Futile fluttering of tired textbooks!Music to my ears!

The crusade against Pumpkin Spice Latte and why Chihuahuas need to be exterminated: A Pragmatic Approach

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Sat, 27 Sep 2014 03:34:00 +0000

The planet revolves, seasons change and leaves turn brown/red/yellow/gold, only to get ready to rot in the cold rain and snow. It doesn't sound like a jolly season. Quite the opposite, dull and dreary...and chilly. But these Americans surely do a good job to make it feel happy and festive.... with caramel and candy, turkeys and Thanksgiving. The air smells like maple syrup and shops are decorated using fake cobwebs and skeletons. There's an entire day (preceded by 2 months) of cheerful ghoulishness and kids demanding more corn syrup to fuel themselves on their way to obesity. But the most abhorrent harbinger of this season of earthy tones is a completely unnecessary infiltration by pumpkins. Everything edible needn't be available in pumpkin flavour (or flavor) and Pumpkin Spice Latte is an outrageous crime against taste buds and sensibility. This drink of the Fall season is nothing but an indicator of the astronomical fall of society's gastronomical standards. If there's a grande-sized movement to ban Pumpkin Spice Latte, elect me as the crusader-in-chief and watch me convert the agitation to a venti-sized war. It is clearly the most revolting drink served at Starbucks and my disgust towards it comes a close second to my disgust towards this dog breed (?) called Chihuahua.

Don't get me wrong, I am what they call a tree hugger and an animal petter. I try to keep my carbon footprint smaller than a Chihuahua footprint. I will go out of the way to sign up for the conservation of the dung beetle or the pygmy hippopotamus and I also think that dogs are the second cutest living things on our planet (human babies come first...I tend to be partial toward my own kind). But 'dogs' is the keyword here. I refuse to believe that Chihuahuas belong to the canine family. They are rodents which have been wrongly classified by a myopic taxonomist.

Chihuahuas are inherently evil. Have you seen them snarl? It is not only an ugly sight but also something that makes you think about the utter uselessness of this breed. A breed that has no capability of causing any physical harm shouldn't possess the ability to snarl. Look at cats! They mean business and they can maul you to shame. Why should anyone fear something that is smaller than a pumpkin (pardon my reference) and sits in a handbag and cowers? And why do people want a dog that is weak, can't walk and trembles at the sight of everyone? Forgive me for generalizing, but I haven't come across a Chihuahua owner who is an asset to the society. I may be wrong but the general trend is that Chihuahuas are as hopeless as their blonde owners who try to compete with their dogs in terms of size by virtue of intentional malnutrition. Perhaps, they think it is necessary to have laps as feeble as the chihuahua shaking on them.

I am all for humaneness but nobody wants to live in a house infested by vermin. If chihuahuas can continue to exist, why do you exterminate pests like rats? More chihuahuas would mean more Paris Hiltons and do we really want to go down that road?

Olé Olé Olé Olé

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 23 Jun 2014 21:04:00 +0000

If Rajdeep Sardesai could have his way, he would declare himself as the 'Newsmaker of the Day' and interview himself for being Rajdeep Sardesai. Thankfully, he doesn't have time for that in Brazil. He chose to fly to Brazil with his family because he likes football (or perhaps he did not want to be the only Goan not flying to Brazil) and someone told his wife that she is supposed to host a show called, 'Face the Pitbull'. The show mainly involves Sagarika Ghose and Pitbull screaming incoherently for 45 minutes. The six MLAs from Goa have reportedly paid from their own pockets to secure front row seats.

The less fortunate do not have such exciting sources of entertainment. They are forced to choose between watching Liam Neeson save daughters and watching a bunch of super heroes save New York City from utter annihilation on their 72" TVs. Yes, everyone has been compelled to buy a 72" TV by the new Modi sarkaar. How else are we supposed to watch our 56" ka seena PM usher in achhe din if he doesn't fit on our TV screens?

However, the World Cup (henceforth referred to as WC) has offered a new alternative for entertainment . Too bad people have to tolerate John Abraham on their brand new television sets. There's good news for Jon Snow though.... he now knows that he is not the only Jon who knows nothing. Speaking of knowing nothing, Subramanian Swamy has declared that the sport of football has Hindu origins. It is called football because it originated in the foothills of the Himalayas; where sadhus kicked pebbles when they weren't bathing in the Ganges. He further added that it should be the national sport of Virat Hindustan. Virat Kohli has taken offence to this suggestion and has issued a brief statement, "What WC? BC MC". He is livid because he was told that football players are more promiscuous than he is....

Swamy has applauded the involvement of Shakira in WC tournaments because the name Shakira is derived from the Sanskrit word 'Sharkara', an allusion to the sugar production of Colombia. He has promised to unearth secret files which prove that Sharad Pawar owns all the sugar factories in Colombia. This has triggered a series of hashtags on Times Now- #shamegame #beautifulorshameful #soccerorsugar .

This is top class entertainment even for a tournament that returns after 4 years. For the uninitiated, 4 years is a unit of time longer than 1 UNESCO. 1 UNESCO is the period between two points of time when Indians suddenly discover that 'UNESCO has declared the Indian National Anthem as the best in the world'. 1 UNESCO = 3 Kejriwals; where 1 Kejriwal is the period between 2 dharnas and so on....

So, Mr. Sardesai, you needn't travel to Brazil for experiencing the WC. Millions are glued to their television sets and simultaneously reading up on Bosnia and Herzegovina (while thanking Wikipedia). Of course, they won't be able to see Yo Yo Honey Singh rapping about the water at Copacabana Beach. Sigh... OK, you do have an advantage over the rest of us.

I dread to think of the void in our lives after the WC. In a matter of 1 Kejriwal, people will go back to instagramming meals and ranting over Candy Crush requests. Dull thing life is... where's Rahul Gandhi when we need him most?

Coniferae

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Tue, 01 Apr 2014 00:03:00 +0000

Coniferae

Look outside the window,

The pine tree with a million needles,

Needles that glisten at their tips,

With a million beads of raindrops,

Trace the drop that darts down,

Toward the gnarly roots,

Roots that are strong and old,

Immovable like truth,

The narrow trail winds around,

This ancient knotted wood,

Wood that has weathered,

Decades of winter rain,

Go down this muddy trail,

Into the misty forest,

The forest that is home,

To a million pine trees,

Further down the misty path,

Hear the waterfalls gushing,

Waterfalls that plunge down cliffs,

And echo through the hills,

Look up at the tallest branches,

Which hide a stormy sky,

A sky that is rumbling,

With a billion more raindrops.

-Hardik Kothare

The Crime Of Being

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Wed, 29 Jan 2014 08:30:00 +0000

The Crime Of Being

To err is human they say,

To sin is a ticket to hell,

But why is it a crime to be,

Could someone pray tell?

Some are more equal than others,

Some are unduly immoral,

And what gave us the right to decide

What's proper and what's abnormal?

You join hands in prayer,

You kneel down on your knee,

Being human is much simpler,

When you let others be,

Search all you want for righteousness,

There's no way we are agreeing.

Because you wish to punish someone,

For the crime of being.

-Hardik Kothare

Self Checkout

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Sat, 25 Jan 2014 07:13:00 +0000

Step one, you say, "I need to eat."

You walk, you say, "I just need to eat."

The fridge smiles back at you.

You stare aghast right on through.

You had shopped just the other night.

And now you have this empty sight.

With all the money you had spent,

You begin to wonder where it went.
(sing to the tune of How To Save A Life - The Fray)

Being out of groceries heralds two waves of emotions. The first one is a tiny surge of irritation because of the fact that you are so hungry that you could eat a Hippogriff (sorry for the Potterhead vocabulary... hunger brings out the magic in your thoughts). The second wave is quite complex because it involves diametrically opposite ideas. Episodes of extreme lethargy at the prospect of actually going out to buy food for yourself , with intermittent episodes of excitement because we all have a dog inside us and dogs love going out for walks...er drives.

After spending a quarter hour going around the parking lot, you finally see this Toyota Sienna pulling out of a spot. Your joy knows no bounds and suddenly the song on the radio seems catchier than ever. Your fingers tap away to glory on the steering wheel and then it comes.... Young little mommy had pulled out the car only to realign it in the parking space. If finding a parking space tops the list of your woes, navigating through a sea of obesity astride motorized shopping carts clinches the silver medal. Yeehaw! 'Murica rocks! Awwwwww yea! If you thought South Park-esque nightmares were impossible, then Thumper the ski instructor ki kasam, 'you're gonna have a bad time' (in his own words). Thankfully, I don't encounter them inside the store because they are usually found blocking traffic ( a la Ranade Road, Dadar, Mumbai - 400028) in aisles selling carbonated drinks of every colour, flavour, size and sugar content.

Add a sprinkling of screaming kids trying to run away from their parents because they see a cartoon character sell their favourite cereal and voila, you have the perfect recipe for chaos. Some parents prefer keeping their kids on a tight leash (literally...cruel cruel world) while they go about buying their soy milk, kale and gluten free tidbits dressed in gym apparel. Some others place their kids in shopping carts and bury them under rolls of toilet paper and boxes of Mac and Cheese by the time they reach the checkout. Some little tyrants escape and play with the doors in the frozen food section. Some choose to open the doors and sit amidst green peas, corn or fish fingers and their fathers push carts while displaying tremendous pride for local sports franchises (loose fit jerseys/baggy shorts/baseball caps).

In the produce section, you always find more people around you, trying to buy the same stuff that you wish to buy. This is primarily because most people are comfortable with fruits and vegetables that are commonly known. There are more people around spinach and lettuce than rutabaga and arugula. However, every vegetable needs to be soaked wet by sprinklers every 10 minutes. But another thing that is shockingly common in the produce section is gun-toting, truck-driving dads in their early 20s. Living in red necked Arizona has been absolutely delightful ( every intention of being sarcastic ) because people carrying loaded handguns are like paan stains on a Mumbai local platform - ubiquitous and revolting. As ubiquitous as the mass produced specimens of 'Murican youth chanting their powerful one worded mantra- 'Like... Like.... Like'. The male of the species can be spotted wearing a tank top and carrying a beer keg/ 6-pack. The female of the species can be spotted wearing long boots from the months of October to February. They are usually seen clicking selfies using their white iPhones with pink cases. Especially in the aisle that sells bottled water.

As you push your wobbly cart (which seems to be the noisiest in the entire store) absent-mindedly (thinking about life, the universe and everything), the reality that you are the only brown person around strikes you hard (no, I don't think hispanics are brown). Suddenly, you feel bad about the only lime in the heap of lemons in front of you. And you also become aware that you have walked for a mile down the wrong aisle. The sugar had always been in the next aisle.

As you steer through stacks of 'Special Super Bowl Sale' snacks (arranged in increasing order of percentage of saturated fat), you begin counting the number of items in your cart. 12, phew! Too many for self checkout but good enough for the 15 items or less lane. The cashier insists that you exchange pleasantries. She also reminds you that you are entitled to a huge discount if you buy 10 wine bottles at $ 6.99 each. You have started zoning out by now. A refreshing outing has turned back into a tedious chore. You regret not opting for the self checkout lane. Having swiped your credit card, you sincerely wish that the checkout assistant (who is now placing a gallon of milk on a dozen eggs) gets sealed in a glass jar that is tucked away on the top shelf of aisle number 3.

Wisps

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 13 Jan 2014 22:55:00 +0000

Floating isn't a habit. It is second nature. The deep blue skies have been left far behind; and the wind pushing this tiny white wisp has been blowing ever since the sun started descending in its foreground. A mere breeze that won't turn into anything stronger...but a steady driving source. Thousands of feet above the ground, life is serene.....save the steady flapping of migratory birds and an occasional metal roar of a disdainful attempt to establish supremacy in this vast emptiness.

The black monstrosity looming on the horizon has its talons drawn. A sure sign of the storm to come... Every now and then, the sun peeks out of the towering structure through windows tinted red, orange and gold. Headlights have started twinkling on the freeways below. Everyone is scurrying around...trying to reach their destinations. The wisp is no different as it wafts doggedly westwards.

Hundreds of snowy white tufts have joined the march. Lightning dazzles the western sky... a welcoming gesture. The storm cloud has puffed up and now rumbles threateningly. It will be hours before the wisps are embraced by the monster to start a new chapter. Ironically, the sun has set...and everything has plunged into darkness. The splendid display of lightning and thunder will fizzle out after a shower or two. And the wisps? There will be more tomorrow.... drifting in empyrean blue....in search of the silver lining that everyone talks about.

Goodbyes

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Fri, 03 Jan 2014 22:42:00 +0000

Goodbyes

And as we enter,

The last long mile,

Times we remember,

As we abseil,

Down the cold hard rock,

We called a year,

Hands of the clock,

Are painfully near,

The moment when you sigh,

And close your eyes,

Ask yourself why,

It's hard to say goodbyes,

A mere point in time,

You say,

Yet as bells chime,

And sway,

Hearts leap,

For we know,

Hope seeps deep,

And joins the flow,

Of memories good and bad,

Through purple skies,

Why is it so hard,

To say goodbyes?

-Hardik Kothare

Of Democracy, Debuts and Debacles

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 09 Dec 2013 23:00:00 +0000

After 10 months of dormancy, my fingers were itching for some action with the keyboard; though I would partly attribute it to the freezing temperatures that the Arctic winds have brought into North America (It is cold. Do not judge me.). A breath of fresh air on my blog was long overdue, just like the breath of fresh air that has galvanized millions of armchair political pundits. In our country, having a political opinion and bashing everyone else with a contrary opinion is as normal as not observing lane discipline. And it is time to grab buckets of popcorn (roasted chana, if you please) because we are way past the opening credits of Episode MMXIV: A Newer Hope.

If you peruse the archives of my blog, much webspace has been dedicated to the travails of Mango Man. So, some of these Mango Men decided to come together and form a political party for cleaner politics and better governance. My loyal readers (don't smirk...I am told there are a couple of them) would know that it is something straight out of my wishlist for a utopian India. It is my opinion that contesting elections, winning and walking the talk to make a difference is the only way to 'clean the system'. I apologize to the 'sit in front of the television set, yell and then sigh' vote bank. No, screaming out, "they are all gundas" does not make a difference. I hate to break it to you.

I cannot but express extreme delight at the beauty of Indian democracy where it is still possible to come out of nowhere, gain people's trust and bag a sackful of seats. Congratulations to the AAP and their incredible performance in their first elections! They have reiterated through their success that democracy is a potent weapon and can be used for the right purposes. But should I call it victory? I do not wish to sound skeptical (growing up in a country where you see your representative once every 5 years makes you a thoroughbred skeptic) but what exactly are we going to see next? If it is indeed the 'Aam Aadmi' Party, do they want to burden the Aam Aadmi with another round of elections? A hung assembly is nobody's mistake but everybody bears the brunt of this political helplessness.

Having said that, am I the only one around here who thinks that this was just a flash in the pan? I still believe that although the idea behind AAP makes perfect sense, the media has wielded all its power to convert this political party into a bandwagon for hipsters. Does the party leadership really have a plan for transparent governance or is it just a bag full of promises and wishes with zero deliverables? Many have made tall claims and the voters trusted these claims. Is it a gleam of hope for people who voted for AAP or is it our version of 'Yes, we can!'? Because 5+ years after a lot of 'Yes, we can'ing haven't helped much. But anything to see people come out and vote in large numbers.... AAP, you have done a good job there.

However, what the AAP has managed to do is overshadow BJP's amazing sweep in 3 of the 5 states and one 'almost victory'. Let us not forget that they fought anti-incumbency in Madhya Pradesh and Chhatisgarh, took the Rajasthan assembly by storm and managed to emerge as the clear leader in the race for Delhi. It may not be an absolute majority, but being the single largest party deserves some credit. Mr. Kejriwal likes to say that the people of Delhi have emerged victorious and they have rejected the Congress-BJP style of politics. How can he say that people have rejected the BJP when the NDA has 4 more seats than his party? So, Mr. Kejriwal, 32 out of 70 is a thumping rejection according to you? I understand that you are overwhelmed by your personal success of defeating a three-time sitting Chief Minister but how does that give you the right to snub others' choices? How does that make you any different? If you want to be the clean man in politics, please refrain from attacking your opponents and stick to your duties as a newly elected MLA. Get some work done and you wouldn't have to depend on the media to get elected. You think that's not possible? Just two words- Narendra Modi. The media portrayed him as a monster, the opposition called him one but all he did was show everyone that development is the only issue at hand and everything else is just connected to this issue.

It is heartening to see that people have accepted the agenda of development in MP and Chhatisgarh as well. It is incorrect to call these elections the semifinals for next year's finale because the finals do not have the same matchup as the semis. The open palm of the INC definitely got the voters' finger and at this rate, I would need some samosas to go with my popcorn to wait and watch for a landslide climax of Episode MMXIV: A Newer Hope.

P.S. Any sponsors for a May 2014 PHX-BOM ticket? I don't want to waste my vote. NaMo, I hope you are reading this post.

Stranded

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 25 Feb 2013 09:59:00 +0000

A low tide meant that he could venture further from the palm trees, the ones which had begun to feel more homely than every other place in the world, towards the waves that kept lashing the shores of the island he was stranded on for a long time now. He could check out all the seashells newly exposed by the receding tide and he could even observe a crab or two scurrying around. But all this was far from soothing because he longed for the tide to come in so that he could go back to his self-designed coir hammock in the grove of palm trees and stay there; surrounded by the overwhelming yet comforting presence of the sea on this tiny island which now belonged to him.

He preferred the high tide because it gave him control over his newly 'conquered' territory. He knew that the tiny expanse of the island during high tide gave him a sense of security. The sea was his comrade-in-arms. The sun helped his palm trees grow. And the moon was his companion on lonely nights when the wind howled, announcing an approaching storm. The moon was his best friend because he could trust the moon with his secrets, sorrows and little things that gave him joy. On some days, he would wait for the moon to greet him with a smile but the moon would not show up. He would then think of happy times when he swam into the ocean because he had an impulse to do so and then sleep through the night and wait for a whole day to meet the moon again; only to share more stories.

However, this low tide was longer than usual. The sea refused to rush forward and flood the shores of the island with its bubbling waves. It kept moving further away, exposing a rocky patch which he had not seen before. The rocks scared him not only because they were new to the surroundings but also because they seemed eerie as the sun was setting and long shadows were cast by the mass of cold, hard rock.

He gave up and walked back towards the trees. All he could do was lie on his hammock and wait for the high tide. The other option was to scream and shout at the cruel sea. He could cry and beg for it to rush back but nobody would hear his pleas. he was the only person on the deserted island and there wasn't a soul that he could talk to. The sea had its own plans and why would his cries make the sea change those plans. He loved writing in the sand but the waves would wash every letter that he wrote leaving behind no signs of their existence. The words simply vanished; they were neither registered by the sea nor reproduced elsewhere. He loved singing along with the wind. He hoped the tunes would be carried by the wind to the sea's ears....someday. The stars would twinkle and so would their reflections. The sea looked like a huge inky blanket. He wished to pull the blanket over his head and sleep peacefully. He craved for that blanket because he needed something more than coconuts and raw fish to keep him happy.

The hammock used to swing like a cradle. And the wind would sing lullabies to him. It was not even close to how it felt when his mother tucked him in his bed; but he was more than happy with his life. He was happy to wait for the periodic high tides. The island belonged to him and it would remain like that because there was nobody who could challenge his authority. There were the occasional shadows that woke him up, but he knew they were not real threats. But as the tide took longer than enough to surge, he realized what he had overlooked for almost a year now....

As he walked silently towards his hammock, he bent down and wrote in the sand...
These words, he knew, might disappear but would stay true...... 'I am my enemy'.

One last time...... जय महाराष्ट्र !

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Sun, 18 Nov 2012 03:42:00 +0000

It is easy to oppose somebody, it is easy to criticize someone you do not like, it is easier to hate someone just because you think it is the 'civilized' thing to do. But it is difficult to stick to one's guns for decades, reach out to the masses and state one's opinions fearlessly (politically correct or not); at least when you are a proficient artist who belongs to an educated middle class family which relies on intellect and talents to earn a living. Money helps you seek power but money cannot make you a leader of the masses. You need a special something..... he had that special something.

We say goodbye to a charismatic artist who not only inspired generations through the brushstrokes of a cartoonist and fiery speeches of an exceptional orator but also told the masses that real power lies in the people of the country and not in the hands of a select few who are born in a family to assume the reins of the Government from the Prime Minister's Office.

The 1960s saw Bal Thackeray as an activist who struck a chord with the generation that saw India transition from a hapless cog in the British Empire to a newly independent Republic. Households looked forward to reading his political weekly मार्मिक because his sharp wit as a cartoonist appealed to the masses. The state wanted someone to oppose trade unionism and ensure job security and the Shiv Sena was born. Social activism slowly assumed the form of a political struggle. Unfortunately, hooliganism and violence (which I totally condemn) played a major role in its rise and these properties are still quoted by 'opponents' who 'hate' the very existence of this political ideology.

Sadly, modern India is not aware of the origins of the Sena. And it is considered mainstream and conventional to ridicule the political outfit and label them as hooligans. Sadly, these people either do not want to look beyond the goonda nature of the party or lack the maturity to form their own political opinion and want to sound 'civilized' and 'secular' and 'cosmopolitan'. Sadly, these people oppose other mainstream beliefs and continue to 'fight for an open society'. However, everyone is entitled to his or her opinion even if it is defined by the media, the party in power or people around them.

Unfortunately, these 'civilized' people do not think it is inappropriate to bad-mouth someone posthumously. Respect the man for what he was and respect the fact that he was respected by a section of the society who drew inspiration from his ideas and oratory. He instilled a sense of pride in people who believed in him...respect him for that; he presented an alternative political choice to the people of Maharashtra who were fed up of Khadi and Nehru jacket clad politicians who rushed to New Delhi for every major administrative decision...respect him for that; he alienated quite a few communities over the decades but he managed to be friends with his fiercest political opponents...respect him for that; he did not hesitate to praise his political opponents for their good work and did not heckle them just for the sake of opposition....respect him for that; he preserved the identity of Mumbai and saved it from being converted into another Delhi where crime and lawlessness is the norm..... respect him for that; his 'remote-control' Government gave Maharashtra some real development, a capital city with amazing infrastructure, the Mumbai-Pune expressway, efficient ministers and lesser (not absent) corruption.... respect him for that.

His style of oratory was peculiar. Target an individual, criticize him/her for incorrect policy-making, throw in the choicest swear words and threaten him/her until he/she 'mends ways'. People like politicians who talk straight, people like politicians who do not mince words, people like politicians who talk directly to the masses and people respect a leader who respects and believes in his followers. Balasaheb Thackeray knew exactly what people wanted him to say and he delivered it.

A man who influenced politics in the city, the state and the nation; a tiger whose roars echoed through the hearts of millions of followers, a fearless leader who fought for his beliefs deserves a respectful farewell.... because opposition to an ideology does not warrant disrespect for a leader who defined Maharashtra's politics....

जय हिंद! जय महाराष्ट्र!

The Gaze

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 01 Oct 2012 08:57:00 +0000

The Gaze

I'd give up my throne,
I'd give up my crown,
To see the world painted,
In that beautiful shade of brown,

Deep is the vale,
Deeper than the seas,
For there's more to that eye,
Than everything it sees,

All that I want,
All that I seek,
Is the power to write poetry,
In the language those eyes speak,

Those tremors of joy,
No words can capture,
The twinkle in those eyes,
And the sound of laughter,

And when tears of joy,
Well up in those eyes,
To moisten the heart,
And the soul that sighs,

All I wish for,
Is if only I could,
Gaze into those moist eyes,
Until I close mine for good.
-Hardik Kothare

Birds of a Feather

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Thu, 28 Jun 2012 01:08:00 +0000

Birds of a Feather

High above the roaring white surf,

Crashing on the rocky shore,

Soaring up with wings strengthened,

Couldn't ever ask for more,

Peaceful silence,

Just your mere presence,

Can guide us through

The storms afore,

As we fly past clouds,

To explore,

The brighter future,

That lies in store!

- Hardik Kothare

Forever...

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 08:40:00 +0000

Forever...

Words are dry,

Thoughts are numb,

As painful as a prick on a thumb,

Forever...

Life is old,

Always the same,

Like a never ending game,

Forever...

A mirage ahead,

A purpose lost,

My eyes do search for sight of grass,

Forever...

No one knows,

No one cares,

For the heart with rips and tears,

Forever...

The world around,

The world that laughs,

Is living proof of everything that mocks,

Forever...

What have I done,

What can I do,

To deserve a chance to speak to you ,

Forever...

Tides shall turn,

Flowers shall bloom,

To wipe away eternal gloom,

Forever...

I'll wait for it,

I'd rather wait,

Or the road ahead seems kind of straight,

Forever...

-Hardik Kothare

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 26 Mar 2012 01:41:00 +0000

You gaze hard. And you gaze harder. At the known and familiar figure staring back with similar expressions. You think you know your reflection quite well.You think you know what's going on in the reflection's mind.... undoubtedly a reflection of your own thoughts.

You have seen your reflection wave when you wave and say hello. You have seen him smile when you smile. You have seen him frown when you frown. He is sad when you are sad. He has been a constant companion ever since you have tried to look deeper inside you, with all the best features and all the minor blemishes.

Doesn't he feel like a virtual partner when you are looking into the mirror of your heart and reflecting? He speaks the tongue that you speak. He does what you do.... at least when you are in front of the mirror. Sometimes you wonder about the times when you are not looking into the mirror... what is his world like? Do you think about the reflection when he is not visible? Does he have all your qualities? Good and bad?

Does the reflection know you exist? Can the reflection notice all the similarities you share? Does the reflection think of you when you aren't in front of the mirror? Does the reflection know that you stand in front of the mirror to look at the reflection? Does the reflection know that you want the reflection to look good because you want to look good? Does the reflection know what lies within you?

You are pleased when your reflection looks good. You know you are happy when your reflection smiles back and looks happy. You are sad when the reflection is unhappy.

There are times when you want to shut yourself in a room and just stare at your reflection.... away from all the problems of life. These are times when you care the least about the demands and expectations that come with societal pressure. You know your reflection will always be there for you. The rest of the world doesn't matter. You are sad and you know it but tears roll down your reflected cheeks when you try hard to hide the tears from him. And just before the mirror cracks and shatters, you realize..... you were never looking at yourself....the reflection has always been a different person....

The Windy Canyon

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Wed, 14 Mar 2012 20:40:00 +0000

The Windy Canyon

The world seems different,

From this tiny nook,

Nested in a tall cliff,

Above a babbling brook,

White, foamy cataracts

Of gurgling water gush,

As dark slabs of mica

Jut out to brush,

In a howling gust,

Pine trees sway,

The crowning glory,

Of a flawless sunny day,

A deer stares back,

From atop a hill,

Coercing my soul,

To unlock and spill,

I thank the deer,

For all it did,

To calm the heart,

And the turmoil that lay amid,

When an eagle screeches,

Soaring way up high,

Reassuring the naked trees,

Spring is nigh!

-Hardik Kothare

Nothing Like You

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 22:44:00 +0000

Nothing Like You

The skies are clear,

And the day was bright,

Seated at the pier,

In the dimming daylight,

I brave the chill,

And the nippy breeze,

A few moments until,

I begin to freeze,

The mass of water,

Is a constant reminder,

Of distances that separate,

And the bonds that matter,

The ball of fire begins to set,

Only to rise over my native land,

Witnessed by the fisherman's net,

And the golden glistening sand,

He tries to hide a joyful tear,

And smiles from the heavens blue,

And whispers in my motherland's ear,

"The world is beautiful but there's nothing like you...."

-Hardik Kothare

The Entire Story of a Tired Nation

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 18:24:00 +0000

We are tired of evenings that start with frantic phone calls from anxious relatives and friends. We are tired of turning on our television sets and drowning ourselves in a sea of shock, horror and fury. We are tired of being numbed by what we see. We are tired of keeping a track of rising death tolls. We are tired of news channels stoking passions and spreading rumours.We are tired of being clay pigeons at a shooting range. We are tired of being transformed from human beings to mangled pieces of blood and flesh.

We are tired of being vulnerable.We are tired of knowing that we are vulnerable. We are tired of being reminded that we are vulnerable. We are tired of knowing that we will remain vulnerable. We don't want to be widowed wives and orphaned children. We are tired of knowing that our lives are no longer precious. We are tired of knowing that there is nobody who can protect us. We are tired of knowing that we are not being protected by those who must protect us. We are tired of seeing gory images in newspapers. We are tired of watching news reporters asking questions like, "Kaisa lag raha hai?" and "Kaisa mahsoos hua?". We are pained to watch grieving relatives being tortured by everyone. We are tired of Shobhaa De and Rahul Bose representing Mumbaikars in times of adversity. We are tired of immature politicians making insensitive statements. We are tired of being assured that 'the perpetrators shall be punished'. Tell this to the little boy who lost his mother...tell this to the elderly father who still waits for his son to return.....define JUSTICE.

We are tired of being shepherded like sheep. We are tired of being shepherded by inefficient shepherds. We have the right to govern ourselves. We are yet to find the right way to govern ourselves. We are tired of emergency meetings and probationary committees. We are tired of ministers who play musical chairs. We are tired of being reminded that we are turning into a banana republic (or are we there already?). We are tired of people who plan candle marches and wear white to show 'solidarity'. We are tired of knowing the fact that most of these candle light marchers have never voted. We are tired of the terms 'Spirit of Mumbai' and 'Resilience'. Arre ghanta resilience! Do we have an option? Who'll feed our families? In a city that runs to survive, do you expect people to show up at work to 'teach the terrorists a lesson'? We are tired of terrorism. We are tired of the word 'terrorism'. We are tired of realising that it could have been you, me, your loved ones, anyone you know...... We shudder at the thought of that possibility. We are tired of shuddering.

We are tired of being assumed as morons. We are tired of intelligence failure. We wonder who is more intelligent then......

We are tired of ranting. We are tired of ranting like this: http://hardikkothare.blogspot.com/2008/11/tolerance-limit-has-been-crossed.html

We know that we would have to rant again. We are tired of being a soft state. We are tired of being tolerant. We are tired of knowing that being intolerant is considered 'anti-national' and 'anti-father-of-the-nation'. We are tired of anachronistic concepts like 'ahimsa' when it comes to retaliation. We are tired of paying taxes to ensure maximum comfort for convicted murderers who waged war against our nation. We are tired of knowing that the dead shall not be avenged because we are too 'non-violent' to seek revenge. We are tired of offering our second cheek. We are tired of porous borders. We are tired of watching metal detectors being used as toys. We are tired of a fattu foreign policy which is as amorphous and abstract as anything can be.

We are tired of 2 post-blast weeks of inconclusive debates. We are tired of knowing that nobody would care a damn after 2 weeks. We are tired of being tired. I am tired to know that this is not the end. And I would be required to rant again.....I am tired of not knowing when....And I am proud to say that although the nation is tired of asking questions which do not have answers, the nation will never get tired of itself....we are tired of consoling ourselves but we are not tired of saying JAI HIND....and I find comfort in this fact.

(In memory of every single person who had the honour of dying for our motherland....especially those who lost their lives in the serial train blasts that ripped Mumbai 5 years ago on this day of Guru Pournima....)

Solace

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 04:49:00 +0000

Solace

When the wait turns long,

And right appears wrong,

I seek solace in words,

When hope seems hopeless,

And time seems seamless,

I seek solace in words,

When spirits aren't high,

And the unwanted is nigh,

I seek solace in words,

When I want her to know,

That it is indeed so,

I seek solace in words,

When eyes aren't dry,

And it's time to say goodbye,

I seek solace in words.

When dreams come true,

And things are no longer blue,

I know I am seeking solace in words.

-Hardik Kothare

The Sole Warrior

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Wed, 29 Jun 2011 08:07:00 +0000

The Sole Warrior

Stranded alone,

On a lonely isle,

When fate decides,

To beguile,

Phantom allies,

By my side,

Nowhere to run,

No place to hide,

Because it is my battle to fight,

And my battle to win!

A rusty sword,

Lies by my feet,

Which craves for victory,

And vengeance sweet,

The clock is ticking,

And I'm pushed to the wall,

I won't surrender myself,

To my enemy's gall,

Because it is MY battle to fight,

And MY battle to win!

-Hardik Kothare

To take a 'Dig' at...Redefined

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 13 Jun 2011 08:20:00 +0000

There are times when you ought to speak out. There are times when silence saves your skin. But there are some who believe that the ability to voice a distasteful and inconsiderate opinion (even when nobody cares for their opinion) is a virtue. Diggy Loose Cannon is one such believer and he was more than ready to talk to us.

Me: Thanks for talking to us!

Diggy: Always a pleasure to use my cannon....

Me: Er....

Diggy: I know...I know....Let's hunt for a better word....Ah! Yes! Rainwater drain? Words gush out of my mouth because there are just too many words that I know. And they need to go somewhere, don't they?

Me: Right! Do you have an explanation for why the media gives so much importance to your comments?

Diggy: Everybody follows the Hunk!

Me:?

Diggy: That's my Twitter handle.

Me: Oh! That's a royal handle. Suits your royal lineage, your majesty!

Diggy: I don't like to talk about my royal blood. And don't call me 'your majesty'. My loyalty lies with 'Her Majesty' and I am always ready to serve Her and the Prince. *Burp* Talking of serving, the leftovers they served at 10 Janpath this morning were delicious. We all line up for our daily ration of leftover breakfast. Although I have to say that the breakfast was a bit salty. But I am quite sure that it is all an RSS conspiracy. Someone from the RSS has planted a cook, who is an agent of the BJP too. It must be his doing.

Me: And why would the RSS do that?

Diggy: It is an old habit. They love to add more salt to people's breakfasts and promote anarchy in the nation.

Me: Sir, your outspokenness has not only made you notorious but has also made you the butt of several jokes. What do you have to say about it?

Diggy: I consider it to be my honour. It is always great to get a chance to follow the footsteps of Arjun Singh. I intend to be like him...to be hated by people who don't matter and to be under the impression that I am being loved by some people for being hated by some people. There are two ways to achieve political immortality. Being hated for eternity is the easiest way.

Me: What are your short term political goals?

Diggy: To be a well established mentor. Mentors hold the real keys to power. Arjun (the original one) could not have fought without Lord Krishna as his mentor cum chauffeur ( I must remember to flagellate myself for thinking of the Mahabharata....looks like the VHP has secretly started to brainwash me), Chandragupta Maurya became the Emperor but Chanakya attained greater satisfaction....

Me: But who entrusted you with this responsibility.

Diggy: Responsibility? There's nothing responsible in coaching others to start making irresponsible statements. It is an art. And I am ready to fight those who oppose this form of art.

Me: So why do you oppose the art of dancing?

Diggy: I don't like people who dance to the tunes of patriotic songs. Dancing to Italian pop music is a different issue. Anyone who dances to Her Majesty's tune deserves applause. The rest deserve criticism. And moreover Rajghat is the private property of the Congress party. Others shouldn't hold protests at Rajghat.

Me: Not even Anna Hazare?

Diggy: It is all an RSS conspiracy.

Me: Hmm. So you think corruption is a non-issue?

Diggy: Of course. Nothing of that sort exists. It is an RSS conspiracy.

Me: And what about the black money stashed abroad?

Diggy: How racist of you! 'Black' money? Why black? Why is black always bad? Moreover, our currency carries the image of Mahatma Gandhi who was the inspiration behind the global fight against apartheid. Stop calling it Black Money. It is an RSS conspiracy to call it black.

Me: Why are you so obsessed with the RSS?

Diggy: To tell you the truth, I hate their khaki half pants.

Me: And?

Diggy: Half-pants are so obscene! What moral right do they have to talk of morality? By the way, could you please wrap up the interview. I have a Doctor's appointment.

Me: Oh I am so sorry! Are you not feeling well?

Diggy: Nothing serious. Just a bout of verbal diarrhoea which has been exacerbated by the arrival of the monsoon.

Me: Did you talk to Baba Ramdev? He might suggest some Asanas to help improve your immunity.

Diggy: I don't talk to thugs.

Me: Neither do I. But today is an exception.

Diggy: Hmm. But he is a fraud. His tamasha is not at all convincing. Also, he is behind the saffronisation of medicine. It is an RSS conspiracy. And he owns an island in Scotland!

Me: So?

Diggy: Men wear skirts in Scotland!

Me: They are called kilts, sir.

Diggy: Whatever! They are skirts. And it is all obscene. More obscene than the language I use. It is an RSS conspiracy. They wear half-pants and make others wear skirts! Even this Baba thingy escaped wearing clothes meant for females!

Me: Ever heard of incoherence?

Diggy: Obviously. I suffer from 'verbal' diarrhoea.

Me: Hmm. I am seeing the symptoms.

Diggy: Symptoms? What symptoms? Are you a doctor? A spy? RSS agent! Yes, you are an RSS Agent. Get out of my house!

Me: Sir?

Diggy: It is a conspiracy! I should call Her Majesty.

Me: Calm down! I am not an agent.

Diggy: And why should I trust you?

Me: I must take your leave. Thanks for the interview.

Diggy: Hmm. About time. Rahul Baba would be arriving any time now. Why is he late? It is all an RSS conspiracy!

Conferred Epithet

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Tue, 31 May 2011 12:42:00 +0000

We were born to categorise...we were born to classify....we were born to stereotype. Not just the cackle of gossip-mongering females at an Indian wedding, we all love to fit people and places in mental containers labelled with epithets that best describe their qualities. Languages have Transferred Epithets. Real life has Conferred Epithets.

We all have our own set of containers. A person who searches for the map of Ireland while gazing at passing clouds would be a 'dreamy thinker' for you; but the same person would be 'screw dheela' for someone else. A 'dhaapnya' could either be a lifetime member of the 'bookworm' category or the Honorary Chairman of the 'socially awkward' group. Some containers can even be subsets. A 'khadoos' could also be a 'bhookad' at the same time (as demonstrated by Stanley ka Dabba).

I, for one, love to coin elaborate epithets. I can identify people who are proud of their photographs in which they are 'pinching' the tip of Taj Mahal's dome. I have seen people who love to mimic the clickety click and rattling of railway rakes. I know people who survive on the bland Hindi movies from the 1990s. I can distinguish between houses that smell of cumin seeds and those that smell of baby powder. We all have 'boring' days and 'exciting' days. The colour of the setting sun, the temperature at noon, the cloud cover and other factors make it possible for us to categorise days into millions of categories. For instance, today is a 'lazy but full of expectations' day for me.

I have always associated people with flora and fauna. Hence, my childhood was rife with 'bulky brinjals', 'cashewnuts', 'coffee beans', 'lanky storks' and 'tiny ants' (not to mention an entire battalion of meek mice). I have been on the receiving end of this method of classification. A friend called me a 'bottle gourd' in college and I haven't stopped imagining why.

These epithets help us plan our approach towards others. You cannot offend a 'brainless bull' and failure is imminent if you try to woo a 'haughty princess'. You cannot be friends with a 'vain peacock' and you shouldn't be friends with a 'loyal dog'. Stereotyping is considered to be inappropriate but only 'blatant deniers' would believe in its non-existence. Like everything else, the act of classifying falls into multiple classes; fun, meaningless and irreplaceable.

Surrounded by Life

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Tue, 17 May 2011 08:13:00 +0000

Surrounded by Life

I've heard a young bird tweet,

Wanting to fly and greet,

The morning sun,

I've seen the sun's rays fall,

Atop the Neem tree tall,

Sweet hues of green,

I've heard the pattering rain,

Tapping the window pane,

Fragrant wet soil,

I've seen the frothing waves,

Explored the darkest caves,

Nature's glory,

I've felt a moonlight beam,

Light up my cherished dream,

Breath of new hope,

Winds hum over sandy dunes,

Much like a flautist's tunes,

Through eternity,

As I do trudge along,

I hear the pleasant song,

Of life around me!

-Hardik Kothare

Poetic Justice

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Mon, 02 May 2011 08:27:00 +0000

"A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new; when an age ends; and when the soul of a nation long suppressed finds utterance."
-Jawaharlal Nehru

It is funny how this guy has left us quotes which can be used pertinently in every situation, regardless of the era. The soul of our world and of a nation in particular has just attained the right to celebrate. Some may equate this day to V-E day or V-J day, some may equate this day to the 4th of July and some may even revel in the sweetness of vengeance. Of course, it is all justified. It is never an easy task to slay Frankenstein's monster. Those of us who love games like Age of Empires do know how it feels when an individual trained by you is 'converted' and forced to fight against you. I know how they must have felt when the person they had trained to fight against Soviet forces, decided to declare war against his former 'Supari' givers.

He had vowed to destroy infidels. He had the audacity to send flying petards to destroy the enemy's 'wonder'. And that was when he signed his death certificate, in advance. In his defence (or defense, if you please), he was just another frustrated engineer. Life was so cruel to him that he had lost his sense of rightfulness (KT laga hoga). We all know what happened next. He trained tens and thousands of brainwashed maniacs to destroy whatever is 'unacceptable'.

Little did he know that it is easy to train a few followers but it is tough to fight one's fate. He was destined to die. Everyone is. But he was destined to die without achievements (killing innocent human beings does not count as an achievement). What a waste of life!

So, now we have got rid of the most hated person on this planet (good riddance! phew!). We can all have an extended weekend and mull over whatever happened over the last 3 decades. Is the death of one person going to help us in the fight against 'all that is evil'? Can we get rid of the school of thought that has made us suffer? We got rid of Osama bin Laden but is the world ever going to turn its attention to the thorny tree called Pakistan which is laden with terrorists instead of fruits? Are we, as a nation, going to raise this point with the Western Powers? For years this shady neighbour of ours has fooled the world. For years they have claimed that Osama is not in Pakistan (just like they have always claimed that Dawood was never in Karachi). A big fat corrupt and failed nation with liars and criminals at the helm is still the 'most valuable ally' of the West. Now is the opportune time for us to say, "Told you so!". But are we going to do that?

We are a nation with a rubber stamp Head of the State and a rubber stamp Head of the Government at the same time. We have a Government which shies away from executing criminals who have been legally tried according to the Constitution. We have a Government which doesn't even have the guts to welcome today's happy news. We have just 'expressed grave concern' because he was found in Pakistan. Every other nation has used the words 'great news', 'relief', 'milestone' , 'victory' , 'break-through' and 'welcome news'. But we continue to be 'politically correct'...or rather 'electorally correct'. I am saddened by the fact that our bunch of eunuchs in New Delhi won't make the most out of this situation. Here comes a chance knocking at our door...a chance for us to step on the global stage with a solid determination to crush terrorism. But do we have the courage to do so? We are the same nation that spends crores of rupees to keep death row terrorists hale and hearty in our jails. I won't even think of the possibility of our government destroying terrorist camps in PoK (which is our land according to the same government).

Tolerance is tolerable only to a certain extent. Beyond that, tolerance turns into cowardice. Non-violence becomes a liability. And we are reduced to a country of cowards (not because we, the people, lack courage...but because the people, who are responsible, lack willingness).

However, it is a moment to savour, a moment to remember. The day we woke up in a world sans 1 evil mind.They deserve the victory. Especially because they are aware that they had to go through such turbulent times because of their own 'creation', a modern day Frankenstein's monster. We have sent 1 to hell. Thousands remain....but I believe in poetic justice.

Chappals, Charlatans and Dravidian Drama

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 09:13:00 +0000

   If there's one man-made object that is associated with the entire gamut of human emotions, it's the Chappal. Chappals rule! Literally! They sat on the throne of Ayodhya when Lord Ram was in exile. If you are a saint from Maharashtra, you know that people love to carry your chappals from one town to another with utmost reverence. And is there anything that beats a Kolhapuri chappal when it comes to comfort for the feet? I could trade my Reeboks for a pair of Kolhapur's best leather. Now this hallowed object of comfort, when in the hands of someone other than the owner, is supposed to symbolise absolute subservience. It's one of the favourite practices of a die-hard sycophant. A few changes here and there in the grip and a sense of revenge and fury within, converts this act of subservience into a demonstration of utmost hatred. It's the biggest insult, if you are supposed to be target practice for a Kolhapuri in flight. And  if you have launched the attack, your 15 minutes of fame start now.

   So what do you need to do to invite such a reaction from a random frustrated failed lawyer/ journalist/ whosoever? You could start a war in the Middle East. Or you could try to fool people during a press conference. You could even try being responsible for a multicrore scam. The latest victim has created a record of some sorts. He started his political career with some chappal throwing (target: Morarji Desai's motorcade) and ended his political career at the other end of the flung Chappal. A Chappal thrown at you means the following things: some people hate you, your acts have pained people and you are at a peak when it comes to grabbing eyeballs. I still don't believe how the same Chappals are objects of worship when they are at their rightful place!

   But in our India, anything and everything can be worshipped. Leather footwear is one of the better objects of worship. You can grow your hair a la Malinga, wear a saffron coloured full length female nightgown and give a stage performance like a sadak chhaap magician and voila! You get hundreds of followers who have problems hiding their black money! Funny how only the rich get attracted to such Dhongi Babas (if you are offended, let me have the pleasure of further offending you.....he was a Dhongi Baba and I don't give a shit if your feelings are hurt!). It was a nice machine that accepted black money. Baba is happy and devotees are happy!

   But what hurts me most is the sight of my God worshipping him and shedding tears at the funeral. He might be a 'devotee' and that is his personal choice. But it is painful to know that I am a devotee of the devotee of a quack who demanded sexual favours and promised 'spiritual healing' in return. And I am absolutely shocked to know that the con artist was wrapped in the tricolour before he was buried! That's a national insult! How can you possibly walk away scot-free after doing that! It meant that the entire nation paid respect to him. His 'devotees' would argue by saying that he did a lot of 'charity' work in the field of education and health care. Charity? Money attained by illegal means and money that does not exist on paper cannot be used for charity! And if you earn several thousands of crores and give away a few crores, you are still in profit. People fooled by simple conjuring tricks deserve no respect. Especially when conjured watches carry 'Made in Switzerland' tags. And if you can produce gold out of thin air, poverty should have been an unknown term. He could have provided people with food supply and gold supply for the rest of their lives! Alas! A corrupt nation has a corrupt outlook. And the corrupt are sacred!

   Talking of corruption, we just love THAT family down south, don't we? So much drama, emotion, family feuds, complications and even sautans! The perfect recipe to become the favourite TV family. Fictional soap opera families don't come close to competing. The last time I checked, the dude with the funny glares had more wives than the number of scams he was involved in. We don't need Subramanian Swamy to tell us that the family is involved in the 2G scam. Apart from their funny foreign names like Stalin and unpronounceable names like Kanimozhi and Azhagiri, they are famous for their "Duh! Who cares?" attitude. Guilt is an absolute non-issue. And according to some people, M.K. Karunanidhi has more issues than those visible on the political stage. Baap re! So many! No wonder they could distribute the workload during the 'Paise Le Lo, Spectrum De Do' episode. Just hope the judicial system is not 'Dayalu' enough this time.

   India has so many Corleone families! The Pawars in Maharashtra, Karunanidhi and Co. in Tamil Nadu and countless others. We could have a series of bestsellers. And if those works of art turn out to be duds, we could always resort to producing gold chains out of thin air, cross-dressing and growing an Afro. The shortest route to Nirvana in public eyes.

The Bridge

noreply@blogger.com (Hardik Kothare) — Thu, 07 Apr 2011 16:52:00 +0000

The Bridge

A rumbling torrent gushes beneath,

I stand at the edge to see,

Was it safer on the other side?

The bank with the mighty tree?

The flowers beckon from beyond the bridge,

Egging me on to cross,

The lush grass on the distant coast,

Might be softer than the shores of moss,

Trapped am I on this long long bridge,

As the water of life flows,

My feet won't move a step forward,

Until the wind of reason blows,

So appealing is the sight yonder,

Will I get more than a slice?

Would I get to be the happiest man,

In this world that seems so nice?

-Hardik Kothare