ahead. It prepares for the separation and loneliness. For the leaves won't return till the next spring. And even when they do, they won't be the same ones. Its only the tree alone that faces the piercing winds of winters. It alone protects life deep inside it, so that when spring comes it can welcome the warmth of colors as if the winters never came. For this, he needs to harden itself. It needs to become dry for a while, for otherwise it will never be able to see another spring. It must retract the traces of life from its surface and place them safe deep inside itself. And if that means bowing down to Mr. Darwin, so be it. Let a few branches break down. Let a few become so lifeless that return of life to them is obviated. But the tree shall stand and come to life next spring. But it is alive even now. This dryness, this turning into yellow is also a part of its life. Strange how trees have the power to almost die and then be reborn the next spring.

But not all leaves on all trees depart from their trees. Sometimes they just keep clinging to the tree. They never leave. The tree fears this more. What would happen when the winters would come? What may happen if the winters decide to just stay and don't give way to the spring? What would happen if the tree hides the life so much deep inside him that it can't reach out to it itself later? Or the worst thought.. what if it doesn't make it through the winters?

The questions are many, answers very few. But I am not in a hurry, neither is this tree nor are you, Neva. So let me soak in this autumn a little more. For now, we are the soulmates to each other. Giving to each other warmth, comfort and hope..

Words.

2010-08-05T13:33:00.006+05:30

Words are all I have. The only thing I know. They are the healers I know, they are the weapons as well. I chose them, I use them. Sometimes to make you fall in love with me, sometimes to hurt you so badly that you bleed. The words I say are many. Some celebrate the death, while others mourn the life. But, all have a purpose. I give them the purpose. I want them to work as I wish. Me, their master. Me, their slave. With great tenderness I chose some words so that you forget your worries, while with ruthless fury I throw curses that give you fresher ones.

But these words are all I have. I have no intellect, but only words of wisdom. I have no hope, but words of motivation. I know no humor, wit is all I use. When I sleep, I think of which words my dreams would spell out for me that night. When I wake up, I long to find my word again.

I squeeze them out of the silences of my nights, i pick them up from clamour of the mobs.I read them from silent smiles, i see them in sunlight reflecting from your hair. When i talk to you, I read your mind, and then choose my words. I do that because I want you to be affected. I start with the subtle ones, using the silences and sighs as punctuations. Carefully chosen, so as to make a deeper impact. But if you fail to register or appreciate my words, I would grow louder and choicer with what I need to say. I pick the most ornamental of the words, weaving around you the perfect net. I add enough sadness in the joints so that you stay hooked. I add irony at which you may smile. I add every ingredient that i know you like. To make you stay for a moment longer.

But when I find that my words are losing the grip over you, I am left with no option but to turn foe. I yell with rage, I burn with retribution. After all, all this was for you. How could you ignore and be indifferent. I chose the words consciously. But I meant each one of it. I believed in every single word. With all my heart I gave emotion to them making them real. Just like magic. So I must do what I do. I must inflict upon you my final blow. I must attack with you the most hurtful weapon. Guilt. I put in all the melancholy I have ever known, I put all the sorrows I have heard around me. I make others' stories as mine, so that I can make you feel wretched. So that when you fall asleep in the night, all you can think is how bad you were to me.

And then you return. And I have words for that too. My words tell you that I have forgiven you, but hide that I have not forgotten anything. And for eternity my words play slaves to me. At my commands they make you fall for me, sometimes hate me. They make you laugh, and they make you feel miserable.

But I really don't know if the reality is different. If they have in fact captured me. If they control my emotions and intent. If they are actually ruling my imagination. If they use me to unleash themselves. Perhaps am indeed playing puppet in the story woven by the words. I would never be sure. But what I know is that you'll never love me. But I want you to love my words.

Because words are all I have.

Warnings

2010-05-07T18:12:00.005+05:30

Ever wondered whats worse? For the evil to drop by unexpectedly or to have a warning beforehand and then await its imminent arrival?

I was quite happy with the unexpected off that I got today. Slept till late, had a great breakfast and then ventured out for lunch. That was good as well, and I returned to my room. Tugged myself warmly in the bed, switched on the music and picked up Potter. Today is a good day, or so I thought.

As I entered the bed, i felt a little quack.. Well, I just sprained my back. I thought never mind that, I have a whole day to rest. A few pages later, it came suddenly. The warning, I mean. The vision started to melt in front of my eyes. I knew this feeling. I knew what was going to happen next. I could see everything as a whole, but nothing in particular. It was as if everything would just decide to blur out the moment I decide to look at it. It wasn't a good sign. I knew it too well. I knew how the rest of my day was going to be now. Well, if you don't know what am talking about, it is my bete noir, Migraine.

I remember the first time I blacked out, I thought I might have rubbed my eyes too hard. Followed immediately with a sickening headache, I saw no connection. Then in a few months, when it returned I panicked. Vision blurring out wasn't a good sign at all. Wary, I confided in my sis, who told me it was a 'simple' case of migraine. Still I went to see a doctor, who asked me to get a MRI done. Alone, in the morning I reach the hospital and enter the wing where the test had to be carried out. A family was present there. A mid-age man was to go through it before me. His wife and children all were cheering him up. N here I was, all alone. But, my case was not worrisome at all, I told myself. Thankfully, it was indeed the case. The doctor termed it as a classical case of a rare form of migraine. He tried to make me feel better by saying that it wasn't a disease at all, but a disorder. What it implied, I found much later. It merely meant that it can't be cured, it needs to be 'managed'. Whatever it meant.

Since then, there have been numerous such migraine 'attacks'. When the vision starts to melt, it just makes me shiver with anticipation. I gulp down my medicine and then wait to see what happens next. Will it come or not? If the headache does come, how bad will it be? Will it surpass the worst I have gone through? Or will it be just a minor one? I just start hoping that whatsoever it is, the vision get back to normal. And then the abstract feeling of a lost vision starts to crystallize in one side of the head. One side starts to feel as if something is getting fried inside the skull. That something is trying to burst out. I feel like cracking open my skull and taking it out!! Gradually, as I get a grip on what am seeing, the intensity of the pain starts to climb up. I close my eyes, and start praying. No God, pls no! Let it be over soon. I grab another disprin and wait to see if it works, and well, and how fast.

They come and just drain everything out of you. It feels, you are not gonna make it through without banging your head against the wall. But after a few of them, you know its going to be alright eventually. I believe thats what managing a migraine means. Knowing that the throbbing feeling you have in your brain, will die eventually. That you just need to be patient. That the skull-cracking, piercing pain is not eternal. That you'll soon be able to move your head without the pain almost killing you at the slightest of a movement.

You might think, that why am I writing all this. trying to gain some sympathy maybe? I frankly don't have a clue. But, alone in a hotel room, away from everyone, lying crippled in the bed for 4-5hrs, I didn't know what else to do.

Well, returning to the thought I started with, I think having no warning is better. It merely brings the misery to the doorstep even before it is supposed to come. And as suddenly I had thought to start writing it, I am suddenly clueless as to what to write more. And yep, am feeling much better now. Just a small lingering 'manageable' feeling in the head, which I know will not go away till tomorrow morning :)

Dilli meri jaan!

2010-02-20T15:37:00.004+05:30

Delhi. A city, a history, a book, a poem, a beloved! Delhi means to me this and much more. Lived for most part of my life in Delhi, I long to return. To return to the warmth that I have always felt in its embrace. Like a prisoner in exile, every night I sleep off hoping to wake up in my home; every morning I wake up hoping that it was all a dream and I never left Delhi.

When I look back (recently turning 27, i think i can use thsi phrase now), I feel I have grown up with the city. Evolved, matured, come of age...

I remember my childhood spent in Chandni Chowk. Those narrow lanes, the chaat, the golgappe, the tikki! Everytime a guest would come home, I was made to rush to get the stuff, custom made acc to the taste palats of the guest.. sometimes very spicy, sometimes not so spicy. Living in the joint family with all my uncles, aunts & cousins, fighting for space for myself physically and in the lives of elders. I remember being pampered by Amma! Amma, the one who always loved me unconditionally, who cried everytime some elder scolded me, who cooked all the most delicious foods for me. N then the festivals, how the bazaars would lighten up and gloss over all the decaying buildings for Diwali, the Ramlila, or how would the scent of Sewayi would give flavor to the season of Id!

Having a large extended family does indeed bring some advantages, especially in childhood. You get an army of cousins! N since most of them resided in Delhi itself, it was quite a time we used to have. From excursions to Children's Park, Shantivan, India-Gate, CP, Rail Museum to overnight stays with my cousins in Daryaganj, Bengali Market, Tagore Garden, and elsewhere! All the pranks we played, all the stupid childish secret we shared!

I remember the streets of Lutyen's Delhi where my school was. The excuses we would make to leave early from the school and then hang out in CP. Those giant white pillars surrounded with trees! Escaping to Pallika Bazar to have look at the cheapest stuff and make fun of it! Having milk-shake at Caventer's or HCF at Nirula's! How I used to love the free triple sunday at Nirula's after my results. HCF could never taste as delicious ever after! Those trips with parents & neighbours to Children's Park. Those birthday celebrations at Qazi Hauz with family and with FP (fountain pepsi) in school canteen! The innocent days of just 'liberalized' India. When Pizza meant Nirula's and burger was synonimous with Wimpy's! I remember those years vividly. Those were the years I was growing up along with my Delhi. We were almost mirror images of each other, reflecting in each other the urge to break free, but still bound by ties, rediscovering & redefining morality, loving every moment of the new found freedom.

Post this, started perhaps the best phase of my life. I entered DCE, and we shifted to my father's official acco in south Delhi. I started switching between hostel during weekdays and home on weekends. I had the best of both the worlds. I was exploring a new world, opening my eyes to experiences I had never imagined. Learning so many new things, building my capabilities, taking on challenges! And Delhi around me was changing as well. The city was expanding its horizons as well, concrete roads being made, flyovers coming up, Metro entering the lives of Delhiites. Slowly, and steadily we both were become confident of ourselves, sure that whatever the destiny, we would not be left behind. And surreptitiously, a kind of arrogance was also creeping in. I could see it growing in me, and even around. I was almost another individual now.

When the four year vacation ended, came the time of life when I got busy. I was doing so many things. Just entered the job, trying to prove myself afresh. Meeting so many new people, making friends. A city, where I loved, and lost, and found it again. I remember those years, when I would drive around the city in the night. Aimlessly.. with the windows rolled down, letting the chilly airs pass through me. My cranky radio would never be working well, so I had to give it company for the music to have its effect. I felt in control.

Soon after I joined IIFT and then, I lost track. 2 years just zipped past before I could even take a breath. I just kept running from assignments to projects, from presentations to quizes. Trying to take the take the strings in my hands, but I never could do that. And I lost track. And when the MBA was getting to a close, I saw that so much had changed around me. Some of my friends had already gotten married, my niece had grown up as well from a cute baby-doll to a chatterbox. Most of my friends had changed base and almost no one remained in Delhi. It felt incomplete, but it still felt home.

Delhi was Delhi to a large extent because of the numerous people I met here over the years, some who were bound with me with blood, some whom I befriended and made a part of my life. If I start mentioning them, perhaps it might take a lifetime. But I do hope that each one of you would know what flavor did your presence in Delhi added to it. To all my friends from BVB, DCE, Aricent, IIFT and to all my wonderful cousins, Delhi without you is so unimaginable. I have played with you, laughed with you - sometimes at you, shared with you the zenith & the nadir, dreamed with you, essentially lived with you!

So here I wind up my nostalgic trip. It took a lot of time to complete and a lot many sittings, but am still not satisfied. But I don't think words would ever be able to do justice to the emotions that my city evokes. N here I am miles away from it. Missing its sometimes springy, sometimes misty mornings, missing its familiarity. Someday, and someday soon, I'll return home!

Shantaram!

2010-02-05T20:03:00.010+05:30

Shantaram! If I were to summarize the book in one word, it would be spectacular or rather unbelievable! There wouldn't be or rather shouldn't be many who like to read and still haven't heard of this masterpiece! It is a scintillating account, part-fact part-fiction of the life of the author Gregory David Roberts and his life in Mumbai, the then Bombay (1980s).

From the moment, the narrator as I would prefer to call him, lands in Bombay to the last page, he brings to life every nook and corner of the city, lifting the curtain that exists between us and the people we see on the street. I couldn't help but notice, how he gives life to the hundreds of people we see on the street, but never bother to think that even they could have a story to tell. He tells the stories of these unknown faces, and with what elan! But this book remains the narrator's story, how he falls in love with everything about the city - the maddening crowd, the taxis, the slums, the mafia, the women. But more importantly how he reclaims himself from his past.

Very few books claim to be thriller and philosophy at the same time, it is one of them. The book takes you to the dark lanes of Bombay, you never knew existed. It talks about everything you already know about Bombay - the mafia, the bollywood, the slums, the muggy weather, the Hajji Ali, the Fort area and above all Leopold's. But then it never stops there. All these come alive and play out their role in the narrative and its a piece of art how they intertwine with each other to give Bombay the flavor it has. Alas, the Thackareys perhaps would never be able to understand what Bombay stands for, not just to the marathi manoos, but to the rest of India as well.

The characters are neatly drawn with most of them having a mysterious streak about them. From the sharp, quick witted Karla to the enigma of mafia don Khader, to the youthful Abdullah, to the sarcastic Didier. The biggest exception is the affable taxi driver and the best friend of the narrator, Prabhaker. It is his simplicity and innocent intelligence that that takes you by the arm and makes you turn page by page. Another of my favorite character was Karla, of course. Most of her lines can easily pass as punchlines and philosophies dipped in sarcasm and brutal honesty. And when she says that being listened to is one the best and dangerous thing in world, I couldn't agree more!

But in the end, the book is about love. Love in all its shapes and forms, for a friend, for a beloved, for a father, for a brother. Unrequited love and the longing, the pain and suffering that it brings. Its about realization of oneself. Its about learning to live on one's conditions and to love unconditionally. If this is what is spirituality, then indeed Shantaram opens the gates to it. The words remain with you long after you have closed the book. Many times in fact you would close the book yourself to grasp what Didier says, what Karla mumbles or what Shantaram realizes throughout the course of the book.

It is indeed one of the best books I have ever read. It creates a different world around you and weaves its magic that bedazzles you and engulfs you. I hope Mira Nair would indeed make the movie with Johny Depp as THE Shantaram Big B as Khader. This story needs to be told. The only grudge I had with this book was its length, it could easily be shorter by about a 100 pages.

The book indeed made me wonder how a foreigner could understand India so well. In fact, at so many times I felt he knew more about us than what we know. He talks about everything good or bad, never being judgemental, or cynical. And when you finally close the book, what remains with you are the author's words and you wonder how true they sound... Sometimes in India, you need to surrender first before you win.

Mann mein Ram, bagal mein churri..

2009-07-06T13:51:00.004+05:30

Ram. The God. The Perfect man. The warrior king.

But unfortunately, India is one country who shies away from reveling in its own culture. India, where a common man doesn't even doubt if Ram existed. Where still a large portion of the population says 'ram-ram' as a salutation. Where Ram stands not just as a God, but much more than that. He tells us how a man can live perfectly, sticking to his beliefs and following the path of righteousness. No matter how attractive the temptation in the form of Shoorpnakha in disguise, or how grave the danger in the form of Ravana- the demon king.

But we now wish to forget Him. His city, Ayodhya has been reduced to a political battleground. The soil where Ram played and grew up, has been splashed with the bloodshed. No one ever bothered to develop the city. No one thought of starting a ram-rajya there. All they wanted were a few votes. I know Ram is watching and one day He would ask a few questions. He would certainly want to know that if our belief in Him is so firm and doubtless, how can we not believe in His values? How could we kill each other in His name? He would be perhaps kinder to certain Mr. John Lennon, who once said "Imagine a world with no religion; nothing to kill or die for!"

Well, there is another side of the story as well. The story of Ram-Setu. How the politicians of post-liberalized India wish to doubt authenticity of its own literature which dates back a thousands of years. They say Ram didn't build it. I don't wish to comment upon it. But even a simple google search would tell you how beautiful the Ram-Setu looks. Why not rather build it for tourism attraction? Search a little further and you see a solid case in Environmentalist's objections to the proposal to tear it down! The Ram-Setu divides two portions of water where the sea life is different. tearing it down might be very harmful for the ecological balance in the region. The coral reefs would be in danger and so would be the mainland India. Certain reports suggest that it was this Ram-Setu that stood as a wall against the onslaught of the devilish Tsunami waves of 2004 and limited the destruction India had to face.

But a country on its path to industrialization and modernity has to make some hard decisions. Alas, the decision is not to curb inefficiency at the ports, rather than making navigation easier. The focus is not on the corruption that is eating our economy like a termite, but on providing another BIG project where the bureaucracy can mint some more money..

India sure is changing!

The Ground Beneath Her Feet - Salman Rushdie

2009-05-15T18:07:00.007+05:30

It has taken me exceptionally long to read this book.. Too much was happening around me and within me as well! Approx 3 months to be precise ;) If you allow me, I can boast of having my own book published in this duration!!
Well, being an ardent Rushdie fan, I had very high expectations from it. His last book that I had read was Shalimar the Clown, with which I started this blog! Master of metaphors, God of magic realism that he is, I was hoping to find in this book all the Rushdie masala! Am not sure if am disappointed or not, but it certainly wasn’t one of his best! At best an average!
Thankfully, Rushdie was in the first person narrative in this one, which never fails to add a special feel to the whole story. But what was disappointing was that the narrator from whose eyes the story is seen has hardly any presence in the story. The story, like the two male protagonists, belongs to Vina Apsara! A Madonna of sorts, she is the ultimate ageless diva, loved across the continents. She gives voice to the music of Ormus Cama and fuels the passion in the heart of Rai, the narrator & a photographer. Troubled childhood forces her to come to live in India and grow-up with both these boys. India! A land she hates in the beginning; but falls in love gradually.. not just with India but Ormus as well. Theirs is a true love. Love that the poets talk about, endless, till the end of life and beyond. Vina & Ormus form a rock n’ roll band which is revered across the globe, while Rai becomes an accomplished photographer accidentally. As the story progresses, the lovers come together and separate and then unite again to separate for ever.
After this, Rushdie finally decides to give us a flavour of the magic that he is known for. Surrealism. As the earthquakes begin to shake the earth, Rushdie describes the collision of our world and another world. A world, which is similar to ours, and is different at the same time. The way he has dealt with this part of the story is amazing.
I am still a great fan of his. So great that I hope that someday he visits this blog and reads my request! Please please please make the central pages of your books a bit more interesting. Like all his other books I have read, even this one opened beautifully and ended magnanimously! But the middle part was quite dragging! I hope his latest – Enchantress of Florence is better!
Till I lay my hands on it, I have One Hundred Years of Solitude to accompany me! ;)

Jai Ho - Be Victorious!

2009-04-27T23:31:00.008+05:30

Its going to be a month soon. I have been lazy all this while.. Wanting to write about it, but then not writing it.. Pushing it away.. But suddenly I realized that I am beginning to forget things about it, losing the euphoria around it..

For the uninitiated, I am talking about our book called Titans of Branding and its launch. It was the result of 15 months of some work on our part and a lot of gas on the part of our guide ;) Hehe.. No, but really I am really thankful to Prof Kirsti Lindberg-Repo to have provided this opportunity! I remember our recruitment last year in the MoS class.. How skeptical we were about what to expect from this research project. None had a clue, all we wanted was some quick money, maybe about 100 euros! Little did we expect that it would culminate into an auditorium, fully packed (almost), clapping for us! Not even when we came to know for the first time that its going to be published as a book, did we really understand what it meant!

I am soo tempted to use the phrases like "It all started with a BIG idea" etc etc.. But I know for sure, that Esha and Apramey would die laughing on it! (We started our launch presentation with this line). Sitting in the lobby of Hotel Qutab, trying to come up with ideas, filling in the occasional silence by pulling each other's legs, or speaking in hindi, so that our guide doesn't have a clue that we are talking about her! Vividha getting really irritated with all the gas floating around, while Apramey providing in suffieciency! ;) To be honest, it was fun, real fun! Despite the graphic designer whom I had to deal with to get the right figures, right look and feel of the book. He was quite a story! I remember looking at him unbelievingly, while he was trying to see which color fits Kone CEO's pic better! He hadn't slept last night and had become totally.... I remember that day, it was perhaps the most demanding of all.. Apramey busy elsewhere ;) , Esha & I unwell.. but all doing 100s of things that were left. The book was to go for printing the next day, and at one time it all looked impossible! But we pulled through! And I must say, we pulled through beautifully!

Eventually it was all worth it.. Standing in the lobby of our publisher, Gummerus, waiting eagerly to see the book. And when Heli put a copy into my hands, I was speechless. Holding the book for the first time, I felt overwhelmed! I knew how it would look n all, but still to touch it, flip the pages, see my name on the cover, my photo at the back.. I really was speechless. I Esha & Apramey were looking at each other, all smiles.. Trying to just grasp in the feeling! To be honest, I was actually feeling choked with emotion... Called up Ma & papa immediately! Couldn't even talk to them! I was so so happy!!!

N then the day came when the world would see our book and

comment upon it. We all were soooo nervous! Though we had practiced quite a lot, but addressing a firang audience, and that too from the boards of companies like Nokia, Kone etc.. I was developing cold feet! When I saw the packed auditorium in the morning, I just asked... "Are all of these people here to listen to us???". That too, after paying quite a high participation fee!!

N suddenly we heard the loudspeaker playing "Jai ho!" Yes guys, thats how we landed on the stage.. with A R Rehman's music welcoming us.. To be honest, I had never liked the idea.. It was

tooooo dramatic and rather funny.. But that day, looking at the audience, I felt that somehow it helped us in catching their attention! Suddenly, I see people smiling and perhaps thinking.. "Ok, so far so good, now lets c what u gotto offer". And then we started speaking.. One by one.. It went flawlessly! I remember when I was speaking, some of the people in the audience actually were listening as if.. haha..let me not get narcissist! But it looked good! N then the applause! Well, it was quite a applause! I felt soooo proud. How I wished my family was there to witness it. How proud they would have been at that time, I could only imagine!

After the seminar, I was then suddenly asked to sign the book (it was given to the audience). All of us were actually mesmerized and flattered by the gesture.. and then one more such request followed.. and then more.. At one time, it looked surreal! All

three just trying to manage the whole scene.. signing our own books! I din't even know what to write! It would have looked so funny to others, while we three discussed as to what would look appropriate! Haha! Some told us that they watched the presentation in disbelief, some said we were brilliant "stage performers" (???). People just coming and telling us that it went great. Some flattering us to the extent by saying that we were the Titans actually!!! Alas, it all ended eventually, and our 5 minutes of stardom got over! :( But I was quite impressed by the humbleness of all present!

So for all the readers, who would be feeling that this post was in fact a narcissist exercise, here's something fyi.. In the Media Mingle party (???) basically a cocktail party to celebrate the successful launch, I kinda goofed up.. While all the coprorate hotshots were buzy in socializing.. I (standing in the center perhaps)... dropped a glass of champagne! Thadaaam! The sound it made!!! Everyone just fell silent and looked at me! How I wish at moments like these that Dinosors were not extinct and one would emerge to swallow me right away!

DevD in Delhi-6!

2009-02-21T13:33:00.006+05:30

For those who have seen both the movies, I apologize to them for putting both these movies in the same line. Both are I believe complete anti-thesis of each other. But still I saw both movies with eyes wide open. I couldn't believe what I was seeing on the screen. While DevD was showing the generation next, where talking about sex is not taboo, where SRK's Whiskey has given way to ecstasy; Delhi-6 couldn't probably have taken on more cliches than this.

Lemme start with DevD. It was an absolute delight to watch Hindi cinema coming of age. I know the phrase is cliche, but nothing about the movie is. One of the reviews said that it seems that the director showed whatever he felt like, and so he did. The lingo was the one you would actually see around you.. dropping the F word here n there, using Slut to desrcibe even a guy casually. Where sex is not taboo. At times the movie looked a bit abstract, especially during a few songs where 3 men would start gyrating to the wonderful music like the presence of 3 witches of Shakespere. Initially, I was shocked that how could anyone show that on screen. All the 3 actors, Paro, Dev, Chanda couldn't have played it better. I especially loved Chanda! And then am addicted to its music. Keep listening to it in a loop!

And how so much I may nnot want to, I shall have to think about Delhi-6. Disappointment is such an understatement. I was appalled, and enraged. Making a whole movie on something like Monkeyman was a reason enough for me to not like it. Though, initally I was enjoying it very much. Having grown up in Delhi-6 myself, I was getting a childlike pleasure in seeing those areas. But those were only about 5-10 minutes. Then those shots gave way to the artificial sets and the whole smell of the old Delhi was lost. Though all the characters were very good with great artists to help them, but then you need more than good characters to make a good movie. FIrst, the movie got the facts wrong. Monkeyman phenonmenon never happened in old Delhi. It struck east Delhi. N then there was no purpose of the movie. You could see its not going anywhere. And then those in your face morality lessons on caste system, religion, dowry, and what not! I felt like screaming that pplllllssssss spare us the ordeal. And if anyone was expecting a better second half, sorry guys! The monkeyman was being called Hindu from one community on account of Hanuman being a Hindu God, while Hindus accuse the Monkey to be a Muslim terrorist. Thats where I lost all patience. Height if ridiculouness! I was only too happy to see Abhishek dying, deriving a sadistic pleasure, but UTV could not tolerate even that and brought him back to the mortal world after serving him Jalebis in heaven with Amitabh in his most avoidable comeo. The movie is so bad that I have started to avoid one of the finest albums everby Rehman after watching it! I feel like suing Rakesh Om Prakash Mehra!!!

Guys, go see DevD again after watching Delhi-6 if you want to regain faith in Hindi movies. M sure it won't disappoint! You'll like Delhi more in DevD than in Delhi-6 for sure!!

The beloved Dhabas... I'll miss you!

2009-02-21T12:03:00.004+05:30

I went to college after quite a few dayz. Since I entered from the back gate, I didn't notice then. But while returning home, I could see it.. Or rather not see it.. My beloved dhabas are gone. Demolished, eliminated, decimated, cleared!

IIFT life and dhabas, could they ever be thought of without each other? The only place where I could hope to venture out to, despite the most gruelling of schedules I have ever seen in my life. The paneer parantha, the aloo pyaaz ones, the ghobhi parantha, mix-veg parantha, the macorroni, methi parantha etc etc etc... Storming the cold freezing nites of winters, we would savor those paranthas and wonder what would have happened had they not been there. I thank God that I never had to do without them!

A place, that many delhities have been frequenting for decades now, has succumbed to MCD's orders to clear the encroachments under some hawkers related act. I don't think any other dhabawala could ever dream of achieving fame equivalent to that of Tanku! A brand in himself. While driving back, I saw him lying on the cleared platform, which used to witness the buzz of the youth at any point of time in the day. Thw whole green stretch is silent now. Perhaps brooding over the demise of the kiosks that gave life to this street.

The cheap food is gone, perhaps someone somewhere would have gotten the license to operate a restaraunt in a posh market somewhere instead. India, sure is changing!

Gone are the days, and gone are the dhabas! Like 100s of IIFTians and students from nearby B Schools, I will miss you dhabas!! May your souls rest in peace!

The Little Drops..

2009-01-31T10:07:00.004+05:30

Once upon a time, there was a small village.. It was lined up with vegetation everywhere.. Lush green trees, kachchi roads, where everyone used their cycles to travel. N it was monsoon.. The best time of the year.. People used to curse it at times though.. There was always a danger of floods, then there would be mud everywhere, n u couldn't get anywhere without getting wet..

But he liked it, rather he loved it. Every time it used to rain, he never missed it. He would go out and soak himself in the water.. Alone. He would pick up his cycle and go on the muddy road to no where.. The trees soothed him.. While he would be riding the cycle, he would look at the sky and try to see where is the water dripping from. N there suddenly a drop would hit his eye straight.. N he would lose his balance and fall off.. N instead of getting up, he would start laughing and rolling.. Lying on his back, he would stop worrying where the drops were coming from and just open his mouth to taste the sweetness of the water, scented by the lush green of the vegetation!

One such rainy day, he went to the railway station of the village. Just like that.. he had nothing else to do.. There was only one train that used to visit his village in the whole day. It was still some time that it would arrive.. He parked his cycle and went to the platform.. The tracks were witnessing the small grass growing through them.. Everything was damp as far as he could see.. The smell of the metal was blending with the odor of the damp soil.. As the time to board the train came near, he sat down on the bench.. He loved to see people in commotion! People talking to each other, people sitting alone, people thinking something. He would try to concentrate on them, their facial expressions, trying to make out what exactly is it that they were thinking.. He would wonder if he would ever get his assumptions verified, but he was always sure that he knew. In fact, he held this opinion that only by merely watching a person closely for a while, you can know the person inside out!

As the train moved in to the platform, it seemed that the whole village had flooded the station. The chai-wallah kept running from window to window, the Kooli kept persuading the old man to pass his luggage to him.. The boy just kept watching amusingly. Then, after a few minutes, the engine made a groan. The station-master whistled aloud, n the coaches started to move.. Suddenly, he spotted in a distance, a guy's gaze fixed at a window. He looked and he just looked. as if the world had stopped for him. The boy wondered what was it that was keeping him in such a state. Something on the guy's face told him that his life would never be the same again.. The little boy was noticing that perhaps he was trying to form a sentence or two in his mind that he would find suitable enough to speak at such an occasion, but his throat was going dry as the boy could notice by the strains on his throat's muscles.

As the window moved closer to the boy's bench, he saw.. a hand clinching the window bars.. Delicate as they looked, they conveyed the same emotions as the guy's eyes.. They held on to the bars, as if just by putting all her might in holding them, the girl would be able to tear them apart. The train was picking up speed, so was the guy.. Oblivious to the world around him, his gaze was still fixed, but his steps matched up with the speed of the train. it was a small village, and the platform reflected this completely in its length.. Even when the train had not gathered much speed, the guy reached end of the platform.. He still ran by the side of the, next to the vegetation, knowing fully the wastefulness of his efforts!

As the engine threw clouds of black smoke into the pristine air, the guy decided to stop the chase and come back to the world in which he was now alone. Still exhausted from the chase, he suddenly stopped in front of the boy, and sat down next to him on the bench. The little boy was suddenly nervous, he could hear the rhythm of the guy's breaths. He didn't know what to do, n then suddenly he felt some moistness on his small hand. Confused, he looked at it and when he understood what it was, looked at the guy. For the first time, they made an eye contact. N all the boy could see was himself in the guy's damp eyes..

The platform was again starting to bear the deserted look with silence setting in. The few moments of commotion receded to a past that looked distant. Very soon the sun would set down, the silence will give way to the buzz of the jhingurs.

And in a distance, a back was pressed against the seat to the window, eyes closed.

And the train moved away into a landscape silhoutted by the greens.

The Hungry Tide by Amitav Ghosh

2009-01-30T19:47:00.007+05:30

My return to fiction couldn't have been more exciting than this! Having experimenting with a lot of work in non-fiction, I picked up this book on the recommendation of a friend and I know I didn't regret it!

Somehow, the intial pages reminded me a lot of Roy's God of Small Things.. No, it doesn't depict siblings craving for each other. What I mean to imply is it leaves u with a smell of fresh air, the scent of river with you, the way Roy's book left you with the taste of pickles. The descriptions of the Sunderbans are vivid to say the least. Never for a moment I felt I had gone out of Sunderbans. N having completed teh book now, I long to goto Sunderbans. Even the way "Lucibari", the place in the Tidal Coasts of West bengal, leaves you yearning. The charms of a small town, couldn't have looked better than Ghosh's description. The entire landscape comes to life in front of you eyes. The animate descriptions of dialy cycles of tides - Jowar, the Bhata, with the big cat making its presence felt at regular intervals create a world that kept me hooked to the book.

For the story, it is about Piya, a woman of Indian origin and troubled past who finds her way into the labirynths of Bengal whiel researching the enigmatic river dolphins. On her way she meets Kanai, a middle aged who is tracing his roots back to the same place to read the notebook left by his now dead uncle. While a fisherman Fokir helps Piya in her quest, Kanai discovers through his uncle's notebook teh history of the, teh circustances in which he died and how the lives of everyone around Kanai were connected and entangled.

Surprisingly, the book asked a few questions that got lost in the narrative. For e.g. one of female characters Kusum, after starving for days together wonders on the existence of the people who value animals' lives more than people's; about people who would kill men to save trees. Or about the fate of refugees. More philosophically what Kanai's old aunt asks him in end.. Why is it that poets have everyone to speak for them, while no one sees any poetry in the strong, the ones who try to build things!

The beauty of the book is really not the story, but the words that the author has chosen. If you are looking for some edge of seat kind of suspense or fast pace, this may not be the best of the books to read. But for someone who wants to experience a place he never has been to, for someone who likes nature, for someone who is as relaxed as I am these days, there could have been nothing better!

By the way, as the story reaches its climax, there is a lot of mention about the name of this blog! :) Never knew how it actually felt to be in the eye of storm! Quite literally that is..

For now I think i'll continue my affair with fiction :)

Chocolat!

2009-01-21T01:57:00.003+05:30

I was driving back home tonight n i was feeling damn damn hungry. Checked my bag to find if Ma had put anything to eat in it.. N I found something which brought an instant smile! It was my favorite Finnish mist chocolate Karl Fazer Marianne! Yeah!

Quickly I ate a couple of pieces. When I had to halt at the red light, I told myself that no one can now stop me from finishing it before I reach home! But then I saw something. A street urchin.. a girl child.. maybe 5 yrs old.. was askin for money, from the driver of the car before me.. N suddenly out of impulse, I honked n called her.. Gave her my chocolate.. She cudn't recognize the unfamiliar wrapper, so I had to tell her.. "Chocolate hai ye!!" She heard me n asked... "Chocolate?????? Sachchi???" N when I nodded, I saw perhaps one of the most happiest smile! She grinned ear to ear, started jumping n tellin her friends that she got a "Chocolate!!!"

Suddenly I realized that the car behind me has started honking as the signal turned green.. I slowly pulled over, watching the girl disappear in my rear view mirror, still happy with her conquest.. I hope she liked it and enjoyed it!

There are some things money can't buy, but then... there are many which it can!

Go IIFT Go!

2008-12-18T18:06:00.006+05:30

I have just returned from class. Perhaps for the last time. Its a mixed feeling. Its been 1.5 yrs since I last I first attended a class here @ IIFT. The day I heard Symms struggle with the words. I knew it from the word go its gonna be gruelling. N if you ask me now, I'll say it was an understatement.

As I gear up to leave this place, it feels strange. I mean.. it feels as if last 2 yrs have disappeared at a frantic pace. I was doing so much in so little time, that I never bothered to see how things were changing. Juggling between assignments, project reports, presentation, classes, quizes, home, V, I just spent running around. It was pretty difficult, if you ask me. Now finally that I have gotten some spare time, I notice that so much has changed! Some of my very good friends have already gotten married, one of my best friend is getting married next week, some have left India, some have come back from abroad.

All of you who ever had any interaction with me beyong a hi-hello, would know how much I disliked the place. The small campus, the snrs, the number of subjects, the people n so on.. But now, m not so sure. I have had the biggest disappointments here in people, but I have also met a few amazing people! And in the end, when you are leaving a place, it doesn't look all that bad, howsoever bad it may have looked to you all this while.

Perhaps, every last brings a new first. My last lecture made my miss my class for the first time. My last ppt made me miss my first ppt. I had rehearsed in front of the mirror! My last group assignment reminded me of our initial group discussions! We would keep negotiating for hours, fight as if our lives depended on it. Times that were, times I hated, times I just couldn't wait for to get over! N now that they are over, am not ecstatic!

Life still amuses me!

A day in the life of Bus-ke-Shockers

2008-12-11T18:08:00.003+05:30

Today was just another day.. or rather just another greatly fun-filled day!

As usual, I had managed to miss my dear Bus from my bus stop. So took an auto and reached Gunjan-Girish's stop. Kept listening to my iPod. Just when the bus came, Gunjan & Girish both reached at the same time after managing to somehow cross the road (Gunjan went a Km further to cross the divider, while Girish just jumped over it). Boarding the bus, a hi-helllo & Jai Shree Ram round ensued which lasted for at least 15 minutes and a few laughs. Therefater, I & Shailly resumed our books, while Gunjan-Girish started to talk something seriously. I don't remember when I fell asleep, but I do remember waking up by loud 'bachao-bachao' by Anuj. Apparently he had cracked a joke taht didn't quite go well with the gals and Deepti was taking the lead to reprimand him! When Nalanda came, the new hot gal got up to get down. To which, I & Anuj exchanged a quick glance & smiled! Sip Sinha, quite expectedly, didn't undesrtand this and opened up his questionnaire about y we smiled, what/whom did we see, etc etc etc. TO this Pahua claimed that he knows the gal!

When everyone got down at Plot 17, I, Anjan Da, Priyank & Pahua continued our journeyy to Presidency! So it was teh boys time as usual! No holds barred Non-veg jokes started with very explicit & implicit comments from Priyank! Reaching office, I was about to start my work, when someone mailed Ajay Negi regarding the bad condition our bus was in. N that was the end of the day. Everyone whi had ever sat in a bus, mentioned something bad about Route No 12. From noisy breakes, to ruthless driver, to the jerky "bus ke shockers"!!

Finally I start my work and the day went without anything much quite happening! The clock strikes 5:25 and I realize that I can tell my TL that he can goto hell cos I am leaving for home come what may! After taking the Presidency bus, we finally boarded our bus. Surprisingly Anjan had also come for the 5:30 bus. We quickly settled down and started to crack jokes. Sippy suggested we play Bluff and everyone agreed. As the luck would have it, she sat just next to me and relentlessly caught every bluff of mine for one full hour. Quikly after a few rounds, we switched to Our beloved DumbC. Anjan had a box full of C grade bhutiya movies & Ajay just could get over the SRK hangover!

After an hour, to the dismay of all the guys, everone swicthed to "Chidiya-Ud". Irrespective of who won, Anuj, Sip, me, Pahua, Girish got thrashed, while Shikha enjoyed her moment of glory! Deepa being Deepa didn't quite speak much unless it was te time to tease Sip, or count my white hair or say a very warm bye while getting down! All this while, Budhi kept smiling at us amusingly. he kept asking how we managed to be beaten up every day!

Thankfully, Saket had come and Deepti suggested we get down. everyone agreed. ther was just no option but to hurry up to the chatwala. (Nils of course went straight to the book-walah). After a round of golgappas. Shailly brought the mosts teekha bhelpuri! Fighting the tears, Sippy, Gunjan, Deepti braved teh spices and then demanded the fruit salad & HCF. N thne toh, it was a complete chaos. Anuj, Pahua, Sip had apparently not had anything for a few days!

N then one by one our parents start calling us, asking when would we finally feel like returning home. To tell you honestly, never! Cos this was home as well. I looked around, n i couldn't see anything but a family! Damn damn lucky I am! Seriously!

Sadly, but then everone decided to leave. Pahua of course offered to drop all the gals! And we parted.. to wait for another such day..

Ginjan & Guroos!

2008-11-29T00:05:00.004+05:30

Here my friends, is a toast to two of my very very great friends - Ginjan-Guroos.. aka Gunjan-Girish! Today in the wee hours of morning, both of them will get married... Phew! Its alrite guys.. it happens.. Honi ko kaun taal sakta hai ;)

If you ask me, if they make a good couple, well I dunno.. I honestly don't.. Cos to me, like to all of us.. they are just one.. Moreso I am perhaps one of the lucky ones who never had to see only one of them alone.. So, most of teh times, I just said Ginjan-Guroos together :D But yeah.. they are almost so rocking together.. I mean.. could I ever imagine our Bus-ke-Shockers without them?? Without Girish's wierd facial expressions.. as if he doesn't understand a word of NV I, Anuj & Priyank keep saying! Or without Gunjan's non-stop 'chlormint' smile? Looking back, I do think now that they make a perfect match! Most of us could always see an elder bro in Girish (I wonder how Gunjan didn't) - Always there to listen to u, trying to help u unconditionally.. And then there is Gunjan.. Always ready to cheer u up in ur lows, and celebrate in ur highs. Never have I come across two people so polite, so humble, so honest and so beautiful. They gotto make an awesome couple!

Unfortunately due to a decision I took 1.5 yrs back, I have somehow escaped the dilemna of chosing between welcoming or dancing in the baraat. But I am sure, both of them would be looking as good as they can ever look despite the exhaustion & seperation!

I know a few hearts that mite get broken today.. But I hope Pahua & Anuj would be having a couple of shoulders to cry upon.. In case of Pahua, the chances of more than a couple of shoulders is though more.. N in case of Anuj, m sure he would definitely try to capitalize on the situation ;)

I wish both of you a rocking life ahead. Miss you both! Have a fantastic journey together, n throw me a party when back ;)

Welcome to a B School

2008-08-19T20:37:00.001+05:30

He was a teacher. His students adored him, for them he was a perfect guide. He got all their respect n love and affection. Here they make fun of his dialect. He's ridiculed for being amongst the teacher rather than students!

She was an all rounder - acads, sports, co-curricular occupied her time. Now here she's adjudged too pricy because of the confidence she carries. Ignoring her continued success, people complain that she's got lots of attitude!

He was a cool guy! Never could stop giggling, talking and cheering up people with stupid jokes. Here they find him stupid and with attitude. People stare with disbelief on his imagination.

Welcome to a B School! A school where students are in fact the biggest teachers, where you fight to survive, learn the business as well as political acumen.

Once upon a time..

2008-08-19T02:35:00.005+05:30

Date: sometime in late 1993

I was expecting a monster to arrive. Everyone had narrated tales of this teacher and how rude, intolerant, strict, hard taskmaster she was. Anxious as I was to see this new teacher, I was looking forward to it. Having switched from a Govt Hindi medium school to an English medium one in the middle of a semester in 5th grade, I was looking for some respite in one subject - Hindi!

N suddenly a boy came running into the class room, and shouted - She's here! And everyone got back to his/her seat and fell silent. N there she was - Small, slender, dusky, with a red large bindi on her forehead, in an orange khadi saree, hair nicely done and tied with a small stick. I didn't realize I was gazing till the boy sitting next to me pinched me and said "Pehli class mein hi pitna hai??"

Well! That was Ms. Sarita Saxena, my Hindi teacher. Little did I know while greeting her that morning that she would become my most favorite teacher till date and that more than 15 years later, I would dedicate a post to her! So what made me wake up and remember her? Well, blame must goto "Tuesdays with Morrie". It opened with a question, and to answer it I had to dust off all these years. And the faint sound of her voice, turned into an image as fresh as ever.

She was my favorite teacher, and I was proudly her favorite student. No one could ever score more than me in her subject. But the credit would goto her. I still remember how brilliant she was. The best speaker I had ever heard. The way she emphasized on words, the clarity with which she spoke mesmerized me no ends.

She was the first who became privy to my writings.* She was in fact the first teacher I learnt to respect. She was an ideal, a person who I felt could understand me in all those growing up years. And then one day when I was in 10th, she stopped coming to school. A few months later I came to know she had gotten married and left the school. And that was the end of it.

I am sure, she would have forgotten this student of hers. But for me, she would remain. And would come out of the oblivion every time someone asked me to name a person who understood me 'when I was young & searching and helped me see the world as a more profound place'.

Why so Serious!

2008-08-12T19:53:00.004+05:30

Wanna know how I got these scars? My father was....a drinker. And a fiend. And one night he goes off crazier than usual. Mommy gets the kitchen knife to defend herself. He doesn't like that. Not. One. Bit. So, me watching, he takes the knife to her, laughing while he does it. Turns to me and he says "Why so serious?" Comes at me with the knife,"Why so serious?" He sticks the blade in my mouth. "Lets put a smile on that face!" And..... Why so serious?

These lines have been immortalized by late Heath Ledger and like millions around the world, I decided to right about them in this blog. About these lines, about his performance and above all - Joker!

The lines are simply awesome, moreso as they are so ironic. In direct conflict with what they actually mean! Heath Ledger delivers a performance that I personally think is THE best performance i have seen anyone delivering onscreen. He evokes that tickling feeling when he goes on rampage. A feeling that probably your animal side enjoys while watching the Joker. I dunno if I am the only one who enjoyed what he was doing on screen so much.. Ripping apart people, burning money just for fun. Fun, sure he had and so did I! And loads of it!

With his whole face covered in color, somehow you know what expressions he has. You just know it. The brilliance of his performance lies in that. And when he describes why he kills with a knife and not a gun, he reaches his zenith. I almost felt I too needed to know a few of my friends better! ;) Those of you who haven't understood my last line, go watch the movie "The Dark Knight".

But what sets this movie apart is the subtle acknowledgment that its the good that completes the bad. Its the Gods who compliment the Devil and vice-versa. Had there been no good, perhaps there wouldn't have been any bad either.

Poor Raj Kapoor, for he could never imagine what all a Joker could do!

A Mighty Heart

2008-05-31T01:44:00.007+05:30

A mighty heart... Was that the correct title for the film? Well indeed it was... What made me write this blog? I really don't know.. Perhaps cos the movie moves u. It moved me cos I knew that it was true. This did happen. And guess what? It continues to happen... Americans are doing it all over the world, somewhere legally, somewhere illegally, even Chinese do it. But don't we Indians do it as well?? Look around the newspapers and the answer lies there.. The Kashmiri separatists, the Naxalists, the ULFA... why is the 10% of the nation fighting it? Are we ready to face a few realities?

Today, one of my friends very casually remarked on how the Biharis have spread all over the place with a contempt at his face as if he was talking about some other species. Haven't many of us felt the same? But are we ready to ask ourselves where would they rather go if the rest of the nation doesn't help its state develop? Do we ever ask why is Naxalite movement spreading so fast? Branding 10% of the Indian population as anti-social certainly wouldn't be a solution!

We pay tips at the restaurants, but would pick up a fight with a rikshaw-wala over 5 rupees. We can spend Rs1000 on a single outing on a Friday night casually, but would ask 100 questions if someone asks for Rs 100 donation for a cause. We would lament that PM relief fund is not being used as the reason for not contributing towards anything good.

We say reservations are anti-merit. What merit are we talking about? Isn't it the same merit being bought in a coaching institute?

I know the questions are difficult and answers subjective. But unless we face them, the way forward is meaningless. I always felt secure away from death and violence. But a few days back only I realized maybe its not that far..

Jolie says in the film that wherever there would be misery, they (terrorists) find people. Ask yourself if you're one of those helping them get one more person... This pain that you can see everywhere now remember is like that of a swallowed tear that swells the throat. Its not the swelling that needs to be cured, it is the pain that caused the tear!

Aye mere pyaare watan...

2008-03-28T00:55:00.003+05:30

I wanted to write a review of The Last Mughal. Finished it a few days back. But then I could hardly remember the starting as I read it about 6 months back. A special gift as it was, I started reading it in Malaysia and as luck would have it, completed it when I am in Helsinki. SO basically I read it never in the country it talks about, in the city I love as much as its Scottish writer does, but understand so little.

The book starts with how the last of the Great Mughal, Bahadur Shah II became the emperor of Delhi in his sixties. The once great Timurs' influence was now reduced to a small yet captivating city of Shahjahanabad that Shahajahan had built with so much of love. The old king with the pen-name of Zafar, was a marvelous gardener and an articulate poet. William Dalrymple vividly desribes how King only in name, Zafar could barely manage to exert his will inside the palace which had become full of cheating cocumbines and unruly illegitimate princes. The control of Delhi was more or less passed onto the British like in the rest of the India. But this did not stop Zafar from taking Delhi to its cultural zenith. It was an era of Ghalib, the times of Zauq. When courtesans doubled as tutors to children of the nobility teaching them the courtesies (adab). Zafar himself had a few as his disciples. Delhi was a city that hosted the Mushaiyaras every evening with fresh mangoes being served and the most refined Urdu being spoken. The words that Dalrymple uses immediately recreate that lost grandeur in front of your eyes.

As I read the initial few pages, the whole Chandni Chowk started to crowd my imagination. The streets I grew up in started to lose their shabbiness and regain their grandeur - such is the effect of William Dalrymple's words. The Havelis, the bazaars, the lanes, The Red Fort, the Jama Masjid were all transported to the Mughal era and I could see the streets hosting the poetry competitions between Zauq and Ghalib, with wine being served and songs by the courtesans. This was Delhi of 1857.

When 300 mutinous Hindu soldiers entered Red Fort in the middle of the night to seek the blessings of a Muslim king, he saw a chance to regain the pride his dynasty had lost in the past century. Dalrymple shows how the rebellion was not only a mutiny of some soldiers against their senior officers, it was at the same time a social, economic, political and military in nature. Scared and angered by the inroads that Christian missionaries were making in the Hindu and Muslim cultures, the whole of north India rose up against the mightiest Empire in the world. Today it is hard to imagine how the whole Hindu heartland rallied to Delhi proclaiming a Muslim king as its true ruler. But it was Zafar's hard-work over the years that gained him this respect. Extremely tolerant, he even banned cow-slaughter and didn't let the Rebellion turn against Hindus ever.

Meanwhile little did Zafar know how his nod of consent to the 300 sepoys would change the course of his beloved city and his famous dynasty. After killing the British in Delhi and thus capturing Delhi, the sepoys started looting the city for and wealth and soon enough the Dilliwallahs start despising whom they called Tilanganas. Dalrymple quotes various complaints to the emperor by common people against such plundering. He then shifts the focus to the British. How British try to regain the lost ground inch by inch. At this time Dalrymple cleverly reminds the reader of the situation that the world is seeing today in Palestine-Israel conflict. The book then gets into a trap of how the situation was worsening in the city and gets rather boring as Dalrymple keeps quoting various letters which are now preserved in National Archives of India. The ending is rather abrupt when the sepoys give in.

Dalrymple then describes how cruelly the British massacered the Delhi residents and how very muslim inhabitant was either killed or thrown out of the city they always lived in. The author gives a moving account of the public hanging of people, the destruction of Havelis and the Red Fort. Dalrymple then goes on to describe the last year of Zafar in exile till he dies.

The most interesting thing about the book is the way the author has dealt with the title character, that of Zafar. At one time he would be critical of him, at another - sympathetic. The reader is given a lot of space to decide on him. As for me, I found him to a weak man, a weaker husband and even a weaker king. But can anyone expect a man is his eighties to be as pragmatic? A ruler who became the king in his sixties when the whole of India had already given in to the British? How could he have behaved otherwise?

Perhaps the book is a lesson to the politicians of today to give way to the younger generation. N also for the world, on how can Islam be actually integrated with other religions and how atrocities lead to nothing but revenge. Overall, a must read for anyone who loves Delhi!

Another Adieu

2008-03-24T03:22:00.004+05:30

So its time to leave a place again. Helsinki that is. A home away from home. A place I would have never come to live ever on my own had it not been for student exchange. But I just loved these three months. Though I kept on cribbing for not having good food, for cleaning the apptt on my own, for doing my laundry etc etc, but I can safely say it was amazing.
I still remember my first impressions of the city... "Where has the whole civilization disappeared???" Yeah, the streets looked deserted and the city was getting back to normal after the new year's vacation. Though situation didn't change much and i got really accustomed to not seeing many people around. N then it was great... the people, the place... even the cold weather! I also actually realized what it was to be Indian! How are we different and what makes us what we are. I know people who hate stereotyping, but a great deal of it is true.

The best part was... knowing myself... Staying away for everyone who mattered, I really learnt a lot about myself... What I like, what i don't. Whom do I like, whom I don't. What i can do without and what I can't. etc etc... It was a self-revelation of sorts. Going out of the comfort zone n all..

I guess I'll keep this post short, as I need to goto bed and wake up to return to my home... India!

Army!

2008-02-07T05:25:00.001+05:30

Sorry people, I had thought of starting to blog very regularly once am here in Helsinki, but lazyness just got better of me... Anyways lemme start now... So here's this course called "European Integration Issues" that I have taken up which deals integration challenges that EU is facing.

N in today's class, i heard one of the most interesting discussions I have ever attended! It was how is army looked at in ur country... We, Indians very proudly proclaimed how much respect the armed forces receive in our country, n related this with the fact that our country has to be indulged in wars more often ( the last one in 1999), making us respect ppl who protect us... But what followed was beyond I could have ever expected... The German guy said Germans hate their army because of historical reasons (remember Hitler???). The French said, they r pretty indifferent. N guess what the Finnish people had to say..... "I think they are a waste of money"; "We can't pay them for doing nothing". Adding to the comic scene were the Mexicans who told about the system int their country about the mandatory army service. Apparently when ppl become 18 yrs old, they have to goto an office and pick up from a box one ball... One particular color implies that the person shall have to serve in the army, while the other means you dont hav to (!!!).. Yeah, its that arbit. N also even if u r unlucky to pick up the wrong ball, u can bribe your way out of it ;)

It's interesting to see people's reactions to topics like these! I remember sometime back, the topic of the debate was "what are you paid by the govt if you get fired" (!!!) I could barely believe my ears when i heard the topic! Everyone narrated how their respective govts support the person and his family of someone gets unemployed. N believe me what their govts were paying them was higher than what most of the people get when they are employed! When my turn came, I said why should and would govt. pay for the fact that my employer finds me useless??? But then I saw all the Europeans looking at me with disbelief cos i told them tht in India, its just 3 month basic salary n tht too is the upper lmt! Talk about disparity! N yep forgot to mention... on an avg, a EU cow receives $913 annually in subsidies! Need I say more???

:)

Basic Instinct

2007-12-22T23:18:00.000+05:30

Long before Sharron Stone gave this phrase a sexual flavor, it used to signify something else, something deeper than the skin. The feeling, the hunch of knowing something, the ability to predict something. Remember the time when u disliked a guy, without a reason? Remember when u get uncomfortable in someone's presence despite his/her best efforts to make u feel good? You find something is amiss. I think thats what is basic instinct.

N today I accept what I never did... I have an excellent instinctive system wrt judging people. Was stupid enough to ignore its presence.. Would always be the first one to proclaim myself as the defender of logic n reason. But some ppl would just be hell bent on me accepting it finally, that am pretty-pretty good at judging people. I don't remember any instance where my initial feeling about a person has been proven wrong. I still remember that gal in y school whom i knew to be ..... But then i became friends with her behavior made me ignore my hunch. But hey she proved me right just before i left the school. N today... The biggest example which made me change the stance... I knew he was like this... Always knew it... Yet he managed to do that twice... I guess I should be blamed only. I thought people learn from their mistakes, he would as well. What i ignored was that i myself did not learn from mine... Bad for me! You know what, the basic nature of people doesn't change. Their behavior may tempt you to think otherwise.. They might become your friends, but no! They would not change! Do you really think 25 yrs of formations would give way to some months old "friendship"? A weakling remains just that, a s*** always has only one hormone working, n a bastard is anyone's guess!

N yeah one more thing at me.... If at all u wanna know me more, understand one thing about me... I have this huuuuuuge ego! You dont have to inflate it, but u r gone if u hurt it... Has anyone been able to get away by steppin on it? No dude! No!

So dude, next time you think of changing you opinion about someone, think again. Maybe your initial hunch is right... The person is not worth another chance. I know for myself, from now on, its the basic instinct that rocks!

50 years on, Atlas still hasn't Shrugged.....

2007-03-09T11:41:00.001+05:30

50 years back, Ayn Rand asked all the Atlas of the world to shrug. She asked the movers of the world to stop working for the unproductive people. She wanted to protect our blood from the parasites. But 50 years on, Atlas is still undecided. He still carries the world that hurts him, kicks him, abuses him and still feeds on his blood. He still bleeds.....

So why doesn't he shrug? Why doesn't he say - Thts it, I give up!!! When Atlas Shrugged came out, many predicted the death of Communism. It symbolized what is now ridiculed as the Great American dream. But people hated it too coz it advocated the fulfillment of the desires of man. It valued money. But a lot of time has passed since then and the question is was the title of this masterpiece just a title or was it a metaphor, urging us to give up the unyielding struggle against the evil.

Why don't people actually say enough is enough? What stops them? Is the that omni present initial hesitation or that fear of the unknown? Maybe its complacency. I guess its the same feeling that a caged bird would be having... A bird that does not like to be caged but still is wary of freedom. Coz freedom gives it the choice. Choice, if we go by Ayn Rand, should not lead to any dilemna. Thts coz right is always right and wrong is always wrong. There is no middle path. Middle paths emerge when you are not sure, when you are afraid of taking a stand.

I read Atlas Shrugged just when i started my career against the advice of many. I didn't seem to agree with some parts of the book. I always sided with Dagny Taggart and could not understand why Hank Reardon and others gave up. I believed in being a doer. I wanted to drive the engine of the world. 2 years later am not so sure. I can now understand the reasons why Dagny eventually stopped providing her blood to the parasites. But can I stop? Or rather do I want to?

One of my frnds today told me that maybe Atlas has shrugged. But I don't think so. When atlas shrugs, the engine of the world would stop. Since tht hasn't happened, since my senior still forwards my work as his own, since i still do work which doesn't really excite me without complain, Since I still put others' demands over my needs, Atlas hasn't shrugged coz i haven't shrugged!!!!!

Tell me Maa

2007-02-14T17:14:00.000+05:30

Tell me Maa, What did you used to tell me when i insisted for something I could not have? How did you make me forget that car I wanted to own or that airplane I wanted to fly? How did you do that? Tell me Ma, coz I wanna tell myself those things again... I wanna trick myself, wanna forget things I can't n won't be able have!!!

A morning bathed in winters

2006-12-25T20:29:00.000+05:30

I could name this note a morning draped in mist or a morning washed by dewdrops or probably a morning dried by chilly winds. But I'll keep it short(very unlike me) n summarize by saying that it was a morning dipped in winters. Its amazing how happy I feel every morning when I am rushing to catch my bus with the winds blowing into my face. The chill sometimes just sends the shivers throughout my body and stirs up something that otherwise remains dormant most of the time. Probably a feeling of being alive, a feeling that tells me that am not indifferent to everything that happens in this world. The mist seems to shield the world from something darker than the night. The faint sunlight then falls on your eyes and becomes your unrequited love - you want much more warmth from it than it can actually offer!

Review of Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie

2006-12-10T16:14:00.002+05:30

Salman Rushdie's ardent fans may not find Shalimar the clown his best work, but nevertheless it's a must read for all. It marks the return of Rushdie to his homeland, Kashmir after a long time. A compelling story that moves from LA to Kashmir to France n then back, it tells the tale of a Paradise, not as much lost as much destroyed! Kashmir is not just a backdrop; it is a character in the story. The book is about the journey of Shalimar the Clown as well as that of the Paradise!

The story opens in LA, where Max Ophuls is stabbed to death at the door of his only, but illegitimate child India by his own driver who calls himself Shalimar the Clown. A French Resistance hero, Max was once an American Ambassador to India whose carrier ended with a controversy that changed the course of many a life. But what looks like a political murder at first turns out to be rather an intense personal revenge story.

Rushdie then goes into flashback and returns to Pachigam, a village in Kashmir, where the love story between Boonyi Kaul, the famous dancer & Sher Nauman, the equilibrist aka Shalimar the Clown is blossoming. A Hindu girl, a Muslim boy. But in the Valley of 1960s these were not divisions but mere descriptions. What follows is a tale of betrayal, a tragedy that unfolds slowly and leaves you griefstricken. While the lead characters play their part, a paradise transforms into a battlefield between the Indian Army & its own children trained by iron mullahs from Pakistan and thousands of Kashmiri pandits flee from their homes in the middle of night in the hope of returning some day!

While reading about the 'exile' of the female protagonist, one wonders if Rushdie gets autobiographical, reflecting his own miseries of running away from home when the threat of a fatwa was looming large on his own head. This part of the story is the most beautifully worded as Boonyi awaits the return of her husband which does not happen for many years and her return to her true home which does not happen at all.

The ending is rather violent without being violent, just as Shalimar loved Boonyi without loving her and Boonyi deserted him without actually deserting him.

The book may not be the best work of Magic Realism, but there is an inherent charm to this story of love, betrayal & revenge that leaves you spellbound. The telepathic conversations between Boonyi & Shalimar are so beautifully written that you gasp in awe of the marvel that Rushdie is famous for. Rushdie plays the rage & revenge of Shalimar, the agony &\nrepentance of Boonyi so intelligently that it becomes impossible to put down the book. Rushdie also uses local mythology to convey many things. You can't help being impressed by his use of Rahu & Ketu, using the struggle between the shadow planets, to depict the moral dilemma that we all face. He has brilliantly unraveled the path that the youth takes in becoming terrorists & their reasons: some fight for 'faith', while some for personal vendetta!

But despite all this, the book lacks that sparkle that his fans worldwide are so much accustomed to! The main problem is that the narrative is not in the first person, unlike his other books & this greatly undermines the effect. Surprisingly, the plot becomes boring when he describes Max as the character is written very shabbily and looks completely out of sync with the story. Also the backdrop is so overbearing that at places, it completely overshadows the main plot. Besides you have your own interpretations of the whole situation that get challenged quite often! But nevertheless it's a book that'll add value to your bookshelf and deserves to be placed alongside his other works like Midnight's Children. I'll end this note with a text from the book by this great master of metaphors and am sure you'll find yourself rushing to the bookshop next door to lay your hands on Shalimar the Clown!

" A woman left at home would close her eyes and the power of her need would enable her to see her man on his ocean ship battling pirates with pistol, her man in the battle's fray with his sword and shield, standing victorious among corpses, her man in a desert whose sands were on fire, amid mountain peaks, drinking the driven snow. So long as he lived she would follow his journey, would feel his elation and his grief, and if he died a spear of love would fly back across the world to pierce her waiting omniscient heart. It would be the same for him. In the midst of desert's fire he would feel her cool hand on his cheek and in the heat of battle she would murmur the words of love into his ear : live, live. That was what the stories said about love. That was what human beings knew love to be."

My first blog!

2006-12-10T16:08:00.000+05:30

Well this is the first time I am writing a blog. Initially I didn't understand the purpose of writing a blog at all, but now I have some content I thought I can share with you... What I foresee in my blog would be mainly accounts of my interpretation of situations around me, my understanding of the books I read, the movies I watch. rest, I'll try to figure out later......