Cafe Nostalgia

It was a moderately pleasant winter morning, traffic buzzing by and the bright winter day-star filtering the chilliness in the morning air. I was however, ignorant to all these happenings around me as I lounged in a café, relishing on ice-tea. The space was naturally air-conditioned and the aroma was coffee crept into my senses. I felt unusually sleepy… might be the comfortable temperature or just the gloomy interiors. I had a quite corner, parallel to which a large display showed news and a magazine stand stood under it, carrying the weeks used and read magazines and the days gazette. On my other side sat a lady with a menu card in her hand, earnest in deciding what to order for. Apparently, she must have varied tastes and was craving for something new. She appeared to me like a silhouette due to the sun falling on her other side. I could vaguely make out her skin texture and complexion, neither fair nor dark but smooth. The morning light filtering through the white, sheet covered window fell diffused on her. Maybe, for once I felt if I could touch and feel what she was made of. I grabbed a magazine and perched right in front of where she was, still struggling with the menu. Doing so served me with some unintentional attention from the young college lads but I felt light. Right then, all of a sudden she came up ecstatically and finally ordered for a “lady boy” drink without wasabe vodka in it. It sounded like a double cheese pizza, without the cheese in it.

She had ebony hair, dark as they begun with hints of a lighter shade as each hair graduated to its tip and rested on her crimson-black, woolen wear. I still urged to get a direct glimpse of her eyes but I could certainly make out what they were like, vitreous, glittering in energy, dark and deep eyes outlined in “kajol”. Her face was evenly lit by a tender, golden glow.

I flipped through a few pages of my magazine while she received her ordered drink. The ‘clearing throat’ way, I put forward if she was waiting for someone. She looked up and waited to confirm if I was referring to her. I then discovered that it wasn’t her very well carried bodyscape that appealed to me, but her very pleasant and inviting aura. She seemed to be a nice person, shy, with a pleasing attitude and probably a bright smile--- will make a perfect housewife, thought I. She looked familiar though. She kept looking at me while I tried to figure out if I looked funny or if we’ve met earlier. Her frown followed a smile and she asked me “do I know you?” as soon that sentence ended, an image floated in. I could now remember that we had worked together in a Wills Lifestyle Fashion meet where she was a designer and I was assigned to cover the campaign portfolios. I am a fashion photographer by profession. I replied back in a generous tone “I guess we attended a fashion meet in Delhi some while ago, did we?” she frowned deeper and her smile widened as she exclaimed “Shubho! So how’ve you been all these days!?” I suddenly got happier on discovering that she remembers my name, my nick-name though. “And you are… Ravi”… “Roshni Ravi” she marked. Of course, how could I ever forget working with one of the most celebrated designers in the country? She was endowed with charming manners, just like other ladies in the industry but what made me remember her was her typical nature. To be precise, the aura around her was something unexplainably inviting and generous, unlike other important looking hot-shots in fashion. She told me that she was waiting for a friend and that they’d travel to Landour, where her friend’s parents live. I took the risk and inquired curiously, if her friend was a guy. She raised her eye brows and her eyes laughed when she relieved me by telling me that it’s her college friend, Ria. Roshni and Ria graduated from some university in Kolkata. I know Mr. Bose, Ria’s father as a writer since my early school days. I used to visit Landour frequently as I simply found peace in her soothing ambience. Ruskin Bond lives there, so do Victor Bannerjee and Pronoy Roy, just like other celebrities spend their retired years not in Las Vegas, but in the silent and peaceful lap of Mother Nature.

The day was emerging, I sipped deeper into my ice-tea and she continued with her drink.

I tried to generate a new conversation and started describing her how Landour is and how the beautiful hills astound me. Landour is a small British settlement around three kilometers above Mussorie. Large White hoses with red roofs and wooden floors. Walls generally covered with ebony-green creepers and a feel of ancient English integrity. Landour is a picture-postcard town, with the Oaks on one side of the cantonment and the Deodars on the other. I told her about my last visit to the place, during the previous winters. It snowed through the night and when I woke up in the morning, I found that the vicinity lay under a glistening white blanket… how beautiful, Landour as a crystal.

This picturesque little hill-town is possibly the most romantic of places I dream to spend my later life. She was listening to me carefully, half smiling and half in her minds picture, dreaming an unknown fantasy… dancing with her love. The air stood still as we built castles in the air… her friend appeared breaking through the silence, frolic to see Roshni after a long absence, maybe. She looked at me, we knew each other well and she tried to relate me with Roshni but failed, until Roshni told her about how we met.

Ria wanted me to come along as uncle Bose had wanted to see me since he got the news of my arrival in Dehra from maybe my in-town relatives. I was readily going to agree but realizing my credibility as a calm and sensible human,  I cooled down my desperateness and told her that I’ll see if I could, confirming my schedule for the weekend. I knew I had nothing much to do except maybe finish writing a book which was for now, a diminished priority.  So I pretended to cancel my client appointments and informed my parents that I’ll be visiting uncle Bose. I finally sighed and we made a move. We crossed the Mussorie diversion from Rajpur, beside which is a Buddhist monastery and the Sai Baba Mandir, and through the zigzagging roads, reached straight to sister’s bazaar. The Landour church warmly welcomed us with the noon bells and I once again, traced my memory back to my first visit, a never-forgettable. The church bell also reminded me of the bells of the Doon School, where I was born and educated. I gave up to this nostalgia and did not want to come out of these sweet memories of schooldays. I could hear the Chota Hazari bell like pins dropping in total silence, once more I was sunk in those memories with form mates, when we lunched after the never ending practical of our physics teacher, Mr. Mann. And as soon as the main building bell rang, we felt hungry all of a sudden, but to our stupefaction, found Rajma-Chawal.

It has been a fine journey, considering the fact that Roshni’s throwing up was quite natural- a girl from the plains. I felt terribly hungry and as we neared Ria’s house, I could smell something cooking, something extremely tempting. I asked Ria if it was fish, she said teasingly “indeed it is bong babu”… and I smiled at her… as if she wasn’t. The cottage is what I might describe as- my dream home. Begins with a lawn and opens into the view of a series of mountain ranges, diminished into invisibility. The entrance is built into the shape of an arch with vines all over. The lawn has tall trees which have covered the ground below with a yellowish-orange blanket of autumn. It does not mist during these months, unlike monsoons, when the whole vicinity sleeps under the cover of mist, which imbibes within it endless mysteries. Throughout my adolescence and adulthood, I have wondered why, did I always want to spend my entire life living in this house. It’s not because of the people inhabiting it presently, perhaps not even the breathtaking views in the outside. Maybe, more of a material cause like the integrity of construction. The rooms were well managed, space concern and were less decorated unlike the conventional houses where living rooms boast of one’s achievements and the walls speak of culture from around the globe. This house had none of that. It was different from all other houses. Might have been this reason why I considered it as home. The living room had sofas, plushy and comfortable. It’s walls were painted grey, a smooth and light shade of ash. And on those walls were nothing but a painting each, lamps and perhaps, lizards peeking from behind them. All the rooms are equipped with fireplaces, to liven frosty nights and out of which I clearly remember the one in the living room. There lies a shelf on top of that which carries empty, but elegant, glossy bottles of wine. I have spent my early years in this house, almost every weekend. The guest bedroom is my favorite. It is nothing less than the room of my dreams. Yes, I’ve dreamt about a room too. It’s the attic. The walls are painted pure white, smooth and glorious. It was re-fabricated by a modern designer. The room’s most appealing point is the see-through ceiling above. The sunlight, which shows occasionally, billows in to the room and the white walls enlighten the whole interior. The day thus looks happy and light-filled. I taste different flavors of mood in different seasons, and the room has a certain flavor to offer every time I visit it. In the summers, the window on top showers pliant radiance under which, I sit and imagine all the good things about life. In the monsoons, I like to be alone, the day remains dim and I love to lie in this room, looking at drops raining above. I just love to think, to imagine endlessly. It doesn’t take much to do so, just a mind full of memories, expectations, unanswered questions, a full stomach and all the times in the world. In vacations or weekends, I’m equipped with all these. In winters, the room is a completely different space. The roof is generally covered with snow, white, fluffy and sparkling through the day, but making the room chilly at night. And it was this time of the year, winters had not fallen yet but were about to, anytime now. I showed Roshni the guest bedroom and we decided that there could be nothing better to live in. I bagged the bed right under the glass opening and she kindly accepted the one away from it. But then Ria said in a rather teasing voice, that they were to join the beds and I was to sleep on a lower bed, away from my very own glass canopy. I knew, this was for their late night chit-chats and I didn’t mind. I’ll eventually sleep better, getting bored listening to their discussions about metropolitan shopping and old memories of college. I haven’t mentioned earlier but floating in the very aesthetics of the lady and the environment together, I find myself, in love again.

Alas! All this while I have been busy describing aesthetics in detail but the most interesting person here is Mr. Bose. I call him uncle, although I never wanted to ‘cause virtually that makes Ria my sister, fantasizing about whom would be a sin then. Uncle Bose is an ebullient person, always full of excitement and energy. He was a journalist till his early 40’s when he got into writing full time. It was soon, after about three years he found success through a book on life in Ladakh, “lame Ladakh”. I generally prefer not reading books written by people I’ve met. I like reading books by authors unknown, their ideas and style of writing appeals to me.

Thinking about my new love, I was in dilemma… what could define it better- infatuation or simply True love. I didn’t have enough arguments to support either side. There are days to come and winters to spend with her, right here and we’ll then decide- I said to myself. Infatuation is like spring to me, spring that brings lush green fields, spring that arrives like a life giver and is fed by the monsoons. But just as infatuation is temporary, spring disappears and autumn takes its place. Trees shed their leaves; the air whistles through the empty hedges and thereafter, silence prevails. But love, true and unconditional is like spring throughout the year. It imbibes itself within our instincts and exposes us to varied colors and flavors of life, and all this while, lets us be with her to experience the joys and despairs alike.

The only people in the house were me, Roshni, Ria and two maids. It was evening now and two maids. It was evening now and the sun had gone down. I was hungry again. There was some fire wood collected at the fire place and as the temperature started to deteriorate, we had to light it up and it brought life into the room. Ria remarked that it was unusually cold. “It might snow”- and later it did. Our corner of the room was quite warm while the air felt cold everywhere else. We shifted our mattresses close to the fireplace and the situation became even more pleasant with garlic bread and soup served as supper. Mr. Bose had called, to check if everything was fine. I spoke with him and said that he was missing out on the winter fun. I said that I regret his absence and aunt’s chocolate cookies too. He laughed at that.

I had fallen asleep quite early. But the other two kept chatting late in to night, as I had expected. I woke up early next morning as the fire had died away and my feet were freezing. To see if the sun had risen, I walked up to the large window on the second floor and peered outside. I ran down the stairs in excitement and woke up Roshni. She too, like me felt really cold. She was surprised, half asleep and curious as to why I’m waking her up that early. I told her I had a surprise for her. She did not resist, she stood up and I covered her with a blanket and climbing up the stairs we reached the large window. I hadn’t drawn the curtains. I made her face the window and covered her eyes with my palm. I then drew the curtains and uncovered her eyes for her to see. She opened her eyes slowly, on which rested her heavy eyelashes, fine and intricate. The air stood calm and as she perceived what she saw, her heart began to thump noisily. The dawn sky was darkest blue, and beneath it lay a Landour covered in white snow. Snow fell and settled like cotton. I for once felt as if I were in heaven. She stood there with her eyes and mouth wide open, observing how my described fantasy came to life. I felt really light- in love. For it was the first time she saw snow in real and I was with her, responsible in floating her into ecstasy. She was unable to put into words her precise feelings. I assured her that I knew exactly of the emotions running through her. She seemed to be quite thankful that I made her feel that way. I looked deep in to her and asked her to turn about. Once again, we stared at the snow fall happening in the wide, before us. I stepped closer to her and hugged her from behind. My emotions were not that of lust, the whole feeling can be described as beautiful, comely, but erotic. Apparently she did not mind my doing so. I whispered close to her ears that if I could astound her with such moments for the rest of her life. She said “only if you keep up with the deal and snore a little less while sleeping”- and we burst into laughter. Those words were the clearest speech ever heard, clearer than euphonic notes of a piano struck in absolute silence. Her voice itself seemed to be music to me, and her ringing laughter filled my heart with honey. I was now “officially” in love. I hadn’t expected such a pleasant reaction from her. Everything happened like a series of unplanned events but all went well, surprisingly well. I sat down on the floor below and relished what I had just achieved. It seemed a bit unnatural to me, my acting so romantically but rather absurdly and then, her accepting my love was even strange. This wasn’t anything amorous. I had always tried to avoid such thoughts of generating a relation between us because frankly, I always knew of it to be impossible. However, here I stood with the presently so-assumed love of my life.

The sun had started to show from the east horizon as the dawn broke in to one more mesmerizing moment. Neither of two of us wanted to go back and sleep. I had much to talk about but was a bit reluctant in risking matters, like asking her about the reasons why she accepted me. Were we acting quixotic? –I wondered. But then I did not want to let her give it a second thought as she might have changed her mind then. Alas! Right then she herself broke into the topic. She told me that she was a great admirer of my works in photography. She loved my sense of appreciating aesthetic values as it was very much in rhythm with hers. I was relieved, glad to know that indeed, real reasons existed. I wasn’t imagining, this was reality, I sighed.

A decade back, my first relation continued for four long years, not long enough though. Her name was Sarah Wayne. She was from the Trinidad Islands. I would prefer to avoid details as otherwise I’ll have to knit a whole network of happenings through these four years, which is rather not that interesting. Maybe for a romantic individual, it’s paradise but not for the average reader. My breaking up was dramatic. I would wishfully state that I was fortunate to experience some thing that makes hurting, sentimental and the “lived happily never after” movies. A drastic break in relations is precisely what I’m talking about.

It was raining that night, and I was celebrating my four years of a stable relationship, a bond now kept for four years, unlike the commons, in whose lives relations are made and broken each day. I wanted to see Sarah but my school walls restricted me. I had however, busted these bounds as the night grew grave. I tottered on to Sarah’s house, which was quite a distance to cover on foot. But my will was no less; it kept me going for the one I loved, for the one I lived. As I reached her house, my heart drummed a rock tune. I wanted to see her as happy as a sunflower smiling under the sunny sun. But, her parents weren’t home, and neither was she. Dripping in the rain I sat and awaited these sentimental moments when suddenly, a car stopped at a distance. This wasn’t her parent’s car; I knew they owned a different vehicle. I could vaguely make out the color, it was pink, rather raspberry pink. Who could own such a car? This wasn’t Las Vegas or Hollywood…This is Dehra’s little town! The only person belonging to Dehra who could own it could be the son of the Graphite Industrialists, the Malhotras- the city Romancer, “the rich and spoiled” as they say, behind him. I cared not to walk up and see who it was, but then I heard Sarah’s voice. Huh? -Was my first reaction. I could hear her clear through the rain; I was hyper sensitive to her voice as I found it distinctive, but not odd. I was sure she was not with her parents, and I hurried down the track to check if it was really her. No wonder it was the town romancer, Malhotra, making love to someone… how erotic! But as he moved, I saw her eyes, her face and she herself, lying below him, sunken deep in pleasure. A shiver ran down my whole body, I trembled in alarm. It was her!

There I stood in the rain, realizing reality. A moment back, I was celebrating, and here I was, looking at my life rip apart. I couldn’t help, but cried. She moaned, while I groaned. I did not have words, but felt my heart fall off my chest, which once beat the symphonies of pride. I did not react, but my eyes leaked a million tears, which dripped and blended into the rain pouring from above. I thumped on the glass windows, asking her what went wrong. I thumped harder on the window, but they cared not, if I existed, since such cheap pleasures had absorbed her sanity. I returned wet that night, less in the wetness of rain and more in the melancholy, which love offered in return. As a child then, I always thought being committed makes life harmonic. But I guess I was wrong. Love has eyes, sometimes blinded by lust. I feel obliged to pass this on to my fellowmen, who I believe were always smarter than me, they were the “commons”- Relations are made and broken each day, I was now a common. Metaphorically, I looked at it as a building being constructed. It took four years to build four stories and a moment to scatter in to a ruin, a demolished mass of memories, moments and all that love that I had for her. After all, it wasn’t who I was, but who I wanted to be like. I now wanted to take such relations as mere ways of recreating time. But I had no time now, I was to build my career. I recovered slowly, and in to a drastically intelligent lad, who found pleasure in observing aesthetics, but not touching them. School was tuff, but I had marked where I stood. I hated the opposite sex for a while, and this misogyny routed me to the study of Santayana’s philosophy, the sense of Beauty. I studied why, when and how beauty appears, what conditions must a being fulfill to be beautiful, what elements of our nature make us sensible of beauty, and what the relation is between a beings constitution and the excitement of our susceptibility.

Today I’m happy about what happened, as my parents stated that “we’re glad to see it happened within your early years, you would otherwise have been more attached mentally and such matters could even worsen and hurt you more”…

Roshni and I knew each other well, as we had worked together on different occasions for years. We had argued, quarreled but also understood each other. We knew how a relation needs to be founded and nurtured. I was less of an optimist now, I still assume that this new relation could break any moment, but I was to make it immune to external forces like lust, fortune and power. Today I had these three essentials and I was ready to sail and sink in love. With my mind struck in quandary, I touched to see if she was for real, indeed she was- I sighed. What a great day!

We woke Ria up and served he bed-breakfast. The fireplace was put to work again and we sipped on coffee. Ria was not exactly aghast on learning that me and Roshni were now in a relation. She was always like that, calm, idealistic, unlike her realist father, a journalist thus. The coffee was great, the air was light to breath, and everything else seemed equally beautiful. I shared all such feelings with her and she agreed of feeling the same. The crucial part was that we had loads to talk about. To talk about our lives, occupations, likings and dislikes, lifestyles we favored… and things to consider and compromise for harmony in our relation. At noon, we walked out into the sun filled sparkling lands of snow and went hiking up till the top, from where the green valley was visible on our front and on our rear was Dhanaulty, another hill station. On our way down, we observed the beauty of the Sun’s rays let in by the canopy tops of trees, cutting through the mystical haze and glittering on the snow below.

I Hope I Live By

Seasons change, time sways by,

Comes out the pain of waiting with a sigh.

Yes I will smile, but inside I’ll moan

Only my fake expressions that I will hone.

There is a face I will search for all around

I will be lost in thoughts so profound.

Once peace be gone, it won’t be found

Vain search for happiness, still I will cover the ground.

I hope I will survive these distant fears,

Seasons will change, time will sway by

I just hope I will live by

Words Oh Words!

If I could turn my feelings into words

I would have given it a sweet tone of chirping birds

Would have made the words fly

And touch the sky so high

But as I try to search for that perfect symphony

For that perfect harmony,

Words wage a war,

It all begins with a trumpet blowing so far

And I am ready to battle hard till several noons

If it assures a solution soon

But Alas! As they go for toss

I am the only one at loss

I can’t write with words so dead

Upon them let the vultures be fed

I will console my heart to find another way

To express what it has to say

Till then Oh my Heart!

Close your eyes, I will give you wings

And listen to the lullabies, while I sing

Till I find the perfect way

Till I find a perfect get away.

Holi Walk

Today is Holi, and people try to fill colours in their life by colouring each other. I do not know how much they succeed in doing that, but sure they try a lot. I like holi, but I like the eating part,  not the colour part. I don’t know what the problem is but people always colour my hair more than my face, and sometimes people touch some weird parts of my body that it would pass for a molestation case on any other normal day, but today is Holi, so they will tell you ‘Bura Mat Mano’. My Ass.

Anyways , so this time I thought of escaping the colour part. So I found a person who shared my views and we planned an early morning walk, and then to sleep in the morning(at our respective homes you naughty minds!) So was it, I woke up at 0500 hours sharp. Called him up and asked him to get ready. After 20 more minutes we were out on the road. We started to walk on our old jogging route (we scraped off jogging because of knee issues, getting old huhh…)

It was still dark and the breeze was cold, and fresh like the morning dew. Bhajans were rattling out from old speakers of some distant temples, it was wonderful. And we thought that we wont find many people on the road, and usually we never used to, but today we found not one or two but many of them. It turned out that everybody was going to the temple, all washed up and scented people this early in the morning, that means even God doesn’t get sleep the night before Holi. I was wondering, what would this just one day of extra special effort would do, is it enough to flatter god, or is this all a part of satisfying our own beliefs and fears. My friend said even God would say “ohh too many people, I cant concentrate on everybody so I will consider only ladies”. “Ladies with big boobs” I added. We saw some beautiful girls going inside that temple as well, and we did our daily chorus, that is to check out the girl and move on. After few more yards it was quiet again except few insomniac dogs and people carrying bottles, going for you know what.

Though we were not able to see the Sun, but we could sense its presence by the increasing daylight, but thank goodness the breeze was still full of oxygen and I was trying to fill my lungs with it every now and then. We found some cannabis plants on the edges of the road, well who said its illegal, we stuffed our pockets with the cannabis leafs, and started planning how to consume this passport to the third world. While planning all this we passed through two or three villages. And let me tell you that few people in the village have amazing houses, and I m not saying about their size only, it’s the architecture. I am not a qualified architect, but it looked cool and trendy. I and my friend were thinking do these people having such houses have any daughters, we can always marry them. My friend even designed a matrimonial advertisement for us. Young handsome boy, looking for a girl with rich father and no siblings!, colour, age, caste no bar. Any kind of disability will be accepted. Let me tell you I found it pretty awesome, and I think if anybody tried this trick, he would certainly find someone. You never know what a weird world this is.

Well sun was up in the sky and we could feel some wearing effect in our legs, after all we were walking for the past two hours, and trip was yet not over. Somewhere near 0700 hours we passed through another village, and few chirpy kids were waiting with their pichkaaris and colours for us to come near. We were not in a mood to finish the rest of the trip in wet clothes so first we told them not to do anything as we were sick (lame, even kids didn’t buy it) and the started shooting from their pichkaaris, we retreated a bit, and once they finished we knew it would take some time to re-fill those damn pichkaaris, so we ran ahead and tried to cross them before they do it again. But one of the kids was smarter than the rest, he took the bucket and tried pouring water  on us, we were fortunate to escape without any mark from that assault, but few others were not as we saw from far away those kids scaring big ones, for just one day. It followed with one of the many field stretches and the nice smell of earth and the wheat. In the village we could smell the smoke coming out of burning cow dung cakes. I love that smell, it reminds me of my own village and the simplicity of life. We saw women making fres cow dung cakes in the fields and the walls of their home. We women were sweeping and cleaning their houses. I cannot describe it completely as I cannot describe and add the background sounds at the same time, but believe me, it was soothing for the soul.

Now we were near our homes and still we had no clue about what to do with the leafs, so we decided to go to our smoking corner ask that guy what to do with it (one of the lame excuses we use, whenever we want to smoke). We reached their and helped ourselves with cigarettes and enquired about the consuming procedure, he told us to make bhang ke pakode and told us the pretty simple basic recipe. Well where can we cook those pakodas, certainly not our homes unless we wanted us to be kicked by parents. So we decided that we will think about it later, for now it was pretty late, and we both were tired and sleepy. And it was over three hours of continuous walking except for a couple of pee breaks. Well I came home, ate a bit and slept. Now its almost 1300 hours and I am still thinking what to do with the leafs. Happy holi people.

TUMMY MUMMY!!

As a girl passed me in the metro I became conscious about how good I look, do I look too bald from edges, does that shabby look really goes well or not and I don’t know what not. As I was going through all this I saw my tummy, which was bulging out(girls close your eyes!), well my tummy is not well flourished as you might be imagining right now but still at least its prominent presence cannot be denied. Let me confess I hate that part of my body. With first sight of my tummy my whole attention shifted from that girl to my tummy, and I was thinking, from where the hell it even appeared in first place? I never noticed, Oh God I am not being true. Well let me confess I saw it but ignored it. I started looking for reasons for that unwanted part. Is it due to the fact that I m not doing enough physical work? Or is it some kind of disease? Am I going too look like ‘old’ Adnan Sami in near future? Well I finally found the answer. None of the excuses worked, but at last I found one, my tummy is nothing but my mom’s love. I mean, my mother tries to feed me till I m full up to neck. In breakfast one extra chapatti, some extra milk, I asked her to pack four chapatti in lunch but I found five! That extra spoon of butter in my chicken, that special leg piece in dinner, five and one extra almonds just before hitting the sack. What do you expect after all this feeding, me to be lean as usual? Now way sir, that’s not going to happen, and that’s because of my mother. And I understood right there standing in the metro that my tummy was nothing but my mom’s love. And my little tummy is hiding my mom’s love affection and care in it. How can I hate it, nah not at all. Suddenly I breathed lots of air to inflate my tummy to its maximum, and I was proud of it, all smiling...

Women-Hole-Men

Usually, that is, in my normal senses I possess immense respect for women, or let’s say the whole female population. Though, I can confirm that my girlfriend wouldn’t agree with that. But even respectful objects can be seen in a funny way. I mean as a writer I always believe that writers should have the liberty to perceive this world in the way they want it and not the way world wishes them to. Before I start drifting away from my topic, let me start. Ahhh…Women, the ever mysterious, confusing and really from Venus, women. Sometimes I pity and sometimes I envy the women, and sometimes I feel both at a time when I see how much importance is given to women. I mean go to any college; you will see many teenaged boys staring at very few girls. Why don’t girls stare at us that way brothers? Why people admire the fact that a women plays many roles in their short life, like of a daughter, a sister, a mother, a wife, mistress! (most important one, which I almost forgot). Don’t men play different roles in their short life span? Like a son, brother, father, husband. But we never get any accolades for that. Why? Have you ever noticed the wide range of clothes they can choose from? And when I say wide range, I do not mean different types of colors or type of cloth, but different types of dresses. Like tank top, spaghetti top, capris, gowns, bikinis, and a hell lot many things which I don’t even know. Now this is a completely different topic that women look better without these stupid clothes. Think about men, more dresses for women means we will have to learn even more about how to undo them. This is kind of taking toll on men, and that’s one of the reasons, I suppose, why more men are turning to be gay. Because they just cant learn to undo so many different dresses. But can we men avail luxuries. How far we can go, coat, jeans, shirts, T-Shirts, and at most Lungis!! I don’t see any Beckham’s secret for men at present, nor in any near future. Why? Don’t we men like to wear clothes or is the Adam supposed to stay naked while Eve kills all the silk worms.

 Brothers, this is my opinion that women are taking undue advantage of our simplicity, innocence and big heart. No girls, if you don’t agree with my previous sentence, I can give you proof. First word is simplicity, ok, so when a guy has to fuck a girl, first he needs to flirt with her, then he is expected to impress her with some spectacular stunts, and then if luck really smiles on him he gets a chance to knock at the heaven’s door. But what if a girl desperately wants a guy in bed, all she needs to do is invite! Rest we take care of! See we are simple. Next word is innocence, why do you think we men get married, despite knowing the fact that after marriage, all possibilities of tasting different vaginas drop down to zero. And we all men know, what hell of a thing marriage is but we still do, because are innocence takes all the fake promises and dreams shown by girls seriously. See we are innocent. So last word is big heart…No one can deny the fact that even after marriage if a women comes and asks for help, we never can deny it. We men have the heart to love several girls and few women at the same time. And you thought I was kidding when I said men are simple, innocent and big hearted..uhh!

I think women can give pleasure on bed only, but there also god was not fair to the stronger sex. Just three holes! Can you imagine? As if this not already a bad thing, one hole is like floodgate, nothing can pass through it without damaging it, which girls certainly don’t want. And certainly won’t allow you to enter. And a research shows that only 45% of women give blowjobs! See even the second hole is gone gone gone! All we brothers are left with is one whole which stays closed for one week every month due to maintenance work, and another week if you argue with your women. Oh God, how cruel sometimes your justice can be. I mean you were the creator; you could have made at least seven holes. I am not asking for much, just a hole a day. Is it too much to ask? How did you even assume, leave alone turning it into a practical disaster that we could survive with just three gates to heaven, for whole our lives. Then we are blamed for ogling girls, what else do you think a grief stricken, dissatisfied, withered guy to do?

Brothers, I do not blame you, it’s just sheer bad luck which dooms our life forever. All I can tell you is go fuck as many as you can, go enjoy the body (her body stupid!) as much as you  can, before you are dragged in the hell of being with one women all your life.

If I didn’t stop now, I think my girlfriend is going to kill me for ignoring her over phone.

Good bye friends and good luck.

The Famous Indian Conundrum And Society

All is not well let’s face it. We have to use condoms. You think I have gone insane, no I have not. I have proper reasons and moreover statistical data also favour my verdict-we have to use condoms or we will definitely win the race of Highest Population, leaving behind China (which has three times more land than we have).  We have more mouths to feed than the hands contributing in country’s earning. Everybody today is talking about inflation, while shielding their hope that everything will be fine one day from the winds of the great Indian Conundrum.

In the current fiscal year the inflation rates have rode on double digit. If you observe the whole price index of food products, they have forced many people to ‘Adjust’. Many variables can be blamed for this food crisis like 1)Global situation(more specifically USA situation), 2)Government for letting millions sleep with empty stomachs even as fruits, grains and vegetables rot in government food storage rooms. 3) US- Yes we are also responsible for this crisis. Because we started ignoring it in the first place. It is a shame that a country which was called country of farmers is going through food crisis. Those who are not blinded by the 8% annual growth rate, will see that contribution of agriculture in net GDP is decreasing every year. At present its share is lingering around 15%, while at the time of independence it was healthy 55%. We are building IT cities and parks and what not, but who will make dams, canals and proper irrigation systems. What a pity that our agriculture system still remains monsoon dependent even in the new millennium. Consequences are also not unheard of- Farmers committing suicide, people leaving farming at all, people dying of hunger, increase in poverty. If we talk of the national consequences then we have a fresh example- RBI First Quarter Review of Monetary Policy for 2010-11. RBI has tried it’s best to control this maverick inflation but not without compromising on the growth rates. Reverse Repo Rates have increased by 50 basis points, public has been sacked from the credit, and industries are denied the liquidity they need to compete with global competitors. These are the small symptoms of a deep rooted disease. They demand action on multiple fronts ranging from PDS and liberalizing retail, which would ensure farmers and consumers fair prices. Government needs to get cracking on a whole range of unfinished business. Systemic lacunae need correcting to cushion inflationary impacts and sustaining high growth that’s necessarily inclusive. India’s future economic health as well as public health relies on it.

I will not end this article on a pessimistic note, having described the current glitches in Indian system which creates an illusion that we are heading towards doomsday, but trust me we are not. I can say that very boldly because I trust the “Society”. Every society in itself is a living organism, and we are the building units. No matter in what condition it is, it tries to adapt to work with optimum efficiency. There is no other answer for how people manage to live in India(If you use West as the as the measuring scale). How else can you answer the question, How despite of such high mortality rates, high inflation rates plus having one of the highest population density, and with other umpteenth problems we manage to increase our population by 2.2% every year. All these conundrums can be answered if you try to look at the larger picture. By above argument I am not at all saying what nowadays most of the people are saying “All is Well”. I am not an idiot.

Atheist O Atheist

This is one topic which attracts me almost every time, and why not after all this is my religion, and I try to learn as much as I can about it. And I want reasons, mind you right reasons to believe in it. Its wrong, to always justify your actions, but its human nature. Because it’s the presumption of righteousness in every action which would not be forgiven by the history.

But I am not here to talk about the right and wrong, but to satisfy my own need of satisfaction. In this modern India I have seen people trying to act as an atheist, just be in fashion. So that they don’t become outdated temple going simple guy. They perhaps don’t know what literally atheist means. Ask them and they will say atheists are those who don’t believe in God. But can you reject something which never existed? Let me have the privilege of explaining the point, because it’s the base. For example if I say that I don’t believe in mentodiagrama, a kind of element found rarely on earth. Now tell me what was the first question which came into your mind? Is there any element named mentodiagrama? But what is happening here I said I don’t believe in this element. Why my own statement is actually giving birth to this new element. Why my own negative statement is fuelling the existence of this element. How can the question of believing or not believing arise in respect of something which never existed? So my point is when an atheist says that he doesn’t believe in God, he is actually contributing in giving others a notion of doubt that something called God can exist.
When someone asks me do I believe in God, I have to say No. And that’s exactly where they see me in a different way (specially those old spiritual people). And believe it or not, it’s not a good way, they look at me. Someone taunted once that not believing in God won’t give you more credit. And all I could say was I know. But who the hell wants credit. Does that mean that those who believe get credit? Who says, credit my ass.
What do you think how old can atheism be? A modern subject for those who want to increase their cool quotient? No it’s not. I would like to give a small account of Amartya Sen, the Nobel laureate.
He writes in one of his books
“Since my childhood thoughts- for what they were worth- did not attract me at all to religion, I asked my grandfather whether I should be concerned that religion did not appeal to me. He told me, ‘No, in fact there is no case for religious convictions until you are able to think seriously for yourself – it will come with time.’ Since in my case it did not come at all (my scepticism seemed to mature with age), I told my grandfather, some years later, that he had been absolutely wrong. ‘Not at all,’ replied my grandfather, ‘you have addressed the religious question, and you have placed yourself, I see, in the aesthetic- The Lokayata- part of the Hindu spectrum!’”
So now I can proudly say that atheism in India is as old as Amrtya Sen. But no, its even more older. First let me expand Lokayata for you. Lokyata was a clan of people who had their doubts about any supernatural power or any special power in general. The active presence of atheism and and materialism could be felt in Ramayana (Rama and Javali conversation) and Geeta (Arjun Krishna conversations). Intricate arguments against Rama’s and Krishna’s orthodox views are elaborately accommodated and preserved in the body of the establish texts themselves. Even though orthodoxy is shown to win in the end, the vanquished scepticism lives on well conserved in the dialogic account. In Ramayana Javali is given a chance in the epic to spell out why he comes to that negative judgement: ‘ I am really anxious for those who, disregarding all tangible duties and work that lie within the province of perception, busy themselves with ethereal virtue alone. They just suffer various miseries on earth, preceding their annihilation by death’
The Lokayata philosophy of skepticism and materialism flourished from the first millennium BCE, and it was accepted by the Hinduism without any perceptions and assumption.


I would like to end this topic with the last lines of Vedas:-
Who really knows? Who will here proclaim it? Whence was it produced? Whence is this creation? The God came afterwards, with the creation of this universe. Who then knows, whence it has arisen.
Whence it has arisen- perhaps it formed itself, or perhaps it did not – the one who looks down in it, only he knows- or perhaps he does not know.
These 3500 year old doubts recur in Indian critical debates again and again. Indeed, Sanskrit not only has a bigger body of religious literature than any other classical language, it also has a larger volume of agnostic or atheistic writings than any other language.

Second dose of quotes

Hi friends, I am here with my second dose of quotes.

 Most of the times I envy the person who will finally get my Ex-Girlfriend, but sometimes I pity.

 I think I am in love again, nah not with a new girl but with my ex-girlfriend.
 You know who generally poke their nose in someone else’s business, those who have got a rather big nose.

 Apart from having some physical problems and few failures in life I think I have been lucky most of the times so far.

 It’s better to think that you are a stupid than to think you are a genius, because that’s not at all true.

 I am living a dream, not a life, but a dream, shattered one.

 I just wish I lived in a world which gave at least death if asked for.

 Why girls blame food for weight gain problem, better blame higgs boson!

 Life looks like a big question mark, the more I stare at it, the more puzzling it becomes.

 Sometimes silence screams so loudly that eyes see nothing but darkness, heart wishes nothing for but death

 Death is something that i would accept as the loveliest gift from GOD

 Its not that sweetness always tastes sweet, sometimes it tastes bitter than any truth, sour than any poison

 its true love has given pain...but i never enjoyed pain this much before.

that's all for now till my brain starts wriggling again...

But Only Sometimes

I feel the world breathing its ugliness into my mind.
I feel the evil spirit of indecision eating at my soul.
I feel the nightmares of misty voices of faces I can not find.
I feel the day's emptiness of a forgotten life taking its tool.But only sometimes.
When I'm alone I hear the unspoken word of a friendly foe.When I'm alone I hear nothing but the footsteps of my own fleeing sanity.
When I'm alone I hear the voice of the child, “Say it isn't so.”
When I'm alone I hear the the insults of my own vanity.
But only sometimes.
When I'm with you, you say you love me, but my mind does not compute it.
When I'm with you, a room cluttered with chairs separates us from the truth.
When I'm with you feelings of sorrow give it proof.
I hear friends speak of nothing on the realm of the happy kingdom.
I hear the sounds of laughter coming from very corner.
I hear the waves of friendly salvation as the rising of the sun.
I hear the voice of the child saying, “Come home, sweet Martyr.”
But only sometimes.
Sometimes I'm weak.
Sometimes I'm strong.
Sometimes I see.
Sometimes not.
Nothing lasts forever.

A nice poem..no this time I haven't written it

Given that We're Happy to Be Here

Given that we're happy to be here,
Remember what we're gaining and we're losing.
Admittedly, the moment is confusing,
Demanding sad farewells and well-earned cheer.
Underneath the moment is the motion,
A silent passage out to open sea,
Taking place regardless what may be
In front of us, a ritual commotion.
Of what we are, but little will remain,
Nor will we ever come this way again.

Divisions & Multiplications

Though I don’t like to write on political matters but I am trying to experiment with everything.Here is one such endeavour

DIVISIONS AND MULTIPLICATIONS

When I was in 3^rd standard in Maths there used to be a chapter Division and Multiplication. At that time I never thought it would be used so extensively. But now after 61 years of freedom (approx) that chapter has found its application in dividing the country and multiplying everything from population to prices. Gorkhaland looks a weird name to be a state, but it is possible, quite possible. Well, I have built my own land…Fantasyland. Would you like to have a look? Here we go!

THE FANTASYLAND

In Fantasy land the Indian government has finally given the freedom to make their own countries, to disintegrate the whole country in many smaller countries. People have already started coming up with their wished country. Bengalis already address West Bengal as “amar desh”. So no doubt they would ask for one. This how Left will announce the new country. “Today on this glorious day let me announce that this is our country…”AMAR DESH” BENGAL! No east no west, just the great Bengal. Bangladesh our neighboring country is like our sister (girls still are supposed to have lesser freedom, and strength!). And China is our alma mater, our father. Communism in our new country would ensure that increasing US effects are properly avoided (In short developments would be fewer, say almost negligible). China has already donated a huge sum for the development of the great Bengal!

Jammu and Kashmir has already seen pools of blood oozing out of their lands to cling on to the present India. Few people out their have still not forgotten the way India had intruded into their COUNTRY on the basis of a small agreement (which didn’t even allow India to unfurl their flag on their land). Betrayed, that’s the one word they use. Pakistani protégé party just like the Chinese protégé Lefts would rule, new militant camps would be opened to increase the employment rate in the new country. And in this way population would always be in control as well. Democracy would be kicked and people donning defence uniforms would limit the people’s freedom This time Pakistan would be the father.

With Shivsena stomping effects in Maharashtra definitely an new country would pop out of that part of the present country. Bal Thackrey would be the head, until his death, and after that his family would rule. For now the new ruler of Maharashtra would be called King Bal Thackrey. Uddhav and Raj would become prince! Valentine’s Day would be strictly banned. Anybody found with anything related to that holy day would be executed. “Love should be inside the bedroom not outside” that would be the message of the King for his public! Muslims and Biharis would be beaten and locked into the jails and secretly they would be executed one by one. US would be condemned in public but not when the King would drink expensive US brand wines.

North East part is already an isolated one, I have no doubt they would demand for a separate country, probably known as NAGALAND! Here also Biharis would be executed. Tourists would be banned, or if allowed they would be left on roads to decide their trip. Dogs would enter into the endangered species.

That’s it I don’t have the courage to play this cruel game of divisions and multiplications. I cant see unity in the diversity, only diversity in diversity. Isolations from all the sides, classifications on the basis of religion and region, that’s what I see. When British’s East India Company perched on our land there was no single country India, but countless small countries already weak by the regional wars. Divisions and Multiplications! And now again a country whose existence was not even known before its independence, is about to loose its existence once again. History is on the verge to repeat itself.The only question is can we stop it?

EXITING FANATSYLAND

Hey Time..Lets take a walk

I have opened MS word, but I really don’t know what I want to write. I am going, really I am. How does it feel? Bad, for leaving everything, every single thing which till now acted like my life support system. Friends…it’s hard to leave them, to tell yourself that you won’t even see most of them again. It’s like trying to erase something written by pen. Leaving those girls who never came so close, but never went that far as well, hope to date with them would go down with the first step in the train(stop laughing!). With that first step, with that new beginning, several things would end, several parts of my stories would find solace in the history. Just 20 days, that’s all I am left with. Time is too short. I needed some more time, to finish off few things, to meet my old buddies, meet few people around me. Tell them how much I respect their presence in my life, how much I would miss them. Even these songs are not making things easy. Every time I try to look at the blinking cursor, my vision gets blurred, the head as well. Circling memories cover up the whole memory like pregnant clouds of monsoon cover the sky. I close my eyes; try hard to listen to my heart beats, just to assure myself I m alive. I wish I could say some last few words to few people long gone. I wish I could complete those unfinished sentences, say some words who are still finding a base to stand upon. I wish time slows down like any slow motion movie clip, for I want to live these moments more than time is allowing me. Lets stretch the time a bit more, for I want to travel a bit more on the road of time with my friends and family around me. It looks like suddenly someone has pushed me out of my shell. I wish I could sleep a bit more in the soothing darkness of comfort before standing alone in the sunshine, alone, absolutely alone. I wish I could spend some more time before scripting a new beginning. A new beginning is about to begin, like a sunshine and I have shrunk my self to the comforting shadows of past, making sure this new sunshine doesn’t touch me anywhere. I wish I could say a little more than I have, for my heart is full of thoughts, but words have refused to give me a company. Fingers are finding it hard to type, as the numbness had made the movements sluggish. Its like I m dragging my fingers just like dragging myself to keep up with time…a constant war, and a constant defeat. Brad Paisley still singing I Live For Little Moments Like That….

A short Story

I love writing stories, my few friends already know that. So here is my new story. Its basically about the village and a villager. Just because I have returned from my village, don't think the story has anything to do with it, the story was in the head, village gave me the suitable plot. Here is the story.

ELEPHANT OR FATE?

Night was beautiful, darkness ruled on the streets, but inside the corridor which people call ‘dalaan’ here was illuminated by a lantern, attracting different kinds of flies and moths. On the greasy old wall above my head a lizard had just gobbled a fly. In front of my eyes a man was sitting who was about to become my story’s central character. He was a short man right now slouched in his old chair coated with a greasy layer of all day’s sweat and dirt shining in the dim light of lantern. Tiny beads of sweat made his nose look nauseating, probably he used his nose to make oil, at least it looked like that— an old oil factory. His nostrils used to tighten up everytime he stared at me as if he used his nose to see me. He was bald on top but still was left with some crop on the outskirts of his shiny (One more object in the shiny list!) crown. I had given him his due name Mr. Frog, shiny yet creepy.

Mr. Frog is known as Mahesh ji in the village, one of those very influential people of the village. He had well enough money, land pieces and long enough contacts! I was visiting my village after a long time so he had invited me on dinner. No way I could have refused, after all he was the powerful…the stronger one here. I reached for dinner just in time, but dinner reached an hour late just like the trains of Bihar. I didn’t eat much, hence was finished with my dinner when Frog was starting his 3^rd chapatti. In village strange customs rule like a never ending contagious hope. And one of them is that you are not supposed to leave the table before everybody is finished especially when you are the younger one. I was left with no option other than watching him eat his food; tongue comes out, wraps around the bite in his hand and swallows the whole—perfect frog!, I thought. But believe me he was not as bad as he looks to be. He cracked jokes in between, laughed and then expected me to laugh on those already umpteenth time heard jokes. During the dinner he told me about his farms, revenues, contacts and offered me his free help as well, which I just wondered where would I need.

He also told me about his son who was in fifth class(that’s means around eleven years old I calculated), bright…very bright as he had described his son, but there were some fears lingering around the corners of his eyes clearly visible even in the dim light of the lantern. Reason was there as well; his boy’s health was the subject of concern these days. Initially he thought Bihar’s loo had kissed his son, and the effect would fade away in 2-3 days, he tried all the villagish methods of curing loo, but nothing worked like the cure was sleeping in the darkest corner of the earth. Several hakeems and vaids had visited his son and asked him to swallow different things from weird bitter roots and leaves to strange smelling ash powders. Nothing worked, no one stayed. I expressed my concern for his child, which I admit was not totally genuine, and departed from his dalaan.

Next whole day I kept meeting new people, various unknown faces eager to watch a city guy. As if in cities people live with few extra eyes and ears. Only when darkness had announced its arrival on the village streets I was given the privilege of being alone on my dalaan. My head was buzzing with words, with blurred faces I had seen all day. I saw Mahesh ji passing by, eyes stressing hard to see the path in the darkness, taking long strides, and hands moving with legs in perfect symphony. He saw me sitting alone at the dalaan and for a moment he stopped, a familiar fear was still in his eyes. Undecided he looked at me and then probably decided against of whatever he wanted to tell me, I didn’t stop him. Few more steps and he stopped again; he came back and said “My son’s health has deteriorated since last night, so I am going to Pandit Yashu Maharaj”. Pandit? I screeched, this was my first reaction and then in a bit lowered voice I asked adapting a sarcastic tone in my voice “Don’t you think you should go to a doctor?” “Doctors are real illiterates; they don’t know anything, only Pandit ji can ask God to save my child, would you like to come with me?” I nodded and followed him. This time I really wanted to see how God treats a boy. This sheer curiosity of watching villagish trends made me follow Mr.Frog.

Pandit ji came, wearing a dhoti, his huge tummy attracted all the attention, still panting as Mahesh ji made him jog from Pandit ji’s house to his own dalaan, and started looking at the now unconscious child. After a long time he asked is the boy still alive? Mahesh ji lowered his head and placed his ear on the boy’s chest and after few seconds said “yesyes he is alive, I can hear his fain heart beats”

“What is your boy’s name?” Pandit ji asked again? “Ganesh”. “Hmmmm…”he said in a tone as if he had caught the bug and continued “Now I understand the whole story. See your name is Mahesh, Shiva, the lord of destruction and recreation and your son’s name is Ganesh. Probably God needs some kind of service from you for using his name. Do one thing Mahesh buy an elephant and start taking care of him, and see the magic, life would wash your boy’s face” Hands joined in front his chest, back slightly bowed out of respect Mahesh agreed, and for me all this was nothing but utter nonsense. How can an elephant save a boy’s life?

Next day I saw crowd flowing towards the ancestral garden of the village, popularly known as “Bageecha”. Even I accompanied the rest of my family members. A small crowd had already gathered around a huge…huge black as black elephant. Pandemonium was becoming intolerable now. Elephant was fully grown up, he was decorated with rice-powder. I don’t know who the beautician was, but make up was impressive, especially around the eyes, it made him look a heavenly creature. Name was a big question, after several rejections Mahesh ji agreed on the name ‘Gajraj’. The crowd expressed their happiness, some people demonstrated their whistling skills, some limited their happiness to occasional ‘Ho-Hos’. Gradually the crowd dispersed and even the elephant looked relieved now. That day nothing occurred to me but while having my dinner I saw another lizard, this time on the wall of my room gobbling a mosquito and a question flashed in my head “what about Ganesh, did this elephant trick really cured him?” I wanted answers, so enquired my brothers, to my surprise the answer was YES, they had seen the same Ganesh playing with some other village boys in the Bageecha. Was it a coincidence, or really the elephant affected the child’s health, I have no answers, neither I have any suitable logic to produce, it just happened so.

Days passed and smile on Mr. Frog’s face had come back, smiling Frog looks better I used to think whenever I saw Mahesh ji. Who knew the seeds of destruction were sown by the invisible hands of destiny when everybody was busy reaping the benefits of glory. An elephant is after all an elephant, his meals also matches its huge shape. Meals were huge as well. What Mahesh ji and his son would have eaten in 1 week, the elephant used to eat in one day. Few days later even Mahesh ji started feeling the weight of elephant on his cotton money bag. The elephant’s tummy expanded and the cotton money bag shrunk further, deflated like a punctured balloon. This reverse elephantiasis had started showing its affect, smile faded as swiftly as it had come. Mr. Frog was left with the ever loyal fear. Fear of losing, losing money, money needed for life, life money. Money life, all these words used to dance in the dark corner of his brain. Within a month cotton bag was empty and Mahesh ji decided that since boy was perfectly alright, there is no need of the elephant any more. The elephant was sold, Mahesh ji was relieved, more so because his son was fine even after the departure of the elephant. Whole village started guessing the fate of Mahesh ji and his son. Few said his son would die, few said he shan’t have sold the elephant, few expressed their sympathy for the situation in which Mahesh ji was. It had become the hot burning topic in the chit chats. From sas bahus, old under-the-tree card players, farmers, everybody was discussing just one thing, the fate, fate of a person. Speculations were high, on stake was nothing just one life, one story. No one cared who would die who would gain who won’t, what mattered was who guesses it right.

On the fourth day, it was Ganesh Chaturthi, I was having my fresh breakfast, my brother’s only son came running and said Ganesh died, hurry, Ganesh died. First I couldn’t believe my ears, but it really happened, Ganesh died. What is this, a coincidence again, is it possible? No one had a clue how Ganesh died, not even Mahesh ji. He died while sleeping, closed his eyes, never to see the world again. Howling women circled the dead Ganesh. Though Ganesh was motherless ever since he announced his existence, people say his mother couldn’t even hear the first cries of Ganesh. But suddenly after death he had found several mothers to mourn on his death. Funeral process started, Pandit Yashu Maharaj started chanting mantras and shlokas with supreme expertise. This time there was not much chaos; crowd was there, but no pandemonium. None of the Mahesh ji’s high contacts were present, money had already dried, the black elephant had suck all of it, fields were standing right where they were, smiling with the waves of winds. For few days whole village renounced spicy food as a ritual. Food used to be simple khichdi, only with some very basic ingredients. Days passed and I didn’t see Mahesh ji.

Finally the day came when I had to leave for my city. I woke up a bit early as I had to pack my scattered belongings. Train’s arrival time was 3.26 pm, so at noon after having an early lunch I was all set to go, but before that I needed to meet few people for the last time. I met many people, again many unknown faces and a series of pranams’ and Kush rahos’. But I didn’t meet Mahesh ji, just couldn’t gather the courage, just couldn’t find the correct words to console him.

My brother was standing at the door with his jeep parked on the roadside. I threw my only luggage, an airbag inside the jeep and as I turned to see the village for the last time(at least for the time being) I saw Mahesh ji passing by slowly with a lota in his hand. Clothes were not as good as the first day when he had invited me on dinner. Dirt coating was evident on the dhoti; socks were bearing huge holes near the toe part. Long dried tears had made a passage on his cheeks like the silky shiny path a snail leaves as it crawls. His back was bent slightly, this time not out of respect, but because of the burden of the elephant and his son’s fate. But one thing hadn’t changed, the shine of many ingredients of summer on his body, in fact it looked as if an extra coating of mourning had made him shine even more. Beads of sweat were still present on his nose just like the loyal fear, which was still residing inside the shallow Mahesh ji. Many people called him, but he kept walking as if he was deaf. I jumped inside the Jeep and suddenly Jeep’s engine came to life. We were moving, when we reached a bit far I saw a figure walking slowly across the fields, holding something in his hand, we both were moving away from each other. And I had just one question in my head was it the elephant or the fate?

The Devil Is BACK!

Yes! I am back after a short trip and a long drive...really long drive. I mean 1038 Kms isn't short is it? How was the trip? You need not ask, it was good in many ways, and probably all the ways. I have come back from there with loads of good good memories in my bag, fresh air in my lungs, eye opening truths in my head...and many more things lets say etcetra etcetra! For now this is more than enough...coz right now after the back breaking drive all I need is a sound sleep. Keep looking I have loads to post.Bye-Bye for now.

Bye-Bye for sometime

Few of my friends have gone on a trip to Manali, but no I am not one of them.I am going to my village, almost after six long years. So no need to say I am excited, but not as excited as I would have had I gone with my friends to Manali. My friends are there in cool weather, watching snow, and here I am about to face the Bihar's loo hot hot music! This is not fair, but who said life is fair!

I just hope that it would bring the much needed welcome change in my life. With all my friends away I do nothing except playing games, chatting and a bit of book reading, gradually all this was becoming a bit boring, and I hate boredom in my kingdom. Probably this small village trip would help...I hope so.

But yeah I would miss few things, like my super selector contest(no internet there), Discovery Channel, My Blog. But I have to go, so Bye-Bye Miss Blog(yeah my blog is like my girlfriend, thats why I am using 'Miss'!) Miss You...Love You(whispering).
Cya all after sometime!
Bye-Bye

Lets Try Again

Feeling so sad, so blue
if you only knew
all that i'd do
not to lose you
my heart's in pain
no sunshine just rain
a tear stain
i'm going insane
you can save me
just try to be
not you and i, but we
together you see
the hurt is real
my soul you kill
my spirit you steal
and yet i feel
locked in your heart
can't break apart
or know where to start
its abstract art
complex at best
is there any rest
is this a test
were on a quest
can we last
and let go the past
our love's been cast
and true and vast
we can withstand
the test of time and
of each other demand
love thats grand
respect, honesty
patience, humility
compassion, loyalty
infinitely, all eternity.