its my spliff

The Correction

2015-11-12T00:54:00.003+05:30

“She had been a teenager once, and she knew that,

despite the apparent contradictions,

a person's teenage years lasted well into their fifties.”

― Derek Landy, Mortal Coil

Arjun was just having a bad day. He sat there quietly on his chair, sipping on his bourbon. Everyone else was on the dance floor. Why wouldn’t they be? It was a Saturday night, and the Jockey was playing spectacular dance music. The entire club danced like there was no tomorrow. His friends had tried their best to drag him to the floor, not once, but four times. But now, they had all given up. None of them even looked back at his end, none, except Esha.

Esha was his long time girlfriend of three years, probably four. A spectacular girlfriend for the intellectual lust. She was herself one of the biggest mysteries he had encountered in his lifetime. She had an aura of incompleteness, and it was impossible to comprehend her. This kind of made him crazy about her. Having tried several filmy and even psychological techniques, she still remained an unsolved puzzle. It was not that she wanted to be understood, but something he could not explain. He had not given up, but Esha began to appear unabridged lately. The change was abrupt and strange, as nothing could have caused an influence. Everyone told him he was a lucky bastard to have her. It felt good for a very long time.

He could see Esha dancing. For the remarkable dancer she was, she lacked intensity tonight. There was a faint smile on her face as she danced with everybody. Her hair was still in place, and her hands remained close to her body. On a normal night, she would have owned the dance floor. It was either her feminine radar that had sensed an anomaly or she was about to raise a very sensitive issue. She had waited for an hour already; probably contemplating over the opportune moment to strike conversation so as to have the best odds. She returned to the table after every song or two, sipping on her straw, holding hands and making irrelevant conversations. All this game theory would be of no importance. He did not stand a chance before Esha.

Arjun was generally not a party pooper. However, he had a very good reason that day. In fact, reasons now, plural. One, he came to know that he would not get the promotion around which he had planned his life. The promotion was very well deserved. He set up the company business in two new countries - from scratch. It was a record in itself. The amount of effort he had invested in his work was incredible. Apparently, that didn’t count. The boot licking his colleague, Aditya had engaged in, worked very well.

Rashi had warned him several times that he should not eye high expectations. He always laughed her off. He knew she had a deep-seated crush on him. In fact, "crush" was an understatement. Arjun was too proud to even talk to her politely. He laughed at her dressing sense, her elementary hairstyle, her incompetent job and her ordinary lifestyle. He knew none of his friends would truly understand how upset he was, not even Esha. If only he would have not underestimated Rashi’s judgments.

Arjun had initially planned on spending the night locked up in his room. Hardly did he know that a bigger blow awaited. His father was rather jolly when he opened the door. He even got him a glass of water, which was very unusual as everyone in the house drank from bottles. His mother was there, smiling unnaturally. She started talking.

“How was your day?”

“It was alright, very tiring, though. How were yours?” he wanted to keep the conversation short.

“Well, we have something to tell you.” His father joined in.

That was strange. “What?”

There was a long pause; they both stopped smiling and looked at each other.

“What happened?” Arjun asked, louder.

“Your mom and I…” his father stopped and looked at his mother again.

“Will you please tell me what is?” He was almost yelling now.

“We are getting separated.”

It was an intense conversation that followed. Even thinking about it made him wobbly. They were married for over twenty-five years, and now they say they are shifting. He felt breathlessness when he remembered how they casually explained to him that it would hardly make a difference since he was grown up. They were probably even seeing other people. He had to leave that house. He did not want to go back there, ever.

He thus joined Esha and the rest of the gang at the party.

He suddenly became more conscious about his surroundings. He was oscillating his tilted glass, staring at the top of his drink. Esha was now staring straight at him. There was no subtlety in her behavior now. She held his left hand and dragged it closer to her.

“What happened?”, she asked.

“Nothing really, I just feel tired.” Arjun smiled and put in a very good effort to look normal.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course. Why are you not dancing?”

“Because, my dear, you are not dancing.”

Talking to a woman at the time of distress can sometimes be very comforting, but Arjun did not think it would work for him. He could predict that the conversation would only go intense and would either make him feel crap, or they would end up in a fight.

“Okay, if you really want to go, let’s go.” Arjun got up. He had to do what he had to do.

“No, wait, I need to tell you something.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think we would make it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, Priya and Anish are now married and all. Do you think we would make it there?”

He realized he is already in the middle of a conversation, which every guy dreads.

“Well yeah, why not?”

“Really?” She lighted up.

“Yes, of course.” He had no clue why he was saying all this. He hadn’t even thought about it.

“I really love you, you know!”

“I love you too.”

“Let’s get married this year itself.”

“This year? There are only three months left.”

“You think it’s too early?”

“Umm… obviously not. Let’s do it.” By now he had started feeling it wasn’t a bad idea after all. Was he too drunk?

And she hugged him.

“But Esha, I should head home now. It’s mom's birthday.”

“Oh really, I didn’t remember. Should I come too?”

“No, don’t. Not a good idea”

“Right!”

“So I will see you tomorrow?”

“Yes, and let’s plan!” She almost squealed with joy.

“Sure,” he picked up his bag and left.

If only he could visualize clearly what had happened. He was actually surprised that in those four years, he had not even given marriage any real thought. She had somehow thought through and through.

He felt the cold winter air. It was probably the most pleasant thing he had felt that night. It was indeed his mother’s birthday. But he had no intention of seeing her face. He decided to walk the two kilometers to his house. His phone beeped. Esha’s messaged blinked:

“Will miss you tonight… xoxo”

He switched off his phone and started walking. It was not very late, just past ten-thirty. He rubbed his hands realizing he had forgotten his jacket at the club. But he wasn’t going to go back. In fact just then, a boy came up to him.

“Hi, I am Jay. My friends and I are having a night over”, he pointed to a boy and two girls standing a little behind. “We wanted to get some wine, but we are all seventeen.”

He looked at them for a moment, confused, “Okay, so are you looking for money?”

Jay smiled nervously, “No, no! We don’t need money. If you could only help us buy some from the shop”. He was pointing at a nearby shop, holding a bundle of money.

“Why can’t you just buy it?”

“This is the only shop open right now, and they check IDs”, Jay stood very still now.

Arjun looked here and there, unsure how to react.

“Could you please help us?” One of the girls from the back asked earnestly.

“Please”

“Please”, an appeal from each of them followed.

“Okay, okay. I was seventeen not long time ago, so I will just do it.”

The girls jumped and hugged each other.

“What do you want?” Arjun asked.

“Three bottles red and one white.”

“Any brand preferences?”

“Could you choose for us? Make it two white.”

Arjun was smiling for the first time that night. He took the money and went into the shop. He was no wine expert, but he had moderate knowledge. He got them the best wines that were available. He even added some money from his own pocket.

“That’s six bottles. I am sure you will manage,” handing them over two blue bags.

“Thank you so much” Jay beamed, and the others followed.

“Okay, so bye guys, have a good night.”

He looked and smiled at them one last time. Then he turned around and started walking.

“Hey,” he suddenly heard from behind. He turned around. It was Jay and his friends.

“Would you like to join us?” Jay asked.

“It would be really cool if you do.” one of the girls added.

“I actually have to head home.” Arjun was quite surprised at the strange offer.

“Come for a while at least?” Added the other girl.

“It will be fun”

Arjun had no clue what was happening. He genuinely gave it a quick thought. He couldn’t find any excuses for saying a “no”. He pulled out his phone instinctively to check the time, only to realize it was switched off.

“Well, lets go then. I will get one quick drink.”

They were overjoyed.

“My house is just round this corner, and my parents are out of town.” Jay was speaking now. “Oh, and this is Shivani, Lisa, and Sagar.”

“I am Arjun,” shaking hands with all of them.

A few hours later, Arjun was quite buzzed. The rest of them were certainly more buzzed. Shivani was sitting on the other end of the same sofa. Sagar sat alone right across the floor. Jay and Lisa were not really to be seen.

Arjun was blabbering away to Shivani about philosophy and life. Shivani seemed to nod at the end of every sentence he said. It suddenly struck him that he is probably boring her and stopped.

“Is that it?” Shivani asked.

“Why am I telling you all this, you are too young,” Arjun said.

“I don’t know why you are telling me this, but it is scaring the shit out of me.”

Arjun laughed.

“But we think about these things too, you know. Your speech is, you know, just more intense.”

“Sorry, sorry. Can I tell you a secret”

“Yes!”

“Well it’s actually making me sad”

“Oh!”

“My parents are getting divorced.”

“That’s bad.”

“After nearly thirty years of marriage.”

“I am sorry. My mom died when I was born.”

“Oh man, I am really sorry.”

“It’s all right, I got over it. Sagar, there just found out today that his father is having an affair.”

They both looked as Sagar. He was looking at the floor with a blank face. He had not finished even two glasses of wine when everyone else was doing fifth or sixth rounds.

“He doesn’t even know what to do. He says he will never be able to go back home again.”

“That is really bad,” Arjun got up, walked across the hallway and sat next to Sagar.

“Hey buddy, are you not drinking?”

“I am. It’ just…” he was slightly teary-eyed.

“It’s all fucked up. My parents just told me they are getting a divorce,” Arjun said, putting his hand across Sagar’s shoulder.

“Oh, that sucks. Do you know why?”

“No.”

“What could be the reason?”

“What about you? Do you know why?”

“What?” he looked up, surprised and awkward at the same time.

“You know Sagar, you should do what you should. There will never be a good reason.”

His eyes were rather gloomy, like someone who had lost everything.

“Yeah, I heard. You can play your part and then they will play theirs.”

“Maybe”

“Now, finish off your drink and grab another one. You guys made me break a serious law, you better make it worth.”

Arjun realized it was just past two. He should probably head home. He walked out of the hall into the corridor. He was headed to the toilet. He heard some voices.

“Let us just be friends.” It was Lisa

“But you know it is more than friends. I really like you,” Jay went on, “And I am sure you do too.” His voice sounded soft and heavy. The honesty was impeccable. He had learned that night that Jay was a womanizer. So the most popular guy at college had a tender heart.

“Please don’t”

There was a pause.

“Let’s just hang out as friends. It’s good this way.” Lisa added again.

“Well, as you like it then,” Jay said and walked away, exhibiting a tough smile as he passed by Arjun.

Arjun found himself in a really awkward situation. He couldn’t believe he was eavesdropping a conversation between seventeen-year-olds. He walked a little further to where Lisa was standing.

Lisa had been dancing like a crazy monkey until a few minutes ago. Now she stood there, arms crossed and teary eyed.

“Hey, you all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“I am sorry I just overheard your conversation.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Do you have a boyfriend? Do you like someone else?”

“No.”

“So you just don’t like him then?”

“Actually I do, I love him. But I can’t tell him. It’s hard to explain. Really, I never really tried it, not even to myself.”

“Well?”

“I don’t know, love sought is good, but unsought is better?”

“Well, you know Lisa, the bright little things fade so fast that they don’t come back.”

Lisa stared.

“Anyways, I got to head off now. It is quite late already. Goodbye, Lisa.”

“Bye Arjun”

“Goodbye all”

**********************************

Arjun slept pretty well through the night. The thing that disturbed him the most was the hangover. He went to the kitchen and drank some limewater. It was almost noon. His mom walked in.

“Arjun, you have never forgotten my birthday before.”

Arjun felt as if he was being pinched on his spine. He said, “I didn’t forget this time either.”

“Arjun…”

“It’s okay, you made your decision on your own. I have to make mine.” He walked out of the kitchen, rushed into his room and locked it. His phone was lying on the table. He picked it up and switched it on. It immediately started beeping and vibrating with messages and ten thousand alerts. All the messages were from Esha, the last one read:

“I am worried, coming home. Will reach by 12”

It was too late to avoid the situation now. Besides, he did not want to delay any further. While he waited, he typed down a new message.

"Hi... I am really sorry about the things I have"

Backspace. Backspace.

"Hi... If you don't mind, would you have di"

Backspace. Backspace. This wasn't easy.

"Hi, dinner tonight?"

The doorbell just rang.

He unlocked his door, and sat on his bed, waiting. About five minutes later, there was one loud knock, and Esha rushed in.

“Your mom doesn’t look too happy. Everything all right?” she had locked the door now.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I am sorry I got too drunk. Don’t know when the phone switched off. Just switched it on.”

“I was dead worried.”

“Sorry”

“It’s all right” she beamed. On a normal day, this conversation would have stretched for hours. “So what do you think about yesterday’s idea?”

“Oh yes.”

“It’s going to be so much fun.”

“Yes”, Arjun said nervously.

She hugged him.

The hug was really tight. He felt numb. Whether the pressure was physical or mental, he wasn’t sure.

“Have you told your parents yet?” Arjun could hear her words from behind now.

“No”

She pulled back, “Let’s do it today. Do you think they will be happy?”

“I guess they will, maybe not. I don’t know. Listen…”

“Let’s tell them and see. I think they…”

“Listen”, he now squeezed her hand harder.

“Tell me”

“I don’t think it can happen.”

“Telling them? Wouldn’t it be much better if they agree? I have to tell mine too.”

“No, no!”

“What do you mean?”

“This, between the two of us can’t happen.”

“What? What are you saying?” she stammered.

“Yes, I am sorry”

“You are mad.” She smiled again.

“I am serious”, Arjun looked straight into her eye.

“Why? You have loved me since seventh grade.”

“But you didn’t”

“But I do now.”

“Now that you are there, I am not.”

“I don’t understand,” Esha was in tears. He knew he would hate himself for this. But if he didn’t do this he would hate himself even more. He held her in his hands.

“I am not sure if you can understand. I am sorry I didn’t see it earlier. But I have been living in the past. I have been dragging my past with me for way too long. I haven’t been able to see the present. My parents have been fighting, and I am living in denial. I really loved you at once, but now I am just living with that idea. Everything changed, I… I just changed too late.”

A Change of Heart

2015-10-25T14:03:00.002+05:30

He knew it was morning. The soft rays of sun flickered through his eyelids. On any other day he would be cursing himself for having forgotten to pull down the curtains. But the sunlight did not breach his morning privacy today. In fact, there could have been a hint of smile on his face. As his mind decamped the land of dreams, and dawned slowly in flesh, he could feel an unusual optimism. The day was kick-starting with a much desired rush of confidence.

He turned around under his blanket, stretched his hands on either sides, and then relaxed them. His right eye was comfortably squashed against the pillow, left eye blinking irritably as if in protest. His phone clock read 7:56. He was pretty much awake now with the first task of the day already at hand. A concrete decision had to be made, on whether to leave his bed then, or after fetching a pocketful of more sleep. He lay there, checking messages as he waited for the time to round up. At 8:00, he exerted all the thrust he could muster and got up.

He looked around, everything was perfect. Yet, it felt unusual. The right side of the bed was empty, the pillow in its exact spot. His wife had always been an extra morning person. He wondered when in the last three years, had he seen her sleeping after waking up. Never. Her beautiful eyes flashed his mind. She was as good as he could have imagined. In fact, she was exactly who he had imagined. It was funny that such thoughts even brushed his mind. Very unusual. It wasn't that she was not a wonderful person. That she was, and he cherished being with her every day. But these were strange sensations, which somehow seemed to bring in a new vigor into his life. Until the previous day, he had never felt such sentiments.

He walked out of the room, into the hall, and then to the kitchen. She was always to be found there. It was customary for him, to enter the kitchen every morning, hug her from behind and plant a kiss on the cheek. It was also customary for her to turn around, look surprised and greet him with a smile. Occasionally she would kiss back. But he knew that the day was not customary.

It was an awfully boring party he had been invited to. There were a few groups of people scattered here and there. All these groups had one prime characteristic trait. There was one person speaking in each of the hurdles, mostly drunk. While that person discoursed, the others listened, laughed and clapped. Once you notice such an oddity at an event, it is always a wiser decision to go home, even if playing solitaire is the only way to kill time. He had made up his mind to do the same, as he picked up a last calculated drink from the bar.

Then it all started.

He saw her sitting, distinctively, on the staircase. She was lost in conversation with her companion, who did not really seem to be interested in what was being told. Her friend was, in fact jerking on his phone. Asshole. He just stood there, mesmerized by the girl who was so engrossed in her own tale. It was not the auburn hair, nor her blooming skin tone that tripped him. It was the stark intensity. He couldn't process one word she was saying. He stood there with his senses numbed, listening and staring audaciously at the most beautiful creation on the planet. He was caught unaware; he was ambushed, just the way he wanted it to happen.

He was driving to work. He felt poised even though there was an important deal to crack that day. Well of course, it hardly mattered to him as he was going to quit anyway. A smile dawned upon his face as he imagined the look on his colleague's faces, especially his boss's. It was going to come as a total shock. He had never had any second thoughts about working at this firm. He was even loved and respected by all, though superficially of course. But he had made up his mind on the previous day. He should quit. He had to quit. There was no plan, there was no foreseen future, but he was done with the present.

As he stopped for a red light, he wondered if he should have been more polite to his wife. It was the first time he had spoken to her in a harsh tone. Her question was very simple, "are you feeling alright?" It was very peculiar that it had been a day since the simple incident, and he still hadn't felt an inkling about his odd behavior. At one point in life, she had been the fulcrum to all his achievements. With her as an inspiration, he had managed the strength and courage to realize the toughest of dreams. She was undoubtedly the most resilient of all. But he had fought hard, and eventually, all his endeavors tasted sweet success. Life seemed perfect, until he realized the festivities of his victories were over.

Now that it was all there, he wasn't.

"Your beer mug is still full."

He was shaken into consciousness, as his friend repeated, “Your beer mug is still full.” He did not usually get lost in random thoughts. It felt stupid, and worse it felt nice feeling stupid. The smell of cigarettes and beer, which normally bloomed his manliness, seemed to have no effect him whatsoever. He felt tamed, like a cat purring for affection.

“Who is she?”

“Who?”, he tried to look surprised but was secretly delighted that someone had brought out this topic.

“Just tell”

“Nobody”

“Okay”

“I saw this beautiful girl.”

“Where?”

“At the Saturday party.”

“You said that was the worst party ever.”

“It was.”

“You have her number?”

“No.”

He pulled over and stopped his car on the side of the road. It was likely to get towed from that spot, but he could not muster the willingness to drive three floors up to his designated parking spot. He re-tucked in his shirt, picked up the briefcase and shut the car door. The seventeen storey building that loomed up before his eyes had taken up a considerable amount of his time in the last six years, four years he had been there, and two, he had spent becoming capable of getting there.

He had often felt glory when he thought of his achievements, but today, he felt like he had achieved nothing. He walked across the entrance to a cigarette shop. The last time he had smoked was on his first working day. Today being the last, he felt it was quite necessary to repeat the feat. The job had got him his house, his car, and in a way, his wife as well. He held it delicately between his fingers and lit it.

The psychological sense of breathing in something that is more than air, and having your lungs wrapped in a warm blanket was scintillating. He felt a little dizzy, probably due to the sudden reduction in oxygen, but he felt calm and intoxicated with endurance.

He squashed the butt with his expensive shoes, and started off towards to fourteenth floor board room. The disturbing thoughts about his marriage was slowly submerging as he recollected that particular day when he had finally approached her.

“Hey, are you waiting for the professor?”

“Huh?”, the hostility in her eyes was very captivating.

“Are you waiting for the professor?”, he repeated slowly but kindly.

“What does it seem like?”, her gaze could have pierced a hole through a solid wall. She had been sitting with a white file placed neatly on her lap, her legs shaking, and her hands held it with a grip comparable to a swordsman's at the time of battle. But now as she looked at him, her demeanour was striking. She sat there like a queen, as if there was nothing that could even make her bat an eyelid. Her facial muscles crunched, and her cheekbones showed, which almost made him lose control over his own appearance.

He hid all his ecstatic emotions behind a simple smile and said, “You don't want to know that.”

“What? What do you mean?”

He moved closer and sat down keeping one-feet distance from her, “Can I see your report? I am guessing it is your final thesis?”

“Why?”

He had already taken it from her, and started flipping through pages. She winced, pretended to be concerned, but let him glance through it anyway.

“You must be something, the stuff in here looks insane,” he wasn't trying to impress here. He was indeed amazed at the kind of work done.

“Really?”

He continued flipping the pages, and said “Add some color, you know, diagrams and graphs, and you will be make a ten. “

“How can you be so sure?”, her gaze was still untrammelled, but a certain softness appeared around her eyes.

Quitting his job was quicker process than the other tasks. Most importantly, this task was much simpler than the ones he had completed yesterday. It was a very pleasant drive back home.

He was surprised to see people outside his house. There were a couple of neighbours, but he felt a jolt in his stomach when he saw a couple of policemen strolling around his lawn. He got out of the car, and walked slowly towards the door. He was looking around for where his wife might be. She was nowhere to be seen. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned around to see an inspector.

His mind was hardly working.

“Are you the owner of this house?”

“Yes”

He verified his identity.

“So you live with your wife?”

“Yes”

“We are sorry to inform you there has been a break in, thought not much seems to have been taken. Your neighbours raised the alarm in time I guess.”

“Is that all?”, he heaved a sigh of relief.

“You will still have to see, we just found one wardrobe open. Everything else seems to be in place.”

“Wardrobe? Which one?”

“It seemed to be your main bedroom.”

The bedroom. But how? He dashed in the house with the inspector was right behind him. He reached his bedroom, the wardrobe was wide open. The clothes hung there silently. He felt his limbs weaken. This was impossible. The polythene package was gone. Last night he had killed her painlessly and put her remains in this wardrobe. Now, she was gone.

To be continued...

Half Moon Party

2015-01-31T03:15:00.002+05:30

I came back late evening from a week long pleasant Kerala trip. It is a beautiful place, undoubtedly, but when I touched down Mumbai airport, I was overjoyed. I did not feel the calm or nor was I contemplating, as travel would commonly mould you. I was not tired, in fact I was throbbing with energy. It felt that eighteen hours from now would mark the beginning of a series of life changing events. There was no need to rest, there was no need to unpack. The clock ticked slowly as I rolled around the bed all night, wide awake. When the sun rose, I was up, performing unnecessary chores. It was hard to digest, that it was time to leave for Thailand.

The island of Koh Samui

For most, a trip to Thailand would not have been a big deal. But this one, for me, was an exception. Firstly, this trip would get me the third visa stamp in the same year, which was kind of a new year resolution. Also, we had assorted a wide variety of people for this trip. It was a large, mixed group of ten persons from different parts of the country. It was visibly apparent that all the people were not alike in interests, but everyone was going to give it their full shot. The fact remained well known that there was a storm coming. But the excitement had bloated so much, we were happy to live through denial. We gained ambition, we gained hope. It was a monstrous occasion, and nothing could play spoiler.

Back home it was going to be a bright Christmas day, but that did not matter, I wasn't going to be here. As I was headed towards the airport, a sudden burst of random thoughts caused a certain disruption of sanctity of my mind. It had taken 14 days of arguments to decide on the location, and the decision was not made out of unanimity, but out of majority. The Half Moon Party better be worth it. A number of unsettling events were foreseeable, and in some case likely. Although they promised an exceptional amusement, I hoped they would not kill it. The agitation was short lived. As the majestic airport building loomed before my eyes, some part of my mind said, "Fuck it."

Chao Phraya River

We smiled and hailed at everyone. It was an exciting encounter. On one hand, I was eager to meet my old friends after a prolonged time. On the other hand, we had all formed mental images of everyone we hadn't met earlier. I was, in fact, particularly curious to ascertain my own deductions. That apart, I realized I wasn't the only one excited. In comparison to others, I felt pretty balanced myself. Thailand was everyone's treat to themselves, the anticipation levels were running very high. We loaded our bags with duty free and stepped into the plane.

It was a nasty flight (Jet Airways) to Bangkok. I was almost on the verge of creating a ruckus, but a good soul pointed out that Bangkok isn't the loveliest of places to get arrested in. After landing we immediately took on to the city. The city was very predictable, hence a little disappointing. The famous Nana Plaza is kind of forgettable too. Two things that will remain etched for a while is its ridiculous traffic jam and the delectable chicken fried rice at Nana Street. It almost seemed that our first night would just fade away without an episode.

Then we met Lui, the taxi driver. "I'll take you to a Russian party", he said. There were no second thoughts. It was half past two, and six of us guys (and girls) stuffed up in his car as he sped across random Bangkok highways. We were drunk, and we were in Bangkok, no one was really bothered. When we eventually reached the supposed location, the first reaction was that of relief. "At least we guys are not getting killed tonight, and the girls are not getting auctioned", I thought. The second reaction was a bit more concerning. There were no visible clubs around.

Bangkok

There were few people around, well dressed and looking graceful, but there was no sign of any party. "We should find another place", I thought. I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned around. "The taxi driver left", he exclaimed. "What?" It was his unwavering Russian fetish that had got us here. I felt my heart sink a little. It did not matter that we paid the taxi driver an exorbitant amount to get us there. It would not even matter that we could not party until morning. But, getting conned within four hours of arriving in Bangkok is something shameful.

"The party's downstairs", one of the girls whooped from a distance. We sprung into action, following, and jogging down the spiralling stairs. I noticed a girl at the bottom of the staircase. I slowed down. It was a little difficult to take my eyes off her as she was grooving softly to the tunes of euro-trance that played in the background. She was tall, Russian, and the most stunningly beautiful woman. Her black and pink maple dress made her look like an angel. Then I noticed her hand, and my heart skipped a beat. She was twirling her hair gently with her fingers. I went blank. I noted that in my regime, it is going to be illegal for women to play with their hair in public. That is pure harassment.

It was not before long before I once again matched my friends' enthusiasm levels for clubbing. Some of them were busy as they arranged their hair, while others checked their breaths. And the girls, well, they had simply disappeared. I did not even want to envisage what they might be up to, or how long they would take. Meanwhile, I approached the girl at the desk with the best of my smiles. Before I could even speak, she shook her head and pointed below. It was a decorated placard with the most humiliating scribe I had ever seen, a placard which killed the party even before it started.

"Entry for VIP and Models only."

Freedom Beach

Next stop was Koh Tao. It took a rather bumpy ride on a catamarine, and a bucket of vomit with everyone's combined contribution, to finally reach the highly anticipated, immaculate island. The island was a tiny one, but is supposed to be packed with the most beautiful beaches. Sadly, we could go no further than our resort beach, as had it started pouring. And as it kept on pouring, all our plans got flushed. Having left with no other option, we decided to spend some indoor time together. I must admit, the idea of all of us sitting in a ring was rather intimidating, and the games we played, a bit indelicate. However, I was simply grateful that I wasn't losing any friends by the end of the day. The first gathering was undoubtedly a blockbuster success. There is no denying that although one person did end up in tears, but in the long run during the trip, tears were not uncommon in hooks and corners. Yes, people cry in Thailand too.

Kayaking at Angthong

One girl in our group was very fascinating. She claims that she has a very hard time liking guys for who they are, but she fell for at least two men in these nine days of the trip. These men were not Caucasians, Arabs, Latin or Australians. They were Indians, and from our very group. I must admit that in the beginning, I felt a bit desponded in not being included in her top forty percentile preferences of love, but soon after, I thanked all the heavens for that. I still clearly remember the second time she fell in love. For the first time in life, I was able to witness the exact moment of "falling in love".

She stood fixated to the ground, her hands limp, her breath heavy, her cheeks pink, her mouth stiff but her eyes were twinkling. She did not even blink.

"How is he doing that?"

"I really like to know."

"He thinks I am God."

"I think he is superman."

Next day was the day of the Half Moon Party, the focal point of our plan. Of our nine days in Thailand, we had just one day planned, this one. We spend an extraordinary amount of time planning and contemplating about the party. It made us nervous, excited, happy and worried at the same time. It felt that the entire trip depended on this one night. Whenever we made a conversation with a foreigner, we had to ask one question.

"Are you planning to go to the Half Moon Party?"

"No, no! We are here to spend some peaceful time", the Polish girl said, beaming.

"It's not real Thailand you know, but it's going to be insane", The Frenchman replied.

"I went there a couple of years ago, had an insane time", said the German, staring and winking at nothingness.

"I am, and to the Full Moon too", the Swiss girls were particularly enthusiastic.

"You will have an insane time, you will get it all", the American winked.

We landed at the most beautiful resort in Koh Phangan. Some people slept, and some meditated. Everyone prepared for a crazy night in their own way. We woke up, guzzled down shots of vodka, grabbed sparkling wines, and at ten o' clock, sat in the van that would take us to the Half Moon Party. Whatever happened there, I am going to forget about it, at least pretend to, 'cause it's not going away so easily. The party went on all night. We are thrown out at eight in the morning.

Nobody spoke to anybody the next day.

We quietly reached our final destination, Koh Samui. I was delighted to have attained some temporary relief from travelling. This island is bigger, and more notorious. The moisture and the salt in the breeze almost eased the tension that we had brought along. The smiles were back on our faces, as we all discussed how our course of action on this island would be. We reached the famous Chaweng beach with full preparation. While most of them were romping in the sea, three of us quietly (or so we thought) sneaked out.

It was a beautiful bar. Everyone looked happy. As I entered the lounge, I was instantly captivated by the constant humming of people, coupled with the occasional laughter from an unexpected direction, and the cluttering of glasses from the counter. Few people danced as jazz played discreetly in the background. From the look of my friends' faces, I realized they were sold on this place as well. We walked slowly over to the bar, and was instantly greeted by a very friendly middle aged French bartender. Looking at him, I realized that his temperament and appearance would definitely make four out of five girls in our group swoon. He gave us beers, and told us to have a good time. He was about to leave our end of the bar, when he stopped and pointed to a table, "That one, and that one. Good luck boys."

He had done half our jobs for us. He directed us to tables, where the girls were not engaged by other men, not yet. Two girls sat at the first table, giggling, and drinking wine. The other one had three. We picked up our beers and approached them straight away.

"Hi", said one of us nervously.

"Hi there" one of the girls replied cautiously. None of them even smiled. We weren't really experts on our own. It was a bit disarranging, especially when I realized that at least ten seconds had passed and no one replied. We have go to try. A wise man once said, "Anyone can be cynical, dare to be an optimist."

I smirked and said, "That was not as welcoming as we expected, but would you mind if we guys joined you?" I tried to put up a straight smile on my face, but it was not easy. That had not sounded so snide in my mind. I should have at least introduced ourselves first. I could even feel the heat emanating from my friends. They would probably kill me.

First they looked a bit surprised, then they exchanged glances. When they finally looked at us, I noticed at least two of them had pocket smiles on their faces.

"What if we say no?"

"We will come back again in sometime", my friend joined in. Now we were all smiling.

A pause.

The first girl leaned closer, smiled and said "You may join us if you introduce yourselves first. I am Michelle". This was the first unbridled smile of the evening, a smile so fresh, that it can cleanse your mind.

"I am Raj", and took up the seat next to her.

"Abhi", who had already dragged a chair for himself next to the girl with a slinky nose piercing.

"Mary", she smiled.

"Sarah"

"Francis", my other friend chipped in. The other two of us were caught a bit off the hook at his reply. While we had shortened our names for simplicity, he had changed it altogether.

"Are you from Brazil by chance?"

"Oh yes, how did you know?" The so called Francis looked surprised. So did we. We were genuinely. He did not have a traditional Indian appearance, but him passing off as a Brazilian was quite an achievement. He had unlocked a bag of tricks that could make the evening really interesting.

We had just rented two cars. A lot of negotiations, cab fixing, even horse trading were attempted to get the right set of people in the car. All efforts, however, failed. It was the longest breakfast ever. Food arrived occasionally to the table, but the table was throughout over loaded with a wide assortment of complex emotions - romance, jealousy, gloat, neglect, frustration, curiosity, desperation, hopelessness, indolence, insecurity, pity, vengeance, desire, envy, hope, indifference, and hunger of course. None of them were at public disclosure, except for the hunger, and romance of course.

The following day was extraordinary. I have grown up seeing Bollywood movies, and am accustomed to the wildest things people do for love. I was not surprised when the king of romance decides to go beyond unimaginable limits to win over a girls heart. He travels to a village in Punjab from London, goes to Greece from India, spends twenty two years rotting in a Pakistani prison, dies, so that he can be reborn to rescue her, gets beaten up by the girls gangster dad, takes on a sumo wrestler, and what not. What I witnessed on that day, was unbelieving. To my utmost horror, my friend volunteered to be a scapegoat in an elephant act. The act was rather degrading. The elephant was supposed to be picking out the "right" banana hidden in his crotch (or the "wrong", I really don't want to give this any deeper thought). That was one act of dare devilry I would never do. For those desperate and curious, elephant acts do make girls laugh. I am pretty sure that even the monkey which was waiting for its turn to perform, had a good laugh too. But if you are looking to make an impression, my humble intelligence tells me that you should not let elephants play with your privates. If ever, such levels of courage ever hover in your mind, make sure you are comfortable with adoption in the future, or surrogacy at least. Hopefully, the mutilation wasn't really physical, but no doubt that it was rather traumatizing. The idea of feeding a banana to an elephant will never be the same again.

It was the night of the thirty-first. We all wanted to make it special. The girls were especially excited and each one had a different answer to my question at different times during the trip.

"What would you like to do for new years?"

"I want to wear my pretty dress."

"I want to have dinner at a good place."

"I want to meet Arabian men, or Caucasian, or Latin. I really want to meet some good men." She was same girl who was already confused about two men within the group.

"I want to go to a beautiful shack by the beach, and then walk on the sand."

"I am going to light lanterns." And two of the jumped with joy.

"I want to see some good firecrackers." She smiled, and returned to her photo shoot. She had a very simple relationship with the camera. Wherever the camera went, she followed. By the end of it, some of us started wondering if she had photo-bombing superpowers. I held the camera as people posed before it. I scanned the surroundings carefully, she was nowhere to be seen. I was relieved.

Click.

Everyone gathers around me to see the picture. Most guys look decent, all the girls manage to look pretty. And then I saw her, beaming, bang in the middle of the frame. How? It was nearly impossible to capture landscapes. You might try to focus on the waves, on the skies, on the boats, on the trees, on the hills, but guess who would already be standing in your line of sight? Correct. Beauty is certainly in the eyes of the beholder but the credit of those pictures looking beautiful goes to someone else.

New year celebration was excellent. We went to a popular beach side shack on Lamai beach. It had been a tiring day, a tiring trip, and in fact a tiring year. I stood silently with a glass of whiskey in my hand, and looking at the firecrackers in the sky. Some of us were still bursting with energy and enthusiasm. A few went looking for food, while a few others went bird hunting. I sat down on the cold dry sand, and felt a soothing tingle down my spine. As the frenzy subsided, I felt my mind clear, and the moment just bloomed all around me. The lights from the shack behind, the music coupled with the crashing of waves, the cool breeze grazing my face, the sensation of the soft cool sand beneath my feet, were overwhelming.

I had decided I was going to spend a good amount of time on that spot. Those swings at the bar were an interesting arrangement, but I had decided to leave that for later. I wasn't really surprised when I realized that I wasn't the only one. We sat there, looking at the lantern lit skies, the dark endless sea, and the lively people at the bar who seemed to have a pretty good time. Nothing really mattered then. Everyone was vulnerable, and thus we ended up bartering our priceless secrets. We sat there lazily, laughed and joked, and alongside had intense intellection discussions. At some point in time, our cognitive inquisitiveness faded, and that was replaced by our primal ones.

We went around looking for food. None. The shack did not really serve food. It was becoming difficult to wait for food to arrive. I could only smoke a certain number of cigarettes to kill my hunger. I decided to take a stroll around to dissipate time. It was hardly crowded anymore. Most of the people had left. Everyone was sitting down, looking exhausted. Some sat silently, while others spoke in soft tones. As I reached the other end of the bar, I saw my friend. He was standing, his eyes fixed on the girl in front of him, his hands performing some extraordinary manoeuvres in an effort to explain something. The three girls looked lost. Two of them were looking at random directions, the third, the one closest to him, was nodding unenthusiastically. Before I could wonder where the second guy was, I spotted him at a nearby table, fast asleep. An extraordinary new year for every one indeed.

A Flimsy Dig at Netaji

2015-01-25T13:30:00.000+05:30

Today, 23rd day of January, marks the birth anniversary of Netaji Subhas Chandra's. It is not even a government holiday, not outside West Bengal and Orissa. In fact, in my own circle of friends, most of who belong to the intellectually elite, not many even remember this day. This is my spot of tribute for this man, also known as the springing tiger. I am not looking to glorify him in this blog, I am just trying to understand him, and others like him.

Bose's life and death both remain a mystery. Compared to other freedom fighters, his life remains in relative obscurity. His ideals remain questioned, methods unique, and the motivations unknown. We probably have got the facts straight, at least the significant ones. Our tendency is to arrive at some reasonable appreciation for the man and his life. Thus we resolve to a perception, which, unlike facts, have a tendency to change unnoticeably.

It is not very well known how Bose grew up in his early years. He was clever, he was passionate, he was courageous. But the foundations of his interest in nationalism remain in conundrum. This scepticism actually denigrates him at every turn. Due to his use of divergent tactics in the formation of Indian National Army, the westerners understandably have a very different outlook towards him. His association with Hitler, and the Japanese who were both at the height of inhumanity during the World War. Hitler committed unfathomable atrocities with the Jews, and the Japanese with Chinese and other prisoners of war. Bose taking Emelie Schenkl, a German speaking woman secretly as his wife has not gone well either. However, I have realised that this doubt is not just constrained in the west, but very much prevalent back home as well.

A flock of people are of the opinion that the foundation of Bose's undaunted activities come not from the love for his country, or courage in the face of adversity. It arose only from his hatred for the British rule. This outrageous theory apparently explains, why Bose was willing to go to any lengths for building his army. Hugh Toye, who headed the manhunt for Bose wrote that the incident with Oaten left him "a victim of racial prejudice", leaving him with a grudge which he carried with him for nineteen years. I must not forget to mention that the similar flock are not so fond of Bhagat Singh, Azad etc.

One of the earliest records in Netaji's life is the Oaten incident. You probably know about it, but I am going to try dissect it. If we are lucky, we might find even get an answer. Much later in his life, Netaji attributes his courage to this one incident.

Before I continue, haven't we wondered why the Englishmen treated Indians with such distaste. I am guessing the answer lies in the cultural differences. In general malaise or periods of loneliness, or the heat, they would crave to return back to their roots. The Indian foreignness could become unbearable, and they would begin to dislike the natives.

Anyways, Oaten was the principal in Presidency College where Bose studied. He was wildly known to mortify the students. Netaji was in his third year when a series of events happened. After the first few incidents, Bose had organised a student strike. Soon after, Oaten again burst out of a lecture hall, seized a student by the scruff of the neck. Later that afternoon, Oaten was tackled and knocked down on the staircase. Bose refused to admit or deny taking part in this incident. He got dismissed from College.

Toye, in his book, mentions that it was this incident that scarred Subhash for life. His mission, his sole goal was to show that he was superior to everyone else. He even mentioned Bose derived pleasure when he got his chores done by Englishmen when he studied in Cambridge. However, Toye, who never really caught up with Bose, had a great deal of respect and admiration for Bose.

What Bose did after his first protest, he made a second attempt by leading, or participating, or refusing to denounce his involvement. It remains unknown, but, each of the possibilities are as honourable, and courageous as the others. There will be plenty of people who would support the theory that this is unsporting. Oaten was outnumbered, attacked from behind, and the attackers fled the spot.

Let us consider the alternative, the sporting reply. What's that? Offer a face to face challenge and fight with fists? If a student even attempted this, and he was lucky, Oaten would have laughed and turned away, causing more humiliation than ever before. If he wasn't lucky, he would have managed to strike a blow. That would have been grounds for physical assault charges, and would have been pursued with full force of law. Oaten, on the other hand, will continue to remain as dangerous as ever, if not more. The explanation is very simple.

A student strike did not work. Now, if you needed the satisfaction, you needed four elements - strength, speed, surprise and anonymity. That would guarantee your victory. Gang up and beat him up. He cannot refuse a fight, humiliate you over or get you arrested. This technique was used by several revolutionaries. Why? Open combat, or even debate was not really an option back then.

The Englishmen called Bose "sort of a gentlemen", the "sort" coming from their unwillingness. The mannerism of Bose's behaviour was of the highest degree. It would be really unjust to perceive him as the way Toye did.

Subhash Chandra, in a letter to his friend, a letter that has still been preserved, mentioned that the Englishmen have a great deal of attributes to learn from - precision, energy, optimism, punctuality. He was glad that unlike in India, the Englishmen treated him as a fellow gentleman in their country. Bose was a from a respectable family who you would call Bengali Babus, who have very similar attitude to the Rajputs. It is seen in his later life that he did not bow before anyone else, not even Hitler. He treated everyone, big and small with utmost respect, and expected the same for himself and his fellow countrymen.

I think it is pointless to say that Netaji harboured a grudge against Englishmen in general. What we see in him, is his infinite perseverance, inspired by his love for the country, love for freedom. Life pushes us down again and again, but it is upto is whether we should give in. Netaji didn't. He tried, to the best of his abilities. He left no stone unturned. He had not even given up after his army failed in the North East.

His courage and endurance goes unparallelel to any. He went as far as creating an army in Germany, and then in South Asia. He dealt with the most feared world leaders then, without even slightly compromising on his ideals. He consolidated an army of 40,000 men in Germany, and then 55,000 in Malaysia. On top of this, he managed to recruit several others. This is no ordinary achievement given that these soldiers actually fought for British India. Bose managed to turn them over. He made them men out of sheep.

A Young Girl, a Dash of Gin, and an Orange Shirt

2015-01-19T13:10:00.006+05:30

She is an honest, adventurous and a care free woman. But, the world has taken its toll on her. She has been there, done that, and is still looking for more. The frustration is growing upon her. But lately, she has just once again seen sunlight, but is a bit scared. She is trying to step back with her feet on the ground, but her heart is still in the skies. Wouldn't it be a feast to have a slice of her thoughts?

She carries a heavy burden of morality along with her experiences. It was a flash of thought, followed by her resplendent smile, which comes with the best of dimples, mind you, and I was convinced. She was a bit alarmed, but her excitement took down her fear. I knew then, this would be a spectacular piece. I was not disappointed later. However, she remains shy and wants to remain anonymous. Those of you who know her well, you know she is the best. You can, in fact probably guess who she is once you read on.

This one, my second article in the series, is just raw, and fresh out of the pan.

As I sit down on this ridiculously high bar-stool, well on my third round of gin and tonic, I am encompassed by a sudden sense of déjà-vu. How many times have I been in similar situations? How many pubs have I been to? How many drinks have I ordered? How many faces have I seen? And how many people have I chatted with, meaninglessly, over a drink in a random place? Too many to recall I guess. Would I recognize them if they walked up to me and said hello? Probably not.

Deep, deep thoughts indeed. I tell myself. Pity I don’t smoke. Experience says, smoking areas have the coolest men and the best conversations. Which reminds me, Men! Excited, I look up and around. None. Deflated, I get back to my drink. I am thinking about noses, like man noses. I like a face with a nice nose. Like a strong, prominent nose dominating the face. Inspired, I scan the room again, trying to locate the man with the best nose. None. Not my kind of noses in this room. Blahhh! Time to order the next drink.

The bartender is giving me the look. He can see that I am in a semi drunk state. He is probably wondering why my date did not turn up for the evening. Poor guy doesn't realize that I am the one who did not turn up for the evening. I look up and smile at him, the best I can manage. In a sober state, I would have assessed it, even tried to perfect the smile. However, at this moment, sitting upright is taking some effort. I am too "merry" to care!

The bartender moves up the bar and smiles, “Waiting for someone?” Men! I think, so predictable and so easy to read. “No!” I say, “Was supposed to meet a few people. But I decided to ditch them last moment, and came here instead”. “Alone?” he asks. Before I can answer, we are interrupted. I turn and look around. Orange! An orange guy! Well, a guy wearing an orange shirt. Why, God, why? Men (note), orange and you don’t go together. But wait, shirts and men do (thankfully!). Plus I notice his smile is kind of cute (alas, no dimples however). He smells nice as well. A few checks already. Happiness.

I look around, quite dramatically, to see who his company is for the evening. I notice he is with a girl, a pretty one, who is furiously texting, probably her girlfriends, updating them about her date.

I focus my attention back on the guy. Should I or should I not - what? - I’m just thinking about smiling at him. No harm in an innocent smile, right? No conscious no, go away, not now. It is okay to disrupt dates. Is it? When it is meant to be disrupted, it will be. Wait, he just said something. “You okay?” I turn and smile, a cute, you-should-tots-sit-here-and-talk-to-me smile and nod my head. Yes guys, women are more manipulative than you give them credit for. I know a conversation is likely to follow. I am halfway through my fourth glass. Oh no.

First thought, he is talking a lot. Second, his pitch is all wrong. Wait, maybe my head is all wrong. Bottom line, not the best time for conversations, I realize. Keeping up and following the thread is becoming a bit difficult. But I am making a concerted effort. He is telling me about his "friend" (who is openly staring at us by the way) and her break up with her boyfriend. And how he is trying to cheer her up with an evening out. Honestly, I think it is all bullshit (he is just shifting his preference for the night). She doesn't look cheerful and he doesn't seem concerned. Men! Bored already, I smile politely. I mean what is the harm?

This seems like eternity. He is still talking. Something about how his day went, or maybe it is about the weather, or maybe about both. I catch words - day, rain, fuck, shit, sad, water, food, fuck, bitch, weather. A man without a vocabulary, I note. Of course I am totally judging him by this time. The manner in which he is talking, the fact that he is totally ignoring the girl he is supposed to cheer up, going by his story, his personality, his body language and most importantly, the fact that he has not even asked me my name yet. Or maybe he has. But I have forgotten the moment in this spate of verbal diarrhea

Men. They’re so full of themselves. My head hurts (someone please make him stop) and I have lost interest and now I am looking around once again. And he’s still talking. Facepalm. This guy is clearly not going to get a girl (read: get laid), ever! At least never by chatting up a girl in the bar. By now, I’m kind of feeling bad of him. I want to say, “Listen, you were doing so much better by just standing at the bar, looking cute and ordering drinks!” Now you have ruined everything with your over enthusiastic, oh-I’m-such-a-stud attitude. And I have judged and dismissed you. Brutally.

I get off the stool, “I have to go now. Sorry.” (I insert my best fake oh-I-got-to-go smile) “You’re leaving? But we just met!” I make some random excuse about meeting my friends. I glance at the bartender who gives me a sympathetic look. I know he knows exactly what I am thinking. I am tired and done for the night. He is probably seen this happen a million times before. I give him a smile (my first real, genuine smile for the night) "Goodbye", I mouth and walk away.

I can still hear , in that horribly pitched voice, words like phone number, Facebook meeting, coffee and next time. Poor guy. Out of pity, I turn and smile at him (He looks ecstatic because I turned, I note). Bad move. Hurriedly, I walk away.

MEN!!!! Cocky is not cool anymore (unless you’re Harvey Specter from Suits which, let’s face it, you’re not). Neither is inserting words like- awesome, dude, shit, fuck, bitch - in every sentence you construct a good idea. A good vocabulary is the sign of an "intelligent" man. And intelligence is sacrosanct, it will never be out-of-fashion. Lastly, non stop talking and sharing life information is a very bad idea, especially when it is done without invitation. Women like mystery, at least the real ones.

As I walk back, I remind myself of the paracetamol I must take before going to bed. Also, I must give a damn good excuse to my friends for not turning up tonight.

Final thoughts: The bartender was cute! Probably the one with the best nose in the room.

Martian Men and Earthly Women

2015-01-15T21:48:00.001+05:30

It gets pretty tiring to read your own writing on your own blog. I decided to send out a few invites for the honour. The first one definitely had be for her. So, I asked her politely. I even put on a tone of nervousness in my voice even though there was no doubt she would do it. She grumbled, raised her voice, and tried to make a joke out of it. But, then she said one word in a way no woman could. One word which makes me oblivious to everything else. One word, whenever she says, I shall always smile.

"Fine!"

She is a very active blogger herself, one of the best ones I know. Though I am unsure how this article relates to the topic I gave her, it was too beautiful to let go. She is thoughtful, attractive, and highly dangerous. If you read the article below, she seems a little infuriated as well. Quite expected, as she doesn't get to spend enough time with me these days.

So here goes, the first article of the series, which is entirely untrammelled by me.

From the moment they set their beautiful eyes on you, on just you in a large room and smile at you, you know it, in your heart and in your mind, you know that this is it - your brain is officially going to shut down after this.

You crack a few jokes, you try to be funny, you try to be intelligent, you try not to spill water while drinking and you try to chew your food properly. You have never bothered about this but all of a sudden you wonder how you smell and if at all you smell fine and not like your room.

Perhaps you don't smell that bad at all, perhaps this new deo is as good as the television says because you have a number now and you have been added on Facebook. Score.
And then it begins, with an inconspicuous first ping or message - a simple hi. Yes, your hopes have been elated. You still do not know where this is going to lead, well, you very well know where you would want this to lead but still you have to play with safe, you have to keep it cool, you don't want to seem too needy.

So you reply back, you play it cool.

And before you know it you are pushed right in to the middle of their lives - what they are doing right now, what they are wearing, when they bathe, when they go to office, what was for lunch, what was for dinner, should I buy this, will this look nice on me - god they talk so much, you wonder how can any one talk so much, you really do not care what they had for dinner, you do care as to what they are wearing, yes of course but the rest of the stuff it makes you wonder about their infinite capacity to blab the entire day, day after day, night after night.

And then you think since you are talking so much and laughing and sharing and sharing even more maybe you mean something, you do count, you are not like the others. After a couple of movies and some dinners and after lots of effort to make yourself appealing at these social outings, you finally gather the courage to have the talk about that status of your friendship.

But you never get to have that talk do you? It is like they have a relationship-status-talk radar in their head which can scan your thoughts. As soon as they begin to sense that what you want is completely from what they want, they silently distance themselves. It is so subtle, it is so damn clever, it almost makes you feel that you did something wrong.
It is so tough to get inside their heads and to understand what they want and why they behave the way that they do. They want your constant attention but then do not want to take it forward. They get jealous when you get opposite sex attention but they can take you for granted.

I think it is easier to understand the stock markets or string theory than to know what it is that men really want. And I think my girlfriends will agree with me. Contrary to the myths propagated by popular culture we women are very simple creatures, when we love, we love you, it is that simple really. Mind games is not our forte. We really do not want to be understood, we just want to be loved and cherished.

But men.

Men!

Popular culture makes them believe all they want is food and fun. Right.

No. Balls.

Not only do they want food and fun. They also want to be understood. Which is funny because in all honesty they themselves do not know what they want. They do not have a bloody clue. I have never been able to understand man, they are silly, childlike, they want constant attention and want to be pampered, they want to be heard and boy can they talk. I zone out often while talking to them. That is the only way to keep my sanity.

Here is a link to read some more really insightful stuff on her blog. But mind you, some articles are not meant for the common man. https://iitandtheworld.wordpress.com

A New Year, A New Start

2015-01-12T13:38:00.002+05:30

It's been a while now since I have penned down a word. But now or later, I had to recoup the courage to post something once again. So if you are reading this, hearty congratulations to me. Writing has become very hard, and I have become very lazy. The flatness in the environment has taken its toll, and it has been in the form of time. So here I am, with a sudden rush of adrenalin, trying to make history in my own way.

Now, what am I going to write about? I have no clue. Not yet. Not that I have a colossal fan following who are waiting impatiently for my next piece, but I do have one. Me. I have often written about my opinions just like any other smart ass on the floor. On brighter days, I have been able to get creative, or so, and been able to jot down half baked stories. Today, too, is a very dark day, but, with a brink of daylight.

And, I am afraid, I am going to write about nothing outside of myself today.

It has been a year, and the year has been long and extensive. Has it been perfect? Very far from it. But there have been remarkable experiences. Moments, even days that are going to last a lifetime. The rest of it, is all a blur. I know now, more than ever, that there is no sunset. I cannot wait for the opportune moment. I have to give it a shot, however shitty it might be. It is scary, it has got to be fucking scary, to have such large chunks of time fade away completely.

Bit random that was, wasn't it? But I will pretend nothing happened, and go on.

This year was not about achieving anything. Not that it was planned, but so it happened. I led a dull and regular dormant life, expect for a few peaks and a few lows here and there.

The intention was to explore a new world. But before you can feed in something nice into your system, you have to get rid of the junk that is already in there. It took a while, but I definitely managed to flush some of it out. Thoughts, ideas, desires and even people. Some of these grow like a a fancy parasites. They suck the marrow out of you, and you think that the entire phenomena is so pretty. You are blinded to good and bad, fun and bore, love and hate. The individual and the society become such complex problems, that you seldom live through the will of sorting the garbage out.

Now you are left with three options. The first one, is of course, denial. The easiest, and the worst. The second one, however noble it might be, is not easy - patiently sorting out the mess. I probably tried to approach this route, and gave up. The third one is courageous, quick and honest. It is not a noble endeavor though, hence comes the courage. Just chop off the muss.

Random sorting of thoughts in my head.

Europe, Hong Kong and Thailand. Three insane trips this year, mentioned not only according to timeline, but in the order of their sanctity as well. I was pretty unfamiliar to the idea of meeting random people, without circumstantial requirement. Listening to stories without any emotional attachment, and speaking out loud in the comfort of not being judged. Giving all to the moment, and taking nothing home. Life would be very different if we lived that way all the time. Everyone has memories, of course, great wonderful ones. But these are a very few, that are unique, rare, the ones that are not burdened with expectations.

Nothing plays a better spoiler than prejudice. The feeling of getting rid of the prejudices cant be complemented with any other. It does require a lot of courage and dedication. I wish I could have got past all of them, but I have not. Still, I have managed to get rid of quite a few.

Shuffling again.

I have always suffered from the conflict of two traditional rivals. Freedom and responsibility. I, now believe the idea is to get both, and it is a daunting task indeed. Most of us eventually get succumbed to responsibility. A regular job, marriage, kids and some crappy insurance. I used to think the idea is to attain freedom. But freedom alone is no fun. It comes with guilt. Yet again, responsibility in itself is a bore. If it is the only thing you are after, you are insignificant, irrelevant, and meaningless. Maybe, you are important to a bunch of others who are relying on you in some way, but you have become a temporary caretaker of something that will find its wings some day, and fly away, leaving you behind, having nothing to do with you. The world of caretaking is the world of expectations. Do we want to be caretakers? No, never. But a majority of us are. Freedom is as essential an ingredient as responsibility. Drawing a balance between both might provide temporary relief, but the idea is to attain both, without compromising on the other.

The Enslaved Indian

2013-07-27T15:58:00.001+05:30

Have you ever wondered how much we, Indians have developed since our Independence? It's not about the highways, the cars or the buildings. It's the society we are breeding in, and the culture we are breeding out. How much has it changed? A lot? really?

In 1947, we gained independence. A beautified word for freedom. But what happens when you give a brand new shining BMW to someone who hasn't even seen a car? Well, that is us. Indians have been under foreign rule for around a thousand years. We just watched ourselves taken over by one ruler after another. How would be ever understand the value of freedom? In 1947, we finally freed ourselves. Did we? Really? You say that Gandhi and his gang simply transformed the British souls and engaged them to leave us? Subhash and his gang, didn't convincingly impact them either.

So what freed us? The British left us to save their own ass. The world wars left them to be one of the important powers, but that time, they were vulnerable in their own motherland, and decided its high time they stop giving a rats ass to ours. Some of us might say, it doesn't matter. We still got our freedom.

Well, I say it does. If you have never seen a car, how are you going to drive the BMW? So there we are dragging our vehicle erratically. We don't know how it should be driven. How it should move. So all we just do ask around for approval, and we are done. So that's how we run our lives, our society, our nation.

This situation is getting more and more complex. Even in a nation of 1.2 billion people, we are severely short of free thinkers. Our notion of freedom is bounded by criticism. Our actions and decisions are all bases on what we perceive to be conventional. More than half of our educated youngsters are engineers. The same kind of people end up in the same kind of professions. And now we are getting closed to being an enslaved nation, once again. And this time, it wouldn't be for our carelessness, but for our ignorance. Religion is no longer personal, as it is meant to be. We are thronging the corporate world, and losing our soul in the process. Entrepreneurship is, we say, for the privileged. The privileged do not need it. Your facebook status update can get you arrested. A witty one liner on your bill could shatter your business. And this is all considered acceptable by this Sovereign Socialist Secular Democratic Republic nation. Wherever you go, your potential would be undermined (unless of course you are the son of Gandhi, or a Vadra). But that doesn't enrage us anymore. We just accept it. Terrorists come and bomb us, shoot us, we watch the television in horror, maybe shed a tear or two, thank God for our own safety, and go to sleep. Our opinions, our votes, our souls can all be bribed just too easily. Even today, most of the ones who actually realize how enclaved we are, go abroad, for there are many countries who know what freedom is, and who have the ability to identify real potential, and appreciate good talent.

We have a pseudo movement going on right now. Maybe like ten people are fighting for it. Everyone knows that we are on the verge of becoming a Somalia or a Pakistan if ruled like this for another five or ten years. But what is everyone up to? Competing for the employee of the month award, running to catch the train, thinking for the future because they have given up on the present, or simply writing meaningless blogs like me. And yes, we say we are free.

Our race is still in shackles. Enslavement is now genetic. The war for freedom is still due.

The Old Candy Shop

2013-04-24T15:44:00.000+05:30

I stood back in the crowd, and thought
It would be so horrible should I get lost,
He guided me through lanes, as we trot

To the old candy shop.

Happy with the pleasures I bought,

I rushed into the crowd, that I once fought

I grew, I knew, and I forgot

My way to the old candy shop.

Tired, I stopped and looked around,
This wasn't a route to where I was bound,

I floundered, stumbled but nowhere was to be found,
The brightly lit lane to the old candy shop.

It was a dark cloudy day,

In the darkness I uncovered the way,

I struggled, staggered, and grappled away,

But there no more was the old candy shop.

No Smoking

2012-12-06T19:35:00.000+05:30

Whenever I am asked if I am addicted to smoking, I have always said "No". The answer came naturally, without any background thought. Really! But lately, I realized that isn't entirely true. There are sudden moments when I get uncontrollable urges to take a puff. However, it is not the lack of nicotine in my body which propels me, it has never been the nicotine craving. So for all you guys, who have been so curious as to why I smoke, I finally have an answer!

I started to quench my curiosity, and it took me quite a while to smoke correctly. Back then, it was very important for me to smoke correctly. Anyways, that couldn't be the reason now.

My mind is very calm, I do not need to fuel it by nicotine shots to cheer me up. Neither, does my IQ drop to half its value after a prolonged no-fag period. My body remains perfect, and does not behave erratically with the lack of nicotine. Some people might say it acts as a booster for creativity and/or intelligence. I seriously doubt that. Neither do I do it to take bad odour off my mouth. People actually do that! Won't you rather inhale the breath of a smoker over a bad-breather? Oh, and I don't find it cool either. Well, it might be sometimes, but that is not the reason as to why I smoke.

I smoke 'cause I hate you. You conveniently ethical bastard. I hate your incessant intervention in my personal life. I hate you because you undermine my intelligence and will power. I too have seen those pretty posters and videos, and "Smoking is injurious to health" liners. The day isn't far, where at least in India, we will have that line written on the waistbands of underwear we buy. I smoke 'cause I don't want to trade my soul in exchange for your charitable pity. I smoke 'cause I want to be differentiated from the likes of you.

Plain and simple.

The Voices in my Head

2012-10-04T10:39:00.000+05:30

Precautionary Warning: The following content may be offensive or even boring to some readers.

I lay looking straight at the ceiling, oblivious to everything but the lizard creeping towards an unsuspecting insect. The lizard stood very still, so still that it didn't seem to be breathing. The insect, too insignificant to be noticed on its own, was probably a few seconds away from serving its purpose in this world. It did not flutter, it did not even move, just lay there, ignorant about the presence of its to be assailant, or maybe it was simply awaiting its fate. I wouldn't know.

My mind popped up a simple question. Why am I here? The lowly beings, namely the insect and the lizard were serving their exact purposes in life. Their lives were meaningless, colorless, and unnoticeable. Yet they fulfilled their purpose. What about me? I have been equipped with so many choices, and with so much potential. Indefinite and infinite. Yet, I am here, uselessly lying down on, my actions being restricted to adjusting the position of my head on my pillow.

I had got up late in the morning, read a few pages of book, and left for office. Office, where I sit on my lazy armchair, and end up doing tasks that I don't really want to do. I come back, talk to family and friends, share stories, flirt with girls, and sleep. And I do this everyday! Something seems to have seriously gone wrong. Yet, it doesn't quite seem wrong. There is no criticism, no one to be inspired from. Everyone seems so satisfied with me. Why? Possibly 'cause everyone, near and far, has been ambushed in the same way. Somewhere down in history, we men have lost the purpose of our lives. It only means we will have to rediscover the right path on our own. But how? Will it help if we trace our steps back in history?

There are moments of courage when this realization drills into me. But then I am left alone in this journey. Every other person is discouraging me, and tries to pull me back. It becomes difficult to express that it is not my inability, but my unwillingness to return. I am not really bothered if my employer makes better profits this quarter, or worse. I am not really bothered if someone is lonely, and is craving my attention. There are bigger worries. I am tired of the etiquette that has been set in this past millennium. Why is the path so important? People fuss about the littlest of things. Shouldn't the destination just suffice? Isn't my love enough for you? Why do you want a regular demonstration of the same?

For most of us, it is all about having fun. Fun, indeed is a necessary facet of life, but, just like the other aspects, it loses significance if it is the only one. I find myself surrounded by people who neglect excellence, treat it with mockery. Contented people. I don't think anyone is naturally dumb, its only the lack of sharpness, that has to be regularly toned with knowledge. This requires time and effort, as a result of which one can't simply spend too much time on trivial matters, which we largely tend to. Dumbness is nothing but the absence of knowledge and enthusiasm over a prolonged period of time, and it is one of the most irritating traits a person can bear.

I twisted to my left, spotted a pack of cigarettes, grabbed it, and lighted one. I observed the lit end glow bright and big as I took in the first puff. Why do you smoke? The question rang in my head. Why not? The response rang back. I felt a slight surge in annoyance and anger. Why are smokers scrutinized at every point in our society? What harm have we done? A few articles by non smokers and family values have clouded the judgement of those around me. Or has it clouded mine? Not that I have a very clear answer, but it is pretty clear that the answer is beyond the pros or cons of smoking.

The decorum people maintain around me is superficial. It has been embedded into them. The society functions smoothly that way, but the definite purpose of society, of humanity remains defeated. Physical tolerance or admission is one thing, but the real value lies when the process is intrinsic. Again, why do I think smoking is not wrong? 'Cause it doesn't feel wrong. That would be my answer to all. This debate goes beyond smoking, and even beyond drinking and doping. Good and bad will be determined from my deeds, and nothing else. How does what I eat, drink or smoke determine my character?

In what seemed like a flash, the lizard took a leap forward and inched closer. It was very close to its victim now. The lizard was in no hurry. It waited, and so did the insect. The two seemed to belong to a whole different world altogether, clearly blind to the world around, or simply carefree.

I watched them intently, without contemplation or sympathy. That is another thing I hate. Sympathy. You are distressed, let me know. You will have my sympathy, and along with it, I am pretty much willing to share my endless wisdom with you. But as a courtesy for the same, please do not sympathize with me, ever. I get irritated, and I end up feeling worse. Advice, on the other hand, is welcome. Advice is welcome because, unlike sympathy, the judgement of the person is not clouded by emotions, real or fake. The problem is mine, and I am meant to deal with it. Not only that, is there any one else is better equipped to deal with my problems? I shall err if needed, and I am willing to learn from it.

My thoughts sway again. No one judges the lizard. No one judges the insect, but if I even moved a finger, I make friends and enemies in the process. Everyone judges. My actions earn me praise, retorts, love and hatred. I am willing to welcome them with open arms. But then I wonder, why do we evaluate one another's actions? Not only do we judge others, but we let them judge us too. I am responsible for my own, and you are responsible for yours. There is no other way out. Freedom would have its true meaning, life would have a genuine purpose, if only we truly judged our own selves and no more.

My phone beeped, and I saw a message from a certain loved one. I was bored of replying an hour ago. Was exchange of pleasant verses such an important entity for the happiness of a person? Relationships are confusing. I do not understand the necessity of sharing of thoughts, when that would serve no purpose other than uplifting moods. I find it strange how relationships become such a strong determining factor in our lives. So are we here just so that we locate and spend time with the significant other? And let their ideologies flood into ours and cloud the same? Relationships, I believe are possibly one of the best ways to learn and master yourself, but today, its all about mastering your significant other, thereby creating all the problems. One can try to adjust, but until the tolerance comes from within, it won't work out.

Is it not justified that we aim to become better persons, and strive for feeling truly contented with ourselves? Become stronger, independent and free, not physically, but mentally?

The lizard took one last lurch, and got hold of the insect. The insect struggled for a couple of seconds, but then it was over. I rolled over to my left again, but this time, closed my eyes and curled up my legs, the weird thoughts that had surged up in my mind dissolving fast.

To Nainital, via Corbett

2012-09-28T15:28:00.001+05:30

The onuses of staying in Delhi, especially Gurgaon, are endless. After a lot of contemplation I decided not to write about it. I have been trying to look beyond them, and I must stay, that after the initial shock, I am having a pretty good time. A couple of aspects of this city are particularly motivating. One of course are the women (more on that later), and the other being the abundance of weekend destinations.

A plan for Rishikesh was afloat for the following weekend. I wanted to join in, but there were other Delhi fascinations that held me back. I was lazily working on a Thursday afternoon. My eyes were probably half shut, when one of my friends sprung me awake with just four words, "Let's go to Corbett!".

"Corbett!", I thought. I froze in flashback. My fascination with Jim Corbett went back to seventh standard. The books, obviously. Kumaon, Rudraprayag, Temple Tiger, My India, I had read them all. I had even written an essay on Jim Corbett National Park in my boards. All other prioritized plans consequently were instantly dumped in the back of mind, as I had no hesitation in saying "Yes!".

One way tickets to Ramnagar, the nearest railway station was booked in a flash. The trip was confirmed for the next day.

I reached Delhi, around 90 minutes before the scheduled departure. Not at the station, but a scoring arena. I had never purchased weed in Delhi before. It was really pissing off when people did not respond to standards like "Maal kahan milega?" or "Phookne ka saaman kahan milega?", I had to resort to using words that were surely going to get me caught. Ultimately, it did. I suddenly found a firm hand placed across on my shoulders. They hand belonged to you well built mustached man, who was staring straight ahead with his weary eyes. I tried to get off his hold, didn't work. I was about to wrestle harder, but stopped when I saw a shining star on his plain clothes. "What are you looking for?", he asked coolly.

"My friend came in here some time back", I said quickly. I could feel my thumping heart, and how much ever I tried, I couldn't make it less apparent. It would not be long before I start profusely sweating.

"What?", he looked surprised.

"My friend had told me wait outside for five minutes, but he didn't turn up, So I came to look for him.", I said confidently.

He let me go. "What was he doing in here?", he looked irritated now.

"I have no idea, I never asked. He just told me to wait.", I could feel my facial muscles churn up sheer innocence.

"Did you call him?"

"Yes, unreachable." My hands automatically reached for my phone in my pocket. I tried to remain calm, but my mind was screaming, "What next?"

"You kid, you probably go to college." He told me intently. I had no wishes of interrupting. "This area is not safe. Go out and wait, I will find your friend."

I nodded, rushed outside. Damn! That was close! But no weed in Corbett. Damn!

I looked at my phone. It was pretty late. 45 minutes before our train left from old Delhi. After a momentarily flash of abuses from a couple of friends whom I had kept waiting outside, we quickly decided to take the metro route to the Old Delhi station. Someone calculated a probability of 7-8% of reaching on time. But we had to give it a shot. The metro glided lazily, waiting endless at stations. At Chandni Chowk, we ran out of the train, and continued running. We were eight minutes late. No one commented, just ran.

When we reached the platform, the train was still there. Thank God for Indian Standard Time! We couldn't get to our compartment, but we had got into the train. Relief flowed down from head to toe. I stood at the train door, lit a cigarette, and let the nicotine soothe my nerves. I was finally going to Corbett.

I hardly slept that night. But when I woke up in the morning, I was fresh. The cool dark breeze outside Ramnagar station was not only chilly, but severely refreshing. But It was five in the morning, and no one told us the quota of surprises in this trip was not complete. I was shocked enough to drop my cigarette. Someone had just told us "Corbett is closed.". Fuck!

We tried to act cool, and pretend that we knew our ways around, lest the taxi-wallahs loot us. After so much? Corbett closed? Really? We had to confirm.

Half an hour later, we were sitting at a tea shop, sulking and cursing. Corbett was actually closed. None of us had checked. It now struck me why the tickets were readily available even just done day before. It was a moment of silence, where each one of us were lost in their own thoughts, sipping on their tea cups quietly, a man whom we had talked to sometime back, walked up to us and said, "Sir, you should go to Naintal. It just takes two hours. I can take you in my taxi."

None of us exhibited any sign of joy. I indeed love this group. No one lacked presence of mind. In the next ten minutes, we had sketched up a plan to go to Nainital. In another ten minutes, we had negotiated the taxi rates to a reasonably low rate. In another ten minutes, we were outside the town, feeling the cold breeze impregnate pervade our faces. It is really marveling how closeness to nature instantly pikes up our senses. Life simply becomes more vital.

The surprises did not stop. And neither did we stop being carefree. We got punished for following our instincts a number of times. But, in the end the rewards, by far, surpassed the penalties. The breath taking views we were offered silenced us altogether. Jim Corbett was no longer lurking in our minds. The experience was undoubtedly out of the world, and I am not going to attempt a likely failure by trying to put them in words. The photos that follow will speak on their own, all you have to do is read it.

One hardly gets tired of watching the endless Shivaliks hidden in dark murk forests, blending with the cloudy skies.

The view from Naini Peak , the highest point in Nainital. The air is dust free, thus offering very distinct view of the entire hill station. We had actually walked down to this spot from the lake area.

While the clouds were fast approaching in our direction, we were standing on the edge of the cliff, pissing off down the valley.

The four of us who finally made it. There wasn't any possible person who could have been in this trip, and we would still have maintained peace.

Canoeing in Naikuchital lake, about 20 kms from Nainital. This calm and serene lake was the best of all!

The northern hillside of Nainital at night. It never stopped being beatutiful.

Possibly the coolest kid I have seen till date. Hurls insults and abuses at anyone who dare reprimand him.

A temple near Nainital, famous for its one crore (ten million) bells of varying sizes. The gods of this temple have been entrusted with the wishes of ten million people, represented by a bell each.

The view from the Snow View Point was enchanting during sunset. Though the Sun was pretty much behind us, it painted the skies and the clouds with various colors and shades.

In what was the rarest of occasions, the clouds cleared considerably enabling us to savor a breath taking view of the Himalayan range from over 500 kms away. It was for the first ever time I got a glimpse of he mountains, and I can't remember if I ever saw something this glorious ever. The peaks of Trisul and Nanda Devi can be seen as well.

The Dark Age of India

2012-08-15T16:10:00.000+05:30

Mahatma Gandhi was undoubtedly the first name I had learnt in reference to India's struggle for freedom. His principles of non violent resistance, the supremacy of the truth, and humanitarianism are obviously charming ideals. Like every one else, I was attracted to them. But, as I grew up, the stories of other revolutionaries like Bose, Azad, Bhagat Singh and many others inspired me even more. What racked my brains for a long time is the disparity between Gandhi and the others. Lately, I have been indulging into debates on these lines, and it now feels that Gandhi's actions and ways did more harm that good. The effects of such harm is far from fading away even today. I would like to add that the opinions are mine entirely, and I have no intention of enforcing them on the reader. I blog just to share my thoughts.

Gandhi was not evil. But, he was so clouded by his own ideals that he failed to even accept others'. He made mistakes, and in fact too many of them. With a heavy heart, the era which I thought was one of the golden eras of the nation, was in fact, what Dr. Ambedkar called "the dark age of India". Gandhi, I feel, has been made the white knight of India by the Congress post Independence. His ideas, his methods remain unquestioned, to such an extent that sometimes the sacrifices of so many others, seem to be demeaning.

I seriously do not understand Gandhi's devotion to his ideals, especially when he raised them ahead of the notion of nation's struggle for freedom. India wasn't the first country which had its freedom movement, but the first one which achieved it through what some would call peaceful methods. Such an accomplishment might have been commendable if our country wasn't in mash of poverty, illiteracy and corruption today. Gandhi, knowingly or unknowingly, through his non violent movements caused ample violence in the past, and has raised seeds for many more in the future. He brought hope to the Indian masses in his time, raised their agitation, and then shattered their souls by certain unanticipated decisions, which took the nation a step away from freedom, which to some, appeared just around the corner.

Gandhi preached non violence. No doubt non violence is good, but is violence at all times bad? I don't think so. The epics of Ramayana and Mahabharata are the simplest examples. And Gandhi was a firm follower of religion, a regular reader of the Bhagwat Gita. The good fights the evil. Yet, Gandhi strongly opposed the methods of so called violent revolutionaries.

I tried to understand Gandhi's actions. But they do not make much sense, not to me at least. Even though he speaks of non violence, but he still willingly signs on to the death note for Bhagat Singh. During World War II, the peace loving Gandhi was against capitalizing on the Britishers weakness. Not only that, he readily sends his countrymen, Indian troops to the World War front in Germany. With or without any principles of non-violence, I doubt if anywhere, anyone performed a dumber act.

Besides, Gandhi was nothing less than a dictator. He presumably sought democracy, but left no space for opinion of others before his own. Gandhi maneuvered the decisions of the Congress Working Committee innumerable times to his whims and fancies. Subash Chandra Bose, who differed in opinion with Gandhi, stood for self governance, as opposed to Gandhi's preferred option of Federation, which still left the British with the highest powers. In 1939, Bose was forced to resign from the party's presidency, and eventually leave the Congress altogether. The same Bose, who had given him the title of "the Father of the Nation". Gandhi did this again in 1947, as Nehru was his preferred candidate and not Sardar Patel, who was the Committee's favourite. Today we live in a democratic nation, a democracy where we are encouraged to only discuss our difference in opinions, but nothing more.

These are only a few examples of his doctrine attitude. In 1921, Gandhi announced his open support for the Khilafat Movement which begun in Turkey without consulting the Congress Committee, which had no other choice but to follow. Some people might disagree, but it is the Khilafat Movement in India actually sowed the seeds for Pakistan. During this movement, many of the Muslims felt their need for a separate nation from the Hindus. The partition that followed affects the progress of both these nations to this day.

When Ranade started Congress, the leaders were honest and enlightened. The people were educated, and well clad. Their extensive knowledge was meant to be utilized for the betterment of the rest of the under privileged population. But in the age of Gandhi, leaders took pride in being half clad, and make India look like an epitome of antiquity. Learning was no longer deemed to be a necessary qualification for a politician. The necessary qualification was simplicity. Need I say more? Today we have a nation run by a bunch of goons, school drop outs and what not. They are supposed to examine, understand and solve our lives' problems. Indians continue to be overwhelmed not by the qualifications, but the simplicity of our politicians. We caste our votes only to people who wear traditional Indian attires. If I roam around in jeans, does that make me less Indian? Apparently, it does. Look at Rahul Gandhi, its enough for him to show that he is a prime ministerial candidate, just by wearing an traditional kurta, and dining with dalits. That is exactly what a politician in India needs to do. Nothing else matters.

Yet, we have only his face printed on our paper currency. His portraits kept and worshipped in houses and important buildings. Streets, chowks, and stations named after him in every city of the country. We also have a national holiday on his birthday. It is just as if Bhagat Singh, Tilak, Azad, Bose, Savarkar, and the thousand others never existed.

Friends, Strangers and Conversations

2012-07-03T23:38:00.000+05:30

It was the most unusual day. Intended to my last outing in Mumbai, I really wanted it to be special. I needed just one friend for the company, and the camera. Unfortunately, she fell sick that day. Although she arrived and kept her promise, the plans had to be simplified, and the fun, compromised. We bumped into an old pal, spent the afternoon at Tea Centre, the evening at the crowded marine drive. A play called "Foursome" at NCPA followed. The play too, was rather boring. Only the conversations kept us going. The day was just turning out to be an above average day. It did not even rain, and I really wanted it to, for I did not want my carrying that huge umbrella to be in vain.

Six hours passed, and at nine thirty, she left, and a friend with his girlfriend arrived. For some reason, they wanted me to stay. It did feel awkward to intrude, but I was reluctant to leave. Seeing their indecisiveness about South Bombay, I took them to Leopold. It was full, so we went to Gokul instead. Even the restaurant offered us a horrible table, the day was fast converging on average. One good thing about this couple, however, was that both were smokers. Quite unlike my morning friend, there was nobody to do a cough cough if I smoked. The weather had induced in me, a certain desire to smoke that day.

The cheap alcohol, alongside with classic milds soon rekindled my semi-drowned spirit. The talk grew fascinating, and my clumsiness alleviated. It actually felt good.

By quarter past one, we reluctantly had to leave the place. Dhoblephobia has become an epidemic in Mumbai now, and we had to depart. We strolled towards the Gateway, which too was sealed, on account of the great Vasant Dhoble again. As soon as we began clicking pictures, it rained. I was relived. The umbrella was not going to be useless at all. As we started treading along the road, with the Taj on one side and the sea on other, I saw a cycle-wallah selling tea and cigarettes. This aroused in me an intrinsic desire to smoke. I found my cigarettes. But, there was nothing to light them with. I must have had forgotten my lighter at Gokul. It was a moment of shock, but I soon realized the cycle-wallah was just a few steps behind.

I asked my friends to wait. I slowly walked back to the cycle-wallah, hoping to give them enough time to catch up with their doubtless physical desires. As I walked, I felt my senses getting engulfed in the beauty around. The endless darkness of the sea, the glittering golden lights of the Taj were simply breath taking. The sound of rain on my umbrella, and the periodic splashes of waves below seemed more dulcet than anything else. A soft pleasant taste of salt lingered on my tongue, and a soothing smell of wet soil and the sea. Rain bounced off the footpath and wet my feet, and a gentle breeze breathing life continuously into my being.

I reached the cycle-wallah, and asked for a match box. He had just one, which he couldn't sell. Meanwhile, a group for four women surrounded the cycle-wallah. A pretty attractive lady came up to my right and stood under my umbrella, asking for chai. I naturally extended my umbrella to her, earning a smile in return. Another stood in the rain, a little away from the umbrella. I politely waited for them to finish their ordering. It was then, that a third woman, a girl, an astonishingly beautiful girl, came up in front of me, standing under my umbrella, displaying the most resplendent smile.

I must get off the story, and describe her a bit. She was wearing a dark gray shirt with brown polka dots, matched by a white knee length skirt. She was dressed very graciously. It was neither too revealing nor too hidden. It was simply too perfect. Even though her jet black eyes were sparkling innocence, they were scintillating with mischief. Her black hair curled and waved in the sea breeze. Her brown satin skin was shimmering on account of the water drops that flowed down her forehead and cheeks. When she had smiled at me, my entire day's weariness and frustration simply vaporized, and I was charged with every bit of energy and enthusiasm I can ever muster.

The girl spoke to the lady who was already under my umbrella. They began conversing in a strange language I could not understand. When they stopped, I released a puff of smoke and asked "If you don't mind me asking, which language were you just speaking?"

"Don't you like the sound of the language?” the lady asked back.

"No! Not that. You totally seem like Indians, yet I am pretty sure this is no Indian language.” I replied.

"It's Tanzanian.” the lady said.

"You still didn't say what you thought about our language.” the girl finally said her first words in English under that umbrella. I couldn't help but smile as she mischievously blinked at me.

The language did sound good. I did not have to lie when I said. "It's undoubtedly a very pleasant language."

She smiled, and looked away at the lady. I got a side view of her face for the first time that night. It only managed to get my heart race further. I glanced back momentarily, my friend and his girlfriend weren't making good use of my absence, and instead they were looking straight in my direction.

Tanzanian. Tanzanian.

As I looked at them conversing, the other lady said out aloud, "You know what they are talking about?"

"Er... no", I replied nervously.

"They are talking about what a nice gentleman you are."

I was speechless. I looked at the two women under my umbrella, and smiled.

"Are you staying at the Taj?” the girl asked and got my heart racing again.

"No, my home is at Santacruz. That's in the northern part of the city"

"Okay."

"What's your age?” the lady asked suddenly.

I was surprised but I said, "Twenty two."

"My daughter here is twenty."

The daughter was smiling uncontrollably. I controlled to my temptations, and looked at the mother instead, "Wow, that's a surprise; the two of you don't seem to be more than five or six years apart." Both the ladies smiled. In fact, the mother looked like anything but a mother of a twenty year old. I felt my hear skip a beat.

"Thank you, you are being kind."

"My mom is indeed young. She got married at a young age", said the girl, earning a disapproving look from her mother.

"So what are your names?” I promptly asked.

The daughter looked at her mother, the mother replied, "I am Mrs. Juneja, she is Aarti."

"What's yours?” Aarti asked.

"I am Rajdeep."

Tanzanian. Tanzanian.

I was so engrossed in looking at her; I released a puff of smoke on her face. "I am sorry", I said.

"It's okay", she smiled as she looked at me.

"It's pretty weird to ask the mother and daughter together, but any of you smoke?” I asked, not sure if it was the right thing to ask. The working of a drunken mind is so much more innocent than a sane one.

"No! No!” the mother firmly said, looking away. I felt a bit awkward, and looked at Aarti. She was shaking her head in approval. I smiled, and so did she.

Tanzanian. Tanzanian.

Aarti ran away towards the hedge. Shit! I thought. In a couple of seconds, the mother finished her chai and said, "Thank you Rajdeep", and walked off.

"No problem", my tone was surprisingly very natural.

I was paying the cycle-wallah, when they stopped midway, and I could see the mother and daughter talking, Tanzanian of course. There was no way I could have eavesdropped, though there was nothing else I wanted to do more than that. Aarti looked unusually excited. She stood in the middle of Taj driveway, the others crossing the road.

Tanzanian. Tanzanian.

I has just finished paying him off, she walked up to me, recharging me once again with her captivating smile, "Would you mind if I shared a cigarette with you?"

And there I was, a few puffs ago, complaining about the sad turn of events.

Goodbye... IIT. Bombay

2012-06-19T06:50:00.000+05:30

Five years ago, I was just one of the six hundred guys who had moved into this extension of the Sanjay Gandhi National Park, which they call the IIT Bombay. Such lush green, such quiet, such serenity is not something expected in Mumbai, which has been my abode since childhood. It was not long after that when we realized that the greenery was only one of the several unparalleled lineaments that were tied to this institution. IIT Bombay is possibly the only living relic, and will remain in the years to come, that's still branded with the title of Bombay, for no one is courageous enough to smear its name.

View from Boat House, IIT Bombay. That's where we go to eat!

There is no doubt I am going to miss this place. But what I am going to miss the most, is the set of a dozen or so friends I made here. There are of course many others, of course, but if you are one of the dozen, you would know. These were the same people I met on my first day here. Each one was way different from the others. Some I admired, others I detested. One seemed like a bandit, another a politician, a typical villager, one seemed gay, a serious ubergeek and more. I had no idea how I was even going to survive.

Then there was the Mona Singh sweetheart, who collected ten copies of every possible photo of hers, and was ready to butcher anyone whosoever touched his collection. A guy who went around other's rooms deleting porn from their machines. One who hides under his blanket shuddering with fear, if ever a pigeon enters the room. A guy who can't get a night's sleep without holding on to his groins. Another one who sleeps naked but for forgets to lock the room everyday. A friend hangs out with a girl every night until three in the morning, but then always clicks his tongue and claims "Waise kuch nahin hai be". A guy sent away from a whorehouse because the girl felt "Tum achhe gharane ke dikhte ho". In fact, one of the guys propagated the most unusual idea, that of masturbating only on the night of the amavasya, or the new moon. Sadly, his media contacts were poor, and his propaganda was never telecasted on India TV.

But however, after what we went through in the first few years, everything changed. A few fail grades, and mind games with professors who would not be outsmarted by the entire bunch of us. A bunch of impossible assignments which we somehow cracked. There were days on which we had no doubt we had entered our doomsday, but we lived through them all. And now, when I look back at them, I can only laugh away at how minuscule, and irrelevant these experiences were. But, little things, when they pile up enormously, can become monstrous.

Lukkhagiri is the most common place characteristic of an IITian. We had a lot of time. Seriously, a lot. The ways of lukkhagiri are simply demented. Trilogies of movies, entire seasons of a television series finished off in less than a day. Overnight discussions of politics, life, professors, and even Shah Rukh Khan. If it is your lucky day, you will have people rolling all over the floor all day about something you said or did. If you are unlucky, people would do the same about something that someone says you did. Sitting at Sunny Bar, or at Laxmi, with a mug of beer in one hand, and the butt of a cigarette with the other, we have animatedly discussed every possible issue: from a personal level to global. That probably even includes global warming.

Exams have always been special. It was that peculiar season when we agnized the existence of a mammoth of knowledge around us. But somehow, when we all gathered for group study, we managed to beat all barriers. On the eve of every exam we took blood oaths to study in advance for the next, only to forget them the moment we left the examination room. It is very surprising how much someone can get done in the death hours. But, with a shred of luck, and a few friends, I survived. When I was an IIT aspirant, someone had once told me, "You think getting into IIT is tough? Try getting out!". I didn't appreciate it then, but now I do.

The only thing that I would like to give a miss is the dearth of girls. We often discussed, especially in our initial years, as to why girls were almost non existent. Our batch had a killer sex ratio of 20:1. It was even more extraordinary in our department. The number was infinity. The girls who actually do manage to get in, instantly shoot to the stature of a superstar, even if she might look just like a bespectacled seal. It was appalling to even think that a college which in took over one and a half thousand every year had no girls. I mean, I am not sexist, I would have been the happiest if the entire batch were girls, but seriously, what does one gauge here. All my school life, girls topped everything, where on earth did they go?

The scarcity of femininity, and a few intelligent minds have brought out the success of Mood Indigo, supposedly the largest cultural college festival in the continent. There is a sudden surge in the sex ratio of the campus, and a surge in testosterone in the veins of divested guys. Its like feeding meat to a pack of hungry wolves. People pick up organizer batches, rubik cubes, and what not, in preparation for the quest. But for most, sadly, the hunting season goes down without a catch, but there is always a remnant story that would haunt him all his life.

And there are moments that cannot be forgotten. A friend suggesting that we cut off the legs of a bed in order to compensate for the lack of sitting space. Tube lights being tossed from the third floor. The sight of friend being choked by an ex girlfriend in the middle of the street. The ticks of the clock that let to an election victory of another friend. The sight of someone grooving to "fanaa fanaa" and not even getting noticed until he collides onto a pole, ending up with a beautiful bruise on the forehead. Someone hiding under the bed in order to avoid the pangs of a senior, but not realizing his legs are flowing out. A new story emerged every time someone has climbed to peep through a ventilator. None of them can be blogged about, of course. The legendary dialogues:

"Tera muh hai ki chadda, ki jab bhi kholo l**da nikalta hai".

"Tere gaon me khet ke alawa aur kya hota hai?"
"Gaon me post office bhi to hote hain."

"Chup Saala!"

"Jeene ke liye to janwar bhi jeete hain"

"Mera mann kehta hai ki beimani se bhar pet khane se achha hai, imandari se bhuke raho"

"Boli hui har baat sachhi nahin hoti, and
Bra pehenne wali ladki kabhi bachhi nahin hoti"

"Kiss karte karte char char lips kahan se aa gaye"

"Abe mafia sale, jaldi kar, l**da kya khuja raha hai"

"Teen teen ra**iyan leke kya karunga, hilaunga?"

"I am suffocating, I need water."

"Have you thought that if you ever have a new girlfriend, you will need a new facebook account too?"

"Hiiiiiii Nancy!"

"Yeh to teda hai"

"Abey jaldi aa, file delete ho rahi hai"

"You son of a bitch, I'm dying"

"Onh"

Well now, each one of us is headed in a different way. Some are engineers, some researchers, bankers, analysts, musicians, teachers, consultants, and even spiritual gurus. It is sad we have to part. I am truly going to miss you all.

Seesaw

2012-06-04T00:00:00.000+05:30

I see the bird fly
Brandishing its wings, wide in the sky.
I am very green eyed
As to the flat old earth, I am tied.

I see it streak across my sight
But enough is not its might.
It may be caged
Or shot down and raged.

I see the brook flow
Grappling with the rocks, but does not slow.
My life is all a blur
Too cowardly, and too quenched to err.

I see the flow hit the side
Its spread still too scant for its stride.
The boundaries may saturate,
Or it may dry up and evaporate.

I see the morning sun
Signifying that a new day has begun.
My days are old and weary
Never the past, did I bury.

The soft rays brush my face
But it is still dark inside my case.
The mighty fire can be tailed
A pack of clouds can get it jailed.

I see the deep blue sea
The silence in its endlessness is the key.
My mind is so constrained
To the old ideals, I am chained.

Dense white frothy waves tickle my toes
Struggling to escape, but alas, it too has it own woes.
The rest of the earth is just in a drape
For from it's depths, none can escape.

A Memorable Series of Unfortunate Events

2012-05-08T03:22:00.000+05:30

I was helpless that day. My restricted expertise in language compelled me to ask her for help. To be honest, it wasn't the first time either. But she had ever failed me. She strung a few words here and there, perfected the content, making me promise that I could never let it out that she had helped. I was pretty content with the vow; it isn't everyday you get to swear on keeping a secret which you do not want out. All this and that, I am now obliged to write a blog on her. Luckily, she forgot to mention whether or not I was supposed to write in her praise.

Years ago...

I was sitting alone on my bench, waiting for the other students to pour in before the start of the class. She walked in, stood by my side and politely asked "Is this seat free?", pointing to the space beside me. I laughed. She walked away, murmuring things I did not even try to hear.

Six years later...

I was waiting to meet a girl I had never met before. I was impatiently waiting for her to arrive. I wasn't nervous as such. Movies are always a good place to meet someone you don't know well enough. If she is too boring, I thought, there is always the movie to watch. By the time she arrived, I was pretty pissed. However, I pretended to be not bothered by her lateness. Minutes later, however, I was nonplussed. I realized I was uncomfortably at ease with her. We talked incessantly as if we were long lost companions. It felt to me that I had re-discovered an old confidant.

The movie was utterly splendid. But that couldn't be said about the meeting. Half an hour before the movie ended, she received a call, whispered a few urgent words in my ear, hugged me, and left. I started at her leaving, bewildered, and embarrassed. Never ever again, I thought.

A few days later...

She had apologized. The deep seated grudge I then bore for her mitigated pretty readily. Such is the power of women. I walked into her house for the first time. Her house was infested with family members, which made me feel profoundly nervous. I secretly cursed her for getting me caught in such an awkward moment. As if things weren't awkward enough already, I soon found myself locked in with her. The door had jammed, and wouldn't even bulge at chaotic efforts of her anxious family outside. She smiled at me mischievously and said, "Watch this." Before the words sunk in she had started yelling, "Daddy, help me!". I stared at her in disbelief. If thoughts matter as much as action, the thoughts that ravaged my mind in those seconds have certainly earned me a ticket to hell.

She ascertained almost immediately that she was joking, but I am never going to forget the look I got from each of her family members when the door had finally opened. I should avoid her, she is utterly dangerous, I decided.

Just a day later...

She begged for pardon once again, and I melted, once again. In fact, begged, is a pretty misplaced word here. This time I had sneaked into her house, and that too with a packet of weed. I was obviously nervous. What kind of girl, on the third meeting mentions weed as her innermost and deepest desire. I was freaked out of my mind. But a beautiful girl always knows how to summon a guy. So there we were, whisking off seeds and twigs. I was no specialist in rolling a joint, but "Roll a real thick one.", she said, "Here, give it to me!", and she went on to waste the seventh rolling paper. After about an hour (or so it seemed) of toil, we proudly presented two ugly looking joints.

Soon enough, we had been tossed from our senses. We were dancing uncontrollably, when the bell rang. With bloodshot eyes, messy hair, and dripping sweat, she opened the door with me standing behind her. It was her father. No one spoke a word. As father and daughter continued to stare at each other shock, I successfully managed to sneak out. "You are being a coward", I heard those words ringing on one side of my head. "Fuck it", said the other. I chose the other.

A few months later...

It was yet another day at a posh club. Since it was happy hours and each drink lethally expensive, I was drink ladies' cocktails, when all I craved for was simple pint of beer. I made a mistake of telling her that. I realized my mistake much later, however.

To my great delight, she ordered two pints. I looked into her eyes and cheered. She had made it very clear I was to look straight into her eyes. I couldn't risk a bad sex life. A bad sex life is actually a no sex life. My eyes shut as I felt chilled beer flowing down my throat. I was so lost I did not hear the "Yuck, I hate beer", so lost that I did not realize until very late that this dynamic young lady found herself a new mode of entertainment. Emptying the contents of her beer bottle on me. I was furious. I looked at the contents of my bottle. Unconsciously, it felt that it would do a lot better in my belly than her hair. I gulped down more beer, and with it, the desire for homicide.

A few days ago...

I guess finally, the scores were settled. Neither stupid, nor guilty about the chain of events. Though, somewhere, in my mind, I still felt, she still has an edge over me. Then, one fine day, she kindly reminded me of the classroom incident. Now darling, we are square.

The Look

2012-04-24T20:15:00.002+05:30

He wasn't listening to her anymore. He was concentrating on the grand task ahead. This was the precise moment, he thought. Either now, or never. He did not want to go through the series of sleepless nights. That certain kind of tension can get pretty addictive. He tried to convince himself that though the resistance appeared humongous, it was momentary. It had to be overcome, for the alternatives were just beyond the realm of his thoughts. That was just not it. The task also needed him to assemble a few carefully chosen words, and then perform complex muscular movements in the throat, so as vent air in order to make the appropriate sounds. In all, an arduous task indeed.

He took a deep breath, and grabbed her hand. His mind was too blank to notice that she stopped talking, as she blushed and tried to conceal her happiness in a tiny smile. He felt a shiver down his spine, as he acknowledged, "I love you".

He had walked into his favorite restaurant about an hour ago. It wasn't his favorite restaurant as such, but he always thought this was the place to take a chick to. He found the golden chandeliers, the scented candles, and the scattered rose petals quite unnecessary. But he had not come for the aura, he was there for her. He knew almost instantly that he had made a perfect choice, as he said down facing her, while she examined her surroundings with a deep bored smile on her dimpled face.Time flew as they chatted. He was surprised at his own enthusiasm in such random topics of conversation, topics as unnecessary as the rose petals that were scattered on their table. He felt content just by her mere presence.

It was then he got that look. He couldn't lay his eyes off her. Her beauty seemed divine, she was perfect. He felt paralyzed as her fingertips brushed his. A sudden rush of emotion and capitulation shattered him. The walls that had held his perfect life in place had all collapsed in the blink of an eye.

He actually asked me out, she thought, as she skipped a beat. She couldn't utter a word, for she couldn't hold the smile that had swept across her face, relieving her of all nervousness and doubt.

She had always liked spending time with him. She undoubtedly liked him, but not like that. They had shared beautiful moments over the past few days. But to her, things never clicked. That did not stop her from spending time together. However, she knew, that he liked her.

When they walked into this charming restaurant, she has no idea things would lead to this. She enjoyed the conversations, even more, the flirting. It was a momentary surge of curiosity that killed it all. Does he really like me, she thought. She grew eager, but couldn't ask. Rather, she would not ask. She was the girl after all, how could she? She did not love him. She just had to know for sure, if he did. The consequence of what she was about to do were very much seated in her mind, but she no longer cared.

She narrowed her eyes, staring into the distance. She had the hint of a smile on her face, what people would commonly call the Mona Lisa smile, the smile that has been captivating men since time immemorial. She moved her gaze to his face. Her hand flicked off the hair off her glittering eyes. She had just given him, the look.

She was very happy. The smile was no longer Mona Lisa anymore, it was nothing less than ear to ear right now. He smiled back at her optimistically. It was way easier than he had expected. His heart lightened, and now all he had to do was, wait.

She tried to look boldly into his eyes. But now that she was sure, it wasn't that easy any more. She continued to smile, though it wasn't natural anymore. It just bought her time. She composed herself, tried to look into his clear, defiant and unwavering eyes, but was immediately intimidated. She knew she had no other option. She was beaten in her own game. The smile she was trying to hold on to, had disappeared. "I...", she stammered, and then she said it.

Philosophy of Happiness and a Meaningful Life

2012-02-22T12:16:00.001+05:30

This is not my notion of happiness. I don't have one. It's Aristotle's.

Prior to the Age of Academia in Greece, the meaning of life was described in texts. Courage and bravery were the most celebrated qualities. The meaning of life lay in honor. Socrates, Plato and Aristotle broke down this metaphysical approach of the Greeks, and replaced the testimonial truths in the way of life by reason. Homer’s doctrine began to fall out of practice, as people started questioning the authority of his texts. When Aristotle introduced logic, the science of reasoning, people begun to make judgments rationally rather than following the standard doctrine of prescribed texts.

According to Aristotle, man is comprised of the body and the soul. Body is perceived as the part that occupies space. Soul, on the other hand does not. Soul, according to Aristotle, consists of three components. The animal component is driven by passions and desires. The vegetative component is driven by the needs. Rationality is driven by the morality and intelligence of man. Animal and vegetative natures are not unique to man, but rationality is. The animalistic nature which drives passions and desires is supreme, and it is the rationality of the man that has to control it.

Man has the potential for rationalizing perfectly. However, the reasoning powers of an individual in reality become bounded by its experience and capability. Aristotle argued that if individuals use their faculty of reason up to the maximum capability, all will conclude to the same principles of life. The universality of reason was laid down as a precondition, not as an assumption. All men were rational and logical by nature.

The theory of the Golden Mean designates human beings as agencies or acting beings. No matter how vague or mistaken a person may be, they all operate with a notion of good. The theorem states that human beings are agencies, and then good humans become good agencies. A good agency equates to a good action, and good actions equate to rational actions. This enables men to live in harmony. A life of harmony only can become a meaningful life.

Every action has a direction, and an aim to do good. Action entails a choice, which in fact entails reason. For the Greeks, the notion of a meaningful life was identical to a good life, happy life. Good, however does not imply moral or ethical in any way. Happiness, to Aristotle was an end-in-itself and independent of the means adapted to achieve it. Every action has a meaning because man is rational and chooses from multiple actions. Greeks liked to believe in the pre-condition of end-in-itself in order to avoid the fallacy of circularity, as circularity would lead to infinite regression which would render ends as voids, and hence life, meaningless.

Eudemonia, the concept of Aristotelian happiness demands to be end-in-itself. Thus, men seek happiness over pleasure, honor and wealth. Happiness does not translate into the means adapted to reach the end, as it is self-sufficient and eternal. Happiness is a human construct. Humans have an inclination to be in a stable state, which is brought about by happiness. Only happiness brings about a permanent shift toward the stable state, all other claimants only have temporary effects. Pleasure lasts only as long as the activity lasts. Honor is not self sufficient, it is perceived by others. Wealth always translates into means as well.

The concept of life was no longer individual centric but more civic centric in this era. Since the faculty of reason is universal, Greeks developed a fine relationship between their individual and the civic state. A structure of power introduced the concept of rights and duties of the members of society. In Aristotelian philosophy, the conception of state is derived from the individual.

Happiness is a state of being. It exists in totality, and unlike pleasure it is not confined to body part, or temporal time. Happiness is not inherently under our possession, we have to land into it. Aristotle assumption was the rationality of our soul, and not merely that life has a meaning, like in the time of Homer. The only criterion for making meaningful judgment in life is reason.

The G Man

2011-12-13T16:33:00.000+05:30

G had beaten this guy in yet another argument. But like always, this guy appeared confused, thinking of when the discussion actually slipped away. Unnoticed as always, this friend locked himself in his room, and spent a good few hours of deep thought, trying to analyze why he had never (not in the last four years) won an argument with G. He comes out with a triumphant smirk on his face and lays down the foundation of the template.

Situation: When you approach G with an idea X, G out rightly rejects it, and presents with justification, a better idea Y. After sometime, G comes back and explains why Y is bad too. An even better, the best idea is Z.

Observation: Z is equivalent to X, except, now, it is no longer your idea. Its G's.

G claimed the template was just to demean him, and contained no integrity whatsoever. No one argued. However, three hours later, something happened.

While sitting around a mess table, feeding on despicable horse food, we often talk rubbish, so that we dont have to realize what we are actually eating. Here's one such incident.

"What does parody exactly mean?"

"It means spoof."

My friend here, raises his one hand above his head, still looking down onto his plate, and starts frantically flipping his hands over and over as if to say something. The rest of us aren't surprised. We just get prepared for bullshit. The guy does it pretty often, its a gesture we have stopped trying to decode four years ago.

Finally he speaks "No, its porn." This guy is obviously G.

I continue to eat, suddenly the food starts tasting better. I could totally see what was going to happen, as my friend rightly calls it "the G template". An especially aggresive and blunt friend on the table, who lets go of no opportunity to taunt G, or screw his ass, jumps in joy like a fisherman after his first catch, yells "Now how do you relate porn to parody? Let us see how you are going to defend this today."

G says "I meant a porn parody"

"So parody is porn parody? And porn parody is porn porn parody?"

G:"Arey yaar, parody is something like a mock... like a spoof!"

"Yeah right, like no one ever mentioned that before"

Another incident. A few of us had gathered at a food court to eat. After considerable amount of debate, when G refused to have or let the rest of us have anything other than something called a falafel, we succumbed and agreed. Since it was his treat, the rest of us did not have much of an option. I wasn't even sure what a falafel was. So I asked.

Another friend gave a simple explanation "Its like subway."

Well, but how can it end without a comment from G.

"No" he said boldly. "Subway is.... umm... its vegetables stuffed in bread but...."

"And how is it different from a falafel?", I asked innocently.

"Falafel ," G rolling his eye balls in an upward direction, "is vegetables stuffed in bread."

There was a lot of stress on the "bread", so we wanted to ask how is bread different from bread.

"What's bread?" I repeated "bread" with as much effort as he had used.

"Oho", said he, sounding irritated "the ones they give at subway!"

Everyone quiet.

The Story of My Placement

2011-12-07T04:22:00.001+05:30

I cant just express my delight in being able to write blog posts again. So I will skip over that part, and tell you what exactly kept me from writing one in the last few months. The placement pressure.

It all begun five years ago. Three events, that occurred in the very first month in my life at IIT, changed everything. First, my mentor told us the average salary package an IITian gets is just over six lacs. Second, my then roommate decided computer science is just too tough, he wasn't made for it. And third, I realized I couldn't make head or tail out of whatever they taught at our math class. How much ever I tried, it did not make any sense to me. All my previous knowledge were deemed pretty much useless.

That was over four and a half years ago. Now, the season we all been waiting for, was here: the Placement Season. I had watched some of my friends go through it a year ago. I thought I was ready to take it on. But, you cant learn how to ride a horse, just by looking at someone doing so. After numerous tests, when my name showed up in the final shortlist of only a few companies, I was worried. People told me, "Yaar tu CS ka hai, tujhe kya tension hai". Tension? Well, I don't have to speak about that. On some of the days, I couldn't get an hour's sleep even after grueling and battling all day.

I did not get shortlisted in finance companies, which I then thought was my cup of tea. I was realizing the power of eight (with relation to CPI/CGPA on a scale of 10), but it was very late. Still, with one shortlist on Day 1, I prepared. I prepared hard. Well, but not enough. There went my first interview reject. Day 2 started off well. At least, I thought it did. However, for the first company I interviewed, I was rejected again.

The next interview went well for unusual reasons. Some people had imbibed in me, a fictitious confidence, that did wonders. I went in, so high on confidence, I could have simply yelled "Bring it on". Surprisingly, that attitude did wonders. By the time I had stepped out of the AmEx panelist's room, I was pretty sure I had cracked it. The following interviews went well. The confidence did not fade even in my next company's interview, which too went disbelievingly well. I could feel that I had cracked this one too! But of course, I wanted AmEx.

If only someone would tell me I had made it through, I could go back under my blanket and replenish three days of sleep. That didn't happen. Not until five hours later. My legs became heavy, my eyelids even heavier. I sat. I stood. I thought, and I prayed. I was in the middle of a test, when I got the call. I don't know how to describe the feeling. Remember when de Caprio lands at the airport in the last scene of Inception? It was probably somewhat like that. Probably not.

Well a lot of people boosted my morale that day. I would attribute the outlandish momentary confidence I had to these guys. Some of them were pretty much unknown to me even on the previous day. It would be really unfair not to name them. Aditya (as usual), Ashish, Prarthna, Deblina, Shashank, Richa, Jubin and lastly Rachit.

Today, on the seventh day of placements, all my department friends were placed. I am hoping the same for the others too. Fingers Crossed.

A Day at Office

2011-06-29T10:31:00.002+05:30

About a couple of months back, I simply could not wait to be where I am today. My psyche was raring to experience a working life, in the financial services industry. I believe it was my psyche, and not me as a whole, because the drive wasn't quite informed or rational, and after some exposure to the environment, and some fresh experience, the same psyche has become polarized, and am left clueless, and my judgement that was determined to go down this glorious archway only sometime back, is in a state of flurry once again.

Today, I got up at 5.30 AM. Well, I am not a fan on sunrises, and I would never ever get up at that time, even if I were assured that the morning would be my last. Neither was my house on fire. Nor was anyone having a heart attack. I did not have an early morning flight to catch either. So well, then you would wonder why did I get up even before the most dedicated school kid in the country did. Today is not the first time though. I have been doing this for almost two months now, first with great satisfaction, then with some indifference, and now with utmost detest. The reason: I have to reach my office at 7.00 AM.

After listening to an awful bunch of Hindi songs on the way, I reach my office to find a clump of zombies who derive great sadistic pleasure in seeing my drooping self join their club. We greet each other in gloating smiles, too sleepy to talk, and quietly cherish the first few boss free hours of the day. By the time I am reasonably awake, I have already gulped down two or three glasses of coffee and double the number of glasses of water. I once told one of my colleagues, that half the paper cups in the breakout dustbin are mine.

Survival isn't easy, especially because you can't get a sleeping bag to office. But it is still bearable until the honcho walks in. Well I wouldn't call him a zombie (not a human one at least) for two reasons. One, he does speak, though the vocabulary is restricted to a very few lines: "This is wrong, right?"; "Read the model document"; "This things". Sometimes, when he tries to act cool "Yeda hai re woh". The other reason is that he seems to be a vegetarian, and although he is perfectly capable of tearing out flesh from our beings, he hasn't been caught in the act so far. People have worse bosses, much worse. Mine doesn't trouble me too much. But then why do I hate him? Well its more because of his appearance. He gives an aura of that filthy irritating high school kid, who gets beaten up by the rest of the class.

Most other team mates are really cool. I really wish for them that they get out of here very soon. The intellectual conversations that we have, fuels me throughout the week (that team mate, that guy who looks like a boar: a wild boar, that chick, that movie, that article on faking news) over coffee, over a smoke, over a meal, over the desk, and mostly over the communicator. The communicator itself is nothing short of a life saving drug. In the world of namesake high speed internet, it keeps me breathing in the absence of Gmail and Facebook. It connects me to a few people in the neighboring building, which is infested with a lot of good things, unlike this one.

The slowest hour begins at 3.00 PM. Each tick of the clock until 4.00 PM is everlasting. Most of the time, to show goodwill, I have to wait even further pretending to do work. My terrific, dashing, intelligent, smart and highly likeable boss seems to believe that the work done is proportional to the time spent in office. "Itna jaldi ghar jake kya karega?" ; the reply that comes to my mind, is quite inappropriate for the blog. At the end of of the day, however, another day is down, and you have survived. Its a couple of hours' delight once you get out, and then you start convincing yourself that you have to come back the next day, again.

An Introspection

2011-05-23T21:24:00.010+05:30

Life is arguably the most complex thing I ever experienced. No, it was not the fourth question from the Algorithms paper, its life. Sometimes I feel I don't have any idea on why I am doing what I am doing. And well, others around me, are not quite helping me. Every person, every achievement, every subject, every memory, every glass of drink I have had, have only added to the dimensions of this problem, and made it even more complex.

Tell me why I am where I am. If not, while I am here what am I supposed to do. And an even bigger question, what comes first? Am I supposed to strive to achieve success in life and try to bring myslef above everyone else? Am I suppose to strive to earn money and/or respect? Am I supposed to be an embodiment of what other souls wish or expect me to be? Am I supposed to only be a good social being? Am I supposed to be striving to keep everyone around happy even if it brings sadness into my own being? Am I supposed to be happy?

I hear there is a God, and He is the answer to all the questions asked above. Is He? Will praying liberate me from all these? God sent me down here to pray and liberate myself? How does that make sense, over a basic assumption being God is all great and mighty and loving and caring?

Sometimes, even if you do all the things, you still fall short, and you wouldn't know where. The ideas of freedom and free will are only superficial. No matter how much you strive for it, no matter how much you succeed, there will be a big null void deep inside you, and when the time comes you will realise, everything that you ever did, never had a meaning.

The answer to what the universe is, and why am I here, hit me last week when I'd had some weed and drunk a lot. I went irrevocably silent for time and sought to understand the meaning behind every thought that went through my head. And then I realized, the answer was love. Not corny candy-floss mustard flowers love, but real love. But then I thought, it couldn't be love, because at that point of time, I was feeling very little love. So well that couldn't be right.

Then it hit me. The universe of two people making love and in every second finding ways to express it. You know how Shakira said: Never could imagine there were only 10 million ways to love somebody. Everything that happens to you, heart break, betrayal, failure, poverty, it is all eventually, tributaries becoming river and really being two people making love. And us, our universe, being the physical manifestation of that.

Well, at least then, it all made sense to me.

The World Cup Experience

2011-04-05T12:26:00.003+05:30

The CWC 2011 has been an event we would remember forever. People will continue to discuss and take pride for many generations to follow. And whenever, the topic arises, I can stand up wih even greater pride, and say "I was right there".

When I expressed my desire to watch a WC match in a stadium, most people would have said it was too late. Well, not for me. I had almost got my hands on the tickets, at ten times the price, for the biggest clash of the group stages, India v/s South Africa at Nagpur. I decided not to go, since it seemed irrational to pay as much. I regretted the decision however, for he next nine days. On he tenth day, I got a ticket to the Quarter Finals match, Australia v/s India. It was lucky, very lucky, 'cause I got the tickets two days before the match, from the website at its original price, right when the tickets were being sold elsewhere at twenty times their price. In fact, the online link disappeared minutes after I purchased mine.

What followed in Motera, Ahmedabad was probably India's toughest match in the tournament. But Team India (I am trying hard not to write praises, you have already read, heard or even said it yourselves in a hundred places) played a certain cricket it was not quite recognized for. In fact, I was shocked to see every team member at such animistic levels on the field. The papers said they saved twenty runs on the field, I would have said at least fifty.

Our batting was again, not quite what you would have expected from the team a few years ago. It was not a one man performance. It was team effort. It showed clearly when three Indian batsmen (Sachin Tendulkar, Gautam Gambhir and Yuvraj Singh) got half centuries on the board, and Suresh Raina played a very important innings as well to chase down 260 on a ground, where India had lost its last four matches.

Of the four ODIs I had seen including this, I had never seen an Indian player score a century, and I had never seen India batting first.

The ringing echos of "Sachin Sachin", "Aussies suck", "Cheater Cheater", Jeetega bhai jeetega, India jeetega", "India India" and many more. It is a moment experienced by 48,000 people, but I doubt anyone would be able to express what it was like. We had traveled from Mumbai, had not slept the night, stood in queue from 7 am in the morning. We expected nothing short of victory. The anguish from the past Australian tournaments all rushed in. Every moment in the match seemed personal. We wanted to show the kangaroos, what the tigers are, make up for every defeat we suffered since 2003, and for the injustice we experienced in the Australian tour. The joy when a boundary is hit, or when one of the Australian wickets fell is as good as if the Cup has been won. It is difficult to keep the national pride bursting out of you, while cheering for the country, and waving the tri-coloured flag. A fifty thousand people grieving, crying, celebrating, worrying, cursing, cheering, jeering and dancing together can happen at only one place, a stadium.

We won, played Pakistan at Mohali, and won again.

Meanwhile I was looking for he final tickets. Every where I asked for the tickets were being sold at almost a lakh. Some fifteen hours before the match, I got them. One of my oldest friends had an extra. So there I was, in a queue to the stadium, blowing into the vuvuzela whenever I regained my breath from the last time I played it.

This was he first time I got to see he beautiful renovated Wankhede Stadium. The sight of the sea of blue people roaring into the stadium took a while to sink in. One billion people wanted to be where I was that time. I was lucky to be among the 33,000 who were there to witness history, to see India lift the cup after 28 years, to possibly see Sachin Tendulkar score his hundredth hundred. I was sitting in the stadium for over thirteen hours, and there was never a stretch of more than ten minutes, where I did not jump, scream and wave our flag. To be honest, I was never there to watch good cricket, I was there to watch India win. Sadly for the game, most people in the stadium came for the same thing. It was really very difficult to give a standing ovation to Mahela Jayawardhene for his fabulous hundred (I can call it fabulous now) . Gautam Gambhir missed his century, and so did I miss witnessing my yet first Indian player to score a hundred while I was in the stands. Dhoni played a captain's knock, and with his huge six, we won the cup. Since the Srilankans are defintely more sporty than the Aussies, there was lesser jeering. But it was no less fun shouting "Yeh andar ki baat hai, Murli hamare saath hai" or "Neem ka patta kadva hai, Sangakkara b%$#!@ hai".

What followed there after will not be forgotten, not by the ones witnessing it. It was not the victory of the fifteen men who played, it was a victory of the 1 billion. Someone might find the last line superficial, but it is not. Not to any true Indian. Indian Team made two victory laps, one carrying the Cup, and the other carrying Sachin Tendulkar. I was ecstasic just like he other 33,000. It was 1230 am when the crownd finally started moving out of the stadium, not to return to their shelters, but to celebrate. The next day luckily was a Sunday as well, and everyone had every license to celebrate.

Skins

2011-03-22T19:04:00.035+05:30

Tony: Alright, who's stupid enough to fuck Sid?
Michelle: Cassie?
Sid: No, she's still in hospital.

Most of us have been following How I Met Your Mother, Big Bang Theory, Prison Break, South Park, FRIENDS (How could I forget that?). A few more people have taken keen interest in Boston Legal, Family Guy, Dexter, 24, Avatar, Lost, Two and a Half Men, Entourage, Naruto, House amongst others. Gays and grannies also watch lousy serials like Pokemon, Gossip Girl, and Smallville.

Skins is very unique. I am not sure what it's name suggests exactly. It could be some word for expressing embodiment of different personalities, or it could simply be rolling paper.

The reason I decided to write on Skins, and not any other is only 'coz no one knows about it! And I can safely say, this uncharted drama is not only enjoyable, but addictive. The series is basically a British teen drama, about the life and like of a students of the Roundview College at Bristol. The story revolves around college teens, who primarily have dysfunctional relationships at home. Almost every episode revolves around the life of one single character, and is packed with grief and tears, love and hate, sex and drugs. Way to much sex and drugs in fact, makes it risky to watch it with parents.

Anwar: I'm praying to my God here, Cass.
Cassie: Oh... wow... is he listening?
Anwar: I hope not, otherwise he'll know about all those pills I necked last night

Skins is all about starring fresh faces, and young writers. The cast is reset every two seasons. Dev Patel (Anwar) is in the first two seasons. Danny Boyle picked him up from right here it seems. Some of the characters whom I really liked were Tony, Cassie, Cook, the red-headed twins, Emily and Katie, who completely tossed over a friend of mine who fancies red heads. Effy Stonem, the younger sister of Tony was possibly the most interesting character, until she falls in love after starring in good three seasons. Effy loves partying, and has more grit than anyone else. She speaks for the first time, after several episodes, and that too after a lethal dosage of drugs.

" Sometimes I think I was born backwards... you know, come out of my mum the wrong way. I hear words go past me backwards. The people I should love, I hate, and the people I hate, I love... "

Skins showcases many subtle things around us, which we normally tend to overlook. Although based on British teens, every person, British or Indian, fourteen or forty can relate to the characters of this show. Cassie is first shown anorexic, and how she ends up in an hospital on being turned down by Sid. Sid, struggling between his urge to love Cassie, and punish her starts sleeping with Michelle, his best friend Tony's girlfriend. Tony, who's life was upturned by a bus accident fights back, and with likes of Maxxie and others as friends, and Effy as a sister, recovers makes up for his past too. Effy, is very dark, and wild. She has conquered all the world outside, but is intimidated by her own inside. The only person she really cared about, was her brother. She does not make friends, but Pandora, who looks up to her and would never lay an eye on a guy Effy was interested in, becomes the first.

Thats just Effy. There is also a Freddie, and a Cook, who have nothing in common, but are best friends. Their friendship gets tainted by both of them falling in love with Effy. JJ, their other best friend cannot take it anymore. He loses is cool and self balance, which is actually attributed to his prescribed pills, just to bring back together his group. Katie and Emily, are twins only by appearance. They cannot stand each other, and yet they are always there trying to help the other one out. To Katie's shock, Emily falls in love with with a girl Naomi. Naomi, somehow guilty and uncomfortable with her orientation finds it difficult to accept Emily. Pandora, more of a side-kick makes her prominence felt as well. Her love, Thomas goes back home to Africa. When he comes back, the world had turned topsy-turvy. Pandora was sleeping with Cook, and pretending to love Thomas at the same time. As the year closes by, people realize theres a possible end nearby. Some things get sorted, but some don't

I urge you guys, go watch it.