The first real love story I watched unfold

You know, love stories don’t always have happy, blissful endings. Sometimes, they leave you in tears with a broken heart and shattered hopes. You find yourself losing faith in love as a concept. In such a situation, it’s immensely helpful to watch a close friend’s love story unfold, day by day, and reach a successful conclusion. That’s pretty much how it was for me.

His name is Abhishek. Hers is Nidhi. And as of today, they’re married. Happily so, touch wood. Me? Well, I am still reeling from the occasional pain of the broken heart. But this is their story. Not mine.

Five years ago, I bumped into Abhishek at rehearsal. A week after meeting him I met his then-girlfriend-now-wife Nidhi. It’s said that opposites attract and these two stood as the archetype of that concept. While Abhishek is the quintessentially short fused mammoth, Nidhi has an air of stability and calmness about her. He’s the reactor, she’s the pacifier. When I met them, they had already been dating for 6 years. I often wondered why she was seeing him. But as we all became close like a family, I could see why. Without each other, they were incomplete. Every time they fought, I saw them itching to make up. Not that it stopped them from fighting.

Trouble was; Abhishek’s family members were staunch believers in astrological predictions, given their experiences in the past. And that prediction said that their wedding would destroy Abhishek. The frustration of disapproval trickled into their relationship, leading to frequent quarrels. Often, he would call me, drive down inebriated and rant on about how he was miserable because Nidhi didn’t understand his dilemma and difficulty. The rants lasted anywhere between 15 minutes to an hour and a half. The next day, however, invariably, I was sworn to silence.

That isn’t to say that Nidhi didn’t have her moments and though I was witness to it far less than I was to Abhishek’s, on occasion, she would bring up her frustrations with the relationship having reached a stalemate. She would be irritable, demanding and obstinate. Once, they argued with such ferocity that by the end of it, Abhishek’s phone lay shattered on the ground and Nidhi could be heard crying on the other end from about 5 feet away. I thought it was over. It wasn’t.

A year after this incident, and after a lot of encores, he managed to convince his father and a wedding date was picked. Great!

But as luck would have it, the morning of the wedding, the open air venue looked more like a reservoir, thanks to torrential rains the night before. Given the urgency, patience was in short supply. While he was scouting venues with us, Nidhi was busy handling the relatives. Finally, a venue was booked at 4 PM, the decorations were done in 2 hours flat and the wedding concluded at midnight, ushering in a happy climax.

On most days, that still gives me a glimmer of hope.

This post was written for the 'The first real love story I watched unfold' blogging contest by http://www.bonobology.com/ and http://writersmelon.com/

Watan

Sarfaroshi ki tamanna
Toh hai baaki aaj bhi
Desh par mitne ki neeyat
Kuch hai baaki aaj bhi

Iss watan ke naam toh
Ab bhi yeh jaan qurbaan hai
Ram ho ya ho Ali
Hindustan toh sabki shaan hai

Iss tirangey ke rangon mein
Hai ranga Hindustan
Chahe mazhab koi bhi ho
Yeh hai sabhi ka aashiyaan

Gul hain iss gulistaan ke hum
Hum hi hain angaar bhi
Chahte toh karna dosti hain
Kar sakte hain par prahaar bhi

Chahe humko todne ki
Kar lo tum koshish hazaar
Ek jut ho kar khade hain
Mulk par hone nisaar

Hum na tootenge kabhi
Na bikhrenge hum haar kar
Aasmaan ko chhoo hi lenge
Mushkilon ko paar kar

Sarfaroshi ki tamanna
Toh hai baaki aaj bhi
Desh par mitne ki neeyat
Kuch hai baaki aaj bhi

iAgree – For those unwanted ideas.

STATUTORY WARNING: May bring back disturbing memories. Reader discretion is advised.

If you have served your time in advertising, you will, in all likeliness be familiar with the scenario mentioned below.

Client servicing walks up to you and drags you by your torn jeans and disheveled hair to the client meeting scheduled in the next half an hour. You might be an art director. Or a copywriter. They couldn’t care less. They don’t give a tiny rat’s stinking arse. As long as you’re from creative, you’re good to be served on a platter, with fresh ideas on the side.

You reach the venue, step into the client’s conference room, highly aware that you're not on home turf and soothe your nerves sipping on the tasteless coffee. Servicing talks about, well the things they talk about, and then you’re put up on display. Suddenly all eyes are on you. Maybe all ears too. Suddenly you feel lab rat who’s being watched closely. By now the caffeine starts kicking in and you stir up quite a storm with your ideas and scripts. It seems like everyone on the other side of the table is listening to you with rapt attention. You reach a crescendo, feel light headed, and sit down, thinking you’ve cracked it. You're positive that your appraisals are secure. And just as you're about to heave a sigh of relief, you hear a voice, “you know, it’s pretty nice, the work you’ve brought to the table but I had an idea…”

You're jolted out of the lull. You're shaken. And stirred. But feel like nothing like a martini. All you realize is: there goes the weekend.

Knock knock. Hey you! Houston calling base. Wake up! It was just a hypothetical scenario. There are clients under your workstation. Or your chair. None in the cabinets either. Don’t be scared. Focus. Focus on this piece. It may save your life. And your precious, non-renewable weekends.

If you're blaming client servicing for all your troubles, don’t. Those poor blokes are like Jewish polish in a ghetto. They might carry a baton but they have no power. Really. It’s either them inhaling the Zyklon B or you. The choice is fairly obvious. What you need is a drug/pill to ensure that just unplanned ideas never happen.

Say hello to iAccept!

What if a single pill could render the client incapable of ideation? What if every meeting meant smiles and hugs all around, and possibly a few mugs of beer for all? What if you didn’t have to increase the logo size and ruin your layout? What if you could bring back the good ol’ days of advertising when smart ideas weren't dumbed down? Sounds like a utopia? Not really. Not anymore.

After countless hours of research and brainstorming, we(me and this out-of-his-freaking-hash-infected-mind chemist friend of mine) have come up with a pill that prevents the impregnation of mind with unwanted ideas. We call it iAccept. It is, simply put, an idea contraceptive. It makes the client a lot more receptive to ideas that otherwise would never see the light of day, it lowers the client’s inhibition about going ahead with ideas that haven't been tried and tested before, it makes the client trust you, and client servicing, completely and unconditionally and most importantly, it prevents them from expending grey cells faster than a Uzi. A lot of clients don’t have much ammunition anyway. That’s why the iAccept cuts off the thought flow from brain to tongue. (Oops! Statements like these can be career limiting.)

Anyway, iAccept is an emergency idea contraceptive pill that can save you a lot of hassle, but it has a few drawbacks/handicaps.

·         Unlike regular emergency contraceptive pills which give you a window of 72 hours AFTER the intercourse, iAccept has to be slipped BEFORE the orgy begins. Which is good in a way because you may not want to be a part of that orgy to begin with!

·         You will have to carry something edible to offer to the client because the client definitely won’t allow you to shove a funny looking pill down his/her throat. And if, by chance, the function of iAccept are known, you won’t even have a snowball’s chance in hell.

·         There may be side effects that make the client temporarily delirious. Which should not be something you're not used to, it is just to give you a heads up.

·         Finally, and most importantly, the pill, iAccept is fictitious and a figment of unbridled imagination. But you can, if you have a close friend who's a chemist, start scouting the possibility and feasibility of such a pill. After all, someone did come up with the truth serum too, right?

Client servicing people, if you're reading this then let me tell you I have nothing against you. Ok, almost nothing against most of you. On occasions, you can be really nice people and truthfully, you're just carrying out orders. But the question is, if iAccept becomes a reality someday, will you stand by the creative to put the plan into action? And oh, to the rare breed of nice clients I have come across over the years, I apologise. Don’t take this personally. You're just collateral damage of this piece.

Death to the Gunman

I apologise for the language used here, in case people find it offensive. It’s just a way of expression.

From head to toe, soaked in innocent blood
Silently stood the political whore
As the noose drew tighter around his neck
For the chaos he brought to the country’s shores

Some claimed he shall go to Elysium
Those stakeholders of terror
Elevating him to a heroic stature
Out of a whore, they made a martyr

I call him a whore, not out of whim
But because he played one, right to the hilt
His loyalty for sale to the highest bidder
With no conscience, no semblance of guilt

He begged for mercy
The moment he was cornered
After four years of seething anger
The nation’s will has been honoured

However, it’s not the whores we want
The pimps are the ones we seek
To hunt those down who make these whores
To make a brighter picture of the bleak

Let there be light!

In the silence of the night
A shattering noise blares out
It calls out to you, my love
Of that, there can be no doubt
Is it the sound tearing through
Slicing the status quo to shreds?
Or is it the sound of a heartbreak
The one my heart truly dreads?
I know not and neither do I
Have the courage to find out
But it’s stifling me from within
This nagging, lingering doubt
Caught between the devil and the sea
This agonising discomfort of helplessness
Where are you, the light of my life
In these dark moments of duress?
These ceaseless hours of speculation
Seem like the wait for Godot
Hours, minutes, whatever it may be
To get through, I don’t know how
I've always been a warrior
I will not go down without a fight
Even if for you it’s just a spectacle
One performed for your delight
In my moments of solitude I've often pondered
Why am I still in love with you?
My heart has often wondered
Yes those moments of togetherness
Brought a surge of elation
But I wanted it to be so much more
Like result in mutual amelioration
I hope one day, soon enough
Our viewpoints concur
Decisions are not strewn all around
But we sit down and confer
I wait for our day of union
I wait through the cacophonic silence
Till that moment, every moment
A test of my love, my resilience

Ek subah aisi bhi thi...

Aankh khuli toh savera tha
Baahon mein tera roshan sa chehra tha
Kal raat ki unn silvaton ko odh kar, dil kiya phir so jaaun
Teri muskurahat ki dhoop mein ek baar aur kho jaaun

Hua toh kuch nahi vaise kal raat, par phir bhi kitna kuch ho gaya
Tujhe lagake seene se, ek arsey baad main chaien se so gaya
Khwaab bhi jaise maano chandni mein dhuley huey thhey
Jannat ke jaise saare darwaaze hi khuley huey thhey

Thand toh bahut thi aas paas, par jism mein ek haraarat thi
Lagta hai jaise iss nasamajh dil ki koi shararat thi
Dua kar raha tha main ki tu karwat na badle
Mann kar raha tha, ek aur baar tujhe laga loon galey

Dil ke korey panno pe jaise likh gayi thi tu kuch
Aakhien bandh, labh khaamosh, par keh rahi thi tu kitna kuch
Pal yeh beet jayenge, iss baat ka zara darr bhi tha
Kuch dil ki karestaani thi, kuch aisa mahol bhi tha

Bas yehi soch kar thoda main bhi muskuraa liya
Ki inn chand palon mein main khul kar jee toh liya
Baahon mein leke tujhe, main phir so gaya
Teri uss muskurahat ki dhoop mein phir kho gaya…

What’s there in a name?

William Shakespeare (may he sleep sound in his grave) couldn’t have been further from the truth when he quoted this. I mean, let alone the fact that in today’s scenario, it’s a person’s name that decides everything, from the ease in getting an e-mail address to a customer support executive being able to pronounce it, even in the times that have been, I am sure names played a significant part. Just imagine, for instance, if a dear friend of Shakespeare found his name too cumbersome and decided to shorten it to Willy Shake, out of affection, the kind of embarrassment it would’ve caused! Alright, maybe ‘willy’ wasn’t the slang for the instruments back then, but there must have been an alternative.

Sometimes I think parents name their children based on how much they love or hate them. Like this one bloke I bumped into, for example. His name was Samay (Time, in English). Needless to say, the rest of the evening was spent making him the butt of every joke. Like when he stopped dancing, people quipped “look! Time has stopped”. Reminds me of one of my ex-super bosses. He said that when the time came to name his kids, he came up with endless options and then sat down to figure exactly how each one of them could be mutilated and turned into a joke. And then froze on the two names that seemed most immune. Now, that’s a fine example of fatherly love!

For those who will probably pick on me saying I am quoting Willy boy out of context and the complete quote was "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.", I differ. Everyone has a name that suits their persona. It’s all about spotting it. Like I know these two sisters, Sandhya and Roshni. Incidentally, Sandhya is as fair as the white wedding dress of a bride and Roshni, well, let’s just say she can never make an image for herself, she can only make a silhouette. Not that I am complexion biased, it’s just that their parents could have reversed the names of the twins because not only is it a complete opposite of their skin colour, it’s also an opposite for the kind of people they are. Sandhya is vivacious, outspoken, restless, and always on the edge whereas Roshni is calm, sober, passive to the point of being a mannequin.

Coming back to the point, names are rather significant. Hence, there should be a few basic rules that should be followed any deviation from the rules should be penalised.

Ease of pronunciation: Absolutely not open for a debate. Names being internationally pronunciation friendly is a must. Take it from someone who has heard his name being mutilated to an extent that he chose to cut it short. Me. Or like this friend of mine, Shahnaaz. Lovely name (lovely girl, too) with a lovely meaning. Means The Royal Pride and translates into ‘a princess’ but a nightmare to pronounce, for those who’re challenged in that regard. On the other hand, there is this friend of mine called Jim (no, not Morrison). One simply can’t go wrong with a name like that!

Ease of spelling: As I see it, all names should be spelt phonetically. Again, comes from someone who has borne the brunt. Me. Like this woman called Kkashish. So, should one stress on the ‘K’? Or Schwarzenegger, for example. I know very few people who get it right.

Avoid religious connotations: Because if one doesn’t, in case of a communal riot or ethnic cleansing drive, one might be, let’s say, rogered. Better safe than sorry, as it’s said. Like with people named Bhagwaan or Christian. What will happen to them if they are caught by fanatics?

Should sound good: Meaningful or less, they should sound good. Like there is this friend of my parents’ called Drishtipriya. Fine meaning but a torture on the tongue! And sound terrible. On the other hand, look at names like Tom, Joy, Rita, Anita etc. One just can’t go wrong with these!

As it is, in India, with the whole multi ethnic, multi cultural brew, finding the right name is probably just as tough as bringing up the child itself because a name is something that sticks. It’s one’s identity!

So, I am all set for Willy Shake’s nightmares tonight because he will clearly not like me taking a dig him. And this has turned out to be a long post. I am bored and have been remarkably patient about writing this, given my serious ADD. Hope you liked reading it and saw a semblance of sense in it too.

Adios.

The language that used to be called English

Last night, I received a ‘text’ from friend which read: i m gd. hw hv u bn? lng tm! wna cth p smtm? trng 2 gt in tch fr a whl nw. gv m a bz n lts tk. wt sy n hwr thngs newyz?
It took me almost 15 minutes to figure the damned thing out. What it turned out to be was: I am good. How have you been? Long time! Want to catch up sometime? Trying to get in touch for a while now. Give me a buzz and let’s talk. What say, and how are things anyway?

Clearly, with such a complicated dialect of English that has emerged over the past few years, the need for cryptic codes has diminished rapidly. Funnily enough, this dialect is neither recognized officially nor taught in school. So how does it still manage to be propagated so widely? Here are a few reasons:

TEXTing: Also called SMSing, which is again, short for Short Messaging Service. Every ‘text’ is charged per character and so, understandably, conjunctions (one of the eight parts of speech) and vowels (A…E…I…O…U, for those who do not remember them, thanks to too much TEXTing) are wiped clean from every ‘text’ to try and pack in as much information as possible, within the permitted 160 odd characters. It’s like a telegram. Except that it mutilates the language beyond recognition. The end result reads like the ‘text’ above. The race to conserve characters leaves English looking pretty characterless. Pun unintended.

The solution: Someone needs to send these policy makers back to school to get their language and grammar right. They need to be given a Wren and Martin as a standard issue perhaps.

Uncle Sam: English was supposed to be, for quite some time, a language Great Britain had a monopoly on. Those were the days when English was pure. And sweet. It had complete spellings, a clearly defined pronunciation guide, unambiguous grammar and all the parts of speech intact. Then, sometime in the mid 20th century, a new kind of colonization emerged. Linguistic colonization. Led by the notorious Uncle Sam, it was nothing short of a jihad or a crusade. There was a systematic elimination of pillars that bolstered the language. Z replaced S, so organiSation became organiZation and realiSe became realiZe. Letters we needlessly butchered and as a result coloUr became COLOR, judgEment turned into JUDGMENT. Z came to be pronounced as ZEE and computers started to sound like COMPUDRS. Even worse route (pronounced ROOT) became route (ROUT, which, in British English, has an entirely different meaning) and Iran became I-RAN (sometimes I really feel like asking Uncle Sam: where the hell did you run?). To ensure complete efficacy of this “Final Solution of the English question”, softwares like Microsoft Word began to set their default language to ‘English (U.S.)’ and promptly displayed a red line under the word when you typed the conventionally correct spellings. Talk about annihilation!

The solution (not to be confused with “Final Solution of the English question”): To begin with, set the default language to English (U.K.). So what if the software is from Uncle Sam’s land? It doesn’t mean we bow down to linguistic tyranny. Next, get the pronunciations right. ROUT to ROOT. ZEE to Z. I-RAN to IRAN. Third, if you can, go and bonk Uncle Sam on the head. Really hard.

KPO a.k.a. Knowledge Processing and Outsourcing: I am still a little hazy on the exact difference between a KPO and a BPO but one thing I know for sure is that whatever they process, it is definitely not knowledge. I mean, come on, there used to be a time when graduation was known to be the basic level of qualification one had to achieve in order to live a decent and comfortable life. Needless to say, since the benchmark of education was much higher, so was the knowledge of languages and their understanding. Then came the outsourcing boom. A boom that blew everything to smithereens. Another covert attempt at colonisation by Uncle Sam. Kids barely out of their teens, with an incomplete education, were being offered plum jobs; their pronunciation was being forcibly altered to suit Uncle Sam’s needs. Obviously, is kids of an impressionable age were offered such high paying distractions, they were bound to fumble!

The solution: If you have siblings, kids, nephews, nieces or any other relatives in that age group, deter them from the KPO life. Tell them KPO is a misnomer! Attack the root of the problem.

Sure there must be more reasons, and you’re welcome to point them out, but off the cuff, these are the three that struck me. Sure, I may sound archaic when I say that the language used in ‘text’ messages are a little difficult for me to decipher but that is not because I am averse to adapting, I just refuse to sit back and accept the mutilation of a language that brings me my bread and butter. Nothing personal. I mean, to evolve is one thing and to wipe out is quite another. Besides, it is a global language and hence any change will affect communication around the globe.

Till we restore English to its former glory – let’s keep the torch burning and the protest alive. Long live the revolution.

तारीख

कमरे की सफ़ेद दीवार पे
एक पुराना कैलेंडर टंगा हुआ है
और उन् कागज़ के पन्नो में
सिमटी हुई हैं कुछ यादें

वो घड़ियाँ तो बीत गयी
पर उन् लम्हों की महक ताज़ा है
चाहे जनवरी की ठण्ड में ठिठुरती यादें हो
या जून की गर्मी में झुलसती हुई

कुछ तारीकें
पेंसिल से काटी हुई हैं
उस इंतज़ार की याद में
जो कभी पूरा नहीं हुआ

अखबारवाले के हिसाब से लेकर
कुछ चुनिन्दा लोगों के जन्मदिन तक
सब इस पुराने कैलेंडर के भरोसे ही तो
याद रहता था मुझे

जब भी इस कैलेंडर को देखता हूँ
लगता है जैसे वक़्त थम गया है
महसूस होता है जैसे
बीती तारीखें वापस लौट आई हैं

एक सुकून मिलता है दिल को
के बीता हुआ कल जाते जाते
कुछ सुनहरी तारीखों की
यादें छोड़ गया है

Little joys of life…

Ever since I started working, life has, in a way, come to a standstill. Office, work, party and sleep. That seems to have become the routine. In between all this, sometimes there is a cup of tea at the neighbourhood tea stall where conversations segue from the most inspiring to completely banal. During one such discussion last week, an interesting topic came up. A topic that brought back the nostalgia of college, of the years we had spent growing up and of the dreams we had seen.

This tea stall is a place where tea costs Rupees 6 and the conversations are free but priceless. But the best part is that here we can exercise our credit limit endlessly. This is the reason why the conversation began. We realised we were Rupees 30 short and we told the owner we would pay him later. But just then, someone asked for another cup and as a chain reaction, so did everyone else. Somebody in the group just mentioned, “do you remember the way we used to run short of cash when we were students?”

Memories came flooding back. I remembered the time we used to sneak out of home to catch a late night show. The time when neighbourhood tea stalls used to be our stronghold. Someone dug up the memories of getting drenched in the rain and binging on any kind of edible, cooked substance that was classified food. The time when one cigarette was shared between 4 people and Old Monk was the warmest companion of winters. A lavish birthday party would only mean “you will be fully fed” and weddings at friends’ places were always welcome because it gave us limitless access to food. On the days of an absolute cash crunch, we would share one plate of idly or a dosa or a sandwich between three people, with everyone aiming for the lion’s share. We would borrow friends’ bikes to drop pretty girls home, in the hope that something constructive would materialise. With some people, it was always “pay for me now and I will pay you later” when we went to the movies. That “later” never came. The hassles of exams and attendance brought back incidents that we would have rather forgotten. But looking back, it seemed fun. There were deadlines and curfew timings at home, but post that was when the fun began. A mobile phone was a luxury with call rates that meant we could only give missed calls. For the ones with girlfriends, it meant huge (by student standards) bills. Which in turn meant that we would have to lie at home for extra cash, and innovative lies at that!
Playing pranks on teachers and creating a ruckus was commonplace and so was the resultant “get out of my class”.

If I start making a list, I will probably run into hundreds of pages. But the important part is that we all realised that somewhere, along the years, we have probably forgotten how much those little, insignificant moments meant and how much we have missed them in the work life. Those years seemed so long back in the past!

It rekindled a flame, the embers of which, were dying out and as I end this piece, I will just say that let’s not allow anything to interrupt the little joys of life because these are the moments one savours. Let us raise a toast to a promise that we will live and breathe such moments every day. What say?

Kaash...

Intezaar hai mujhe tumhara

Kyon, yeh pata nahi

Bas aisa lagta hai jaise

Bina tumhare zindagi mein koi khalal hai



Kehne ko toh roushan hai yeh zindagi

Par zehen ke kisi koney mein

Ek gehra andhera jaise

Ghar kar baitha hai



Yaad aati hai tumhari jab bhi

Ek khushi ki leher daud jaati hai mayoosi ke beech

Aur pal bhar ko mann karta hai

Sameyt loon inhe tinka tinka karke



Par jaise yaadon ki raet pe

Likha tumhara naam

Gumm ho jata hai

Haqeeqat ki aandhi mein



Ghadiyaan lamha lamha kar beet jaati hain

Par na tumhari khabar aati hai

Aur na hi intezaar ke samundar mein

Saahil kahin dikhta hai



Pata nahi kashti ko sahara milega

Yaa doob jayegi isi samundar mein

Bas itni ummed hai ki kal jab aankh khule

Toh tum paas baithi ho..kaash!

On the man they call the Mahatma

To begin with, this piece is not to hurt the sentiments of those who believe in him. Neither is it political propaganda. It’s just an average Joe’s take on Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi a.k.a Mahatma Gandhi.

Having said that, lately I have come across way too many people who scream from the rooftops to tell the world how great a man he was. At least for me, it was way too many people to handle. So here’s my response.

First of all, with my limited intellect, I fail to see how a man who was never on the frontline of the Indian independence movement, be called the greatest of heroes! Before someone misinterprets that statement, let me clarify that by ‘frontline’ I mean someone who was there in the thick of the action – like Lala Lajpat Rai, who suffered fatal injuries during the “Simon Go Back” agitation when the Simon commission was setup. Or Bhagat Singh, who took the battle to the enemy’s turf! For me, that’s a true leader. Not a man who sits at the command station while his followers are assaulted.

Second, I do understand that Mr. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi was a believer in non violence but there is a very fine line between being non violent and being blind. During the Non Co-operation Movement of 1920, when the Chauri Chauraha incident occurred, why did he call off the movement? Did he not realize that the people he was leading were not a herd of sheep? Their patience had limits and the British had breached it a few times too much. I am not justifying needless violence but I do not advocate the “slap my other cheek too” logic either. People had quit their jobs, schools, colleges and changed their entire way of life! And a good leader is supposed to be good at reading his followers’ minds. Mere criticism of subjugation doesn’t really prove to be a constructive solution.

Third, please, somebody, remind me again – why is he called the Mahatma? I mean, I haven’t really come across any articles on his enlightenment. Follow a leader. Respect him. Be proud of him. Buy why on earth should he be given the status of a demigod? Just because he preached non violence? Russia, France, America and China have all undergone violent revolutions. And yet they are more developed and better placed than we are. So, what does that say? And yet their leaders are not worshipped.

Fourth – why do we have only Gandhi on our currency? Does it mean that the contributions made by Bhagat Singh, Chandrashekhar Azad, Jatin Das, Subhash Chandra Bose, Lala Lajpat Rai, Khudiram Bose, Ashfaqullah Khan, Rash Behari Bose, Ram Prasad Bismil and Rajguru not significant enough? Or is it because we called him the father of the nation since he was the only one in the list to have survived the struggle? Frankly, I find it a tad bit surprising that he was the only one to live through the whole period. Looks like non violence does have its perks!

To add to that, Nathuram Godse, the man who shot Mr. Gandhi was once his follower. So is it possible that somewhere he had let his followers down to an extent that one of them actually decided to put an end to it all? I mean come on, anyone who undertook an attack like that would have know that he didn’t even have a snowball’s chance in hell to get out alive. Yet he did it. Why?

Again, I was not present there. I am too young to have been there so I am not making a moral judgement. Just asking a few questions. Making a few statements. Any answers?

Reflections…

Life was a baffling puzzle,

In the scorching heat,

I sought a little drizzle.

And at times, a retreat.



The world was a buzzing place,

But in my lonely heart,

I often fell asleep pondering,

And woke up with a start.



What was I looking for?

I didn’t really know.

Where I was headed,

I didn’t want to go.



Life was a baffling puzzle,

In the scorching heat,

I sought a little drizzle.

And at times, a retreat.



I stayed up nights,

Looking at the lights.

Filled with fathomless gloom,

Like preparing for my doom.



But one single morning,

Changed it all.

When you walked into,

That empty hall.



All it took was,

One look at you.

And the whitewashed walls,

Turned into a million hues!



Your sparkling eyes,

Like the untamed sea.

Sometimes an open book,

Sometimes, a mystery.



I wished I could hold,

The sands of time.

Or let it be lost,

In the labyrinth of my rhyme.



But time is a wily beast,

It flew.

Leaving me with,

Memories of you.



Then I saw you again,

Walking down the street.

I think I skipped,

Just one heartbeat.



Today it’s been,

A long, long time.

And I am trying to capture time again,

In the labyrinth of my rhyme.



So I can spend a moment with you.

With your memories.

Forget my mundane life.

Escape all my worries.



We knew each other,

For a very short while.

But you infected me,

With the desire to smile.



So today in the scorching heat,

When I look for a retreat,

All I do is think of you,

And lose myself in your million hues…

With love, from India.

Acknowledgements:

Joel Stein – for the wonderfully written piece of trash with insecure and spiteful undertones. (http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1999416,00.html

Rahul Parikh – for the truly amazing comeback to Joel Stein’s article which inspired this piece. (http://edition.cnn.com/2010/OPINION/07/13/parikh.stein.rebuttal/index.html?hpt=C2&fbid=Ee7Dj34bC72)

Kapil Dhawan – for posting the link to Rahul Parikh’s article.

Now, let me have my take on what Joel Stein had to say. And let me be very clear that this piece is not about insulting Americans in any way because I personally know some really nice Americans. It is just a rebuttal to Joel Stein’s “humorous” piece.

To begin with, for a nation Joel Stein so kindly referred to as poor and not-so-bright, we have had way too many “bright” people that the world admires. In fact, if one types “famous Americans” on Wikipedia, there is a list of 33 names that springs up. If one types “famous Indians”, on the other hand, the list runs into pages. Moreover, there is a separate list which talks of famous “American Indians”. And guess how many names are listed? 347! The names span all walks of life. So, looks like we are not that “not-so-bright” after all, are we? As for being a poor country, we’re one of the fastest growing economies in the world, besides holding a roster entrepreneurs who lead some of the largest organizations in the world. Yes, we are poorer than America but that is also probable because we do not go around declaring wars on smaller countries, accusing them of hoarding weapons of mass destruction, while the actual objective is just to acquire oil reserves. Plus, the world knows the reality of the American dream and how fulfilling (note sarcasm) it is!

Now coming to culture. India has had a civilized history is one of the oldest in the world. We have a menu of languages that is as varied as our spicy cuisine. And we do not borrow foreign languages, mutilate the spellings like changing “colour” to “color”, rape the grammar and try to make the world follow our version of the ravaged language. India is the place where Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism originated. And Rabindranath Tagore has been rated to be a multi faceted genius, second only to Leonardo Da Vinci. Moreover, an average Indian with a mother tongue other than Hindi grows up learning three languages at least! One look at politics will also clear the fact that India has already achieved the feat of putting a woman in the highest office of the country. America hasn’t. But despite all these achievements, our idea of the world doesn’t just revolve around India. We do not say that if aliens ever invade, it will only be India, or Indians are the only ones who will put up a fight. Neither do we say that every volcanic eruption, vampire epidemic, tectonic shift of earth’s plates has to begin or occur in India. Our view of the world pans 360 degrees.

Having said all of that, yes we do have our share of black sheep as well. But we have Charles Shobhraj, America has Jack The Ripper! Point being, nothing is black or white. Not viewpoints, not issues, not people. It is all grey. And I think considering the fact that most of the population that has moved to America is a part of the cream in their generation, if anything, Joel Stein should be thankful to us Indians. And I would like to agree with Rahul Parikh on the fact that a meaningless footnote for an apology doesn’t work. It just doesn’t. And next time, please leave the humor to people who know a thing or two about it.

250 miles of insanity!

I am back! Offer your brains so I can feast on them.

Ok. Fine. Don’t. Selfish people. Want to keep all your brains for yourself! Anyway, let me get on with what I wanted to say. Lots and lots…and lots of things have been happening and like always, it’s a blend of “oh so painful” and “oooh so nice”. And in the middle of all this is me. So then, without further ado, let me begin.

Keeping in sync with my affinity for things unplanned (except for a few situations, of course) I suddenly decided that since Jaipur is not that far off and most people who mattered were either out of Delhi or out of touch, it will be a nice idea to hop on to a bus and go to the Pink City for Diwali. The idea was great but the execution, not quite. To begin with, the buses starting from Bikaner House in Delhi were supposedly “full” and employees there could be seen openly selling tickets in black and making what they called “Diwali profit”. A press card or a police ID proved extremely helpful though, as I later found out. The bus rolled out of Bikaner House at sharp 1.15 in the morning. At least punctuality was a virtue the RTDC still has. Now, I was on the seat in the middle of the last row. Shaky but spacious. At least I could stretch my legs, though it’s a different thing that parts of my body like the neck, would also get stretched but that was inevitable. Then I suddenly saw this woman walk up to me and stand right in front of me, moving her head left and right like she was watching a tennis match! My estimate said she was around 29, unless she used one of those anti aging creams. So then she sat down and handed over her bag asking me if I could shove it under the seat in front of her. I did. Then it happened! Like the Tsunami…like a volcanic eruption…like a hail of bullets from an air raid…like Rajnikanth’s 60 kicks in a second…she started rattling away at a speed so fast that I doubt if even Michael Schumacher could keep up. The topics included things like how the government servants were cheating people out of money and how her uncle, a crime reporter had secured her a comfy seat, among a zillion other things. Finally, after 20 minutes of a monologue, I guess she lost steam. And went on the mute mode. The experience was so intense that I took me a good 40 minutes to get my concentration back to my Sudoku book. But my ordeal wasn’t over. The two guys sitting on my left then started off in a language that I presume was Hebrew or Arabic. All I could make out was that they sounded like they were clearing their throats repeatedly. I even thought of offering them cough drops. No offence meant though. They went on talking and talking like they’d had a crate of Red Bull. And people say I am talkative.

Suddenly the bus halted. Two guys got in. And one of them reached his seat bonking against the lofts on either sides. The guy was visibly and audibly “high”. Stoned off his mind or sloshed beyond repair, I don’t know, though. His friend had a sheepish “I apologise” look on his face. Once on his seat the stoned/sloshed chap started eating. And boy could he eat!! By the time he finished, there were 6 empty packets of chips, 4 chocolate cake packets, 4 empty sandwich packets, all tossed on the floor of the bus. Instinct told me to kick him in the groin and tell him to pick it up. Even better, stuff it in his mouth. But it wasn’t needed. The conductor did the rest. Though, the being a Volvo, the smell lingered on for a while. Then this guy caused a nuclear explosion. Now I know what people in Hiroshima would have felt like. And I am not elucidating the point.

Somewhere in the middle of all this and old Bollywood music, I dozed off. But I was shaken up, literally by the “firing” woman next to me. She woke me up like either the bus had been hijacked or set on fire. I saw the bus entering a food court run by RTDC. She said she had to go…(you know, go for emergency) and if I would look after her bag. It was more a statement than a request and in my zonked state of mind; I must have nodded my approval because she bolted for the door, stepping on my foot in the process. Bored to the edge of my seat, i got off the bus and got myself an apology for a frappe for Rs. 25 at the counter. As the bus began to leave the RTDC Midway, I climbed back on and sat in the bus. Rest of the journey was thankfully uneventful.

On reaching Jaipur, I walked up to the local bus stand out of my sudden desire to travel in a local bus here. It was 7 in the morning and the guy issuing the tickets was smoking beedi after beedi, turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the monstrous board right outside the counter that said “Smoking Prohibited. Fine upt o Rs. 200”. So I clicked a nice little picture of him with smoke rolling out of his nostrils and told him and if he didn’t shut that thing off right then, then I would walk up to the nearest police station and get him arrested. He scowled. I scowled back. He grunted, I growled. And after such show of power, he had no choice. I took my ticket and just then it started raining. So I ran under one the tea stalls and drank tea, accompanied by fruit cake from “Rachna Backery”. Decent fruit cake. When I walked back to the terminus, the guy stubbed out his beedi the moment he saw me! I was proud of myself and saw an elderly woman smile gratefully. Nice start to the day it was. The bus came in. And I hopped on for another journey. But that’s for later. That’s quite another story!

Adios.

Gods Wanted

I had been suffering from an extreme lack of ideas all this while. Hence, no post. But today, out of the VIBGYOR, I thought of something. Here it is:
The world is changing. And fast! Infrastructure, technology, science and everything else, is undergoing a drastic change. Why should mythology and divinity be any different? In addition to the good old Gods, we need a few young and contemporary ones too. So here is a look at how the recruitment ad for these new Gods will look like.
The department of Divine Resource Management is recruiting for the positions mentioned below. The salaries are negotiable with additional perks like 50% of food and money offered to the deity by devotees. Please read the roles and responsibilities carefully before applying.

God of Traffic Control

The candidates should be skilled in traffic management with minimum 1 year of experience in managing Godly duties. Candidates from departments like War, Wisdom and Destruction will be given preference. Role will include managing traffic in the busy centers, miraculously fixing malfunctioning signals, answering prayers about reducing traffic etc. Ideally, the candidates should be between 40 – 150 years of age, and should, in no way exceed 200 years. Additional responsibility includes cleaning up after accidents as well.

God of Reality Shows

The candidates should be skilled in managing viewer mindsets. They should be well versed with the concept of TRPs and should respond quickly to prayers from producers, directors and viewers. Rewarding fair participation and punishing sleazy practices will also form a part of the role. Minimum 1 year of experience required. Candidates from Knowledge, Music and Intellect will be given preference. Age should not be more than 50 years. Computer literacy is a must.

God of Pollution Control

The candidates should have at least 5 years of experience in various departments. Role will include pollution control, rewarding environmentally aware creatures and punishing reckless creatures. Must respond to prayers from all species within 24 hours. Age should not be less than 200 years. Fraternizing with God of Natural Resources, God of Industrialisation and God of Capitalism will not be tolerated. God of Capitalism does not refer to the US.

God of Advertising

The candidate should specialize in conning techniques and influencing mindsets. Prior experience in any form of communication will be preferred. Should be able to respond quickly to any prayer from anyone in the advertising business. Perks will include a part of the profits. Age, preferably between 50 – 100 years.
All applications should reach the Department of Divine Bullshit, latest by doomsday. Applications received after that will not be tolerated. All applications can be mailed to holycrap@worship.com or alternatively, the candidate can call 1800 – HOLYCRAP for further details.

Till I write something stupid again…
Adios.

The circus is in town!

Five years have passed and psephologists are busy again. The reason is obvious. The circus is back in town, with the complete ensemble of clowns, trapeze artists, flame throwers (they are particularly in demand) and ring masters! We have given this circus a very fancy name: election.

Gnawing away at the roots of the world’s largest democracy is the very crux of the democratic process! It all began with an irate journalist tossing a shoe at the home minister. Then another shoe was tossed at yet another politician. Surprisingly, both shoes missed the mark. I sometimes wonder, if they were meant to hit the target at all. Then suddenly all the political parties stood up and took notice of issues which had earlier vanished into oblivion. What followed was a spate of hate speeches against individuals, parties and religious segments, stomping the entire fabric of secularism. Graves were dug up, and the issues that had been put to rest were raked up again. All for a few votes!

Media is going berserk, holding debate after debate, trying to find sense in this insanity. However, I find a little tint of political alignment despite them claiming the analysis to be impartial. For the common man who casts the vote at the polling booth, it is nothing more than a choice between the devil and the deep sea. I mean really, are we as a country, despite our claims of rapid development, that retarded as a 62 year old democracy? Can we not find one single person in this milling crowd of 1 billion people who will lead the country without thinking about personal gains? Is this the picture that we want to give the world out there? And then we still wonder why tourists come to this country looking for elephants and snake charmers on the road! That’s the picture we have given the world out there. We have told them that we’re just a bunch of clowns.

As a friend of mine often says “we have made a Mickey of ourselves” in front of the whole wide world and we are projecting ourselves as an immature nation. Someone talks about age in politics, someone else picks up demolished mosques and religion as their favourite weapon and the rest, either follow the herd or say things that will probably not make sense even to a 5 year old. Grow up!

But all said and done, I don’t know how much of an impact a piece like this is going to make because I don’t even know how many people will read it. So till it does make a difference, watch the circus and make sure you get the tickets for the front row!

Adios.

That girl who changed me forever

To begin with, this is not what I originally planned to write about. But things so happened that at this point in time, this is the foremost thought in my mind and hence, its here! Anyone who reads this: I DO NOT WANT SYMPATHY OR TOO MUCH ADVICE. Just a genuine and heartfelt prayer will do because what I am going to write about is extremely close to my heart.

I am in love with the most marvelous woman I have known. We were together for a brief period and then things so happened that she wanted to walk out. That was over a year ago. Since then, I have prayed, cried (and I do not do that very often), lived with a hope that she will be back. I even tried ways to stop loving her but nothing would just help! She got back with the guy she was seeing earlier and then she broke up with him again and is with someone else now…or so she tells me. But yes, in my heart I believe that I will win her back. She is probably at the juncture where I was when I was her age. She is 2 and 1/2 years younger than me. I am telling you, this woman is simply wonderful and I believe that one day she will see how much I love her and understand it. But till then, the wait is what hurts. I have never really loved a woman so much and if you have known me, you would know that I am not lying about this. Do me a favour, pray for me. Please.

Thanks…

How did I originate?

Ok…it’s been a long time since I have blogged. So I am a little…sort of…umm…let’s say…alienated from the feeling. It’s like not having asked any girl out for a date for a long time and then when a girl pops out of simply nowhere…it feels strange. Nevertheless, let me make an attempt with the hope that you will like it.

After all these years of intense investigation and research, I have finally unearthed the secret of how I came to this world. Now, before you snigger and jump to conclusions, let me clarify that I am talking purely about my interpretation of why I am the way I am.

The year was 1983. The month was December. My parents got married and my paternal grandmother, for reasons known best to her, wanted a grandson. Such was a case with a lot of grandmothers back then but honestly, I personally find no reason to crave for a grandson. Anyway, my parents were obviously under a lot of pressure. So they got down to praying. And as we all know, a good bribe works well not just with humans but with deities as well. When their petition for a son reached God, He was pretty tempted by the various things he had been offered as a bribe so He decided to put this file on the express route. There were other couples who had also placed their petitions so all the humans manufactured at that point of time were booked. Now, when my parents’ petition reached the production department, the craftsmen were a little vexed. All that they had in surplus quantity were animals and some raw material. But the raw material itself was not enough to manufacture a human.

Now, God…being God…came up with a brilliant idea. He decided to mix and match things. Anyway, everything that God gives has a tag that reads “Goods once sold will not be taken back” so that ruled out any chance of an exchange! He picked up the raw material and gave it a human form. Then he picked up the porcupine and took off its hair. Hence I have hair that looks like a porcupine and no matter what I do, it keeps bouncing back to shapelessness. From the giraffe he picked up the height so I ended up being absurdly tall. I do not mean that I am the tallest you will come across but I think my height is absurd nevertheless. Though yes, on the positive side, it allowed me to date the most wonderful woman in the world and her being tall made me feel a little less absurd. For the ears and the nose, he roped in the dog and trust me, it is not one of the best things to have the ears and the nose of a dog because I have ended up hearing and smelling things I would have rather done without. From an elephant God picked up the appetite so I keep eating all the time! Damn! My nose was borrowed from a seal which is why it is round and broad. I mean…that’s one thing I hate about myself!! There are a few other thing I would not mention. In short, I am a mix and match of several species and once God had put me together, he marveled at the strange thing he had created. And for the past 24 years, my parents have time and again debated whether it was a good or bad to push God into sending them a little warped human so soon! No wonder they never wanted to have any more kids. Once bitten…twice shy after all!

Adios.

An extraordinary petition

Hello Sir/Ma’am,

I have heard you’re the President of this country and have a lot powers in matters regarding the safety of all your citizens. Hence I am writing this petition to you because my life is in grave danger. Every successive day brings along new threats.

Let me introduce myself to you so that you are better equipped to understand the gravity of the matter. I am a house lizard and my name is inconsequential. What is relevant is that through my personal experiences, I speak for the millions like me around the world. I have been living in this house ever since I remember. I have adorned the walls of this house ever since childhood and was happy to feed on the insects and roaches in the vicinity. We were a happy family of three brothers and two sisters. Now, I am the only one left alive. Two bothers of mine lost their lives due to food poisoning because they ate up a roach that had been killed by a pest control spray. One of my sisters was killed by the same spray when it was sprayed all over her by this monstrous human. She died an agonizing and undignified death. I mean, killing the prey and predator with the same insecticide is shameful! It has shattered our respect and honour. My youngest brother was flushed away when he went to take a bath and drowned. I didn’t even have the chance to perform his last rites and give him a proper funeral and my youngest sister was shot dead, quite literally. In fact, the same adolescent human who shot my sister is now after my life, armed with a shotgun that fires plastic pellets. Maybe the humans can bear the impact of those pellets but we lizards are fragile creatures. We just resemble dinosaurs and alligators but we are neither as fierce nor as strong as them. In fact, I was under attack last evening and the human shot my tail off! I was supposed to take my girlfriend out to dinner in the loft since it has a marvelous supply of roaches and a variety of other insects but this incident put me through immense embarrassment because not just the other lizards, but even the roaches and flies were laughing at me, even while running for their lives! It was disgusting, to say the least. I do not know what harm I have caused to these humans. Maybe they do not realize that I am their most natural pest control agent with no side effects and my absence shall see the rise of the creepy crawlies in this house. My brown skin compliments the beige walls of this house and to strike up a friendship with humans, I also tired making attractive designs my contorting my body into various shapes, but to no avail. My food supply is dwindling rapidly and I am writing to you from behind the tube light holder where I have been hiding for the last two days. Please send the air force, army, paramilitary forces or whatever else is required to bail me out of here and save my life. Post that, I plan to sue these humans and will be highly obliged if you help me with a few references.

I am really looking forward to a positive response because anything else will be fatal for me.

Thanking you,
Yours sincerely,

The Little House Lizard.