YunHi

The magic that was Bhimashanker

2010-07-20T23:04:00.004+05:30

My Name is Mrs. Gandhe and I have been doing himalayan treks since 1983. A confident hoarse voice rose from somewhere close. It kinda broke my reverie, my head started turning gradually to my right and my jaw almost suddenly dropped without any warning. I kept looking at that shy, rumpled, old face for a long time. It took me time to come to terms with myself. In a few second, I was overwhelmed with emotions. I shook my head in multitudes of admiration and just went on with the little game Sameer was announcing about.

We were eagerly waiting to start our monsoon excursions and sunday 'Bhimashanker Wild life sanctuary Nature trail' was the activity we kicked them off with. Outings with Foliage Outdoors have always been memorable. We toyed with some ideas on how to spend the sunday, but finally decided not to take any risk experimenting some stupid foolhardy idea. We made a quiet booking with Foliage for this sunday. Although we had visited Bhimashankar only last weekend but that was purely for religious interests. For some strange reason, the prospect of repeating the location in just 8 days did not deter us. We were interested, we were determined and we were right on time where the bus was to depart from.

The first shock came when we witnessed the large crowd. A sea of irritable kids and an ocean of parents who had come to drop them. We were put off by the sight. 'Are we sure we want to do it?', asked Shweta. I was in the similar mood too but said 'Let's go man..!! Would be better than sitting at home and doing nothing on a sunday'. A little relief came when we were made aware that the entire creche of kids is not coming with us to Bhimashanker. They were to be ported to another trek for Rajgarh. We boarded our bus silently. Although there were some kids too but less in number and causing less irritation. And we said to ourselves, 'What if a bit of them, lets not be so cranky about everything. We will have good time'.

The pleasures of the trip were to take a while before coming our way. The first three hours went half asleep, half awake and rest trying to talk to the people on nearby seats. But as any new group usually is, the general dynamics of the people was shy and reserved and that's when we first noticed Mr and Mrs Gandhe (whose names we were to find a little later). That's when one of us made that scathing but muffled comment 'Koi inko bataaye ki hum temple nahi ja rahe hain'. Little did we know that this very comment is gonna embarrass us very soon today. We halted for a half an hour tea break, had our first installment of food amidst humming flies and a not so clean place which would barely pass for a dhaba. Stomachs rested a little, we boarded the bus again to leave behind a few more kilometers. Our second shock of the day was not too far, and not a very unfamiliar one to me. The front left tyre of the bus punctured with a loud hissing voice. Mr driver carefully parked the bus on the sides of a sharp turn. Captain Joshi (Our leader from foliage) announced that we were to walk down the remaining four odd kilometers. Interestingly, nobody frowned or complained. I have noticed people are usually game for such minor hinderances in such groups. All of us took it in our stride and started romping towards Bhimashanker.

The third shock was presented to us by our newly acquired Hunter shoes. A feet-full of shoe bites. What did daddy teach you in childhood, 'Never wear new shoes to an excursion'. Well, lesson re-learnt the hard way. Soon we found ourselves together in a small but a little separated open area where We were asked to gather and introduce ourselves. This introduction, I felt, must have been done much earlier. But never too late. It obviously helps break the ice. I was listening to everybody with a subdued enthusiasm and was loosing interest gradually when Mr and Mrs Gandhe presented us with that fourth shock of the trip. This was the most pleasant one. Among the most inspiring moments I have had in last few months, their words left me speechless for a few moments before I could get on with other activities. Shweta later pinched me to remind the scathing comment we passed in the bus. We had a bunch of embarrassing giggles and shrugged the guilt off. The group interaction was improving after the little funny game and I wanted to know more and more people.

With hungry stomachs and aching feet, we started on our first mini trail. This was more of a 'Shakeru' sighting expedition. Although Langoors made more sounds than Shakerus. I like wild life to the extent of feeling good amidst natural soundings. My love for animals (or rare species of them) has always been limited. But what the heck, learning about something new is never bad and I can't say I was not enjoying. Walking in the fog-drenched air can just never be bad, specially when it is almost silent. Good thing about Foliagers is that at both the occasions, they have been successful in inculcating at least a temporary interest in me about the animals/birds/butterflies/flowers.

So our excursion went on and we spent good time both in quantity and quality walking in the forests. Listening to quiet silence, breathing the foggy air, taking random snaps, walking on wet dried leaves, basking in pure relaxation, collecting peace piecemeal, well aren't these the things we came here in first place? The purpose had started to solve itself and we had a faint smile on our faces.

Soon, it was the luncheon call and off we went to the open air dining room. Only common thing between the weekday lunches and this weekend lunch was the queue to the food. Garma-garam Pooris, an inviting bowl of Potato bhaji, a not so inviting Paneer sabji and a mouthful of gulab jamuns were waiting for us. I wonder if there is really some scientific connection between rains and oily food. You get drenched and then if you see anything fried before you, you develop an instant craving for it. Drooling in big quantities, I waited for my turn. My turn came, and I filled my dish with as many pooris as I could collect and came back to my makeshift dining table. A pile of stones on the periphery of a tree. Gulped down all the pooris in seconds and went for the second serving. I was embarrassed at my appetite by the fourth serving but Radhika and Pooja (Foliagers) always welcomed me smiling and helped me with more and more pooris every time. Well, to be honest, at the end, I stopped only out of embarrassment and not because I was done eating. After my semi-strict diet plan of last two months, it was probably the first allowance I gave myself and didn't I devour it?

The next leg of jungle trail was to start now. The forest was denser and shoes were more cruel in biting but there was no stopping. We kept walking and walking, leaving behind some strangely named spots. I never understand why people attach names to these spots. These are place of sheer beauty and calm but attaching a name tag always reduces the importance. It starts looking like we are going there just for the sake of ticking down another point in a checklist. But, nevertheless, the beauty on the offer was endless and the entire environ was painted in a copious calm. We captured it with both hands and filled ourselves with every last byte we could. Sameer asked us to sit there, close our eyes for three minutes and just do nothing. It sounded kiddish and too cliche ridden in the beginning but I couldn't believe I did that. And I cant believe it felt good. By the end of three minutes, I literally craved for more. Jungles do talk. They do have a very strange way of communication. First condition to be able to understand them is to get rid of yourself. Get rid of your ego and submit yourself to their methods. For people like us, its never easy for we have to unlearn more than we have to learn here.

Some more walk down the trails, some more pics, some more amazement offered by the Gandhe couple, some more strange insects and flowers and we were back to the dining room. Another invitation for me to be shameless and I obliged wholeheartedly. 4 cups of tea and three platefulls of kanda-bhaji were not enough to satiate my appetite. I kept eating and eating. It had started to rain in full flow by then. I was probably getting drenched for the first time in this season.

Our bus had been repaired well by then and it was time to call it a day. Boarded the bus and started back to where we came from. The great city of Pune. Finally removed the shoes and my feet paid a big thanks to me. The trip back home was like any other one. Frustration of sunday evening started creeping in, the crazy office faces started doing rounds and we felt as if we were woken up from a day long dream. Sounds of old hindi songs were getting louder from the backside seats. No price for guessing, Antakshris always find their way with utmost authority on the bus trips back home. Again, there has to be some connection here. Same old songs, same old lines and same old sequences and for the same old strange reason all this never feels stale.

Rafta, rafta, chalte chalte, we entered Pune. Say hello to cacophony of honks and nostril-invading pollution and obviously no rains. Anyway, does reality ever spare you? We often find ourselves some lovely but temporary Bhimashankarish hide outs and call ourselves lucky but the monster of reality smiles only harder in its sullenness. It lets out a loud, shrill laughter and licks us back into its world. But after finding multiple such hide outs, I have started believing in myself. The struggle here on is probably to make this temporary, permanent. No, I do not mean erecting a house in Bhimashanker. I mean listening to the call of self and not forcing it to be licked by the monster again. Mr and Mrs Gandhe had listened to it and I can't wait to be in their shoes when I reach their age. Amen..!!

Poetry

2010-05-30T14:47:00.003+05:30

Main simatne ke liye har bar tumse milta hun faraaz,
Har bar tumse milta hun to kuchh aur bikhar jaata hun.

Wow, read some nice piece of poetry after a long while. Looking for more.

Guess this length of post was more suitable for microblogging sites Facebook or twitter but never mind.

I have put spacings between lines to make it at least a mini blog. And the good part is that People will not be able read between lines as there are all spaces :) :)

The Injured Back.

2010-04-20T05:27:00.001+05:30

Well, who doesn't but now that I am in those shoes, let me say it. I get terribly irritated when I am injured. Its a fucking nightmare. For the past two hours, I have been trying to make that comfortable posture which would not flare up my broken rib muscle. 5 minutes on left side, next 5 on right, then on the straight back, then the face down, then with a pillow supporting the rib and then I decide to get up and write about it. It is a fucking nightmare when you cannot concentrate on the hundred other gaping shit-holes of your life and have to keep staring at the one which is least significant but aches the most.

God knows how do I end up with such crappy things. An early morning tennis game, a slip while picking a drop shot close to the net, I fall down and wake up to a twisted ankle and a broken rib muscle/tissue/tendon (Whatever the heck it is). The ankles is somehow friendlier than rib (Or was it the reebok effect :), gets healed in a day or two but the rib fails to succumb ever after two weeks.

And now that I have written two paragraphs about it at 5:00 am at night/morning, I know its going to be a bad day. A day in office with heavy and sleepy eyes, ha.....I say thank you. Got any more shit for me?

Do I really need to think of a title...??

2009-07-30T23:56:00.004+05:30

A few minutes back I was trying hard to sleep but to no avail. Well, on a day like this when pretty much everybody took me for granted and had his way, why would the 'Sleep' come easy. Flustered from the way the day had proceeded, I finally decided to retire myself but as I said: sometimes, nobody obliges. I had to get up a few minutes later and soon I found myself busy on my bookshelf. I spent some time here and there and then I decided on my old favorite 'Notes to Myself'. Somehow, it has always proved why it deserved to be my favorite.

As always, I opened a random page and found Mr Prather, the mind reader, smiling at me. Again, he precisely knew my state of my mind and he knew it will calm me down if he allows me to use that page as a mirror to my mind.

Here is another excerpt.

"Boredom or discontent is useful to me when I acknowledge it and see clearly my assumptions that there is something else I would rather be doing or happening to me. In this way, boredom can act as an invitation to freedom by opening me to new options and thoughts. For example, If I cant change an activity, can I look at it more honestly?"

followed immediately by:

"I have recently noticed that intermittently my mind takes a quick internal survey to my activities up to that point in the day to determine my progress. This process is spontaneous, almost unconscious, and seems inherent. If what I have done does not appear to further my advancement, I feel slightly depressed and enervated, and I sense a desire to head in a destructive direction. Any direction seems preferable to no direction at all. But that is not the actual alternative."

Sometimes, when there is no real solution or salvation to a flustered mind, mere reflection or being able to express it helps a lot. Guess I can go to sleep now :)

A poor play and afterthoughts

2009-07-07T09:53:00.002+05:30

It was a bunch of strange feelings. Disgust, sweetened with jealousy. Appreciation, compromised with condescension. I could have went on and on with my tirade if not held back by Shweta. She does arrange some good fodder for thought when I tend to ramble. She was very right. How could I lambast somebody for at least attempting something which I have always boasted of being much better at. Boasting is all I have done. Words sans action. Well may be I do not deserve to be in critics shoes today but spare some thought for me, will you? I went hungry, I went willing. I was promised the nectar and I was offered shit. So may be I have never cooked but I certainly wouldn't take shit without rubbing it back in the face of chef.

Last sunday, I somehow fell for a trap I had fallen into one more time in the past. A friend of mine lured me into watching a play he had directed and was to be staged in one of the better known theaters of the city. He was also kind enough or may be smart enough to get me the discounted ticktes. I hadn't watched a play in a long while so I was rather too eager to approach him, talk about his play and his works. The guy is a smart-alec, the kind I do not appreciate much but the attraction for theater got into my head and I succumbed. He was good to talk to (a little boastful though) so he somehow made me agree to come watch his play.

This was the time I was on Anurag Kashyap dope. I had watched DevD and Gulal in succession and was adoring the guy already for his creative depths. So when this friend in my office tossed the name 'Anurag kashyap' and told me that he was on talking terms and more so, on first name basis with Anurag, it impressed me more than it should have. On my way back home, I kept cursing myself for being so lame and lazy lately and not being able to do anything creative. I genuinely waited till the day came. Picked up the Tbird and rode all the way on those creative thumps to Nehru Auditorium. The environ was ecstatic, may be something was in the air. We had a few vadaPaavs with Pepsi. Identified a few familiar faces, shook a few hands unwillingly and then entered the hall. I was welcomed by the absolutely gorgeous poetry of Gulaal. They were playing the song 'O ri Duniya'. It made me smile and we took the seats quietly.

All these events so far were enough to raise my expectations to the everest levels. My state of mind was of a person who was about to witness something great but they started getting bogged down even before the play started. A lady made few announcements and started introducing the play. I got immediately bored by her unenthusiastic voice, newsreaders' style of narration and a rather fumbling accent. By the time she was finished with plesantaries, I had almost made up my opinion about the play. However, I tried to calm myself thinking that may be this guy couldn't find a good opening announcer but the play might still be good. First impression may not always be the last impression. Hopes were still kept alive. Little did I know that they were soon to be completely thrashed, smeared in mud and just thrown away like a soiled toilet paper.

The curtain opened and the disaster began. For purely professional purposes, it may not be a good idea to narrate the story (or lack of it) over here but I can barely keep my mouth shut about its being pedestrian to the last thread. One always wins some resounding whistles from the crowd for any on-stage obscenity but that cannot be mistaken for an accolade. The play was disgusting, highly unimaginative, poorly acted and did not qualify even to be termed Hackneyed. The sequence of events was so boring and quality of acting so ordinary that Shweta and I had to leave the auditorium at the interval.

Well, excuse me for digressing from the topic suddenly but may be its a logical extension and I am already bored talking about the play. If I keep going, I will only start dishing out expletives. Let me not do that.

I have been part of many debates where people end up defending the B or C Grade movies and even the gloriously pathetic news channels of modern times. There plea is that 'it sells' means there are audience to it and as long as there are audience clapping in some part of the world, this remains a form of art. The self-proclaimed connoisseurs should not poke there noses and call it stinky. People enjoy it so you must pay respect. This sort of logic puts me off. Partly because it sounds correct and mostly because I am always unable to find a formidable counter logic to it. This is clearly a conflict of interests. People have right to entertainment and since they are getting it without hurting others, they are not violating the rules of democracy which puts them on an even keel with those who claim to have an eye for the 'Classy' stuff. We have long been using the cliche that a particular movie or a piece of art is meant for 'Classes' and not for the 'Masses'. Certainly, the people who use this cliche claim to belong to former category. So in a democratic country (read society) like ours where even the most critical decisions are done on the basis of vote rather than logic, these classy people are at the maximum risk. Obviously because they belong to this classy minority. So is it really logical to term the masses as non-Classy? and with what right?

I consider myself to be a person who always respects others opinion, irrespective of my agreement or congruence with it. But when it comes to my tastes in art (which primarily includes music, movies, plays and books), I always tend to contradict my beliefs. For some reason, I am not able to digest that others may like things that I consider below par by all standards of choice. This is a philosophical cul-de-sac for me. Can somebody show me the way?

I would like to conclude by declaring that if someone can show me the way convincingly, I will probably re-write the review of the play I described above.

Nineteen Eighty Four

2009-04-12T01:58:00.001+05:30

I guess I am finally beginning to understand some bits of 1984. I read the damn thing long back and liked it for its literary riches. I kinda wondered why people liked it so much for its content. Its not that I was a total dumb nut when I read it and did not understand the book at all, but I am most certain that I did not dive deep into it at that time. I knew it was great stuff but it failed to strike the right chord somehow.

Now, after all these long years, when I can actually relate to its characters, I realize how deep, how intense the book was. How complex were the contents, how rich were the feelings. I now think and wonder if people around me were really smart enough to internalize the entire novel. Were they really able to relate to it and understand why they were appreciating it? I find it hard to believe that a person of 21-22 years of age with no extra worldly exposure than I had, could ever feel the pull and get gravitated towards the core of the book.

Anyway, why do I let me bother with what they did. Either they all pretended or I was really really dumb. Does it really matter now? In worst case they were not pretending. That only makes me feel more stupid and defeated. But once you start relating to 'Winston smith', does it really matter? No extra shard of defeat is stark enough to make you feel more miserable. You have already reached your saturation.

Well, this piece of blog is not meant to be a book review. I write because I have started feeling like Winston myself. And why just Winston, isn't the NEO (or Mr Anderson) of matrix pretty much made of the same soil? Always living in a suspicion that some supernatural evil has programmed him into doing what he does every day, every hour, every moment. In matrix, it were the machines. In 1984, it was the elusive Big Brother. And in my everyday life, its just so many of them. A different Big Brother in every sphere, a new Agent Smith at every turn.

Just like Winston and NEO, I too look at them as my enemies. I fight against them every moment. As a matter of fact there have been many such battles, and there have been many such endings when I feel I have outdone them, I have been able to break the pattern. But the very next moment makes me realize that even this victory was programmed. The new path which I am feeling so proud of having achieved is nothing but another pre-defined road to nothingness. The integral part of this cycle is that there is no exit, or may be there is and its just I who cant see through it. And then there is this most surprising feature. As I go through this cycle of vague victories and self realizations, the amount of vagueness in these victories starts to faint. I stop feeling that the victories were programmed and meant simply nothing. Voluntarily, I start marching towards that biggest defeat, probably the last leg of this rigor. A moment when these victories, these achievements will not feel vague anymore. As I cross this point of inflection, I shall probably have taken the biggest plunge. The very next achievement that comes my way will feel like a real one, a very real one. The one I will actually rejoice. The one I will throw parties for. I firmly believe that this is the moment I shall actually have become one of them. I shall have completely transformed.

A little late, but I am doing it.

2008-11-05T13:03:00.003+05:30

Well, let me do it PI style today.

Those who are not aware, PI is a brilliant movie directly from the den of Darren Aronofsky ('Requiem for a Dream' fame) and stands tall among my favourites hollywood flicks.

6:45, Lying on couch, putting a full stop to a nightful of dreams, I open my eyes to the world of realities and possibilities. still drowsy. Shut them again. what the heck, another snooze, world can wait 9 more minutes for me.

6:54, I don't give a shit, another snooze

7:03, You gotta wake up you $%&*$%*$^&%, you wanna get late for office ? you wanna get in that shitty hinjewadi traffic again ? cummon, wake up beat it.

7:05, Rub my eyes hard, finally push aside the sheet and get up. Bloody hell, another day begins. Open the door, newspaper guy still sleeping. I will kill the SOB when he comes collecting money. I need the newspaper first thing in the morning.

7:55, daily chores finished.......!!!!

Kickstart my bike. Suspect again, is it really giving me the thump and fire I want or I am still being fooled by that Alex guy. Plug in my iPod and journey starts.

Minute by minute, song after another song, kilometer after kilometer, wallowing in infinite thumps, the road passes by. I resolve to write something today. Its been a week since I promised myself to write something here. When you lose an old habit, you have to make such crappy resolutions to get a purchase on it again. Otherwise why will effort be needed for something you love to do.

8:20, reach office. park the bike.
8:28, Swipe in and wait for lift.
8:30 Login. Check my Mails.

Hell.....are you kidding me.....no issues....no problems, guess I will finally get time to paint my blog with words.

Here I am....!! I could beat myself...!! I win, I defeat myself...!!

I am being pathetic

2008-10-23T23:46:00.001+05:30

I do understand when the effort is not followed by the result but why is desire sometimes not followed by an effort ? It gives me enough reasons to hate myself.
I remember putting up small notes which would never mature into a final blog but in last few months I have been just pathetic. Even those notes which would have, should have or could have converted into something tangible have dried up.I have touched the peaks into this pathetic being. Let alone the effort, I have observed even the desire fading into lethargy. Only time I feel inspired enough to write is when I ride my Bike. I am happy that at least she has not stopped inspiring me.

Well, let me now try to put something up here at least once every week.

Wish me luck.

After a long time

2008-07-02T22:47:00.002+05:30

I am amazed at myself. I am amazed at the length of time that has elapsed since I last wrote something. Laziness, pure laziness. An integral part of me :)

I see that last time I wrote was during my journey back to Pune and again I am writing while traveling. Its some sort of a kick that journeys give me. I am always in a positive mood and I have a lot of time and most important of all, I have my laptop.

Let me write about the most inspiring event of last few days. A few months back, my mom called me and asked me, 'What is a blog'. I fumbled for a while before I went on explaining her about it. I myself am a blogger, even though not a very regular one, but when it comes to explaining a layman about what a blog is, I didn't find it easy. My mom regularly reads a local news paper 'Amar Ujala'. I am a perpetual hater of level of Hindi Journalism in our country (Not that English Journalism is of top class). Media has distorted this beautiful language to such menial levels that it has almost fallen to irrecoverable levels. But despite that, Hindi News papers are able to supply a cognizant reader some stuff which is of his/her interest and at a general level, it is appreciable as well. My mom's awareness about the term 'BLOG' originated from this very world of Hindi Journalism.

I explained her what a blog is, why people write, how they earn money, how does it become popular, who are the readers etc etc. She showed interest. But then I forgot about everything until a few days back when she called me up and asked another question 'What do I need to do if I want to start writing a blog'. It was not unexpected from a lady of her enterprise but still, it caught me by surprise. I did not think she can be serious about it. So I brushed it off. Then she called me again the next day. then again, then again. I finally succumbed. I took out a few moments from my pseudo-busy schedule and created her log in for her on Blogspot. I explained her how to log in, write and publish.

She is quite enthusiastic in such matters but still I never expected her to be as fast as she turned out to be. I was literally stunned when only after a few hours she declared that her first blog is on the net. Man...!! I didn't believe her. It was such a big surprise for me.

How many hurdles she must have faced while doing it. First of all, her low comfort levels with a laptop and then the Internet usage. Then the great grandfatherly speeds that the Internet walks with in my hometown. She sure must have tried more than a dozen times connecting to net before she could actually publish it. On Top of that, the general discomfort that old people face while adopting to newer things. All in all it was not a good deal. But she overcame everything and successfully posted something on her blog.

Well, it may all sound too small a thing to do but what I want to emphasize here is that it inspired me a lot. How frequently do I exhibit such levels of enthusiasm and enterprise. This post after such a hiatus is a proof enough of my laziness. Except for a few occasions like 'biking trips', I rarely come out of the comfort zone and attempt something that I had never tried before or my peers have never tried before.

A very very good lesson learnt. I just hope I can carry this and benefit myself.

.....

2008-04-02T16:39:00.001+05:30

"...For this is what we do. Put one foot forward and then the other. Lift our eyes to the snarl and smile of the world once more. Think. Act. Feel. Add our little consequence to the tide of good and evil that flood and drain the world. Drag our shadowed crosses into the hope of another night. Push our brave hearts into the promises of a new day. With love: the passionate search for a truth other than our own. With longing: the pure ineffable yearning to be saved. For so long as fate keeps waiting, we live on. Good help us. God forgive us. We live on....."

shantaram

Retrospect - 1

2008-03-16T14:57:00.001+05:30

I guess its a good time to write. 6 o clock in the morning, I leave from Hazrat Nizamuddin Railway station New Delhi.

2 months back, I had thoughtfully decided to travel back to Pune by train instead of Air. Somehow the train journey gives me a lot of time to relax and think. I can feel the journey. This is very much unlike the air travel. Domestic flights end before you feel you are travelling and in international ones, you wish you never travelled.

Its true that I can very rarely afford train journeys because of the painfully long time they take but in this case, time is something I have at premium, I say..why not use it. And its going pretty good so far. A few minutes back I was reading Shantaram. It gave me a very beautiful line...'Every passing minute is a short story with a happy ending'. I smiled and started comparing it with my life. My own story of last 15 days unfolded before my eyes.

I won't consider myself as lucky as Mr Greg Dave Roberts to have every story a happy end but then I don't like all stories to have happy ends. Life is a mixed bag and so should be the stories. That is exactly how my story of last 15 days have been. Filled with colors. Multiple colors. And what a rainbow do I withhold. The Violet of frustration, the Indigo of smiles, the Blue of gloom, the Green of calm, the Orange of agitation, the Red of love. And then their shades and tints. They mix up in beautiful combinations and present themselves before me. What I can tell Mr Roberts is that My life of last fifteen days was a canvas. Almost every one I knew was invited to paint me as he or she wished. I was done very generously and at the end of it I stand like a caricature of myself. I have minutely observed every brushstroke and I can say I am unnerved by the density of purposes.

To be continued...

Azimushshaan Shahenshaah 'Kaaju'.....Merhabaa.

2008-02-28T12:58:00.000+05:30

Khabardaar, Hoshiyaar...Shahenshaah-e-jannat-e-mithaai 'KAAJU-e-Ilaahi Jalwa-e-afrosh ho rahe hain......

I can apparently see all other sweets and snack items cringe and hide in their miserable, nondescript bowls. After all, the Kaaju Ka samosa has arrived. Its reveling in its stately handsomeness and gloating over its undisputed numero Uno status. It is not a mere part of the snacks table, it adorns it. It obliges it.

My acquaintance with Kaaju ki Barfi goes back to my childhood when one of the students, my father used to teach, had done really well in his exams and brought a Half Kg assorted sweets DIBBA to our home as a token of gratefulness. We being what we were at that time, tore apart the DIBBA to check out the contents. We were amazed by unbelievably thin size of a BARFI-like-sweet. We were delighted to realize that we can actually eat 5 BARFIs together. Not just the innovative size, it had a heavenly taste as well. We became instant fans.

Time passed by. Kaju ki Barfi became more frequent on sweet shops and at our home as well. Years later, I moved to Pune. The name 'Kaju ki Barfi' had changed to 'Kaju Katli'. Taste remained same.

Then came the days then the Cooking BHOOT was into my head and I was even titled 'Halwaai' by my friends. I tried cooking Kaaju Katli once. And I was successful. Believe me, It was no mean effort and no mean result. I liked what I cooked and people loved what I cooked.

Then the craze died. While in Pune, Kaju Katli became a run of the mill item for me. Over the years, fascination reduced itself to indifference. Kaaju Katli had lost its charm.

But now, while I am in Muzaffarnagar for my wedding, right from the day one, I am experiencing Kaaju's supremacy. I feel like Kaaju is really shaking me hard. It wants me to wake up from my indifference and accept its dominance. As I mentioned in my previous blog, I am observing a lot of things these days. This Kaaju is among those things.

I was at my would-be-inlaws place for some reason. Obviously a huge number of snacks, namkeens, sweets etc were brought on the table. It had been a tiring day for me and I was sipping tea in a very relaxed mood. My Bro-in-Law offered me a namkeen. I took some and kept sipping the tea. Suddenly my mother-in-law gets angry over her son. 'ARE BETA YEH KYUN, KAAJU WAALI NAMKEEN DO'. Without a second’s delay, I was offered the Kaju ki namkeen. I smilingly obliged. After a few minutes, the poor guy offered me a really good looking sweet. He was rebuked again. 'BETA KAAJU KI BARFI DO'. By the time I had realized that I am gonna have some good time with Kaaju on this trip. I gently took a piece of Kaaju ki Barfi. As I ate that bite after bite, the smile and satisfaction on the faces around me deepened. They had done their bit. They have nullified all possibilities of me going out of their house and saying that I was not treated well. It was all about Kaaju. On my way home, I was thinking if My mom would ask 'BETA KYA THA NASHTE ME WAHAAN PE'. But she was too busy to ask. But I am sure if she had asked, she would certainly have been satisfied by Kaaju ki namkeen and Kaaju ki barfi. Such is the Charisma of Kaaju.

Since that moment, I have come across countless variants of this sweet. 'Kaaju ke samose', 'Kaaju Kalash', 'Kaaju ki Jalebi', 'Kaaju Rolls', 'Kaaju Tarbooj, 'Kaaju Kesar', 'Kaaju ke laddu'.....let me tell you they all taste precisely the same. Its just the shape, price and name that is difference. But they all have different places in Status hierarchy. But in any case, one thing is damn sure. If somebody has not offered you a Kaaju item in the snacks, he is either not too well off or he is not taking your AVBHAGAT (Hospitality) seriously.

During the wedding-week in north india, a lot of sweets are exchanged between the two families. The funny thing is that at one exchange people are not ready to offer less than 5 Sweet Dibbas. A minimum of 5 kilos of sweets exchange hands at one go. Who eats that and what happens to that sweet is obviously immaterial. Any Logical 'WHY' is instantly rebuffed by a 'TUM NAHI SAMJHOGE BETA, ACHHA NAHI LAGTA'. And if any such exchange remains unaccompanied by the Great Kaaju, it is as good as incomplete and half-hearted.

Such is the power of Kaaju that it can literally categorize our guests. 'KAAJU WALE MEHMAAN' and 'SAADE MEHMAAN'. The first category has further classifications 'KAAJU SAMOSE YA KAAJU KALASH WAALE MEHMAAN' and 'KAAJU KI BARFI BHI CHALEGI' waale mehmaan. And not just the Sweet items, the salted snacks items also have their own pecking order. 'Fried kaaju', 'Roasted Kaaju', 'Masaala Kaaju', 'Kaaju waali namkeen' and the list goes on.

I firmly believe that if some real nerd exercises his grey cells, he can actually calibrate the Guest Importance. Every Guest can be defined by its 'KAAJU QUOTIENT' or 'KAAJU INDEX'

Well Come what may, I am a happy guy these days. Titled as DULHA among my side of people and DAAMADJI among my inlaws, I am enjoying the maximum possible KAAJU QUOTIENT these days. Oh dear God...!! Go easy on my stomach.

My Wedding

2008-02-26T10:10:00.000+05:30

I am having a great time these days. 'm home for my wedding. Its a three week long vacation and after some initial mood-swings, jitters and some irritable moments, I have decided to enjoy this time to the fullest. To be frank, more than the wedding, what thrills me more is that I am gonna get numerous moments to observe people and their antics. Believe me, its as interesting as it gets. I am getting to see new and hidden facets of all those near and dear ones whom I have known since my childhood in an entirely different flavor. A flurry of emotions never disclosed thus far, a bunch of frowns I will never know the reasons for, a crop of relatives, a pest of opportunists, MANUHARs, ULAAHNAs, DIKHAVAs, NAKHRAs....its all fun. I never imagined I would enjoy my wedding but its getting

I don't know how much time will I be able to devote to share these observations, but I will surely make an effort..

Dodging the Yawns

2008-01-26T03:48:00.000+05:30

Awake very late in the night, all by myself, sleep a light year away from eyes, I believe I have spent more than three hours on net. I Read about Federal rate cut, watched Jeff Dunham videos, checked out Orkut a dozen times, chatted with a couple of goofy guys about trifling things. Then I thought I should really call it a night.

Since then, I have been trying really hard to sleep. I switched off the lights, rested myself on the mattress and closed my eyes. Then at the fag end of a string of interesting activities like 'listening to the leaking water tap from the bathroom very patiently', 'trying to shift pillow from beneath my head to over my face to between my legs to my left and to my right side', 'opening and closing the window', 'changing from blanket to a thinner sheet, trying to decide if I am really feeling warm or is it cold'......I finally gave up. Probably, its one of those nights that are just not meant for sleeping. I sit up again. Just when I think of switching the lights back on, I have this long and mouth-ripping, muscle-straining yawn. I give it a second thought. Should I try to sleep again. But from my experience, I know its not gonna work. Its one of those deceptive yawns that only promise to give a satisfying sleep but at the end it would just bring me down to red and moistened eyes and no sleep. By then I would have wasted another half an hour of this night. So I act smart. I ignore this yawn and switch on the lights. However, that yawn is not in a mood to give up. It is suffixed by a couple more struggling, tempting and half suppressed yawns. But I know them. I am not gonna fall for them.

Well, when I think about it, I feel how stupid can it get. Dodging the yawns and writing about it. I am laughing at myself. Sometimes I think I suffer from a peculiar disorder. Can I call it Friday-Insomnia? Is it biologically possible for a human body to act like that? How does the brain control that? It hasn't always been like that though. It started exactly when I started realizing the importance of weekends. I cant recall my first few Friday night-outs but they should have started when I bought my first ever bike, because it was only then that I had some means to go out and have fun. Then I found a few more like minded friends and I never looked back. It became a crime to sleep early on a Friday night. Then it took a break for some time for some reason. Then it resumed. Then it stopped again for a while. It has appeared into my life at periodic intervals. It has always been funny.

But this seems to be the first time that I really want to sleep on a Friday night and my body clock is not allowing me. I know that body needs a certain amount of sleep everyday. If you don't give its due to it, it will try to accumulate the sleep and then one night you will sleep longer. But getting a very regular sleep every other night and not being able to sleep every Friday is strange. Well, its brain....its not a COBOL code that I have written. It may well have adapted itself to my habits, and when I am trying to act otherwise for just one night, it just doesn't wanna change. I should allow it this backlash.

What I long for at this time is a real nice hot steaming cup of Aztec coffee. Can anyone of you get me one....??

Unable to write about TZP

2007-12-25T16:43:00.000+05:30

It has happened with me before that instead of following the natural rhythm of my heart, I try to force myself to sit and write about something I really want to write about. I sometimes find it against the spirit of writing but I cannot wait for things to start flowing and only then write about something. Usually it becomes too late by then. I have missed several moments this way. But now the problem is that when I try to force the thoughts and document them, the outcome doesn't satisfy me. Its a difficult choice. Choosing between 'waiting for the heart to beat and thus missing the moment' and 'force-document the thoughts and let them lack the spirit'.

Today I am in a similar dilemma. Its about 'Taare Zameen Par'. I watched it last Saturday and despite falling flat for it, I am yet to find the right words to write about it. In fact I have started gleefully believing that I am just incapable of putting it forward. To generate the same effects on paper, I will have to do an 'Aamir Khan' which is much much beyond me. I can still try and come up with an OKAY write up to save me the repent of missing the moment but it will never spare me off the embarrassment of underplaying something as great as this movie.

Well, I give up. I cant write about it. Go watch it. Its the 'Hall of fame' stuff, undeniably.

Hmm..

2007-12-06T10:13:00.000+05:30

There are times when you are very calm. You feel you have successfully fit your tiny little self in this big complex world. You are happy. You are happy with your own little simplified self. You are content with your aspirations, desperations, your achievements, your failures, things you own, things you want to own, things you cannot own, your brilliance, your stupidity. You know where to go, how to go and you reach there and you are content again. Every thing seems so easy in those times. You wish this state of mind could stay with you for ever but it doesn't.

For every layer of calm that you have worn, there is sure-fire SOB who penetrates through it and touches your core to unsettle everything. Suddenly everything starts becoming skewed. You stumble against nothingness. Simplest of things start complicating themselves. You are desperate for the things you know you shouldn't, your achievements start appearing like a zilch, you meet failure at every corner of the street, you are not your brilliant self anymore, your own stupidity starts irritating you, you dont know where to go and if you know, you dont know how to. Every damn thing that belongs to you is thrown into a disarray.

Then you realize this is not the first time. You have been through this cycle of calm and disarray multiple times. why then you cant identify the symptoms at an early stage and diagnose that SOB and just distance yourself. May be its not that easy. Because this SOB is smart enough to disguise itself in a new avatar everytime and you are bound to fall for it.

Meta Discussions

2007-11-14T21:06:00.000+05:30

Why do people have to be right or wrong? I have started believing very strongly that life is a weird mathematics. Its equations can have a very few variables yet numerous solutions. They can also have a numerous variables and just one solution sometimes. It all seems way too skewed. No surprises. It has to be. Life was never considered to be easy anyway. Still we try to peel off its subtler layers and try to get comfortable with it. Everybody reaches a different core, everybody finds a different truth.

Lately I have been into many conversations with many different people. They have been on greatly diverse topics. Well, everybody enjoys discussions. I too. But lately, I have started observing myself when I get into them. Along the course of conversation, I start registering some meta information in a familiar repository which I try to analyze in future. I have observed that in some serious discussions, I strive to win my point, at times very desperately. Sometimes I win, sometimes I lose. But these days, I have started experiencing a totally new wave. In the middle of a discussion I lose interest. I feel a detachment from the discussion itself. I start seeing the two or more than two schools of thought in an entirely different light. I start realizing that none of us actually can be proved right or wrong. To end the discussion will either take a time-out call or it will entail that one of the parties get awfully bored and just surrenders, not really losing the point but losing the desire to win the point.

Why do we discuss then? And what kind of things cannot be taken to a conceivable end? If I want to oversimplify, I can say that all opinions that are based on individual tenets are not debatable. Sometimes these tenets or beliefs are as simple as people liking different flavors of coffees. My tastes are my choices. My inane choices. I cannot, by any means, prove one flavor to be better than another one. To be very frank, I want to see most of the things in my life the same way. If I observe closely, I can very genuinely conclude that as much as 90% of the discussions (obviously the non techie ones) are of this sort. You work your guts off to prove your point while your point was as personal as your liking of cappuccino over an espresso shot.

I wish I could simplify all things that way.
I wish when I prove A better than B, I could just mean I like A more than B.
I wish when I see the other person quietly nodding at the end of a debate, I could see his boredom and not his defeat.
I wish....

Requiem for a Dream

2007-10-28T12:37:00.000+05:30

I don't remember how many times I have blabbered about this movie but may be I am just like that. I do praise excessively when I like something to that extent. However, I never thought I will write about it but somehow I am up to it at this moment.

It was about 15 months ago. I was in Bloomington at that time. Movies were my freshly acquired pastime and time was something I had at plenty. In that random spree, I was lucky to chance upon a lot of good flicks. This was obviously one of them.

I have a very dear friend 'Kullu'. I am mentioning him because among many other things, movies are something we are equally passionate about and to some extent we have similar tastes as well. He was somewhere in Florida at that time. He would often call me and ask 'Londe, koi movie suggest karega kya?'. I would suggest him something from my list of favourites. Then he would or would not watch that one. But that day, it was me who was in a video library, standing among thousands of movies and utterly confused. I called him up and asked for a recommendation. He took some time before coming up with a name.

'Go for 'Require for a dream'.
'What the F***' I retorted. What kind of name it is. It doesn't make any sense.
'Dude, I am not very sure about the name either, why don't you just go to the counter and ask him if there is a movie with similar name.'
'hmmmm'

I hung up. Thought I would select a movie myself and starting surfing the shelves. I did not want to make a fool of myself.

Looking around, my eyes rested on a very pretty brunette sitting at the counter. There was almost nobody else in the library. I took a deep sigh. After a few moments, I threw another glance at her. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. I was wowed. I took another deep sigh and shrugged her off. Then suddenly I realized I had a good reason to go up to her and have a word. I complied.

'Excuse me..!!'
'Yes sir..!! May I help you..?'
'Do you have a movie by the name 'Require for a dream'??'
She suppressed a giggle and said, 'Sir, the name is 'Requiem for a dream' Its on the counter C. I will get it for you'.
'Please do, thank you'

I darned myself for that suppressed giggle. Why didn't I confirm the name before asking her.

Anyway, she brought me the DVD. I paid her a dollar, gave her another foolish smile and simply drove back home.

I distinctly remember it was a new 27' TV that we had bought that day. I was alone at home and was somehow not able to make the DVD player connections properly. Took me a long time before I could finally do it. The movie started. It started with something that looked like an ad campaign of a Dietary pill. I tried several times to do away with that ad and start the movie. Got very irritated and left the DVD in the player. I went to kitchen and made some tea for me. By the time I came back the movie had started. I, then realized that the ad was actually an act in the movie.

During the course of next two hours, It turned out to be one of the most intense movies I had ever watched. By the time it climaxed, I was out of my senses. I found myself clutching my fists, my heart beating at least twice as fast and my eyes popping out in sheer awe of the movie.

Later on, I suggested the same movie to another friend, Dheeraj. He watched it, may be not as awestruck as I was, but what he fell for was the background score. He had watched the movie wearing his Bose headphones. He told me it was an experience par excellence. I was not too interested in the music at that time but after a few months when I listened to it independently, I was all praises for it too. well, I don't understand music and specially the non-Indian ones rarely goes down well with me, but this one was too good to ignore.

After some time, I ordered for the DVD of the movie and Music CD for the soundtrack for my personal collection. It rested ignored in my cupboard until friday when I found time to take it out, load it up my iPod and take it to office. This was the first time that I actually listened to it with full concentration. Now, I wonder if I have words to describe it and I wonder if I will ever have. The music is so phenomenal and so complete and so intense, it rides up your brain give you a tizz you may probably have never experienced. It is abound with a high dose of passion. This is something I totally lack and may be thats why I felt so complete. Its a journey to a totally different world.

It is composed by Clint Mansell and the CD cover says it features 'Kronos Quartet'. I have absolutely no idea what does a Kronos Quartet mean but whatever it is, it has given the soundtrack a splendid touch.

All you music lovers and serious movie watchers, 'Requiem of a Dream' is a dead must.

The duo of Director Darren Aronofsky and Music composer Clint Mansell has again gotten together in movie 'PI'. I have already acquired the DVD and just cant wait to watch it.

He Died

2007-09-29T07:28:00.000+05:30

He had to be what he was. He had to live himself that way. He was so used to victories even the slightest and most meaningless sense of defeat went heavy on him. That day, when he came to me, he was all imbued in aeons of glory. He was splashing into a pool of swagger in every step. He was not walking, it seemed to me. He was actually trying to crush something beneath his feet. What..? Probably he himself didn't know, but there had to be something, else his muscles wouldn't be tighter than usual, his lips wouldn't try to conceal his gritting teeth, his heart beat wouldn't be audible at a mile, his face wouldn't have contorted. It was not a normal walk by any measure. I did my best to hide an analytical expression on my face and tried hard to wear indifference, it being my favorite weapon against swagger. I marvel at the perfection it counters the vanity with. And it almost always does. Why would that day be different.

He approached me. He stood before me. Attacked me with a thousand eyes he had. I felt them blowing me right in my face. It wasn't easy but I took it. I stood by myself. Discomfited, he started melting. Slowly, very slowly and painfully, bit by bit, layer then another layer. His face kept contorting and the indifference on my face turned into an unshakeable crudity. Then a moment came when he was about to breathe his last. It was excruciating. It shook me for a moment but I composed. I let him dissolve to the last drop and then that drop too would vanish. I did it. Yes, I did.

Who was he? Who was I? He was me and I was I.

Yun Hi

2007-09-16T15:53:00.000+05:30

It doesn't even surprise me when I realize that I have been chasing the things I probably never wanted. Or to be more explicit and honest, let me take the 'Probably' off my previous sentence.

Its not a surprise because this knowledge was always buried in some dark corner of my heart. I just never cared to visit that corner. Then, on a rather free and nonchalant sunday morning, when I am relievingly left to myself, I come down to this terrace, recline on the chair, close my eyes and let myself drench in the drizzle of thoughts. Today I hold no highs for myself and I have unfettered all the reservations. I know what choices I want to make, I know what sacrifices I have to accept, I know what trade offs I have to pull and I know what sufferings I am going to pick.

Hmmm, I wish it were that easy.

On 'Notes to Myself' - 2

2007-08-22T12:18:00.001+05:30

Idleness at workplace is not new to me. In my career of 5 years, I have spent close to three years in effect like this. But one so thorough and so comprehensive had never come my way. 8 hours of unconditional daily billability, hourly coffee parleys, daily luncheon trips, aimless socializing and a decent (if not handsome) salary every month. I have started considering myself mother IT's own kid or may be the Son in Law.

Well, in all these years, I have grown up to be comfortable with this state and particularly in this stint I am enjoying a different beat altogether. While doing or rather despite doing all the funny activities all the day, this idleness gives me an enormous amount of solitude. Even though there is no extreme occupancy to dilute in these moments of idleness or my life is not so cluttered with unwanted people that I have to seek solitude, its just another layer of cream on the cake of my life.

Today was another such day when I was idle and I was almost alone. I was analyzing my situation and while doing so, I picked up 'Notes to Myself' after a long time. I wrote about it when I picked up last and here I am with my next pick.

"I need solitude like I need food and rest, and like eating and resting, solitude is most healing when it fits the rhythm of my needs. A rigidly scheduled aloneness does not nourish me."

Well, you are in a state of mind, struggling with the precise words to document your thoughts, you suddenly pick up a book, flip a few pages, read random lines and suddenly you find your answer. How often does this happen to you. I feel like I picked up a mirror. 'Hugh Prather' is amazing and I am sure he has amazed numerous people and has left them in same state of mind as I am. Admiring and wondering, marvelling and content.

I feel no need to analyze his lines and write further. I will close this piece with a very satisfied self.

इसी इब्तेदा और इन्तेहा के दरमियां तो मैं भी हूँ...

2007-08-16T17:00:00.001+05:30

Long back, one of my very good friends sent this Nazm to me. It became my instant favourite and still remains. In the times to follow, my interests got deviated elsewhere and this one slept ignored.

My interest towards shaayri gave me a kick a few days back and I ransacked those old folders. Rediscovered this nazm and it amazed me again, with same intensity. So let me post this one here. There are some Urdu words which might prove difficult to understand. They have been translated.

Here you go..

किसी इब्तेदा और इन्तेहा के दरमियां है ज़िन्दगी,
जहाँ इस तरफ न उस तरफ दूर तक कहीं कुछ नहीं
जैसे दूर कहीं किसी रह्गुज़र के बीच्-ओ-बीच कोई अजनबी
धूल मे खोके रास्तों को हिचकियों से रो पडे
जिसे रहगुज़र की गर्म रेत और आसमाँ को छोडकर्
नज़र की तमाम वुस्अतों में और कुछ न मिल सके
धूप की तमाज़तों की इन्तेहा की वो सरज़मीं,
जहाँ हसरतों के बीज से फक़त सराब ही खिल सके
उस अजनबी की प्यास क्या उम्मीद् क्या और यास क्या,
बाजुज़ अजल का इन्तेज़ार और बचा है उसके पास क्या

इसी इब्तेदा और इन्तेहा के दरमियां तो मैं भी हूँ,
इसी इब्तेदा और इन्तेहा के दरमियां तो तू भी है
जैसे दूर कहीं जंगलों में रेल की दो पटरियाँ,
जो कुरबतों की अनगिनत रात्-ओ-दिन के बावज़ूद्
एक हाथ भर के फासले से रहगुज़र मे बँट गयी,
आह्! कि मिल बैठने की वो शबनमी सी हसरतें
जो ज़ावियों की हेर फेर के जंगलों में फंस गयी
इन इन्तेहाओं के दरमियाँ की सितमज़रेफी देखिये
जो चांदनी से ख्वाब थे वो रास्तों मे खो दिये
जो सिसकियों के अजाब थे वो ज़िन्दगी को दे दिये

इब्तेदा - शुरुआत् - Starting
इन्तेहा - अन्त् - Ending
वुस्अतों - विस्तार् - Expanse
तमाज़तों - गर्मियों - Heats
सराब - Cactus
य़ास् - दुःख् - Sadness
बाजुज - सिर्फ् - Only
अजल - मृत्यु - Death
क़ुरबत - निकटता - Nearness
ज़ावियों - दृष्टिकोण् - ViewPoint
सितमज़रेफी - अत्याचार् - Oppression
अजाब - श्राप - Curses

While posting it, I strongly feel like learning Urdu. Its a very sweet language. I know Hindi and English but no language can substitute another. Every one has a distinct beauty and one gotta marry it to live it. Well, I am presently married to Hindi and English and have to go a long way to understand these two first.

Still, occassional flinges with urdu are not hurting me...:-)

Happy Independence day

2007-08-16T14:43:00.000+05:30

I wanted to feel special on 15th August but I didn't. The night of 14th August came, I reread that powerful speech by Nehru. Once again, I was at loss of words for so many reasons, but it did make me feel the same thrill it always does. I fell asleep. Woke up the next day. Being a resident of rather out of city area, which is a delightfully quiet place, I didn't even get that usual dose of patriotic songs. For some unknown reasons, even my friends and acquaintances were not sending me any 'Happy Independence Day' messages. I switched on the TV but nothing different there too. I, gradually, let myself sink in the day shrugging off all the 15th augustish itches.

All that being said, I do agree that I was not able to suppress a faint desire to write down something on this blog. But at the same time, I did not want to write something just for the heck of it. I wanted to have a real reason and a genuine drive to write.

Now what could I write about? There was a time when people used to curse India through out the year and some of them with patriotic sideburns used to sing paeans on such national days. But as time went by, it became a cliche. Then a wave came when everybody found a newer and fancier hairdo. 'Why do we curse India, its we who make it cursable so stand up and do something', but nobody actually did. I remember discussing the traffic light problems and we deciding against rolling a red signal in Pune. The very next day, none of us could restrain when everybody around was brazenly rolling it. Theory and practical are not related anyway. I also remember my heated debates with some very high profile people in Rajdhani express (which I will write about some other time). But no matter what the outcome was, this new hairdo did seem fantastic and stylish. Just slip on a sentence that sounds something like this and you will immediately attract some of the admiring eyes. Writing about national heroes is also a possibility but who are our heroes today. The freedom fighters are the ones but a mere blog would be too small a tribute. Who else? The business tycoons? Well, they are heroes for me but not the ones to be sung on a day like 15th August.

I had almost dropped the idea of a blog but then I watched
'CHAK DE INDIA' last night.

Lemme see what it has got. If you analyze a few good movies in last few years, you will realize that almost all of the great ones are the unusual ones. You come out of the theater wondering why on this topic and how come such great movie. For me, Lagaan, RDB, Swades, Black, Munnabhai and a few more fall in the same category. But still, a genuine sports movie was yet to come.

It would take a plenty of courage to even think about such topic. sports movies in India were totally unheard off and those that have been made should never have been made. Then, even if somebody wants to make a sports movie, what could ever drive him away from cricket? OK, you do have some fanciful love for hockey then why on earth the women's hockey...???

Well, I am not in a mood to go into movie details right now. My purpose to write here is to find out that special feeling of 15th August and spot my Hero of the day. For me the hero is 'Shimit Amin'. For me, the fact that this movie was ever made echoes precisely what the spirit of Hockey team in the movie does. You have to break the stereotypes. You have to fight against the surroundings. You have to keep your head when everybody around is losing it. You have to keep faith in yourself. You have to stand up for a cause and fight till the end. Rhetoric of 'Dont curse your country and do something for it' can be a cliche but a real act that epitomizes it can never be a cliche. Every such act will be cheered and be given an standing ovation with equal zeal and fervor every time.

I do realize in full measure that a mere movie on Indian women's hockey is nowhere close to what my nation demands, what I want to admire today is the intention and thought process behind it. I may also be blamed for downplaying my expectations on such an important day but for me, this was the movie that gave me that special feeling in a very genuine way. I do want to stand up and cheer for Shimit Amin. Way to go buddy....!!

Some Day...Part 1

2007-08-13T17:08:00.000+05:30

I rarely watch TV for the reasons mentioned in my earlier post but now that I have bought one, I end up spending at least a few minutes everyday. This duration increases a little more because of cricketing season. Not that I am an avid cricket follower but being an Indian, the whiff of it does invade my nostrils every now and then and I am compulsively drawn towards the TV.

Two days back, during the tea break of Indo-English Test match, they brought up SRK and Gavaskar together. SRK was there to promote his CHAK DE and Gavaskar was there for obvious reasons. After the usual pleasantries, SRK made a beautiful statement. "The best thing I like about my profession is that I get to meet great people without an effort. I have adored Gavaskar since my childhood days and today I get to have a dinner with him". I liked the notion and the intention behind it, particularly because it was so genuinely stated. I immediately stepped into Shekhchilli Shoes, adjusted the pillow behind my back, reclined on the couch, rested my right foot ankle on the left knee and while wiggling my tows, I freed my brooding cow to graze. Honey,...feast on...everything is on the house...!!

I imagine being a celebrity. (I assume therefore I am) Now I don’t want it like Hugh grant of Notting Hill. Coming out of my house in boxers and being photographed maddeningly by a slew of them. I am a celebrity of rather laid back popularity. Somewhat like a great writer or a painter or musician. One who is God in his field but is not a public face that is recognized in every street. I am the guy who is adored among rookies and critics alike. I am profiled on cover page of TIME or Sunday magazine of TOI sometimes. I work only when I feel like and I make as much money as is sufficient to allow me careless squandering. In the times when I do not work, I go on long cruises on my beloved bike and explore all great places around the world.

I meet Roger Federer on one such cruise. We take a jog together and then we hit the tennis court. We play for endless hours. Win some lose some. :-)) I nag him to teach me that impeccable lofted backhand. He obliges and now I know how to play that Godly stroke.

Daytime is for Steve Jobs. He shows me around Cupertino and Emeryville. He tells me how he can imagine right things right way at the right time and every time. The World of Macs, iPods and iPhones...my God, it amazes me even in my fanciful dreams. I will also request him to clean up the palm rest area of my white macbook. It’s become a bit soiled and I don’t have the right chemical solution to clean it up. He then introduces me to Brad Bird and John Lasseter. We all share the table, just for one day in Pixar cafe.

I kick start my bike and go further. I ride long miles, all alone. On the foothills of those soothing mountains, and on the well paved super fast highways, along the heavenly rivers and in the formidable woods. Its evening time, sun is slowly retiring, reddening the whole sky and making the scene a bit dull and boring. I suddenly see dear Sush standing in the middle of the highway. Clad in that 'SAMAY' Dress, (wanna make it that thin plain chiffon saree of 'Main Hoon Na' but not a good combo with my bike) loose hair, that gorgeous posture and that killing smile. She is asking for a lift. I ask her to hop on and we go ahead. I am reinvigorated and we ride a few more hours before the lip smacking candle lit dinner in 'Mainland china'. After that........

It’s a coffee call from the friends right now and I am back from my reverie. Second day will be documented some other time...Vishal Bhardwaj, Gulzar, Jack Nicholson and a few more might figure in next one...

Can I have those '20 minutes' back..? Please....!!

2007-08-08T11:46:00.000+05:30

Very distinctly do I remember the time '8:40 PM' when, long years back, dear Doordarshan used to air SAMACHAR. We, being what we were as kids, used to ignore the Idiot box for 20 minutes and then come back to it for 9:00 PM Dharavahiks. Yet, from whatever times I did watch SAMACHAR, I do remember some faces; Shammi Narang, Ved Prakash, Manjari etc. Sometimes it even was a guess game, who would read news today? After a few years, as teenagers, when there were other similar trips down the memory lanes, we, being what we were as teenagers, used to make fun of the time 8:40. Why on earth 8:40? Why not a more convenient time like 8:30 or 9:00? Why to broadcast news for an odd duration like 20 minutes?

Today, I woke up early. My roommate was awake even before me. He had switched on the TV. I was in ignore mode and carried on with my daily cores. After a while he chuckled. "Siddhish, wow there was no crappy news on TV in past 20 minutes...yesssss" and he switched it off. As if the idiot box wouldn't hold for 21st minute and would blurt out the crap to prevent indigestion. I passed a careless smirk and forgot. Then, on my way to the office, this thought came back to my mind. 20 minutes. Precisely the duration that was sufficient for Prasaar Bharti to capture the entire day of the nation. Today, I am sure news channels will close their shops if they are asked to filter out just 20 minutes of sanity off their entire day of filth. More so, when I ask for sanity, I mean only that much. I am not asking for a sense of national or social responsibility. That is something I have stopped expecting long back. But Dude, I do demand sanity.

Freedom to media used to be a discussion in the times when I had not acquired enough discretion in these matters but being what I am as a 27 year old young man now, I swear I too would have supported it if it were to happen today. When you open your markets, a lot of things come as package deal. Opening up of news space for Private channels is not too distantly related to the historical turnaround of 1991. India's first step towards free markets. While it achieved countless favorable things, it is failing in some aspects for sure. Our Hindi news channels are an example. Although, I am a firm believer of Ayn Rand's theory that 'Free markets are a self correcting mechanism', I fail to visualize if this will correct itself too. May be because I am expecting wrong thing to correct them. I must consider that despite broadcasting uninterrupted filth, these channels do make money.

I would like to quote my friend Siddharth Pandey, 'How does one stop this nonsense, and more importantly WHY..., if this is so popular??' I still do not have an answer. But, this gives me the keyword to weigh Hindi news channels on Ms Rand's scale.

POPULAR. That’s the word. I have to agree that despite the ceaseless stupidity, all news channels enjoy a humongous popularity. If one is to watch news, he/she has two options. Hindi news or English news. English news channels make much more sense when it comes to content but then they are limited to the population that understands English. Hindi news channels (and their other vernac counterparts) have a much better reach and penetration. Nevertheless, It is more surprising to observe that in the cafeterias of two software companies that I have worked so far, Aaj Tak is preferred over English news channels. Needless to say, this time the social strata in question is the one that is considered as intellectual elite. This strata constitutes the bunch of hundred thousandish IT geeks who are charged with adding more than three billion dollars to Indian forex bounty every year. So its easy to infer that these channels do enjoy a viewership among the supposed intellectual lots as well. If that is not proof enough their improving TRPs do say it all. Not to mention the huge advertising revenues they harvest each day. It means that at the end, these probably do not defy Ms. Rand's scale too.

So is there no stopping? What happens to an object that is debased to the roots, meaningless from every perspective and cheap by all standards but is still popular and makes money too? Does that become acceptable? We know it should not but how do we stop it? I don’t know. But now I do understand why Doordarshan had just 20 minute slot at 8:40.

It will probably be impracticable to limit the news airtime to mere 20 minutes now but yeah, a conscious censuring and enforcement of standards that would clearly determine what can be termed as a News-piece-worth-broadcasting should help. I know it sounds like controlling the media and going back in time. But since self correction does not seem a possibility, control is the only solution probably.

दौर नया पुराना...

2007-08-06T16:03:00.000+05:30

काफी दिनों तक अंग्रेजी की परतें खोलने के बाद आज अचानक से मातृ भाषा मे लिखने का जोश सा चढा है. पिछले दो तीन दिन से कुछ न क़ुछ ऐसा घटित होता गया कि आज बस अंगुलियाँ कसमसा रही हैं हिन्दी लिखने को. य़ूँ देखिये तो एक विडम्बना ही है कि अपनी ही भाषा मे लिखने का जोश चढाने के लिये किसी प्रेरना स्त्रोत कि ज़रूरत पडे, पर ठीक है, ऐसे ही सही.

क़ल एक फ़िल्म देख आये हम्. १९५७ मे बनी 'नया दौर्'. अब आज क़ी तारीख मे पचास बरस पुराने 'नये' दौर को देखने जाना है तो थोडा अटपटा, पर करें भी तो क्या, हम प्राणि ही ऐसे हैं कि ज़िन्दगी मे कुछ न कुछ अटपटा न करें तो ज़िन्दगी अपनी सी नहीं लगती. और उस पर ये सौफ्टवेयर की दुनिया. 'काम भगाने वाले सबसे बडे मनहूस' का तमगा साल दर साल जीतने के बाद भी ये नौकरी हमें थोडा तो दौडने पर मजबूर कर ही देती है. ये दौड भले ही 'रैट रेस' हो मगर जाने अन्जाने हिस्सा तो हम भी बन ही चुके हैं. तो कभी कभार मन विचलित हो उठता है कि कुछ दम रुकें और रुककर अपने माज़ी को देखें और सराहें. जी मैं अपने खुद के माज़ी की बात कतई नही कर रहा, मैं बात कर रहा हूं अपने समाज के माज़ी की, उससे जुडे कईं पहलुओं के माज़ी की. उदाहरण के तौर पर सिनेमा जगत्. तो बस कल रविवार ऐसा ही एक दिन था. पता चला कि ई-स्क्वायर में नये रंगों वाली पुरानी 'नया दौर्' लगी है तो कुछ मित्रों से आग्रह किया कि भई साथ दोगे क्या? मित्र भी मूड मे थे तो हम सब साथ हो लिये.

अक्सर लोग कह डालते हैं कि कला के नज़रिये से हिन्दुस्तानी सिनेमा जगत पहले जितना समृद्ध था अब उतना नही रहा. मैं खैर इस बात से तो इत्तेफाक़ नही रखता पर हाँ, उस समय के सिनेमा की भाजी मे इनोसँस का जो तड्का हुआ करता था, वो ज़रूर कहीं खो सा गया है. अब 'नया दौर' को ही लें, कहाँ मिलेंगे ऐसे अजीत जो वैजयन्तीमाला को एक नज़र देख कर लट्टू हो जायें और उन्ही के घर में उनका हाथ पकड कर लाइन मारने लगें, मगर मज़ाल है कि चेहरे पर से भोलापन एक पल के लिये भी हटा हो. और उसी भोलेपन से अपने य़ुसुफ भाई (दिलीप कुमार्) ने तो कमाल ही कर डाला. पहली मुलाकात मे लट्टू हो बैठे, दूसरी मे हाथ पकड लिया और तीसरी में तो सीधे डेट पर ले उडे गाँव के मन्दिर में. अब अपनी गाँव की गोरी वैजयन्ती ही कौन सी कम थी. 'माँग के साथ तुम्हारा मैंने माँग लिया सन्सार्' गाने मे चँद मिनट ही लगे उन्हे.

किसी भी युग का सिनेमा उस युग के समाज क दर्पण होता है. नया दौर के पात्र न सिर्फ फिल्म के पात्र हैं बल्कि उस युग के समाज को भी परिलक्षित करते हैं. तो अब सोचिये कितना फायदा हुआ. सिर्फ १३० रुपये देकर हम तीन घन्टे कि यात्रा सन् १९५७ में कर आये. तो आप इस लेखान्श को यात्रा-विवरण भी कह सकते हैं. राहुल सान्स्कृत्यायन जी यदि आपत्ति न करें तो हम इसे घुमक्कड शास्त्र का उदाहरण भी बना सकते हैं.

हिन्दुस्तान के लिये १९५७ वक्त था आज़ादी के बाद का वक्त और दुनिया के लिये था मशीनीकरण का वक्त्. एक तूफानी वक्त रहा होगा वो. नेहरू जी हिन्दुस्तान की नैया में पँचवर्षीय योजनाओं और लाइसँस राज़ की पतवार लगाके पार पहुँचना चाहते थे. वो सही थे या गलत, अब ये तो बहुत विवाद का विषय है. य़ा यूँ कहिये कि पून्जीवाद और समाजवाद के पुराने झगडे का एक और उदाहरण है. पर नया दौर एक दर्पण ज़रूर है उन लोगों का जो उस नैया में सवार हुए थे. कुछ डूब गये, कुछ पून्जीवाद के स्टीमर पर कूद कर बच गये और कुछ अभी तक सन्घर्षरत हैं. हालाँकि फिल्म् में मशीनों की हार दिखायी है, पर देखा जाये तो आने वाले सालों में सच ने कुछ और ही रास्ता अख्तियार् किया था. बी. आर्. चोपडा जी ने भले ही ताँगे को जितवा दिया हो पर वक्त ने जीवन की बस को ही जितवाया है. किसना (अजीत्) के कन्धे और शन्कर (दिलीप कुमार्) का ताँगा मिलकर भी मशीनीकरण की आँधी को रोक न सके. खत्म होने से पहले फिल्म भी तो इस बात को स्वीकार करती है और कहती है कि 'बाबू तुम तो पढे लिखे हो, कोई बीच का रास्ता निकालो, हमें मशीनों से कोई दुश्मनी नहीं'. ये बीच का रास्ता बडा ही गूढ प्रश्न है. ये वो ही है जिसे हम 'समन्वयक पून्जीवाद्' (इन्क्लूसिव कैपिटलिस्म्) कह्ते हैं. पर फिर सोचो तो ये भी सिर्फ एक वाद या एक विचार ही है. अपने दिलीप भाई ने भी प्रश्न को उछाल कर छोड दिया है. उत्तर नही दिया.

उत्तर दिया है मनिरत्नम के 'गुरू' भाई ने. और इस् बार कुन्दन (जीवन्) की बस ही आगे निकलती दिख रही है. आप और मैं सब सवार हैं इस बस में, देखिये किधर ले जाती है.....

Those Moments

2007-08-03T08:56:00.000+05:30

Creative thoughts have a strange knack of finding out when can I not jot them down or type them over or share them across. They tread on my unprepared mind like a flash and just go away before I find a tangible means of documenting them. It happens with me almost every other day and at different times of the day. Its like you see a divine rainbow in the evening, on your way back home. You savor the moment, you want to hold it, you wish it stays with you forever, you want to be able to recreate it at your will but it just doesn't work that way. Good things work in their own right.

I was on my way to the office today morning and had just started reading a freshly acquired novel, 'Three English Plays' by Gurcharan Das. Guess I hadn't even read it long enough but my mind started galloping around and I found myself in the company of the same creative thoughts. I longed for my laptop but I didn't have any. Even if I had, I believe I might not have been able to capture everything because It was not just some regular flow of thoughts, it was a spate, a deluge. Something beyond my power to tame and carry. I felt my creative energy crossing the limits. I had a feeling of creative orgasm. I felt I could even be a great writer or an accomplished philosopher if those moments stayed for a few days with me. But it didn't happen. Best moments are always shortlived. Not choosing to be an exception, these too left me, suddenly.

Looking in retrospect now, I feel cheated. I sulk in the frustration of a premature ejaculation. I hate it.

The 'Sanjay Dutt'

2007-08-02T09:36:00.000+05:30

I do not really like to write about or comment on the daily news, specially about the crimes in India. I had lost faith in Indian Police/Judiciary long back and after the deluge of pitiable (read contemptible) news channels, I have lost all intrest as well. Today, however, is an exception. I find it impossible to ignore and keep mum.

Sanjay Dutt got a 6 year sentence. A very well deserved and a very very late decision. I am not even a mere observer in this entire drama. I was neither intrested in its progress (for the reasons mentioned above) nor was I waiting for the denouement. Nevertheless, despite this assumed nonchalance, I have to agree that as soon as I overheard people in my cubicle talking about it, I did open a news portal to check out the story. I also have to agree that I, for a few moments, actually found it relieving too. I have read about Mumbai Blasts a lot in the book 'Maximum city' and I grew up detesting everybody involved, the perpetrators as well as the Shrikrishna commission. So when another Criminal involved in the blasts was convicted yesterday, it brought a faint smile on my face. Judge Kode had restored a scintilla of my faith back in Indian Judiciary.

I did not care to think anymore, brushed things aside and got back to my daily routine. I came back home and expectedly found all news channles blaring out the same story at top of their voices. They had to. It was the top story of the day. I watched a visibly disappointed Sanjay dutt trying to keep his calm.

Later in the day, I was talking to a regular group of friends and this was the part that really frustrated me. This was the part that made me write what I am writing at present. I am unable to understand why people have even a tiny problem with Sanjay Dutt's conviction. Is there a single thing that suggests he did not commit the crime? Possession of AK-56 is a crime. Being a party to such a heinous act as Mumbai Blasts is a crime. I would intend to think that a lot more has been probably suppressed about him and the accusations have been brought down to merely keeping an AK-56 and then trying to destroy the same. People give following reasons why he should not have been punished.

--> He did not acquire AK-56, somebody planted it in his house.

--> He did keep AK-56 but for self defence.

--> He did keep AK-56, so what..? He did not kill anybody.

--> He has already suffered a lot of mental trauma, court should forgive him and grant him a bail.

I would not go categorically discussing all these and many more of this sort but what really concerns me is the underlying mentality that shrouds you all. Why in first place are you not ready to except him as a criminal? Is it because he is a celebrity, moreover, a very good actor and even more he has recently shown his onscreen-heart-of-gold as Munnabhai? Or is it because he is son of a supposedly great soul Sunil Dutt who has enjoyed an iconic presence in India till his death? is it becasue Sanjay enjoys a great rapport with fellow Bollywood personalities and entire film industry is standing in his support? (Dilip Kumar went to the extent of filing a PIL for his acquital) All this is true but I fail to relate any of these to the crime he perpetrated or was a party to. There exists absolutely no relation between his real life and reel life acts. He can go on winning filmfares and rule the heart of India as 'Gandhian Munnabhai' or 'Dr Murali Prasad Sharma', but by no means can any consideration be given to him for this while deciding upon the punishment for his acts.

Now, turning my attention to my dear friends who go on making claims in favour of Mr. Dutt: Guys, are you really that naive that you even want to believe that Somebody planted the Gun in his house or he kept it for self defence. I pity you if you do believe it. I would also like to ask, 'Would you have believed the same claims or even considered them if they had been made by some other lesser known criminal?' Why this partiality? I would go on to ask another question, 'Would you have given Sanjay same consideration if he had not made his mark in a couple great movies in last few years?' give me an honest answer. I know it would be 'NO'. Then what is the root of all this. The only answer that comes to my mind is 'Star Worshipping'. This is insane. This is gross. Is well being of the nation above your petty likings of the movie idols? Have you forgotten what havoc was wreaked in 1993? I hate you for short memory. The only grudge that I have with Honourable Kode's decision is that the decision took all these years to come up. This is the very reason of your short memory too...fellas.

I know that media loves controversy. Not only loves it, it thrives on it. I probably wouldn't blame media for beating the trumpet in Sanjay's favour. But not you my countrymen..!! Gimme reasons to believe that you are a much better lot.

Abracadabra

2007-07-30T17:52:00.000+05:30

Some days bring in such pleasant surprises, it becomes difficult to believe. This Saturday, I chanced upon a movie called 'The Prestige' and I am still in awe of it. It was a lonely saturday evening and I was resenting it. I wanted to go out and have fun but all my acquaintances were seemingly busy. 'The Prestige' was stored on my laptop since last few days but I hadn't been too keen on spending anytime on it. That day, I almost ran out of options. I reluctantly lied down on the couch, rested the laptop on my knees and started the movie.

The dialogues with heavy Brit accent are a little difficult to grasp sometimes. I had to struggle for a few minutes initially but as the tempo built up gradually, I sank in the movie.

It starts with a beautifully scripted note, delivered masterfully by Michael caine,

"........Now you're looking for the secret... but you won't find it because you're not really looking. You don't really want to know the secret... You want to be fooled."

How perfectly delivered...and how nicely filmed. A pretty girl clapping while Cutter lets the bird fly out of his hand...he must have certainly muttered to the bird...
'Go...amaze my audience.....embrace them in your wings and take them to the enchanting journey of fiction....go..'

I am not a big movie buff and may be thats the reason I hadn't seen these actors in more than one movie before and all of them had been the disapointing ones....Hugh Jackman in 'Swordfish', Michael Caine in 'Miss congeniality' and Scarlette Johansson in 'Lost in Translation'. (May be I was just unfortunate to pick up the wrong
flicks). Anyway, they come up superbly in 'The Prestige'. What intensity, what face expressions, what dialogue delivery....I have to say again...I am still in awe of it. I would never forget the frustration of a loser that prevails on the face of Robert Angier and a true winner's resignation rooted in Alfred Borden. Things keep changing though and they keep exchanging the winner's crown in the due course but the general air is never let go. The rivalry of the magicians has been perfectly implanted.

"....But you wouldn't clap yet....", because The great performances by the actors is just one aspect. If there is somebody who deserves most heart felt praises and who makes me look for adjectives, its Mr. Christofer Nolan. How can somebody deliver 'Memento' and 'Prestige' in one lifetime ? Not that he is the only one to deliver more than one wonder in life but I gotta stand up and clap everytime I bump into somebody like him.

The movie ends, no great mysteries revealed, nothing told that you didn't already know but you watch the movie till the last scene with a bated breath. Thats the beauty of the movie. Its a relatively easier task (probably) to construct a web of mysteries and then resolve it at the end. Its, however, a different thing altogether to leave a little to guess yet make the audience wait till the end to be told the truth, feeling the same thrill and chill.

The movie starts and ends with almost the same lines. "You don't really want to know the secret... You want to be fooled..." I am sure they are not just meant for the description of what a PRESTIGE is, they are also some not-too-serious paper pebbles hurled towards the audience. Trying to invoke a few thoughts...doesn't take a huge effrot to understand what...? Its just a matter of "Are You watching closely...??? "

The magic of the movie perfectly embodies Alfred Borden's lines
"The secret impresses no one. The trick you use it for is everything..." The movie is certainly about presentation more than anything else. and I am sure, on this aspect, Nolan himself wouldn't have thought he was going to create such a masterpiece, realizing another line from the script...
"Man's reach exceeds his imagination"....It certainly did....

Cries from the past...

2007-07-23T17:34:00.000+05:30

Its just too painful to realize that You have unknowingly let yourself be a part and now you are bound to follow the fate of the whole. The whole does not move in the direction you are oriented to and you are not ready to change your bearings either. It pains even more when you realize that over a period, you have let the whole change your bearings. Your own motives have started blurring. You have allowed the whole to infect yourself, to bug yourself...!!

The irony is that you still don't want to detach yourself from the whole. The whole has sucked the vigor out of your bones. It has enfeebled you and dragged you to a point where you have started feeling a dependency. It has started feeding you in ways you cannot say no to. You are an addict. You have been masterfully chiseled, pruned and polished. It has given you a gloss you have started flaunting even though you know you are not happy doing so. Time passes by and you see others beaming the same way. You start feigning the happiness and then eventually feeling it too. Then the time comes when you forget you were not a part. You have acclimatized yourself by now. You are not even frustrated anymore. You have stopped identifying or probably started ignoring the sporadic cries from the past. You have been completely transformed.

I don't know what are the further stages and I don't want to think and imagine. It doesn't matter anymore anyway...

BIKHRE BIMB

2007-07-08T01:37:00.001+05:30

Nestled in the quiet bylanes of an otherwise bustling JP Nagar, rests this epitome of excellence, Rangshankara Theater. It does not have a very striking appearance or immediately eye-catching architecture but there is something about such places. They stretch their legs in the world of imagination and sip the finest vine from the vineyards of creativity. You can feel it in the air. The moment You enter, your thoughts start flowing and the fumes of imagination start invading your nostrils.

I got a chance to spend a few hours at this place during my recent visit to Bangalore and I was amply rewarded. My friend Sunder nonchalantly mentioned about a play at this theater and we all forgot about it. Next day while searching for a nice place to spend the evening with my brother, the idea of going there dawned on us and it took us little time to take a decision. We rushed to Rangshankara in the afternoon and grabbed the tickets to the evening 7:30 show.

We chose to spend sometime in the premises before leaving. Looking around, I spotted a book store and rushed straight in. The Shankara Bookstore. Once again, the feel was different. It was not like huge book store chains of CROSSWORD and LANDMARK, neither did it resemble the roadside bookstores that are just filled with numerous books in a random fashion. It was a serene place, holding very few but painstakingly chosen books. It made me untie my purse-strings and spend decent sums to enhance my own collection of books.

Meanwhile, tentacles of hunger were tightening their grip on us and we had to eat something to counter. We walked to the cafe in the premises and ordered some Parathas. Not too much to say about the food but it was decent enough to quieten the hunger without annoying our taste buds. Enjoying the strange artifacts lying around us we finished what was offered and left the
place to come back in the evening.

'BIKHRE BIMB', the first question that popped in my mind was, How is a BIMB different than a PRATIBIMB. I scoured through some of the english equivalents but the closest I could come was IMAGE and REFLECTION. Not quite convinced, I dropped the topic and thought we will find out during the Play anyway. Well, the time was nearing and while standing in the queue, we got to see some more pieces of interesting art. The bell rang after some time and we made our way to the main auditorium.

Beautiful...!! I exclaimed. May be I was excited becaue my familiarity with theaters has been limited to a couple of ordinary Pune ones or on some make shift stages in some five star hotels, but this one was way too different. I have to agree I was excited. A semi circular stage was erected and an arc shape seating arrangement had enveloped it. The seating was set on cushioned stairs and overall it looked like a beautiful and modern lecture theater. The walls were painted in a dark hue and a couple of dim bulbs here and there lighted it in a peculiar way, giving it an appearance that would fall somewhere beteween the extremes of gloom and exuberance. AC grills jutting out of randomly laid AC ducts, a high ceiling and numerous unlit electric bulbs arranged to light the stage as intended, all this gave it quite an impressive look.

The posters downstairs boasted the use of State of the Art technology. This had set some expectations and I had entered thinking I will get to see some new contraptions of scientific jugglery. I was willing to see how they crafted a blend of science and art but I will admit I was a bit disappointed to see 8 flat screen Televisions studded in the backdrop and a big flat screen one set up a little right to the centerstage. Use of televisions in a play can be termed innovative but not state of the art in any way. Well, the air was positive and so was I. I thought there might be something really state of the art and its just poor I who is unable to visualize that. How much did I know about theater anyway..!!

At 7:30 sharp, Manjula Naik, a middle aged lady, clad in dark green sari enters the stage, adjusting the collar mike clipped on her blouse. Soon its clear that the arrangement on the stage hinted a TV studio and the lady is here to give a talk. She keeps mumbling to herself and sometimes to imaginary cameramen and sound engineers. She has come to studio to deliver a 15 minute speech about her recent publication, an internationally acclaimed english novel. The public is wondering how a kannadiga author suddenly came up with an english novel and that too of such excellence. Her speech is more of a press conference where she wants to answer a few questions that people might have about the novel. She makes it a hilarious one casting an occasional sarcasm on general public mentality about the local languages and english. She also sheds a couple of tears while mentioning her deceased sister who was a paralytic and is the central character of the novel. All this while, she is being telecast live on the central television.

She completes her speech and stands up to leave. Her business is over here. But as soon as she starts out, her image on the TV changes. Its the same Manjula in the same dress and in the same position, but it does not follow the moves and voice of real Manjula anymore. It starts acting on its own. The Manjula in TV starts talking to real Manjula, following her with her expressions and eyes. Real Manjula is flustered and scared initially but soon settles down when its clear to everybody that the lady in the TV has turned into nothing but Manjula's self image, her conscience.

Here starts a wonderfully captivating one hour spell of Manjula's conversation with her self conscience. Manjula a real person moving about the stage and the conscience is framed in the space of a few inches of LCD screen. An odd but very creative combination and most striking part of it is that the conversation is between a recorded session (the conscience) and the real lady (Manjula). Startlingly creative.

The story is further told as the conversation advances and a string of events lays open. Malini is Manjula's younger sister. She is a paralytic and the lower part of the body is non functional. They both inherited some property from their father. Manjula tricked Malini and made her sell off her property to fill her own coffers. Malini had stayed with Manjula since then. Malini has been remarkably intelligent and dazzlingly beautiful. Manjula is no match for her sister. All these years have inculcated a sense of jealousy in Manjula. To add to her misery, her husband doesn't like her either. He is a lady killer . He is also a man of great intellect. He is obviously attracted towards Malini. Manjula has always suspected an affair between her husband and her sister. This leads her to an extreme frustration and gradually turns her into a wicked lady. In her own life, she has seen nothing but the defeats and every time, her own sister has defeated her.

Then the time comes when Malini gives in to her poor health and dies. Manjula is just too happy. She has gotten rid of her biggest enemy. But most awaited happiness' are sometimes short-lived.

Manjula discovers the manuscript of a novel penned by Malini. This novel is nothing but Malini's autobiography. She reads through the manuscript and realizes that she has been depicted as a villain throughout. Malini has very beautifully inked her inner most feelings on the paper. She has held Manjula's husband in very high spirits but every line about Manjula is finely dipped in venom and is sauteed in pangs of hatred, giving her a perfect flavor of a vamp. She is out of her wits now. She soon finds out that her husband has known everything about it all along.

Then, she does the unthinkable. She has just one desire and that is to win. She is ready to sacrifice everything. Her family life, her relationship with her husband, her conscience, her self respect, everything. She sends the novel across to a Big international publisher with her name, M. Naik. Novel is taken with welcoming hands and she is mistaken as the writer. Now, she is the heroine. She is everything. She has earned the admiration of millions of readers. She has become a very famous figure. Universities are ready to grant her scholarships. She is invited to literary academies. She has dawned a pseudo or rather a false happiness and has garlanded herself with an even more false greatness. Her husband feels too disgusted to live with her and just calls it quits. He even leaves the country and settles himself in America. He has stopped entertaining her. Still, she was happy with her false convictions and had decided to live that life, until suddenly, in the recording room of a TV channel, her self image confronted her.

The lady in the TV has evoked those long buried emotions which Manjula had very well hidden from entire world. She has spit it out in the flow but is now just too overwhelmed to digest it. She gets out of whack and starts yelling at her self image. Who is she to ask her all this. Who is she to make her realize all this. She goes behind the TV to unplug it. Right then, everything kept on stage starts sliding on the rails and is taken away. Only thing left is 8 TV's in the background. All of them come alive and various self images of Manjula appear. They all are in different moods, yelling different things, making different faces. Manjula is lost somewhere among these scattered images. She is torn in her BIKHRE BIMB.

The play ends and a thunderous applause begins. Very rarely I have seen the spectators giving such compelling standing ovations. You dont have to look at your neighbour and rise and clap. Your feet just dont allow you to keep sitting down. Such is the appeal of good artworks.

After a long time something has enthralled me to this extent. Thats probably the reason I have written such a long one.

Out of Network

2007-07-06T23:23:00.000+05:30

A 17 inch monitor awkwardly juxtaposed to a vertically oriented CPU, an indifferent mouse and a confused mesh of intertwined wires, some of them wrapped in a glossy polythene covering and precisely one of them very delicately plugged into a network port, which I know is really delicate because none of my unintentional touches have gone unpunished. Just touch this wire and you are gloriously out of network. How can you expect a network port to be so fragile that a mere touch can wreak havoc
on its electronic micromechanism and stop the entire flow of data in and out of the workstation. But thats how it is. It demands extreme care and I spare no pains furnishing that. I have passed strict orders on all of my cube cohabitants to stay away from my CPU, I do not bring the coffee cups in a foot's radius of the CPU and I have stopped passing link-line-telephone to the adjacent cubicle. I guard my CPU like one guards an intimate secret but one pain that I do not take is to report the problem to the Hardware department. They, although known for their impeccable inefficiency, are not so scarebrained that they would not
know how to replace a network cord. I assume it because even I, the least informed about the nuances of hardware, can replace a network cord successfully.

Nevertheless, its fun sometimes and extreme irritation most of the times. I want to wait for the day I will be able to put myself to call up the hardware desk and get the cord replaced. Some day.!!

Here's to the Writers

2007-04-27T21:48:00.000+05:30

Lately, the only thing that has kept me ticking is my rediscovered passion for reading.

I make a rather slow reader and quite an inconsistent one to add to the misery, but I can get as animated, as downcast, as appreciative and as critical of a book as my other serious counterparts. Books have impacted my life more than the events and I take a certain amount of pride in this fact. I also take full cognizance of the fact that more than the books, Its a set of writers whom I am offering this most preserved right over the principles of my life. I am ripping open my cerebrum before a person and allowing him to play with it. I am consciously opening it to the extent that future course of my life would depend on it. I am willingly putting my Right to Independent thinking up for grabs and it only makes me happier when somebody actually grabs it.

I have welcomed Rands and Orwells with Open arms, spent the lonely moon-staring nights with Ghalibs and Gulzars and after leaving many poorly paved roads half-walked, 've recently finished measuring the lanes of Maximum city Mumbai with Suketu Mehta. A good book can make me recognize a multitude of emotions I never knew existed. It can really exhort me sometimes.

Want to end this on a better note but in the absence of thoughts I will be content with just this one...Here's to the writers. :-)

't was nice meeting you

2007-04-06T02:56:00.000+05:30

Wouldn't call it a hobby but a pastime, for sure. I like to interview AUTOWALLAHS. A class that leads a very monotonous and low paying life with income-rises barely tantamount to inflation and keep doing the same thing almost all their lives, In financial terms; the lower class people. There can be a discussion on if they are really Lower class or a bit better than that, but I would give it a pass for now.

I talk to them in different cities, different places of the same city, different times of the day and different states they are in; inebriated with country liquor, doped on grass, dozing in the noontime, waiting to go home at the late hours of the night or fresh out of the temple in the wee hours of a sunday morning. I watch them doing different things; throwing invectives at local policewallahs, cursing the errant bikers, talking about their supposed glorious past, worrying about their son's future, making lewd comments on girls, brazenly rolling the Red signals, surprising me with a deep civic sense and their take on good citizenship, pestering me with Half-return fare, talking to their clients in english on a mobile phone costlier than mine, handing me over their visiting card and what not. Believe me, its really interesting. Its a completely different world than you and I live in.

Yesterday, I was on Ghole Road, on my way to Aundh. I wave the Auto-Rickshaw, the guy sees me, flashes the left turn indicator and carefully changing the imaginary lanes, he comes to me and stops.

'Kahan jaayenge sir'.
'Aundh', I tell him, anticipating a call for half return fare because Aundh is on outskirts of the city.
But he simply downs his meter, politely asks me to get in and heads off without bothering me with that. I am pleasantly surprised.

Its a long journey and I am in a mood to talk.

'Pune se hi ho ya bahar se ho?' is always my first question.
'Sir, Pune se hi hoon', he answers with a natural marathi accent.

'Kitne time se auto chala rahe ho kaka', I add the salutation kaka just to make him feel comfortable and connected. This would have been tau in Muzaffarnagar, bhaiya in delhi and boss in Mumbai.
'Sir, 16 saal se' he pauses and..... 'Sir, kyun puchha aapne?' he asks, with a questioning yet smiling face, looking at me in rear view mirror.

'Aise hi puchh liya kaka, socha ki aapse baat ki jaaye'
He looks at me again, passes a comforting smile, nods and says, 'Achha hai sir, baat karna achha hai'

Then he tells me that most of his customers ask this question because they are happy with his driving skills and they want to know how come he drives so well. Its only then that I notice him steering his way across Puneri traffic with a masterful hand.
'Haan kaka, kaafi achha chalate ho aap'
His face lights up, he feels proud of himself and says, ' Haan sir, poore 16 saal ho gaye, main baaki autowalon se bahut achha chala leta hun'. I look at him. There is no sign of Boasting off, its a proud and fair acknowledgment of my compliment.

He then continues telling me that he had worked as a machinist for various companies. Tata Motors, Bajaj Auto, DGP hinoday and a many more. He tells me about how he was hired on a contract basis and was let go after a brief job stint every time. Then he changed jobs and finally became an Autowallah to become stable in life. Its very evident from his tone and accent that he is an educated man. I was really enjoying this session.

Then I throw another question about the Gunda Problem in the city. Do the goons trouble him with the menace called Hafta or do the policewallahs extort any money from him? I am happy to know that Pune is completely devoid of this problem. I have established this fact after talking to many Autowallahs. Pune is a real safe city in this way. What they earn belongs to none else. This is very different from Mumbai and Delhi where Gundas and Policewallahs constantly eat up part of their earnings.

Talking to him further on Pune traffic problems, how Pune was 16 years ago, the huge inflow of immigrants I finally reach my destination. I pay him, leave the rickshaw and start walking away.
He calls me...SIR...!!
I look back, go to him and ask What it was...?

He extends his hand and says 'Sir, achha laga aapse milkar'

A deep sense of professionalism, conviction, imbued in calm and layered with a natural reassurance, thats how he delivered this sentence. We get to hear this almost every other day. How-You-doing and Nice-Meeting-You are the most common greetings and parting words. But rarely does somebody utters them with that gleam in eyes and that natural eye contact.

This was doubtlessly the most Honest Nice-Meeting-You I was ever said to.

The music of Infinite thumps

2007-03-23T08:13:00.000+05:30

Mornings in Pune are always beautiful but I would rather let others decide that and accept that without questions. Nevertheless, I force myself to wake up early on weekends since that is the only time of the week I can play tennis. So, no matter how much I hate to admit, I can say I have witnessed many Pune Mornings. This time it was for a Biking trip to Panchganni-Mahabaleshwar.

It was not that difficult after all for me to get up at 6. My friend Bhanu was, however, not that kind on me and I almost had to drag him out of the bed. Third one, Banku was expectedly wide awake when I called him. So, after a double dose of Chai-Poha under the Warje flyover, we managed to hit the roads by 7:30.

I was mildly enjoying the Birdie-ride for first few kilometers. Speedometer needle occasionally crossing 80, a relaxed traffic on Pune Bangalore highway, a soothing breeze making inroads to hit my face from under the Halmet wisor, thoughts following the sight or sometimes the other way round, I was trying to live those unique biking moments. Riding a two wheeler on highways is a bliss and when the highway is Pune-bangalore and the bike is a Royal Enfield Thunderbird, you don't ask for more. You savor it. Wouldn't call myself an experienced biker on Highways, might have clocked barely 500 kilometers or so but what does it take to hit the highway anyway. I guess, just do it.

Gradually, the momentum was rising and so was the adrenalin. Roads were getting better and wider, the view around was becoming more and more eyecatching and then we entered a marvelous tunnel. A few Kilometers ahead of Katraj probably.

Nothing feels like speeding the bike beyond 100 kmph in a 3 kilometer long 6 lane tunnel which is well lit from inside and is just Huge. Absolute power of a 350 cc engine cranking beneath you, roaring aloud and producing a music you dont just stand and listen, you gotta own it, ride it and then dance to it. Ripping through the envelop of cool, soothing Puneri wind of early march, a full throttle thunderbird engine and its echoing thumps all around in the tunnel and believe me, you can count every one of these thumps. Ask me, how many they were.....?? I have counted till infinite...!!

Mountains, roads and the mighty bumps
All bask in the music of Infinite thumps...

on 'Notes to Myself' - 1

2007-02-07T18:34:00.000+05:30

I am good at adopting bad habits and better at sticking to them. Failure to quit them pinches me as much as the adoption comforts, but at the end, I am just unable to quit.

I like a book. I resolutely pick it up to read from cover to cover. I carry it on my way to office. I read a few pages. I like it. I admire it. I discuss it. I lose interest. I quit it. I pick up the next book.

My recent pickings that have seen the same fate were 'Freakonomics', 'Fortune at the bottom of the pyramid', 'The Feudal
Spirit' and probably one more which I did not read enough even to remember the title. Pick of this week was 'Notes to Myself'. I bought it long back, probably read a few pages too but lately it had been seeing the dust on my bookshelf. I dont know what prompted me to pick it up that morning, probably its small size or was it the fact that I had liked it when I first
skimmed through it. In any case, its first few lines were enough to make me realize that It will not waste my time.

Skipping the first few pages, let me write what is on a later page.

"I want to be doing things to be doing them. Not to be doing something else. I dont want to drive to get there, I dont want to make love to have climaxes, or study to keep abreast. I dont want to do things to sell myself on myself. I dont want to do nice things to people to be nice. I dont want to work to make money. I want to work to work.

Today, I dont want to live for. I want to live."

I was a bit sleepy when I opened this page but as I progressed, each line started snapping another layer of drowsiness and by the time I was finished reading the last word, I was already transported to a comforting stage of deep thoughts. I was excited.

I was trying to put together some of the daily activities and classify them as being for-something-activities and just-activities. I listen to 'Tere Bina' from GURU at least 10 times a day and there is no for-something feeling to it. Neither relaxation, nor admiration or escape from office-boredom. I do listen to it to listen to it and do not seek anything. May be there are a few more activities, I can enlist. Biking, sipping evening tea on my terrace, weekend work outs at tennis court etc.

On the other hand, there are those for-something activities. I work and I do not work to work. There are some other aims to it. Money is one of them and I cannot filter it off. I do study and once again I do not study to study. There are reasons and they will exist.

Well, there is a chain of events or a series of stages that some activities go through. It starts from 'excitement', moves to 'purpose', graduates to 'passion' and if it hadn't assumed the downward slope yet, it is transformed into 'do-it-to-do-it' stage. All of us have different things in this stage and probably that is why different things pleasure us.

Going a step ahead, I try to look into those for-something activities, or the 'purpose' stage of all the activities. Dont they impart a different pleasure altogether? Well, driving to get there is interesting....working for money is not that bad....you are always in an unsaid race....against somebody else or against yourself. The uncertainity involved does impart a new life, it enriches and exhorts you. Racing ahead of others or yourself does give a satisfaction which is absent at the last stage as mentioend earlier. So be it.

I might see a day when I will live and will not live for. I am not sure how will I react to it, but today, I do not look for it. I am happy to do things for something else and it does not involve selling myself on myself.

Still, stumbling against the book was not fruitless. It invoked a good analysis. I could name and channelize a lot of unnamed thoughts.

An evening at Tendulkar's

2007-01-27T18:40:00.000+05:30

Good food is something that drives me to unstinted pangs of admiration and somehow throws me into declaring my last meal the 'best one'. However, lately I have grown a bit more matured and try to put it as 'among the best ones'. I have been ridiculed for being too easy on chefs but never mind. I love good food. It gives me a pleasure which nothing else can match.

There is another dimension to it. I dont care about the details when it is home cooked but I can get really irritated if a careless waiter makes an extra clink while serving me. A mistake in the order or a delay in the order could easily put me off. A mindless and unappealing ambience or mere setting of the tables can make me go judgemental, disobeying my easy-to-please tongue.

So, despite the first para being true, its not too easy to make me declare a dinner 'The Perfect one'. But, one such dinner, after a long time, came my way on the night of 26th Jan. The date and city combination (26th jan + Mumbai), somehow never leaves my memory. A hugely entertaining day was spent precisely 6 years ago. I will describe that some other time if I feel like.

Oh, I was talking about the dinner. After a mildly enjoyable day at water kingdom and an immensely destressing walk at marine drive, we three started planning to call it a day and pushing off back to Pune. A dinner, however was still pending and we had to think about a place that could complement a lovely day. TENDULKAR's popped up in my friend's mind and I rejected it on the basis of bad name that had been given to it so far. Still, we started towards colaba. Walking past beautifully decorated MANTRALAYA and admiring the cool breeze, we finally reached in front of Tendulkar's. Klay Oven was adjacent to it and we were divided on where to go. I had heard Chicago Klay Oven was good but somehow, had never been there. Well, finally, we decided against Klay Oven and entered Tendulkar's. Menu was at display on a rather small lectern at the entrance and I was delighted to find some Indian Vegetarian delicacies there in. I liked the shady blue lighting in the alley that leads to staircase. Climbed a couple flights and entered the main hall. Greeted by a rather non-descript girl, clad in red who turned out to smart enough to make an impression.

We were exhausted from a hectic day and were still trying to ease ourselves into the soothing environs. Started looking around and found everything just perfect. Everything, off course, had to be colored in Sachin hue but of many other theme restaurants, this one was really eye-catching. From the stumps shaped salt-pepper dispenser to thick glass walled sink in the washroom, from Tendulkar autographed everything to beautiful cutlery, I was liking everything. Waiters were smartly dressed as well as smart tongued. My close observation failed to notice any mistake and it definitely made me happy. Best part of the dinner came at first. I just cant hold and do not want to hold any appreciation here. It was undoubtedly 'among the best non-alcoholic drinks I have ever had'. Base was coconut water, flavor was lychee and wow was the word. The splendid start was followed by baby cheese naans and mushroom wantons. These are the little things that separate classy restaurants from run of the mill ones. How can you make a mere naan as starter, and make it tasty on top of it. Just give a tang of cheese, make it appropriately warm and serve it in a suave manner. You are done. Same was the case with wantons.

For main course, we ordered things as simple as daal makhni and bhindi masaala and found that our servers did the best they could do. Best you can do with these things is to put the precise amount of spices and thats how it was done. Well, still, I have to say that 'innovation' was missing but they had already done a lot better to excuse themselves of complacence.

we were short on time and could not try any desserts......may be next time.

The beginning

2007-01-26T01:07:00.000+05:30

Its not very frequent that I happen to fall in the inviting arms of these rare moments when I don't care to bother about anything happening around and about me. I half-sit on this mattress, fingers keep running on the laptop and thoughts do not cease to flow as they do almost every time when I try to force them.

In retrospect, I realize that I have taken some of the most sane decisions in these very moments. I trust them. I love them. Only problem is that I can't invoke them at will.

I don't know why but probably, out of caprice, I am making these writings public. I do not see any motive, nor do I seek any benefit. I certainly do not claim to make a difference any damn where. Its a pure unadulterated caprice.

Lets see where does it lead to.