Price-less Joy?

It has been some long since I have written for myself. I live an uninspiring life. My unsuccessfulness continues to haunt me and when it becomes all over powering I blurt out with randomness like this…

START ---

Often I have found myself self drawn towards a situation where awkwardness has crept in without or little shame. Certainly this has nothing to do with my inquisitiveness or reclusiveness, both traits which hold a dominant position in my genealogy.

Anyhow all the events which lead to the present circumstances were purposely meant to be random and appear banal from the very inception. Perhaps hiding the malignant nature of thoughts is not an easy job even if you make the route circuitous and impromptu. And, that is what I missed…


Her perfume was intoxicating. I have never been a connoisseur of any sorts. But I can smell a woman. When I say it, I mean it. This is perhaps one of the few things on which I can stake my life. And whenever she was around, a mixed scent of her perfume and body enamored any rationale thoughts of mine.

This was one of another days and she had come to my desk after a torturous wait and three wasted trips to the coffee machine at the office corner. The first two trips were as cold as the uninspiring coffee for she was not around, and the last one had got me the pangs of jealousy when I see her engaged in a rather unnecessary and disguised flirtatious discussion.


“Hah! I know these bastards. Always lurking around the corners to catch a newbie,” I moaned to another colleague of mine. The prime of our youthfulness may be was on its way to decline but we both surely were ascending up on the ladder.

“He is young. Let him play,” said this colleague as he sipped on that uninspiring coffee. PLAY! My heart let out a silent scream as I watched her fiddling with her hair.

“Yes, we are ahead of the game, aren’t we?” I asked my colleague, as we both walked towards our respective stations.

It had been just a few minutes and I was absent mindedly fucking with google, when I smelled her arrival. I was angry. I was anguished. I will be reluctant.


“Hi,” she said. Captivated. Lost.

“Hey. How is it going?” I responded without taking off my eyes from the screen. I was hiding. I wanted it to last long.

“Good. Just wanted to know if you may help me with….” The rest of conversation is an absolute charade.

In those five minutes I let myself be purposely random. Slight pat on shoulder. Trying to hear her breath. Tracing the curve of her lips through my eyes and when she left, a handshake, to end an agony and begin on another…


Newspapers' say that mid-life crisis can disorient anyone. But I was not going through that. I was being playful. I was attracted. I was genuine. I knew it will never translate.

My closets friend told me I was not the exception. “You are the rule. At our age if we will not notice a firm butt and sigh. When we will?” he reasoned.

“But the trick is to be on sidelines. Remember we are analyst or experts but not the field guy. We don’t play anymore. We are done,” and he raised the beer bottle. Drunk. Intoxicated.

Each day in office was treacherous. I was being random. My suggestions were genuine and I wanted little back. But I was intoxicated with the smell…I searched for reasons to be near.

And when this fine day she waltzed her way to my cabin, I was preparing to be random.


“Hey,” and her scent overtook any rationality present in the room…

“You know, my friends’ boss got fired,” she said causally while taking a seat. I was watching her ear. What will feel like to just kiss them…

“You know why he got fired?” she continued without even realizing my absent mindedness..

“Why?” I somehow blurted

“He was trying to be funny with her. At first he was all helpful kinds but then something went wrong...”

I kept silent.

“You don’t think I give such signals to people in office na?”

The Princess

I wrote this almost 10-years ago...Just found it in a old diary while cleaning my closet...



Far across the seven seas
Lived a princess, beautiful like never seen,
She was from the poets’ land
Born and brought up in golden sand,
Nothing in distant realms
Held her fantasy for long means,


Princess was a child at heart
Acting mature was her characters part,
She got bored of the jugglers game
Nightingale songs were also insane,


Princess had a long cherished dream
Roam the whole world’s scene,
Know about people in and out
She liked different voices and sound,
But alas across the seven seas
Wings and wax were no means,


The princess had a prince also though
He wasn’t near, nor far a bow,
She missed him night and day
Only winters paved their meeting way,
She rejoiced and sparkle whenever he came
Falling snow was their favorite game,


A peasant from the princess native land
Heard about her mesmerizing charms
Some said her hairs were long, as about his own arms,


He sailed across the seven seas
Through rough winds and wild beasts,
Finally reached the distant land
Heard princess palace was near the golden sand,


He was too shy and confused
Didn’t know why he came across the blues,
Went up to the palace and called her name
Guards imprisoned him for royal disdain,
With decision rested in princess hand
Peasant was never asked about his stand,


Poet didn’t know what happened next
People in both countries burnt the text…

Google Maps

I’ve been stuck. I need directions. Couldn’t think of anything and finally managed to blurt this out…

Google maps had become her best friend lately. Every morning after coming to office she will dutifully log on to the website and like the day before would check upon the distance between her soon to be new office and new home.

This was also one of those days, when she was staring at the screen and recounting the number of stations that she’ll now have to cross on her way to work.

“God! How will I do it,” she murmured to herself. She could visualize herself wading through a multitude of crowd that descend from no where and then as the whistle blows...fade into oblivion. The picture that she conjured was more so based on what she had seen on the silver screen rather than by her own experiences.

Cinema surely has played an important role in each of our lives. It has created cities within cities and opinions when there should be none. But this was not cinema, as she often said to herself, there is never a happy ending…there is always a new day, a new task and perhaps a new life…

Charu by no means was a small town girl. She had seen half the world. Brief stint in different continents and she is what would some call as the new-age-Indian-woman. But this time she was scared or may be apprehensive is a better substitute.

Fighting all these thoughts, she turned back to her best friend…the stations were marked with blue spots and the end points with pink. “Perhaps, they’ve also deciphered the colour of the face when you start or end your journey,” she wondered.

Suddenly, her mobile came to life. Name of her soon-to-be-husband sprang on the screen. She had thought of saving it as ‘hubby’ but than decided not to. He was yet to be coached. He was yet distant. She was still in her city.

She picked up the phone and sounded cheerful – “Yes, Mr Ravi. How may I help you?”

“Morning Sun shine. Just thought should wish you a nice day,” he said. From the voices in the background, she could make out he was at some station. “Which?” she thought as her eyes ran over all the blue dots on the screen again.

Charu had already replied to his morning text message and had deleted it disdainfully. She was yet to find the connect, sometimes forcing things make it more difficult, sometimes things need to forced…sometimes things should be left the way they are…million ways…google maps…

“Oh! So what was it that reminded you of me?” she cooed into the phone. Genuine question. Everybody wants to be loved.

“You’re always there on my mind and…..,” he tried to be funny. Being funny is safe..

“Hey Mister…I don’t talk dirty in mornings…,” she sounded like a tease…Like all girls, she loved to be like that but this time it was not for play. She had to do it. He needs to be coached, he was living with parents…he needs a lot of training…

The short conversation ended with those three magical words. The magic was yet to reveal itself…there was hope…there was google maps…

It was dry afternoon and like all days it had been hot. As kids moving to a new place is exciting, sharing a bed is comfortable…here it was different, “or, perhaps, sharing bed..mmm..is not too bad…” she laughed at her own wickedness…yes, there was some of it… little…need to find it…

While the fight between emotions and hormones was to be build, the phone rang again. It was one of her admirers, the one who fell in the race. There were many, some ran, some watched from the sidelines…some were real close…some never had a chance…she didn’t encourage…Charu never liked giving ideas. Food for thought!

“Yes,” she sounded like a damsel in dire straits.

“Nothing, just called. How art thou?” he sounded like Hamlet from Shakespeare. The world was yet to crumble, marriage was some months away…

“Oh Thanks, I was bored…how are you?” she enquired. This conversation was shorter. There was nothing to share. Conversations also need directions and he was yet to discover google maps…he was still unsuccessful!

Trophy Wife

The walls in this house were screaming pride. Or, perhaps it was the owners, who want to silently convey it by adorning the walls. If there is no shame in displaying your success,putting them on walls is possibly the most subtle way to do it.

“So, what’s happening in your life?” she asked abruptly, perhaps the third time during the conversation. They always had less time for small talk, getting straight to the point was the only best part of their acquaintance as colleagues first and later as friends.

But that was some summers ago. Those were the days when he was a struggling with life and she was making noises about living. But what glued them was different, something like a vague sense of demise, as if two people have met during mourning. And hence they spoke less but definite. Acknowledging the loss and hoping to look forward.

He looked at her face, it betrayed happiness. “Well, nothing much. It’s all the same,” he replied. He had repeated himself thrice. He had hoped to find the pain in her words; at least some. The sense of demise was somehow missing.

He mostly kept silent during the conversation. Actually, he was looking for keywords. Sad words, or expressions that point towards a loss. Old habits die hard and he expected them from her even after a gap of almost a decade.

But today she was on a different tangent, talking animatedly about a trip to some off shore location, and on home redecoration plans. How was she going to use her college degree for some good, and on how finally she has started enjoying shopping...

“Does he hang you too?” he finally blurted.

“Excuse Me!!” she sounded visibly hurt.

“No does he? Or you feel proud to be among one of those animated objects?” he continued unfazed...“Sorry, let me rephrase it, do you compete with them?” pointing at the wall.

“Sometimes I do. And yes there are times, I feel proud,” she blurted.

They were now talking. The shadow of death had crept in and words flowed easy.

“Is it good? Sense of achievement?” he drilled.

“Mixed bag. Not really,” she answered.

“And what about leaving footprints,eh?” he probed. Gloom was yet far.

“I removed the tattoo,” she retorted.

Yes, sight of despair, he rejoiced in his heart but managed to keep a straight face.

“So what do you dream of now?” he asked casually. Expecting nothing.

“How to hang there without getting replaced, EVER,” she answered with a firmness in her voice.

The servants had cleared the tea by now. He had to rush. He was still struggling with life and perhaps she was still making noises about living...

Bastard

“You’re a bastard,” she said that again. Perhaps, this time stressed more on the word – bastard – may be her tongue pushed against her teeth a little more. For this time, it sounded distant...erotic and then simply like bastard. Abusing is a funny business, sometimes you just do it for the fun of it, and at times you mean it. I guess here she was trying to manage both.

She looked at me, perhaps, trying to gauge if any sense of guilt has loomed on my face. I remained quiet. In fact, I was thinking how to hide my malnourished frame. I guess I was trying to pull the bed sheet, which somehow got stuck under our state of undress.

It was early morning, more than four hours, when the exchange of limited body fluids would’ve happened. Limited because I knew this was to happen and bought what need to be bought. Anyhow, I had managed to catch a wink and had completely forgotten that I was sleeping next to a unclothed woman.

Believe me; yours truly, have been extremely unlucky in matters such as these and at some point of time was almost going to renunciate the means to genesis. Naturally, I was disappointed with myself when I realised I had wasted such precious time sleeping. But this has always been the case with me and sleep has taken precedence over various important tasks of mine.

Adding to my disappointment was the berating behaviour of my object of desire. And, here i was trying to hide myself both from her gaze and her verbal volleys, shielding my uncovered display of skinniness with the crumpled bed sheet and fighting her barbed remarks with supersonic silence.

“Light up a smoke,” she ordered. I promptly did. I don’t know what possible conversation was apt for the moment. I mean what do you ask – was it good? Or hope you enjoyed! Or can we do it again? Or simply say it was fun – but somehow none of this seemed to be fit, and I kept silent.

As the smell of nicotine burnt my nostrils, I started questioning myself. Did she like it? I guess she did. She even counted my ribs, six of them, the first five were too obvious...gawking out of my sparsely distributed flesh, but the sixth one...she traced it too. Or did she just enjoy it, perversely. You know, the way, people enjoy watching poverty struck children. Slum Dogs, Poverty Tourism.

May be she did. For she compared our wrists, length of my shoulder, bony fingers and the non-availability of flesh around my stomach. But then why we went this far? Did she took pity on me? Pity, that i was deprived. Pity, that am so pitiable or was it some “motherly” instinct that my pities aroused. And as when i tried to dechipher this unnatural behaviour displayed during a natural act, i started feeling that may be, and mind you, dear reader, that may be, she offered her as a mother to a child. And if it was so, it’s a pity.

“Here,” she broke my chain of thoughts, with rings of smoke blown on my face, as she passed on the cigarette. Perched on her elbow, staring at my face, she continued, “You know, you ruined it all for me. I would never be normal. Friends we were. It was so good. “Bastard,” she said that again.

I maintained silence. And sucked on the cigarette bud, which nearly burnt my lips... “You would keep it to yourself, right?” she was looking intently at me, perhaps for an answer. I guess here was my chance to retort. “You won’t?” She asked again. I was trying to think fast. But only managed to utter, “I don’t take myself seriously.”

She stared at me, for a full minute. I stared back. “I can see that,” she said. Pointing towards perhaps my only body organ, where there are some muscles, which were already flexing. I don’t know, at that moment, i tried to look – ashamed, proud, confused or just relaxed – but I remained silent.

Some days back, I saw her with another friend. They looked happy. I smiled, and so did they. As they moved ahead, she turned back. Her lips made a non-audible “bastard”. I smiled. I guess she’s wrong. I’m only unsuccessful...

Bye, Bye Summer

This has been an uneventful summer. Well, I don’t have any data to prove that if the past 26 summers in my life have been exceptional or eventful, but this summer somehow stands out from the previous 26.

People like me need no introduction. And it will be a waste of time, if I go back into history and start narrating that how I became what I’m. But if you look around, you’ll find many people who you can conveniently say – would be like me.

In a nutshell, I’m one of those silent, non-descript, unnoticed guy in your office, who sometimes appear lecherous. I mean if you would’ve been my colleague, you would have not once spoken about me. I’m surely not that important to figure in office gossip and somehow I never am a part of those who gossip.

Before the summer came, many people somehow had left our organization. I never knew, why and I always thought that may be they’re advancing their summer vacations.
Since, I was made to sit just below the air conditioning duct; I somehow forgot to take a vacation. So, every second day, people taking their stuff, walking out from office and I would peep from my desk, watching them and wondering why they leaving so soon.

If you think I’m an idiot like that guy in your office. Hold on. I’m not. I read newspapers, I watch business channels and I surf the web too. I know people are losing their jobs but not in our organization, because my salary always came on time. First day of each month, month by month.

And then came summer. All of a sudden the air conditioning vent died. I heard people complain about it. In fact, I should tell you that it was really funny, the way it died. It made a large sound…like someone taking deep breaths, it whizzed and then it died.

And when it died, the office became alive. I was scared for a while, that may be they’ll notice me and perhaps…ask me something or the other. But they never did and I guess I was the only one, who was happy that the duct died.

I’ve never met my boss. It’s a male name and it’s a window on my computer. He orders through chats and I answer through mails. I don’t know where he sits and when the other day a new window opened on my screen telling me that she is the new boss…I wasn’t surprised. It was all the same…

Yesterday, the window told me to go on a vacation. Well, I thought good for I never took one. I’ve been told that I’m in some virtual pool, which is very good. I’ll get 60% of my salary and I don’t have to come to office. Plus, if I find a new job I can do that too. I’m writing this from home, I bought an air conditioner yesterday. I sit below it all day. As I said this has been an uneventful summer…

Leaders & Voters

This was his second visit to Delhi. But this time it was more colourful than what it was last time. After all there was much to cover, absorb and make-up for what he had missed on last time.

It was a quick tourney in the capital when he was there some five years ago, a shorter version of even those cheap packaged tours, but even with lack of both time and money he had managed to visit...Lal Qila, Kutub Minar, India Gate, Jantar Mantar, Purana Qila, Sansad Bhawan...and what was that last juncture...aah dargah of Nizamuddin.

“Arrey Pankha Babu...you should go to Nizamuddin...the place smell of roses. Roses! And the dargah...aah, Pankha Babu it’s such a beauty....but crowded if you go in afternoon,” he sighed as he recalled his last trip.

Pankha Babu...for whom this was his first visit to the capital was already amazed at the speed and emptiness of this phoenix city.
“What are you thinking Pankha babu?” he asked when Pankha showed no interest in his praise of the dargah.
“Nothing. When do you think the rally will start? he questioned while feeling the emptiness of the large space, located bang in the heart of the otherwise densely populated city.

“Pankha babu you’re very restless. All day I know you’ve been dreaming of that TV madam who came here and took your interview and now all of a sudden you want to be in the rally,” he said and then laughed and patted his back in continuity.
“Arrey nahi nahi...when did i say anything about that madam...you know why we are here,”...and he left the sentence hanging.

Sitting at the party office, it had been six hours. Among the chaos, till now they had made only two acquaintances, the tree under which they were and sitting and the squirrel who came every now and then to feast on peanuts which they had been munching all the way from Tirkitpur.
Back in town, this time, they would not have been alone...especially during elections.

After all they were the renowned and as their peers will say, emoting the style of a television show on absconding criminals, ‘Most Wanted’ singers. Rawat&Pankha Musical was an essential for all rallies in Tirkitpur and villages in and around the district. Some 500kms away they were stars who shine, sing and play.

Rawatji...do girls here wear these perfumes and cinema clothes?” asked Pankha...who in Khan market yesterday, had accidentally brushed against two girls and had to walk the rest of the evening with visible embarrassment in his desi cotton pyjama.

“Pankha babu...Delhi is the capital. Big big personality come here. For these people its normal. Not Tirkitpur kind,” he said.
And as Rawatji was intending to tell him of his exploits, siren sounds filled the compound. The neta had arrived. Leader of the masses. The future of the country. The one to vote for.

Rawatji...lets start....1, 2, 3
And Rawat and pankha started their most renowned song for this particular party....at the peak of their voice. A few faces in the crowd surrounding the leader looked towards them...and so did leader.

The leader took a garland from one of his supporters and walked towards them. The crowd followed. Rawat and Pankha were screaming at the top of their lungs, eulogizing the party, its symbol and the leader. The leader smiled and garlanded both of them. “You’re visionary,” he said and turned towards the hoard of television reporters.

“They are the grassroot people. They know we’ll win. They are visionary and they truly are,” he repeated as he emphasised the point to the good looking female reporter on his left.

As he embraced both of them, Rawat managed to utter, “Netaji, a school in our village. Music teachers. All will sing your praise, please look.”

“Of course, after elections. First thing. Make sure you give your name to my assistant. Ok. Anything else?”
Pankha and Rawatji bowed their head in reverence. They had done the same in 10 party offices in the last two days. After all someone will win.

“Let’s go Pankha babu. Work is done,” said Rawat as the leader moved away and with him the crowd of sycophants, leaders and reporters.
“where will you go now?” asked the leader’s assistant’s, assistant’s, assistant as he diligently noted their names and the village address.

“We’ve to visit some places. This is Pankha Babu’s first trip to capital na,” replied Rawat.
As they moved towards the gate, the assistant’s, assistant’s, assistants asked his assistant.

“Our netaji is great. These guys are blind. And he calls them visionary!”
“Yes sir, visionary he is. Visionary they are and you too sir...you had this vision to understand netaji’s vision,” he affirmed.