As i lay in an MRI machine

'Wrap all your belongings, all of them, in a handkerchief, which you can surrender here at the desk. & you'll have to change your clothes'

Wallet from right back pocket, i-card from left back pocket, cellphone from left front, watch from left wrist, gold chain (the only piece of jewellery I've ever had) from neck (which i managed to break while untying) rolled into a handkerchief from right front pocket (i skipped mentioning 2 items here intentionally). I was composed, knotted the package carefully. Handed the prescription to the guy, & he pointed the way to the changing room, after handing over a set of blue clothes. A ward boy accompanied me to the room, & instructed me something. I told him i don't know Marathi & he smirked. In Hindi then, he asked me to undo all my clothes, even the chaddi, & change into the blue 'sick' color code. I preferred to keep my chaddi on & he didn't insist either. He assured me my clothes will be fine & showed me the drawer where i can find them later.

The baggy 'nada' trousers & typical hospital kurta with 2 buttons. The first thing i see stepping out of the changing room in the new attire was a beautiful girl & i could sense she pitied me for my 'supposed' miserable condition, & i pitied myself for the air around me. So i waited; & waited; & waited; until guided to the room where the thing had to be done.

Impression#1: Cold

Impression#2: Shit

Impression#3: I wish i had brought a friend along

Brief crisp instructions before i was let in

Instruction#1: There'd be noises when it starts. & just noises.

Instruction#2: I'll be given a small item which i can press if i have any trouble. I should lie down very still otherwise. DO NOT move.

Instruction#3: It will last 30 minutes.

I had questions, many of them, & i was having second thoughts about going in there. Also, the doc was a boring guy, a sweet/hot lady/girl would have eased things i guess. A sword-fight type helmet was fixed on my head & stuffings done around my neck so it doesn't move, & i was moved in. The total time elapsed between entering the room & entering the machine was around 2 minutes, & it was hard to digest the circumstances, specially when you have a feeling that you are about to be f*cked. A blood-pressure instrument pump was forced into my left palm, & i was really hoping it works if & when i need to get the bloody out of here.

Sounds, weird sounds, very weird sounds: quick beeps, buzzers, long screaming ones, varying frequencies & speeds, sudden silences, then sudden starts. & how i felt !

Feeling#1: Would the reading get disturbed (or the test get screwed) if i itch my left leg ? Let's resist. I can do it.

Feeling#2: Half an hour is so f*cking long man. Without coffee, or anything ! Lord.

Feeling#3: Should i try pressing this e-vac pump, to ensure it works ?

Feeling#4: What would these weird sounds track ? how is my brain responding to this sh*t ?

Feeling#5: While I'm thinking of all these things, would it not freak out this machine, which would it turn freak out my result ?

Feeling#6: I need to itch, or bloody ask someone to itch it for me. I can press that pump & ask them to itch me.

Feeling#7: Why is this bed shaking sometimes in coordination with the sound ? How would it help apart from terrifying the patient ?

Feeling#8: They should have atleast put a watch in front of the fixed face. Or a nice painting maybe, which a person can pass time with.

Feeling#9: Dude i think just 5 minutes passed by now, i can never make it to 30. I WILL have to use the e-vac pump.

Feeling#10: Itch on forehead.

Feeling#11: Let me try humming a song in mind (Didn't work). They say music is in the air, let me frame a song or some sensible music out of these crazy sounds (Didn't work either)

Feeling#12: 10 minutes, maybe ?

Feeling#13: How do kids bear this thing man ? They'd have to be drugged, but then, wouldn't the brain's responsiveness to these sounds be effected ?

Feeling#14: If i fell asleep accidentally, would the tests get effected ? I should have asked the doc.

Feeling#15: I'm in a f*cking limbo. I think I've made 12 minutes.

Feeling#16: I'm enjoying my life actually. These crazy sounds would end sometime & I'd be back at work. I hope Naresh (my colleague) isn't in too much trouble owing to my absence.

Feeling#17: As soon as i bloody get out of here, I'm going to *****.

Feeling#18: (I Slept)

Feeling#19: (I'm taken out of the machine. I ask, 'Did i really spend 30 minutes in there ?' & the smile answered in a nod) Nice ! Should i press the e-vac pump now to make sure it would have worked ? (I didn't)

Feeling#20: I hope none of the people i love have to face this pathetic traumatic machine ever

When i stepped out, changed to my actual clothing, the beautiful girl, sadly, was gone. So i had nothing left to do but the payment, place back all my collectibles in their right places & flee to a normal routine.

PS: Results were normal.

Hw 2 b KeWl @t ur eNgL!$h

This is a competitive world. When the folks say you have to fight it out right from when you are off the womb, they aren't wrong. Charles Darwin explained it in his theory of evolution, Shakespeare exercised it his writing flamboyance. Now, if you are an nonathletic fluffy kinda person, you are likely to take refuge in internet. Orkut/Facebook/Twitter weren't there since Leaning tower of Pisa started leaning, they weren't even there when i (or we, in general sense) were exposed to internet. There was Google for searching, & there was yahoo for chatting.

So, me, a nonathletic fluffy kid, entered cyber cafes in late 2003 (yeah, you might claim it was too late & lame, but please let's not ponder over it). Soon followed Yahoo Chat Rooms ! The first time i was inquired my ASL, i was gaping air. I tried to wave it off, but when the question became a regularity, i checked with one of my more-savvy friends for the answer. Moving on, you had to be cool. Cool isn't enough, you had to be Kewl. The school-taught-English just doesn't get your aspirations. You need to get into that chat lingo, which i did to some extent. By the end of this time, I've learnt enough to permanently replace "The" with "D", "your" with "ur", "you" with "u", "that" with "dat" in my mental dictionary. I was learning to be cool.

Later, Most of my cool writing skills came from Anurag Lal Sinha, who taught us how cool it sounds to omit maximum possible vowels from your words. We were sure this is what needs to be done to be kewl. When i look at my initial blog posts, i see it in vast extent way back in 2007, here for instance.

I was enlightened one day that this $h!t needs to be shed. & it was done by & large.

Now, i find kids (yes, I'd prefer to call them kids) doing the inevitable. Quoting some instances

• Status Msg: Belief iN DoinG D Thing$ WHaT BoDY Refu$e$ To Do ..But It$ aCtuAlly D mIND Who RefU$e$ To Do ...$o pLay With Yr MiND With D heLP oF YR HEArt & BoDy.....
• Album Name: OnCe Up()N A tImE iN g()AAAA
• Comment: somthing z overshadowed by daylight murder of 20 year old student n dat too in national capital, so m not in fancy... rather i blv in ground reality.

 

Ofcourse the Text Messaging mannerism has contributed. & it's not just about saving typing space & efforts. I don't find this atrocious, but definitely adolescent. Like Raghu keeps repeating in Roadies' auditions - Wannabes, at-least at the inception of this behavior. Also, i observe here that it's an addiction, as people into it are not likely to return back to normalcy easily. I haven't found any application that specifically dudi-fies a simple sentence into a handy array of small & capital letters, but i assume there should be some, like this. In my research work prior to this post, i also could not manage to find any connotation of diseases associated with this behavior (so i assume the onus is on us). Regardless of everything said & done, I personally find replacement of a/o/s/i with @/()/$/! very very innovative.

It's apt to associate Hip-Hop/Rap genre of music with this wannabe attitude. As an evidence, please allow me to quote this excerpt from How to Be Cool at Hip Hop page

Forget the basics of the english language: As with rapping, try to retrain your tongue to move left to right rather than the more natural feeling (and sounding) up and down as you form words. If you only use one side of your mouth for talking it will create the impression that you have been capped in the face, and street violence is the coolest aspect of hip hop. Also, occasionally omitting vowels from words and forgetting to include words like "and" and "the" will make you look less like you grew up in well-to-do areas, and make strangers assume you were raised by wild dogs in the backyard of your Russian parent's slum house. Hopefully some day you will learn to speak your native tongue again and be able to forgive your family for the years of rehabilitation and psychotherapy that are sure to be required for assisting your return to human society.

It's just a phase in most likelihood, that would (and should) pass over. But it's remarkable how modifiable we are. The power of peer pressure at it's driving best. I thank, abstractly, that Hindi has been spared. At the same time, i do appreciate the truth how boring life would be if people just walked in straight lines.

PS: I ain't taking pot-shots at anyone. Please accept my apologies for any blood shed.

Nuptial knots

Pre-birth

I asked, being a kid, the obvious, whenever we saw our parent's Video cassette on the then VCPs, "where was i when you people were getting married ?" I was graciously told i was sleeping. & i thought 'awhh sheeit, how could i do that!'. Cassettes now turned to CDs, VCPs replaced by CD Players, & we, Indian middle class families, still sometimes enjoy the video portrayal of the auspicious ceremonies.

Then

• The marriage i profoundly remember over the years was my paternal uncle's. Probably 1995/96. I bought glamorous shoes, heavier than myself then, with tiny plastic pistols attached to each of the pair (which reminds me of Rajnikant somehow). Pistols however were obviously detached & lost by the end of the celebration (& yes i mourned over them).
• At another family marriage, i decided, can't remember under who's influence, to wear a cap throughout the night (Mind you, there were no Reshammiya's then). My mom trying to convince me what a joker I'd look wearing a cap at night & me sticking to my newly discovered fashion statement.
• It was my cousin's marriage, & that girl flashed past me, & i was lost, miserable lost. 'Manvi', as she was called, probably 10 years elder to my eighteen-some soul. There was this song by Kamaal Khan 'Kya yahi pyaar hai' out fresh then. All i remember was that i woke up next morning, teary eyed, that song playing over & over in my head, & a distant unknown face flashed unabated between my eyelids & iris. Never intended to pursue whatever i thought i had for her. Can't remember anything about her at all now, except the name & the song :)

Now

In quick succession over the past months, 3 close friends got paired up with their beloveds. Above all, long-awaited get togethers in lives torn credited to democratic drudgery of a 9x5 typecast servicemen.

Antecedent Excitement

Unheeded. Glittering. Joyous. Groves. Horsey. Friends. Alcohol. I-just-can't-wait-for-it kinda sickness all in that head.

Dress code
First Marriage: A friend ditched on call to stay with a blazer, so i ditched both of them - the blazer & the suit, as i had none handy. Held to the old most-fashionable jacket i possessed. It was nauseating still to see most men in shining suits, but company of few self-claimed-non-suit-ed-dudes gave some hope.

Second Marriage: No bourgeois company. A glamorous affair. All in suit, expect my high-headed soul. & how miserable i felt ! & My mom bitched me for this one beyond what i can admit in public. To un-curtain a glimpse: "Tere saare friends ne ye waali jacket dekhi hogi pehle. Photo bhi hogi sabke paas. Saare friend ne suit pehna hoga na ? Kya karta hai tu paise kamake jab ek suit bhi nahin kharid sakta ! Kahan paise udata hai ?"

Interlude: So pissed i was, i gifted myself a suit. Entered Van Heusen, & paid 7.5K for what hit me as befitting as my first suit, ever.

Third Marriage: Oh yeah baby, I'm SUIT-ed !!

Somewhere in the middle

Everything so normal that it ain't expected of a marriage, or was not expected by me. How is everything so, so, even ??

Ensuant Silence

Waiting for the boarding announcement, sulking over KFC's popcorn chicken, wondering, what has changed. Chicken in the mouth answered - "Nothing". The one still between my index finder & the thumb, sort of crumbling, said "Make sure you fucking find an occasion to wear that suit again mate". Once i gulped them both, i decided, "it was fun - yeah, that's what it was", & left the same lonely feeling that smelt when i left a group of friends to head towards home, or room, or another city, or another chance.

Back to non-ceremonious chore

Firstly, the marriage pics by all the camera-holders on Picasa/Facebook, ensued by plethora of comments/likes. Shortly follows the honeymoon pics by either of the pair. likes likes comments comments. display pic change. marital status change (not always applicable). Period.

Afterthought

I remember my dad's married friends visiting us sometimes. Gents-gents in one room. Ladies-ladies in another (mostly). Kids-kids, if applicable, either silently playing a game on host's call, or silently watching television, or silently watching another's silence (applicable to me). I don't know, & can't construct, how different it was from what existed before between friends. But i hope everything stays normal with us. Never learnt how to behave with a 'bhabhi', but i assume I'll gather it from someone else (like the suit). I hope the bhabhis are friendly enough to entertain sick-humored, high-voiced, expletives-friendly, chaddi-drink-smoke-buddies. I just would have to learn how to start !

An Impediment to the Pet bonding

Bhauuuu ! Aweee i liked the fluffy girl that went past a few minutes back. She was a blond, with a brown collar. Good she wasn't wearing a green nail-polish like her master. These guys do crazy things with themselves, spare the dogs. Anyways, I was just watching 'Bruce Almighty' yet again, & that polka-dotted brother he had made me giggle with that pee off the toilet seat, flush & all. Best was the newspaper-reading-shit in style, & the awe-struck woman at that sight. I just rolled my tongue over my face, twice, imagining myself doing that.

Speaking of masters, I'd like to have one some day. I know a handsome bloke, who had wished to befriend one of my breed since his young age. The Alsatian kind. I dream fetching him newspapers & him walking me pissing over those tree trunks with a haunch raised. But these humans you know, they can't breathe easy, ever. That guy had her mother convinced over me, well, almost, but the elder in their gene don't give up easily, & are unabashed at any argumentation. So he grieved. & so did i, brooding over breadcrumbs people threw. Then that boy got hold of a girlfriend out of nowhere. & just when i thought he'd be young enough to pursue his desires, he got laid over the girl-power. Obviously when asked to choose over a shitty dog, & a shitty girlfriend, he went for the girl thing.

I don't blame him though. I mean, look at them. They are slaves. They have their fathers, their mother, brothers, sisters, their girlfriends, their boyfriends, husbands, wives, in-laws, ex-s & what the shit not. We are much better placed as pets. Oh, i pity him. I'll gift him a teddy puppy some day when i get earning.

There's one state of arts though that we canines hold prowess over, as compared to the supposed self-acclaimed creators of super-computers. It's Girls ! you know how it goes. Free lunches. Just don't ask how good a time I've had at this front. The famous pleasure-style is named after us, in case you are still sissy. I'd been trying to practice the art of kissing though lately. It's tough with a beaked mouth, you can imagine. I've watched the acclaimed best-kiss in a recent bollywood flick - some band-baja something it was named (my uncle, named Dogspeare, said once, "bhau bhau, bhau bhau bhau" - which transcripts to "what's in the name"). Now don't frown at me with those hollow eyes as to how could i manage a blog in English, my native language being doggish (I obviously used Google translator man ! c'mon scum !)

I'll cut it short here. Gotta see somebody ! Keep sulkin' at your miserable lives mate !

F*ck Vuvuzela

Ok. We're already 11 days into FIFA WC 2010. & the pain, let me tell you, has been unbearable from the 1st day. I was stuck in office when SA commenced with the first match, watching it online. I was pissed by the noise channel brought alongwith the commentary, or so i thought. Changed to 2nd channel, then to third - all the same. Television back home - same. Couple of days later, it was all over net & news.

Some adjectives bestowed, courtesy of the BBC: It is like "a herd of stampeding elephants", "the drone of a thousand bees, or the sound of a goat being dragged to slaughter". Or "like a cow being given a surprise enema" as the TimesColonist puts it.

To me: it's just an unbearable pain in the ars !!

They can produce a record level of noise, 130 dB. FYI - 120 dB is considered threshold of pain. British BBC, ESPN & several broadcasters world over received several complaints from viewers. FIFA thought, only for a moment, to ban it. Online Ban petitions & all that usual crap.

In Cape Town, stores sell special earplugs called Vuvu-Stop, to mitigate the noise level of 31 dB. Each package is accompanied by the inscription on the reverse side: "The highly effective tool for noise reduction. Used on football and rugby or fencing with the sound of your wife." [Source]

As noted by Wikipedia, the ear shattering device, In the wake of the 2010 World Cup, has been banned from a number of stadiums and events, including tennis matches at Wimbledon, the Melbourne Cricket Ground, and baseball games at Yankee Stadium.

Other Vuvu reads
Vuvuzela: Love it or ban it
How to Silence Vuvuzela Horns in World Cup Broadcasts

& I couldn't agree more with the pic below.

The Gift !

He never fashioned pocket money. His parents held the point that he could have whatever he wanted, whenever he asked for it. It was a genuine trade-off, he thought, but deprived him of something alluring for a kid his age.

Back in those summers, they were both at their Uncles', the only house that belonged to the family as one, he, & his cousin, 2 years elder & thrice as chirpy as his dummy self. Their uncle, well paid off as he was, was fat & rusty, like one of those typical Indian middle-class moustached family heads. He was well known to have maintained a hefty bundle of big papers of money in his trouser's pocket, even back then.

They thought it wouldn't be too bad if they took just of those big notes. Just one. None would happen to notice. No fuss. & they'd lavishly enjoy their lull vacations. Video games struck them most. Contra (2 Players). Street fighter. & then there was always that Nepal visit looming they were all gonna go. Yeah, they decided. It's not a bad idea to salvage our grandeur with something entirely unnoticeable.

He, & his accomplice, chalked it out. The elder would keep a watch, raise a flag when the time is ripe, & he had the big responsibility to get up on the bed, reach the pocket, dig out whatever laid within, pull out one (just one), & replace the rest back in just as it was, & then vanish somewhere to calm down their jolting hearts. It went precisely as planned.


Problems followed, as with all crimes. They landed up on a Rs. 500/- note. Damn! What would they do with such a big thing. They were as if stuck with the impossible task of using a Gold brick which was hard to ingest for tiny folks like themselves. They couldn't use it on a shop that knew them even remotely, couldn't buy candies (how many 25 paise candies would you buy with a fucking 500 !). A headache. By the way, the elder reported hearing minor discussions on the missing note. But no fuss followed. The elder reprimanded him for picking up this cursed big note. He was too dumb to make a balanced choice of stealing & not stealing big at the same time. He was always dumb. Still is, at many fronts.

Finally, as professional thieves, the loot was halved somehow. 250 ! which was still too high an amount for a ten-some child. He has been keenly impressed by those Gillette shaving stuff adverts that came afresh those days. He declared right away he'd gonna spend the money on a Gillette shaving kit, which would a present for his dad's b'day next month. The elder went tongs & hammer on him, trying to explain to him how miserable he would be to account for the funds when it'll be asked; & beyond doubt, there will be the moment of accounting, that's for sure in families like ours. He went furious, & declared he's gonna do it, no matter what. Later though, he realized big bro ain't wrong after all & he'd be digging his own grave if he pursued.

The cursed big money lingered on, difficult to hide, too dear to loose. By the way, he even thought to replace it back. But yes it would be suicidal to place back something that's missing. He also wished he hadn't done it after all, cause it gave no pleasure. Money can't buy everything - as they say.

Finally they visited Nepal, the tiny town of Mahendranagar, on the foots of blissful River Sharda. It was pretty much a town of toys & aplenty goodies. Shops, shops & shops. What a splendid place to spend !! To get rid of the steal. Wow !! Sneaking past the careful watch of all others, they both went to a pretty looking shop. What to pick ! Quick ! He noticed a very tiny deck of cards, with nude girls on them. Well, he was lured but intelligent enough to keep away from stuff like that. Somehow, he laid his eyes on a shiny Golden-Black Musical Lighter. He didn't smoke then. Neither did he plan smoking on his calender for near or infinite future. Still, he liked the look & feel of it. Color, Music, the unabated electric flame was all too mesmerizing. What he was gonna do with it - he didn't care. He had to get rid of that damned money, & lighter looked good too. Elder gave a cautious glare, which he ignored in entirety with a "fuck you !" tone. Job well done !

Not sure how much did he spend on that lighter he gifted himself. Not sure what he did with the rest of the money, if at all any was spared. For years, that lighter lay hidden in that little drawer of his collectibles.

One fine noon as he returned from school, his mother asked him about the lighter. He was scared to death. Mother's in this part of the world are omniscient. Yes they are !!

Where did you get it from ?
I bought it from Nepal then/there [ sob sob (eyes+nose) ]...
What for ? [eyes almost popping out from fury ]
I wanted to buy it...
& do what with it ?
Gift it to grandpa [ That's the best lie he ever told !! Grandpa smoked - for good ]

No further questions. About money or anything. Child bought something, a souvenir to gift his grandfather. Oh my sweet child. Best kid in the whole goddamn world.
For once, he was happy he was smart enough to save his own ars.

Irony:

Now that we are going to visit Grandpa, do give him your gift. You should have given it much earlier.
Yes ma...

He watched him light his cigarette with that magnificent flame, & adorable music lingered in the air for a while. For a few years to follow, he watched it lie in a drawer, old, shattered, battered, finished.

He shouldn't have it, he ponders. Childhood is meant to be that way, he reassured himself.


PS: This dates back to somewhere around 1993-95. Summers. The child, is me.

Book Review: The Road by Cormac McCarthy

I've been lucky enough to live in a marvelously literary world, with beautiful books still being penned. I love fiction because it's more inclined towards unparalleled realism (yeah i know that's a paradox). Fiction, in it's literal context, would mean a tale crafted upon imagination. A tale unthinkable, completely dissimilar to real life motivations, is the extremest defining criteria of the Fiction section. After Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children, this piece of writing makes me realize yet again how capable a book is, to lift & take one's thoughts into another world, a fictitious world, which the writer intends to craft out.

In a post-apocalyptic world, a nameless father walks with his son, in quest of finding the last good that might have been spared of humanity. He holds a gun to salvage themselves from the big dark ash laden world. His son is all that he has left for bleak motivation. & the child, ignorant of how the world has been as we know; yet he does know how to love his father, he's ingenuinely compassionate to a false world, he knows fear pretty well. They walk, & they walk; things unfold & complicate as their journey proceeds. The best father words can portray; the best son a pen can describe. The worst of situations one can think of in his wildest dreams.

I'm not inadvertent to being teary eyed. & that is precisely what i was while reading the closing pages of the book. A remarkable story with startling simple truths of life we all behold. Our basic fears. & an unimagined end to the entire journey.

The novel was awarded the 2007 Pulitzer Prize for Fiction and the James Tait Black Memorial Prize for Fiction in 2006. Last fall, a movie was crafted on it as well.

A short read. Recommended to one & all.

Jadu ki Chadi

It came & it went off, with a disheartenment matching the excitement of arrival. Sehwag promised to be there. A father portrayed imparting into his son the tricks of the "Jadu ki Chadi". "Phir Dil do Hockey ko !!"

Okay. For once, every Indian must have been fond of our media seemingly so rightly appreciating our downtrodden magic lunge. & by lord, every heart on this land must have cradled optimism of how we will lift that trophy again after long bereavement, & bring back the so-called glory back.

We are unsure of our squad, barring a few boys. We are doubtful of the duration a hockey match lasts. We might have never seen a hockey being used actually apart from boyish tussles of furor.

Now, What we do know is that we have a spanish coach. What we do know is that our team crushed our only beloved opponent in a way our chests throbbed with pride. What we do know is that this win followed a 2lakh prize money for each player on squad in addition to immeasurable praise. What we do know is that there's an Australian monopoly here as well, which crushed our frontline striker into a ban of 2 matches for apparently no fault of his. & What we hoped for that point onwards was an unstoppable journey towards the title. We never flinched. We were sure. Not mere optimistic. Precise Surety for once.

[[ Quote: A hindi national daily posted a comic strip after Indo-Pak match which read "Ye match to jeet liya. Ab world-cup mile na mile koi pharak nahin padta." ]]


& then, out of nowhere, embarked the startling reality. Yes, it was hard, & Yes, it was shattering. Game Over !!
A war lost. Players lashed; foreign coach blamed. aplenty coverage & editorials - quite befitting in a country as expectant as ours.

To be true to my soul, for the 2nd time in my life, i felt pity for my neighbors. Finishing 12th in a tournament of 12 teams, i can empathize why an entire 18 men flanked pool of talent would voyage to retirement just because their's is the only nation "Hungrier" that ours when it comes to performing with under-prepared, & over-pressured guts. You might shrug me as a pessimist, but it gave a feeling of a mass suicide.

Anyways, it was a loss. What was pleasingly satisfying was that around me, i could see a massive twirl of interest & anticipation towards the game of Hockey. What "changed" this leap was the way & depth the entire television media covered the World Cup. What was inspiring was that we were saddened with losses that came our way, rather that being indifferent as always.

I ain't a hockey fan. Never was. Nor am i noticeable. But i'm a hard-bound nationalist. & i was happy the way it went. If you were nevertheless irrevocably uninterested in the game despite all efforts made, i deeply wish & pray that there aren't many like yourself.

Recent Past

There were days when i was gloomy in my head, drooling in overworked psyche, & too tired to focus on vehicles passing by, as i drove late at night. And time flew by in superlatives.

Trotted past one single novel in 6-7 months; friend bought a hefty tagged D-SLR, another friend blinked on the shores of a possible love marriage; Cell phone bills; credit card payments; some minutes of television before much needed sleep; Some cricket India played, not sure against whom; some nice EPL goals; Rahul Mahajan in a swayamvar, & bits i called glue together in passage of time. Leave the above mentioned apart, & I've been 100% detached with life off work.

Workaholic - may be. Tired - for sure.
Background Image of blog template got ripped off net. & i came to know only after a friend advised me to delete the penis-enlargement ad posted in my blog comments. & then came an emphatic gasp "Wow ! I've been really busy."

Work is mystifying. & Praise inspiring. Challenges, some of them, call for anything & everything that is worth trading for some piece of good work. But what's prized the most is the companionship. In times of crazy workload, in those minutes of frustrated hustle, in anxiety of those itsy-bitsy achievements or murderous mistakes. Beyond ranks, beyond knowledge gaps, beyond years of experience, stands to exist a patronage of leaders of men; fearlessly, seamlessly, nonchalantly performing the task they are best at.

Treacherous busy roads calls for a lull, as in a long sleep after an insomniac week. Splendid home-cooked meals, some "champi" in that head by the lady you were born of, television, company of people you love, & sleep, lots & lots of it. & then you are back, rejuvenated with rest, with thoughts, with plans, with dreams, with spirits, & with immense desire to be back at work - doing, what you supposedly do best !!

Recent Cinema i watched...

You know, cinema is, in some context, a way of learning, & improvising upon the art of living. It can enhance & impoverish you of your personal beliefs, emotions, & concepts, several times in swift movements. It has to capability to change, or atleast impact, the world (owing to the large foolish viewership of course).

Note: forget all that shit written above. basically i'm trying to endorse a better picture of myself, cause i've been watching a lot of them lately.

The Man from Earth (IMDB Ratings: 8.1/10)
Genre: Drama/Sci-fi
Personal Reviews: don't go by the ratings. i now hate these one-room kinda movies. an overdose of history & cooked up imagined sci-fi. if you are hell bent to roast your brain on a grill, i won't drag you back.

Children of Men (IMDB Ratings: 8.1/10)
Genre: Action/Sci-fi
Personal Reviews: This movie generated in me a deep respect for Clive Owen. Concept is somewhat weird. I mean you'd not really expect a sci-fi to portray absolute impotency of human race with just 1 pregnant woman left. Still, the flick displays enigmatic portrayal of human emotions. To me - This is infact the first movie tagged as sci-fi which doesn't seem to be like one.

Dil Bole Hadippa (IMDB Ratings: 4.7/10)
Genre: Bullshit bollywood/Cricket
Personal Reviews: Just to clarify (before you start nagging me), i went ahead with this one after the recommendations from my better half :) So, if it's bollywood, it's bullshit. But, there is some tolerable comedy to look at. Dispensable songs. Watch at your risk (& better skip the last funda speech on under-privileged women in entirety)
PS: did you know IMDB rates even bollywood ?

Man on Fire (IMDB Ratings: 7.7/10)
Genre: Drama/Action
Personal Reviews: Woof. Startling bearded look, & a hell lot of atttiude. "What are you gonna do?- What I do best. I'm gonna kill 'em. Anyone that was involved. Anybody who profited from it. Anybody who opens their eyes at me." I love this man. Denzel Washington is a third god to me (trailing Morgan freeman & Al Pacino). Nice action is an decent backdrop. Not "the best", but a pretty decent one.

Inside Man (IMDB Ratings: 7.7/10)
Genre: Crime/Drama
Personal Reviews: Good lord. the movie starts with "chal chaiyyan chaiyaan" being played in the backdrop of a rolling Chevrolet, & ends with the same. I'm not sure if they stole it or pursued rights (i was literally confused if the song is actually being played in the movie). Clive Owen is a cool negative shade, & Denzel Washington as a modest cop. An age old concept in a well cooked up hostage scenario. Nothing new to display really.

Kaminey (IMDB Ratings: 7.9/10)
Genre: Bullshit bollywood/Comedy
Personal Reviews: Well, another one at a dozen behests of my gal. I gave in eventually. Comedy is enjoyable, whenever it appears. & I'll never ever forget "apna haath jagannath" written on the toilet door (where the hell does Vishal Bhardwaj gets all this stuff leaked out from !!)

District 9 (IMDB Ratings: 8.4/10)
Genre: Sci-fi/Action
Personal Reviews: I assumed the alien era was long gone. & suddenly this bull shit movie rocks the charts. the film opened at $37million in US & stayed #1 on the charts for quite a while. I don't give a damn, to be true. Nevertheless, the central character is laudable. His plight is extremely well displayed. Damn those foolish looking prawn aliens.


PS: the recurrent occurrence of "man/men" in the movie titles in the list above is merely coincidental (i'm myself amazed)
PPS: i didn't lie above the feminine influence above. I was emotionally compelled to heed for bollywood flicks :)
PPPS: i prefer watching them online, saves time & bandwidth. & i recommend this site for hollywood, & this site for bollywood flicks.

Pieces...

When i come across a wasted guitar, i feel pinched. Outraged.
When i come across a bunch of guys jostling with a football, i feel hurt, somewhere, deep within.

You know, there's a damned band called Tatva in our company. They declare open their auditions with a certain set of shitty songs. They practice well though. But by just a glance at the list of songs they demand the competitors to perform, my brain gets sucked out. Bunch of shitheads are gonna judge someone on how well he sings "Sweet Child o' mine". Hah !! & bullshit bollywood beats like 'Beete lamhe', & likes. So i never appeared before those OVER-talented folks, though i miss the brotherhood of a band.

Just came across a song. Was tryin' to picture it's meaning. It contains pain, melody, truth, love. The very essence of each & every thread that would compose a perfect song. Now maybe you won't appreciate it that much. People have choices you see. But then, none would pick the moon to fall in the ugly category. Some things are facts. & facts, are undeniable.

I don't feel good right now. I miss music. I miss my band. I miss my guitar, although it's placed barely 6 feet off my bed. I miss some people suddenly. I miss old days. & i'm sad that i'm just another football fan. I wish i could play. Hit it hard. Play it beautifully. Both on the field, & on stage. Dreams, probably foolish ones. But we all make picks. I'm seasoned enough, i believe, to tread back.

Don't get me by my words. I'm happy. Just trying to make up for a few missing pieces. Pieces you see... I shall offer 2 advices here.

1) Get it while the going is good !!
2) do listen to this song.
(I'm thankful to a friend who introduced my eardrums to this amazing band named Porcupine Tree way back)



I'd assume you are bright enough to google for the lyrics if you intend to seek them.
I shall leave you with a sniplet.

When I hear the engine pass, I'm kissing you wide...
The hissing subsides, I'm in luck...

Always the summers are slipping away...
Find me a way for making it stay...

Helmet, and life...

I've been feeling a little accidentalish lately. To frame it in a better way (so that some stupid craphead doesn't come up with Half-Empty:Half-Full shit), I've been cherishing the gift of life more fondly lately. Hence, i gifted myself a Helmet. & boy 'o' boy, what a hellish ride it has been today.

I never wore a helmet even when it was made mandatory by the Traffic Police in my hometown. I fooled them one way or the other. But when i finally came down to terms of my love for my own life, i bought a beautiful black metallic cover, priced at Rs. 945/-, & i must tell you, this is the first day of my 24 years of ripe life that i wore a helmet for the entire duration i rode. & i swear to life, this was the toughest day of my life at wheels.

Hell man !! This was sicker than my first day. I fondly remember than railway ground, where i rode my Dad's Royal EnField, with my old man on the pillion seat. He gave me several major/minor instructions, & i was certified a sound-driver in no more than a couple of days. I remember that day, & I'll equally remember this. When i could not judge the distance between my bike & the one next to me. Blocked side-views, severely reduced hearing ability, uncomfortable breathing, & the continuous realization of the presence of a big black box on top of my head.

This was the first day i devoted attention to anyone & everyone wearing a helmet (just to ascertain as to whether they are feeling the same anxiety as my poor soul). This was the first day i felt utterly cautious with my balance on wheels (cause i had no idea if I'd bang into a vehicle next to me sideways). This was the first day i had to ponder as to what could be more dangerous - wearing a helmet, or not wearing a helmet :)

Well, it's not only about the helmet is it ? We always witness our parents/elders citing known prevalence of dominance of experience over youthful spirits. We don't do necessary things just on the pretext of living life. But then, age brings in maturity & then you tend to take care of the outer covering of your bones (for example, i just bought a Himalaya Face wash :)). Maybe i ain't seasoned enough to pronounce suggestions on how one should live his life. All is know is that i gotta live longer, love longer.

I have roads to walk, walls to climb...
People to love, souls to bind...
Suddenly the notion of life seems found...
Dreams of glory in my skull helmet bound...

Swine waala flu...

Humanity is close to it's end guys. It's astounding how quickly Pune got it's grip. Half of the city is already sporting face masks. Differnet colors, shapes, textures.

Compelled by the scenario around, & forced by the love of their parents towards their only son, i finally bought a mask today. I was amazed to witness that every single person in that chemist's shop intended to buy a mask, if not already possessing one. All the attendants in the shop were themselves hiding their spout & nose with the green thingy. A man, next to me, asked for a free mask. Shopkeeper told him that free goodies could be avalied only from the Government hospitals. "yahan to paise deke hi milega". & the man walked off the door with a hankerchief covering his mouth. Guy at the counter enquired me as to whether i wanted a normal one. I wondered how many variaties did they have. He showed me a specialized N95 mask (i believe they just borrowed the name from the popular Nokia model). Sparkling white, made of plastic, with a beautiful looking net for breathing. Priced at just Rs. 200/-. I told him swiftly, "normal waala hi de de bhai". & so i bought a Rs. 10/- green coloured mask, made of some cheap cloth. A man standing next to me had a big smile on his face, & said to me, "10 din hi to pehenna hai". I nodded & paid the sum. "Oh wait", i said, keeping myself from handing him the money. "What's this ?" i asked, pointing my index finger to a small pink colored box. He handed it over to me. It was a pack of Wet-Tissues, for wiping off hands & face frequently. I bought that as well (wasn't costly either). We receive several mails from our employer daily suggesting frequent use of those tissues, a quick substitute for washing hands.

a little boy riding a huge camel just walked past my window. Even he was sporting the same green mask.
Most people use them, or the expensive kind, or they just tie a piece of cloth around their mouths. Everyone wants to live. More than that, they fear Death.

We went to a little shop today. I asked him as to why isn't he wearing a mask. He said that he has been warned by his wife to buy one today itself, less he won't be served meals. "Aaj to kharid hi lunga sir pakka". [ Smiles ]

As i crossed past the handicapped uncle in our society freely riding his 3-wheeler cycle, i asked him as to whether he isn't motivated to promote the widely used preventive against the killer flu. He waved his hand in reluctance & said, "come what may. if i'm to die like this, lets face it". A brave reply. (Seems rather foolish to me)

Whether you're brave enough to deny the persistence of the virus around you or not, whether you follow the masses just for the time being to buy a mask for yourself or not, the fact is that all the malls, usually busy streets, all tiny roads, are nearly deserved on this pleasant Sunday. 4 down by far. Some 700 suffering. Manmohan Singh sitting with a committe to analyse the situation. WHO issuing warnings persistently. People hoarding up to buy masks vigorously. News channels covering the sequence ferociously. Rumors of infected people in next office, next building, next apartment quite frequent. Parents advicing their children, living close to the prone cities, with whatsoever information they possess. People uncertain about the cure, if any, available. Pandemics brings humans to a real close. They tend to cuddle when struck by something really terrifying.

My poor worried mother asked me to take a leave immediately & come back home for as long as it lasts. All i could do is tell her that this is simply not possible.

We fear death. Let's face it !!

Some auspicious days

I can't recall since how many years have i been acquainted to the culture of Mother's Days, Father's days, Friendship's days & the likes. Can't be much for sure. But then, we always find hardliners even amongst us - ones who are ardent supporters to the cause of these occasions, & the other more substantial half - challenging the relevance of such auspicious days to our great fanatical Indian culture.

Now, to which genre i belong hardly matters. It's not about the "I" word.

This was one of the most celebrated Friendship's day of my life. Two friends from Mumbai came along just for the occasion (they were probably looking for just a well deserved break from their daily schedule).

A third friend (too zealous for all this stuff) brought along a splendid 1 pound of heavenly mouth-watering Black-Forest cake just for the moment when the clock strikes 12.

Some beer clashed (pretty much normal for a get together like these). When i woke up in the morning, i already had a bunch of unread msgs on ma cell phone wishing the same. I even went a step further by wishing Friendship's day to our newspaper delivery guy. Then we did hit streets for sure. Witnessed extraordinary crowd at every single place. Seems like people really crave for such days.

Makes little sense to me. But then, it's fine, isn't it ? People are happy. Have a reason to celebrate. A chance to call up friends, maybe wish them up on msgs/social communities. an excuse for outings. How could it be bad ? how can it degrade a culture however vivid/small it is ? Let people do whatever they want to. It's fine !!

He-Jeans/She-Jeans

Act I Scene I

[ At the apartment. Me lying still on the bean bag, sipping on my cup of tea ]
Enters a friend, frustrated.

Friend: yaar tujhse subah se keh raha hun kahin chal le. main ghar mein pada pada bore ho gaya hun
Me: ruk main tere liye bhi chai banata hun. tab tak tu TV dekh.
Friend: nahin yaar. mujhe chai nahin peeni.
Me: abe to coffee pi le. beer pi le. paani pi le. P**** mat pi.
Friend: mujhe bahar jaana hai. mast mausam bhi ho raha hai.
Me: koi kaam ho to chalenge. warna I'm OUT !!
Friend: mujhe jeans leni hai, khoob saari. ab to chal.
Me: chal bhai.

Act II Scene I

[ A big mall, at the men's casualwear section ]

Friend: yaar Levi's leni thi. kuch saala pasand hi nahin aa raha.
Me: to Pepe try kar le.
Friend: nahin yaar. i hate Pepe.
Me: Flying Machine ?
Friend: aur koi brand nahin hoti kya jeans ki ?
Me: How about Lee ?

Act II Scene II

[ surfing through the Lee stock ]

Friend: yaar yahan bhi kuch nahin hai. i'm irritated now.
Me (to Lee attendant): dost is bande ko khoob saari jeans leni hain. aur kuch pasand nahin aa raha. please ise kuch pasand karwa do yaar. bhagwaan aapka bhala karega.
[ Attendant throws out one after the another, all good ones. ]
Friend: i've picked these 3. trail karke aata hun.

Act II Scene III

[ at the billing counter ]

Friend: maal jeans mil gayin yaar.
Me: how much did they cost.
Friend: buy 2 get 1. 3800 ki 3 padin.
Me: wow !!
Friend: yaar pata hai 1 jeans to gajab fitting ki hai yaar. matlab itni low waist hai ki zip pe puri band nahin hoti.
Me (a little surprised): really ? anyways.

Act III Scene I

[ back to apartment after the shopping spree. Me busy with my lapop ]
[ Suddenly a cry, as in howling or something ]

Friend: yaar. gajab ho gaya yaar. gajab ho gaya.
Me: abe kya ho gaya b*****ke ?
Friend: yaar 1 jeans ladkiyon ki aa gayi.
Me: kaise pata ?
Friend: yaar bill mein likha hai dekh.
[ i verify - it was true ]
Friend: ruk main pehen ke dikhata hun. tu bata theek lag rahi hai na.
[ he wears, tugs up that tiny zip (then we realised the secret of small zip ]
Friend: kaisa lag raha hun yaar main ? (with a deep expectance on his face)
Me: abe mast lag raha hai. tension mat le.
Friend: abe tension kaise na lun. ladkiyon ki jeans hai.
Me: to kisi bandi ko gift karde.
Friend: abe 34 waist ki bandi kahan se dhoondh ke laun !!

Me (after a little inspection): by the way, 2 out of your 3 jeans are meant for gals :)
Friend: ye baat hum dono ke alawa kisi ko pata nahin chalni chahiye.
Me: oh be assured from my side !! i'm a true friend.



PS: & hence this blog !!

Kids no more...

This marks the end of an era. The long leisurely walk through the lush green pathway is suddenly, and gradually, over. Gradual, by biotic nature of life; Sudden, by human nature to deny any unfavorable change. But mystifying words with interpretations won't really help - it's gone. & most changes are irreversible.

I choose my words cautiously (though i ain't a politician), because it's a complex phenomenon. It's not something as glorified as puberty, or as fascinating as teenage - it's the death of something as simple as childhood - & I'm suddenly faced with the fact that I'm an Adult now. More importantly, I'm a kid no more.

I was crowned with Excellent performance award in a substantially sized flock at my place of work. Something to cheer about after a lull in college life. That was only yesterday, & unexpected for an eleven-month experienced employee, still yearning to learn, to excel. A heavy envelope with a good amount of monetary award along with a certificate brought smile, & an equal amount of fear - I'm a pro now.

I don't know how convincing that might sound. I'm not an escapist for sure. & I swear by God I'm not the most talented but one of the most hard working man - as certified by my bathroom mirror. But then I'm not sure if i wanted to handle so many responsibilities - so soon.

Lately, I've been filing tax for the last fiscal year, making plans for investment for the current fiscal year, planning on when to buy a laptop for myself, clearing off my credit card/cell phone bills, getting my bike registered with Maharashtra's number, visiting doctor quite frequently in recent to get rid of feverish feelings, planning to take some time out for gym out of my packed schedule, struggling with insomnia at times, & many more parallel thoughts. All this apart from the fact that I'm working roughly 12-13 hours a day, 5 days/week, often skipping lunch, & quite frequently spoiling weekends as well owing to on-call/weekend supports. I have no time to pick calls from even parents/girlfriend, forget friends. I have a PS2 at home but barely have time to touch it. That's just an outline.

It's fine though. Nothing's a problem. Sometimes you're heavily loaded, sometimes you're not. I feel proud to be efficient in work, & systematic in lifestyle. But then, suddenly this award came, & I'm confronted with a sullen reality.

I have none to take care of my tired soul. I have none to serve me tea/food. I have none to massage my head with oil or my back with moov as need be. No misgivings, no pampering, no more copying assignments, no more excuses of ignorance on mistakes at work, no, nothing. After 24 years of wandering in this wide world, i realize I'm more of an adult now - & certainly not a kid.

For the very first time in my life, i miss being a child.
For the first time in my life, i feel that I'm held responsible by the air i breathe.
I'm an adult now !!

Teachers back in school taught that it's good to end a piece of writing with a quote...
Damn i suddenly miss school now...

Mujhko yakeen hai, sach kehti theen, jo bhi ammi kehti theen...
Jab mere bachpan ke din the, chaand mein pariyan rehti theen...
Mujhko yakeen hai, sach kehti theen, jo bhi ammi kehti theen...

I Ain't a Male Chauvinist !!

Off late, i've been reminded at aplenty instances that i should logically be struggling for job switches, yearning for higher packages, splendid Pay-Commission tagged Govt. jobs, & even an MBA.

Reason - My gal just went to pursue her MBA. & 2 years later, when i'd be sailing with a reasonable package for an IT sectarian, she'd be out there stuffing her pockets with INR or American dollars, apparently twice as much as i would then - thanks to the prestigious IIM tag.

Just a few social Shakespeare's to quote:
Poor Me (over the phone): It'll be fine.
My mom (who is clearly aware of my marital choice) : life is not at pleasant as it seems. she'd be a postgraduate earning more than you. & you be just an engineer. Why don't you give MBA a thought ?

Poorer Me (a little drunk): It's fine with me.
College Senior (drunk 20 times over): No it's not fine. We men are all the same. It's love that blinds you now. When she has to pay for your cup of tea, it would be unbearable. So what's your plans ? If not MBA, try for some overseas opportunities to make up with her.

Frustrated Me (sipping on a cup of coffee): It's fine.
Colleague (smoking a cigarette from my pack): i know it's fine. & it should be fine if it's a love marriage. Now i'm clearly going for an arranged show, & i've directed my parently clearly that the gal should be atleast 2 years younger than me so that there always remains the desired disparity.


Wow !! i mean, wow !! i can't really believe it's the 21st century & stuff (i often get confused whether it's 20th or 21st). It's tough to believe most people couldn't still break off that sick shell of mentality that's eating away their genuineness. Anyways, i firmly believe that i'm not capable enough to change someone's mentality. Please be content with whatever your thought process is. & i'm sure i won't dwindle :)

I remember telling her once softly, "I'd still pay for all the things then, like i do today". & she replied with a sweet "Of Course". You may still call it chavinism. But that's how it goes, & i have no intentions to explain myself.

By the way, i'm multidimensional (an adjective bestowed upon me by my class teacher while speaking with my parents in a parents-teacher meeting)

1) I can cook well.
2) I can take care of kids.
3) I'll take care of groceries.
4) I will try to be home back on time & offer her a cup of tea when she's in (Managers tend to be very occupied).
5) not to mention, i'm the best tea maker in the world.



Peeping back in time, I assume i've played all shades decently enough (except the engineering part). I'm just gearing up for an another showmanship - a working housewife - or houseman - whatever !! :)

A useless pair of shoes !!

Hey. I see aplenty news on shoes these days. After a little jiffy of thoughtful but incomprehensible days, I can't desist from the temptation of penning the Shoe-fling-thing down; fire being rekindled by today's news clip - subject being our Honorable PM himself.

As i was packing my bags to set back to my shoe-hurling country, i realized that my worn-out pair might just cause some extra bit of trouble with the 20-kg luggage limit. I was just wondering where would i find some poor needy guy around a developed flourishing nation, when i came across the story. & viola - i have a remedy for my not-so-big a problem.

If some ignorant mind is still unaware, we (Indians) are undergoing a kick-a** democratic fiesta these days. & in the process, we've hurled shoes at our Home Minister, one sitting Member of Parliament, a leader of the opposition aspiring to be a prime minister, an accomplished actor campaigning for his politician-friend, & lastly & most-recently, at our very own Prime Minister. Sounds like a pretty decent guest list we have onboard.

Okay. That seems promising. Even with the sinking economies, we are proving what great role India has to play at the global level. Americans had it just once, & like everything in western culture, we quickly picked up this too. 5 is the count today, & i'm sure with our will & talent, we can keep it coming.



A few points:

1) In the PM's case, it happened to be a computer engineering student (so clearly publicised by the media) - well i know engineers are crazy. it's nothing  to do with the enlightenment of educated indians, believe me. It's exam time, how come he had enough time to attend a rally ?
2) What kind of shoes are being hurled. Are they worn, & wanna-be dispensed ? do people walk bare-footed after they take the aim or they have another pair in their bags ? (i wonder)
3) None have hit the target, yet. We are a cricket crazy nation (except for the fact that we can't afford to host our own tournament). God !! gimme a break. I agree it might seem a single stump as if from the covers. But you gotta blow them off guys. Buck up.
4) i wonder how my dad might feel. He's a policeman & it's his responsibility to make sure no mishap occurs when a politicain waves a rally. & then, if some lazy craphead missed his target by a few yards, it might land onto my poor old fella.

I was wondering if i could find a guy desperate to hurl. My useless pair would cherish their salvation !!