It was almost dead...

“Some things, once you’ve loved them, become yours forever. And if you try to let them go, they only circle back and return to you. They become a part of who you are.”- Credits- Kill Your Darlings.

They were almost dead, a bit war torn to be precise. Like a shred of cloth caught between the crosshairs of a barbed wire at the border; taking bullets from both sides all day long. Yet, somewhere there was a shred of life still breathed entangled between the layers of fabric.

He was always attached to his special possessions little gifts, car models, toys, those bubble gum trump cards. As he grew up he started saving all the gifts he would receive, hold them close to his chest, make them their friends, exist with them and exist in them. For these were the medals of the love someone had shared with him sometime.

The last remaining existence of her love for him was not it tatters. He loved to wear it, run his fingers along its contours, touching the seam and being mesmerized by the love still locked in them. But this piece of fabric, this camouflage print shorts were now at best a ragamuffin.

They had bought them together; the very same print, the very same logo, the very same fabric; a pair of shorts for him and a skirt for her. A testament to the oneness of the life they were leading for some time now. Of course it had the highs and lows, but the highs were high enough to carry the lows on their back. They shared a connection that was deep. As if something almost angelic was holding them together for they were as different as chalk and cheese.

The comfort he felt at having her by his side every waking day was indescribable. He would always make sure that she slept well. He would make sure that she rests her head on his arm to sleep and she would somehow manage to align her posture to his. Like a new born aligns its body around its mother’s chest. In the moonlight seeping through the curtains, the boundaries of their naked bodies disappeared. Sometimes he would just lie in the bed with her sleeping and think how lucky he was to have her beside him.

She was everything he wasn’t; smart, articulate, beautiful, god loving, a little eccentric and immensely loving and caring. It was as if she completed him in a way. And though he always did, he could never manage to express how much she meant to him.

One fine day, she told him that she couldn’t find the skirt anywhere. It must have been misplaced somewhere or probably stolen by her weird flatmate. Together they tried to find it everywhere but no luck. Trying to console her, he said it was no big deal, they’ll buy a new one, but deep down he knew it was the beginning of the end. He knew it was futile to draw such conclusions from a happening as small and inconsequential as this. But this perhaps was his knack; he could always foresee how the material would influence the existence of the living.

Days went by; life began to take unknown routes. She had to leave the city to be with her mom. He joined another workplace. They remained in touch. They remained in love. They tried to overcome the barriers posed by distances and times. Sometimes they succeeded, sometimes they failed; all this while he kept those shorts close to his heart. Washed them with great care, wore them with great delight. For somewhere deep down, he knew that as long as he can keep them well, their relationship will survive.

Life kept on plotting its vicious circles. They split, came back and split again. 6 months or so later, she started seeing someone else. He was jealous, almost hurt but he wished her well; he wished her all the love and success. The shorts became dull from excessive washing, the fabric lost the texture and sheen and a little tear appeared.

The pangs of loneliness and hurt were difficult to bear for him. But he plodded on; never sure of what to say to her, whether to be assertive or liberal. One day, chatting over WhatsApp they realised that it had been over a year since they broke up. Hoping for a convenient reply he asked her if anything had changed at all in this year. She said “yes, a lot”. He said, “But I am still standing at the very same spot”. She replied “But maybe, I’ve moved on”. Unsure of what to say, he said “Good Night, tc”. She said “gn, see you” and he typed this dialogue from a famous movie and passed it as his own “Far away from this land, between the right and the wrong, there is a huge expanse of space, I’ll see you there one day. Do remember the date for this rendezvous”.

The next morning, while putting his washed clothes to dry, he noticed that the shorts were now torn at multiple places and had become absolutely unfit to wear outside. He became distraught. He held them close to his chest and cried. For him, this marked the end of the last string of hope he was hanging by. The end of an era, the end of a life shared and a love felt.

Bringing himself back to his senses, he opened his laptop and opened the 41^st tab in his Chrome window and typed “Camouflage shorts+buy online”. Enter. 

424/IC/FOREVER

It is 11 o’clock in the night; My Girlfriend is watching gossip girl on my laptop, season 4, episode 20.I downloaded it for her, so that sometimes when I am watching just another one of my many arty-farty movie, she can happily enjoy it on her laptop. But strange are the ways of god, now I am being a victim of my own medicine as she is fully into the episode and i have nothing to do but monkey around. Stupid Chuck Bass. Anyways, so what do i do??I look around my shabby dump of a room and my eyes focus on a smilie ball (ya you call it a stress ball) lying comfortably on a pile of hair (hopefully from my scalp). I start hitting the ball against the wall and catching it. As soon as the first couple of these wall-floor-catch routine happens, my neurons transmit an info to my brain and my hands automatically approach a hardbound novel sitting on the pile of books diagonally opposite to the pile of hair(though I underplay it, but aesthetics do have a major influence in my life).

So now begin the game of "let me show Rahul Dravid how to defend a bouncing ball" to"dear Sachin this is how straight drives are played(I am sorry, GOD is great)" to "this is how you move your feet to the swinging ball Sehwag" to perhaps a more appropriate "my economy is better than your’s Sreeshanth". Now, as I am practicing my cover drives and leg glances, I am suddenly transported in my mind to room no 110, connecting block. The class is semi full (read sem-eye, I work for the US now). There are the Avantika Sodhis and Dikshit Sehgals disscussing some major hypothesis in electronics, while I am still to figure out how to make a basic circuit in the lab; there are the distant chattering of the Charlie's angels (Okay, i'll officially name them here: DJ, Aastha and Preeti); looks like a very important discussion is going on there. Then there are the Ganeshs and Diwakars and Avirals who I am not even sure are in the same section as me; there are the the Divyas, the Maliks and the Mittals munching on someone else’s chapattis. But where are the rest of the guys??ohhh shit,they are all around me, just a step or two away, trying to do a one tip one hand as i try to somehow scathe past another ball using the makeshift bat.

All those appeals, cheers and jeers, little frowns, painful blows and the dangerous sprints to snatch the bat out of the last batsman's hands and shout “Oye, I am next” are just some of the most refreshing memories that I have safely locked deep-down somewhere in my heart. These are the memories that I will make my grandchildren listen to making little comic book heroes out of The Anants, The Inders, The Chubhtas, The Baniyas, The Jaamus, The Harshs, The Panjus and others and not to miss the occasional Siddhus shouting out “yaar ek over khel len de bas”. People say, get into a good college for you'll get a nice job with a fat paycheck(Ya right!!), but I say, get into a good college for the diversity of people you’ll meet and the breadth of life you can pick up from them. For these are the moments that will make you suddenly burst into a laugh while your boss lashes out at you for some very “NSITish” blunder that you would have made in your deliverable(this could very well be the beginning of the end to your MNC dream). For these are the moments that would make your heart swell on a lazy Saturday afternoon and make you look forward to the future.

Suddenly I am woken up by a loud thud. As Akshat sitting next to me says, “bach gaya saale, usne dekha nahi”, I can’t even try and explain the reason for my flushed out face and bewildered expression. Was I dreaming? Or is this a dream? I look at everything around and everyone looks just as real as ever. Before I can make any assumption, I hear Batra shout at me "Oye fatta nikaal, chal khelte hain is se pehle ki vo kamina aa jaaye".

As I take stance on the platform, I can still not fathom if I am dreaming. I decide to try the good old method. I press my hand against the nail bulging out of the piece of wood in my hand.

OOOUCH!!!

“Yaar Anant paise milaa ke ek bat hi le aate hain sector 6 se”.

कौन हूँ मैं...कहाँ हूँ |

कौन हूँ मैं...कहाँ हूँ |
साँसों से सिला इक जिस्म हूँ , या रूह में फंसी इक जाँ हूँ |
जीवन से भरा इक पौधा हूँ, या मौत के दर्मियाँ हूँ |
मुर्दों के बीच रेंगता क्यूँ सीना तान के खड़ा हूँ|
कौन हूँ मैं...कहाँ हूँ |
इक कोशिश हूँ मैं,या ख्याल हूँ,या सवाल बन गया हूँ|
अम्बर हूँ,धरा हूँ,या धूप में पला हूँ|
ज़िन्दगी की प्यास हूँ जो नैनों से बह चला हूँ|
कौन हूँ मैं...कहाँ हूँ |
प्यार हूँ,दुलार हूँ,बर्बादी की ओर सवार हूँ|
गीत हूँ इक प्यार का या ज़ख्म इक हरा हूँ|
ढूंढता यूँ खुद को खुदही में सिमट गया हूँ|
कौन हूँ मैं ... कहाँ हूँ |

Aaega vo din...

As I sit here in my room, I cannot stop but think why most of us suddenly tend to feel so patriotic on the eve of the Independence day (knowing that most of us are still fretting why 15^th August fell on a Sunday this year) and cannot help feel a sense of guilt at not being able to feel that sudden surge of patriotism inside me. In an attempt to diverge my mind from the labyrinth of these convoluted thoughts of “what’s wrong with me?”, I turn on the Television and realize in a couple of minutes that all the channels are riding on this very surge of patriotism. So I see channels screening the academy award winner Gandhi, Lagaan, Sarfarosh, The legend of Bhagat Singh and so on (to my surprise there is a channel showing K3G)!!! So I turn the television off and power on my laptop, open Facebook, only to find that its inundated with patriotic posts ranging from a cute “Happy Birthday India” to an ostentatious “Shaheedon ki mazaaron pe lagenge har baras mele…..”. All these reasons have finally forced me to write this up.

I am now trying to diagnose my problem and deep down I know that I’ll be neither able to find a solution to it, nor even list down the reasons for feeling so. I will not be able to give a holistic diagnosis but I still wanna try.

I start by trying to think of some recent incidents on the national or international canvas which have made me feel happy, but I can’t really come up with even half a dozen of them (some of them range from some recent sporting achievements to the amendment in article 377 to India’s space odyssey). I tell myself that I am a pessimist by nature and I just can’t help but see the world from a concocted world view. But I am sure some of you would empathise with me.

I know the loss of others' lives is nothing but a statistic, till it affects us directly. I know that we all count the impact of a calamity by counting the number of casualties. So here are some statistics for you.

According to a report approximately 65,000 to 1,00,000 civilians have been killed by the security forces since 1988 in J&K under the shade of the draconian AFSPA (Armed Forces Special Powers Act). And this probably does not include the number of women raped and sexually assaulted by the forces. Reeling under the same draconian law are the surrogates of the “nobody gives a flying fuck for us” North East India. It requires a ‘building of a road’ or ‘not even asking for a visa’ tactics by China to wake the politicos from their slumber who are busy cooling their heels off in Luyten’s Delhi.

Approximately 10,000 civilians and security personnel have been butchered by the supposed ‘enemies of the state’ maoists in the last 5 years alone. Over 3,000 individuals get killed in different cases of honour killings in India every year. Over 30 million cases are pending in India’s high courts. More than 17,500 farmers a year killed themselves between 2002 and 2006.

I know that the erudite would try to stave off such thoughts in my mind by calling these incidents mere aberrations in a great nation. I know that they would try to sell jargons like population, illiteracy, poverty, terrorism etc to me and tell me that these are the real evils hindering the growth of my country. But I am sorry, I choose to disagree.

Right from the day I developed some understanding of the world around me, a vast number of incidents have been etched in my memory which constantly come back to haunt me. But I know WE, the people, the proverbial common man has a very short lived memory. So let me ask you some questions.

Shall I take pride in seeing a man like MF Hussain having been made to flee his motherland by hooligans of self proclaimed keepers of culture like VHP, RSS, Bajrang dal and all? Shall I take pride in knowing that people like Salman Rusidie and Tasleema Nasreen have been made to flee the country so that some people can safeguard their vote bank? Shall I take pride in knowing that you could meet the fate of a certain Jessica Lal in broad day light, that your sister could get raped someday and the ministers could say that she should not have been wearing such enticing clothes? Shall I feel free when I see the state sponsored pogroms in Delhi and Gujarat, when I see the Babri Masjid being stoned down, when I see that there are such bum lickers in the government which would escort Mr. Anderson to safety knowing that Dow Chemicals should be held directly accountable for inflicting such pain and misery on the people affected by the world’s worst chemical disaster? Shall I feel free when I see the lack of a constructive opposition in the house, when I see horse-trading taken to new extremes each election year (can’t help but curse the multi party system)? Shall I feel free to see that money has to exchange hands in buying coffins for soldiers or hosting Commonwealth games? Shall I feel free when I see the numerous inter-state disputes and mushrooming demands for new states?

I am so so sorry to let you down again but I can’t turn a nelson’s eye to these 'aberrations'. I guess I can’t fake it to myself and that’s my problem.

Of course, I salute the freedom fighters who laid their lives for us so that we can breathe in a free country. But I can no longer feel joyous for an event that happened 63 years ago (knowing that I didn’t contribute one single bit in it), knowing that the battles that we need to fight today would require much more patriotism, enthusiasm and dedication.

They say you can never revenge yourself upon history for history is its own revenge. But I hope that there will be one day in my lifetime wherein I’ll look back in time and say that yes I have been the change that I wanted to see, I have helped eradicate some of these ills plaguing my society that disturb me the most. I guess that day I’ll feel what people felt on 15^th August 1947, that day will be my Independence day, the day I’ll feel free from my sense of guilt.

Little Drops Of Life

It was my moment of enlightenment. But I didn’t see any blinding light, no God belonging to any religion came in my dreams, none bothered to whisper any magic words in my ear. But I could see things in a better light now and it made me feel good about my existence. And I was happy, happy for the things that I had, happy for stuff that didn’t find me worthy enough of having them. I guess its stuff like this that gives you that push to carry on and give you the zest to keep running. So when you feel like life’s accelerating you forward the way you wanted it to do,coool,seize the day; but when you feel life’s a bitch, just try to recall such little events in your mind,such little drops of life and plod on Honey.
Sorry, I didn’t tell you the story in the correct logical sequence. I thought I’ll probably give a tribute to movies like ‘City Of God’. So here is how it started-I was supposed to meet my Tayaji(my dad’s elder bro) who had come to his Hyderabad office on a short tour. The only possible timing to meet him-before 9 in the morning as he had a flight to catch at 1700 hours. I slept at 2 the previous night after talking to Divya, thought I would wake up at 6:30, catch the MMTS (Hyderabad Local train) at 7:24 and reach Secunderabad around 8. Everything didn’t go according to plan though. I woke up at 6:36, by the time I came out of the bathroom after my early morning business; I realized it was raining Elephants and Rhinos outside(I just couldn’t resist writing it). It was such a heavy downpour that I could not even see beyond 100m. Still I thought WTF its worth a shot, I managed 2 get an auto who charged me 4 times the normal amount but dropped me timely at the station.
I took the ticket (just Rs 2) and got into the train. I didn’t sit at any seat as I wasn’t sure about what all was sticking on them. I stood there right at the gate and as usual began to ponder.
As the train switched lanes, shifting between the tracks that could’ve been IT and the ones who were a part of the path forward. As the buildings, the paddy fields, children playing in the rain kept fading away into a distant canopy, it struck me that in that mad rush of people around (some fully drenched in the rain, some dry as a dead dingo’s donger, some staring at you and some who start looking somewhere else when you start looking at them)-I was alone. Alone as the last Dinosaur or the last dodo would’ve felt. The sinking feeling with which your heart stops pounding for a brief instant and u feel as if there is a hole in your heart and the whole world around u would just squeeze down through that very hole and you’ll be left alone.
I suddenly asked myself the question I am yet to get an answer for-“WHAT DO I WANT TO DO??
Shall I do an MBA coz all my friends are doing it? Shall I be an IAS coz my dad wants me to be one? But will I be happy and content with it? I can still bet my balls on the fact that I won’t be content even after I get an MBA/PhD/ABC/XYZ or be an IAS. Because it’s just not meant to be that way. I would still have a boss who’ll give me shit each day. I would still have subordinates who’ll not be competent enough. I would still have a wife who’ll crib about any trivial thing. I would still have a kid who won’t listen to me. (Ya you can add your reasons to the list). And thus would continue the pursuit of happYness.
A small drop of rain that fell on my face halted my INTROSPECTION EXPRESS. As I felt the chill from the breeze that kissed past the droplet on my face, I saw the world in a different light. I saw the raindrops travel hundreds of kilometers down for that one moment of joy at hitting the sand. I saw trees putting their foot down against the strong winds. I saw the little kids trying to swim in water shallow for even dropping a cake of maggi noodles in it. In those 2 mins I saw myself as a happy self, happy in the pursuit of being.
It was the life in those small droplets trickling down from the sides of the train that made me feel good. It was the life in the joy of passing a smile to a stark stranger, in taking an unplanned trip 2 somewhere, in the joy at giving a little beggar a chocolate instead of shooing him away, in the joy that you’d get if u touched the feet of an unknown elderly who reminded you of your grandparent, in the joy of spotting a RUFF n TUFF bag or a pair of TUFF’S shoes that would transport u back into your childhood days, in the joy at noticing that the fingers of the person standing next to you are quite similar to someone you loved a lot(ya a JOE’s hand twin!!!) or the joy at realizing suddenly that you are holding the umbrella the way your dadaji used to that made you happy.
It was my moment of enlightenment. But I didn’t see any blinding light, no God belonging to any religion came in my dreams, none bothered to whisper any magic words in my ear. But I could see things in a better light now and it made me feel good about my existence. And I was happy, happy for the things that I had, happy for stuff that didn’t find me worthy enough of having them. I guess its stuff like this that gives you that push to carry on and give you the zest to keep running. So when you feel like life’s accelerating you forward the way you wanted it to do, coool, seize the day; but when you feel life’s a bitch, just try to recall such little events in your mind, such little drops of life and plod on Honey.

P.S- I did manage to meet my Tayaji. Had breakfast with him. My manager picked me up from a nearby spot and dropped me at the office. Though, on the way she once said I don’t know what I should do to be happy. I looked at her, and with a mysterious smile on my face said-“you don’t have to do anything”

Aye Kaash...

Aye kaash ki mere lafz bhi mere ashkon ki tarah meri in aankhon se bahe hote,ki kisi ke tassavvur mein to aate vo, kuch zayaka to pataa chalta.

THE ELUSIVE LAST PIECE OF THE JIGSAW

It’s simply so astounding, the ferocity with which life jolts you back just when u think that you’re in the fifth gear. Life is so cruel in the fact that when you’re at the murkiest segment in your life you can see nobody around, when you are so badly entangled in the tentacles of life, you have no straw to hold on to. At that moment even the feeling that was making you feel so happy just a minute ago suddenly breaks your back. Just when it feels like everything is going according to your plan, you’re completing your TO DO list, things are falling into place like a jigsaw puzzle and suddenly you discover that one piece is of the jigsaw is missing. Now I don’t know why but this thought enters the other pieces of the jigsaw, that this is the opportunity to take control, to seize the moment, to get on top of the one trying 2 put things together, to break its neck, crush its limbs, disembowel it completely.
Now the pieces have a mind of their own, they start running in different directions and one is trying one’s ass out to catch hold of them, try n persuade them 2 b at the very spot that they belong to, till one goes out to find out the missing piece. But no, by the time one returns empty handed without the last piece, trying 2 console oneself at one’s defeat, trying to fake it to the world outside that HE’Z ALL RIGHT, one realizes that one’s got to start all over again.
Ever wondered what that elusive last piece of the jigsaw is? Its love, always love. Love, that’s like a tombstone that quietly says RIP, love, that’s like that perfect match for the deep void inside you through which life keeps seeping out through, ever so slowly in proportion but ever so rapidly in emotion. Love has this great virtue of manifesting itself into different forms, but essentially it does the same effect-soothe your nerves, make you feel like the happiest man on earth.
So what’s good for a person? To always be in this wild goose chase, this never ending quest to find out that elusive piece, so that one could keep getting that push to excel oneself every time or to find it once and for all and feel like quenching one’s thirst, satiating one’s hunger. Honestly I don’t know the answer n probably never would, but guess some people know, and when you know an essence that’s so profound, you’ll probably find it impossible to get it through the minds of creepy, crawling people like me, always trying 2 justify their actions, never intending to accept their mistakes.When I think about defining that last piece of the jigsaw, this is what comes to my mind. Imagine there is a room filled with different pieces of the jigsaw and there is a miniscule hole inside the room through which air is leaking out, and you’re feeling that heyyyy there is still a lot of it left, I would make it through very comfortably and just as you turn back, BANGGGG, it’s all gone, as if a vortex appeared out of nowhere and sucked the life out of it. Now you’re gasping for breath, waving your hands in all directions, trying to resist that crawling sensation in your skin, trying to counter that numbness in your heart, trying to nullify the blueness of your skin, trying to ease the pressure in your eyes. The room which was so choked up with the pieces a minute ago now holds just you and your soul now which are craving to discover their individual identities. And suddenly, out of nowhere comes a breath of fresh air, that elusive last piece of the jigsaw that pumps the life back into you, rejuvenates your senses. This breath of air is nothing but LOVE-The elusive last piece of the jigsaw that never holds on to you forever,so that you keep rediscovering yourself.