Unsuccessfully Yours'

Price-less Joy?

2011-11-28T00:34:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-08T04:56:00.000-08:00

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

2010-09-17T01:29:00.000-07:00

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

2010-03-10T10:55:00.000-08:00

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

2009-08-30T11:55:00.000-07:00

“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

2009-08-07T04:29:00.000-07:00

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

2009-05-11T11:27:00.000-07:00

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.

Quickie

2009-05-06T04:00:00.000-07:00

Wasn't intending, no meaning, plain words, jumbled up....

She says' play with words
search reason to existing none,
invite, entice and excite
each letter missing or spoken;

Shuffle, twist and turn
few in order, most for fun,
strip, part and push
every sequence in the book;

Near when master the art
remember play is only what i asked....

NewS

2009-02-12T06:12:00.000-08:00

There are two things that I would love to escape from, watching news channels and reading newspapers. Or if I can shorten this sentence, I’d say – I want to run away from news.

But this was one of those days, when there was no escape. Sharma called up from nowhere. Funny, that I don’t even remember his first name. Since I’ve known him, I’ve called him and heard of only his last name – Sharma. There may be a million other Sharmas’ in the globe but for me and many others there is only one Sharma. Loser Sharma. Sucker Sharma and now jobless Sharma.

Anyhow, he called from nowhere. I mean it had been weeks and we had supposedly gone underground, since we lost our job. Or Pink slips as pink, white, and blue papers said. Pink slip is a strange shock. Strange because, it’s first rude and then pleasant.

For the first day when you wake up, you suddenly realize that you’ve so much time. You are shocked; you don’t know what to do. No Office, no traffic worries, no Monday blues, No Saturday binges and no more sucking up. It’s like staying clean – if you understand what I mean.

And slowly, you start feeling good about it. It’s like, your lungs breathe in more air, you sleep sound and you suddenly realize that your maid, is actually better than the girl, who perhaps still sit next to your…err…the old cabin where you used to sit. So I stopped recharging my cell (thanks to free incoming), no more cable TV or newspapers, started smoking bidis. But continued with the maid. Besides being good looking she had stories to tell.

This was one of those many days, when I was finally starting to hit off with my maid. My girlfriend had dumped me exactly after a week when I told her, I was not interested in any job. She had tried her best to circulate my CV. I guess we broke, because I told her she can sleep with her boss to get me a job. I thought she was already doing that to save hers and ouch!

Anyhow, Tara (my maid), was telling the story of another maid who ran with her employer and I was lustily looking in her eyes, when phone rang. Sharma, the sucker, who lost his job with me, was calling. Loser, I mumbled to myself as I motioned Tara to stop.

Oye Sharma, aren’t we underground?

“Not me, not anymore,” he chirped

“Oh…you got a job?” I asked disdainfully

“Yes. And they’re paying me 7k plus transport allowance. But this is not why I called you,” he continued

“Ok. So what is it then?” I blurted. Sometimes people can be mean.

“They want another salesman. Preferably MBA, but I told them you are experienced. They’ll take you too. 7k isn’t bad, and then we can share your apartment and your maid,” he said it as a matter of fact.

Lecherous bastard, I thought and then looked at Tara…She was playing with her thumb. Her hair was messed up. Wrapped in a dirty saree, she looked like a goddess from Kamasutra tales. 7k was not worth her.

“Nah…Sharma…I think, I’ll wait. I read in papers yesterday, market will surge and then my stock picks are getting me enough money. I’ve got clients. (I winked to Tara…as I emphasized on clients, I was getting good at lying). She smiled back.

“OK,” loser Sharma grumbled. More than getting me a job, he was interested in my apartment and Tara. Son of a bitch Sharma, sucker Sharma, I mumbled.

“So you got a job friend?” asked Tara. Two days ago we had graduated to address each other as friend; my next step was calling each other by names. By now she had told me about her old mother, and me about my bad girlfriend who left me once I lost my job.

“Nah Ta..Friend. (I was still struggling with not calling her name). He was trying to sell me some insurance,” I replied.

She looked at me, as if I knowing that I lied. “Need to go. Three more houses and I’ve told you about that bitch in second floor. She wants every corner clean, it takes me 2 hours at her place only,” she complained.

“Yeah, carry on with your job. If you get time after you’ve finished, come over, I’ll make you some tea friend,” I said while ushering her out. She turned back and smiled as I eneterd the lift. Needed to buy some bidi packets.

AFTER 15 DAYS

I was smoking the leftover bidis from ashtray. I have not gone out since last 14 days. That was also the day I last saw Tara. There was no money in phone…. I couldn’t have called her. First three days, I thought she was ill. A week later may be severely ill. And today I had lost hope. I raised myself somehow and went to the second floor. The bitch may know, her house would be a garbage dump by now…I laughed to myself as I knocked her door.

“Yes,” a middle-aged lady opened door through a latch.

“Tara…the house maid. She used to come at my place for sweeping….hasn’t come since last two weeks,” I said, while trying to peek inside, as if this old hag has caged my Tara.

“Yes Tara… oh she ran away with a salesman,” she said, closing the door further.

“Salesman?” I put my fingers on the door

“Yeah….Rupa will know better. Did she owe you money?,” and then she turn around and called Rupa…a teenaged girl.

“Jee Memsahab, arrey tell him about that Tara?” the old hag asked the teenaged girl. “That small time maid is a celebrity now, tell him,” she coaxed the girl.

“Sahab, she ran with some salesman. The news even came in a local daily. Some guy who was earlier rich. Someone named S…Sh..,”

“Sharma?” I blurted out.

Yes Sir, the teenage girl recalled with surprise. Some say he was with some big company before.

The old hag was staring me, the teenaged girl was saying something about some TV channel, coming to their wedding planned next week. Tara & Sharma were already a celebrity.

I just happened to miss the news…

Valentine Day Special:

“Fast love in times of slowdown. Recession hit stock broker marries maid”

Economic Times

2008-11-01T12:18:00.000-07:00

I never knew that my fate and that of the world’s economy was so interlinked. I mean being my modest self, I never-ever thought of the co-relation between the two. After all, neither I’m the finance minister of the country nor do I manage any investment (either mine or that of others). Complex things such as derivates were long left behind in college corridors and chemistry labs, and debts were relegated to coins that I sometimes borrow for smoking cigarettes.

So all in all I had no reason what so ever to worry that such an insignificant character like me will be bludgeoned by the grammar of economics - used, distorted and rehashed – at the global platform. For I was living in my small world, fighting the inflation of my own dreams and goals until the day my boss spoke – Melt Down. The explanation of this word looked like a rip off from Paulo Coelho’s Alchemist – the much abused - Universe conspiracy theory.

I was aghast. It had been only two days since my stock had surged. I wasn’t a penny stock before but neither a blue-chip company and I had no reason to fear of sudden boom or crash. I was under the impression that my fundamentals were strong. I was not to be a short-term story. A little slackening of the bull shouldn’t have worried me or those investing in me. Also I was proud that the rating agencies have given AAA+ to me in the last two financial years.

It looked like my boss had just read Harry Potter and was trying to explain me one of the wizardries of Rowling. But my boss being from the land of Amartya Sen (check wiki for Sen’s details) the explanation was much simple. In one sentence - The company was now forced to de-leverage because of the prevailing liquidity crunch in the market.

Thankfully, I was told that still I’ve not been classified as a NPA or simply put bad asset. The boss further explained that only because the situation is so grave (and believe you may, the face of my boss just showed the right expressions) that unfortunately I have been bundled along with others as CDOs or collateral debt obligations. Henceforth, as of now my Boss advised in the personal capacity as a nice boss (yeah, most of us don’t believe but some bosses are nice) that I’m left with two options.

For a moment I was stumped almost like the Australians who don’t have a clue what stance to take on a turning pitch. Before I can mutter something, my boss continued with the two options, which were – first – I can hope against hope that the federal/central government (that’s my super boss) announces a bailout package for mortals like me.

The second option – which smells of a distant future – I better wait and hope for a revival. But as I said, my boss is one of those rare nice boss, the third advise was more genuine – seek out a Private Equity/ Venture Capitalist who can identify or nourish my otherwise now lacklustre, dated and over-rated talent, who shows interest in my valuation and then perhaps either one or the other company may acquire me or force my parent company to revaluate me in new perspective.

Struggling with this heavy overdose of economics and global affairs, I managed to ask, my near term options. The boss face showed no expression. Sentiments, my dear, Sentiments is what the boss echoed.

Dejected, confused, perplexed, annoyed and harrowed I went to a senior colleague, asking for sane advice. The person started with a disclaimer: Views expressed are personal. Well, I said, Go On. I was told that since I have no FII behind me and FDI in my career has been limited, my situation was no better than a Subprime in the US of A. So, I should be happy that I’ve been bundled as CDO, because that would mean that my fate has been now associated with the world economy.

I was told that the Prime lending Rate (PLR) is an all time high, so no organisation will offer me anything. This has been due to high inter-bank overnight lending rate. This simply means the liquidity crunch is here to stay. The rupee further depreciation hasn’t helped my case either because foreign exchange fluctuations have stalled the plans of many. Some people also showed me newspapers and websites, which had only one word - layoff.

I’m now told that there is a plan to infuse more liquidity in the system. This may happen as the global economy settles. Mornings, I watch the markets though I have no interest in the scrips that are traded there. Nights, I hope the bailout package will come soon. Surprisingly this time other people unsuccessfulness made me...

quite A death

2008-09-08T14:41:00.000-07:00

She died quietly. A luxurious death. Such deaths have been rare in the past few days, weeks, months and perhaps years. So, when she died, quietly that is, some of the housewives took the ‘quietness’ as a sign of a good omen. It’s been long here since death was celebrated. Today, it was time, to rejoice, quietly.

Perhaps, she had spoken more words than what were due to her in this lifetime. So in many ways a death, quite quiet, was befitting. Inside those closed doors, where people were more dead than alive, where death was a knock away, where heartbeat danced in hushed smiles of the children, this quiet death slowly but surely gave birth to life.

Life-dead-life-dead--dead-dead-life.
guitarist strumming chords right,
Dead life, life dead, life, life, life
why rain drops fall from the skies?
Dead Amma, dead Amma, quiet, quiet, quiet...
in our land there is no right, right, right..

These six-lines became an anthem. Children use to chant this, while clasping their hands against each other. You miss a line, or clapped with the wrong hand. Out of the game and sit quiet.

Amma would have never liked this game. She was quite bored of being quiet. Right or wrong, she had views. And little she cared, if you liked her or not. Even in those times, which were not very different from today, her voice resonated even over a sonic boom. She could be heard fighting with the plumber, telling him, he has done a shoddy work. Discussing the increased prices with the mason. Yelling at beggars...her voice was heard over two blocks and far.

In afternoon, when husbands were away, housewives around tend to flock to her house. Amma was crude but fun. She would talk of her old days, her husband’s exploits, her son’s debacle, daughter’s marriage, society, milk, honey, gold and...yes, of freedom.

Free that she was. To have an ice-cream. To haggle with the street shopkeeper. Free not being able to talk to her son. Free to sleep alone with moist eyes. Free to raise her voice on insolent children around. Free not to be quiet. Absolute freedom?

It was another black day. There have been many black days. Black flags make it black. Shining bullets then turn it into red. Rain later washes all sins away. Remains can be found if it snows. But Amma was free not to bother about colour black, saffron, white or green. Snow yes, she had voiciferously complained about it. She also had to call her daughter. The roof was already leaking and doors creaking, oil and coil, poor amma need to toil. Oh yes, her dead husband’s pension was also due. Where is the time to be in blue??

Black or white
Amma was always right,
Red or blue
She was so true
Saffron-white-green
It’s a machine

Amma’s son, a software engineer in Hyderabad. He had asked her mom to come over and meet the grand-daughters. She was thinking about this on her way when she started weeping. First the tear-gas was used to disperse, early reports. Amma’s daughter is in New York, a human rights activist, lives in a penthouse. Amma eyes went red, she lost her spectacles. Amma’s son came to know about it three days later.

Her daughter will approach amnesty international. Amma, died of head injury, on spot. Her son came to visit her grave. He promised Rs 5 lakh for azadi. For Amma always lead, they argued. He went back. Guilt free. Promotion was around. Neighbours were happy, quiet deaths are rare. Those which have not been quiet caused more.

But Amma, she died quietly...

Indecent Proposal

2008-08-05T14:00:00.000-07:00

NOTE: The title of this post is dedicated to all my friends who believe that in such uncertain times the only virtue to abide by is “Indecency.”

For the past 26-years, I’ve unfortunately never bothered to check one section of the newspaper. Honestly, now I realise that had I checked the same a decade or two earlier, I’m sure that I would’ve certainly made a sincere attempt in my school and college days towards a better career and who knows would've done better for myself.

I really don’t know whom I should blame for this grave mistake which has somehow gone unnoticed for such a long period. The moment this fact dawned upon me, I was shattered, ego was bruised and any hopes of what some may call – living a normal life – were dashed.

Henceforth, this is my suggestion to all students that please do read the “matrimonial” section of the newspaper for getting enlightened. Your current love interest may sign a blood oath and your lovemeter may defy earth's gravitational power but the ways of the world can only be best understood through matrimonial columns. Glancing through it every weekend, will not only provide the required impetus to strengthen your resolve for giving more hours to productive work but also help you choose a career path in the long run.

I realised this way too late. And that too by a stroke of luck. While sieving through the Sunday newspaper, i tossed away one of these supplements when a familiar surname caught my eye. This window opened a whole new world for me. For the next few hours, I felt like Alice in Wonderland. The only irony here is that this Wonderland is for real and there is no hole through which I can escape.

Anyhow, I checked the profile of this gentleman, who had a familiar surname. Now this 28-year-old, 5’9” tall dude, who is also a programme analyst earning Rs 8 lakh per annum, is looking for a bride. For starters he is almost 2” taller than me, earns twice more than me and is only two-years elder to me. So, all in all this – double figure – in height, salary and age beat me hands down in the bride market.

I tried to calm down myself saying that may be this is one exceptional case. So straight away went to the fifth in row. Here I was pitted against an IIT-D, IIM-A geek. The bastard achieved it all in 27-years flat and is already working in an MNC. Well, most understandably there was no mention of the salary or other physical details. Hell, which girl would ask for that!!

Change the goddamned fucking caste I thought and went to another caste row. Perhaps the problem of casteism in my nation can be best understood through these sections but I guess this was not the time to indulge in trivial details. Here I was, having one of the worst days so far, realising the time that has been lost. Up against my contention was a Major General, 27-years old and a whooping 6’2” above the ground. Respect for the armed forces and instantly I sang the national anthem and moved on to ‘Grooms Wanted’ section.

Check these out and you’ll know, what made me write this post-

Match for Kumaoni Brahmin Girl
25-years-old, 5’4”/ IIM-C/ TOP-IT company, earning Rs 10 Lakh per annum

Match for V.Fair, PB Arora Girl
27/5’5”/ US-based doctor/ Prefb. NRI, Doctor, IIM Grad

After this I didn’t manage to sum up my courage and read forward. Hopes of my happy home, my future wife and kids was crumbling in front of my eyes. And, I realised what a grave error I’ve committed by missing on this – what’s perhaps the most important - section of the newspaper. Anyhow, please let me know if somebody is interested in

26/ 5’7”/ unsuccessful guy/ annual package : empty promises...

Del-Mum

2008-07-05T06:07:00.000-07:00

There is no denying that the past few weeks have been as monotonous as the one before them were. Irrespective of the tourney which took me away from Delhi for four-long days, the nights remained as dark and long, like the one in Delhi are. Sometimes, distances fail miserably. Or otherwise, how can you explain that even at a height of 30,000 feet, I was looking from that glass window, trying to ascertain the beauty of Delhi? In my teens, I use to wonder (and please don’t attribute it to the cinematic realism created by James Cameron) that how would it be, having a berth in the unfaithful Titanic.

I guess, a few years ago, I could’ve thought of myself as a passenger in the unsinkable romanticized wreck but my first sea voyage made me aware that I would better like to die on earth than sea. Perhaps, my fear of water, and which I’m sure must have some scientific name and explanation, always gives me an extra reason to dislike any city, which has a water body near it or in it. And so happened with Mumbai, where I missed my flight after four-days of a not-so-well-planned visit.The biggest difference between Delhi and Mumbai, which I’m told is the professionalism of Mumbaikars and the lethargic, red-tapism of Delhiites.

The ‘Kars’ and "Iites" are a breed of their own. But I don’t want to go into the details. Because, it didn’t bother me. What surprised me was, that even after Delhi being the capital during the Raj, it has maintained a Mughal character of its own, while Mumbai looked like a native wife of a Burra Sahib. Not only in its appearance but also in the lifestyle.I’m sure that this observation is not exclusive to me and would have been noticed by many earlier. But certainly, I guess I could feel it better because of my estranged relationship with Delhi.

If I can place Delhi as a nautch girl, with mannerism and charms, Mumbai will be the bar girl, with a cheap scent and up front on what she wants. Delhi may submit herself and con you to believe that she is all yours, Mumbai will give you the pleasure of your life, but without any sense of attachment. Delhi may take a stroll with you talking poetry, Mumbai will prod you to run faster, discussing the work that needs to be done.
Delhi will wake up in the night and then put her head on your arm, Mumbai may not even take a single turn whole night. Delhi may wake much late than you and you may find yourself watching her face and stroking her hair, Mumbai may be all dressed and ready to leave, when you open your eyes.
Delhi may kiss you a little longer when she leaves but Mumbai can’t be expected to give anything more than a peck on your cheeks.

This doesn’t mean you can’t love Mumbai, or she can’t love anyone. But to fall in love with Delhi, you’ve to be unsuccessful, because Delhi may still love an unsuccessful person, Mumbai won’t. And so my journey continues....

Name-sake

2008-05-28T13:39:00.000-07:00

The whole village knows that their headman wasn't able to find the right word for this new-born. It did surprise many because the headman always had a word for everyone, and he made a point to check and confirm it. Ruffling through the half-torn, yellowed pages of his pocket size dictionary where words crawled like ants, he would mutter something first and then say it aloud. Some years ago, one of the villagers who happened to make a living for himself in the city had gifted him a magnifying glass, as his eyesight was going weak. But this time even that didn't help him to find the right word for this new soul.

So, while others had names, with which they were known and called, this human flesh then weighing 1-kg was not given any name. There were rumours that going by his weight, most people including the headman thought that this boy won't survive and perhaps that's why, the headman didn't bother to make a serious effort. After all, how can one who has all the words with him and a magnifying glass too, fall short of one word? This theory also gained ground, when the next day another woman delivered a healthy female and the headman, gave her parents two names to choose from. But he never bothered to check his dictionary again for a day-old somewhat famished boy.

Some years ago, that is quite a few days after the headman died and passed his legacy to the next in number, this guy who by now well understood the importance of names, tried his luck with the new headman. But to his surprise, the new one refused him, point blank. His argument was that he wanted to carry the legacy of the previous headman as the earlier one had also done the same. And in no case legacy can be toyed with unimportant issues such as name.

After this incident, this guy who had till now seen almost 18 years of monsoon and five floods never attempted again to ask for a name. Being nameless was fun and he realised that. He had his point because villagers quite a few number of times complained that he doesn't respect them or bother when they call him. But not having any name worked to his advantage as he defended saying, how will he know whether they were calling him or someone else? And hence, the headman who had already shown his inclination towards maintaining a legacy turned a deaf-ear to the villagers.

There were even attempts by a few young guys to rebel against their parents if they were called by their name. It looked that being nameless was in-vogue at least in that village. However, after some time, these self-styled nameless people started feeling that they were neglected by their parents and relatives for unlike him they were used to being called by their names. Hence there remained one person in that village who didn't have a name.

Name or no name, this guy had dreams like his peers. While, all of them received love notes addressed to them from other belles of the village, he never received one. This was his major concern for a very long time and it was only when he desperately wanted a name. To his surprise, these love birds gave new names to their love interest when they already had one. This made him realise that people have a habit of wasting everything including names.

So when the government official who was posted to this village, to build a new school and renovate the old dam, decided to completely break down the school, this guy disagreed. According to him it was a complete waste of existing resources. The official though then chided this naive young villager but later realised that what he was saying was also true to some extent and he decided to hire this guy as local support. The only problem was that if he has to hire him, he has to put his name on the government register, showing that he was hired and paid.

When the official discussed this with the headman and told him that they can assign him a number if not a name, the headman refused, to the extent that neither the dam nor the school will be built if they assign a name or number to him. Finally it was decided that instead of him, the headman's name will surface on the government's register, while the payment will be made to him.

It was the 20th monsoon of his life and it appeared that will also be sixth flood that he is to witness. The dam was finally constructed and was to be inaugurated by scion of a well-known name as it was to be named on the surname that he and his family have inherited.

The official was concerned as big names were coming along and he don't want his name to drown. So as an extra precaution, a night before, he sent him to check the northern end of the dam.

Next day, the inauguration went as usual except the name issue. The papers in the city were selling like hot cakes as everyone wanted to know that why the scion had decided not to name that dam.

The report read like this:

The well-known name of the country's political party, whose family is a known name, when it comes to giving credit to other names, has set up a new benchmark. This happened in a village where a dam was to be inaugurated. It came to picture that a night before, there was a surge in the northern end of the river. A young 20-year-old man, who was guarding that area used his presence of mind to close the fusegates. He, however was unfortunate to get an electric shock in the process. Till last reports came in, his body was brought to the city hospital and his name was yet to be verified.

The leader, who came to know of this just before the inauguration immediately decided not to name the dam unless the name of this courageous person is known. A government official who wished to remain unnamed, confirmed that the headman and the government official in the village were taken into police custody. It is believed that both were involved in some corruption regarding fudging names on the government's register.
One of the scientist explained that fusegates allow to increase the normal pool of the dam without compromising the security of the dam because they are designed to be gradually evacuated for exceptional events. And had not this unidentified person closed them it could have turned into a major disaster.

...Of breasts and mangoes!

2008-05-13T10:36:00.000-07:00

So on that summit, and in drifts unrolled
Of glistening hair, around so thickly pressed
The slopes with fruiting mangoes, it will seem
To heavenly couples passing earth's own breast,
The dark surrounded by the palest gold,"
.... from Mehgdoot, by Kalidasa

You can call me names, attach Freudian theories and convince yourself that right now you’re reading a post of a lecherous guy, who has nothing better to do rather than rattle this insane stuff, which smells of being overtly frustrated. I’ll nor question your views neither provide for an explanation. I always feel, a blog is a place to write what you want to express and howsoever moronic this may read but I really wanted to explore this...

Mangoes are a delicacy that no one at least in the sub-continent can resist. They come in different forms and their prices also touch a different height as the summer season peaks. But right from your childhood the temptation to eat mangoes is irresistible. Mangoes has been compared with women breasts by a lot of authors and poets. The fruit has the same temptation, as the vital part of female anatomy has. Both have made an impression on the male psychology to such an extent that it is undeniable that one can go to any extent to savour either of the two....

Dasheri from Uttar Pradesh
This is a small mango, which you don’t need to cut into slices. It’s like a young woman’s breasts, small yet captivating. The connoisseurs of this variety prefer to suck the fruit. It’s neither big nor small. The areola is visible and yet not too stark. You can hold it within your palm and slowly press/squeeze it. Once you put your mouth over it, your tongue slowly suckles the sweetness. It’s freshness and aroma may drive you crazy. If you want divinity, try this. It’s your gateway to heaven.

Langra from Varansai
This has a lot of flesh. Like the big breasted women. It’s big in size and you can feel its firmness. The surface area is more and it may not fit in your palm.The moment you move your fingertips, you understand that this is quite ripe. The black tip is prominent and often it has a sour taste. Generally, you need to cut it into pieces and relish it slowly. But if you’re game, you can straightaway flick your tongue over the areola and enjoy the sour taste before sweetness flows in. This will bring all your fantasy’s true. Hold it to believe it and suck it to enjoy the infinite pleasure.

Bombai from Bihar
Now I haven’t had much of this variety. So I called one of my friends. Hence this description is based on what we two think of the same. It’s like that you see a woman with full round breasts, but when you get to feel her assets you realise that she is wearing a padded bra. The fruit has a golden yellow colour and is tempting. On the surface, you may feel tempted to hold it between your palms and derive pleasure by slowly pressing and savouring the taste. But once you do that, you may feel cheated.

Alphonso from Maharashtra
This requires no introduction. It’s firm, round and with a slight arch. It’s the sweetest of all the mangoes. It’s like a women’s breast which is slightly pointed and lifted, around 2-3 centimetres. You can move your finger over it and trace the curve and the flesh. This variety is very costly but a delight if you can lay your hands on. The best way to ravish it is, first slowly suck the areola and bite of the skin and then peel it of. Slowly press it for maximum pleasure.

Then there are other varieties such as Chausa, Maladh, Zard Aaloo, Jahangir, Safeda Mallihabadi, Dil Pasand, Husan Aara, Nazuk Pasand, Kishan Bhog, Neelam, Khudadad, Hamlet, Tota Pari, Nishati, Zafrani, Sinduri, Khatta Meetha, Barah Mas which are also available. They all have a special quality such as relishing Zard gives you a slight high. You tend to suck even the seed as your saliva wets your mouth.
But I believe that one should not openly ogle at these divine things. If you’re lucky you can savour it with your tongue, otherwise just look at them and capture their image into your eyes.

Or like once Ghalib did, when he was strolling with, Bahadur Shah Zafar, in the royal gardens. Gazing at the beautiful ripe mangoes on the trees, Ghalib recited :

"Bar sar-e-har daanah ba-navishtah iyaan
Ka-een falaan, ibn-e-falaan, ibn-e-falaan"

(On every grain is clearly written the name of the person it is meant for and I am looking for the mangoes bearing my name and those of my father and grandfather.)

Well, I hope i don't need to tell you what Zafar then did.....

Will you marry me?

2008-04-29T13:31:00.000-07:00

So finally N got married. Now from the trio of DNZ, N is a married man. I’ve known Z and N for now 8-long years. I still remember the first night in the college hostel, when I slept next to N and he was narrating to me how he failed in the army exam thrice and how his dreams were smashed. We talked about our families, our singlehood, future plans and then slept with dreams in our eyes that after we’ll pass out from here, we’ll be doing what we are destined to.

That wasn’t the only time we had conversation on life, family, girls, sex, future, in these eight-long years we had similar discussions in various places and situations but somehow that first night is still very vivid in my memory. So when he was standing there, waiting for his bride to come, I was thinking about that night. Thinking that maybe he’ll have the same discussion with her wife after doing whatever required.

Sitting next to me was Z, who was also lost in dreams. He later told me that he was thinking that when he’ll get married and how it will be. I was amused at this thought, because I then realised that one of these days, I’ll too get married. Back in the hotel room, I told Z the possible reason why I can’t get married in the coming two-years at least. First and foremost no girlfriend!

Well, to be honest I was thinking about this when we were on our way to Lucknow to attend the marriage. Actually, I placed two girls with whom I was once in deeply love with and thought of my life ahead with them. Much to my amusement, life with both of them would have been a completely different scenario. But then like the train journey, I was one of the stations in their life, not the first neither the last.

My only regret during the marriage was that I couldn’t dance. I was nursing a broken bone, so didn’t take chances. Read somewhere before that smoking leads to brittle bones, so didn’t risk dancing just sat in a corner and smoked.

Attending this marriage was very special. Not only because it was N’s marriage but more so because I was attending one after a very long time. So it did a lot to allay my fears on the marriage ceremonies and the kind of stress it involves.

Finally, when we’re leaving, I met his wife. She was nervous. N was happy, I could see the broad grin. He was looking good in his olive green army uniform. They’re leaving for Darjeeling on a honeymoon in two-days. As we bid them farewell, and the car took the turn, Z light up a cigarette and said

“Who’s next D?”

I grinned. “Don’t know. I’m still looking for one.”

“D, how much do you think we need to earn before we get married.....”

I know this discussion will go on and on....from job to our ex-girlfriends, Z’s problem with A, about his new Jaipur girl, my obsession with being unsuccessful...and perhaps when we three next meet, we’ll have some more dimension added to it.

And perhaps then, I’ll have something new to add....

P.S – Will post pictures as and when N sends them across...

Loser

2008-04-21T09:14:00.000-07:00

There is no definitive answer to a number of queries which are exploding in my head. I wish I can list them down and answer them one by one. But unfortunately even doing that won’t solve my purpose because each passing day they become more complex. I don’t know how I will emerge out of it. Started thinking and managed to come up with this....

LOSER...

Shodam-e’- waqt, ya waqt-e’-shodam (LOST IN TIME, or TIME LOST)

I don’t know when I wrote this or why I wrote this. It’s like skeletons inside my head. I mean you may laugh at this thought. No issues. These days everyone does the same, even the city laughs at me, in fact it mocks me but what I am saying is also trueI - I can’t sleep at night. And that’s why I’m like this. I’m trying to forget everything by all means. I don’t want to lose a single moment. I have lost enough.

So, if last week I arranged for a tussle between two mad elephants, yesterday it was an orgy night, today I haven’t thought of it but perhaps a dance competition may be an apt thing. I’ve been blessed by the merciful god with two nimble feet and I can outdo anyone when it comes to dancing but that’s history now. These days I don’t dance. In fact nobody dance these days unless they are forced to. This city has lost its pulse. It now acts only when it’s forced and the same stands true for its natives. We all are losers.

You may have heard of losers, there are many examples, right from the holy Quran to the folklores of the infidels. These days I have taken a fancy for astrologers and dervishes. What an irony, a loser like me is resorting to fortune tellers. Inside the Red Fort, I’ve heard that people sometimes pay a coin or more to these idiots and ask their fortune as well. I’ll be honest with you. I know there is nothing left for me. I know everything is lost and the worst is yet to come. But I see those fortune tellers because they give me false hope; they say that I’ll not be counted as a loser. All Losers looking for that elusive hope...

I have lost the Peacock Throne. I have lost the Kohinoor. I have lost faith of my people. Nadir Shah raped this city. I stood there, looked at her clothes being shredded, her lips mauled, thighs spread and being mounted upon. I wept. Yes I wept, bitterly. But I didn’t do anything. I just stood. This was when they coined me loser. Muhammad Shah, the Emperor of Hindustan, the son of the Timurids, the king who was known as “Rangeela” lost everything.

From that day we decided we’ll try to forget this, avenge this shame. We can’t go to Iran, Nadir has a strong army. Can’t wage a war or make Delhi a virgin again. So we decided to celebrate her shame. Make her popular, just like a saucy, sexy belle and we did achieve that. Now historians may say my rule was full of debauchery and illegitimacy but will they realise why I did it? I wanted to sleep. And all of us in this city know that we’re losers. Just that we are not sure whether it was time lost or it should be lost in time.

Shodam-e’- waqt, ya waqt-e’-shodam

This was written by Muhammad Shah, also known as Roshan Akhtar and popularly called ‘Rangeela’. Nadir Shah looted Delhi during his regime. Not only he lost the popular Peacock Throne to him but also the famous Kohinoor Diamond. Rangeela died 9-years after the invasion of Delhi. You can google for more details of his interesting rule.

Region

2008-03-01T14:32:00.002-08:00

If not for my nose, I wouldn’t have ever noticed this man. Not because I was carrying the latest magazine, I had a ticket or i was thinking about the journey, actually it was midnight and somehow in my country midnight is always associated with freedom and chaos. And, right now I wanted to exercise the first and avoid the later. Ok, let me put it very honestly, amidst this chaos, I was trying to find ‘my light of the nation.’ After all I needed a spark to part with a few seconds of my life. Freedom takes life!

So be it and little I care. Right now, all I needed was a matchbox. Plain and Simple. Humming “while my guitar gently weeps,” I was trying to rationalise the closure of the shops at such an important hour, which once upon a time ushered the fathers, forefathers of now a Billion-plus people into a new era. Blame it on Macaulay, but for a good part of my life, I’ve been trained like a parrot, with only difference that my low-paying job, no social-life and lack of in-vogue six-pack abs have made me a bit erratic.

But if there is hell, heaven is not far. And my nose didn’t let me down. So, in long of short, or may be short of long, this is how I met or was forced to go to this man.

“Do you have a matchbox?” I asked, though he was smoking and asking this was stupid.
“Yes,” he offered me one.
As the sweet pungent nicotine struck a chord with my heart, I felt my spirit lifting. “The Sultan of Swings,” I thought.

“Thanks. I badly needed one,” I smiled
“You too are running,” he inquired making a statement.

For a moment I thought he is some character, in worse condition then mine and this is supposedly a philosophical question, to challenge my intellectual quotient.

“Aren’t we all running?” I promptly question-answered!
He laughed and retorted – “Isn’t it simple to say this?”

I shrugged my shoulders. This discussion was going nowhere. Just like the debate on unimportant issues such as who should get more water, power and tower. I had more task at hands and things to ponder upon – like how to get my pre-paid ‘stay connected,’ or better ask my good-looking, next cabin colleague to go to bed with me. The wish-list was long and thought of getting close to her again, raised my hair and a few more things. ‘Black Magic Woman,’ mumbled my lips.

But he didn’t notice that and much to my disappointment and as is generally the case took non-responsiveness as a sign of encouragement.

“So what are you running from?”
“Hmm...A lot of things, work, life and in a few seconds, you,” I smiled again. Hit it with a caress that has been my motto.
He laughed, coughed, spat some phlegm and cleared his throat.
“I’m not chasing you, even I’m running,” he made another statement.
“Can’t you chase and run simultaneously?” here comes a googly from my highest bid player.
He stared back at me. “I guess you can, but I can’t,” he replied

Now this was certainly going nowhere. No sledging, no walk-outs, no protests, no bombings, no axis of evil and this person is ready to accept defeat. I pounced upon the chance to draw the curtains.

“So, I wish you good luck on your run and I should take an escape,” I quickly put my thoughts into words.
“You’re lucky, you can, but they never had a chance,” he waived me off with a causal gesture and an unusual remark.

I looked at my cell. I don’t wear a watch. Don’t ask me the reason. I won’t tell. I’m still in a mood to run away from personal queries. I still had time.

“And who were they?” I asked more out of empathy than interest
“My wife and my daughter. They killed them, into pieces. I don’t know if they raped them too. My daughter was young. 7...no...7 years and two months old to be precise. They can’t have raped her?” this was his third question till now.

I felt like a contestant in ‘who wants to be the poorest,’ reality show. The only difference was I had no options to choose from.

He gave me a life-line and continued; “You see, I was born in a small region, schooled in a different one, did engineering from a regional college, MBA from another, worked as regional manager, married another region girl, our daughter was born in another region and they killed them because we were not regional. Weren’t there enough regions?”

The cigarette burnt my finger as I recovered from a trance. His regions were all right. I heard a honk, the bus had arrived. And his first statement-question was right - I WAS RUNNING.

Sex, me and Bapu

2008-02-04T02:46:00.000-08:00

Once again I have nothing new to add. There is a lot of work, which can surely keep me busy but often I find myself avoiding it. The net result is that I am left with nothing but to think.
In some other case, "thinking" could have been a constructive process. But for me it makes me feel more depressed. Now that I can’t visualise any good future or so, I keep going back to things and people, which could have gone my way and be with me.

A lot of this self-doubtedness, depression, frustration or whatever you may like to name it can be attributed to a sex-starved life. I don’t know if it would be of any help but the idea of utilising someone’s service for money is repulsive. Porn after sometime also becomes inefficient and more or less you know what’s coming your way. In fact, it becomes so mundane that it leads to abstinence.

I don’t know for how long this has been so but I can recall that for the past few months I’ve resisted the desire to exercise my only limited option. So what to do now? Go the book fair, ask a male colleague for a coffee (asking female colleagues is not worth spending your time and money because nothing ever happens and you end up talking only about office) or perhaps visit your relatives.

But when you are alone and you know you can’t sleep till early morning, night after night, it becomes a malignant tumour. Spreading right form your reproductive organ to your productive organ!

Henceforth, after a much self-debate and think aloud about some people, who I know will never-ever read this, I decided to read "My Experiments with Truth(MEWT)". Ok, hold your guns, before you jump to any conclusion, let me clarify — I am neither a Gandhian nor I make any claims to understand, degrade or justify what he did.

The sole reason of picking MEWT was to understand how can I tackle my "sexual inefficiency," in a constructive manner. Pages after Pages, I read the Great Mahatma’s (as he is called, Bapu) views on bachelorhood, self-restraint and why he thinks so low of the most necessary function in human existence. Now that I am reading the book in a new perspective, I am getting enlightened. People have raised questions on his behaviour, who cares — guess they weren’t getting to mate enough!

But what good will this do to me? Will I become another Gandhi, Bapu or another leader...I have no idea. All I know, I am 25...will turn 26 in next three months...I’m still alone and sex starved...typing this...trying to make sense out of it...and ending unsuccessful in a city, which I love till date....how unsuccessful!

Start - 101

2008-01-10T04:58:00.000-08:00

There are few burning issues which I can write upon. However being a pragmatic all my life coupled with the onus of burdening unsuccessfulness, I’ll leave that for intelligent, intellectual masses. I’m a firm believer that unlike in some golden age, today intelligentsia is not constituted or elected from a chosen few. Simply put, nowadays everyone is a feudal lord in these realms. That’s why its not surprising that you find everyone and anyone giving a discourse on sports, stocks, sex, sensex , so forth and so on.

Since I don’t lean leftwards or right, nor I can walk straight neither bended, I’ve my home-made twisted, unformatted and biased views. Fortunately enough, they are generally reserved for my own consumption. This approach though desirable often leaves you boxed. So, if you’re such a kind and happen to join your boss and colleagues, who are discussing, debating, sharing and nodding on to views expressed upon the auto, finance, FMCG, political or sports arena, then be rest assured that your valuation may touch a new low.

Now that you're already grounded, being a silent spectator can add to your woes. Even if you dare roll your tongue, special emphasis is to be put on the kind of words that you may use. If you’re not choosy with your vocabulary it may further undermine your supposed potential. Though jargons, tongue-twisters, archaic language and codes are universally accepted and admired. Language barriers put aside, if you’re working for a multinational then it may be so that the Human Resource department will select you as a case-in-point for the need of effective corporate communication training.

Needles to say that this may also affect your personal life. Lack of recognition at work place compounded with the adversity to 'talk-in' to a girl’s mind and heart through your simple, inane and wayward quippings may ultimately confirm your unfounded fears of being "socially rejected." As many examples have proven beyond any doubt that any female specie in today’s professional, well marketed, advertised world will demean you for the lack of prowess to quote Kafka, Shakes&Pear, Camu, Milton or Bloomberg and Reuters. This is a must-required qualification in your otherwise loosely pieced CV. Without these credentials it's almost impossible to hold an intelligent conversation. This may diminish any chances of yours to find your way to to someone’s heart or bed! (DISCLAIMER: If you look like a model or you earn in eight figures you can discard this statement)

So what’s the point in talking about my inefficiencies? Well, this New Year, I started on a semi-religious note. Though, my reverence was killed by commercialism. My wishes were dashed by silence and I really cant find anything worthy to comment after the change of calendar. Well, this is the face of being unsuccessful, for the spirit — "Thou shall live by humour."

Grandma and D

2007-12-18T10:36:00.000-08:00

She is sitting in front of me, recounting her old days, telling me how her husband gave money to everyone whenever required, how they brought their nephew to Delhi whose kids are now a doctor and an engineer. How now no one visits her because she is old, and how tomorrow I have to go with her to the nearest shop and get the repair done for the washing machine. Life with my grandma is exciting. Now that she and I get to meet over dinner, because its winters and I try to be home early, we’ve been talking. Ok...I have been listening. And now she is telling me that how she tries to lure the cat so that it can kill the rats which are a menace!

Sundays, she and I watch Hollywood movies...Mission Impossible III, United 73, The Mummy, Mummy Returns, Independence Day, Spiderman...we’ve watched them together. She is amazed at their stunts and though I’ve to translate the dialogues for her...it is worth attempting that.

What else? Life is moving at its snail pace. And am trying to find solace among work, work and some more work. Not that it has increased my productivity, or as if I care about it. But for sure, it has kept my mind engaged, which is desirable.

A friend of mine told me about Lord Byron, fancied myself as if reading his mind and this came out:

Thy touch and I smiled
pressed and moaned,
Rubbing against my lips
spark on roll,
Hilt yet not close
her smell and pose,
Spaced between my fingers
both entwine
raging debate, life serene or she divine?

Winter...

2007-12-03T00:38:00.000-08:00

Winters are here. I absolutely detest them. They make you feel gloomy. In my country they also remind you of your social responsibility. Come January end and there will be news flashes about how many people died due to the mercury dip. Writing this on my laptop, secured inside the four-walls of my home doesn't bring me any closer to the harsh reality. And unsuccessful that I'm, makes me aware that practically there is not much I can do about it. So what to do? Can't cut on my nicotine sticks and buy blankets for the needy. Also, can't be a revolutionary and walk to a polo ground with playcards and shout slogans against the who's who of society and remind them of their social responsibility.

Contemplating these romantic ideas my feet start feeling cold, I snuggle inside the quilt and start dreaming....can't dream of any real things....it would be just like thinking of going to the polo ground...so I start dreaming as if I'm a noble. A noble in the Mughal Era. The noble who don't have much money to spend but thinks highly of his intellect. A noble whose only source of income is what his father left for him. A noble who is single, lonely in the majestic city of ....

START

Today was no different than any other day except that I went to Mirza's house. He was also bored and felt like dying. The moment I entered, he welcomed with a couplet:

"In distress you seek my company; little realising company is source of agony,"

Mirza believes he is a great poet. And his verses have a sharp sting.More less than often, I completely miss the sting. But Mirza keeps you in good humour and that's why whenever I don't want to be with myself, I just walk down to his house. Mirza was not in the best of his moods today. His muse, the famous courtesan of Chandni Chowk has caught cold and he is afraid that if he goes there, he will also catch it.

But lust is like a spasm, which hits you in the right places. Anyhow, we both decided to take a walk in the Meena bazaar. Such walks which I half-heartedly undertake are mostly limited to appreciating and aspiring for things – both beauty and its holders.

Mirza is a little bit more proactive than me. He makes a point to meet all the known faces, hoping against hope that perhaps his luck may smile on him and his visits to Chandni Chowk come to an end. Most of the time, I try to ascertain why a particular girl is walking with a guy, how is their relationship, why are they attracted to each other and also about the family background of the people. It's a funactivity.

Mirza and I were lucky enough to be invited for tomorrow's big poets meet. These kinds of activities have seen a surge since the King is in Agra. I heard he is busy building a mausoleum for his beloved queen, who died during childbirth. I am unsure why not here, can any city be more beautiful than this city. I have not been to many places, but of whatever these two eyes have seen nothing can be compared to the beauty of this heaven.

Mirza is hopeful that tomorrow he will get to recite his verses and this is his only chance. Perhaps that made us to cut our small outing short and return to his place. Mirza has a good stock of wine, and he is more aware of my state of penury than anyone else. So I'm liberal with eating and of course drinking to my heart's content at his abode. As wine touched my lips, he came with another of his one-liners:

"I don't drink because I miss her; I drink so that I get reminded of her"

Well, I guess Mirza's muse can be cured of her cold after having some good wine but Mirza, his condition only deteriorates after having a few glasses. Before Mirza can come-up with another of his famous verse. I decided to call it an evening, in fact I was feeling heady and a good walk back home was the only thing on my mind.

It was dark and foggy. I couldn't see even my own hand. But somehow I was walking, choosing lanes by instinct and moving among the barking dogs, who sounded like demons. It was the fourth lane, where I stumbled. A feeble cry and I realised it was some old lady who must have been hurt. I profusely apologised and asked if I could be of anyhelp. Her quivering voice resonated in that dense fog as she clutched my overcoat and said:

"It's not the fog outside which blinds you; it's your soul which needs warmth"

Enigma

2007-11-26T06:43:00.000-08:00

I can’t start...there is nothing that attracts me to the hilt that I open my computer and start molesting the keyboard. The orgasm of jotting it down on a paper has been lost. Whatever I write today or that I’ve been writing upon doesn’t make any sense — at least this is what I’ve started feeling.
But, there is something that urges me to mount again and slowly but painfully get that erection. I look around. I try to find peace and salvation in faces, memories and events. And somehow they’ve been abound. But there has been nothing amongst this crowd that has been pulsating enough to massage my lost sense of pain. I want that wound to remain evergreen, slowly draining out any sense of pleasure that I may derive from any worldly thing.
It is not the existence which oppresses me, the will to keep this lean body moving is the real pain that hounds me day and night. I don’t know to what extent a person can carry his own burden of an unsuccessful past and probably a more unsuccessful future. But as the same time I’m surprised at the energy which I feel that pushes me to get out of the self-created black hole.
There is no end in sight. But again, I know the end. And this is what which enrages me and tempts me to revolt. But revolt against whom and what? Isn’t this a self-created dungeon, where ants are slowly crawling at my ankle. I know they are moving up. I can feel the sensations. But I still grip the dead soil to climb-up and out of this slippery ground.
I can keep on writing. List down what affects me. Put into perspective, the art of self-annihilation. But how will it matter? Will that change anything? And if not....then shouldn’t I stay buried...unsuccessfully?

Self-destruction

2007-10-29T01:40:00.000-07:00

Nothing new to add. Feel like lost. I still miss you...

Time-less-Ness

2007-09-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

Waqt ki lash kuch yuhin padi hui hai
aur lamhe baithe hua ro rahe hein,
Har koi gumnam sa

aur ek ajeeb si talash hai,
Na raat ka andehra, na din ka ujala
na sannata, na shor

Maut or zindagi ke beech, ajeeb se kasmekash
fikr charon tarf, madhoshi ka aalam bhi
Har koi kuch chahta sa
phir ek ajeeb sa darr, kuch khona ka,

Haarna mein bhi nahi chahte
lekin darta houn, khona nahi chate khud ko
ya shyaad dhoond hi nahi paya houn,

Aur phir, waqt ki lash bhi kuch yuhin padi hai
lame baithe hua na jaane kyon ro rahe hein.......

(The corpse of time is lying somewhere
And moments are wailing,
Everyone is anonymous
And some strange search is on,
Neither the darkness of night, nor the light of morning
neither silence nor any sound

A strange tussle between life and death
concern and celebrations
Everyone desiring for something
and then the fear of losing it all

Even I don’t want to lose
But I fear losing myself
Perhaps I haven’t found my call,

And, then the corpse of time is lying somewhere
Why the moments are wailing?)

Goal Posts

2007-08-29T09:44:00.000-07:00

Just came after watching the final of the Nehru Cup. Indian won 1-0. If I would’ve been a sports journalist I guess I would have to write about the match. But since am not, I can talk of the game without worrying much about facts. Anyhow this is not about soccer.

The past few days have been more or less the same. Living a monotonous life is a cursed blessing. I don’t know if there is any extra time in life as well. One of my colleagues is off to Leh, he is covering the whole distance on a motorcycle. Perhaps, I feel that is some extra time. Whatever, its too complicated.

I am facing some strange kind of allergy these days, which gets compounded by the fact that I don’t sleep till wee hours of the next day. I finished two books. And I thought. I talked too but I slept little. Someone told me this is insomnia, which will aggravate as I grow old. In fact I will age early. I think its like being shown a yellow card. I fear an early exit. But I don’t know if I’ve good reasons to stay in.

I live with my grandma. She moved in her house some months ago. I felt a bit uneasy at start. But since it’s her home and to stay on rent is expensive, I agreed. She has two topics — Why her son left her and went to foreign shores? And, about her husband —My Grandpa. He died some four years ago. Grandma and me don’t talk much. I come late, she is sleeping by that time. We share a strange unsaid relationship. Am I being mean? Should I be given a red card?

To philosophize is easy. To put logic in life is easier. And, really living life by rules is impossible. I guess I need to wait. Wait for things to happen. I can’t blame anyone. We all need to win. Fouls are a part of life. There are no referees. And if there are — Where is my penalty kick?

At last, I wish three things. Yesterday, was ‘Shab-e-barat’, my friend told me it’s kind of a beginning of a new year. Time to start new projects. So I wish three things and I will be mean, very very mean
1. I want to be at peace with myself
2. I want if I put efforts they should bear fruits
3. I want to be Calvin of ‘Clavin and Hobbes’, but I desperately need a Hobbes

Goal.......................

Simply Unsuccessful

2007-08-16T07:24:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I made a mistake. I don't know if I should have shown my concern. I don't know what the others will think of me. I don't know if it further depreciates my value. I care about it all but I felt like going and asking - "Is everything alright?" I felt like texting - "Cheer up." And so I did.
I know I will be treated as dirt. I know it won't matter. I know the hostility will creep in. I also know at that very moment I felt miserable because I know even if I want, I'll not be allowed to make you feel better. I don't want to carry the baggage and in some ways I do. Perhaps, I just don't want to see those tears, somewhere, it hurts. It really does. But I know I'm unsuccessful and once again like all times I hate to be one.....

Zinda Peer - Alamgir

2007-08-06T05:34:00.000-07:00

Now that I’ve stopped myself from writing about Delhi, inadvertently I’ve also stopped looking at the city from a lover’s perspective. For some days, I thought and pondered about it, exactly like one does after a break-of but sooner than later I got over with it. Now, Delhi for me is a city for which I have little emotions left. To say, I am over with it would be a lie but yes, I don’t bother myself to look beyond what is visible. I think of her, wishing every night that may be for once she may think about me but then these thoughts go off once I close my eyes. For the truth dawns upon me like a lightning.

This reminds me of Aurangzeb, who ruled for around half-a-century over India or then as it was called ‘Hindustan.’ For a brief history you can read about him on Wikipedia or simply google it out but I’m writing from his perspective. It was said that the Alamgir (as he was called) was staunch Islamist, unlike his predecessors and he ruled with an iron-hand. He removed all the musicians from the court for he believed that music was prohibited in Islam. It was also said that he was against Hindus and so on. I don’t want to debate it all. Somehow or the other since my childhood, I have taken a fancy for his style and this is what I think must have gone in ‘Zinda Peer’ mind when he was in Delhi, back from a battle in South...

START......

It’s raining again. Delhi is not a great city to live in. After showers there is some kind of strange smell that emanates from the soil. I don’t take a fancy for it unlike some of the great poets. And their verses are too difficult to comprehend. I don’t know why they keep looking beyond what one can see and then their supporters debate the different meanings out of it. Though, I’ve strictly enforced that these kinds of meetings shouldn’t be held but I’ve been told that even some of my close royals indulge in it. Anyhow, since that doesn’t falls under my realm so I better not talk about it.

I know that the war weariness is slowly creeping inside our bones but on the surface I remain as hard as I can. Coming to Delhi is no relief. It’s a subtle war out here. Conspirators, flatterers, bootlickers, kitschy and a string of such people reside here, who make your brief stay more arduous. At least in war you know who your enemy is, in Delhi all such irritants roam in disguise of friends and that’s why we hate this city even more.

The air here is filled with some kind of uneasiness. I don’t know how our father thought of building a red tomb here, where we now abode. He always took fancy for nuisances. Taj is another of such examples. The only relief that I get is while knitting caps, it’s such a novel act. When your tongue recites the name of ‘Allah’ and your hands works for his cause. I believe it’s an act of purification, which takes away all my sins. I know life is too short and we’re not here for being a part in the annals of history. I’m here to fulfil a cause for which I’ve been sent by the most merciful.

Yesterday, on my way from the Moti Masjid (the best contribution from any Mughal to this city of profligacy and lavishness. It is the most humble yet outstanding tribute paid to the almighty) we met a soothsayer. He was talking something incoherent. He was confused in his head, he told our days are numbered and ridiculed our ‘Fatawa-e-Alamgiri.’ He also accused us of conspiring against our dead father and killing all our brothers. What kind of decision you expect from us? When a person has already lost his head, what crime I did when I ordered that he should be beheaded? The same stands, when I ordered that a woman shouldn’t be burnt alive, they said we were against the age-old tradition of Hindus, but in all cases I took a neutral ground and sought help from the bountiful above.

I think the fault lies in this city, its humid temperature and it’s vulgar, outrageous, loud inhabitants. Look around, there are ruins everywhere. Go to Mehrauli, you’ll find the once strong fort of Mamluks lying in waste, a few kilometers from here lays the graves of the Surs, who our own great-great grandfather Humayun destroyed. This shows that Delhi is a city of disasters. Nobody can stay happy here. I’ll not die here among the ruins. I’ll pray to him to embrace me when I’m on the Warfield.

Delhi is a witch. And it makes people lose their senses. I’m not going to commit that folly. I’ll rise above it all. Well, guess I’ve blabbered for long. Its time for pray. For those who’ll die in this city, for those who’ll fall in her trap and for she herself. Delhi, you may be the most beautiful city on earth but all I could see is the ruins on which you pride. The past glory you live in is a farce and perhaps you’ll never care for a simple guy like me. Guess, I am not made for you. May Allah have mercy on me……

Debate

2007-07-16T08:28:00.000-07:00

He was coming home after a heated debate. This was his routine. He would debate anywhere on anything. It can be at the book shop about — How Shakespeare’s work is simply scribbling of a mind gone worse or at the tea-stall about — how the decrease in sugar production may lead to people drinking sugarless tea. It appeared that everything was debatable for him. Often behind his back people would comment that he can also debate the reason of his birth— was it a pleasurable act or were his parents having sex to raise a family!
Whatever, people loved to see him debating. Unlike others, he always backed his arguments with facts and figures. There were doubts that he conjure them up. But this got cleared when once a so called educationalist verified that his figure on the number of known religions in the world was accurate. Well, nothing much changed from this revelation, except that the cigarette-shop owner nearby started referring to him as ‘neta ji’ (leader).
For they never took those debates seriously. What excited them was his passion. So, the question of right facts and figures didn’t bother them. They always wanted to see someone new, who didn’t know about his reputation,to debate with him. To their astonishment, he never got angry or shouted or to the disappointment of many had a street-fight. He simply debated.

There were theories about— who he was? Where he came from? What he does? According to most, they knew it all but just can’t simply recall. Whenever asked, he would simply smile and point to anyone and say — didn’t I tell you? That person would become the centre of attraction for many days, as if he knew the secret. There were many who denied it, some who revered in the glory and made-up stories and some who said they can’t break his faith. By the end of the year, there were 100 stories about him or may be more.

But today, he was disappointed. The debate was a soul-searching one. Though he had won hands down, he knew that he had lost. He never debated so as to win. But to lose is tougher than winning. He committed suicide that night. No one was aware why he did that. They debated upon it……..

Note: This story reflects my current state of mind (SoM). We both (my SoM and the story) are unaware where to head for...perhaps an abrupt end will justify the justifiable. In my dreams whenever I visit my past I wonder, why I've been so unsuccessful. I can't justify my intiatives, attempts but then maybeI did it all because I've to be unsucessful.......

While I wondered.....

2007-07-09T05:14:00.000-07:00

They are back in the city. Sometimes, they overbear the shining hot ball, which often cons you into losing sense of the hour clock. But now I'm aware of their gimmicks so I don't fall into the trap. I still hear stories about them from my parents. Back at home, sometimes they turn to be very noisy and in extreme cases devastating too. Whatever, my folks dismiss them easily. They become a nuisance in the long run, so my folks believe.
As a child I thought they look beautiful. Especially, when they appeared close. So close that they were within my arms reach. I always wondered if I could put my hand through them. My grandma, use to tell me that there were snakes and gold pots inside them. She added that only those of good virtue get those gold pots. My sister always felt that she'll get gold and snakes'll bite me.

Now when I look at them I don't expect a gold pot or snakes inside them. I've given them a different identity. Don't know if my sister will agree with me. She believes that I'm always at the wrong end. But I don't envy her as I use to do it some two decades ago. I wish if at all there are gold pots inside them she manages to find some.
But I am jealous when I think of them as I have identified them. Because, I know they are charlatans. They are good at luring you and more often than less they deceive you with ease. I feel protective for my sister but I also know the reality. So I stare at them, as if telling them not to venture there.

They've robbed me twice. Don't know if I should say thrice or even four times. But lets keep the count to twice. The first time they did, I was angry. Reason, cause they took what I loved, miles away. So, I asked them for an explanation. As usual, they spoke in their language. Then they promised me that they'll tell the answer but they'll confirm it from the one they took away. I agreed. I had no choices. It took them two years. They blamed it on the distance. I agreed again. They told me that it was not their fault for I was rootless.
I begged to differ. They understood. They explained me in a simple manner. Their simplicity is more complex. It took me days to understand. The night I finally got it, I was drenched. But they were caring and clarified that it happened for good. And next time I should be beware. I was perplexed. Was that a sign of hostility? They kept quiet and left the city in a few days.

I forgot about them soon. The next year, they came and went. I didn't bother. It was very easy. I had nothing to lose and I wasn't looking for gold pots. For them I was insignificant. And it never mattered. I still remember looking at them passing by. I avoided direct eye contact. There were some questions left in my mind and I was rootless as before.

Last year, they were overjoyed. I was chasing a mirage. The moment they saw me, they knew that the game was on. Was I scared? Kind off. They made noises; they sung songs, danced and rejoiced. I looked at them in disgust. Only difference - I know I was still rootless. They didn't want to hurt me. So, they decided that this time they'd take a return gift. For they come twice in a year……..

They did what they had to. They took of whatever I had. They're back this year as well. I asked them - So, what now? Any gold pots for me? They're quiet. They don't want to answer. They know I'm unsuccessful and they love me for being that. If you don't believe me ask them. They will pour their heart out……….

Alphabets v/s Names

2007-07-02T06:10:00.000-07:00

Belfast is one of those places, which I’ve only seen on television. I guess there must be a number of such places and I don’t know if I’ll ever see them beyond that 28 inch screen. Same is the story with our lives. I don’t know what constrain us but most of the times our life is constricted in a similar screen. How wide and the number of channels? Well, your guess is good as mine.

Anyhow, Z was back in town for two days. Once again, his idea to stay with me was cause our friendship and not because A’s (his girlfriend) sister was at home. I didn’t discuss this coz anyway he would have justified it. But, it took him little time to reach A’s home once her sister was off to work. And, he came back once his desires were satiated. This doesn’t mean we didn’t spend enough quality time. We did!

As India won the Belfast match and the series, our discussion traversed from cricket, commentators to life, money, society and position. It all started from his ‘visiting card’. I don’t know but we both believe that visiting cards tell you nothing about a person, except his name and designation. But in real life, these things do matter.
Z justified his idea of utopia and how he is above all this showbiz by stating the fact that he doesn’t discloses his salary. In his words :“People boast about their salaries. I don’t. I always say that I get enough to meet both ends. Even I can boast but people shouldn’t recognize or accept me because I earn good.”
Z, is not wrong in what he saying. But I feel even in what he said there was some hidden ego. At least, I felt so. I’m not trying to say that he shouldn’t do it. I guess each one of us does so. I can’t because I am unsuccessful. And I’ve my share of ego, which gets boosted —
1. When I show my boss sitting late in office that I’m trying to work hard, while am up to anything and everything on the net.
2. When I reject a good looking girl coz I feel she would not be able to downgrade to my standards.
3. When I zip ahead a slow, old, cranky vehicle
4. When I walk into a clothing store and don’t buy anything coz all waist sizes are x100 times bigger than mine, while I’ve the money.
5. When I order a drink and sip it for hours, faking as a connoisseur coz I can’t afford to buy another
So I think Z’s ego is much better and more deserving to be flaunted.

Z and me had a beer each at TGIF and then went to India Gate. I wish I can write about it but now that Delhi and I are emotionally estranged, I would better stop myself. I’m waiting for the monsoons……I want to be drenched and drained away…….

Death of a lifetime....

2007-06-20T08:49:00.000-07:00

" Life dances around me all night and leaves me sleepless. Morning, reminds me of the painful existence and all day, I survive on false hopes. I can’t cheat it and that summarizes my existence, an unsuccessful existence...."

Note : I've lost the inspiration. Delhi's pronloged stay at the deathbed have drained me out and I'm recovering very slowly. I'll survive because survival against ur wishes is being unsuccessful.

City, Sex and Friends.....

2007-05-28T02:26:00.000-07:00

I was just looking at the number of posts I've written this month. After publishing this it will be the sixth. I wonder whether to celebrate or question myself. Because I feel I write more than what is required. But this happens when you've a lot to say and nobody in real world has patience to hear. Anyhow this post is going to be the last for this month. Perhaps I need to take a break and then as I was told - "You've nothing new to add."

Place: EDM Mall, on the outskirts of Delhi
Time: Sunday, somewhere around 9pm

A lot has been written on retail boom in India. It is so said that Walmart will soon be entering the fray. I will not write on that. EDM Mall, is located on the outskirts of Delhi. It has everything a Cineplex, Pizza Hut, Café Coffee day and showrooms of all major brands. The mall has an escalator and lift too. Not unusual, correct? But, when you see the people who throng this place, you are left amazed.
Ok, let me explain. Half of them live in dingy apartments nearby. They are first generation mall visitors who bring their parents and grandparents along (India has well-bonded families you see). Some of the oldies have pizza here for the first time. I don't if Italians use a fork and knife to eat pizzas but those who eat at such places struggle with the cutlery but still they use it. You'll see a burqa (veil) clad woman along with her three children, ordering three espressos. VOW!!! I never developed a taste for it and most often stick to cold coffee.

If you thought you need good fashion sense to choose a branded wear, change your thoughts now. The place has everything on sale. I guess if only have to have a flat you can buy the rest from here. Even the staffs are so recruited. They suit the flavour of those who throng it. So if you expect someone at Pizza Hut to explain you different pizzas they offer in detail forget it! All they know is how to explain you what is written in English in the menu.

I'm not deriding the fact that why this is so. I have no qualms. All I wonder is from where this money comes? So finally, when I was sitting alone at the stairs and having my pizza, using my hands, I heard one of those guys who brings the trolleys back from the car stand saying to his mate - "I guess he is here for the first time (Lagta hai pehli baar aaya hai)." And then I looked up at the sky and smiled. I had nothing new to add…….

Place: Ministry of Sound, New Delhi
Time: Friday, somewhere around midnight

Having journalist friends in Delhi is bliss. You get to see the best of places and drink the best of alcohol without worrying how much you've to pay. MoS attracts a much younger lot, perhaps since they don't play Bollywood numbers is the main reason. Don't know, I was too involved in my screwdrivers.
It seems everybody and anybody is living an amorous life except me. I don't regret it anymore. Or to be honest I prefer not to regret it anymore. Anyhow, I thought they were playing trance, till my well-informed friend corrected me and said that it was House. I've no idea about the different genre of music. Like all other things I prefer to be illiterate.
But you don't need to educate me when I see a couple grinding against each other, or someone palms exerting more pressure than required. Am not a sex maniac. But I feel the rest turn out to be so!
The drive back home was heady. I lighted my cigarette and thought about the girl in white pants, she was alone, dancing rhythmically and drunk. I had my chance. Why, I didn't try? As I threw the stub out of the window I saw the empty road. The city had slept. I too need one. I guess unsuccessfulness also means that you have nothing new to add……

Place: Office
Time: Unknown

This is about Mandy. Mandy is a journo and a good friend of mine. How Mandy and I met is not important. What is important that Mandy some weeks ago decided to write a blog. I was not surprised, in fact I urged her if she can write. But she writes for a daily paper and is extremely busy. Still she took on the new payless job. And to my surprise, her blog (Fashionably Yours) is a promising one. Mandy believes that I'm not unsuccessful but little she realises how near she is to the reason and we both have nothing new to add….

Exiled...

2007-05-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

I know I've nothing new to add. And this makes me wonder, is it necessary to add something every time? What's stopping me? Ego? Not at all. Then what? Don't know. Perhaps, I've started believing that anything be it emotional or materialistic should be reciprocal in nature. I have no means to guess what's in your wallet or for that sake in your heart. I'm afraid to risk mine...I've done it. Whatever....Life moves on. It did for many and so it will happen with me as well. All I am anguished about, it didn't end on the note I wanted...........and when I thought of this, the vision of an old guy with longing eyes came to my mind and then I narrate it through the eyes of Zafar....

Place: Burma
Date: Unknown

I've been defeated. To accept defeat is also a gracious act. Acceptance of someone's supremacy is not easy and requires a lot of character. At least I think so. It took me some odd days to reach here, don't ask me the number, my memory fails me on this.

But I wonder why certain incidents and places are so fresh in my mind. I wish I can turn things around. But would that amount to my victory? NO. So I'm both happy and unhappy over my loss. It's like being in a state of perpetual dilemma. What I always wanted never got it until I was there and once I lost it, I could see that happening. But, unfortunately I was not anymore there to be a part of it. Complex, correct? But when things are simple? For they always entangle themselves.

Anyhow, now that I'm history it doesn't matter. But I believe some people like reading history. Even I like it. So, does that means I've not lost completely? Don't know. These days this is my standard response to most of the queries. It's simple and evasive.

Simple and Evasive. I somehow fear these two words, both make me feel uneasy. Because, when things become simple or situations are so as to evade, you generally lose. That happened with me as well. I lost just like that. It was very simple. I was not evasive. But I lost….

Now I think - Can I coin it a loss? I mean how you can lose something which you never own. It's hard, right? Some say it was bound to happen. But nobody questions my commitment. Some do talk about it behind my back but I guess they are not well informed.

I don't know if I want to go back. I guess I do. But there is no way out. Then I think what will happen if I go back, will things be the same? Will I get what I wanted or will it become like what was earlier. I don't know.

But Yes, this is what I'm sure about. I won it in my heart because I was not wrong. I was justified. There will be never be another one like me who can give it all. Even in history I'll have a standing – good or bad, don't know. And if my defeat does any good then it's worth it. So sometimes even being unsuccessful brings you a victory but as I started with – I've been defeated, I accept it.

Hai kitna bad naseeb Zafar dafn ke liye
Do ghaz zameen bhee na milee koo-e-yaar mein.

(How unfortunate is Zafar, as he did not even get
two yards for burial, in his homeland).

Written By Bhadur Shah Zafar in Burma. Zafar succeeded the throne of Delhi in 1837. He was tried for having taken part in the First war of Independence (what the British called Sepoy Mutinee), though he was already 78 years old and exiled to Burma in 1858. He died a very sad and dejected man in 1862. Zafar, also a formidable poet was in love with Delhi. He has composed 36780 shers (verses) using complicated rhythms.

Trishanku- The End

2007-05-21T06:55:00.000-07:00

………It was early morning, when somebody did finally notice a dead man lying. Don't know but this is the worst that can happen with you when you go for an early morning walk - seeing a dead body in a pool of blood and that too dried. Anyhow, much to this early riser's dismay the person was no more breathing. He called up the police.
Within a few minutes, there was a huge crowd. Like flies swarming in on an open sweetshop. Some said the guy was drunk, while others postulated the theory of a hit and run case. Whatever, only two females noticed that his clothes weren't torn even after that crash. He simply died.

The police finally arrived on the scene and the crowd dispersed like someone has fanned the sweets. Some people still lingered, curious enough, like flies, which hang on at edge so as to comeback. Police interrogation was quick, the person who had called, narrated the story. Once more, all over again. Another set off human flies gathered by the end of his version but nobody cared about those that were now trying to enter the dead man's nose. There was a buzz all around……

Our dear friend woke up. Neither in the clouds nor in front of a big beautifully carved golden gate. He was at a place, where he had spent his childhood. His first home. The place, where he very much wanted to be when he was once lost at a bus station. At that time he must have been five years old and the bus station was crowded. In the mad rush, somehow his little fingers missed his mother's hands and then the panic set in. People asked him - Who he was? Where he wanted to go? His answer was Home. And right now he was in front of that home. He wanted to go inside but something bedazzled him and then….

Like a movie the scene changed. He could now see himself out of his class. Somehow he felt he has received some kind of punishment. He was almost kneeled down, waiting for someone to pull his ears. Eyes closed…eternal wait……and a sudden jerk.The dead body was lifted and put on a stretcher. The man who had spotted the corpse first was calling home and informing he'll be late. The wardboy who lifted the corpse thought to himself - "He died young."

Our dear friend was confused. He was all set to write an exam. Perplexed. According to him, he had passed the exam some few odd years ago. But why he was nervous? The exam paper can anytime be on his desk. He wanted to check each one of his pens. His father had given him a new one. He wanted to start with that………

There was chaos at the hospital. The doctor was adamant not to take the new corpse. The morgue was already overflowing. The doctor refused to co-operate, "What check? No room," was the standard reply. Police was yet to ascertain the identity. The body was almost some odd hours old, in no time it would start to smell. "Identify the corpse," said the police officer to his junior, "Fast. This is a sort of crisis," he added in a visibly rash tone.

Crisis. Our dear friend was undergoing through this right now. He was unable to comprehend, what's happening! One moment ago he was all set to write the exam and now he was in front of his college. He noticed that the beautiful girl, he was interested in was unaware of his presence. He wanted an identity. At least in front of her. She was smiling and as he moved towards her from nowhere came a door.
The agitated officer flung the doctor's door and walked out. There was no alcohol in his blood, only nicotine. Now he may have to investigate a hit and run accident. He was on night-shift but had to wait until identification….huh!

Our dear friend was investigating, this narrow passage, as soon as entered the door, which separated her from her sweetheart he was lost in this passage. It was dark and he was afraid of the dark. His hands searched his pants for a matchbox. He generally carries one. As soon he lit a matchstick. He saw the passage had come to an end, it took him to a hill top and from there he could see a beautiful city, tall minarets, busting market and a well lined road…..

Road accident no. 19. The officer filed in his office. Last night there were 19 road accidents, only one died. Bad luck both for him and the one who died. The corpse had been identified, investigation may go on, the one who died was 25, lived away from his parents, alone in this city……

The city mesmerised him. He wanted to go down that hill. But he cannot. He was in mid-air and then something bizarre happen…..like several televisions screens opened in the thin air. One of them was showing a Tamil channel and on one Discovery was on. The city was slowly fading away as if night was to begin and the pictures from screen also blinked to death.

"Body now in freezer Sir. Thank your gods, one was taken away by the Municipal authorities a few moments ago. "Is city mein bahut tension hai….yeh body to patla tha isliye ghus gaya," said the wardboy. (A lot of tension in this city, this corpse was lean that's why it got fit).
Trishanku….didn't die. He is hanging…..Waiting for the light, for the city and for those screens….I don't understand why he does not fit-in after all he has a lean body frame.

Trishanku- II

2007-05-11T07:09:00.000-07:00

…..so we left him sleeping. He never slept in dark. The light was a constant reminder that whatever he may see in his dreams is a farce. Among other things dreams are also a reminder of being unsuccessful. Most of the times, in dreams, you see what you want to happen and get what you want or you are very close to it. So, whenever he woke up from those dreams and saw the fluorescent-lit room existing the same way before he had slept, it made him realise the futility of aspirations and expectations that plagued his dreams. He never had a control over them. Earlier he made it a habit of reading some chapters from a nondescript book so as to have nonchalant dreams. But this was of no avail. As a result he tried to sleep as less as possible.

Somewhere around 11 a.m. after the incessant pestering of that alarm turned mobile phone he woke up. Fumbled for a cigarette. There was none. He cursed himself for smoking it last night itself. Smoking is a double-edged sword. It becomes the cause of innumerable ailments that one may later suffer from and the lack of it at the very moment makes you feel non-existent. He managed to get a half-smoked butt from the ashtray. Very carefully he lighted it as to avoid burning his fingers and the lips. It ended in another three puffs. The whole exercise consumed less than 20 seconds and took both sleep and some precious minutes of life away. Nowadays, he did not think that far. The bugle for the war resounded in his mind…..the day had begun.

There is nothing much to tell about his work. To others it may sound interesting; perhaps for some it may be intellectual or may be varied. But the fact is – It didn't pay much. Though money never mattered to him. Like his other stupid rules, the one over money was - It's not important on whom you spending, it makes a difference on what makes you spend that.
So our dear friend mostly ended up in splurges of all kinds only to realise that he never bought much for himself. Perhaps, he knew that clothes do not fit in with his physique, gizmos tempted him but not for long, books he bought them only when he has read everything else that he got for free. To spend money, nah not money nor spending, for him it was to see the smile on some one's face whom he most wants was most important and if money can buy it, why not?
The question which always troubled him was - Do I too deserve a smile? But like as always he had to buy the smile, never he found anyone except few who bought it for him. And those few were nearly diminished now.

Office was all about proving himself. Throw him a challenge and he will give his everything to it. But then there was a catch, like it was there in every aspect of his life - The generation of disinterest. He feared that. It had been the root cause of his failures. No not failures. He never failed. He just opted out. Twice at peak and once when just started. His parents chided him, friends made joke but he was searching for what could satiate him.

We will not talk about his love-life. He never had one. He felt used. He acted as a tool. A living tool. Perhaps this may be his understanding. Perhaps he was not perfect. Perhaps he deserved to be so. Anyhow, all this while incident such as this, no accidents such as this, made him realise one thing, he will never get what he wants and those wants will always be there.

It was night. like always, he decided to drive through a new route. This was a new game. Interesting. He put the ignition on and zipped ahead. There was no traffic. It appeared that the city was under curfew. Not even a single policeman can be seen for miles. He drove a little fast. This route was different. He bent down to light his cigarette. The road ahead was blocked. It took two seconds or may be less than that and then everything became normal. The metal amalgamated with flesh and there was a distinct smell in the air. Something had stopped beating but there were sounds.....

Delhi - The End

2007-05-06T03:20:00.000-07:00

There is no start or end to this post. In fact these days I have stopped bothering about that. Call it the summer effect or re-realisation but now I’m immune to most of the things. I don’t care if I’m not an ace writer, a good employee, a good friend or whatever. Perhaps this is the only best part of being ‘unsuccessful’.
Anyhow, last night, which was Saturday, I went to a happening discotheque of the city. Thanks to my journalist friend, everything was on the house. I did not want to go home last night and this offer of free drinks was a better option if not an irresistible one. But yes, once I sipped on the ice-cold vodka I was back in my zone, away from the partying crowd and suddenly I realised that perhaps this was the best time to say farewell to Delhi………….

‘Capitol’ can be a worth visiting place for some. I’m sure it depends on your company and your mood. And perhaps that stands true for all discotheques in the world. Anyhow, this place was as urban as Madison Square. Everybody was trying to live the moment.
The place was crowded with Greek gods and goddesses. Skimpy skirts showing well waxed long legs and men wearing t-shirts that displayed their well toned muscles. Lots of Aunties, who had put enough mascara to hide their now prominent wrinkles and also their husbands as well, blissfully unaware that their husbands are busy ogling at the younger ladies than worrying about their wives. I laughed at this irony and gulped another of my screwdrivers.

This drink was the one that made me start thinking about Delhi. The DJ started playing some peppy numbers and the crowd was on its feet. I was wondering if Delhi would have been around, what would be her reaction. While I was pondering over this, a couple next to me started dancing sensuously. I looked at them and smiled; they frowned and went back to their normal steps.
I went to the bar and asked for another drink. Nearby an auntie was prompting her husband to hit the floor. She must be around 40 and I’m sure her husband would have lost the zest a year or two ago. But the auntie was adamant and she turned into Shakira. I lit a cigarette and started watching her. Another glass down and then the vision hazed.

I started looking for Delhi. I don’t know how she dances or if she likes partying. But I’m sure she is good with her moves. I wish I can dance along with her, slow, rhythmic and sensuous. Alas, the moment I realised that this will always be a dream, my vision got cleared. By now the auntie was also tired and now demanding her husband to let her smoke. Smoke! I laughed at her and extinguished mine.
There were guys who were trying their best to impress girls and perhaps hook on with aunties at least. Now since I’m under no such illusion I preferred watching. Fake conversations, phoney smiles, unnecessary hugs were served as fast as drinks. I preferred sticking to Vodka. Repeat the order, please.

Another sip and Delhi resurfaced in my thoughts. The song was about the eyes of a girl and nobody can beat my Delhi on that. Sorry. Not my Delhi. Delhi only Delhi. I tried to place Delhi with all good looking men whom she may have chosen. There were many and I know Delhi may go with someone someday. I gulped this one in rage. Jealousy. Why? I’m sure may Delhi go with someone and be she happy with him but nobody can love her more than me and when I reasoned this the anger faded away.

Another good number and I decided to shake my leg. After all I was here for partying. A girl tapped my shoulder. I was taken aback. But her hands indicated what she wanted. A matchbox. I lit the cigarette for her. We got into a short conversation. Her ‘thanks’ came with a small peck on cheeks. Not Bad I thought. Let’s go and ask every lady if she wants me to light her cigarette. But the waiter had other plans. He saw my glass empty and brought another one. I feared to lose the count and decided this is the last one.
In the corner a couple were fighting with their tongues. The girl was a bit hesitant I guess but the boy was all for it. I did not smile this time. I was afraid of being bashed. I just sipped on my drink.

I don’t understand why alcohol and Delhi comes together. I guess I’ve to leave both. Here one sip down the throat and Delhi is standing before me smiling. This time I stared back at her. She too didn’t say anything. We kept looking at each other for sometime and then it dawned. I was always looking for Delhi in history, monuments, dreams and so on….but Delhi she is life and life does not reside in these places, life moves on and so did Delhi.
I saw her taking the stairs. She didn’t even turn back. I know she will not. I know she is not wrong. I know this is the truth. But I also know if she would have been with me I wouldn’t have been in Capitol, I would have been in a garden asking her to read me a book while tasting some wine…….

So as I said there is no start or end to it. Delhi deserved a practical farewell and Capitol was the best place to do so and not the ramparts of Red Fort. But I’ll go to Red Fort to find my Delhi and I’ve no regrets in being ‘unsuccessful’ to do so….

Meer Taqi Meer

2007-05-03T08:06:00.000-07:00

I don't know but I always feel a strange, complicated closeness with Meer. I wonder why? Of all the poets, I have read and to be honest I don't understand everything that they've penned but somehow understanding Meer came quite easily.

Last time, the hair analogy had raised a few doubts. I have nothing to say on that and instead I'll quote Meer. If Meer can feel the drowsiness of alcohol in someone eyes...why can't I preserve my Delhi's hair? After all Delhi knows that everything she gives becomes a treasure. Her love, her body, her soul, anything. I just touched the surface and I was charmed. I wonder what happened to those for whom she opened her heart......and yes it rained a day after I wrote the last blog.... but this time I couldn't see my sweetheart well, my eyes were clouded........

Hastee apnee Hubaab kee see hai
ye numa'ish suraab kee see hai

My life (existence) is temporary (fragile) just like a bubble,
This exhibition (of the colorful world) is an illusion like mirage.

Naazukee uss ke lab kee kya kahiye
paNkhaRee ik gulaab kee see hai

How can I express the softness of her lips,
They are just like rose petals.

Baar-baar us ke dar pe jaata hooN
Haalat ab iztiraab kee see hai

I rush to her door again and again (in hope of having a glimpse of her),
My anxiety has reached its peak.

Main jo bola kaha ke ye aawaaz
usee KHaanah-KHaraab kee see hai

When she heard my voice, she said,
"This voice is just like the voice of that wretched man (the poet)".

Meer! un neem-baaz aaNkhoN meN
saaree mastee sharaab kee see hai

O Meer! The drowsiness in those dreamy eyes,
Is just like that of wine

Away...

2007-04-30T10:32:00.000-07:00

This is what I felt, when for two days I was in Bangalore.......

I was in a different city. I know you didn’t miss me. I was looking for you even there in that strange crowd. I looked for you from over the skies. I looked for you in that pool. I dreamt about you all night. But I never found you, not even in my dreams. You were faceless. It appears everything is diminishing – the moistness that I always felt in your lips, the look of your eyes that expressed anger, and everything that I always followed for understanding what you never said but the most I miss is your smell. I feel lost, like a child in a fair, where there are so many attractions but my eyes search for you. I never find you and then I become disheartened. I don’t weep because I always knew this was to be so.

I came back. I searched for your signs everywhere. I went back to those places where I think I left you. Those moments are there. I close my eyes and relive them only to realise that they are gone. I have lost them or they were never mine. But I know I lived in those moments. I was disturbed last night, I felt like screaming your name, I was angry. Then I searched for a memento. I know I have lost them all, returned them or you never gave me one but still I searched. I know if I ever loved you, I’ll find one, somewhere, somehow. I found your hair in the jacket that I wore in winters. I know they were yours, don’t ask me how. I smelled them and then kept it back. I did not feel bad. I know they will not stand time, like me, like everything here and I always knew this was to be so.

Even in words I tried to find you. Ask all those books which I have read, they know it. They will vouch for me. The paper on which I wrote this will also swear by it and so will the pen. It seems everyone at my home knows you. The fan, the bed, the table and every night they ask me – Have you met her today? I don’t answer them. I keep quiet. They understand my silence and it appears they are sad. But I cheer them up; tell them stories of people I have met. The long list of work I have to do. I plan with them about it. They know I’m faking and so do I but we never question each other. We all knew this was to be so.

I know you are here with me, while I am writing this. In fact, I can see you in the water bottle in front of me. Strange but Yes I can. There is some water left in it. It’s been days and also it hasn’t rained. I reason it out not to drink. There is a paper, which boasts that it has your smell. I have preserved it. How long? I don’t know. Oh Delhi….I miss you. I want to be with you but I know this will never happen and the tag of being ‘unsuccessful’ reminds me that this was always to be so.

Trishanku - I

2007-04-23T07:27:00.000-07:00

He was fighting for more than survival. The city by now had sapped all his strength. Both Physical and Mental. The monotonous routine of to and fro from office was lost in the blue screen of the television. His only source of entertainment. Off late he had started watching ‘Tamil’ channels. First out of curiosity, then trying to learn the language and finally because at midnight they were the only channel showing lot of cleavages and navels. As time passed and the skin show was more often repeated than not, he started contemplating watching discovery...may be animals are better than humans!

Whatever, the idea was still stuck in his head when summers arrived. Delhi in summers is all about sweat and power cuts. Both have an interesting relationship. When ‘power’ dies ‘sweat’ takes birth. So, our dear friend has to undergo long bouts of sweating, which in no ways was amicable to his health. Don’t know but science says that most of our body weight is cause fluids.

Guess like its a human tendency that we often reason when we are alone. We ponder. We debate and we try to find answers to those innumerable questions, which are hidden in the core of our hearts. Some, like to run away from them and find that ignorance is actually bliss. Anyhow, our dear friend...sorry, we forgot to give him a name but anyhow how is that important? He could be anyone from anywhere doing anything. Yes, so our dear friend also had to undergo this painful exercise. He christened this as ‘path to destruction.’ Why? Reason, at the end of this non-senscial debate, the end product was that he realised the ‘unsucessfullness’ of debating it. He never emerged with a perfect plan and even if he did he never implemented it. But the regularity of these self-discussions were as regular as the power cuts of Delhi and both were able to bring out one thing - sweat.

His friend circle was not a big one. Hold on. That nowhere means he was socially unacceptable. Just that those he called ‘friends’ were just acquaintances. Check his orkut. I believe there are only three people added there as friends or perhaps four. Call it his bad luck all were in different cities. So, more or less, they were numbers on his mobile phone, which once or sometime twice in a week realised that they need to buzz.

The conversation was mostly about -

1. How they doing?

2. Why life sucks?

3. How are their respective girlfriends?

4. Why he don’t want to have one?

5. About his heart breaks?

6. And, about job.

So overall, everything was discussed, which perhaps fall in the gambit of word ‘friendship.’

Back to his room. The electricity had just announced it arrival. It was the tube light first, which tried to out beat others but it was the fan who announced it with a creaking sound. He switched on the television. There was a rain song being aired. The actresses wet saree was clinging to her skin. But this was the nth time the same song was being played. He had no clues what they were singing but he knew their next step. He looked at his phone, it was sleeping. The first rays of sun were trying to beat the streetligths. It was time to sleep. Just that he do not want to rise up. Not again. Never. But as his eyes closed he knew, the silent phone will turn into an alarm in another 5 hours and then once gain the monotonous routine will start. The fight is not for survival and there is no ending to it....

P.S - Trishanku is a mythical charachter. Please follow this link for more info - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Trishanku . Also, this is the first part which, I intend to conclude in another two but there is no timeline.

The journey....

2007-04-11T07:07:00.000-07:00

Like all nights I didn't sleep yesterday as well. I have no reason to stay awake. Still, I can't help myself. I think this has now became a habit and to blame anyone for this would be a mistake. Anyhow, today I am in no mood to blame anyone.

Summers are here. I don't hate summers. The city becomes interesting in this month. I am sure Delhi doesn't hate summers. Why? I don't have any justification for this. I have stopped reasoning. I think I am done with that. My sleepless nights are now more boring. Reasoning was my only companion. Now I've deserted her. But somehow Delhi still lingers all around me, in the bookshelf, in some old torn pages, in the glow of the cigarette burning on my lips, and in the smoke that vanishes nowhere in the room....

But, I know I have to live with all this. Just like I've now started to learn - How not to panic when electricity is not there. So, I ignore her presence. I don't want her sympathy. But I still have to write the last post. And, I have to visit Red Fort for that. I plan to do it soon. Once I'm done with Red Fort, I'll close the Delhi Chapter once and for all.

Another interesting thing is happening to my phone, it has started receiving calls from some new numbers. For me they are still numbers and I'm sure my phone doesn't like to ring at night. Whenever it rings, it disturbs the three of us....Me, my loneliness and Delhi. So, after playing as a good samaritan for few days, I've stopped taking those calls. Call it my 'unsucessfullness', coz I don't think I can justify any role now.

Lot has been happening this week. N is going to get married. This makes me really feel old. Even before my b'day. I mean the life till now seems like a movie. Anyhow, as usual poor N was confused...we had this chat on G-talk, which I'll post below.....But for sure one thing becomes crystal clear......I'm still waiting for the morning. And some mornings only come after a period of mourning. And for Delhi, well.....

There is now in this town a famine of the grief of love, Asad
We've agreed that we would remain in Delhi-- what will we eat?
Ghalib

Here is my conversation with one of my best friends, who is going to get married...I guess, the diellma is there from centuries...

D: hi yaar
how are you
so good to cu online
N: i wished u were online
i want to talk to u abt something very serious
r u freee
D: yes
wht hpnd?
N: it will take 15 min
D: bol na
fuck the time
if its serious bol
N: i am abt to get married
D: lol
thts kewl
N: i have seen the girl this sun
D: yeah baby
how she looks?
N: now the thing is tht she is ok
but i dont know if i should marry that girl or not
i am confussed
D: see boss...two things
a. look if she matches your mindset
I mean whts the use if u marry a beauty and then she creates hassles
so...first and foremost check that
b. I mean if you don't like her then don't marry her.....i mean whts the use of rueing it later
N: thts the point now the girl is frank
although she is not a perfect match since requirements in army a little different from civil as
D: I understand....frank bole toh?
Kaku jaise
in frankness
where is she from?
and what she has done?
N: in army she has to be very outspoken and she has to be infront of crowd every day dealing with mens wives
she is from gonda
D: every girl manages that
she will acuustom
so don't look for the just perfect thing
N: she has done ba and she is doing ma(english)
D: she shld knw how to speak english thats it
don't go for very frank girl
nahi to kal ko woh tera officers ke biwi ke ssath patte khelti rahegi
N: i know tht but the thing is i cannot say anything as my mom and dad are so happy with the family of the girl tht they have blindly given there consent
D: but all of a sudden....I'm surprised
wtf
is this ur marriage or ur parents?
N: no no thts not wht i meant by frankness
mine but the point is tht they have almost said yes even before me
D: so?
N: now the thing is i have said yes
a go ahead for the marriage and ur the first person to know this
D: why u said Yes?
and u can always tell them its not that
I mean its ur life
N: i had no option and the thing is i had no reason to say no
strong reason
D: u can always say u don't like her
i mean isn't this a strong enuf reason?
N: the thing is tht mom and dad told me tht they are happy with the girl
D: and on top of that u can later tell ur bhabi or bjhaiyya to convey this to ur parents
SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO?
fuck this is ur life dude
i mean yeah they are v. imp
but still
N: the whole thing is very complicated
i will explain this in simple terms
my bhabhi has a cousin sister and she wants me to marry her with which my parents will never agree
D: ok
but still there are not only two girls in this world
i mean u can still tell ur parents to wait
N: its only my elder brother who understands the whole thing
D: and what he says?
Go for it?
like he did?
wtf
N: now he cannot say anyhing to dad and mom becoz they would think he is lobbying for the girl habhi wants me to marry
D: ok
so.....let them be out of picture
U stand for urself
tell Suraj
he can say at leats
I mean no use of gettin married to sm 1 u don't find attractive at all
ok.....do u find her attractive?
N: now if i stand for myself the whole thing is like a script which has been written just for me
D: fuck them yaar
u tell me...u find her attractive?
YEs or NO
N: she is ok i will send a snap of hers to u and asshole keep it for urself only
D: boss
see
N: she is not the most beutiful girl but she is ok
D: U like her
i mean u comfortable with the idea of spending ur life with her?
Did u had a converstaion with her?
u have a phone wid u?
can I call u?
N: the thing is i m just not sure look she is the first girl
D: then wait na
dekh boss
tell ur parents frankly
or ask suraj to tell
was he there?
N: i have met i have seen her photo but i dont know if i could find another girl or not
D: what
dude
listen
This is India
and ur an army officer
any girl would happily marry to you
aise toh I shld nt even think of getting married ever
N: i have said yes tht i am going to marry tht girl becoz i felt i was not having any other option
D: FUCK YOU
now listen..would u like me to call ur parents
and expalin them
or can Suraj do that better
N: no not at all
suraj has lost it on this
i will tell u suraj is getting hopeless day by day
D: then tell ur parents wht u feel
at least tell ur mom
I'll still say - IF YOU DON'T FIND HER ATTRACTIVE DON'T GO FOR IT
ur just 24.....people marry till 27-30

N: and u dont know wht to say
D: what?
abe sun
load mat le
abhi kaun sa tune shaadi kar hi li
N: r u there
D: yes
I am
haan
tommorow i am going to allahabad
D: I'll call u tonite
arrey maine to pucha hi nahi
Bhahbi ka naam kya hai?
whats her name?
salle.....coz u I feel old :-(
N: priyanka\
D: kya baat hai
Priyannkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkaaaaaaaaa
chal take care
Will call you..

B'day

2007-04-05T02:59:00.000-07:00

I have nothing to write. There are a lot of issues. Not with me but with others. I have stopped thinking about others and so the issues.

Come April and I get scared every year. I don't like to think about this month anymore. In fact a few years (or should I say centuries) ago I was all pepped up, when April started. Reason - I was born in this month, some…..come on…I don't want to do all that maths.

Anyhow, now that I've stopped thinking on those lines, let me give you a brief that how the first two weeks of April use to pass and what's the state now. But before I continue, let me tell you that I've never celebrated my b'day in school. Somehow it was always a holiday.

There are some memories of how my classmates use to celebrate their birthdays in school that I rue being not able to do -

1. The b'day boy/girl can wear fancy clothes other than the school dress. That was how we use to recognize the b'day boy or girl. I never had this chance.

2. The b'day boy/girl use to distribute toffees and the rich ones distributed chocolates. They made sure that their best friend gets two. This was essential so as to proclaim your best friend and clear any doubts. I never had a best friend till college so I always got one.

3. Most essential the class teacher gets to choose, how many she can take. For rest it was one. But I remember my friends had their favourite teachers so they also get a larger share. My favourite teacher thought I was the dumbest student.

Anyhow, this was about school. Now lets see, how my anticipation levels were -

Some 20 years ago -

I was very excited. I use to tell my parents in advance what I want. I know we were not rich, so my demands were very justified. But I never understood the concept of getting new clothes. Anyhow in the first week, my dad made sure that we go to the tailor and get me stitched a new shirt and pant. After effects - I still prefer wearing stitched shirts.

The first half of second week was all about inviting friends. Making a list whom to invite and who not to. One always makes sure to invite those people who are closest to your parents as you know they'll bring the best gifts. Dad comes come with the stitched clothes. Try them on and send them back if for any altercations.

The D-day: Mom use to wake up early. Prepare delicacies. Dad orders the cake. Everyone at home as it is a holiday. Relatives who live nearby come till afternoon. After mom insisting for the nth time, finally taking a bath.

In those times there were no CD players, so dad putting up H'bdy song cassette in the tape recorder. Finally other children arrive. More interested in the sizes of the packets they bring than what they wearing.

Unwrapping the gift with parents. Parents making a mental note of what one brought so as to replicate. NO RETURN GIFTS as we were poor.

A decade ago -

No more parties. Sister giving you the B'day card, first thing in the morning, which is also signed by parents. You hoping that the girl you had a crush and to whom you've left enough indications calls you and wishes you. Wait till afternoon. Only relatives call, that too a few. No friends remember. In the evening, you've a better dinner than usual days.

Some 5 years ago -

You away from parents in a distant city. Only two of your friends know that its ur B'day. Mom, dad and sis calls and wishes you. The girl you want most to remember completely forgets only to give you a pleasant surprise in afternoon. Unfortunately, this is when your two friends realise that today is your birthday. You bring some beers at night and of course dope. Stoned.

Now -

You don't want anyone to remember and you want some to remember. Your parents and your sister will call you. Of course your two friends will. You will be in office working. And least expecting surprises. At this old age…you don't want any more surprises.

Whatever.... I'll be lying if I say I'm not anticipating things to happen. Honestly, I don't want to anticipate. But like always I'm unsuccessful and the day will remind me more of that………

Dead Letters

2007-03-27T03:50:00.000-07:00

Dear Sister,

I don’t know if I’ll be alive when you’ll be reading this letter. This may bring tears to your eyes but the need of the hour is to stay strong. Things may have not gone my way but we all know that I was justified in doing what I did.

I feel no remorse whatsoever even in my last moments. These few minutes that I’m spending right now in writing this letter will always be the most cherished moments of my life. I’m ashamed of myself that I cannot be there with you forever.

Sister, I miss your company the most. I know if you had been with me, you could have at least calmed my falling nerves and be a source of strength. I would like to remind you that after me you’d be burdened with greater responsibility. So you should tread the path with utmost care.

If I would have an option to live, I would love to go back to the mountains and spend my time reading. After all this, I question myself why I am doing this? But when I close my eyes I see that beautiful picture, which I always dreamt, wished, longed and even strived for. Perhaps, this is an eternal war, which may go on for some more time, may be till I breathe.

Sometimes in my dreams, I see the future that as a family we all longed for. But some dreams never get fulfilled. They cloud our eyes and only go when the salt mixed water pours them out of our heart and brain.

As I’m closing this letter, tears run down my cheeks. I still remember playing as kids, where we all use to fight false battles. I know you always sided with us in those battles. Even today, after I’m gone, I know your heart and prayers will be with us and for us. But this is my request that whatever comes, you’ll not act emotionally and take care of yourself and all those who matters.

Yours Unsuccessful brother
D

P.S. – A letter by Dara Shikoh to his sister, Jahanara Begum. A few days after he wrote this letter Aurangzeb’s army captured him. It is said that he was beheaded and his severed head was taken to his father (Shah Jahan) and sister, who were imprisoned near Taj Mahal.

Futility....

2007-03-16T09:50:00.001-07:00

My world is full of highly unsuccessful people. And sometimes I think they are in a way more unsuccessful than me. Believe me that doesn’t give me any sense of satisfaction but irritates me more. I find parasites all around me, may be even I’m one of them. Who knows?
But for sure I’m disappointed of people. At least I’m happy being unsuccessful but these wicked creatures always try to creep out of that hole, only to slip further down. Their downfall irks me more. I mean if I would have been god (if he is there) I would have condemned them to death, immediately and take pleasure from the fact that I’ve ended their eternal sufferings.
But then I look at some other weird creatures, hanging around. And when I am unable to understand why they behave in such a manner, I feel dismayed. I don’t know what nirvana is and nor I am interested in. Guess like its my fault, I expect. And perhaps expectation is the root cause of all my grievances. When people don’t match up your expectations, you start falling apart.

Need Theory

Now when I postulate this, I get more irate. It’s like we all have empty spaces within us. And we try to fill that empty space through someone else. This empty space is both physical and emotional. There are thousands of us, who are waiting so that their empty spaces get filled. And when we find someone else who also has an empty space, which can be filled by us and ours by them, we come together. We give it the name of a relationship. So a simple transaction process gets coined as love, friendship and etc.
The moment that empty space is filled, we divert to other areas and try to fill them. Nothing wrong. But when one party has that space filled and it thinks that its no more of an empty space, it tries to break the agreement. Now if both the parties feel the same it becomes a mutual understanding and the ties are snapped of easily. However, if any of the party doesn’t get its due share, either it tries to cling on or start looking for an another person desperately.
Overall the net result is that it rarely happens that two people can stick together cause of any emotions. Either the emotions should move on to a next level or there should be other bindings. And when this plain truth of transaction dawns upon me it makes me cynical to everyone around.

So what we do?

I don’t have an answer for this. But I think there are two ways. The first one is that one should be clinical about that need. It’s like you become a parasite. The other is you try to fulfill your needs by yourself, now that asks for a lot.

What I am doing about it?

I am going through a realisation process. It is exactly the same which I went through some years ago. The only problem is that its very easy to get out of this process but extremely tough to go through it. But its like self cleansing.

Do we all need someone?

Yes, we need friends because we want to be happy, we want partners to satiate our desires. We need parents and so we need kids. Similarly for pets and so on.

But at the end of the day, one needs to remember that we all will be unsuccessful. In some way or the other. You’ve two choices. Either to accept it, like I’ve done or call it life and keep moving.....unsuccessfully.

Alcoholism

2007-02-28T02:19:00.000-08:00

This for someone with whom I cannot give my relationship a name. It
involves all, animosity, friendship, admiration, love and respect.
There is only one thing I know....without this guy things will not be
that easy and I just like it to be that way ----

Start---

His sun-sign was not Taurus. But he was no less than a bull. The epitome of masculinity stretched across his chest, which made girls drool over him. Believer, non-believer, sadist, masochist,hero-worshipper, self-made man, loser and a winner...all these traits were equally dispersed across his 5ft 8 inches body frame.

A typical day in his life would start with a beedi (khakis) and as it progresses, other brands would kiss his lips and ease down his lungs as smoothly as the earlier one. So was the case with the girls, to whom he never attached. Just that they tried to hold on to him often in vain.

He worshipped his profession, he loved it as well and at times treated it as his whore. Squeezing the most out of it and giving his best. Words were his compatriots, analogies his friends, assumptions his ideas and the copy was all about the first paragraph.

To understand him you need to go through his work. His first paragraph was just like his first impression. It will bedazzle you. You'll find him the most erudite person on any topic. Comprehensive yet strong views. Move to the second paragraph and you'll feel the rough edges but still not able to pin-point them. The charm would be so overwhelming that it will make you sail till the last.

The ending...well that will come at the end of this story. So as you may guessed, this guy was....what? Well everyone around him comes with a different opinion. Intriguing, Explosive, Fake, Dramatic were some of the most overused words.

He was standing at his balcony. A burning sensation made him realised that the cig in his hands embraced death. Smoking at the balcony was almost a pleasure. The tree in front was a juxtaposition. Juxtaposition....with what? May be life. A nomad who was transfixed, still trying to reach to the skies, branching out wherever it can.

His cell blinked and a familiar name announced his virtual presence. Connecting people..huh! Sometimes breaking connections is more easier than maintaining them.

Hi
Hi

Missing me?

Well, I generally do (not totally a lie)

Liar, then why did not't you call?

I don't have balance

Why you always run out of balance, whom do you call so much?

I don't know, I don't bother to check

You should know, why don't you save some money

---By now his hands were fumbling to light another cig and the idea of banging the cell on the wall ahead was raising its hood-----

Well, you're right. Perhaps I need to learn to manage many things

No. You need to do it now and what other things you talking about?

Nothing

Tell me, na. Don't act like this. I hate it. I know you don't love me.

---- Love, Hate....easy words though they encompasses many emotions---

Accha, I will call you back. (and he disconnected the phone)

He raised himself with much pain. A spinning head is not an easy thing to handle. Last night, like many earlier he was drunk. Alcohol was not a necessity with him, it was just a mean to be what he wants to be.

As he flipped through the daily crap that gets printed in white, pink and now orange he wondered where is everyone heading to? Aspiring for things beyond their reach and losing on what they have. A game where losing is reality and wins are never counted.

He too had responsibilities. Some deserving most unwanted. He don't want to think about them. This way or the other he will fulfill them for what needs to be, needs to be done.

The trip to the office wasn't the best one. Bloody autorickshawas they charge a ransom. As soon as he entered his colleague walked up to him. Last night wasn't a nice experience for this guy as well.

Why he drinks? (he laughed at the thought)

--- Boss, we're going to be fucked

Relax man, I'm there (he replied with an ease)

But still, at least we need to start

Yeah, yeah, let's go for a smoke first then we'll decide. Let's go.

What the fuck?

Chill. I'm there.

He walked up to his computer and keyed in the password. Connected...to the globe through world wide web. Checked his mails, Orkut and then his blog. His diary, his world where he writes what he feels.

The day was longed by futile discussions, incoherent colleagues,stupid passers-by and a nonchalant atmosphere. The four walls were a cage. He wished for a bomb to explode. Finding himself nearing death among the mutilated bodies.

As the night dawned, he walked out of the office. A sense of uneasiness overtook him. True identities of people started revealing,game plans unveiled, love, hate, friendship out of necessity saddened him. And the futility of existence mauled his free soul.

His legs took him to the nearest bar. Perhaps the daughter of grapes will make him believe, what does not exist. But this is not the ending. because his endings were never abrupt, they mean something,trying to prove a pint though unjustified. And all this leaves some mortals confused and make others fall in love with him.

But one question that haunts him and many alike. Is this what is called as alcoholism or just being successfully unsuccessful?

Addiction

2007-02-18T23:16:00.000-08:00

I have made another attempt to quit smoking. Though being unsuccessful is my destiny but this time I have raised the stakes. I don't know what to ask for. Quitting one gives me life and leaving another brings me a painful death. But one thing is sure…both bring me freedom. I always try to be a complete non-believer and I know for sure that I'm not a loser. I'm just Unsuccessful………

Battlefield

2007-02-12T03:46:00.000-08:00

She was frustrated, bored, angry, confused and waiting for the best to happen. She always knew that she deserves the best and this made her more convinced to pen down her thoughts. Today centuries after she wrote this, things haven't changed. The dilemma still remains…….

P.S - We here means I.

We are a little apprehensive. This battle is heading nowhere. Though every night we make him understand how important this is but he's more interested in finding the secret between our legs. Sometimes we don't understand his love. Is it for what will go eventually or something, which goes beyond human comprehension?

There is no start or end of our story. We were not born rich but had a legacy to support our whims and fancies. After all we were the descendants of the court poet. As we grew up, we didn't require that legacy anymore. There was more to us than to our past.

We will not count our admirers here. The list is long. But we've been faithful to each one of them. We never promised them what we can't deliver. They got their share and they should've been contented. But as the great learned people say - " Desires are never fulfilled." We'll not say that we are beyond it but we know how much to give and when to stop. After all like any other girl, we liked the thought that there is someone who'll do anything for us. And that too when we made clear we cannot go beyond a certain limit. We had nothing to lose and we were justified doing that.

We swear on the merciful Allah that we never used our charms unjustly. We never asked someone to do something for us. (Some months ago, we were accused of that the King made a boat full of people sink coz we wanted to see. We did not asked for that. We just said how would it look!). There have been stories that make us feel like a goddess. We say, how unjust they can be? We're a peck of dust in front of the lord above. How a goddess can be small?

We never aspired to be a queen. We always knew we would be one. The bountiful above knows that we never played games. Our heart is as clear as the streams in jannat. People came to us. They said they wanted us. We told them, we're not here to fulfil their desires. We shall also be contented. Mind you we used the word 'contented.' And they made us the queen.

His Highness is another name on the list. But let me tell you this. We always cared for our admirers. We send them messages asking for their well being. We even call them to our house if they are not doing well. We've even nursed one. Now will you call us a cheat? We don't think so. We don't love his highness but he is always in our thoughts. Say if tomorrow he leaves us, will we feel bad? Yes certainly will. But we will not show it to him. Nor we will look for someone else. For we know that there is a list of people who are dying to have our company.

We will choose the one who has biceps of steel and a heart that beats for us. He will show a careless attitude, which will irritate us and when we nag him, he will crush us in his mighty arms. He will not meet us for months and then drench us all of a sudden like a dark cloud. He will speak to all, which will make us jealous but then comeback and make us feel wanted. When we want to speak to him, he will not be around but when we're lonely he will make us his queen. He will be there and yet not present. Aloof, distant yet mine.

This is what we want. We don't want the titles. We hope once this war ends we'll get one like this. At this end of the line or that it doesn't matter. His Highness is always there but our eyes search for the one who isn't. How Unsuccessful!!!

- A diary entry by Lal Kunwar, whose romance with Jahandar Shah (1712-13), the grandson of Aurangzeb was indeed the most colourful. She was descendent of Tansen, the great musical genius and one of the gems of the court of Akbar. She was made empress and dignified with the title of Imtiyaz Mahal (chosen of the palace). A poet wrote in her praise -

Ba Khubi Lal Kunwar nam-i-u-bud
Shakkarguftar, sin-andam-i-u-bud
(Lal Kunwar, her very name is most befitting. Sweet in speech, her body was white as silver)

Page- 1

2007-02-01T06:46:00.000-08:00

Last night it was TATA’s everywhere. They won the Corus deal but analysis and then over analysis continued till morning. Not only the pinkies but the dailies as well wrote about the Tata legacy, Indian Global foray and so on. (Here I’m in no mood to put links, but the masthead of Economic Times was the most interesting one).
Anyhow, the reason I’m writing about this is that once again I was awake the whole night. Why? Well, one of the reason was that I had to catch the newspaper vendor. To cut a long story short. Since the time I have shifted here, I wasn’t getting a single paper.
Now it has been centuries since I’ve ventured out early mornings. But, to my surprise nothing has changed. The school children can be still seen waiting for their school bus, while their mothers stuffing paranthas(a kind of chappati) in their mouths. A few oldies strolling the nearby park. Men coming home with milk packets and asking their neighbours to hurry up, otherwise the stock will get over. And the unlucky ones, who don’t have their private toilets, lining up impatiently at the public lavatory. Funny! Something’s never change.

So after a undergoing a few rounds of my locality, I found the paperwallah (newspaper vendor). My conversation with him was short, perhaps a few words. If you are a sensible person, you’ll never argue, explain or ask for a favour from a newspaperwallah in the morning. I bet he is more busy then the PM of India. So, I just gave him my address and asked him to come after he his done with the distribution. He showed up at my door after an hour. At that time I was watching CNBC Business and ruing the fact that why wasn’t I born in the family of Tata’s, Amabnis’, Mittal’s (any 1) or even Ruia’s or Biyani’s. God (if there is any) has been unjust to me. After all if I don’t deserve success on my own he could have made me a glorified unsuccessful example.

Well, the newspaperwallah was in no mood to hear my woes. He meant business. So, I immediately told him that I need three newspapers. 2 Pinks and 1 daily. The condition of my room is inversely proportional to the job which I’m in. Though my salary isn’t anything to boast about. But still, when you’re living for free at your relative's place ( my uncle’s house who is in MEA and have been posted in Sudan) you’re expected to maintain some decent living. Anyhow, before he can ask me, whether I was sure, what I need is what I asked for, I showed my subscription card for one of the pinkies.

The one that I asked for is launched today — HT Mint. It’s a business newspaper from one of the oldest publication houses of India. And unlike other business papers it’s not a broadsheet nor pink in colour. The paperwallah suddenly got nostalgic, when he came to know that I’ve subscribed for Mint. By no signs he was any old of age. But he insisted on explaining me how the size and state of newspapers have changed. All this do makes him a fierce competitor for the editor’s post. He knew that papers world over have been adapting the new format. But he was wondering at the ever-growing pages. His trouble was that people have started living in the sky. And mind me, to be a good newspaperwallah, you need to have a good arm. Much better than that of Sachin. Not only that, a good aim saves the precious time. I must say our cricket guru Mr. Chappel can ask these guys to help our men-in-blue. After all when our dabbawallahs can teach someting to Prince Charles, our newspaperswallah can be of help on throwing, aiming and so on.

Now since he had only copy left and that too MINT, I was kind of lucky. Reason, I wouldn’t have liked that I lose even one day of my subscription after all you can’t cut it from the money you’ll give to him at the end of month. I devoured the whole paper in half an hour and developed my views. In the afternoon, when I reached office everybody was writing off MINT. I wondered if I had made the right choice by subscribing to it. Don’t know, may be in a few days I’ll have a better understanding. And besides that newspapers serves various purpose for me — Like when I eat on my bed, I can put my food on them. If water spills on the floor instead of mopping, a day’s old newspaper comes handy. And, of course at the end of each month they become a reason to fight with kabadiwallah.

Finally I slept at 9 in the morning only to be woken up by a call after a few hours. A call. Sometimes it becomes a reason not to sleep and sometimes that wakes you up. The night was unsuccessful, the morning nostalgic, the afternoon confused, the evening a bit hazy and now I am wondering, will the cycle repeat? I guess it will, being unsuccessful is a part of me. But this time....I will embrace it. And if it takes away my sleep, let it be so. After all, there would be something to read tomorrow.

Snakes and Ladders

2007-01-25T02:52:00.000-08:00

This is the excerpt of the conversation; I had with a colleague of mine. I was trying to boost her morale. I gave her examples, which people give me on and off. After the conversation I just realised one thing, its like playing Snakes and Ladders. I don't know, whether I am at 99 or 0. But one thing I know…I don't have a dice anymore…..

D: Hey met AK from your ofc today
A: oh....k
D: so how are you?
7:51 PM
busy like always
A: no man
is he still in office
D: i met him an hour ago
A: ok ya
7:52 PM
D: can check out if you want me 2
A: hez 1 of my closest pals here
na na
D: yup he is a cool man
A: have 2 speak 2 him anyway
ya
that he is
7:53 PM
D: so wassup? Howz the weather down there?
A: awesome
u tel me
D: I'm plannin to go to drink at my pals place
A: hwz delhi
D: cold and chilly
A: i think i need 2 visit delhi its been a while
thats cool
D: though now the temp is up by a few degrees
7:54 PM
A: yea AK was tellin me
ha!
D: of course you should
A: hmm
D: yeah....then I can take you out for a drink..lol
7:55 PM
A: well, i dont drink
D: oh...then you can go for a coffee in a bar
it's good, I can get drunk and you'll drop me home..lol
7:56 PM
A: ha!
nway hw're things with u hwz work treating u?
D: to be honest....besides Sports I don't have much to do
7:57 PM
like this week I'm doin only one
nehw as I told you...later on I'll like to branch out but keepin my head down and lookin where i can kind of fit in
wht abt u?
7:58 PM
A: do u see my stories?
i mean my bylines?
D: honestly....only smtimes
A: ya so u can fig it out
honestly
7:59 PM
D: cheer up boss...
I'm sure you'll get cracking soon
8:00 PM
A: what makes u think that
its all crap!!!
D: see...I don't say this to every1...I don't care
But I've seen your work
from both sides...I mean real work and the manipulation part
8:01 PM
I'm sure that what makes a good journo.....so bid for your time
also....I knw 1 thing when it comes to survival even an ant gives i's best shot
AND this is not global gyaan
:-)
8:02 PM
A: i'm sure it isnt
but i surely have my doubts now
8:03 PM
D: its good, in fact you shld re asses
A: nway lets c
D: yeah
A: huh??
i mean i doubt myself now
i dont know ya
chuck it...
8:04 PM
D: come on....chuck it but with style
A: chuck what?
D: chuck ur doubts
A: all this sounds gr8 but th efact remains either ur the best or u not there
i dont know
D: correct
8:05 PM
I agree to that statement
But this is what my grandpa told me
and I always rem it whenever I'm low
he said
Today what you've done may not come through
8:06 PM
but the next second everything changes, what not clicks right now will click a sec after that
so keep tryin
chal 4gt it
A: thnx 4 the encouragement
D: this iss bgettin heavy
8:07 PM
A: no thats nice of u but i dunno seriously
D: do whatever you've to do....baki dekh lena yaar...maut to nahi aayegi na
bas phir kya darna...bahut kuch hai karne ke liye
A: maut will be bettre i think!!
D: Hey A.....come on ddude
8:08 PM
A: u've caught me in a very bad mood
ya ya chill its all cool
D: you're depressed for no good reason....haven't you faced this kind of stuff ever...may be in school, or college or general life
where you're kind of doomed
trhink
A: so u think i'm doomed??
8:09 PM
D: so?
you're depressed for no good reason....haven't you faced this kind of stuff ever...may be in school, or college or general life
where you're kind of doomed
trhink
and then smtimes ur sucsful and smtime not
tht doesnt mean u'll stop trying
or feel its over
8:10 PM
A: i asked u do u think i'm doomed like bura waqt chal raha hai
D: NO
bura waqt kitne din chalega
saala kabhi to khatam hoga na
phir?
A: abhi chal raha hai kya?
D: I don't think so
8:11 PM
A: ok
D: but mein koi jyotishi nahi houn
this is the same like what I was goin thru a few weeks back
and who knows phir aise hi hoga
but kaam to karna padega na
8:12 PM
A: ya ure right
thanks ya:-)
D: come on
8:13 PM
realx and do whatever you've to
A: but ya only kaam nahi karna
have to do top class kaam
D: matlab?
haan haan woh to hai bhai
A: acha tell me what do u mean by manipulation and othe story
8:14 PM
D: I only mean that smtimes...you've to make a story where there is none
thts manipulation
and smtimes there is a genuine story
8:15 PM
which is waiting for a journo to come and bear her
A: ha!
o do u feel i'm a good manipulator or a good genuine journo?
D: a good journo is 1 who is both
8:16 PM
and i think you can do well with both kind of stuff
8:17 PM
A: dude u made my day
now watch out 4 some real cool stories
D: kewl
8:18 PM
so then give them some punk
and of course HARD ROCK
lol
A: yes sir
now u making the competition harder 4 urself
haha
D: lol
8:19 PM
I don't have any competition
my competition is with myself
I'm the KING
A: thats a gr8 SoM
way to go but my competition is with all
nway gtg
D: ok
8:20 PM
bbye
and have some fun
A: u tv and thanks
yes will have fun

Suicide Note

2007-01-12T07:36:00.000-08:00

Believe me. I’ve done nothing wrong. If you would’ve been at my place you would’ve done the same. Call it an error in judgment or my weakness but still I’ll say — I was not wrong, I was simply not wrong. I can still see the events unfolding in front of my eyes. It was another day and yet for centuries to come, I’ll be known for this day only. Sometimes I ask the great lord above that this was why I was born? I look for solace but can’t find it anywhere. Not even in the skies. In the dark when I walk through the streets the dogs do not bark at me, they think I can’t do anymore harm. Nobody questions me but in their eyes I can see the hatred. It swells up like a balloon filled with gas and then it erupts. And when it erupts, streams of tears flow. Now even that have stopped. Their cheeks look like barren lands. And I am the culprit. They say it. I’m the culprit. Their silence screams.

I cannot sleep at night. I hear voices. Shrieks, screams and whispers. People accusing me! For what I ask? For what? And then they become more silent. My head seems to be exploding and I weep. But there are no tears. I curse them, even I hurled stones at them but they stood their ground. Not a single soul moved. And they remained silent, as if testing my patience.

A few months back, everything was all right. I will not say that I was loved. But still there was this false feeling. The air was cool. The sunrise were warm. Those who now hate me felt for me. Or was it a farce? Night after night, I ponder over it, Think where did I went wrong. But as I said that was not my fault. They themselves are responsible for their plight. I cannot eat food anymore. Yesterday, I did not touched the chicken gravy. I used to relish it like anything. But now, it appeared human flesh with red blood. I was aghast. I think they plotted it. They want to kill me. I’ll not die. For I’m not wrong.

Today before writing this I’ve decided to confess. Someone told me that confessing makes your heart lighter. But what should I confess for I have nothing to hide. I set free all my pigeons, they came back. As if they’re also labeled like me. The sky is theirs but the freedom is snatched. In the afternoon, I sat down for my prayers. I cannot hear the muezzin call. Nor the once irritant temple bells gong. They all seem to have gone silent.

I’ll end my life. There is no reason to survive. I’m a loner in this world full of people. This is it. I call it a day. I know no one will weep. They will say, the traitor has died. But tell me, who I have betrayed. One can only betray if their is love, friendship or an agreement to honor. I never had one. I am not a traitor. Don’t believe me, ask Delhi.

— A suicide note by Illah Baksh, known as the traitor of Delhi, 1857 Mutiny.

Delhi- IV

2007-01-03T02:28:00.000-08:00

I don't know but I've finally decided to call it a day. Reason, I have no clues. Perhaps somewhere I don't want to do it and in a way I'm forcing myself but I have to. As a loser I don't stand a chance and for what and why? This is extremely boring and this makes me feel sad. I guess I'm slowly dying. But the problem is I've felt so a thousand times before and still I'm very much alive. Perhaps when you ask for it you don't get it and when it comes you try to resist it. How unsuccessful!

Some days ago, I went to Jama Masjid. It was Eid. I don't like to believe in god. But the place reminds me of him. The tall minarets, the vast courtyard and the simplicity within this grandeur. This makes me feel both small and big. I look for Delhi. I yearn for her. But I couldn't find her anymore and her smell is also missing. I become lonely in the crowd. Like a lost kid….

Inside Jama Masjid, there is a small pond, where people wash their feet before saying prayers. I think the process is called ablution. The water washes away your sins before you ask for oneness with god. And before you enter the main hall, there is a beautifully carved marble gate. You have to go beneath it so as to enter the main hall. It is so designed that an adult has to bend while passing through it. Smart attempt I must say. Even in those times the king had to shed his supremacy before entering. The moment the king bends, the supremacy of god is accepted.
The whole idea makes me laugh. I mean we humans make a building which compete with the skies, only to realise we cannot defeat god and then we make sure that we itself say that. Perhaps the same is with Delhi and me. I try to compete with her only to realise that I can't win and then I accept my defeat. If it is to be so then let it be that way. Neither she can take anything away from me nor I can give her anything. But then in all honesty, if this is so then it is true love. And Delhi, she does not believe in love she encourage admirers. She is a candle who attract moths and the fate of moths…..unsuccessfulness?

From Jama Masjid, my newfound friend and me traversed to Chawri bazzar. It is said that this was where the lust of Delhi once lived. Lust of Delhi? I wonder. Delhi does not lust she lures. And whenever Delhi lusted it turned out to be a blunder. There are various examples. Be it before mutiny or after independence, whenever Delhi felt for his ruler, they vanquished and Delhi she was devastated at this loss. Now that she has learnt her lessons, she plays and Oh! She plays it well. Anyhow Chawri Bazzar has changed over centuries. I cannot visualize those lovely ladies standing in the balconies trying to lure passers-by. I tried hard but of no avail. I tried to see Delhi again but she wasn't anywhere. Somewhere I wanted to blame it on my newfound friend but then I realised I have lost it. Chawri Bazzar looked like a market filled of shops and rickshaws. A reality that I hate to see, hear and admit.

This self incised wound refuses to heal up. Delhi is lost and it now lives in the book of history. I don't know but back there in Jama Masjid, a Sikh man who brought her daughter was telling her little one that there is nothing great about here. His daughter may have read about Jama Masjid in some history book and insisted to see the place. Holding the little girl's arm he said, "See it is just a vast open space. There is nothing here to see." Little he saw the fascinated look at his daughter's face. She was fascinated by what I am in love with. And her father, he will not understand it, nor will others.

And then from nowhere, I saw Delhi, at the other end, just below the moon. She was looking mesmerising. I tried to call her but my voice was choked. I turned and looked at the little girls face; she was also looking there, as if trying to memorize this grandeur. A kid and a lover, both lost for one thing. Who's unsuccessful? Me, the kid or Delhi? Whatever be the answer one thing is sure that Delhi continues to live, if not with me then with others…..successfully I wish.

Middle-Earth

2006-12-27T02:09:00.000-08:00

Alcohol and memories are definitely not a good combination. It isn't a revelation for me. I always knew it and so avoid mixing both. But last weekend I was helpless. N was back after a long time and Z also dropped. Personally I've a very strong feeling that was the last get-together for the three of us. I don't know why but this was a sort of culmination of our 05 year-old friendship.

Let me give reasons, N, an army officer is on his way to his post in Arunachal. In the past 05 years, he hasn't changed a bit. He is still a scrooge, continues to insist on explaining everything, and still believes that girls are only good in bed. But, army has instilled some pride in him and like any other olive-green bearer, his conversations somehow unknowingly make me feel a 'bloody civilian.'

Z, is all set to join the Ambani group coming summers. He also hasn't changed a bit. Still remains jolly, much of an squanderer like me and thinks girls are made to love and forget. But being in a business school has made him talk big. Sensex has taken precedence over sex. And Bulls and bears over bollywood. So his conversations somehow unknowingly make me visualize my future - We both in his villa, sitting at his bar. He pouring me a premium scotch, vintage 1700 and smoking a Havana. And me, with my lean figure, with a half-burnt cigarette between my fingers, sitting on the bar stool and listening to his business adventures.

So I believe that yes it was the culmination of our friendship in some way. The best part was that we all knew it and just avoided it. Anyhow, I was fighting with these thoughts when Z raised the topic that I fear the most. Discussing love lives. I can talk on history for hours, discuss politics as if I am the next PM and can be a good listener on the stuff that I don't know. But Love life….except unsuccessfulness I've nothing to add. And when you're drunk you remember those who left you or vice-versa.

Anyhow N's insistence on the curves and sizes and the debate fuelled by Z over describing girls each state wise, gave me time to be in my own world. I don't know but then I remembered a quote and laughed. That thought made me pick up the phone and call. In the morning, when all were dead drunk and snoring and I had somehow helped myself without vomiting, I rued that call. I don't know why.

There are so many why's - why people are living, why we try to make a career, why we study hard, why we get involved in office politics, why we make friends, why we love and why we lose it all.

I don't have an answer for any of those why. But I still remember so many people, starting from that sparrow - my first pet, that lame girl in school whom I then thought I should love coz no one did, my cat, that old guy whom I bought a quilt and similarly so many people who did some stuff for me when I never expected. WHY?

So in that chilly morning, I came out in the open. Asking the fog to engulf me and somehow that quote flashed in my mind once again, I smiled to myself, came back inside, hugged both of them hard and then closed my eyes. May be that is what my destiny is. For, Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost. And, I know that I'm not lost, I'm just unsuccessful.

Ana 'l haqq

2006-12-18T04:05:00.000-08:00

I'm actually very tired. For the first time in so many days, I'm really feeling tired. This gives me some happiness and also makes me question myself. Of course, I'm not tiring. For I cannot spare time even to tire. I feel like an athlete competing in a relay race. I know the line is much far and I've to cross it. As of now I even don't know what line is that and what will happen once I cross it. For I cannot be successful and that is my fate!

Somebody told me, I have become closed. I laugh upon that thought. Closed? Huh…of what. All my experiences have helped me deriving one thing – We all lie to our self. Why we do that? We want to make us feel happy but the real tragedy is that a lie always remains a lie and when it crashes against the walls of reality, we feel sorry. I want to be in such a state where all these things do not matter. Time and again I falter but instead of ruing and clinging, I prefer them to be remembered as checks and balances. But the only worry is, I don't want to be there, thinking about them. Last winter I was in a similar state and this makes me laugh. There is something wrong with winters. The fog of unsuccessfulness is dense and I'm lost.

I look at people around and feel depressed. They all seem worthless. All of them! They are so engaged in their petty things. My dislike for them is growing by leaps and bounds. I think I'm a joker among those, trying to be friendly, nice, and in some cases much to my disliking thinking about them. I don't want to do any of these. Besides my family, there are only some people (in spite of thinking hard, I cannot raise the count above 4) whom I really want. But do they deserve to be with me? I'm getting unsure about it each coming day. Somehow now I want them to falter so I have a reason to say – You don't deserve it and move out. Unsuccessful with this also, they act well and so do I. Why we fake things? May be to stay happy and if this is happiness, I don't want it. I prefer to stay unsuccessful.

J gifted me 'The Last Mughal,' after a long-long time I got a present. Made me real happy but then I tried to do a post-mortem. I hate to accept that. Anyhow, the book is engrossing, makes me feel as if Delhi is calling, should be thankful to J. He gave me what I never expected from him – a smile, a genuine smile. I think I should also gift people. Even if they do post-mortem, how does it affect me, for I have nothing to lose and their smiles they would certainly be precious.

Last but not the least, I want to be a sufi now. This is what I think I'll end up as, longing for love and belongingness, which i'll never find in this fake world. But I have some obligations and I'm sure once I'm through with these obligations – I'll be a Sufi and this is a promise and I try my best to keep up with the promises I make....

Awakened by your love,
I flicker like a candle's light
tryin to hold on in the dark.
Yet, you spare me no blows
and keep asking,
"Why do you complain?"

- By RUMI

P.S - ana 'l haqq means, I am the Truth.

If I was not to be a Cartoon!

2006-12-14T08:12:00.000-08:00

Loyal but incredibly unsuccessful, D has to defend his unsuccessfullness. This threat itself arises from his unsuccessfullness and threatens his existence. D is doomed to spend his life on pins and needles, terrified and suspicious of anything that is ordinary. When success rears it's hideous head, D exhibits enough fearless ingenuity only to be unsuccessful.

Spirits...

2006-12-04T23:07:00.000-08:00

In spite of my sincere attempts, I have never been able to develop a liking for alcohol. Why? I don't have reasons. Somehow my pale figure and the yellow, brown or colourless liquid do not gel. Now, if I have it in less amount, I feel disgruntled that I have spend money but still not got the full value out of it and if I overdo, then I regret, why I did so. Hence, whenever someone calls me to his place with alcohol as bait, I generally give any reason that comes to mind so as to avoid this socialising or entertainment. Let me clarify, that I have nothing against those who have a good relationship with the daughter of the grapes, irrespective of, whether they like their drink to get over in some light years or those who finish it in a wink, as if someone was to steal it. Ok,by the way, why I am writing this?

Well, Z called me up as expected. Since it was more than a week that we were avoiding calling each other, this was very much on the cards. Another common factor was N. I'll speak about him a bit later. So Z, as he always does after such incidents, asked me to come over to his place for the 'season of Rum' has started. Of course! Why not was my first reaction. But soon realisation bottled my spirits. So, unlike some past years Z and Me were not able to celebrate the onset of 'season of Rum.' He tried to cheer me up and I responded with hollow, verbose and philosophical statements. Interestingly, I've noticed this that if one of us go philosophical the other tries to sound materialistic. May be one of these days, I'll ask him to ponder upon this and then like all times we will say - "Yeh baat, aaj ham pehli baar kar rahein hai na."(We are talking about this stuff for the first time). Though, we both know that somewhere we must have talked about it nth no. of times.

Since Z is back with A, so most of the times his phone is busy. Also he told me that he is speaking on the same phone that he had once broken in anger. It again made me think, whether it's as easy to repair a relationship, like repairing a mobile and if so then I disdain the idea. Not to forget, the scar always remains and no amount of repairing can do justice to it.

Coming back to N. Well this was what that basically made Z ring me up. N is going to Arunachal, insurgency area. We're discussing about it, it has been long since we three have met, who knows how many such chances we will get. I'm sure none of us thinks about it but the desire is there. Anyhow, we discussed N, not discussing in fact debating - is N's misery better or we squanderers score a brownie. Also, Z then told that how he could not control his tears after getting that professional break. I wondered have I ever cried coz stuff like this? No, I guess. May be even I deserve to weep, of course for good reasons. It has been ages, may be the last time was when my grandpa died, some six years ago.

So I asked Z, "Will you cry, if N dies in an insurgency operation?" He said, "I don't know that but one thing I'm sure, I'll be the proudest friend that day." Bang! Z you won my heart, once again.

So that was one of the longest call that I attended in the past few weeks. I like it. My mobile silence narrates a thousand tales. Hey! Does each mobile has a tale of it's own? How interesting it would be read a book, which is written by mobiles. Describing their owners joys, happiness, plight…..nah may be I'm watching too much of cartoons. But I hate to tell that I classify cartoons as unsuccessful….why? Because we leave them as we grow up but you know what, they are there, the same, waiting for us, with their tales…. though unsuccessfully.

P.S - I have left enough indications to Z & N that I'm dying to get Dalrymple's latest book, lets see who takes the clue. Also check out my favourite cartoon of this week, Mr. SpongeBob.

Shadow

2006-11-29T06:52:00.000-08:00

A series dedicated to all whom I know and how I interpret them, though unsuccessfully.....

We will not give her a name. Because whenever someone asks her, what she prefers being called as, she chooses any name according to her fancy. So you can call her, address her or refer to her by any name, it won't matter. In fact most of the times, it doesn't matter what she do or is trying to do.

Except now and then, she has never-ever played a major role in anyone's life. This is what that always troubled her. Come on…it will bother anyone. Most of the times she was taken for granted. In spite of her countless efforts to win hearts, to be hated and to be admired, she never got any recognition. Roll no. 32, with a nameplate on her shirt, which was pinned on her sweaters in winters, she cannot escape out of it long after school. She was just another student, another worker, another friend and another colleague.

I firmly believe that if she dies tomorrow, it will not make any major difference to anyone. (Of course except her family) Now this includes me as well and I somehow hate to admit that.

It was insane from the start. Her so-called friends were mean, they called her only when it was required - "Hey what's the class tomorrow? Do you have those notes? You know, this guy proposed me!!! I don't know what to do with my mom.".. and so on. And poor she, she was always there. Sometimes as a punching bag, most of the times as a pillow to sob on. What was she trying to find? Perhaps some good company. And more than that, this made her fool herself that she was one among them.

Being the youngest at home, she was a pampered lot but not a spoiled one. The great Indian middle class always leave something to be desired for and that what happened in her case as well. She had everything but what always pinched was she could not have everything that she wants. Perhaps this subdued her desires. And after sometime, the desires, they weaned away.

She always hooked on to the most admired, different people in her circle. Most of the times it so happens that such different people either don't have anyone or they want someone to rally around them and our dear character suited this profile. So most of the times, she was visible with such characters and lost her identity in an attempt to be identified.

About her expeditions with the male species, there is not much to be talked about. Though every girl becomes a fantasy of someone. She had real bad luck. For, she was never able to sustain that. Why? Beyond the physical structure, there were a lot of reasons behind it.

Yet she is hopeful. Whenever I look at her, I pity her and wonder why she knows only Ctrl C, Ctrl X and Ctrl V. There is a new world, where she can be herself but the only problem is - She needs to discover herself, as to be discovered. Till then, like me, she has to live up with unsuccessfulness. The difference, she tries to fight it and I love to be with it.

Candle

2006-11-20T01:22:00.000-08:00

Last night there was no electricity. I don’t know but for me darkness means introspection. I hate to do it but I cannot escape. Resigning to my fate, I started speaking to the lonely candle and then slowly but surely, unsuccessfulness dawns -

How come darkness in the room
when a candle burning bright,
Between my heart and mind
this is an ongoing philosophical fight;

Have I become like wires
the nerves suddenly lost their current,
There! A little glow in the dark
at the expense of wax being burnt;

It trickles down her body
and she can feel the pain,
But a strange smile on her face
just watch the glowing flame;

She knows the end is near
as the clock hands dance,
Her bosom swells with tears
as liquefaction enhance;

Orange, blue and yellow
that is all what she posses,
Don’t look at her with pity
there is warmth near those curves;

She starts becoming shorter
and I am petrified,
Don’t leave me, I beg
without you, how will I survive?

Finally I bring her close
try to hold on the last sight,
It seems that she also efforts a fake smile
perhaps an attempt, to sparkle my dark night;

Some moments of glory
or another battle lost?
For the darkness again engulfs me
but she illuminates my thought;

That’s why, my mind and heart
debate over it all night,
How come darkness in the room
when a candle burning bright?
when a candle burning bright…..

Bubble

2006-11-14T02:26:00.000-08:00

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

Life is moving at its snail pace, just that I need to pay for the fuel now. Things have certainly changed yet I feel that I am in a time warp. As if I'm living in a bubble, which revolves. I can see the outside world that appears different every time. Some how I forget that I can only see it, I cannot feel it. And when this realisation struck - I feel both sad and happy. Is it hard to define? I think so.

Anyhow, these days I'm watching a lot of movies. The kind of stuff, otherwise I would have never thought about viewing. Don't ask me the names because I watch 2-3 movies simultaneously. I mean I keep flipping between channels. These are some of the movies that I watched
1. Don't remember the name - starring Amish, Esha and Aftab.
2. Don't remember the name - starring Winona Ryder and Adam Sandler
3. Gangster
4. Pelican Brief
5. Chocolate (Hollywood)
6. Tahalka
7. Mere Papa the Great
8. Some old movie, when Dev Anand was really young
9. Mumbai Se Aaya Mera Dost

10. A few movies, where some youngsters realised their dream for once.
11. A movie starring Govinda, Mahima & Raveena (an I thought Mahima never acted with Govinda…huh!
12. Janeesheen

Now one thing I've realised that movies are a lot similar like the bubble I'm in. Come on, how many times, this have happened to you, that the girl you love is your foe's sister, daughter etc. Or the town you live in has some secret that except you everyone knows, or for that matter, your dad always pretends that he is capable of doing everything, or circumstances so become that you marry twice…. I guess, all will agree to the fact that this may not happen normally but is very much possible. You can see it, may be experience it in some form but can't live it.

The other thing I've realised is why momentarily we fall in love with these cine artists (in my case actresses.) Now when I se a pretty face like Winona Ryder weeping or Miss Lohan sulking, my heart goes out for them. And you know what, you start longing for these kind off girls; I mean not necessarily the face but a heart like them.

Also, one movie where I came literally to tears was 'Mein Madhuri Dixit Banna Chahti Hoon'…. I loved the character that Rajpal Yadav played. I found it interesting that the character was totally devoted to that girl and completely hide his identity. Even in the last, once again, he killed his dreams for her or to put it in better words he started living her dream. The place where I felt bad was when that guy, who promised 'Chutki' (played by Antra) to make her a movie star ridiculed Rajpal in front of her and she joined him in doing that.

Last but not the least, I finally visited a doctor and like always my fear come true. Now I'll have to visit him again and may be again. I hate this breed, they talk so comfortingly and with so ease that sometimes you forget that you're sick or suffering with this or that.

But one thing I noticed in the movies, in my bubble and people around, there is one theme common and that brings changes and that is being unsuccessful, perhaps my time is yet to begin till then I have to live with it, either by choice or by force.

For none of us lives to himself alone and none of us dies to himself alone.

Boredom

2006-11-06T03:24:00.000-08:00

I am writing this, because I want to write something. As I promised to myself when I wrote Iccha Mrityua that I'll not write anymore stories on love-emotional relationships, so I'm keeping that promise. Anyhow this is not much of a read."

Start-

He was watching cartoons. Nothing wrong with that. These days he watched only news and cartoons. Perfectly all right. Can't call him insane, after all like all other morons he was more interested in what is happening around than what he is going through.

According to Mohit's standard, he was already past the age, when one is called young. But, then and now, he used to forget about it. Watching cartoons was a result of one of such follies. It was around two in the morning, a repeat telecast of 'Tom &Jerry' was going on. He fumed - "What the hell! How can they run short of ideas?" His hands pressed a number and the world changed. But even the news channel disappointed him, he moaned in frustration, "Please, not again." The only control he had over the television and his life was to - Switch it off.

Mohit was living alone. A two-room flat was at his disposal. But, he was in no mood to shatter the piece around him by inviting anyone. "This is my cave and no-one is invited," he declared to himself. Then he tried different positions, sitting on the ground, on the table, lying on the bed, standing near the door and so on.

He always had problems with the loo-door, he always felt that someone would peep in, or someone would push it by mistake, may be the chain will open all by itself. There was no good reason for this fear. Wait a minute, perhaps once his parents' beat him in the loo may be that gave birth to this unfound fear. After shifting here, he used to keep the loo door open, as if inviting - Come on see me, I'm shitting. One day he shouted as well - " I'm shitting and having a smoke, come on, see it."

The clothes were lying all around; he didn't care to arrange them. "Why should I? This is my house, and it will be the way, I like it," he debated with himself. But he was peculiar about the books. He arranged them according to his taste, promising to himself that at least he would read a few pages everyday. But soon like his other attempts, dust gathered over it. Now one can draw a figure over it, using the index finger.

November, announces the onset of winter blatantly. The chill in the morning air returns to haunt at night. Physically he was aware of this, which irate him all the more - "Why the hell, everything has to change?" he argued with himself. The day somehow was lost in the melancholic office but the nights, they were worse. "Nothing to do is the problem," he thought. Then he devised ways -
1. To switch of the lights, throw the keys and then try to find them.
2. Count 30 minutes (he tried counting more but was bored)
3. Brush teeth for 20 mins
4. If you want to watch a particular channel, you've to flip through the rest of them and decide upon two channels more

This was working fine, until one day, without any reason, the cable was disconnected. Like all days, he reached home before midnight, switched on the television and waited to hear animated voices but all there was a blue screen. His fingers frantically pressed all the buttons. The voice of a famous politician from some house confirmed, that only he was denied of this right to entertainment. Like always, the cell phone displayed - NO NETWORK COVERAGE.

The string of bad luck had just started, the tube-light refused to glow, so did the bulb. All of a sudden he was staring at the blue screen. He moved to the next room. Nervously he pressed the switch, this time fate was on his side. The room sparkled to existence.

"Thank God," he sighed. Mohit was afraid of darkness too. He never used to sleep in dark. Perhaps some odd relation with his childhood. He reminded himself the umpteenth time that he had to see a doctor for the pain has increased. He needs to call an electrician and most important ask the cable guy to correct whatever has gone wrong.

Old habits do die-hard; this was the third night when he didn't feel sleepy. But somehow he always found himself curled in that sofa near the bed or the pain in his back, make him realise that he slept on the chair. Sleep was hovering miles away from his eyes. "To sleep is to waste time and I don't have time to waste," but like everything else this was another one of those things on which he never had a control.

Yesterday, Mohit decided to restart an old game. Except himself he will kill anything alive that he see. Since then he has never felt alone. Nor he feels bored. But now there is an another problem, he wants to give all that he has killed a proper funeral but in that two-room flat, where he lives alone, where cartoons will rule for some more time, where he will keep the loo-door open, his black-hole somehow lacks a burial space. "How Unsuccessful!!!"

Q & A

2006-11-01T22:07:00.000-08:00

So, finally I'm back to where I started.

1. Are you disappointed? For sure I'm.
2. Will you live with it? Of course, I don't have any alternatives.
3. Do you regret it? Yes, somewhat.
4. Do you feel cheated? Yes, I do.
5. Why? Well majorly because I haven't done anything like this in my life. I mean most of the times I'm sure of what I'm getting into. But I can't blame someone, I mean it's not necessary every one think on the same lines.
6. So, was it your fault? Partially Yes, I must have understood it long before but I was still trying.
7. Any comments? On..Ok…No not at all. I think I believe in - Do No Evil and Say No Evil. So 'No Comments.' Besides, I accept I forgot my rules but then you know how it overtakes you.
8. Will you be able to forget it? In a matter of time, may be. I'm not sure.
9. What are your plans now? Nothing has changed. Yeah, I'll have to do some soul searching but yes, like everyone says - I'll concentrate on work.
8. Any lessons learnt? *Smiles* Yeah surely.
10. What? I am not going to be in anything like it ever after, unless I'm forced.
11. Will you keep writing about 'Delhi'? Nothing has changed in terms of this blog. All I can say is I love this city and still there is a lot to explore.
12. So…..? So what? Please read the name of this blog…

Z & Me

2006-10-30T03:29:00.000-08:00

I'm writing this in a spur of the moment.

Yesterday Z came; he has called it off with A. He broke his cell phone as well. Interestingly, now I know a sizeable number of people who broke their cell phones along with their relationships. What is the relation between a cell phone and a relationship? I think cell phone is overused during a relationship and that's why people break it when they part off. As if resigning to the fact that unless they get a new partner, their cell phone will not be of much use.

I haven't thrown my cell till now. I may have dropped it unknowingly but never thrown it or even thought about that. At most I have switched it off for some days. Well my case is totally different; I mean I'm not rich. The cell phone I have is going to be now 3 years old and somehow or the other I never was able to buy another one. Like always Z was reluctant to talk about it initially and then he vent it out. So….

Z - I haven't done anything wrong. I mean she was with sitting with some one in the middle of the night. How can I take that? Can you take that?

D - (Undergoing a soul search) Hmmm….I mean I don't know.

Z - What!!? You don't know.

D - I mean Yes, you're right. But you could have been more understanding and besides you were not going to marry her, right?

Z - So what? I mean. I wasn't there in that relationship just for sex. I have enough. I am 24 yaar. I'm looking for peace. You tell me, I could have also done the same then?

D - But what about that girl? With whom you recently had this fling.

Z - That was a one-off case and I was sorry about it. You know what D, I am a middle class Indian. I may be a hypocrite but then I've some values. I'm not like these metro-class babalogs who have this no problem attitude.

D - (Playing with the cig.) Haan, I think you're right. So what should I do?

Z - You? Where are 'you' in the picture?

D - (Realising my mistake) I mean, what you want me to say?

Z - (Now fuming) Nothing. I care a damn if you adhere to what I stand for. I think I've done right. It's not about 'ego'. Before it also happened.

D - what?

Z - Are yaar, this guy. He liked her and she refused but she still use to go out with him and talk to him.

D - But you can't dictate someone's' life

Z - Fuck You. I was not dictating anything; she should've the brains. I mean how can you put your faith on a guy who has already expressed his feelings for you. Tell me if I would've gone with N…you know about her. I don't become even friendly with her. Yaar, thts why I said I am a middle class bloke. I cannot take that shit that my girfriend being friendly with her ex or some one who has got other feelings for her.

D - Is about feeling insecure? That means the relationship never had any strength.

Z - How much you deny that but Yes. Also I don't think except Chinkis and babalogs anyone will take that shit? It's annonying and if you really love, forget about love, if you even are 1% emotional you won't take that. Tu bata, what would you've done?

D - I? (Lighting that cigarette)…I may have done the same after all I'm also a middle class Indian.

-----------------We both laughed and then had a chicken for dinner, played pool, cursed all the girls in our lives, decided to become entrepreneurs one day, to marry a girl which our parents will choose and then renounce this world soon after. So all this decision making took 20 B&H lights with which we excercised our lungs. Early morning when he went off to sleep, I came out, lighted another cigarette and thought - Is it much better to stay unsuccessful? I looked at my phone….it was there, as if sleeping soundly. -------------------

Number

2006-10-19T05:22:00.000-07:00

Finally the winters are here. It rained last night. Not much I guess, because by the time the first drop fell down I was fast asleep. It was around five in the morning. Before I slept, I realised that a mosquito has bitten me. I went through the whole process of reassuring myself that the mosquito that bit me would not have that Dengue virus. I laughed upon that thought as well. Comparing it to having unprotected sex with a prostitute and then hoping not to catch AIDS…hah. Then I thought that what all I have to go through if I become another name in that long list of – dengueised. I’ll take leave, stay at home, take lot of fluids, and pop parecetamols down my throat. Or will I get admitted to a hospital. I know in government hospital nurses aren’t beautiful though some interns are. But for them I will be a case study. This thought disturbed me more and I sincerely prayed that I should not suffer from this dengue fever. I still don’t know, I haven’t yet started feeling body pain, nor yet fever has set in. I’m still scared!!!

I managed to wake at 11 a.m. It takes me 15 minutes to walk up to my bus stand. Actually it depends. If I buy a tea, half-chai and a smoke, it takes me 20 minutes. Then I think that I have managed to prolong my life for five minutes, which compensates the 11 minutes I lose. So in total I lose six minutes. I was never good with maths. While travelling in the bus, you see lot of faces, will not call them fellow human beings because once their stop comes, they get lost in the constantly swelling numbers of my country. The Population index at AIIMS is majestic, if your buswallah makes you wait, you can actually see the numbers moving. For you they are numbers, but in some families it will be a moment to celebrate or some will rue their fate. I don’t know…I will keep it to simply numbers.

Delhi looks majestic in this season. I want to explore her more. But time has chained me. Delhi is mostly responsible for this, how can she be so cruel to her lovers? Don’t she know, how painful is that, she needs to figure it out or perhaps it doesn’t matter. But she won’t and why should she? It is your problem. She has defied time before and is still doing it. One day while going towards Khan Market, I saw a Parsi Cemetery; I haven’t explored that angle of Delhi yet – The graveyards. Perhaps, one day I will. Also there is one behind my office. I don’t know how old it is. But it sometimes comes in my dreams. I’ll not visit it anymore. It reminds me of past, a past which spells out unsuccessfulness of my Delhi. Mauled through the hands of a stranger. A known stranger.

After writing all this, I feel a bit happy. I know this is momentary. I’ll not hide from the truth. I have to go in that graveyard. That stranger doesn’t matter now. The population index will keep on ticking and my math will always remain poor. Only uncertainty is Dengue, may be the noise and pollution from crackers will get us rid of that. And at last I’m also another number – How Unsuccessful?

Re-invention

2006-10-02T02:43:00.000-07:00

It has been quite some time that I’ve written something. The use of active and passive has de-sensitised me. I want to be an insomniac, completely immersed in work but there is nothing to do. The weather has started changing, I can feel it in the air. I don’t know but suddenly it seems that I’ve not spent some time with myself, the way I use to do and that is why there are cobwebs in my head, like the way they are there in my room.

Ideas - These days all I think about is generating ideas, I am thirsty as well. Can a thirsty mind think of ideas? I don’t know, I cannot think of any. I don’t feel like writing anymore. Words have started hating me. I need a break, a long one where I am all alone as I used to be, with no one to care for, no one to think about not even me. I am like in a web, it is painful not because I feel it more because I become the source of that pain.

Sometimes you need to re-invent yourself, like Gandhi, Nehru, Rajiv, Sonia & many more like them did. They became leaders. I will also become one just that when they did so they lost someone. I am afraid of losing but as they say - “ The End or Just the beginning.” Perhaps I need to reinvent Unsuccessfullness.......

Delhi- III

2006-09-15T09:30:00.000-07:00

Everyone says/believe that once you are in a relationship, eventually the thrill of being in it takes a nosedive, it becomes monotonous, dreary and then the future is – a painful parting. But what about people like me for whom in spite of whatever time you spend the rendezvous seems short-lived. So my amour with Delhi goes on……(for what is painful, is being unsuccessful and I’m doomed to be so).

Mehrauli
A post is not enough to write about it and a day seems too short to explore the place. But I tried the later and am now trying the first.

The ruins of Mehrauli showcases the childhood of Delhi and after the visit I have no shame in saying that I won’t mind being called a paedophile. Once Mehrauli was Delhi, won by Ghori from Prithviraj Chauhan. Then she was a child, young in years but old in wisdom. As years passed by, the Slave dynasty rulers nursed it, later caressed by the Lodhis, and finally Delhi blossomed in the Mughal era.

Today only the ruins speak of the past glory of Mehrauli. They are very much there, facing weather, negligence, encroachment and everything else. What makes them survive? Love. I don’t think so. Delhi does not love anyone. I have asked her a hundred times and she maintains a deafening silence. Now I’ve stopped asking that. The rendezvous of these monuments has been going on for the past few centuries and it seems the thrill is very much there. And that leaves me mesmerised.

Qutub Minar

Aibak wanted to make a mark on this city. He wanted to show the world that he has won her. What else can a man do to show that he possesses a woman? He erected a stone phallus. 14.32 metre long with 379 steps. But Delhi has her own way to treat idiots like him. The man who relished his daughter completed his grand monument. Aibak died while playing chaughan (medieval polo) and his son-in-law, the next king completed the structure. Some say that it was for the revered saint Qutubbdin Bakhtiyar Kaki, whose hospice is just a stone throw away. Some centuries later, Firuz Tughlaq added an another floor to it.

Another moron, Allaudin Khilji tried to outdo Iltutmish. He had grandiose plans of constructing another phallus, twice the length of Qutub Minar. All his life, in his attempt to be fair, he was cruel to my city. Delhi does not like such characters. His dream was nipped in the bud. Today ‘Alai Minar’ looks like a small wrinkled penis. Only the first floor was completed and he died. I am surprised, why Delhi gives herself to such blockheads and professes her love. She is unfair to me but then that’s the way it is.

Then there is the Quwwatul-Islam mosque. It has been constructed over what was once a Jain temple. Even today in the pillars you can see Hindu gods, whose images have been desecrated by cutting of their nose and so. Does that mean Delhi was vanquished? I looked at her, like always her lips are curved. I cannot make out if this is a smile or a face representing pain. It is like someone has done something, a relationship got broken – a parting. But she will not tell me, for her I’m just one of her admirers.

Dargah Qutubbdin Bakhtiyar Kaki

Like all religious places this dargah has also fallen prey to business. From the entrance till the mazaar, you will find people selling flowers, namazi topis (caps), symbols of Islam and another strange set asking for donations. The beggars will follow you till the end of road. If you meet an old man waving a big cloth fan don’t forget to give him a rupee or two, among all he seems the most deserving case.

Jahaaz Mahal

It is said that the last Mughal king Bhaduar Shah Zafar used to come here and write poetry. It is also said that the lake use to touch the palace and there was an open court in the middle of that there was a small pool in which the lake water use to come. In times of monsoon, it sometimes overflowed. Today the lake looks more like a sewer. I don’t know but the state in which this place is explains that in what state of penury the last king was living. Of all what I saw here was some old people playing Chopar (an old ludo sort of game). Somehow the old guys reminded of Zafar. Toothless, gumless but nevertheless enjoying. Basking in the glory of their past.

I think, I would die like Zafar. Delhi will treat me the same way. I will be exiled to a foreign land where no one will know me. But then back at the mazaar of Bakhtiyar Kaki, I saw an another mazaar of Hzt. Sheikh Aziz Bistani for which Kaki bought land from his own meagre savings. I think I deserve that. Like Lak Baksh (Aibak) I will not die in her arms, like Zafar I will not be separated from her. May whatever comes, I’ll be there, buried in her soul, continuing my rendezvous…..unsuccessfully.

Zoo- The End.

2006-09-05T13:06:00.001-07:00

My term at the Zoo has finally ended. It was a surreal experience. I floated all this time from one extreme to another. I don’t know but my stay at the Zoo is something beyond my comprehension. I made rules and broke them. I took stands and deviated. I was there and I was never around. I have something and I have nothing to lose. Sometimes it is best to leave things unanswered and this time as well let it be so….but it pains!!!

Besides that, I explored Delhi and she did let me do that with enough resistance. Today, I am yet to explore her fully. I don’t know how she feels or will feel (am I sure of that?). But I can feel her curves, I can smell her breath, I can taste her flavour, I can see her beauty and can hear her say things on which she keeps mum (mind you, she teases a lot). There is a disconnect somewhere, somehow but that’s the fun, after all Delhi says – either develop a sixth sense or be unsuccessful, choice is yours…I am already one.

I asked my soul: What is Delhi?
she replied: The world is the body and Delhi its life.

Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

Delhi- II

2006-08-24T10:02:00.000-07:00

Once again, like always, I’ve been successful to become Unsuccessful. But this time, I’m regretful for my regrets. For the past few days I was enjoying something which didn’t make me happy and today I’ve nothing to enjoy but I’m happy.

The Tomb -

It is no less than a fort but it is a graveyard, where buried memories are living with history, protected from time. Memories and History, they both are inseparable, like Delhi and me. Those who are buried here also thought the same. Delhi laughs! I can hear her voice; she is amused at my thought. I visualise the curve of her lips and smile. We both know.

Like other graveyards, this place doesn’t makes you sad. There is something in the grandiose tomb, which is surrounded by lush gardens, that makes you think. May be, it is the place itself, so vast, so quiet that for once you forget all your sorrow, aspirations and perhaps realise the presence of god (if there is any), in my case, the understanding of unsuccessfulness gets more clearer.

The graveyard itself questions – Is death a mark of unsuccessfulness, is it an attempt to be in the annals of history, an unsuccessful attempt to remain in this mortal world. I look for Delhi. The wind is quiet, I guess she agrees with me. She knows I’m an emotional fool so she wears the drape of silence. I understand.

Humayun and me have two things in common. He loved Delhi and I do. He was unsuccessful to enjoy her true beauty and I am destined to be so. There are two differences as well – He won Delhi, I submitted to her. He lost Delhi and I never owned her. Delhi, she is standing behind me…….smirking!

Humayun lost Delhi twice, some historians’ say that he was an opium addict. I think otherwise. If he had been so he would have never come back. There is something strange in Delhi.
To someone who doesn’t know her, she would appear like a whore, she is the queen of whosoever wins her. But for her true lovers she is an addiction. An addiction that made Humayun risk his life, an addiction that I am trying to resist.

Some may give names to my Delhi, I don’t mind, Delhi also doesn’t mind swear words, they are a part of her culture. They always were. I close my eyes and I see her, she is not looking at me. She is lost perhaps thinking of Humayun and of her other admirers. I get jealous for a second but realise the futility, nah, perhaps unsuccessfulness, but of whom, mine or hers?

The tomb has two minarets that try to kiss the sky. The white dome spells peace. There are graves all around. It is said that Humayun died when he stumbled on the stairs of his library. He was in a hurry to answer the prayer’s call.

To reach the main dome, you have to go through the Bu Halima and the Arab serai gate. Before you reach them one may have a look at the carpet of bats spread on the stairs of Isa Khan tomb. But if you are game enough and decide to walk upstairs, there is a wonderful view to enjoy.

I was with my friend to whom I owe special thanks. With her I am myself. No pretensions and no expectations. Without her, I would have never been here. As we two friends walk out of this place, we promise to come again.

A promise, like the one Humayun made, the one which Monsoon did, a promise which I fancy to make. Delhi, she never promises anything. It is not her fault. She is not to blame because she is genuine. It is her nature. She never deserts but she is never yours.

She is an enigma and to make her yours is just like building a tomb. An unsuccessful attempt to maintain your presence in this mortal world. Humayun, he died in her arms. I will not, I plan to remain unsuccessful……..

In-dependence?

2006-08-15T07:47:00.000-07:00

Well, this is an off beat stuff, I have no clues but I’m posting it cause I like it. There are hundred of things going in my mind. To believe, may bring doom and not to believe pains me every night. Do I want to be independent or I’m becoming in-dependant? Grammar, it kills me slowly. And Unsuccessfulness shares my bed. I don’t know, may be this sum it up – “He who is not with me is against me, and he who does not gather with me, scatters.”

Even the tiny trots know that this is not another, regular morning assembly. For, they have been witnesses to the countless rehearsals and today it is show time. Their parents, standing at one end of the ground, on which there are symmetrical lines drawn, are trying to identify their wards amongst similarly dressed students. Tricolours of all size and shape, is the only similarity within dissimilarity.

The young ones, who perhaps can boast of remembering one or two nursery rhymes seem lost yet excited. Running around, involved in playful games – a tricolour trying to catch another one. Those in their teens are mostly in-groups, some wear a disinterested look while others chattering away to glory. But they all have assembled – standing, pushing against each other and reluctantly trying to form a queue. For this was not another, regular morning assembly.

The three colours overshadow everything around – the brown school building, the blue sky and the looks on each face. Amidst chaos they finally manage to form a queue. It didn’t take long. They are used to it, a small head followed by a larger one. The length of the tricolour banner slinging across their shoulder also varies accordingly.

A drumbeat goads the animated crowd into silence. Each face has an anticipated look. The younger lot was struggling to communicate, while the elders who by now are more or less perfect with non-verbal communication are sharing smiles. They know what to expect as against the newly schooled; who break lines to catch a glimpse of what’s happening at the podium.

The podium is crowded like a railway station. A small group tethered by their music teacher who is trying to balance the harmonium. Two girls, perhaps in the final year of their school life, are dressed up in a tricolour saree. One is holding a tray and another managing the mike. Amongst is the principal, somehow managing to stand on his feet.

The girl holding the mike welcomes all and gives a brief description of what to expect ahead. A small skit by senior secondary students, a parade by all the houses, lead by the respective house captains, an aerobic show under the aegis of school’s physical trainer. The principle speech is after the flag hoisting ceremony, which would start the Independence Day celebrations.

She further announces that the tricolour would now be unfurled followed by national anthem. The men-in-waiting in the last row of the students assembled look expectantly toward the girls standing on the podium. To their dismay, the principle moves towards the pole on which flag is to be hoisted. The music teacher gives some directions to his troupe.

A string is pulled and music fills the atmosphere. Suddenly everything changes, a sense of responsibility dawns, which cuts across age and gender. The back gets straightened and the head rises, as if communicating with the sky. The song is about the great country, its land and people – the anthem of the nation. Each note, like an adrenaline rush. Surging a new found patriotism, which wasn’t there a few moments ago, which may not be present after this but for now….Jai hai, Jai hai, Jai hai.

How Unsuccessfull? I leave this for you to decide for I still stand my ground, though unsuccessfully……

Monsoon....

2006-08-06T02:31:00.000-07:00

The street dogs look for shelter and so do the humans. The privacy of the house is drained out on the streets and the clouds rejoice on their victory with occasional thunders. Small flotillas, made of paper appear in every nook and corner. Some of them sail to glory, whereas most succumb to constant pestering by the rain. The build-up is gradual and visible. Black clouds are not boisterous in their claims, they deliver what they promise.

Scorched for months, reeling under heat waves from all directions, Delhi yearns for Monsoon. And, so she deserves. Clouds promised her long ago – they will come twice and shower their love to her. So every year July onwards, they start their journey towards the Himalayas and return to the Indian Ocean or Bay of Bengal during November-December. Thus they meet her twice and whenever they do, they make love. A passionate, eternal yet platonic love. For the Sky and the Earth never meet and there is definitely no horizon. I don’t know why people call this Monsoon, when it’s just fulfilling a promise. Delhi knows that people keep their promises with her. And, I also fancy to make one.

It starts slowly, a drop here and two there. Some one would look at the grey sky. Then the wait starts, for the onslaught, which sometimes come as a surprise. Like the Mongols, lightning speed. It is difficult to separate nature from humans; they both are inter-linked, like clouds and drops. All you need is a lightning.

Delhi earnestly waits for Monsoon, she keeps talking about it. She gives it various names, both in regional language and that of firangs. She loves black clouds they are hunks - tall, dark, and handsome. I appreciate anything that Delhi waits for, because she waits for none. But, Black Clouds are like playboys. They quench her thirst, cool her down but expose her.
Newspapers run disgraceful pictures of my city. I hate it and it hurts me. For me Delhi is very special, in fact very-very special. But for Delhi, she never thinks about me and why she should? She got so many to think about her and vice-versa. My existence is a farce, a lie re-told to justify my pale figure in this materialistic world. And with the first shower, I am drained of to non-existence.

But after the rain, she glows. It takes her no time to get back to her own self. She radiates like a newly wed woman. Her features become more sharp and I, Oh I !......just fall in love with her all over again, and again. My anger, frustration vanishes when I see her and I am overtaken by a strange sense – to posses her and take care of her. Alas, I know, Delhi can never be mine. She chooses on her own and similarly dispossesses. Chauhans, Tuglaqs, Mughals, British…they all loved her equally. They adored her and put in efforts to adorn her. They all now rest peacefully in the pages of history and Delhi…..Oh she is the past, the present and the future.

I try to understand Delhi .She laughs at me, mocks me, she makes it clear that I don’t stand a chance. My Delhi has got so much to say but she is quiet, she wants you to think, you to understand, you to feel and then she will reveal herself, bit by bit or may be not at all.

There are no threads, after every dead-end, there has to be a new start, all afresh. She doesn’t play hide and seek but she wants you to notice and this may take ages. But like me, once you are on the trail then it is impossible to return, unless she makes you leave. It’s an addiction; you cannot leave it only death will part you away. If you shed the baggage of being yourself and try, may be she will let you close but than, like me, you can end Unsuccessful. I am destined to be so and for once, just once I regret being Unsuccessful…….

Sabotaging Unsuccessfulness'

2006-07-28T16:05:00.000-07:00

I am sorry for my absence. It was not pre-mediated. And, I know it made no effect. But by now I am used to people being unmindful about my absence. Anyhow I am here to explain it. I was actually protesting. Our tryst with destiny arrived on the clutches of peaceful protests. Everything that we today possess owes its genesis to some or the other protest. And, I cannot dare to betray history, so I was also on protest and therefore I didn’t write.

I am now pretty sure that they are conspiring against me. And, I am shocked that they can stoop this low. I had this feeling for a long time but I was unsure about it. But the recent happenings proved, beyond any doubt, that they are out with the idea of – Sabotaging Unsuccessfulness.
To be honest, I am a bit thrilled. Come on, the idea of being hounded, though definitely unnerving, somehow makes me feel important. So after being over with the protests, I basked in the glory of being a badgered protester that prolonged this delay.

It all started on a very normal, monotonous day. I can still narrate the details as they are because days like these come few in my calendar. It started with a normal, monotonous morning; I woke up late only to sleep for 10 more minutes. Believe me, those 10 minutes are no less than being in a paradise.
While I was trying to ravish the houris of paradise, an unfamiliar sound of a newspaper being pushed inside my door came. Immediately, I then knew that this was going to be one of those days. For I had not paid my paperwallah for last two months and this generosity was totally unexpected. I subdued my excitement because I feared a knock at my door and except money I had everything to give. But as I said, this was not just another day.

The angels slipped away quietly, as soon as the familiar taste of tobacco coated my tongue. I stretched myself, picked up the newspaper and abused the paperwallah for slipping in the Times of India. Immediately a feeling of guilt overtook me and I asked for forgiveness.
With the name of God (if there is any), I headed for Delhi Times; after all, despite being girlfriendless I still enjoy my right to check out babes and my luck. Both as always were good and bad, in their respective order.
These days I lookout for the by-lines without any good reason and no name ever sound familiar. And then all of a sudden, I saw something that caught my attention. It said – Blogs Blocked. I skimmed through the article, like if someone looking at the list of dead after a major accident, trying to find the name of his/her relative, hoping against hope. But, Blogspot was there; it was there, staring at me.

I instantly took out a white sheet and wrote an application. I had read about Right to Information Act, some days before. ‘The Hindu’ is good on covering things like these. I was now determined to go lengths, even if I have to do an RDB act. After all blogging is one of those few pleasures that are left for me. Next day, I saw the government curtailing the RTI act to suit its vagaries. I was stunned. For due to Mumbai serial blasts, procurement of weapons was not possible and my contacts in Kashmir are no worth than inviting me for a day or two hence no options were left open, except protest. So I decided to protest.

Considering my lean frame, the idea of going on a hunger strike was never approached. Weighing all consequences, I decided to Boycott. Now what could I boycott? I decided that as a protest mark - I will boycott writing on web. So I didn’t blogged.

Now I follow this everywhere. I protest against dirty roads by spitting, urinating on them, and making them dirtier. This way I protest against civic callousness. I protest against lack of security for women by molesting them. I fight with people in bus over seat, don’t buy tickets and this way I protest against transportation department. I buy cigarettes from shops close to school premises and also offer to buy for children/teenagers who come for their nicotine stick. This way I protest against negligence of school authorities.

But somehow or the other, people are not happy with my protests, they think it’s preposterous. And, lately I found myself in trouble during a DTC ticket raid, once while urinating under a fly-over. I am sure they have noticed that I am doing something different and they are tracking my moves. Even now, the person sitting next to me, though watching some porno, one way or the other looks at my screen, trying to gather what I am writing.

I don’t know whether they will be successful because they are trying to sabotage unsuccessfulness.

Iccha Mrityu'

2006-07-07T11:17:00.000-07:00

Iccha Mrityu can closely be related with the medical term euthanasia, however the story doesn’t treat the topic as its main theme. It talks about conditions other than physical, which could lead to such mental state. This is perhaps my last story trying to explore love-emotional relationships.

Like always, all characters are fictitious. Some emotions are mine rest perceived. All I did was twist them to suit my Unsuccessfulness’. Anyhow, if you go through the trouble of reading it all. Please answer some questions. If you don’t like the story, well enough, I am already Unsuccessful and strangely enough living with it and sometimes, just sometimes enjoying it too.

Start -

She was staring at the picture, on the wall, which portrayed a rising sun, somewhere among the snowcapped Himalayan Mountains. The faint smell of phenyl was still lingering in the room. The flower vase next to her bed was empty, the only voice in the room was moaning of the air-condition, with whom electricity was playing hide and seek.

Destiny is cruel; with sunrise the snow melts. One takes birth to give death to another - she thought.

Her face was as white as the bed sheet. She never had a big bosom, but of whatever it was now remain untraceable ruins. The skin was clinging hard to the bones. She looked as if blood was being slowly drained out of her body. A living carcass.

The door creaked to life, she didn’t notice. A male figure entered with nice, bright flowers. She was still evaluating the picture. He put the flowers in the vase and pressed her bony hand. She turned towards him. BLANK. NO Expression.

“Hi Chavi, feeling better”

“I am ready”

“Have you ever thought about it seriously, it’s insane. You can be treated. It is all in your mind. Why the hell you do not try to understand it.”

“Will you help me?”

“Of course. I will. We can take a second advice. There are….

“Will you help me” - she sounded firm.

“I don’t know. See Chavi, try to understand.”

She turned away her face. Small drops of water mixed with salt ran down from the hollow sockets, across the bony face.

They have been talking about this for the past one month. The death of the discussion was announced by blowing the trumpet of silence. But today, she was determined.

“Dharish, you are a liar. You don’t love me that’s why you want me to go through this pain.”

“Chavi, you know, that’s not true. How can I explain that how much I care for you. I want you in my life.”

“Lie, all lie. You enjoy it, you want me to suffer.”

Suffer. Yes Suffer. The only thing that she ever did was, to suffer. For one reason or the another only suffer.

Her childhood was robbed because someone suffered from inquisitiveness. The dreams then died. An invisible wall separated her from rest of the phony world. A world where everyone wants you for owns good reason. A world of give and take.

Parental pressure landed her in a medical college. The wall, by now was impregnable. She loathed the barter system. One day, she popped 10 different pills in her empty stomach. But suffering, was her constant companion. She was spared, from death and suspension. Life and classes, both went on.

Those years, the Internet bubble was rebuilding itself. She didn’t remain untouched. Projects, assignments, hell everything that was needed to be done was available on Google. She searched for emotions and got Yahoo.

Chavi alias Wish got her respite in the virtual world. A known among unknowns. It was here, she met Rahul. It all starts the same way -

Rahul: A/S/L plz

Wish: 19/f/del….U?

Rahul: 20/m/bby…..hw u dn?

Wish: does it matter?

Rahul: Certainly, if you are not happy or so, we can try talk something funny

Wish: lol

Rahul: See it works

- And it clicked. They soon became more than friends. She told him about her fears and he about his failed love attempts. They both were raped. One by a man, another by nature. Rahul’s left hand refused to grow after his 12th birthday. But it didn’t matter. It was all virtual. But electronic emotions soon trigged real feelings and they fell in love. She started dreaming again.

Destiny brought him to capital. She was pursuing her PG and he got a job in a software company. They explored the city and their beliefs. A journey in pursues of their dreams. No barter system. They thought their dreams were one now.

But suffering was Chavi’s constant companion. Her parents didn’t share their dream. They gave logical reasons. Emotions versus logic. Beta, you can’t marry a tunda(a person with one hand). You have no problems; you will get some one better. This is not love. You are too young to decide.

Somehow or the other, she try to make herself convince that she got convinced, while she never wanted to get convinced.

And, when she can’t do that. Guilt surfaced. She withdrew from the world. Dreams died again. She became a body without a soul. And her second attempt to separate these two failed again. This is when she met Jagdish, who was an intern at the hospital where her parents got admitted her as a case of food poisoning.

Jagdish – fast and furious. A doctor by profession and a adventurer at heart. Fast things increased his adrenaline rush. Chavi was completely overtaken by her persona. For 25 days while she was in the hospital, he made her laugh. His outlook made her see a new life, a life beyond Rahul.

On the day of her discharge, subtle, supressed emotions took over. She was standing at the window, gazing outside. He came and stood behind her. She noticed but remained still. The atmosphere suddenly became tense. She was looking like a goddess in a pink and blue combination. He put his hand on her shoulders. She was passive. He murmured something incoherent and his hand slowly slipped across her waist.

Chavi was fighting a civil war inside herself. She thought – “ He gave me a new life. Anyhow I am of no worth. Perhaps this will make him happy, may be there is something between us. What I did with Rahul was worse. I deserve this treatment. I will pay it this way for my sins.”

Jagdish was sensuously nibbling her ears. His hand slowly moved across her belly. Lifting the pink kurta, feeling the bare flesh. He pressed himself at her back, making her feel his manhood over the tight jeans.

A sound exploded in Chavi’s head – Proven guilty. Condemned to eternal suffering.

He kissed at the back of her neck as his hands fiddled with button of her blue jeans. Slowly peeling it off from her skin. He turned her. As his tongue brushed across her lips and his hands, letting air flow between her legs. His knee found the gap as he pushed her on the wall. Slowly moving his head down. And, the room took a 360 degree turn.

Chavi never met Jagdish after that. Some nurses had retold the same story which she overheard during her inquires about him. But she had no regret. She was condemned. Life is not plain and simple. One day she met Rahul at a supermarket. He was not alone. With another pretty girl. He ignored her and so did she try to do. In her attempt to run away she met a speeding bus, head on.

It was Dharish who took her to hospital. For the past three months, his attendance on the visitor list was regular. Why? Some questions do not have answers. Everything does not have a reason.

She thought it was a platonic relationship. Can any relationship be platonic? Perhaps Yes. But can we deny the existence of emotions. Who knows, when they get jettisoned either by hormones or they themselves form a bonding, strong enough to break platonic shackles. But she was sure, her dreams had died and she could not be someone else’s dream. Definitely not her fault and perhaps not his fault, as well. Perhaps platonic sums it the best. But than someone has to lose.

Chavi condition had deteriorated, each passing day. She looked at the flowers that Dharish had just put in the vase. She was once crazy about them. Once!

She turned towards him; he was searching for something in thin air.

“So, will you help me?”

He stood up, came near her, kissed on her forehead. He replied with a choked voice –“Chavi, I don’t know what to say. I am a normal human. Unlike you, I may not have suffered this much. I will always remember you. I just wish if only I could help you, but…this is your decision. Your own Iccha Mrityu.” And he walked out. Leaving her behind.....

As you took the trouble, so who is Unsuccessful?

Dharish, cause he didn’t try enough. Or he should have left it long back and take care of his own life.
Chavi, she could always have moved on, Dharish, Jagdish, Rahul or anyone, how does it matter. She compromised herself for Jagdish for no good reason. There is always a new day, some one new to meet, and a new life to live.

Move On......

2006-07-02T08:17:00.000-07:00

Well the past week has been quite an interesting one. And I’m scared. Being scared is also somewhat fun. Just a passing thought, I am in no mood to write.

“For silence is the mother of future and noise announce the death of present”

I still remember it was a toy
for which I first understood the word ‘joy,’
One day, it somehow broke
I nearly missed a stroke,
For the kid lost its love
just with a small thud!
My mom then explained
life is not so plain,
Things never remain the same
change is the name of the game,
I asked the toy, would you be all right
it remained quiet
And I moved on,

This happened in my teens
I loved this school queen,
Me an unknown face
she had a great taste,
I was always lost in her thoughts
for her, I never existed, Boss!
I asked her once, will she be mine
she said, I’m fine,
I realised it a little late
that her calendar is full of dates’
And, I moved on

College was different place
I joined the mad race,
To prove that I am good
whether at girls or with textbooks,
Never got what I desire
adjustments extinguished my fire,
Was a loser in every term
still, to be with me was fun,
All because I never wept
for whatever gone is gone
I have to move on,

For all, what I lost
I am not surprised
it was my decision right?
I gave them a just chance
pity that they didn’t appreciate my glance,
It does pains somewhere
but I have no fear,
The road ahead is too long
and, anyhow, I have to move on.

Delhi- I

2006-06-18T12:53:00.000-07:00

I am at crossroads, and there is nothing new about it. Being Unsuccessful is not easy, it is to be - consistently at crossroads, choosing the right path and then falter. Anyhow, I have no qualms about it. “I am too involved in negative that I have not arrived at the positive yet.”.

Delhi and I share a unique relationship. I am one of her zillion inhabitants and I think I am in love with her. I know this relationship is short-lived. It’s a matter of few weeks after which, we will be apart. I am determined to make this sojourn, a memorable one. I don’t know, what I love about her the most, perhaps her aloofness. Was she always like this, or is it a special treatment melted out to me? I don’t know and I don’t care. Delhi bewitches me. She makes me think. She comes near, just to retrace. She is always there and she is nowhere. She makes me feel special and than she makes it clear, I am just one of those zillions. But we share one thing; her history and my present speaks for it. We both are unsuccessful. I guess that’s why I love Delhi.

Today Z came. Like always our conversation travelled around the world. Z is always a big support and over alcohol he becomes a necessity. I always wonder what binds me to him, he says it’s Trust. He tells – The first thing that makes two people click is physique, the second is money but what makes them stick together is Trust. Talking about trust over whisky is funny. He lighted a cigarette for me, while I was gazing the navel of a chubby female, he said, as if mediating – You can’t buy trust. I don’t know. It seems too complicated, just like figuring the navel of that female. Trust, can I order some of it, or perhaps they give it free – one plus one, like all other drinks. Happy hours, last order till 8 P.M. I settle for gin and Z for his whisky. Delhi is still around, in that gin as well, smiling at me. I gulp it quick.

Yesterday, I visited Safdurjung Tomb and a Christian Cemetery at PrithviRaj Road. One stands for history, another for present. Safdurjung got acres to get buried and back there in cemetery, they charge a ransom for your grave. On top of that people have started burying, their dear ones over their near ones. Reason shortage of space. So Martha has Samuel on her top and James have Syria. So now it reads, For James and Syria, one departed in 1989 and another got late by 6 years. It’s is being unfair but I don’t expect anything else from Delhi. She gives everything to some and nothing to others. For me, like always she disappoints me.

Safdurjung Tomb is as big as the heart of my friend who went along with me. Both have hidden secrets. I tried to find none, only enjoyed the vastness. There were beehives hanging from the tomb and there was honey in her voice. We sat at the stairs, gazing the gardens, talking about history, present and future. The peacocks announced our arrival and the squirrels danced. I relished it. On our way out, when my friend was talking to someone on her phone, I turned back. Delhi was there, at the steps, where I sat a few moments ago, she was smiling, waving me goodbye. I hastened my steps.

Delhi Haat was the next stop. Stalls of all states. What they represent, Indianness? Whatever, cold coffee and fruit beer was enough to beat the heat. The moment we finished, what we ordered, they shut down the fan!! We talked like kids. Innocence comes at price, we both knew and are fierce enough to protect that. As we were leaving, Delhi, brushed past me. I was startled. She turned back and winked. I closed my eyes.

As I am concluding this piece, sitting in front of a computer, in a basement. I know Delhi is still around. She is cruel. She is a bad correspondent. I know, I can’t escape. But as I said, I am at crossroads and I am unsuccessful’.

The Ticket'

2006-06-02T08:35:00.000-07:00

The idea of this story took birth in a bus, when I was trying to fight with my emotions. When I sat to write this story, I painted it with emotions, of mine, as well as of others. Some of them I understand, some of them are perceived. I don’t know if this piece is worth taking a look.

But after you read this, and you feel that this story, though fictional, connects somewhere to reality then mail this story to some of your friends, who you believe, may agree to my concept of Unsuccessfulness.

The reason is, I want all of you to answer some questions asked at the end of this story. However if you feel that it was not worth reading, even then I have nothing to loose. I am already Unsuccessful.

Start.....

A major population of Delhi travels through buses. These buses are the lifelines of Delhi. You can buy a ticket of Rs 2 for the minimum distance, Rs 5, Rs 7 and for the maximum Rs 10. This story is not about these buses nor on the transport situation. This story is just not a story…………

------

The bus was almost overcrowded. Human bodies were jostling with each other. Perhaps, Auschwitz would have been a better place. She was sitting very calmly, lost in her own world. She looked outside, everything was moving fast, like her thoughts. “Not all who wander are lost”- she mumbled it to herself. Somebody had told her this, a few days ago.

In spite of the inhuman conditions in the bus, she was the only one who seemed happy, much to the discomfort of others sitting and standing next to her. As sweat trickled down her nose, it made her more closer to him, as if it was not hers but his sweat. She can now breathe his smell, lingering all over her body.

Few minutes ago, he had made love to her. In this hot summer, in a garden, under the shade of a Banyan tree. He savaged her like an animal. Holding her close, his hands all over her body. Slowly, feeling her bosom as his tongue explored her mouth. Two bodies lusting for one another.

Just the thoughts, made goose bumps appear on her skin. The rashes caused by their animality were hiding under her kurta. She involuntarily closed her thighs, as she felt dampness between her legs. He had less time, like always and she was so eager, as if it was today or never. Even the jeans got torn at the knees in their playful scuffle. Now it was looking more of a style statement.

“Oh! How much I love him. Had he been here, they would have made love, right here, 100 times more.” – and then she laughed at her insanity.

Charu’s body ached in desire. Suddenly she felt something vibrating in her pocket. The ring tone broke the monotonous whining of the aging bus. Some eyes turned towards her, while some hands searched their pockets. Hoping against hope that it was theirs. What else one can ask for, when you are travelling in a crowded, boring bus then a phone call from someone close.

It was Dhavan on the other end. She thought twice, before pressing the green button. The moment she did that, technology turned human.

“Hi Dhavan, how are you?”

“I am good, where are you? Why didn’t you come to the office?”

“Oh! I had to go somewhere”

“Where?”

------silence--------

“OH! I am sorry. So you will come tomorrow na?”

“Haan, pucca”

“Chalo then, bye, take care”

“Bye”

All strained ears were disappointed. In no manner it was a juicy conversation. And, she got lost in her thoughts again…. “What Ravi would be doing now? Perhaps shouting at top of his voice, just like him”…..as she glanced at the conductor.

She is not a regular bus traveller but she knows the price of each ticket and till what distance it would work. She got more reasons to remember than any ordinary passenger. Ravi had explain this to her, a few days ago and that too in carnal detail.

Lost in dreams, his words echoed in her ear –

“ Rs2, teri ankhon ke liye ( Rs 2 for your eyes)

Rs5, in hoton ke liye (Rs 5 for your lips), as his coarse fingers brushed his lips

7Rs, tere mummon ki liye (Rs 7 for your breasts), his fingers trailing her curves

Aur 10Rs”……as his fingers slipped inside her wet panties. They giggled.

A sudden jolt brought her back to reality. The bus had stop for the umpteenth time now. She wondered –“ How many stops have they constructed?” She took her mobile out to check the time. There was a message from Dhavan. She deleted it without reading. By now he was used to, not getting replies.

“How much he makes life simpler for me, I don’t know how Dhavan will react to this. Will he be able to adjust to this fact? In fact, he was unknowingly instrumental for this affair or was he?” – she brooded over this for a few seconds.

Charu, always dreamed about a guy, who was 6ft. tall, with a broad chest, long hairs. He should be dashing and sensous. Love is not all about understanding or is it? Ravi, was somewhat closer to this image. There was something raw about him. His aggression was captivating. He always wore a vest, all of them has holes behind. A small towel tucked behind his ears. Chest hairs springing out of his yellowish vest. Face rained with sweat. He was no less than a modern day Greek God. She had read about such characters in her college. “What he would be doing now?”- She thought.

Ravi, at this time, a few kilometres away, was fighting with a passenger over the fare. Ravi was a bhaiyya (Brother) for half of Delhi’s girls. “Bhaiyya, Dhaula Kuan tak kitna? Bhaiya, 5Rs ka ticket dena, Bhaiyaa this, Bhaiyaa that….”

He had never thought someone would look at him. He knew he was good looking. His friends always said that he could become a model. One fine day, a boy and girl boarded the bus. “Another young pair, saale aish karne jaa rahe honge. Is chutiya se to mein zyaada teekh lagta houn” – He thought. (Another young pair, must be going to have some fun. I definitely look better than this idiot).

The girl smiled at him. He smiled back. Nothing unusual. But when they were getting down she said – “Bye”. He was startled. He thought about it for few days and almost forgot it until she met her next. She looked like an angel in that pink dress.

That day the bus was almost empty. Their eyes met.

“Kahan tak, madam?” (Till where, madam)

“Kahin tak nahi” (Till nowhere)

“Kya?” (What)

“Kuch nahi” (Nothing)……as she started opening her purse.

“Accha aap rehne do” (You please don’t pay)

“Kyon?” (why?)

“Aise hi” (just as)

“Yehan beth jao” (sit here)……as he pointed towards the empty seat next to him. He took chances. And, to his bewilderment she sat down.

“Woh patla-dubla, ladka kahan gaya, jo us din tumhare saath tha” (where is that frail guy who was with you that day?)

“Kon Dhavan, apne ghar gaya hoga. Par tum kyon pooch rahe ho” (Who Dhavan, must be at his home but why are you asking?)

He shied. She laughed.

“Accha stop aa gaya, bye” (Ok stop is here, I am leaving, bye)

“Kal aaoge” (Will you come tomorrow)

“Dekhna…..(See…..) and she left.

The whole night Ravi could not sleep. Is she a prostitute? She can’t be. Is she playing with me? Nahi, why she will do that. The whole night he asked questions and answered them himself. Let’s see what happens next’ and finally in the morning he slept.

Next…...is a long story. Now, he calls her regularly. He has started reading Rapidex English speaking course book. He has not told her that. He has bought some new clothes. Now smokes a cavanders instead of a bidi and he has made love to her innumerable times.

Dhavan, was staring at his mobile. “Will she ever understand. I hope she knows what I mean. I don’t want to hurt her. May be I am not good enough for her. I will fight these thoughts from now. But whenever she smiles, my heart beats harder. I don’t know what to do. Shall I say it, what if, she says NO. I will not be able to take that. I mean, I am ok with that but. Whatever…” and he lighted his white cigarette.

Dhavan had developed a liking for Charu. Before meeting her he had decided that Girls are not any more important for him. He practiced this for almost two years. Solitude was his only bedmate. He had chances but he never took them. “ I will go for a girl who satiates my emotions not my desires”. Desires do get satiated but emotions never……

Charu was all the same with Dhavan or any Dick or Harry. She knew that he liked her. She liked his sincerity, his concern. But he was no where close to her dream boy. Somehow they have developed this understanding of not saying anything to each other regarding this. Both of them hoping that one of them would understand the other, someday.

Dhavan and Charu were colleagues at an advertising firm. When Dhavan joined, Charu was nursing a break off. For months she lingered on the memories of his ex-boyfriend. A quick fling with Armaan brought no respite. She always thought, “Why it is so difficult to fall in love the second time?”

She liked Dhavan, he stood besides her many a times. First Dhavan envied her, than start admiring her and now it developed into liking. The phases were gradual. She was cynical about herself and He always tried to peg her up. A confused relation and lot of expectations brought misery for Dhavan. Charu never said anything. What would have happened if she was straightforward about this? Or was she not? She told him what she is looking for. But things never were straight enough, always something or the other took place and they get closer. Or it was just a figment of imagination from Dhavan’s mind. He never said it straight, she never replied straight....

To say Dhavan loved Charu would be betraying his emotions. Also it would be equivalent to maligne Charu. Charu and Dhavan and Dhavan & Charu...confused?

Charu by now had left the bus and was walking back to her home. When, Ravi called…..

“Kahan hai tu?” (Where are you?)

“Bas, I am near home”

“Terko bolo hai na, english me git-pit mat kara kar, apne samazh nahi aata” (Don’t talk in english, I don’t understand)

“accha baba…..”

“kal milna hai na” (We are meeting tomorrow?)

“haan,reh sakti hoon kya….” (Can I stay without meeting you?)

-------6 months later--------

“Dhavan, I want you to meet somebody today”

“Sure Charu, May I ask, who?”

“Chalo na, you will know”

“ Ok, you are the boss”

“Dekhna…..”, she rolled her eyes.

They drove silently to the park. She directed the way. Sometimes silence screams louder than words. Both were hiding their fear in this silence. Each wondering what will happen.

Ravi was standing near an ice-cream vendor. He had put on a new t-shirt and jeans. Charu waved his hands towards him. He started walking towards them, Dhavan prespired.
Charu thought – “why he dressed like this, can’t he come as he always do, I have to tell him. I don’t like this.”

“Dhavan this is Ravi, Ravi yeh Dhavan hai”

“Isn’t he the bus conductor” – He looked at Charu, aghast!

“Yes…” She proudly gleamed.

Dhavan forced his hand. Both men locked their fingers against each other.

“Dhavan, you need to help us. We have decided to marry. It has been more then a year now and I know He is my man.”

Dhavan was stoned.

"But Charu...."

“I am sure Dhavan. I was hoping you will understand” – tears welled in her eyes.

“Sure Charu, I am there for you, always, may whatever comes”- he managed a smile.

They talked. Ravi was silent most of time. So was Dhavan. It was Charu who was telling about them to each other.

“I guess I have to leave….Ok Ravi, bye”

"Bye Charu and don't worry"

“Bye”

The sun kissed the ground somewhere. Dhavan fumbled with his white coloured cigarette. His legs were weak as he moved towards the parking. Suddenly he stopped. Looked around and start moving towards the bus stand. Boarded the bus.

“Kahan tak?” - conductor asked

“Saare, ticket de do……”
--------------

Now since you have read it. Whether you liked it or not, it’s a different story. Please answer the following questions-

Is Charu unsuccessful? cause she never understood Dhavan and hence did hurt him somewhere. She also didn’t like the change in Ravi, which was for better. Is she confused?

Is Dhavan unsuccessful? cause he was never able to muster his courage and say it to Charu...may be she could have realised.

Is Ravi unsuccessful? cause he is changing because of Charu and thus loosing the originaltiy, which made Charu come to him.

Explaining Unsuccessfulness…….

2006-05-19T07:09:00.000-07:00

For the past few weeks, I had no reason to write this blog. In fact, I was even thinking about writing myself an obituary. Somehow or the other the traits of unsuccessfulness are so strong and deeply embedded in my soul that whatever activity I choose or determine upon, ends up in nothing.

Anyhow, since I am back, I will use this opportunity to vent out my frustrations. Perhaps the coming weeks will be as monotonous as were the past few ones. Like always, I have accepted this and do no make any worthy efforts to change the status. Sometimes status quo is all the more important than a change. I do not fear a change but I hate to rue upon the unsuccessfulness that comes attached with it. This is despite of what so ever efforts I put in.

The Zoo is getting more and more difficult, the problem is it not being difficult but being boring. I do not know and perhaps this is too early to make a comment. Life besides the Zoo is hanging on loose threads. I wonder when they are so loose then why are they entangled. Some questions never have answers and if there are answers, they lie in the simplicity of those questions. I guess it is quite big to make statement like this.

I have started coming back through a different route. I changed so because the bus I take now is less crowded and I do get a seat. Though 502 has its own advantage, as sometimes your perversity gets satiated, etc. As I said earlier, somehow the bus journey that I use to enjoy all of a sudden became monotonous. So changing the route came in as a relief.

Today when I woke up it was raining. I like travelling when it rains in Delhi. It washes away the sins of the capital, unless it rains very hard and the city is on the verge of sinking. I thoroughly enjoyed my bus ride.

A few conversations that I picked up in the bus were amusing. A couple seated in front of me were talking about the complexities of their life. Their kids were busy gazing outside. It made me wonder that how would I have reacted when I was a kid and how will I react if I ever plan a family. The kids were mesmerized with the grandeur of Delhi and somehow I could relate them with me. I am too fascinated with Delhi, its buildings, its polluted air, its big bazaars and narrow lanes and perhaps in a distant way with its people too.

For a moment, I was transported back into my childhood. Something inside me wept, silently like as always. Yesterday was my parent’s 25th marriage anniversary. I knew that but did not call. Except congratulations, I had nothing to give. Therefore, I was apprehensive. I received a call from my home last night. I did said congratulations and added Sorry to it. Yet again, I was unsuccessful to explain my unsuccessfulness…………….

The Empress and the clouds’

2006-04-16T09:10:00.000-07:00

It is the month of monsoon and our heart is also beating like the clouds. The young girl inside us wants to go and dance, just like a peacock, free of all inhibitions. We remember how long it has been, since we have been free. Today, we have everything and yet we are not free. It’s right when they say, the more you achieve, the more entangled you are in these worldly affairs.

We, Mehrunissa were 14 when we were wedded to Sher Khan, they said he had killed a lion and so the title. We always thought that a man who killed a lion, how strong he would be, we would fight with him like a tigress and prove that we are no less. Our dreams were shattered the first night itself; Sher Khan was just the title. He came, he saw, he went!

Today, sitting in our balcony, watching the black clouds mingling with white one, we realise that love is just like these clouds and their rain, drenching you to the soul. Sher Khan left us with a daughter in Delhi. We, who always want to be free, were now burdened with a kid. Inside the haveli, there was nothing much to do. We had servants for everything, all day we were busy with our daughter or our scent bottles. We have a fantasy for scents, we always try different combinations, till now we have yet not mastered the art. Each smell is different, just like each women is, though the essence remain the same, it’s the style which matters.

One day, we went to Chandni Chowk with our nieces. Chandni Chowk like today, was always filled with shops. There was everything and than there was nothing. There was muslin from Iran, ruby from Peshawar and spices from South. We were not interested in anything, we already had a look at the scent shop and was getting bored. The girls were at a bangle shop and giggling, looking at someone. We remained quite, what you expect from a woman who do not have any companionship for last 2 years, we were burning, and as we said there was everything and than there was nothing.

Suddenly a deep throat voice startled us. There was this good-looking gentleman, chest filled with all types of jewellery and eyes clouded with opium smoke. But he was handsome, our eyes met. He asked us who are we, we said we are ourselves. He laughed, we too. We talked about Chandni Chowk for few moments before our nieces took us away. He was dazed and we were amused. Later we came to know that he was the son of the Emperor of India, the future King Jehangir.

One day, just like all other days we were spending our time, mixing scents. Drawing was the another thing, which engross us deeply, till now. Our in-laws, they don’t talk to us much and we also remain aloof. When suddenly our mother-in-law came up wailing. We thought may be his husband died, he was not well, we have heard. What one can do if fate is against you, it was not her husband but ours. We didn’t know how to react, for us he was dead from the first night, but we wept, we wept for others, we wept for us.

We went back to our parent’s home in Agra, what else a widow can do. We were not angry with God, we know He is the most merciful. We were angry with ourselves and with our fate. Some days later, some one in a royal palanquin came into our house and had a word with our father. That night it rained, as if the clouds were most happy and just want to express them.
Next morning, when we were drawing, our father came in and asked if we would like to marry again. At the age of 32, what reply one could expect from a woman, but we said we wanted to know, who is the one. We knew the answer, the clouds told us yesterday itself. We are now the Empress of India, known as Noor Jehan.

People say, the emperor himself, made such arrangements that our poor husband got killed, but we disagree. How can someone in love, kill the loved of someone but than only black clouds bring rain and it has started raining again.

Yin and Yang'

2006-04-07T10:10:00.000-07:00

I am 22, and I have no hesitation in speaking this aloud. I do not find any reason to hide, that I am 22, I am good-looking, supposedly intelligent and I want to be successful.
I don’t know what to say or how to start, believe me I am not confused. I am crystal clear in my thoughts, it’s just, sometimes I don’t know how to react. You can say, that I am confusing but that’s not so, I am not any ordinary girl. I just don’t want to hurt people. My boy friend feels I am cute and I think this time he is right.

Anyhow this is not about my boyfriend, he quite understands and the best part is that he gives me space and though he is not that good looking but he is patient and he is receptive and…, Ok enough of him, neither I will go on and on!

This is about an another guy, who was my colleague. When I first met him, he was cold, I too didn’t care, after all I just have to work with him, seven hours in office that’s all. He acted differently; I was amused, that however different he tried to act, he was always ended behaving like all other guys. I think this happen with all the guys, they try to show they are different, why don’t they understand it does not matter to us, all we want is a normal guy who talks sense

Days passed, I came to know him better, by now I was aware that –
a- He was chirpy
b- He is decent and guarded
c- He is talkative and humorous

Soon we became friends, it was natural as unlike others, he always had a story or two to narrate, mostly funny. I like girls talk, as they say and what’s the fun if you do not talk about others and than isn’t it that we should always learn from others mistake. Talking to this guy was always a relief, be whatever he always managed to bring a smile on my face.
I believe this is what friends are all about making each other laugh, helping in your tough times and so on.
I didn’t told him much about my boy friend, I mean when we are just colleagues, all we should be talking about our professional life, why should I discuss my past and future?

It all started when I didn’t go to office, as I was unwell. He called me up, I felt good, I was bored and than what else you can ask for rather than a good hearty laughter. I thanked him. Late at night a message, invaded my sleep, it was from him. I was irritated, I just deleted it and slept, I don’t know if I should have read it.

For 03 days he called me religiously, now it was more of a burden. I still tried not to make it apparent. Two times even I didn’t attend his call. I mean what else I could have done, I don’t want to hurt his feelings but he should understand.

I reached office on Friday, he was there, I was expecting him to come and talk but he maintained distanced, I wondered why? I thought he was hurt, I tried to make it up, I offered him lunch. He was unhappy, why? What I have done, isn’t he expecting too much? Soon it was ok; we were talking like old times, funny anecdotes about office and so on.

Why always guys behave like boys, I mean we girls never ask for anything. Does every time we talk to a guy, there has to be something. I think it’s more about being comfortable, don’t guys have their own male friends. Do they expect the same from them? I don’t know, but yes over the years I have developed this instinct, I know when to demarcate. I guess, I understood it when I was 14, at first it was repulsive but later I enjoyed it. Now it has been more of a burden.

Anyhow my instinct warned me about this, I started maintaining distance, I don’t know what he sensed but he also got into a shell. I thought I was being unrealistic, so once again, I called upon him. Now see, how much I care about him, I don’t want him to feel bad after all we were having a good time.

A month back, he proposed me, I was aghast, I don’t know what made him do so, at least not my behavior. I feel all this time I was straight, never gave any ideas. I refused; I told him I am happy with my boyfriend. He didn’t say much than.

He left the job abruptly, even didn’t care to bid farewell. I didn’t told my boyfriend anything, I don’t want him to feel unsecure. Last night when I opened my diary, a smile crossed my lips, this was the 27th name in my list, I am still behind my friend she is on 49, and like always I never did anything, did I?

The other side---

I am 23 and quite a normal person, though sometimes I get a bit proactive. I don’t think there is anything wrong in it, after all you have to show yourself, neither who cares about you.
I don’t know what to say or how to start, believe me I am not confused. I am crystal clear in my thoughts, it’s just, sometimes, I don’t know how to react. I believe that either an issue should be in Black or White and if it has to be in Grey, than it should be according to me.

This is about a girl, who was my colleague. When I first met her, I didn’t showed any enthusiasm, why should I. Ok, she is pretty, she talks intelligently but than what, there are so many. I don’t know why girls always want us to be decent and all that. I am not like other guys, who will roam behind you, I know what I am and in simple language – “ If you want to come, most welcome neither ….”

Days passed, I came to know her better, by now I was aware that –
a- She was understanding
b- She is of course good looking
c- And she has a style

Soon we became friends, I always tried that she should enjoy my company. I put in extra effort to be decent and humorous, though I loathed it. It was good talking to her, and her eyes they say it all. I don’t go and talk to all girls, I mean I am not trying to be a playboy and neither I want to be a fool. I thought she also enjoyed my company and isn’t that what is required for two people to come close. It was good to spent time with her.
I mean you talk to so many people in a day, but with some you talk what you want to talk and this girl, made me feel like that.

Even with friends you don’t talk something and with a girlfriend you can talk about your silly aspirations, desires your shortcomings and so on.

It all started when she didn’t came to office, as she was unwell. I called her up, she was surprised and happy. I felt good, at least I was of some help, and she likes my company. I messaged her at night, it was that she should take care of herself, she didn’t care to reply.
I had started missing her, so I called her up. I sensed she thought I was acting too close. On top of that, twice she didn’t picked the phone, I was irritated. I mean either you call people close to you or you don’t call.

She came to the office on Friday. I still remember it. I restrained myself, as I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. If she likes to be with me, she should come and talk.
As I said for me either you are on this side or that and isn’t it the right way? Don’t we talk to only those with whom we are comfortable or share something, for the rest exchanging pleasantries is enough.

I don’t know why but she came and offered me lunch. I f I am not comfortable with you I wont come and say “please let me take you for lunch”. Anyhow I don’t want her to feel bad, so I agreed and soon it was like normal though I distanced myself.

She also responded the same way and I was getting over it but that day once again she disturbed my normal life. How come you a guy not to think, if you flirt. Isn’t there a difference between acting normal and flirtatious? I don’t show gratitude just for the sake of it.

A month back, I proposed her. She refused, I was confused. A girl who used to spend most of her time with me, all of a sudden just shunned me. I mean don’t you think spending 8 hours in office is less. I didn’t say much than.

I left the job soon, even didn’t care to bid farewell. Why should I? How will it make a difference? Last night when I opened my diary, a smile crossed my lips, this was the 27th attempt but this time I flawed my rule of “ Something’s are better left Unsaid” and that’s why the hangover is still there, it pains.

Insane or Inane'

2006-03-27T09:07:00.000-08:00

For how many times it has so happened, that I have no ideas and this is the worst phase, but than suddenly I see something and I decide to voice out, today, like all other times, it so happened. I was having my dinner, nothing special about it until the guy switched on to ‘Indian Idol’, this particular episode was staged in Lucknow. I have a special affinity for Lucknow and its people, this is because I have spent three glorious years of my life there.

After living in a city, from where you have done your college it is bound that you will know more about the city than the subjects you were taught and so has been the case with me. I will not say that I am quite familiar with every nook and corner of the city, but yes I have a fair view of the city and the people, not digressing from the main topic, I saw how the crowd in Lucknow swayed for those three good men, who sang songs, which are already well sung by others. I have nothing against them or the channel but I was anguished how westernized the people of my city has gone, I don’t know whether that mass which I saw on the show truly represent Lucknow, I hate to believe or admit that. Girls were swaying their arms and screaming out their lungs as if riding a wave of orgasm, boys waving frantically like if this is the only night, even some aunties and uncles were seen in these, if I may call obscene posture, joining this bandwagon of insanity, as if breaking their monotonous life cycle.

I don’t know, whether they all were just aping what they see in television or it was something coming from inside, I know my Lucknowallas real well, they brag a lot, they may be boisterous, they may spit pan and talk of politics all the time but they are not what it was shown on television, this picture repulsed me. I am used to all of that but not this. I don’t want Lucknow to become Mumbai, Pune or Bangalore just like, in spite of so called bureaucracy in Delhi, I love it.
The question that made me sits up and write is, why all of our cities are loosing their identities, if this is globalization I don’t want it.
I want Lucknow to remain Lucknow, where at a tea stall I can still hear the mixture of various eastern accent, people calling me Bhaiyya and everything so disarranged yet calm and serene. Lucknow where maxi cabs with yellow, green and blue stripes run, Lucknow where there is a bar shop next to KD Babu Singh stadium, Lucknow where Hazratganj was the epitome of urbanization, Lucknow where Tunde kebabs are still famous, Lucknow where from Aliganj to Kapurthala I walked, innumerable times just for tea and a net cafe, Lucknow where my youth rest in peace.

I am having a bad time at the Zoo, they are trying to teach me that which I don’t want to be taught about. The other inmates of zoo are performing real good, partly because of their background and mostly because they are putting in their best, even I am trying to put up a fight but than I already know the result so, I have pasted a silent smile on my lips, a smile which is sarcastic, a smile that doesn’t allow anyone to breach my privacy. There is a lot which can be said about my days at zoo, but I am restraining myself, why I don’t know, the tag of Unsuccessfulness’ is hard to be removed, especially when your soul has already submitted to the fact but than I am game, coz I am enjoying this.

Now since I have vented my anger, again I have lost my thoughts, I don’t know for how long this slumber will continue, am I Insane or just Inane or is there a difference between the two, who knows….

“Girte hain shah-sawar hi, Maidan-e-zang mein; Wo tifl kya girega, Jo ghutnon ke bal chale”

The Zoo....

2006-03-10T07:23:00.001-08:00

I don’t know how to dish out this particular piece, more because I am not able to format it. Things have considerably changed yet it is mundane. All these years lack of excitement has so become a part of my life, that if anything changes I look at it with skepticism and thus more or less it turns out or I unknowingly make it dreary.

Anyhow I have been admitted to the Zoo, where besides me we have 23 more inmates, the only thing we share is the same “Specie”, so no alien war is projected in near future and since as of now the struggle for survival is unannounced, so it’s a phony bonhomie feeling among all residents.

I have unsuccessfully tried not to be a sore thumb till now, yet there is a sense of cynicism creeping in, now I have no answer to, Why it so?
The ring masters are singing some absurd tunes which I am unable to comprehend but than my experience of surviving in inhospitable conditions is coming handy, believe me physical death must not be so painful as a slow mental death is!

The choice of coming in this Zoo, was a forced personal choice, forced because of circumstances, personal because I made those circumstances, sometimes I feel that more or less its divine intervention and than try not to think about it. How unknowingly we can be chess pieces in the game of Gods (if any), it gives me some excitement to think that I am a pawn or rook of some God/Goddess chess player, who would be placing his hopes on me, making sure I make the right moves or rather he/she makes, so taking the burden off my shoulders.

The other inhabitants are much better than me, some with better claws, shining furs or a better genetic background and me, perhaps the last caged animal, which people forget to see or deliberately miss as they are already tired. Who live anonymously and perhaps die so, again the physical disintegration would be much welcomed than painful existence!

Now since I am the Zoo and I have to perform, so learning the antics is must, I don’t know if I will be successful and this time unsuccessfulness would mean that I would be thrown to the natural world, where existence is under constant threat. Now since I have nothing to show, the only way to catch attention is either be meek, which unfortunately I am not or to growl for no reason, now all we have to see whether it comes out as lion’s growl or a choked bark! Will keep posting about my adventures at this cultured Zoo…

P.S.- After effect of reading the “Life of Pi”, an awesome book.

Spastic Thoughts'

2006-03-07T07:08:00.000-08:00

These days like always are monotonous and filled with unexpected frustration, sometimes it makes me feel that the umbilical cord that distinguishes between non-existence and realism is yet to be separated for me.
Anyhow, the recent week just walked in the same old fashion and except some small exceptions and there is nothing to pride on. Newspapers have suddenly started boring me and there is not much choice of entertainment available, when you are at a place where all civil service aspirants reside. Also Z is in Jammu, so my nocturnal outings to Nizzamudduin have stopped and I am forced to enjoy solitude.

Since I have nothing to write in particular, I perhaps will express upon the favorite topics among all blogs, ranging from Bush to Jessica.

Well first of all, I am quite enraged over the so called “Left”, I do not have any personal grievances with Yechury&Karat co. but than I am amazed with the type of principles they are patronizing. I wonder if ideologies are based on person or people are based on ideologies, all of a sudden Left has taken up the task to criticize everything American and involve in a pseudo-secularism i.e. everything that is associated with Hinduism becomes jingoism.
They scream our their lungs for Iran and for the South American countries, but what these countries have done for us, has Iran backed India in any major world forum except a small exception here and there or what the South American countries have done for us and when this a unipolar world, than why should we sing the deeds of countries who have done us no good rather than to align our interest with the superpower without compromising our sovereignty.

Left’ opposes RSS and allies, though I too do not agree to their outlook but than shouldn’t Left if an ideology, should also raise voice against the fanatic Muslims, who are asking head of Danish editor. I do not understand when the people of India die at the hands of their own police in clashes in Lucknow, Hyderabad, Bombay for something that happened seven seas far. Left kept mum when M.F. Hussain painted Saraswati nude and criticized the vandalization by Bajrang Dal but they were upbeat about the cartoons, which had no direct relations to our country!

Bush, I don’t care what he do until any of his decision affect my country, I am for Iraqis but they were already in a mess, I am with Cubans, Venezuela and so but aren’t they smart enough to sell their oil and keep things at bay. Bush may be opposed by his own country men but he is at helm, they voted him back why should I call him a barbarian, he didn’t killed my own people, my countrymen, my army is not fighting war against terror.

Jessica died and than she died……..she was serving liquor and than someone shot him, some one who was under dual effect of liquor and power, and than he was acquitted, they took out march against it, she died serving liquor, did they also took out march against the 11 year old girl who was raped and killed or about the adivasis, but than they don’t die serving liquor, perhaps that is what is required for a march on your death or for case to be opened again.

In my view India TV should be banned, they are trying to make money by cashing on our sentiments, come on…..Do Mahatma Gandhi live in Rajghat, or if dogs were there where his ashes lay, it became impure? Please Mahatma Gandhi more than a person is an ideology which do not gets diminished by such small things!!!

At last, sometime back I vowed I will not speak on ‘T’……..met her at the new office, she was more captivating…..like as always, she smiled, I frozed, we shook hands, formally and than she moved, leaving me behind once again Unsuccessful’

Jannat'

2006-02-22T02:17:00.000-08:00

This story came out of frustration at recent happenings, may be I am too naive for this type of art but than its my last attempt I believe at story writing.

"Agar zameen pe jannat hai, to wo yahin hai, yahin hai, yahin hai "

"Altaf", that is how, he was known to the world. Name sometimes echoes more than what they are meant for, though their intrinsic value lies in your existence, they somehow dominate your existence and in turn you start rallying around them and this is what Altaf was to be revealed about.

Altaf was neither young nor old, now this can be supplemented with the fact, that he already had 03 kids and the fourth was on its way. Zeinab, Altaf's better half till now had been quite a dutiful wife to him. She had without any much pains bore him three children, was used to his antics, though recently she had been vociferous on the weekly thrashing melted out to her but than with times, some changes are acceptable.

Anyways, the protagonist of our story Altaf, a rickshaw puller by profession was a Kashmiri migrant. He was trying to build a future in the northern India Silicon Valley, Gurgaon in times which are not troubled yet turbulent.
Though Altaf was quite practical, day dreaming was all what he had inherited, the memory of sipping kava on his grandpa's shikara was still afresh in his mind. Like the daily namaz he used to narrate those incidents to his children, who the apostle of poverty were delighted by this only means of entertainment. Zeinab who perhaps had listened more of this than her children, still use to relish it, silently praying each time that may this dream come true.

The whole family sincerely believed that one day they will be back, back to where they belong and get what they so deserved. Altaf always rued on the word azadi, for him it meant only poverty, displacement. He always cursed this place, this is not our home, this is not Jannat, we will surely go back.
Poverty is not the breeding ground for big dreams, only small hopes lights the house of one. So was with this family of 05, which was soon to be of 06. They never aspired for HIS's "Jannat", they just longed for their "Jannat".

Altaf's slum was partitoned, with the future of India by a barbed fence, it was a sincere attempt to hide the barrenness of India. Gurgaon is a classic example, behind every big shopping mall, there are Wal-Marts of depriviation and poverty. It was in this setting, Altaf, the rickshaw puller whose rented rickshaw was adorned with sketches of Hindu gods was trying to build up a future. Altaf was quite aware that even if he works day and night, utmost he will manage new clothes for Eid, may be not, the sixth one was on his/her way!

Business was good these days, he was telling Zeinab about it, malls were overflowed with streams of people. Sometimes he wondered from where all this money comes. Zeinab as like always consoled herself by consoling him "We don't require that all, you see" and than they laughed to melt in each other arms.
Sex is not entertainment in poverty, it's a need, a momentarily heaven, a short nirvana, kids come as enlightenment.

Today, Altaf was not intrested in paddling any more human weight, he was thinking about returning home. He was the only left at the stand, his co-workers had retired for the day, night had already dawned and the big malls were winding up, people returning back to their cozy homes. The air was surcharged with excitement, which suddenly bamboozled into chaos, a cry in bewilderement confirmed it as riots.
Altaf asked the running guard- "What happened?"

Riots, they are killing Muslims

Altaf was stunned. He started paddling hard towards his home, he could not abandon the rickshaw, it will cost him more than his spared life.
Even an illiterate could now be explained "Doppler Effect" and he would remember it all his life, Altaf was too trying to run away from his death. As he took the turn, he saw a mob, to return back would have been fatal. His blood freezed. They encircled him, tilak on foreheads and red blood on hands.

"-Kya Naam hai tera?"

"Al..

"-Abe bolega"....a slap which made his face coloured.

"-Utaro iske kapde"

"-Abe, Hindu hai, yeh dekho"....some one pointed at the sketched Gods on his rickshaw.

"-Chal bhag" the mob laughed, perhaps the first time today

He started to move.

"-Ruk, terko pata hai, ham kyon mar rahe hein, salle musallman gin (numbering) rahe hein, ham ginne ke liye kuch nahi chodenge."(We will leave none to get numbered)

---They moved, leaving Altaf drenched in his sweat---

Altaf was now weeping, life was back, from no where. He looked at the sky up and than at the gods sketched back. Ganesha was smiling and the sky was clear. He Was Not Counted Today and they were unsuccessfull in each and every sense, were they?

Zeinab was at the outskirt of the slum, all the women there were on the brink, and each eye gleamed when it saw its own blood.

That night when in his home secure, his kid cuddled next to him Altaf mumbled "Agar zameen pe jannat hai, to wo yahin hai, yahin hai, yahin hai"

Nemesis'

2006-02-16T07:10:00.000-08:00

Sab kuch keh chuka hoon
ya kuch kehna nahi chahta,
Zindagi ki door tooti se
ya use pakadna nahi chahta,
Shor hai charon taraf kyon
ya mein kuch samazhna nahi chahta,
Har saans kehti hai ki zinda hoon
par dil dhakdna nahi chahta,
Ulazhta uderh-bun me mein kyon?
ya sulazhna nahi chahta,
Asafal hoon mein aaj phir
ya Woh kismat badlna nahi chahta.

I have nothing much to say, except like always I am confused rather too confused and when you are unsuccessful, frustration tags along…….at 24 yrs one cannot take much chances or my dream of being “Urban Nomad” is coming too real, of which I am scared now…whatever, I am trying to write something…I don’t know what but like Jedi’ said, everything should have a title, so this time title will be “Jannat”…..but one of Lash’ post on christening makes me wonder on worth of it and than on top

“What’s in the name?” - Shakespeare…..now isn’t the name worth….once again confused and than agonized to be frustrated.

Dying, Death and Resurrection

2006-02-06T02:22:00.000-08:00

I am not posting....may be for long I wont, my fellow bloggers have taken vow of silence or as Lash said realize blogging is too trivial a shit to be smelt!. I wont agree, may be I will post after few days....lot is left here and for me blogging is not just what I like to do, its to vent my frustrations, etching my Unsuccessfulness’……in the best way I can……Illuzn has long gone, DD left, Lash wrote himself a obituary…but than Jedi is there, Nut-Khat still shimmers, Nishu Sir and Gem-Gurl….the young guns still blazing…….may be we all need to redeem, somehow and than may be an another unsuccessful saga…… (I am not emotional….its what I feel) and than……….

For I know that my Redeemer lives, and He shall stand at last on the earth. After my skin is destroyed, this I know -- that in my flesh I shall see God, whom I shall see for myself, and my eyes shall behold, and not another. How my heart yearns within me! Job 19.25-27

For the trumpet will sound!
The dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed!
For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable,
and the mortal with immortality…….and thus I wait, I do wait…….

Prsioner of past'

2006-02-04T02:38:00.000-08:00

To write something without any inspiration is real tough and this is what I am going through. I do not have anything commendable to write upon and henceforth I have been refraining myself to put up a post.

adopt your own virtual pet!

Over the past few weeks I have done nothing good, except submitted to daily routine, that involves going to office and coming back and somewhere down the line once again I am being used to the way of life without making any room for improvement. I hate to do this but I am marred by my own shortcomings.

Anyhow, the past few weeks involved watching Rang De Basanti (a movie in a hall after 02 years, with a gal...nt tht bad i will say), a trip to Delhi’s book fair where I met Chetan Bhagat (author, 5 point someone, One night@ call centre), buying some books and gave an exam which like always was a dud affair. Today Z is coming, his exams are over so perhaps will tour a bar and muse upon life and its prodigies over a glass of alcohol!

Before writing this post I was wondering that we all are (correct me, if I am wrong)….Prisoners of our past, here in I am not talking about individuals only but nations as well, however hard we try, the past comes haunting and our future is determined by the events of our past, now how to change it or make new directions, I don’t know nor I have any will left to do so, unsuccessfulness has somehow crept slowly but strongly in my life and my past and future has got entangled in its web, though I am still holding the ray of hope, which I count upon whenever I see any mail van or crematorium bus…..sounds silly! But than all the people I meet and who are related to me in one way or the another seem to be affected by this, may be it P, my office colleague or my Mom, be it N at IMA or Z at his MBA…..or D doing nothing at all.....somehow, somewhere they all are fighting to achieve freedom, but from whom…may be from oneself!

One thing that has changed is weather and it has livened up my lost spirits, now weather is something I am deeply attached to not only physically but emotionally as well, with sun shining a bit harder, and the air missing the nip, I feel that heaven is back. Winters are so dampening that they crush whatever soul you have left, may be as it gets warmer I become more active and start afresh, till than I am a prisoner of my past, now at this am I successful or unsuccessful……

P.S - try playing with "hobbes"....by moving the mouse, its funny!

End of days.......

2006-01-21T06:49:00.000-08:00

For all these days there is nothing to add on, my job is sort of jeopardize (more because I don’t want to work), like as always I am confused, I don’t know but except for the sake of living I have no reason to live, perhaps some responsibilities….whatever. Not that I am afraid, never, coz I have nothing to loose and I have relinquished the word success.

May be as the snow melts up there, the river of my life will flow with full throttle, till than a unsuccessful hibernation……..

A demon that struck me all times
I don’t know how he survives,
This is not going good
I can feel its venom filled hood,
Jealousy I cant describe
its not in my blood, I don’t lie,
I am not like this, I say
this is not my type of relay,
I just don’t know how to fight
is it arms or about the right?
It always wins and never loose
may be fucking fixed rule!
I don’t know how to end this deal
help me or you are also one in the meal!!

Creative Impotency'

2006-01-09T03:15:00.000-08:00

Before I start this, I am agreeing this is a result of creative impotence, which I am facing, I squarely blame it on winters though I know its just an existence of my unsuccessfulness’

NO TITLE ( I cant think of anything)

It all started when they were young, still kids though. Life was yet to unravel itself, it’s just like an early morning, when sunlight sprinkles in your room, giving window a large shadow and leaving you, neither asleep nor awake.
They were least aware of each other and yet inseparable, there were times when they had lot to do and then there was nothing to accomplish. They existed but the struggle to exist was yet to begun.

Studies still revolved around Things to do and Days to remember, of course now and then from nowhere came exams, it was than, when mothers suddenly stopped visiting each other, relatives were told of an unknown pressure and dad’s general questions became more concentric on studies, but for them it always came, saw and went.

Anyhow, they were not in the same class, now lets be positive about it, coz their mothers never discussed report cards and somehow whenever they spoke about their marks, + 10 was magically added to their scores. For them it all was trifle, studies, teacher, school was never on their mind, when they met, it was other big issues and their little secrets.

At 10, they were too mature to play pranks at each other. The locality was bustling up with children, a living proof of India’s population or future, whatever you prefer to call ! Now in one way or another only they two were of same age group, defying all logics, sometimes logics defy themselves…..so it was He & She and She & He.

One day he decided to hang a frog (must have seen a English flick with his dad), she was enthralled by the idea. Some days were spent in planning, about location, victim and execution details (man is a born manager).
Finally one day she managed to sneak in some wool, they were now prepared and the location was the nearby pond. He was scared, She wasn’t..but than he had to catch the frog, they managed to catch a toad, may be the amphibian would have been of the same age as of theirs, perhaps older, who knows! Finally they managed to get hold of it, she carefully wrapped the thread around his neck (girls always have a penchant for details and accuracy), they had to pull the strings from their ends when it would leap. A small leap for a frog, a game for the mankind. It’s unbelievable but Death is sometimes fun, after some consistent efforts and much to the rescue of frog’s soul, they succeeded. They hanged it on the tree, a mark of their success, Death over life!

When he returned home, it was bustling with excitement, he wondered Do they know, what we did but it was about Dad, he had been promoted and they were being transferred. Transfers are not just physical, hell they are emotional too, not because we love people more because we are scared, sacred of venturing into unknown zones, meeting unknown people. Mom was excited and had transformed into NDTV 24x7 and dad was pensive, may be he was scared too. He was too insignificant to be asked.

Few days later…….He was standing near the truck, which has gobbled his whole house, their parents were joking on how they would have to remain in contact because of them. They were not emotional, that’s being too immature, and perhaps it was more because they were excited, on how she would write him about the frog and he on his new friends. The thought of having a pen friend was in his mind and in hers who knows…..Time as usual passed, how come we not always mourn on its death …wonder! Letters never got posted, may be postal delays. He missed Her……

Delhi is a strange city, he had realized this over 23 years of his existence, like all days he waited for the route no 507 bus. In Delhi its an irony, whenever you want to board a particular bus, it never comes, otherwise you see hoards of them plying by, finally after an eternal wait it arrived. The bus was like all days overcrowded, he mused New Year, huh, people were jostling for space, both physical and mental, pre-occupied.

He managed to find a space, standing like a saint, hand holding the bar, in front of the seat above which was marked “Ladies Seat”, graced by the presence of two fair sexes, one whom every pervert in the bus was eyeing and other with a khadi kurta and specs, lost in a book.
He had stopped leeching years ago, this happened when he got enlightened, that with a physique and pocket like his, it is extremely unlikely that any girl with leftover sense will have a go with him. The realization was painful and slow, slow because in the period he proposed 10 different girls with different characteristics and painful because no one told him the truth, all he got was “I am sorry, but not interested”. Anyhow he was trying to read what the girl was reading.

“Perhaps a journo”, he earlier use to like the breed, now all he had was pity for them, his journo friend told him once the relationship between their salaries and work. He argued on passion all he got was “Passion needs money too” – discussion ended, there was no rum left and water tasted bitter.

The bus had reached IIT gate, he was wondering where the girls would get down, at least he would get to sit. The girl with specs looked up, their eyes met, trying to recognize something, his face was flat. She adjusted her spectacles, back to book and back on track. She then looked again.

“Girl no use, I know what I am….perhaps she is trying to hog a bit of limelight from the pretty lass” he silently laughed. The bus hitched on, his memory too…..may be I met her, nah…..don’t have these thoughts, who? Classmate nah….collegiate…did they know I existed, “who then?”

Munirka was next, she closed the book and raised up, he had to get down too……but he was transfixed.

‘Excuse me

Dibrugarh’

‘What?

Dibrugarh’

‘kya hai bhai, madam ko utarne dega – somebody pushed him

She made her way ahead and turned back to smile!

He was livid now, he streamed across the crowded bus…on to road behind her.

“Excuse me mam”

She stopped.

“Mam, I am sorry but I have seen you somewhere, ever been to Dibrugarh”

He was prepared for the rebuttal, slap but not for public beating or police thrashing. He took his chances.

‘All you remember is Dibrugarh (she gleamed)

He was overjoyed, she was laughing, like kids, like old times…..chronologically they were now mature.

‘Don’t you remember my name (there was false ring of anger in her voice)

Of course, I do…I do….

‘Thx God! At least you remember something, all you were saying was dibrugarh, dibrugarh (she laughed again)

Aah……I am sorry, how are you? (no clues what else to say)

‘Good and you, what about your parents, howz life (girls have this tendency to know everything in one go)

They are fine..I am Ok. Where you heading to?

‘JNU and U?

Me too, that’s great (now that’s good), why you going there?

‘Have to meet someone, you? Study there?

No I plan too.

(she laughed, they moved…)

‘So why you plan to study there?

Got nothing else to try, already tried CAT, Civils and now that’s only left

(She laughed again. He was feeling good elucidating his unsuccessfulness’)

‘JNU is tough you know

I know, first I am illiterate and then they got reservation for everyone else except me

‘Yeah, they got reservations for reserved and than these already reserved get into reserved admissions and than again compete for already reserved seats, India Developing!!!

You a journo?

‘why? Do I look like one?

Yes and you talk big

‘You were always good with guesses, yeah I am under training. What about you, you just preparing or working somewhere?

Yes, Seattle USA

‘What?

Work for a call centre

‘Oh!, than you must have an alias name, what’s yours? (like olden times, sharing secrets, now which are not, bhenchod half of America would know it)

Forget it…so you have to meet your boyfriend?

‘Yes

Cool

‘Disappointed (she laughed again)

No, I am already enlightened (he spoke with a more flatter voice)

‘What that mean?

That’s long, for now you can say I am unsuccessful

(she laughed again, he smiled wryly)

‘You know what, sometimes being unsuccessful is being God too. It costs much to remove the Un

Well philosopher journo, would you explain (he was not amused, girls shouldn’t act bright)

‘You remember the frog

yeah (genuine smile)

'It smelled bad

------------silence as they walked on-----------

He nervously searched his pocket for cig., nicotine his senses screamed. His thoughts lit up with the spark of the matchstick that rubbed against the coarse skin of its counterpart and smoke from his nostrils rolled like that from a steam engine. He moved.

You know what

(she looked back)

I never had friends.

-----------more silence--------------

‘There is he – she pointed to a handsome guy, near the tree, sitting on a bike (definitely male)

‘Wanna meet him

No, may be some other day, have to get prospectus early, neither would have to stand for hours

(she stared back, anguished)

Ok than, we again part (he threw the stub)

‘What, wont you even take down my number (she was surprised and sort of screamed)

No, I have to remove the Un and you just said it costs high….he smiled and walked away………leaving her and a lot behind…….

Cryptic Inception'

2006-01-01T21:49:00.000-08:00

Well, this is going to be my first post in 2006, I have no ideas what to write about because unlike the bygone year, nothing else has changed. No please don’t take me as cynical person…I am not but I am being a bit realistic. I have no qualms in accepting that like everyone on this planet I am to expecting that things would change and I would have a better life. Just that I am not too hopeful about it.

So, I did not entered into 2006 partying, hell I was working, on top of that I got rebuked from my senior for using swear word…..so that is how I entered into 2006, not a perfect way I will say. Whatever, but this is how my 2005 ended, well it was late at night (though for me its never late at nights, more the sky darkens, more alive I feel), anyhow since I had just finished a second book by the same author (Chetan Bhagat)…..so I was interested in giving myself a good break…..it was around 3.00 am, I decided to play Snakes on my Nokia 2100……..
A line from one of those books was constantly blinking in my mind “I will rather fly and crash than snuggle and sleep”, finally when I could not beat my old score of mere 1000, like always I started viewing all the no.s listed in the phone directory, having an illusionary image of what they must be doing now (weird !)…….and how come it happened that I decided to see what security code has to offer….now I have no idea how it works but than that line once gain flashed…and I decided to take thy risk…..so in the wee hours of 31 Dec’05…..I got my SIM Card blocked…huh, not to be detailed, one can purely understand that how the rest of the day was spent in order to correct this mistake.

Now lets move into 2006, I had an office party…..please nobody would like to miss free booze and watch chicks dancing , though at all official parties if you are a born singleton like me, with a bit of decency thrown in……you will not dance with other’s girlfriend (believe me, some people do!), rather like me would sit in a corner with a rum/vodka/whisky glass and a cigarette…..wait that may be some lady in drunken state would come and appraise your company (though it never happened for me and I ended up consoling others who will watch some girl dance with someone and than tell me stories about their erstwhile love affairs or unpronounced love)……
But this time it was to be otherwise, first I was late for party and than when I was to rush out…..Z called up……so had to pick up the phone…..now Z was in a bit dismay…..he had a mini break-up, with his girl, now I hate to be a consoler when I am somber…..but Z was looking for something more…..so I cancelled the party plan and asked him to come over……after an eternal wait he showed up……than like as always we tried to understand the women mind…..unsuccessfully…..and finally it was decided that I will show up at the girl’s door with a bouquet, like a delivery boy…..and whoso ever comes, will give him/her the flowers and ask to sign a format which we printed down at the company name “Unsuccessful Flower Suppliers”…….

What happened rest is a long story…..end of it, by 23.00 hrs I was back in my room….all alone, without a drop of heavens drink…..with nothing to do…..but this time I did not played with my cell…….

Happy New Year’

P.S – I am trying to write a short story’

2006?

2005-12-25T21:59:00.000-08:00

Before I dwell into this theme, let me put up a question on the gender of 2006.Though this may sound foolish and unnecessary which I totally agree to, but we should know a bit about what’s coming in.

I think scientifically, New Year does not holds any strong meaning, except that earth has once again like it always does has finally revolved around the sun and we mortals find different reasons to celebrate this!!

Anyhow I remember that as a kid, I use to make cards for my neighbors and friends, at that time Archies/PaperRose wasn’t that popular or they were sent to better off relatives and for rest we either use to send hand made cards or the one which are bought @10 Rs/pack, also for neighbours spending a rupee was a little unnecessary and it was the only time we could exhibit our drawing skills and one-liner talents.
So, I remember working along with my sis, as we prepare different cards and than like as all siblings do, fighting over it, the various reasons for that were as follows -

Which cartoon/picture to draw
Who will draw and who will fill in the colors
To whom it will be given
and who will write

But than despite my parents not believing in gender bias, I was the one who was crowned to be the delivery boy, as the task not only has to be done in the middle of night but also with precision (i.e. not to get caught, while slipping in the card), as other children waited at their doors with baited breaths and the moment they hear any sound of someone walking or see an envelope being pushed in, they would open the door and say “Pakad Liya, Dekha”, which use to cause huge embarrassment and than adding to your humiliation they would give you, your card and say “hamne socha tha tumhe jab pakad lenge tabhi denge” and thus you return back home with your card…..to face once again taunts from sis on being unsuccessful'

Plagiarism is often involve in making cards, as we use to copy lines, design from last year cards (if there) or from the new ones, which he have received early thanks to postal dept.

When I look back at those years which are now lost somewhere as earth kept on revolving monotonously I feel,Yes, New Year is a change…..change from watching DoorDarshan with family to not watching Satellite TV, from preparing cards to sending texts (SMS)….but some things never change, like I am still in habit of forwarding such messages…..lol

Coming back to my question on the sex of 2006, well I would say it’s either a pregnant female or a new born child, both weighed with expectations & than expectations…...may be I am deciphering it, like as always Unsuc…….

Hapless Mulling........

2005-12-19T00:12:00.000-08:00

DISCLAIMER : I am not a pessimist, I am just Unsuccessful’ and this is what happens when you start thinking in the middle of night, have nothing to do, you cannot talk to any one or if want to rephrase it you don’t want to do so, loneliness is good but than try not thinking when so.

He was all alone, sitting in the comfort of his not so warm room, the tethered quilt though was capable enough so as not to let his feet go numb but it was not the cold outside which bothered him, it was the dense fog inside which we was scared about.

His whole room can be measured as 3 steps horizontally and 5 steps vertically, two pair of shoes, some clothes, a table hosting latest magazines, a chair whose nuts have developed a habit of dropping from nowhere and two bags along with a wooden cot which was caressed by two mattresses and a pillow.

He was feeling disconnected, though technologically he was just a call away from so called his people but sometimes distances do matter.
As boredom once gain set in, he lighted up a cigarette, smoke came out of his nostrils and filled the vacuum, nicotine no longer calmed his senses, yet he was addicted to it, why? He never searched for answers, every time he did so his bleak past came in front of his eyes, laughing, screaming, pointing fingers, he was by now scared of it and future was formless and at present searching for it would be just like asking for a non-delayed flight on a foggy morning!

Taking birth in a middle class family is today world’s greatest sin, it is equivalent of the mythological Trishanku, being poor you just look for satisfying your needs and rich stands for satiating your desires but aspiring for wants is quite troublesome, its like being half-dead………

For Homo-sapiens, living a socially formulated life is quite irksome, you have no freedom, and one barters it for cohesiveness and social support. You are burdened with responsibilities and so forth. “We are social animals” – whenever he read this he gets amused, the word animal still tags along and than aren’t we, we pounce on inferiors to us, get scared of superiors, lust constantly raises its hood amongst us and than the modern word competition isn’t its just a replica of jungle rule, a fight for better living, better grasslands, better game, a fight for good life, better mate, protecting springs-off………

Do world revolves on two axis, Sex and Success, one for survival and other for generation……perhaps sometimes we need not to be philosophical, rather should behave as a traveler experiencing new things as they come along but what if the journey becomes cumbersome?

As he stubbed the cigarette, he read on the packet –Cigarette Smoking Is Injurious To Health’ and than he understood, the whole zest of existence is not inside, its there on the surface, somewhere written in Bold and we either fail to realize it or just ignore it……Unsuccessfully’

Makhtub.....

2005-12-14T21:26:00.000-08:00

Winters has brought nothing new for me and it has also been quite dismissive of my stand against nature, that I do not like seasonal changes…..this was just articulated by the met dept. prophecies to expect more chill in up coming days. I just don’t like winters, for me it’s a pain both physically and mentally. Physically coz my already lean frame, refuses to stand up against this onslaught and I develop cold and it other family members, mentally coz I am already inactive and the cold give me one more reason to be so!

Anyhow….I was unable to buy a cell-phone not because I didn’t have money but becoz I felt that spending 18k for a mobile was not worth it…..Well if some marketing student want to do a case study on me…..I think than I would have been the perfect material for that, I searched markets, asked about product availability, post-sales services, resale value and what not and all this exercise went futile as I finally decided not to buy that…..I personally feel that it was the middle class mentality that was the only roadblock that strangulated my dreams…..or am I like the Alchemist’s merchant, who could never go for pilgrimage……and than as he said Makhtub……….

So yesterday Z came, I had called him because I was afraid going alone to buy the cell, although we ended up at TGIF, Priya’…..had some rum and after that he decided for me that it was better if I keep the corpse of unsuccessfulness’ on my shoulders as than it could always act as a motivation for doing something good in life, so buying a new cell would lessen its weight and henceforth both materialistically and by intellectual standards, I have no rights to buy it! ……And than even in half inebriated state I kept my vow of not watching movies in hall......

N is having a bad time at IMA, makes me think why not always life goes in a straight fashion when it ought to be?

And this is for all those, who are fighting against their sins’ past or present, successfully or unsuccessfully, like me or unlike me……

Crossroads as they say
it happens all in sway,
Rhyming seems imperfect
tongue has lost its sweet effect,
Guarded air as they say
even sun sprays poison ray,
Words spell doom and sound grave
sea has lost its splash waves,
Me, huh the lone fighter
Keeps the vigil on the crown
and also speaks in a perfect noun,
All day and night, I would be the one
though Unsuccessful’ in my run
still going to say, yes it is still fun……

Abyssal'

2005-12-07T21:40:00.000-08:00

This poem is written by keeping in mind a 10 year old boy from Tehri (Garwhal)…..who narrates his experience of his land grabbed for making a modern temple of India (Tehri Dam…built on homes of natives there, supposedly an environmental danger)…..I don’t know, how much I am successful in this attempt, to look at it with a 10 year old heart…anyhow my history precedes me…..which speaks volumes on my unsuccessfulness’

They came here some years back,
told us 'that we are a lucky stack,
The river above would be channelised
and our land is the perfect site,
Hence they will built a dam
this will irrigate many lands,
They all muted on water……….

We were very happy with this thought
somebody even broke a coconut, just for the right start
For some months it was all quiet
suddenly, big machines appeared the next night,
Streams of people poured in
wearing turban, skull-caps and some with suite and a tie-pin,
They all had different equipments you guess
I thought they would need my geometry box as well!

After some days they asked us to gather
my mother had an inkling of rough weather,
Father works in a big city, I don’t know
chacha thought, they called to give us jobs though,
They said’ we should be proud
for dam will end the country’s drought,
Our names will be galvanized in history
all we need to do is, to leave our village swiftly!!

We protested at this decision hard
why they never told us right from the start,
They said; view it from a different stand
country will benefit, from our submerged land!!!
Also, they will relocate us somewhere
and this will be done in a ceremony with fanfare,

Next day, some big leader came in
he said, we should fight against this sin,
Someone told me, he had saved tress before
where will trees grow, if there is no land more!!!!
Some known writer also pitched high
people said, she knows America’s president wife,
Hopes were floating everywhere
winter was also near,

Explosions in the mountains heart
we shivered on their part,
Turtles & Fishes would attend my school
coz under water, crocodile teaches with a rule,
We are still waiting for the Promised Land
chacha says, it will never be till the end,
May be I will go to the big city where father lives
mother says it’s a big risk,

Nor the mountain neither river smiles
just one question, will haunt us throughout our lives,
For why they all muted on water…..

Outsourced........

2005-12-04T02:01:00.000-08:00

Nothing good going on…..just the same old story……thought better to air my views on outsourcing, which I wrote long back….have delayed buying the phone…..may buy a digital camera…..I don’t know…..I am too unsuccessful to take decisions now……should I outsource them?….Yes, No …maybe!

For How many years they rule our world
make us live in fear and death
Showed their supremacy all the way
and thought they would easily getaway,

Target their missile on our land
helping that fucking neighbour on the other end
Nuke bombs, tanks and submarines
built and sold everything that solves their needs

They denounced our nation saving move
and attack a country coz dictator rule
What they do is perfectly fine
coz they in a country of dollars and dime

Now it’s our turn to revenge
let them pay for their mistakes
And make their life a bloody hell
by taking all their jobs away

So sing with me and let them sigh
we don’t care if they are dying dry,
All we know its our time high
for all you phirangis its time to say goodbye

Science that was ours you took away
made us fool by your glittering babes
Cheated us on everything
c’mon be brave to face the swing,

World Trade Centre already gone
now we want the Washington house dome
See your Pentagon back in rumbles
Dow Jones has to fumble,

So sing with me and let them sigh
we don’t care if they are dying dry,
All we know its our time high
for all you phirangis its time to say goodbye!

Dedicating Unsuccessfulness......

2005-11-30T08:35:00.000-08:00

As like always, life is moving at its snail pace, so there was nothing much to write upon….as for studies, I always plan them and then re-schedule those plans. Winter has finally crept in and if one ventures out early morning, the air can be heard whispering its arrival.

Last week Z came and went for some shopping, when you are in a materialistic world, it matters how you dress, so I decided to update my winter wardrobe, less for myself and more for as to make it visible to others! May be tomorrow I will go and buy a new mobile phone, which will depend on the amount of salary credited in my bank account…so perhaps I would be better able to express my unsuccessfulness with pictures, resembling my moods.

I think winter seasons arrive globally, so there is no steam in any political & economical news to muse upon, also WTO Hong Kong meet has already been doomed to be a failure so whatever be the results, it will hardly matter.

As about ‘T’….I once again message her today…only to realize that she will never respond, than I got perturbed and thought upon, Expectations…..We all are cursed by this word….in each and every form, can Expectations be synchronized with Hope, if Yes than ok…we cant help it, but if not than is it like the appendix in human body….which does not serves any function but more so often becomes an irritant…….finally I wrote something…..and dedicated this to ‘T’……for I decided that I will never think to think about her….Unsuccessful, once again? Yes, No….maybe

Ek vyarth koshish
ya shunya ka vistar,
Shabdon ki feri
ya sapnon ka junjal,

Vicharon ki paribhasha
ya chanchalta ki pukar,
Kya namkaran karoun
sab saachein bekar,

Na radha ki aankhon si
virah ki pyaas,
Na shabri ke beron si
isme mithas,

Sirf, kagaz ki zammen par
Sarkande ke hul se prayaas,
Yehi hai meri kavita
Ek vyarth koshish
aur ek asafal lekhakar.

The Battle'

2005-11-24T09:19:00.000-08:00

This is a description of the situation in my room, which one may find relevant to contemporary International scenario….

This all started in the month of September, when I shifted to my new room. The previous guy living here was as an IAS aspirant, with geography as an optional, so once I moved in…. I had to tear all world maps and motivational posters, first one because world maps make me feel so small and give me ideas about being a nomad, the second one, I don’t need to explain…..so the only thing which remained was Lord Ganesh picture, which I dared not removed as I am superstitious (though a self proclaimed non-believer!) hence like Jews, I rearranged the new Israel

Now since I am a working bachelor, society does not expect me to live in hygienic conditions, so I followed the unsaid rule and very soon cig buds, half eaten biscuits, crumpled papers, unwashed socks and so on, adorned my room. I created a breeding ground myself just like Nehru did for Kashmir or US for China

As a result very soon, I find that my loneliness was invaded by mosquitoes, since I am an ardent newspaper reader, I knew that they are health hazards and one like me with a lean body frame and thus poor immune system, cannot bore the burden of being affected by Dengue, Malaria, Elephantis and jeopardize both my physical and monetary wealth.

From here started the war…….

The Sanctions
Immediately considering the gravity of the situation, I realized that my maid was unduly paid (as she comes early in morning, when I the nocturnal living being goes off to sleep and she is hence asked to come next day, which never comes). So for her now it was either “You are with Me or Them”….she diligently used the broom and gave the room a phenyl bath (that smell still in my nose!), books were dusted, clothes rearranged. However like the UN sanctions it turned out to be a dud affair and a Volcker report is soon expected….

The First wave
Now the situation was already getting out of hand, so arsenals were put into use, first ‘All Out’ was pressed into services (I never expected it to jump and eat mosquitoes though but least like Air force 1, it should have prepared the ground)….its futility became more prominent with each passing day, also I forgot to switch it off so it was getting costly…

Traditional Warfare
As suggested, I restored to our age old mosquito coils, now this worked out and soon they were kissing the grounds….I pronounced from my bed “ I Got Them” but unfortunately I was celebrating the victory too early…..they became accustomed ( just like humans, the spirit to survival can be seen best here, universal truth! ) and soon they were resilient, taking refuge in corners, behind clothes, books (just like Talibanis).

Chemical warfare
Now I bought a spray, I am using it now for the past two weeks, making every corner of my room a Fajullah…..ambushing them here & there and hoping if they survive and get out they get marred by the Coil effect’

Many civilians (ants) have died in this war, I can see their funeral procession every night…they still walk in line….some move astray…like lost kids. I hope mosquitos don’t follow Islam (no offence) and I do not face Jehad’…..and I also believe with onset of winters they become lull, like Kashmiri militants.

In turn, I have also been affected both monetarily and health wise, I am smoking twice, once my nicotine sticks and then the coil smoke’ ( but the coil pack says its of no affect to humans, hoping it doesn’t turn out like the American intelligence report on WMD’s ....as they call it “sexed up”………….

Existence......

2005-11-20T20:47:00.000-08:00

It has been more than 18 hours and I haven’t slept, I don’t know may be I am getting insomniac…. But than why sleep is deluding my eyes? perhaps I am not working hard, I have heard that a person who works hard gets a sound sleep, so I do not deserve it.

Sometimes I feel, my whole existence is like the early morning dew, which glitters only to be vaporized by the sun and than it becomes water vapour…than clouds…finally rain and this cycle continues on….is this an unsuccessful existence or a just one, I can’t decide but it is too tiring…..I would rather like to be “Air”…unbounded, omnipresent, sometimes mild and furious, bringing hope and destruction, different names according to different traits, to be precise, the prototype I will choose is, to be ‘Wind’…..yes I want to be Wind……deciding my own course…..free at will,one step down..three steps ahead, a force to reckon with....but is it really or just the Wind’ thinks so…who knows!

I have nothing to say
my pen is dry today,
Thoughts, I bargained them all
feelings, huh they just crawl,
I have lost all sense
like traveler in forest dense,
I have nothing to say
my pen is dry today,

Neither I have the Rama’s will
nor I enjoy the Krishna’s thrill,
Enlightment is out of question here
nirvana is what I fear !
I have nothing to say
my pen is dry today,

I called her name aloud
did she heard this sound,
My hollowness screamed
sweetheart, it’s a futile dream,
I realized, I have nothing to say
my pen is dry today,

I tried to wipe thy tear
eyes said, It’s a drought here!
Smile suddenly crossed my lips
like sand trickles down quick,
Again, I have nothing to say
my pen is dry today,

He from their above
who pull all string fine,
Wonders, why this boy tries
for when he is destined to make just ‘Unsuccessfully Yours’ rhyme,
And hence, I have nothing to say
my pen is dry today…….