Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Kya Karein Kya Na Karein

What will I do now,
That I have a two month off…

I might not go home,
I might have to stay here alone,
But that option might not have so brightly shone,
had the battle been already won.

Or I might just get some games,
And then when I get rejected for job again ,
I make an excuse so lame ,
That I failed coz I was playing games.

Or then , I might just go home ,
Have a fish fry and them some ,
And then wonder,
Home rhymes with foam
Some rhymes with hum
But home spells like hum
But some doesn’t even spell like foam
And then some rhymes with come
And come spells like some
And come rhymes like some too.
And then give up,
Like the reader might have already .
And think that whoever invented English ,
might have been a bastard and shady.

Or I might just stay here,
Lonely strolling through lonely corridors .
When those who are left ,
Talk to their girlfriends,
Or they study for placements,
Or they watch some good movies and some shady ones ,
Behind their closed doors.

Or then plan a trip with my friends,
Ask my parents , reason with them ,
So that they might not refuse.
And then argue with friends,
Hullabaloo to decide  ,
That one so usually makes.
And then suddenly pullout,
Making one of the silliest of excuses.
Why?? I know not, for my thought process is so complex.

Or I might go and stand against a mirror,
And try to simulate an interview,
Think what I did wrong earlier,
And try to think of a strategy which might be new.
And then again having been rejected,
Sometimes expected and sometimes out of the blue.
Trying to hide fear in heart and tears in eyes,
Trying to be nonchalant but deep inside dejected,
And ponder for hours , that now what to do ??

And then finally think to show off
Like going to an interview late
And then saying ,
“Sorry Sir, I am a bit of a procrastinate .”
But then realising that the usage may be wrong ,
And then simply saying,
“ Sorry Sir, I am a bit late.”
But not realising that my idiocy
Might have already sealed my fate .

Or I might go home after all ,
Listen to my Dad’s call.
Think of a higher prospective maybe
Though that path might be a bit risky
Hope that I am made for this any way ,
Lets try , who knows it might turn out to be little difficult than a child’s play .
Live in a fool’s world as they say.
But still try to take a hugely crowded but least successful way.

Or two months hence ,
I might be still sitting on the fence.
Who knows still trying to complete this poem
Trying to form thoughts of mind , through my hearts lens.
 But ,  who knows, I might be still waiting
For time, people or placements…

Tuesday, September 14, 2010


When banished from familiar locations, by familiar faces to unfamiliar territories, what can one think? One can get angry. But that becomes a remote possibility when you reach a point that you start giving up on all possibilities.  If you get angry at that point of time, then without fail you will commit suicide. So you will not be alive to tell the tale as I am.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

It's The Man.. Movie Review: Dabangg

First Superman , then Batman , then Spiderman  ,then Iron Man then Shaktiman, and then came Sal-man. And then some more Salman , and some more Salman, and some more Salman , and then only Salman and Salman and Salman and Salman and a then bit of Sonakshi too. And then some more Salman and some more Salman and.....

 I will post the full review once my mid semesters get over. Hopefully.
In the mean time, you can read the Wanted review here. There won't be much difference anyways. 

P.S. - I can't fathom the fact that how these rugged machomen of yesteryear keep bringing out such beautiful girls!!!!! First Sonam Kapoor, and now Sonakshi Sinha.

Saturday, August 21, 2010

The Obituary

This is a rant, an absolute rant

They keep me failing,
As the water runs down,
May be,
Better I leave wailing ,
Or else, they will leave with a frown.
And they say ,
That the world is white , black or gray,
That depends on your calling,
But they leave me for the greener pastures ,
Huh!! I wonder,
Have I turned brown?

Monday, August 09, 2010


Chic chic Chiclet.  When I was growing up in terms of my height,  there used to be a very popular chewing gum called Chiclet. It was like any other gum available. I could not figure any reason why it was so popular as there were twenty more similar if not better tasting gums in the market. It was predictably bland, chewy, boring and if you could stick it in one place without getting your hands dirty, you could stretch it for as long as you please. But still I used to walk around with it in my mouth all day. Guess , I had nothing better to day at times than chew it. But, what a pity!
Then I grew up a bit . And I came across a term which sounded a lot like Chiclet but was told that it was certainly a lot different than a chewing gum. It was called Chick lit. Two or three Chick lit later, I was searching for the man who gave me that advice with an idea in my heart which was close to being of revenge and murder. They were girly, almost smelled pink , the boys were nothing more than props and in my opinion used to cast women in a demeaning light. All the women in them cared about was marriage. And as long it was any marriage , the world for them was nothing more than a wedding shamiana  or a church where you got to go and sign the attendance sheet as a bride or even better- as a bridesmaid.
And then I grew up a bit more. And then came Aisha.  And to know how it was, simply join the above two paragraphs and read them. That’s all…

Image courtesy, http://www.yorkshirebiztalk.com

Tuesday, August 03, 2010

Ghar Ki Baat

My father was recently transferred to a place called Hajipur. I visited my family recently during vacations. Now when you are at home and friends call you, there is a standard question which goes like," Kya Kar Raha hai?" . To which there is a standard answer, "  Kuch Nahi."

Sunday, August 01, 2010

Patna Redux

As a thumb rule, you generally know inside out about the place you live in. More so , if you grow to like the place. And if you are an outgoing person, the knowledge is even more exhaustive.  I am from Bihar. So, naturally I am supposed to know a lot about Bihar. Or at least about the capital city, Patna  . But I have never lived there, never loved it and to add to that , I am not an outgoing person. So , whatever I am going to write might be a grotesque piece of imagination, rather than being a candid assessment. But then this is my blog. My space, my rules and my wishes.  As simple as that.

Tuesday, July 06, 2010

Akalooo from Patna Khatal: Dhoni Bhaiyya Aur Sakshi

ईईह्ह्ह्ह. इ का कर बैठे धोनी भैया!!!!! मतलब हम भी बिहार के ही हैं. तो का हुआ जो आप झारखण्ड के हैं . अरे झारखण्ड भी तो बिहार के पीछे से ही निकला है न जी. और फिर अपना पढाई लिखी भी तो हम रांची से ही किये हैं. का फरक पड़ता है  जो हम आपके राईभाल स्कूल में पढ़ते थे? फिर भी भैया तो कह ही सकते हैं न. खैर छोरिये, पर ई का कर डाले? अरे दीपिका, प्रियंका, कटरीना और पता नहीं कौन कौन को छोड़ कर आप कहाँ ई साक्षी के पल्लू में डेरा जमा लिए. और तो और हमको बताये भी नहीं . अरे हम आपके सबसे बड़े फैन , कूलर, एः सी जो ठहरे. अरे हमको ही लगा लेते विवाह मंडप में. मुंहवा से फूँक फूँक कर आपको ठंडा कर देते. अरे साक्षी जी को देख कर ठंडा ठंडा आहें निकलता सो अलग. अरे जलन का नहीं . हमको गलत मत समझिएगा. अरे आप पर दया भावना का आहें निकलता. पूरा बर्बाद कर दिया हमारा लड़का को. तिलक विलक मिला की नहीं?

अरे का का सपना सब नहीं देखे थे हम आपको ले कर. सब का गुर गोबर बना के ऊपर से मन भर पानी और उड़ेल दिया. जो की गोबर से लीपी पुताई भी न हो!! अरे हमरे सपना में रोज आप आते थे. बस शकल हमरी होती थी.  पर होते आप ही थे. काहे की जब आप बाल कटाए न तो फिर हमरे सपने में भी हमारे बाल कट गए. तो फिर हम समझ गए की ई तो साक्षात् महाप्रभु ही हैं . और इस से भी अच्छी बात बतावें. अरे आप के साथ होती थी हमारी स्वप्न सुंदरी लोग. कभी हम दीपिका के गले में हाथ रख के गुटर गूं कर रहे होते थे. और कभी हम देखते थे की हमारे पीछे सलमान खान काले हिरन पर बैठ कर हाथ में बड़ा सा मोटा सा सोंटा लेकर हमारे पीछे हमको गरियाता हुआ भागा आ रहा है . और हम कटरीना को ले कर अपनी राजदूत फटफटिया से फुर्र होते जा रहे हैं . और देखे का पता है, सलमान रास्ते में ही गिर जात है. अरे वो उस काले हिरन को मार के खा जाता है न. और हम कटरीना को ले कर …….. अब माना की उ आप ही होते हैं, पर सपने में भी हमरी कुछ गोपनीयता रहनी चाहिए की नहीं. जहाँ देखो मुंह उठता कर चले आते हैं!!! और एक बार तो प्रियंका……खैर छोरिये अब का ही हम भगजोगनी की तरह टिमटिमआयें. अब का हमरे सपना में अब ऊ साक्षी जी आएँगी? और हम का उनको लोरी सुनायेंगे? की हमारे साथ वो आके पोशम्पा भाई पोशम्पा खेलेंगी? आपके लिए तो परफेक्ट रहेगी, ज़िन्दगी भर बैठ के हुकुम चलाइयेगा बच्ची पर. पर हमारा तो सोच लिया होता न!! अरे हमारा नहीं तो हमारे सपने का ही सोच लिया होता. कहाँ दीपिका और कहाँ साक्षी . सपनवा नहीं बताने में भी मज़ा नहीं आएगा. अरे उसे अच्छी तो हमारी भैंसिया ही है हाँ. अरे कम से कम गोबर तो देती है शुद्ध. उसमे पानी तो नहीं डालती मन भर.
 और का पता कौन कौन ऊहाँ आया होगा?  हमको तो आप दुरदुराय ही दिए. अब बाद में ई  मत बांचियेगा की हम कार्ड तो भेजे थे पर पहुंचा नहीं. काहे की हमको पता है की आपकी शादी में कार्ड नहीं पास भेजे गए हैं. खैर हम पोस्ट मास्टर से पूछते हैं कहीं ऊ तो नहीं दबा गया ससुरा. हम आते तो क्या पता चार आना सपना हमरा बच ही जाता. कोई आ ही गयी होती. कोई मिल ही गयी होती. अब ई मत समझिएगा की हम अपनी औकात को भूल गए हैं. वैसे किशन भगवान् और लालू जी हमारी ही बिरादरी से ही हैं. वैसे तो गांधारी ने हमारे कुल को आमूल चूल नष्ट हो जाने का श्राप दिया था. पर हम बच गए, लालू जी के साथ. ही ही ही. पर हैं तो हम ग्वाले ही की औकात के ना. पर सपना चाहे अमिताभ का हो या हमारा, वो तो औकात नहीं देखता न. सो, वही हमारे सपने में भी दू आना चार आना बच जाता अगर आप बुलाय लेते.
पर बुलाया किसको आपने. ऊ धूम के धुआं को. अरे ऊ तो जिंदा बच भी नहीं पाया था. हृतिक तो बच भी गया था. और उसके पास तो एक भैंसिया तो पहले से ही है. बिपासा कहते है न उसको. ऊ का करेगा सपना सजा के?  और  किसको तो बुलाये!! सुरेश रैना को . अरे जिसके नाम में ही रैना है ऊ आपके ज़िन्दगी में का खा के सवेरा करेगा? देखिएगा ऊ पक्का आपकी साक्षी जी पर लाइन वा मारेगा. अब का करें ई साक्षी जी के लिए “भाभी” शब्द जबान से फिसलिये न रहा है न. इहाँ हम का का नहीं सोचे थे आपकी दुल्हनिया की लेकर और आप ई साक्षी के साथ अग्नि का साक्षी ले बैठे. और हमको बुलाये भी नहीं. हम होते तो का पता हमरे नाम अकलू से आपको थोड़ी सी अक्कल ही आ जाती. अरे हम तो तभी से आपका फैन कूलर बने बैठे हैं जबसे हमको पता लगा की आप दिन में 4 किल्लो दूध पीते हैं शुद्ध. पाकिट वाला नहीं. ई अमूल और मदर देरी तो हमरा धंधा का इतना नुक्सान कर चूका है न की का बतावें जितना की बिना पानी मिलाये दूध बेचना भी नहीं किया. हमको लगा की कोई और हमारा ख्याल करे न करे , आप तो कीजियेगा ही. अब आपके यहाँ शुद्ध पनीर कैसे बनेगा , हमको तो फिकर हो रहा है. हमरा सपना गया सो गया. पर ई तो विवाह है न जी.
खैर , अपने रिसेप्सन में ई देख लीजियेगा की ऊ बिपाशा भैंसी हमारी भैंसिया के सामने न फटके . ऊ का है न की उसको जलन हो गया तो. रिसेप्सन का कार्ड अभी तक तो नहीं आया है, पर शादी में तो हम ज़ब्त कर गए. अब ना आये तो आप बुरा नहीं मान जाइयेगा. और हमको कार्ड का का ज़रुरत? अरे दूध नहीं चाहिए का अब? बाकी बात सब रिसेप्सन में आ कर करेंगे. और हाँ , आपको शादी का बहुत बहुत मुबारकबाद.

Sunday, July 04, 2010

An Open Letter to Ms Priya Ramani

For Reference , please first read this link

Dear Ms Ramani,

Thank you, Ms Ramani for reminding me that I am an Indian. You know , the world cup is going on and I did not at all follow the Asia Cup . Actually I have not been following cricket since the World T20 started. This disinterest started to make me feel if I am cent per cent Indian still. But thanks to your article- and I am being polite and Indian enough to call it just an article- I now know that I am still an Indian . Cent per cent, or may be more.
No, I don’t spit in public, haven’t ever tried to watch any Indian soap let alone trying to like or understand them, don’t like mangoes either and only if necessary start the conversation with remark, “How slim you have become!!” instead of going other way around. Heck , I have even resisted the temptation to ask Harsha Bhogle on his timeline as to how he got his crop of new hair, in spite of the fact that I am going to be completely hairless in two years. But yes, my father likes mangoes. And he is an Indian. And as a public servant done more for the Indian people than you ever will through your journalistic duties. And yes, he does his work as dutifully as ever and in fact loves his work. So technically in your eyes , he is not an Indian. Indian bureaucrats don’t do that, do they? But paradoxically for you he still calls himself Indian. And so do a lot of other people who continuously strive to make India the “greatest place on earth” that you so frown about despite of numerous hurdles and cynics.   People like Mr. Kalam, Mr E. Sreedharan, my father, me if I do my work well, and even you Ms Ramani , if you aspire to bring about some change through your writings and try to  write well.
Ms Ramani I celebrate all my festivals the way the way they are meant to be celebrated coz I think the person who invented festivals must have been the greatest psychologist out there , ever. And he did not tell us that we should not be up on Christmas as people are supposed to sleep in night or that we should all turn vegetarian as it is so cruel for the poor turkey to lose its life for us to celebrate on thanksgiving or that we should not get spongy drunk and get all brash and loud on the new year’s eve. Likewise he did not tell me that I ought not burst crackers on Diwali night coz it disturbs the dogs and the people who are old or that I should refrain from pouring colours on Holi just because I think colours are more ‘colourful’ than being bland. Tell you what Ms Ramani, if I do not care about the Turkey, I might as well not care about the dogs and  those old people must have done the same when they were of my age i.e. burst a lot of crackers and throw colours. But then you might choose to disagree with the shrink or with me. Bloody well, you can – I am not going to burst crackers in your house or throw colours on you. Because it is in India you are. You can easily say screw off without the danger of being screwed yourself.
You curse a politician and well, any one should for what he has done. But I really don’t think that a major chunk of our politicians are Indians at all. They are Hindus, Muslims, or Yadavs, Brahmins , or from any other caste before being an Indian. Or else they are Biharis, Bengalis, form Telengana, or south Indians, or Marathis . Or in this case they are simply being males than being Indians. May be you have been looking in wrong places Ms Ramani.  Indians are not like Politicians that they have. It is the other way around. Politicians are not like the Indians they represent.
Yes, I  too don’t think that India is the greatest country around. But still I am Indian because as long I try to work to make it the greatest country , I will be Indian I guess. Most of the chest thumping on Jai Ho came from the NRI community who for all there ‘Indian-ness’reside In their USA and Canada for the ‘standard of living’ they get there and have scantly done anything for their INDIA. If you think that they are Indians , may be you have been using wrong frames as well. For most of the Indians, Slumdog Millionaire was an overstretched tale of the notion West has about India. That while we are no more a country of snakes and elephants, all we have is abject poverty, software professionals, and riots. It only interested us because it won us two Oscars. Did  you find Slumdog Millionaire insightful? Watch  Bawarchi -  a Rajesh Khanna movie. It will tell you more about Indian values than any Danny Boyle America can bring here. Danny Boyle would never tell you that India is the only country where you will get away with calling the national God “A Loser” as you call Ram or publicly bashing the very existence of the major festivals being held here.  It is not that we don’t care. It is because we know how to keep quiet when someone disagrees. How to make the other person feel acknowledged in the peaceful terms even if he says ‘no’ in the most blasphemous and ridiculous manner. We are not going to tell you to buzz off in the manner  Joel Stein does. He is an American you  know. But still if you think that his version is more respectable, then you are still welcome. It is India, after all.
Or, maybe you tried to inject some humour or to use a better word, some ‘sarcasm’ in your piece, and maybe I didn’t get that. But I have always believed that it is not your readers fault if he doesn’t get your sarcasm, it is yours. You  were not subtle enough or maybe you were not revealing enough. What do you think? You may choose to disagree and say that I am not intellectual enough to understand you ‘intended’ humour. And I am okay with it. I give you the right to disagree because I am an Indian. I have seen a lot of people crying hoarse on a lot of matters like region and religion. People who tend to think that people do not have the right to think otherwise in their so called ‘jurisdiction’. Ms Ramani, did somebody attack your office or your car or your house for writing what you did? I would think not. Maybe you will reckon the reason for that is that more people watch My Name Is Khan in India than those who read an English newspaper- a business one at that.   But I think that it is because there are more people in India who are Indian than those who are merely Hindu, Muslim or Marathi .  So while you say that my fellow Indian lot is deeply unaware of the existence of anybody other than his own , he is wild, uncouth, uncultured, do not respect women, eats mangoes(!!!!!), watches dumb shows etc etc, I am just going to smile at you and politely say that while I do not agree with your views, and so will millions of my fellow Indians whom you so conveniently choose to keep out of the definition of being ‘Indian’, I will not vandalise either your home or your office, will not try to get you to leave the country, or to get a fatwa issued against you or try to get a hefty bounty placed on your head.  Because you are in India, does not matter whether you think yourself as an Indian or not . And by the virtue of being in India, you have the right to disagree. And if Ms Ramani, by any chance you somehow read this post where I disagree with your views, and still you do not flag this blog for having difference of opinion,  Ms Ramani, sorry to say, but you are still an Indian.

Welcome to India,

Bak Bak Bak Bak .....Ravan - Movie Review

When I walked out of the theatre having watched Ravan, one of my friend started humming Ranjha Ranjha. Well, the song was not even in the movie. Actually it was so difficult to remember anything from the movie that he chose to hum something which was not in the movie.
It is quite difficult to write about Ravan. Actually, it is difficult to recall anything worth writing about Ravan. Except the cinematography and the music. Sadly, this time Mani Ratnam chooses to rely more on his apprentices than on his own a story telling skills. Moments are still there , but they do not build up to a credible story line. Rahman is as usual top-notch and the camera work by Santosh Sivan is once in a lifetime stuff , but when through the length of the movie, you start to get the feeling that you were better off buying the audio cd and then taking some screenshots, you know that the movie will have difficulty redeeming itself. Maybe they would come out with an album with shots of the movie as a redeeming feature. But till then there is hardly anything to write. I can write pages about say both Maqbool and Drona. One was exemplary film making and other absolute drivel. But more importantly I am going to remember both of them. Presently I am having difficulty remembering scenes from Ravan, a movie I saw few hours back. And that is the worst feeling I can have after watching a movie. And that is sad. More so coz it came from Mani Ratnam Stable.
The problem with Ravan is that once you take your eyes off the camera work and your ears off the music , all you see is incessant humming and all you hear is blatant cacophony. Disappointingly the subtlety that was so apparent in Guru is thrown out of the window. Of all the actor on display the best performance came from Ravi Kissen. Now do I need to say anything about the performance of the rest of the cast, though the performance is a credit to the actor Ravi Kissen has grown into. Heck, in a movie of Abhishek, Aishwarya, ManiRatnam, I am talking about Ravi Kissen!!!! Who would have thought? But then, you get the trend , don’t you? Abhishek has still not found a shaving blade and by the looks of it, it seems he had spent a long time in a mental asylum looking for it. Chak chak chak chak, bak bak bak bak. He chooses to exaggerate  Lallan from Yuva rather than try for a redux of Gurukant Desai. The latter would have been definitely more bearable. Aishwarya looks so lost as to why is her husband acting like this that she completely forgets that she is in a movie herself. Govinda looks as if he has jumped straight from the sets of Maharaja, if you remember that there was such a movie. And then comes the guy whom plays Ram or whatever he is called. He tries sooo hard to shed his southern accent that he makes Abhishek Bachhan look less irritating. Now, even Mani Ratnam could not manage to do that in this movie. That’s saying something , right?I didn’t even bother to check up his name.  I can see why is the Tamil version of the movie where the same guy plays Ravan is a big hit. Ahem, Ahem.
There is a scene in the movie, where a lot of people from the village  tell the police inspector and you what is Beera like. Now, do you remember any instance while watching Guru, where you had to ask yourself as to what Gurukant Desai is like? Why? Because the focus of Guru was on the story content. The  characters came out in a beautiful subtle manner. Subtlety as an option is as absent as “Pride and Glory” were from England’s football world cup campaign. Here you have Aishwarya shrieking, the man who played Ram shouting and Abhishek Bachhan hamming which was worse than shouting. Was he trying to project a scary image? Instead, he reminded me of this video. For reasons known to them only everyone in the movie tries to thrive on excess, but only cinematography looks good while exaggerated.  The movie by the way is a photographer’s delight, a cinematographic orgasm. But wish, I could say the same for the rest .
But a lot of these things could have been glossed over only if the script was good enough. But the plain simple fact is that no matter what we talk about, Ravan is a long , boring movie. It doesn’t involves, it doesn’t surprises and most damningly , it doesn’t  interest. Actually to be fair to the scriptwriter, when you decide to make a movie on Ramayana, he has to work his way out of a very inherent flaw, that is lack of drama. Ramayana is a very straightforward story of love and revenge devoid of any drama. There are no twists, there are no traitors , there are no cunning plans , there is nothing to shake you through the scruff of your neck in Ramayana. And if you are thinking about the Vibhishana episode, that bit in Ravan is badly chopped out to leave the Vibhishana guy nothing but an extra. Ramayana the serial was a phenomenon despite its poor actors and hyperbole because of the religious audience. And with a plot like that , if you are going to project Ravan as God and Ram as opposite, Mani Ratnam should have realised that he is trading in thin waters. A case in point is Rajneeti. It was based on Mahabharata, and loosely took threads from The Godfather. Few books written have had more drama in them than these two. So in spite of the sincere attempts of the Rajneeti Director to screw up the movie in the second half, the end product felt good. That the people came out of the theatres feeling good, was more of a credit to these two books than the director. Ravan- devoid of drama, the director is somewhat helpless, somewhat inept to handle such an even more inept script.
In the end , Ravan left me indifferent . In my dictionary, that is as sorry a reaction I can have for any movie. After Guru,  I was really looking forward to Ravan. I will still look forward to Mani Ratnam’s next, but the dynamics of my expectations would have changed. Sadly.

Sunday, May 09, 2010

MummY MummY Bang Bang

I would not hide the fact that I am afraid to sleep alone at nights. When I was young, I used to spin the yarn that I am afraid of cats. That from somewhere a cat will suddenly jump over me at night. My Mummy used to try her best to placate me, but if I had the knack of listening to advices, wouldn’t I have been better man than what I am? She used to know that it was not the cats I was afraid of but the ghosts . The one I used to see in shows like Aahat and Alif Laila. But still she did not used to spill the beans. Never figured out why? May be coz then I would have been lost for words and in no position to argue further and she did not want to put me in such an embarrassing position.  So, then finally, my Mummy used to sleep besides me, at least till the time I used to fall asleep. Such a day was a Mother’s Day for me.

And then a few days back a friend of mine whose name I do not want to mention here, told me about the experiences he had when he had a trip to his village in vacations. Sinister experiences all, like he had scary but factual  dreams no one could explain about. He used to have strange hallucinations about stuff he had never seen , but others in his family knew about. After he recounted the tale to me, the mouse inside me woke up, and I found it impossible to gather even a wink that night. A boy who used to lose sleep even on the memories of laughable ghosts from even more laughable shows, one can imagine what was the state of my mind on hearing what were apparently true ghastly tales. Disturbed as I was, I called my Mummy and had a chat. It was 12:30 in night and she was fast asleep. But , still she talked to me as if it were morning. She once asked me what was the matter that I was calling up so late? To which I simply managed to gloss over. I never told her about those stories. But, still after that surprisingly, all disturbances evaporated from my mind and I was able to sleep calmly though besides a friend which seemed almost impossible 15 minutes back. I could never explain what happened. Guess it was the Mummy effect which was fully operating even though she was more than 1200 km away from me. That was a Mother’s day for me.

Every time I used to leave home at the end of the vacations, she used to almost cry. She does not cry anymore, but I know she still does.  Somewhere.  As I do. Those are the Mother’s Day for me.

A week before I leave home after vacations, she starts asking me what snacks I want to take to hostel. She perfectly knows that they will be consumed by my friends instead of me and for that reason, I do not take any of those snacks, but she keeps persisting. In the end she finally manages to convince me to take along at least a cake- a full big homemade cake instructing that it should be finished while I am in train only, knowing fully that it is a next to impossible task for me but still hoping that I would.  For that hope, every one of those days is Mother’s Day for me.

Every time she calls , she asks about my studies. And I reply that I study, “Thoda  Bahut”  . To which she first replies that she does not believe me that I do not study. And then goes on a minute long monologue that why I should study, knowing deep within that I have been surely kidding that I do not study well. For that innocence and ignorance every one of those days are Mother’s Day for me.

Every time I pull my sister’s hair when she irritates me (Yes, I do it even now) she comes and with her hands on hips, wonders what she is going to do with me and warns that she will report us to Daddy even though we have become slightly older now – a threat she never carries out. For those empty threats, every one of those days is Mother’s Day for me.

Any day I love her and any day she cares for me is a Mother’s day. And that is every day.

Somebody told me that today is Mother’s Day. Yes, today it is......one of those Mother's Days.

Thursday, May 06, 2010

How Did She Let Go of This??

These are the lyrics of the song “ Tainu Tv Par” from LSD. Please keep the part in bold in your mind as you go through the post.

Tainu Tv Per Wekhya
Hai Main Tujpe Marr Jawa) - 2
Mujhse Shaadi Karle Aa 
Chad De Laaj Sharam Parda
Tainu TV Tainu Tv

Sabnu Kiss kardi firdi ae,
Saddi Jaan tarasdi hai,
Mainu bhi famous karde,
TV pe tu kiss kar de.
O kudiye Gal man le meri, 
Mera makeup hai ready,
O Eligible bachelor 
Kar le mera Swayanmvar.
Tainu TV tv tv tv
 Ban ja biwi biwi biwi,

Tainu Tv Per Wekhya
Hai Main Tujpe Marr Jawa) - 2
Mujhse Shaadi Karle Aa 
Chad De Laaj Sharam Parda
(Tainu Tv) - 2, Tainu Tv Per Wekhya

Maine murder hain kiye,
channel par tere liye, 
Daal le aag mein thodi ghee, 
Ban jaye controversy.
Tainu Tv Tv Tainu Tv Tv

Fir hum maal kamayenge
Ek bangla banwayenge,
usme 2600 Tv , 
banaye show reality,
Tainu Tv Tv Tv
Phir tu star main bhi star, 
Lokhi dekhan barambar
Saare desh badal ke vesh 
Khatri Remote Paunda Bhangra 
Tv Tv Tv Ban Ja Biwi Biwi Biwi
Tainu Tv par dekha…..

                                        Ring  a bell?? Did it ? No?? Now read only the 
bold portions. Still nothing?? Ok. So I saw you on T.V and I liked you a lot. 
Please marry me without any inhibitions which you obviously have none of. 
 You kissed everyone . So please kiss me on T.V and we will create a 
controversy out of it. I am also an eligible bachelor . So please choose me in 
your swayamvar and become my wife. And then we will celebrate our marriage by pouring ghee in the fire and create another controversy out of it.  And if 
that does not work, we will then have a big house built in which there will be 
cameras in every nook and corner and we will make a reality show out of it by playing Big Boss- Big Boss inside it. Then surely we will have enough muck on our hands . Even Mikka will look up to us then. We will change the television 
viewing topography in our country. 

Still did not get anything? Welcome Mr. Ishaan aka Darsheel on my blog. 
Thanks for visiting. So are you the one she is waiting for?

Image Courtesy :- www.manjul.com

Thursday, April 22, 2010

The Secret....

The majority thinks that it is the majority who do not want to do the class. So the majority decide not to attend the classes. But it is actually the minority who convinces the majority that it is the majority who does not want to attend the classes since the majority have already conceded for the absence from classes, the majority should also follow the majority. But the majority who wants to attend the classes is told by the minority that since the majority do not want to attend the classes, they should not break the majority by attending the classes. The problem is that majority is major in numbers , but is always found in fragments and doesn’t ever get to know what the majority thinks. So the minority manages to convince the majority that the majority is not going to attend the classes because that is the will of the majority and if majority goes otherwise, it will break up the unity of the majority and then the majority will turn into a minority . So, the class is not held coz the majority thinks that the majority does not want to attend the classes, and in the end, the minority manages to prevent the class from being held. By the time the bluff is called , the class is well over and if they get time majority might have a serious thought of renaming themselves “herds” , but just then another class is to take place and minority again springs up.....
That is how we bunk our classes, and more. Confusing , but sadly, true. 

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Random Ruminations

I don’t want to die,
But there are some wrongs to be mended,
To give some remedies for lies,
So will have to die.

I don’t want to live,
But there are some “hows” and “whys” to find,
Lot of masks to be perceived,
Lots of hearts to be broken,
Lots of emotions to be weaved,
Lots of faces to sieve,
So I will have to live.

I don’t want to have any friend,
But it amazes me that how it rhymes with
Both “mend” and “end”
I want to keep being amazed,
Have one end sharp of the blade,
Have a cut when I take a wrong bend,
So I will have to have friends .

I do not want to look inside,
Lest there is a big void,
Emptiness within,
Full of nothing ,
But deceit and sin.
But the outside is big and wide,
Inside is empty and  narrow,
It gives me space to cower in my own burrow.
Outside asks questions ,
Inside some more,
But inside gives answers,
Sometimes  maleficent, sometimes vulgar,
And sometimes snide.
But answers still,
So I have to look inside.

Spitting this yarn ,
Gives me the question “Why?”
Maybe  I don’t want to die.
Maybe I want to live ,
Tell the tale
And grieve.
Maybe I want a friend .
For my woes,
Surely an ear he will lend.
But a talking mouth will not follow therafter,
Filled with a curse and laughter.
It will help me look inside,
Though the space is less, it will help me soar and glide.
And for a moment of shut eyes,
I will be at the top.
At the top,
From where everything looks so small,
Friends and foes,
Life and its woes
And that will be the end of all
Once and for all. 

Tuesday, April 06, 2010

Bade Ball Hain Tere

Paanchod Besharma strutted out of his house.( Chod is pronounced as chor, not what you are pronouncing it now as, you pervert ) His wife SEE SEE has once again refused to comply to his rather sodomic wishes. He had been left feeling like a nympho and subsequently had started to devise ways to turn a necrophilist if not allowed to be sodomic. He was so dumb.

He turned his steps towards Girl-Boy road . He had in past been a regular there  to satisfy his carnal needs and used to go to his favourite Peela Peeli Dickshit.  But she has grown old now. Just like his wife SEE SEE. Not that he was still young- but he did not see it that way.  He was so dumb. He believed that till he had life in his bones and boneless’es, he could get up and stand. But Peela Peeli had grown old for his needs. She knew that and she had become a wimp . Actually P.B. thought so, as he reckoned that a woman pimp is called a wimp. Actually it was he who was a wimp. But, he did not know that. He was so dumb.

But it was all going to change. No, he was still going to remain dumb enough to not know that he was dumb, but Peela Peeli had promised to ensure him to a new bombshell- a new entrant , she claimed to have descended from the bloodline of Anarkali herself. She was called DATTU.

After 4 hours,

         Peela Peeli was right. He had already gone lattu on DATTU. With SEESEE he felt as if he was to due to retire  from any moment now. But with DATTU it was ,like he had got an extension of five years. She made him feel powerful. He felt like singing, "I got the power” one moment , the other  he felt shouting like Dr Jackal from Shaktiman-“ POWER”. He could have advertised for Titanic-K2 capsules that night.  Interestingly she did not even allow him to touch in these 4 hours. But he knew, that there will be time for deliberation , discussion and fornication. And for that he wanted to come back. DATTU had invited him the day after.  She knew that P.B and his wife SEESEE belonged to a very rich family.

3 days later,

P.B.  was standing in front of the mirror dyeing his hair black. SEESEE wondered aloud that what was the need to prove “Buddhi Ghodi Laal Lagam " right in these days. Besharma just smiled annoyingly to him. (Yes, this was a feat he had mastered, unlike others. But the reality was that last night , during one of those moments, DATTU whispered to him in one of those manner, “ Bade ball hain tere.”  But the dumb person he was, he could not understand the difference between Ball and Baal. Hence the dyeing . But he had not accounted for SEESEE who in night painted his hair white instead.  Then again that night DATTU told him in one of those moments, “Bade ball hain tere”. He fell in love with his white hair and has been dyeing it white ever since. He was so dumb.

2 months later,

It was P.B’s marriage anniversary yesterday. But he could not go to meet DATTU that day. Not even on the pretext of having to go to see the sick daughter of the local mafia don, as he himself arrived at the ceremony with his daughter in tow –hale and healthy. But as it turned out, DATTU got very angry and told P.B , “ It is time you decide between me and her.” And after some deliberation and discussion in which the only involved party was Besharma himself, he decided to marry DATTU and send SEESEE to an old age home.
But one major hurdle was Peela Peeli Dickshit. She wnted a good compensation as DATTU was one of her main attraction.  She asked for an unconfirmed sum of Rs 1 crore which P.B paid by selling SEESEE’s jewellery and some other assets she owned.

5 days later,

On the pretext of being sent to a beauty parlour, SEESEE was sent to an old age home in a far flung place the address of which was known to nobody. Both P.B and DATTU changed their religion to Islam to remarry. So, P.B. became Pravesh Badhazmi  and DATTU remained DATTU. You see, unlike SEESEE, no one knew about DATTU. She was anonymous , unknown creature. So there was no need to change her name. Also DATTU, as one can see is a religiously bastardized name- can be used in any religion. So, DATTU officially became the owner of the assets of P.B. and his first wife SEESEE. As one can see, she clearly was not dumb.

9 months later,

No, DATTU did not give birth to a child. P.B was not as young as he liked to believe. But instead his children with SEESEE -he was young once, as much you would like to believe the contrary- started to protest against his marriage to DATTU. They went downtown with slogans like “ Yellow Yellow , Dirty Fellow” in an obvious reference to Peela Peeli and “ Hua Hua, P.B chooha”.Now one might ask that why did they take 9  months to wake up and realise?? But like their father, they were also sooooo very dumb.

(If everything above seemed Greek to you, click here)

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Ek Katora Khoon

There was a wallpaper in the hall. It had a small picture of Amitabh Bachhan in one corner. And almost the rest of the wallpaper had a picture of a man with the words scrolled over, “Amitabh Bachhan is alive today because of me.”  Apparently the blood given to AB during his recent stomach infection was his. Guess they could not find the person who gave blood to AB when he was hurt during  Coolie. Then there would have been a picture of that man and the caption, “Abhishek Bachhan is alive today because of me.”  I began wondering where my blood will go.  A poster in front of me said that my blood might save the life of 4 different people. Below that something was written in Greek. Actually it was English only, but medical science (allopathy) which had its origin in Greece , is still so infatuated with the language of its mother place, that anything related to it sounds like Greek , even if it is English. So I went to the first person who could understand Greek i.e. the doctor and she told me that my blood will go to a man, a woman, a child and a dog. DOG??? She shrugged and said that the dog can be excluded if he does not belong to the family. But if otherwise, be prepared for the dog kind’s ultimate reply to Dharam Paaji , “ Look who is drinking whose blood now?????”    Okkk , I made up that last bit, Dharam Paaji .  You can rest peacefully - Gabbar is long dead and dogs do not reply.  
                          There were reasons I did not want to write this post. One, I had decided that I would henceforth not write any personal post, as my personal life is as boring as watching dry paint get wet and peel off during rains, and therefore so will be my blog. Secondly this post has the ability to make my only reader -my friend Nivesh baulk off of the idea of visiting my blog anytime soon. But this is for “The Bigger Cause”. Just like blogging about tigers will somehow help to increase their numbers, blogging about blood donation will also help the cause. How?? I don’t know. And I doubt anybody knows either. But still.....
                               So, I went to donate my blood. It was under a campaign titled in a very cheesy manner called, “Hum tumhein khoon denge,Tum humein DCE do.”  DCE happens to be our college which has been converted into a university in an even more cheesy fashion. So , a lot of things have been going around. Politics, playing with politics –both inside and outside, playing politics-both inside and outside, trying to get oneself made PC, trying to get a friend made PC, trying to get an enemy stopped from being made PC and shedding blood , tears and swaet, obviously among other things. For the uninitiated, PC stands for placement coordinator. Strangely, it also stands for Political coordinator.  Politics and blood always go hand in hand. But the good thing has been that this time blood has been ours and not others , and it has not been wasted even if the movement comes to a standstill.
                                                                                So, where will my blood go?  I sincerely wish and pray that my blood is never needed by anybody. Not that I am infected by HIV AIDS or the likes. It will be nice if I get  a picture with Sachin with myself being projected as the star. But that will mean that I will have to wish that Sachin gets through a tragedy grave enough to require blood.  That cannot happen. Wouldn’t it be nice if my blood comes back to me when I  need that?  Like a bank, where you deposit money when you do not need that and take it away when you are in need. But in a bank, you lend money to the bank, whereas in a blood bank, you donate  blood. Guess, therein lies the difference.
                    Inside there was another poster which said that only 5%of all eligible Indians donate  blood. Sordid fact , for sure. But what is the eligibility? Any person who weighs more than 45 Kg and has not suffered from diseases like typhoid or jaundice in the last 3 months can donate. That makes around  70-75% of Indians eligible to donate. But only 5% do so.  Another chart inside told me of the things I ought to do after having donated. I should not carry heavy weights for the next 24 hours.  Now, that makes around  40% of Indians who sustain their families through daily labour-intensive jobs ineligible to donate. That chart also advised me to take a lot of liquid food within the next 24 hours. Now around 55-60% of Indians cannot afford any sort of liquid food other than water. And about 65%of Indians do not have access to clean drinking water. Wonder how much does the eligibility of such people count. One of my friend there collapsed after giving blood because he had not had any solid food since morning. So, I guess that must be criteria as well. Now, I assume that around 40% of Indians are not quite acquainted with the idea of “Breakfast” and they have their first meal of the day as lunch at noon at around 12-1 pm. And the blood bank opens till 4 in evening.  Now, I do not remember set theory, terms like union and intersection etc.  I also am not trying to prove anything, nor am I trying to make a statement. I am just trying to look at things a little differently. Now each one of those people- one who is a labourer, one who does not have access to clean drinking water and cannot have the luxury having breakfast , might need blood in their  life at one stage or other, without being eligible per se.  That is why blood bank is not strictly a bank, more a trust , with each one of Indian who has got the luxury in monetary terms, has the luxury in terms of time, has the luxury in terms of health, has the luxury to be strictly eligible , as one of it trustee. And that is why everyone should donate. Also they give you a pack of Tropicana juice of your choice. Guess, that should be reason enough.
             Also, I will have to break the news to my mother. Donating blood is still a taboo in majority of middle-class households. She will create a scene at home and send me its commentary on phone. Some of my friends also face the same problem. But, mothers are like that only. She will understand.