Psychedelic Technocrat

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noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 24 Jul 2011 05:19:00 +0000

If you note the date of the last blog I have written, you will come to know that since long my writing has become more and more sporadic. The thing to wonder is, even I don’t know what or who to blame this thing on, because I do consider writing an important part of me. And how this important thing is slowly getting eradicated is a cause for concern. I can blame it on the usual,
work stress, getting busy and all but lets not get into that.

As with great authors and amateurs alike the rains are a good source of inspiration to rekindle the flame.

In Mumbai the rains mean a lot of things to a lot of people. Lot of rains means more water and consequently less water cuts, good crops and consequently less food prices, potholes and consequently more car breakdowns and maintenance bills.

I consider myself a true ‘urban’ite and so the single most important thing on any given working day is to face the prospect of wading through the traffic chaos and reaching the office on time. Twice - one for each trip to and from office. Good crops and no water cuts be damned.

In the nine months since I have learnt to drive, I have become quite numb to reckless drivers and the slander of fellow drivers alike. It pays to have your car centrally locked, to switch on some music and try to relax as much as the roads and fellow drivers allow you to.

In the rush to reach home, I particularly regard pedestrians walking on the road with utter disdain. Same goes for the cyclists too who are driving at the middle of road. At times you actually do not care whether you bump into them a little, purposefully or not. They are no more than utter nuisances which impede our speed and safety while reaching home.

So on this particular day it so happened that I was stuck in a jam on a rainy evening. It was one of those jams in which even the seasoned abuser and honker just gave up and sat quietly, reclining his/her back fully which otherwise would have been on the edge of the seat, ready to pounce and start a series of verbal volleys somewhere else.

I was no better and I obviously was doing the same thing as described above. I did one better and had my hands resting behind my head and just using the clutch and brake to accelerate the car a few centimeters ahead each time. Just another day at office.

Or so I thought.

Slowly, the dumper truck, which had broke down came into view just around the signal. These dumper trucks have a tendency to break down during rush hour with alarming regularity causing much agony to other drivers. Fortunately, I could see that the road ahead was clear and the traffic was zipping ahead from that point onwards. But I had a good ten minutes to myself with just my ipod to give company.

At the signal, the useless pedestrians try to cross the road even though the government has built a foot over bridge just above them. The pedestrians prefer trying to get killed each time rather than walk on that bridge. It so happened that I saw a old man standing on the edge of the divider trying to cross the road each time he could see a gap in traffic. But as with most, he had no luck crossing it. People younger were having a tough time and this old man was in for a long wait. I could make out that he had probably realized the same thing.

Tough thing for a old man to be standing in the rain with just an umbrella for protection and trying to cross the road.

When that old man was just ahead of me I took pity on him and stopped my car so that his ordeal would come to an end and all the other fellow drivers would have one less useless pedestrian to deal with. And then it happened.

Like a newly hatched egg, out of nowhere a small head bobbed up. The little kid’s small but agile eyes carefully peering at my direction. That small little head disappeared again and the old man meanwhile started to step down the divider.

The other drivers behind me had started honking. But the driver besides me had stopped too. Her facial expression was just like me, trying to get this over and done with.

As soon as the man was on the road, the small little head had bobbed up again. This time holding one crutch which he rapidly rested under that old man’s shoulder. Now they started to cross the road. The old man’s face flinching each time he had to take the step. The little kid just held the old mans hand and walked ahead of him with the same agile and sharp eyes looking out for any miscreant driver that might ruin the task at hand.

After a full minute the task was over. The gentle look of the old man and the relaxed eyes of the little kid was all I got as a token of appreciation for my good deed.

It was enough for me. Enough for the driver besides me. And enough for me to break my shell of arrogance.

Being a good human being had taken precedence now.

Damn the drivers.

Life goes on in the city as it used too.

A visit to the clinic

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Fri, 10 Sep 2010 17:17:00 +0000

This whole year has been pretty hectic, writing has taken a backseat and circa 2010 A.D has almost come to a close. I have been involved in a couple of other things both professionally and creatively. So let’s rest it at that.

Now you tend to realize the gravity of the population problem when you have to wait endlessly at the doctor’s clinic, but along with that agonizing wait also comes an opportunity to watch the people, who along with you, are waiting incessantly too.

The first thing that I notice is the sheer number of babies. All colors, caste and creed. Some staring intently at me and some staring intently at my blackberry and the naughtier ones who are trying to snatch it from me. They have no burden of behaving in a civilized manner and are probably behaving much worse at the clinic than they would probably do at home. Another baby meanwhile, with huge blobs of kohl applied on her eyes and a peck on the cheek, is holding my finger with both of her hands and looking at it with eyes as big as a pear. She was probably comparing the sizes of our respective limbs with my size seeming impossible to her, maybe she was also secretly trying to calculate as to when her limb would reach my size or equivalent. As the baby grew tired of wondering, she did the next best and put my finger in her mouth trying to bite.

As the mother was desperately trying to pull her baby towards her, who was still trying to cling to my finger, I was noticing other people around. Thankfully none were looking very serious at the moment. There was this particular woman who I think was from a small village or town as she had all proper ‘ghungta’ done with vermillion in huge quantities splashed on her forehead or whatever that was visible of it at that moment. The thing which never ceased to amaze me was that she was managing to hold two babies in one hand, vegetables and medical reports on the other and looking absolutely ill at the same time. It was pretty evident that it was the mother who needed a fair amount of medical attention but apparently she had her hands full with other things.

Along with the agony of waiting was the irritating sound of the blaring T.V which was playing some ancient movie at that time. The hero kept alternating between the elephant and Jackie shroff. But I had to admit that after waiting outside for one and a half hour and being forced to watch that movie, I was mighty disappointed when the compounder changed the channel for IPL matches barring us from watching the end of that pitiable movie which had somehow engrossed all of us including me.

My time waiting outside was almost one and a half hours and my meeting with the doctor lasted about 5 minutes. After coming out I took my medicines from the counter and left for home. As I was introspecting I realized that it was nice to have a look at ordinary people once in a while, observing them, learning lessons and observing those little nuances which make us one in this vast land of varying caste, creed and color, even if it meant being tried to be bit upon by babies who had no teeth.

Life goes on in the city as it used too.

The Realization

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 15:49:00 +0000

He walks, but you mostly see him run in the morning. He never exercises, but when you see him you realize that he hardly needs it. His words can probably melt a woman’s heart, but all you can hear is his own heart panting.

This is not your metro-sexual model on a jogging trip on a big green sprawling garden.

This IS your average mumbaikar on the run to catch the office bus/local train.

This situation is repeated daily in the life of this particular mumbaikar. As his office timings have changed he is still in the fine tuning mode of maximizing his morning slumber vs. catching the office bus. He does not make it usually, but he says to himself that things will work out eventually and catches an auto-rickshaw. It costs him around a hundred and fifty odd bucks for a one-way ride most of the time.

He realizes that it is a sorry state of affairs and that it cannot continue. But he takes out his wallet, checks the cash and leaves his worries for another day.

The next day he makes it, the following day too, but not the third day.

He has been observing this particular girl for a better part of the week. She is not pretty and neither is he eying the girl as he is already committed. But he has no choice as they cross their paths daily, albeit in the opposite direction, on the foot over bridge.

In the meantime he misses the bus three times out of five in a week.

As he is traveling in the auto, suddenly it dawns upon him that there is a connection between him, the girl, the foot over bridge and the office bus.

Maybe this realization came because he was reading too much Dan Brown, Frederick Forsyth and John Grisham throughout the month. But maybe he had suddenly experienced his faster than Darwinian rate of evolution with regards to his observation skills. He reasonably surmised that his observation be put to test as the meter in the auto touched a hundred rupees.

He got up early, wasted less time and he knew he was in time to catch the office bus. As he was walking towards the over bridge along came that girl, he saw that he had crossed her while he was more than halfway towards the length of the foot over bridge. He caught the bus that day. The next day, although not deliberate, he succeeded in getting out just in the nick of time. He saw that girl again, this time she had the lead while they both crossed, he missed the bus.

Throughout the week he had put his idea to test, and he came to realize that whenever she had the lead on the foot over bridge he ended up missing the bus and paying a hundred and fifty odd rupees.

One can keep time here without looking at the watch, he said to himself.

Glowing in the warmth of his new found revelation he crossed the girl the following morning, this time he being in the lead, and gave her a small but genuine smile.

Why had he smiled is a mystery to the girl even today.

He makes it to the bus usually nowadays.

Life goes on in the city as it used too.

Home again

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 06:30:00 +0000

Bombay

City of dreams

The more I find reasons to hate it, the more I realize how unique this city is, how this city is like no other. You may hate it, you may abuse it but the soul of the city never hits back. What it does though, is slowly engulf you around with the same soul you curse and find faults with, and lets you breathe it ever so slowly, and within some time, before you realize, you are in its magical spell forever.

I had gone to Gurgaon for fifteen months, could never settle, the economic crisis filtered down into my professional and personal life and my subconscious like a little scared child asked me to run back to Bombay where I knew, it will find sanctuary for sure.

So with a new job I came back here. The difference in me almost immediate. I have started,writing again, to listen to music again, to crib about the water problems again, to loudly abuse fellow passengers in the local train again etcetera. I was slowly becoming whole again because I was home again.

Welcome back! The city says, and I silently oblige.

It's good to be back.

Dusting off the old.......

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 16:00:00 +0000

I am terribly busy. I want to blog, there are a lot of ideas running around my head but unfortunately I cannot find the time. I have also shifted to a new place, so that too is a new set of problems which I shall elaborate some other time.

Since I cannot write anything new at present, I just thought of dusting off my shelf and link some of my old articles which time has forgotten. Hardly anybody parses through a whole blog (with the kind of hectic life that we have made for ourselves!)

I have linked some blogposts of mine which I think are interesting. Although it is not necessary that you feel so.

Just sit back and enjoy a ride through time.

Intolerance

A visit to the marketplace after a long time

Long walk to freedom

The Smell of Phenyl

Another day in the train

The official guide on cracking the kbc

Bread

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 28 Dec 2008 11:38:00 +0000

New Delhi Railway Station, 6:15 am.

A Sunday ruined. Instead of sleeping late and give my body a well deserved break, I found myself outside the railway station on a cold winter morning. The temperature outside was 6 degrees Celsius.

Coming from Gurgaon did not help either. I had a hard time reaching the station as I had to juggle between two buses, a rickshaw and a cycle rickshaw as well.

In between all these disappointing scenarios, I somehow managed to reach New Delhi station an hour ahead of time. It was a relief as I had managed to stick to my schedule and make it well in time. But with that came the agonizing prospect of facing the cold for one full hour. I had prepared reasonably well though as not an inch of my skin showed anywhere. Monkey caps, gloves, shoes and every other sundry winter item were on me at that moment.

Due to increased security measures no one was allowed inside the station premises. Not that it would have helped in any way but it still would have given a meagre protection against the bitter cold outside.

I decided that the best thing I could do was to have a nice and warm cup of tea in a small tea-shop just outside the railway station and so I started walking in that direction.

Nice store for a small shop. Apart from tea, there were sandwiches, burgers, chips etc too. Pretty crammed up that place, but good to see on a cold winter morning. I took tea and sandwiches and started munching of them merrily, trying to shake away the cold that was slowly engulfing me from all sides in that open space.

As I was busy alternating between gnawing my teeth vigorously and sipping my tea, along came a man. He was wearing a cotton shirt, a tattered turban, a tattered blanket over his shirt and ‘dhoti’ which fell till his knees. He was wearing sandals but no socks.

Just seeing him made me feel cold from my innards. How could such a man be oblivious to the cold surrounding him? But I probably realized he must be a ‘mazdoor’ (labourer) from the nearby construction site.

All I could see was that he had a five rupee note clutched in his fist. Nothing else.

He came near the shop and surveyed it, corner to corner. His eyes going from the chips, the still ceiling fan to the boiling kettle. His surveying stopped when his eyes landed on a loaf of bread.

‘Chai kitne ki?’ (How much for the tea?)
‘Do rupaiye’(Two rupees)
‘Aur ye paav?’ (And this piece of bread?)
‘Pandrah rupaiye, ise mat dekho, tumhare bus ki baat nahi hai’ (Fifteen rupees, don’t look at it, you will not be able to afford this)

Till that time his arm was in motion upwards; the arm in which he had clutched his five rupee note, in order to give the shopkeeper the exact change. A single load of bread (paav) costs three rupees around these parts, and the tea was for two rupees. But his arm's upward motion stopped on hearing the ‘paav’ was for fifteen rupees. His mouth fell open, amazed as to how could he be charging this loaf of bread for fifteen rupees? His hand slowly came back to its original position and once again clutched the five rupee note.

I could see in his eyes that he was shocked and was in total disbelief. His only hope of morning tea along with a single loaf of bread earned with honest labour was also taken away by this greedy shopkeeper. He was probably thinking that the shopkeeper had not thought even twice to cheat an ordinary ‘mazdoor’ like him.

He was so completely broken that he did not even ask his question again. He just stood there, with an angry look in his eyes, the eyes in which now there was no hope. The whole idea of surviving this daily grind, especially in this cold winter, was just a laughable joke to him now. With those angry, but empty eyes, he just turned, looked back once at the ‘paav’ and then started walking the way in which he had come.

I noticed that the ‘mazdoor’ had started shivering while he was walking back. Maybe it wss the cold which was breaking his indomitable will slowly but surely. The five rupee note was still clutched in his hand, probably hoping that this meagre amount would be appreciated elsewhere.

What had happened was that the labourer had mistakenly taken the burger for a ‘paav’. But he could not see the filling inside the two loaves of bread from the position in which he had stood. All he could see and understand that it was an ordinary ‘paav’ and the shopkeeper had cheated him out of that too. He had come fighting the cold, he had come fighting against all odds of surviving each day, and he had probably fought even for saving this five rupee note. But now that he was ‘out of the game’ he did not have the will even to ask twice.

The shopkeeper also did not bother to explain thinking that he was an illiterate man and would not even have heard the word ‘burger’.

The mazdoor never came back again to the store till the time I was present.

Such are the circumstances of the ordinary man in his/her daily life. Some people have lost even their basic need, and that's hope.

The hot tea no longer could warm my body because my soul had turned ice cold.

I left the tea and sandwich there unfinished. It was time up by the way and I left for the station.

It was time up not only for me but for a lot of people nearby.

Evolution

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 13:04:00 +0000

After a long time I had an opportunity to parse through all my previous posts. Right from the first blog to the latest one, I read it all. Not only did I read all my previous posts word for word but I read all the comments that were interspersed in between.

It was a refreshing experience as well as an exercise on introspection. It literally was a step by step diary of the evolution of my mind through these three years (almost three!). The first thing that I had to analyze was that how far a changed man was I through this whole period? Was I an idiot before and grown to be a wise man? Or was I a wise man earlier and grown into an idiot?

Other questions followed too. Now that I was reading my own posts, I at times felt as to why would I write such a thing? But this answer was clear enough. I could recall each of the motivations/momentous bursts of creativity that made me write those posts. If you would have read all my posts you would realize that my posts meander from observation to critical thinking. But yes, I could recollect the reasons for writing each one of my blogposts.

I could also see that previously there was a rash character into my posts. Youthful exuberance or youthful immaturity is for you to decide. But yes there is a sense of finality to my opinions that I have expressed in some of the matters which I now think I rather should not have done. As with the planet, animals and alike, our mind evolves too. People change as they grow. So opinions are bound to differ from one point in time to another.

I feel that I have mellowed down in my writing. Not in terms of content but in terms of tone and style. I do believe that it is a result of the conscious decision to edit and re-edit my blogs for grammatical errors, complex sentences and the pursuit of simplicity with minimum usage of complex words. I don’t claim my posts to be error free, but yes I do feel that the magnitude has gone down.

Experiences have made my blog the way it is today. I do like to ponder about little things which are mostly inconsequential. But our lovely mind likes to wander and thus the relations and analogies in my blogs. Most of you have enjoyed it, but in the same breath I admit some of you did not.

I remain a voracious reader as always.

Lately I have also ventured into short story writing on another blog of mine, the link for which you will find at the bottom of the page.

On introspection it has been a good journey so far. Thanks to all the people who have commented on my blogs. You all are a very integral part in what I feel I have accomplished so far. Your comments and brickbats, as always, are most solicited.

Just before I end this here I recollect one sentence from the book ‘Alchemy of Desire’ by Tarun Tejpal. The main protagonist is a writer himself. He says that the best of writers don’t put their creative words immediately on realization of an idea but over a period of time in a soft , leaky sort of way. They make fewer errors that way and are clear in the thought process while writing. This advice has stayed with me since. It works.

Just Wondering

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 04:09:00 +0000

Place. My room.

My roommate had the remote. He was flipping through the channels, while I was listening to music on my lappie. And it was going like this for quite some time.

Call it timing, or pure luck but my friend had stopped at a music channel and at the same moment the song ended and stopped playing on my lappie.

At that moment we both were listening to that one song on TV. Nothing else made a sound. Nothing even moved. Except for the song playing and the ceiling fan rotating everything else was silent. It made for a surreal setting.

That moment seemed as if stuck in twilight.

That moment went away as swiftly as it had come. My roommates fingers twitched on the remote again, the T.V humbly followed and changed the channel.

The situation was like this, we both were given a choice at that instant. We both gave a precious 30 seconds of our mortal life listening to the song. He chose not to listen to it, while I chose that I wanted to listen. But he had the remote and he changed the channel, leaving me with the thoughts as to whether I would be able to hear this song again. I could not catch the name of the song, nor the band, nor the lyrics, nor any clue. All I could catch was a lovely tune which was now lost in time.

I began to wonder, how many times in our lives do we have to face a similar situation. Just as my roommate had the control over the infinitesimally small moment, similarly at times other forces too control our lives and destiny for a certain amount of time. But it makes a lot of difference and at times it leaves a lasting impression.

Just as I had compromised on my choice, I wonder how many people had to compromise because of one or many unwanted compulsions in their lives. How many people did not take up a nice lucrative job because their wives were pregnant? How many people would have just picked up a piece of expensive jewellery and put it back again just because they could not afford it? How many people could not marry somebody whom they loved just because they did not say it?

How many, just how many were forced to do something they otherwise would not have done? Just because at that moment the remote control of their lives were not with them but with somebody else? How cruel and helpless it feels knowing that for that particular moment you are not in control of your own destiny?

And in some situations you are no longer in control for the rest of your life.

Just wondering.....

Life goes on as it usually does.

Joyride

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Tue, 13 May 2008 17:18:00 +0000

Nobody knows him. He is your regular guy at office. Always arrives on time, and leaves on time. He is always found with the same old formals, the same old shoes, the same haircut, and the spectacled frame that hasn’t changed since eternity.

He makes himself comfortable in the office bus, without making a least difference to anybody already present. The pretty girl, with whom he shared the seat did not even look up and took notice. It did not make any difference to him, his face did not twitch. After all it was an everyday occurrence.

As the bus starts moving, he notices himself in the rearview mirror. Although he was just a few years out of college, he already appeared to have a thinning brow line. His hair was flowing with the breeze. The driver had switched on his FM radio. The bus with its slow whirring noise of the engine and rhythmic vibrations soon put our man to sleep.

In his dreams, he is again transported back to the time while he was studying. He found himself giving a speech during student elections. By the time he ended the crowd acknowledged his presence with a thunderous applause.

Although unknown to him at that time, the same song which was on the FM radio at that time was being played in the club (in his dreams) which he used to frequently visit while he had a active social life. With his friends, all were watching him dance and soon a crowd had gathered around him watching his every move. He was in high spirits, it was due to him that everybody was having fun; it was due to him that he was making their evening memorable.

The pretty girl in the bus came in his dreams and was highly impressed. He got the first kiss of his life her. With smiles on each others faces, he felt especially proud.

Suddenly the pretty girl started to say ‘hello’ with a broad smile. Confused he too said hello, wondering why the hello came after the kiss. After what seemed like a full second, she said ‘Excuse me’ with that same 1000 watt smile and with a slight poke on the shoulder.

Slowly the 1000 watt smile faded and she started howling uttering ‘Hello’ and ‘Excuse me’. He tried his best to understand the girl’s behavior but to no avail.

At the last instant she gave him a tight rap on the shoulder. This time making our man wake up. ‘Excuse me, this is the last stop and I am getting late’ said the pretty girl. Our man momentarily blurred, brought himself back to consciousness and reality. He smiled and said ‘Sorry, I dozed off’.

The girl while getting down turned back and looked back at him and gave him that 1000 watt smile, this time for real, and walked away.

‘Best thing that has happened today’, he muttered to himself, as he made his way into the platform to complete his harrowing journey back home. Again returning to his old avatar of the unknown man.

Life’s little happy packages come in little dreams, on a little joyride.

Life goes on in the city as usual……

Down Memory Lane

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 09 Mar 2008 05:44:00 +0000

Nostalgia.

We have all experienced this feeling sometime of the other in our lives, although with varied intensities. But one thing that nobody can deny is the power with which this feeling grips you once you encounter it. All would agree that it has to be experienced in order to understand it.

Right now my life is a mechanical routine. Same set of tasks to be repeated everyday just like a programmed robot. It has been eons since I have just stopped and wonder at the beauty of my surroundings, appreciated music & arts, learnt a new skill, or explore new and different relationships.

My life had got into a rut in the pursuit of materialistic happiness.
It took a jolt, a big one at that, to jerk me off the routine. Sadly it was the death of my grandmother that jeered me off my routine. It was a big shock for us but the shock slowly gave way to reality and practical difficulties like taking almost fifteen days off my work and so on.

Whilst I was here at my home itself, I started dusting my memories of my grandmother. It was a good five to seven years at least since I had seen her. The last time I had seen her she was quite senile. Hardly able to recognize her own sons, her grandsons were absolute strangers. I dug my memory even further, to the time when I was a little kid when I used to get freshly made ‘nadu’ (a sweetmeat consisting of sugar and coconut) and she would summon all her grandchildren together and give the freshly made nadus as ‘prasad’. Alas those are just memories now.

It was a pleasant surprise to reach the small town once again. It had the same old cycle driven rickshaws. Although we did not fit in as comfortably as we did when we were young, it had a nice feeling of old times about it. It was even more heartening to see all my cousins together at one place. I could not recollect when the last time that we all had been together was. Although I did not say it, but I think the death of my grandmother acted as a catalyst. It was shameful, but it was the truth.

I saw my cousin sister, she had grown so much. She was now of marriageable age, but the moment she saw me, she burst into tears and asked me as to why have I come so late inspite of her repeated requests. The repeated requests that she was referring to was the one we had made while we were kids always promising to see each other every year. But since long I had not kept those promises and her questioning made me falter on my stoic exterior, it had even made me feel sorry. All I could have done was to make one false promise again and tell her that no matter what I would definitely try to be in contact more often, but somewhere deep down I could tell that my cousin did not believe it anymore.

I looked at the house. Same old place (but a few storeys added), the same kitchen, the same courtyard. As the power of nostalgia took over me, I reminisced of happier times, when this place was alive. The place was alive with all the people gathering and singing ‘Rabindra Sangit’, the harmonium being played, the sitar and the tabla as well. Tea in kettles used to make rounds here and there, we kids were given any sweetmeat to keep us happy and not to disturb in the hustle and bustle that ensued throughout the day.

The ladies in their typical Bengali sari’s and the gentlemen is sparkling whites was a memory which I could only see in films nowadays.

I checked the same old place where they used to keep their musical instruments. It was still there, but it looked more like a tomb now. The tabla on which energetic hands played was gathering dust, the harmonium had springs coming out in few places and the strings in the sitar were missing. There were a few papers lying about there. I picked up and tried to read it with the rudimentary knowledge that I know of my mother tongue Bengali, it immediately struck me as a verse from a popular rabindra sangit. It was a sacred text back then, the ladies used to keep it along with their jewellery. It was a heart wrenching sight to see it lying about and I locked the vault again before I broke down.

The width of the streets had remained the same. The vehicles had increased though. But still the mode of transport was the cycle-rickshaw, the way it was since I could remember.

Now with the somber mood in our home it looked specially dull, but I was informed by the elders that it was the same no more. People like me who had now grown up were all into their careers, my cousins who had grown up in the small town also were looking for opportunities outside. This house, which once had a life of its own, was now decaying. Our house which was a landmark around where we lived, was now a testament of neglect. People spoke in whispers of the glorious past of our house and how its present condition was. They said that it was the same everywhere in this old town, which had failed to keep pace with the materialistic aspirations of the youth. No longer do they care to go up the small hill to watch the sunset, no fishing in the lakes, no playing cricket with the good old cycle as stumps, nothing. Absolutely Nothing.

After paying our last respects to our grandmother, I sat on the rickety cycle rickshaw once again, my mind wandering back in time, back to the days when life was simple, when life was enriching, when life was not a relentless pursuit of materialistic goals, when life was more about spending quality time doing what you liked, when life was spending quality time with your loved ones.

It all seems so far back in time now, in another world, in another place. It is almost similar to a fresh new photograph, with all colors rich, the brightness perfect, which is now slowly gathering dust , decaying bit by bit. The characters in the photograph remain the same, but the colors have long faded into sepia, with only the warm smiles remaining. The photograph, just like my memory, is waiting to be heard, waiting to be understood.

But still gathering dust.

Analogy

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 17:28:00 +0000

Mumbai 2008 A.D.

Feb 12th 2008.

Two persons both on the opposite ends of the city eerily were caught in similar circumstances, this is their story………..

Both of them were happy. One had just graduated into a new life, from a small job in a small town to a new job in the city of dreams. With a substantial raise, he was hoping for a nice change, a new way of life. Wife too had managed to get a new job, the company had arranged for the admission of their children into the city’s best school. Life was never this good.

The other had just graduated into his relationship with his pretty girlfriend; he had successfully taken his relationship with the girl to another level. After months of homework, pleading and good old fashioned emotional blackmailing, her girlfriend had finally succumbed to his demands of coming with him on a two day trip to Goa, just the two of them. Ready to graduate from a boy to being a man, he was especially in a good mood, expecting a lot.

The new job one was brought back to harsh reality with a resounding noise of a taxiwallah right near his ear. And suddenly he found himself amidst a crowd of people ready to cross the road and enter the railway station. Almost mechanically he made his way into the station for the first time, he felt as if he was a programmed machine, following the crowd into the station. His friends had warned him about the chaos at Mumbai’s stations, but still he was dumfounded at the sheer density of people crowded in a tiny strip of concrete bounded by railway tracks….

The other too was harshly brought back to reality as he found himself outside an exclusive women’s lingerie store in a crowded mall. All he could see were women inside those glass doors going about their usual business. Not usual for him though, he thought. His friends had warned him, that buying lingerie for the first time wasn’t easy, but still he was dumbfounded when the female security guard asked him to check whether he was about to enter into the correct store….

The man at the railway station was in total confusion, he was at a loss to understand and comprehend what was going on around him. All he could make out were trains zipping past him in either direction. People charged up as if preparing for a war, but all that they were actually doing was to cross the hurdle of jumping off the platform into the train. Bizarre he thought, absolutely bizarre…

Bizarre thought the man at the lingerie store, how could she have asked such a question in front of so many other women, who were right now chuckling and some who were bluntly laughing aloud? After recovering from the embarrassment he managed to utter that he was not blind and knew what he was doing, the female security guard, with certain amount of skepticism allowed him into the lingerie store.

“What do you want?” asked an irritated co-commuter on the platform. He politely answered that he was new and would like some information on how to reach this particular place. After an unexpected lecture on how outsiders were ruining the fabric of Mumbai, putting load on the existing infrastructure, he finally managed to answer what he had initially asked and guided the man to reach the last platform on the station, which was across the other side. Looking at the prospect of crossing the over bridge, he hung his shoulders and started walking towards the over bridge…..

“What do you want?” asked the courteous female across the counter, with a more than normally visible cleavage. Her smile was so inviting that he was left wondering if he would end up buying lingerie or something even better. But as soon as she adjusted her top, he knew he was caught staring and would have to be careful in this alien place. The girl guided him across the counter and started showing all different varieties of women’s innerwear.

The man at the station was on the designated platform. Wondering as to what to make of the odd timings, 19:27, 19:31 and so onwards. More so he was wondering what the abbreviations C, Bo, D, F, S etc stood for. He wondered if a man qualified in cryptography could be found in this crowd, but he dismissed it with a quiet guffaw….

The man at the lingerie store was in utter confusion. After ogling at the innerwear. He was facing a more fundamental problem right now of how to decode the A, B, C and D’s with a two digit number ranging from the minimum 32 (if he had heard it correct) to a maximum of which he did not know (and did not wish to know), when asked to choose, he had trouble imagining her girlfriends breasts because now it was not sexual, it was purely arithmetic. Finally after paying a considerable sum for a set of innerwear, and managing to hear murmurs and laughter after he had stepped out of the store. He finally left the store. In peace and in dreams…..

The man at the station had finally boarded the platform and after much difficulty had managed to get down at his destination. A man who was trying desperately to get inside hit his shins hard. “I am sorry. I did not mean it.” He said. “It’s ok” he replied back. “It has been a hard day”

Saying this he exchanged smiles with him at started on his way back to his residence.

The train meanwhile had started moving; the man who was trying desperately to get inside, holding his prized possession in a polyethylene bag, his gift for his girlfriend, and quietly muttered “It has been a hard day for me too”

Both proceeded to realize their own dreams. Life goes on in the city as it used too

Gujarat : A Dead State

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 13 May 2007 16:04:00 +0000

It really pains me to say this, but the fact of the matter is that Gujarat is a dead state.

I simply cannot relate to image created of Gujarat around the world of that being a resilient state in the aftermath of the Bhuj Earthquake in 2003. The praise that was showered upon India’s most Industrious state seems really incredulous now.

Gujarat is really a dead state at present, which meekly submits to an unimportant but powerful few.

It all started with the riots, the image of Gujarat was tattered. But it has gone deep, much too deep. It has somehow scathed the psyche of the people of Gujarat. The state which was always in the news for its industriousness, entrepreneurship is suddenly a graveyard for the free thinking and broad minded people of Gujarat. That is why I support Mumbai more. Although it has gutters overflowing, facing daily power cuts and cramming with people, but the atmosphere is free. People do what they seem is best for them. Any cowardly act is swiftly denounced and trounced upon. The people are more aware, more participating and the media is also pro-active in supporting the free and broadminded people.

Make no mistake; I have been in Gujarat for a better part of nine years. But I definitely don’t like what Gujarat is becoming into.

Mistaken nationalistic fanaticism is hijacking the very fabric of the state. Right from Gujarat riots, the banning of the film Parzania to the attack on art students. Gujarat is taking huge strides in falling from one ebb to the other.

I also won’t blame the Government of Gujarat. Failed state machinery will only feed on the mute behavior of its subjects, nor do I have any sympathy for the people of Gujarat. If you don’t stand up and fight, then be ready to be mowed down upon.

It really sickens me to no end when artistic freedom is hijacked in the name or religion. The exhibition was not meant for the public so the public have no business in giving opinion about it. Even if you do have an opinion, there is a way to express it. And what’s worse is the fact that the poor student is in jail and the dean has gone into hiding.

I am sure the court will give a verdict in favor of the broadminded majority. I have at least that much faith in the judiciary, the last bastion of our democracy.

But if you, the people of Gujarat don’t stand up and be counted, forget the court, not even God himself will be able to save your Gujarat in imploding into a failed state.

A not so famous Joint.

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 15 Apr 2007 05:21:00 +0000

It has been long since I last wrote something useful. But I have to admit that I have not made myself of any particular use either during this period.

A lot has happened since I last wrote, most notably the world cup hoopla. But lets not get into that, if you want to read anything more regarding the event you will find the entire blogosphere and the newspapers brimming with world cup news.

My office has a rather peculiar sight. It's an old Bajaj Chetak scooter. Reminds me of the good ol' days and I picture a whole family of four (maybe six!) riding on the same Bajaj Chetak or a Rajdoot Motorcycle. Uncle Singh, his son, another Singh, Singh's mummy (the son Singh's mummy) and a toddler whom we shall name Munnu (to make it a family of six add one or two more toddlers).

They used to make it sturdy and durable those days, not anymore. You get all swank and cool things but durability is missing. The license plate is a testimony to the old age of the scooter. It has only three digits.

And to my surprise the owner actually turned out to be a Singh. A nice old Sardarji from up North. He had been in Mumbai for a better part of 16 years. I got this information from our Building complex's watchman. He was a credible source for a whole gamut of information, so I believed him.

Now turning our attention back to the scooter let me describe it to you. It was a beauty, not a single scratch anywhere; even the license plate was clean. Obviously it had been repainted 'n' number of times but it spoke of Mr. Singh's love for the scooter and the special bond that they both shared.

One morning, I came early and to my surprise I found the Bajaj Chetak already parked in its regular place. A 'fruitwallah' had already made the scooter useful by spreading his variety of fruits on the seat, near the brake, and some even on the leg stand. He made use of every inch available on the scooter as he even hung in a few polyethylene bags from the handle of the scooter. Slowly a crowd began forming around him as he started his day. I did not interrupt nor tell anything to Mr. Singh, the 'fruitwallah' went about his own business and so did I.

This became a regular occurrence; the fruitwallah became quite famous for his quality of fruits and his peculiar choice for a selling place.

But it was not quite over here.

During the lunch break, each day, a young couple came to the scooter, munching on nuts or sandwiches or something alike. They made themselves comfortable on the scooter and chatted on for hours, holding hands. I have personally seen the girl blush as she probably got her first kiss one lonely evening night. The boy was careful, but to their bad luck I was just passing by and I witnessed it as well. After all it was a good sight to see something human going on, even if it was on an old Bajaj Chetak.

Some call center employees also came around the scooter. Initially to make fun of the outdated vehicle but later they too cozied themselves on it and started having long chats right from Iraq to the newest girl in office while they had lunch and smoked cigarettes Sometimes they managed to talk about office and their pending targets as well.

Slowly the scooter became an inseparable part of their lives. The fruitwallah, the couple and the call center employees almost mechanically made their way to the scooter and without even looking down used to let themselves fall knowing that their fall will be arrested by the soft cushion of the scooter seat which never moved from its original place. There might have been others whose lives revolved around the scooter, but I observed only them as their office time matched with mine.

Meanwhile America was eying Iran, Indo-US nuclear deal was almost through, but the fruitwallah prospered and bought himself a new pair of kolhapuri sandals and a new cotton cap (typical Maharashtrian type). I bought a few oranges that day myself, as he was happy and giving fruits at a discounted rate. The couple got married. After their honeymoon when they first came to office, they both promptly went back to the scooter during lunch hour and started chatting again reminiscing of the old times they spent on the scooter. This time the boy gave a peck again on her cheek but as they were married now the boy was a bit bolder. The girl however blushed like old times. The call center guys completed their targets somehow and managed to get themselves a promotion. They celebrated their party on the Bajaj Chetak.

One fine morning as I was going up the slope to my office, just for a second something seemed to be out of place. I could not fathom it that time, but I came back to inquire as soon as we alighted from the bus. A big new multi utility vehicle was parked right where the Bajaj stood. I did not give it much attention as I assumed that it must be a new guy who did not know where to park, nobody dared to park in the place where the Bajaj Chetak stood. But it was the same next day and the day after. I again approached the watchman and asked him for his counsel to my problem. He said that the happy Sardarji had expired a few days back, and the first thing his 25 something son did was to get rid of the scooter and bought the new multi utility vehicle for himself.

The Fruit wallah loitered around for a few days here and there, but eventually he stopped coming. Maybe he opened his shop elsewhere. The couple who came after a few days tried frantically to locate their favorite Bajaj Chetak but to no avail, it was I who had to break the news to them. They were surprised but more than that they were saddened. Now I no more see them during lunch break hours although the watchman told me that nowadays they sit in the office canteen. I was wondering how would he manage to kiss his lovely wife in that public space.

The call center employees looked with contempt at the new multi utility vehicle, which had robbed, them of their conference place. One especially queer fellow managed to make himself comfortable on the bonnet of the new MUV but he did not try it afterwards as promptly the alarm went off.

More than the loss of the scooter it was a loss of a small bit of civilization. A rare bit of socializing in the fast paced virtual world was also lost. It was a personal loss for me, as I no more could witness the soft and subtle human behavior that was so good to see in this world of mistrust and hatred.

The big giant city of Mumbai lost yet another of its not so famous haunts. No one will miss it, even the people involved, including me will forget as we vie for another promotion, the couple will have their kids and financial status to think of. The fruitwallah probably has shifted someplace else.

But if one day I had to look back. I would probably miss the mute and inanimate Bajaj Chetak who for a short time had become inseparable part in the lives of so many, including me who never actually sat on the scooter, but now would never get a opportunity to do so.

Life goes on in the city as it always used too.

Life of contenment

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 15:21:00 +0000

Contenment. You must be joking. For a guy who's just 23 the word contenment is sure not on his dictionary.

After all you have a lot to worry about.

At this juncture I am stuck at a point where I want something else but know for sure that I am going to get everything except that something else.

Lots of hopes to fulfill, lots of people to answer.

After all it isn't my life anyway.

Still wondering when will I be able to live for me and to do what I want and to stand up for what I believe.

Hope you all are faring better than me.

Another day in the life of my company.

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Mon, 20 Nov 2006 03:55:00 +0000

(This article was written for my company, which had its founding day recently. This article was a huge hit with my folks, hope it is with you too.)

The Headline is misleading actually, it’s not just another day.

Today is our founding day.

As I was risking my life on the roads of the city, fearing of getting late, some pretty eyed girls in saris were preparing for our welcome (in retrospect the fear of getting late was inconsequential. This is positively the last time I risk my life on the road.)

As I entered the office, the best girls around here stood for our welcome with roses (pretty romantic actually!) and Cadbury’s Perk (the staple food of my company) and offered us with such a broad smile that you were tempted to count their teeth.

Jokes apart, I could see people were preparing themselves for this day. The Gents look absolutely stunning in formals and neckties. The Ladies look beautiful and elegant, their beauty enhanced by the good old Sari.

I looked at myself. I made a sorry picture of being unshaven and without a belt (don’t blame me for the belt, got lost amongst my heap of clothes, which in turn led me to become late, which in turn did not let me shave). I at least came in formals. That was a saving grace for me.

We have a lot of work to do, but it looks as if we are attending a marriage ceremony today. I personally feel like enjoying and doing nothing today, but still I open my P.C and pretend that I am working. I nudged a few colleagues and churned the truth out of them. They too were feeling like me, not willing to work and bask in the festive atmosphere. So I concluded, with some sense of accuracy, that people were blindly clicking on the computer wishing to do absolutely nothing.

And as I continue to look around me, all smart guys and beautiful girls are still pretending to work, so I start my work too and end this article here.

So much in a days work.

Debayan

Hip Hip Hurray !!

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Wed, 01 Nov 2006 13:22:00 +0000

Yes. Finally I have crossed the 100 mark of the persons who have visited my profile. Thanks to them......

Regards

A visit to the Marketplace after a long time

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 22 Oct 2006 10:22:00 +0000

After a long time, and I mean a very long time, I visited the market place. If my memory served me right I was going to that particular market after ten long years, at the least i.e.

After my Mom hassled my continuously for an hour, I finally gave up and reluctantly agreed to go, cursing dad for not being here at the hour of need.

It must be understood that 22 year olds’ of today have almost a genetic revulsion of going to the market place. Maybe that’s because of their lack of knowledge of picking good vegetables (it should be green, a little hard…….etc etc..). But in addition to that you definitely don’t want to bump into your friends and let them find out that you are in the market place buying vegetables like a married husband.

I then calculated the probabilities of bumping into any acquaintance while I would be at the market place. I figured, as it was Diwali holidays, most people whom I knew were on vacation. So the probabilities of meeting your acquaintances were closer to zero than to one. So I hopped into the auto rickshaw and started my journey to the market place wishing it to end sooner rather than later.

The moment I landed into that same old place where I had not gone for over ten years, something odd happened.

A wave of nostalgia hit me. I could not help but compare the present scenario of the market place to the one ten years ago. Now the place had gotten smaller, more dense than before. I could also see advertising banners every hundred feet or so, competing for the highest elevation possible. The place was choking and I started coughing, maybe due to the level of pollution or maybe due to some allergy.

It was as crowded or maybe more as it was ten years ago, but you could tell the difference.

Back then, you could find the good old Bajaj Chetak’s , Vespas and Rajdoots too, scooting away in all its glory in between the congested roads. Now you find Pulsars, Enfields and even four wheelers plying on the same road, which over the years had reduced in width and had not gotten wider !

People used to bargain then too. But that was with, what I would call, a ‘gentle ferocity’, you bargained alright, but you tried to coax and cajole him or her into your grip. But now all I see is bland insults and abuses hurled at the vendors. The element of humanity had gone down drastically in the last ten years. It looked more like an army of robots programmed for certain actions conjesting the market place. Back then even complete strangers used to talk endlessly at front of a vegetable vendor. But now nobody had the time or inclination to get into any conversations.

But amongst all these depressing factors, you still can find some fun. I found to my surprise that a nice young lady in capris and a sexy top jostling amongst the vegetable market. It was obvious that she too had come to the market against her wishes. What I observed was quite remarkable actually, not unexpected totally, but anyways it shocked me. That pretty young thing was inspecting a bunch of tomatoes bending downwards. I was wondering whether the vegetable was looking at the 100 Rupee note or looking down her neck. If I had been him the latter would seem a more interesting proposition.

Although some things will never change but I somehow had a soft corner for the old world charms of the market place which spoke of bygone years.

Some things you wish should never change.

You can just wish. That’s all you can do.

Long Walk to Freedom.

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 20 Aug 2006 10:00:00 +0000

15th August, 2006. As India entered into its 60th year of freedom, I found myself standing behind a two year old girl, her little fingers inside her mouth and staring at the big grey platform down below.

She was calculating in her little head, whether she would actually have to risk falling down from the train or whether she could safely alight. And as I had expected, it was a little too much for her little head to calculate, as her little fingers went from her mouth to scratching her head.

It would have been around sixty seconds since I had been standing behind that one and a half feet grown girl. The line behind me was expectedly getting a bit impatient, numb to the agony of the little girl ahead of me. Just as I thought that I personally would have to help her get down, her mother came, much to the delight of others behind me, and helped her off the train.

Now that the girl was safely on the platform, her small little eyes, with big pupils went straight to her mom. She was hoping that her mom would lift her up and would save her from the agony of walking the length of the platform in the early morning. Her mom who was busy with her dad counting the bags, unfortunately wasn’t paying any attention. She tried to pull her dress too, but to no avail.

To her utter disappointment her mother only stretched out her hands, meaning that she would have to walk, with only her mothers fingers for guidance. She reluctantly took her right hand and began to walk.

Her small, little, foggy brain, just being deprived of good sleep, was thinking how could she have been put to such a huge task, which demanded extreme physical labour. She was also wondering where had all the sympathy gone, which comes for granted when you are barely able to reach you mothers’ toes!

As her foggy brain was still trying to come to terms with the disgrace and utter coldness of the outside world, around came a staircase. Now again she looked up to her mom, with the same little eyes and the same big pupils, which had constricted themselves even further. She now was pretty confident that her torture had come to an end and surely she will not climb the staircase on her own.

But her hopes were brutally dashed.

Her mother, with her outstretched hands, literally lifted her first, and put her over the first tread of the staircase. Now the little foggy brained girl with big eyes and big pupils was desperately clinging to her mothers’ fingers, trying to keep up with her mothers' pace as she briskly ascended the staircase. The foggy brained girl was still trying to come to terms with the rude shock. She was praying that this agony would end, if not for her then at least for the sake of her new dress, which she was sure would tear to pieces.

She was pretty confident that her small legs were at an unnatural angle while she was climbing the staircase. She momentarily thought that if she made through this she would surely become a gymnast one day, with the amount of stretching she was having to do.

I sat on my auto and it was time for me to leave.

The last time I saw that foggy brained girl, she was still walking.

Just the first of her many long walks to freedom.

Happy Independence Day.

The smell of Phenyl

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Wed, 09 Aug 2006 04:48:00 +0000

Before you think it is a hugely abstract article, I suggest you better stay with me till the end.

Yes, I am alive and well. Since the day I started working, I feel this is the first public holiday that I have encountered. Rest assured that I may NOT be able to find time in the future soon.

Well so much for me and my blogging.

Poetry and Prose alike, a lot of people have written on smell. Rudimentary stuff like smell of flowers to highly sensual stuff like the smell (or scent !) of a woman. A lot of writing on smell exists around the world.

Well today is 'Raksha Bandhan', a very important festival in our country. People get up in the morning, have a bath to get squeaky clean and then dress their best for the occasion. Girls in bright yellow to deep red and guys mostly in White Kurtas and their other colors are either blue or black.....

And here I was, 9:30 a.m, at my place, just out of bed in my residence. My hair style loosely resembled that of Einstein, hair standing on its ends, giving me a look as if I had just been electrocuted. Well, there I stood along with my pathetic looks and my toothbrush in my mouth and stared down at the basin. Here is what I saw..

Normally one would expect water to be clogged in the basin. But along with that there were other assorted items like chillies, capsicum, cabbage. On close inspection I could also find some cough and sputum floating around the already clogged water (Yuck!). On closer inspection still, I also found that traces of fungus were beginning to appear right at the basin board and just when I thought that I had seen it all I found mosquito larvae floating merrily in the clogged basin (now a drain!) along with some cockroaches in the dry periphery.

Damn! I thought, first of all we bachelors are happy messing around the place and when the time comes to clean up I am all alone! Momentarily it crossed my mind,maybe I should sneak outside and spit my toothpaste in the neighbours porch. But I thought otherwise and decided to do one good thing until now and decided to clean up the place.

So here I was with my toothbrush still in my mouth and I started rumagging in my store room and finally found myself a cleaning brush. At least it remotely resembeled a cleaning brush. Then I started with first clearing the clogging and then washing it with some good ol' detergent powder. All the clogged material had to be cleared personally by me and then finally I cleared my throat in the basin before the time came to vomit it out along with my last nights food content.

I then opened the tap and let it stay for a while and finally...

And finally I managed to get hold of some phenyl (imagine I am making it sound heavenly for additional effect) I turned off the tap and sprinkled it generously over my wash basin and then finally looked at it. I could see the original stainless steel of the wash basin.

But the most satisfiying thing was the smell of phenyl. How good it smelled. Maybe the smell of flower or the smell of a woman is better. But at this moment nothing, absolutely nothing could compare the smell of phenyl. To me now it resembled bliss, ecstacy all rolled into one...

The smell of phenyl never felt so good. NEVER EVER so good.

So much in a days work.

On Holi.......

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Wed, 15 Mar 2006 04:59:00 +0000

‘As today is Holi I wish you all a Happy Holi’

This was one of the dumb lines that I came across while surfing various blogs. I thought I would spare the person the humiliation of suffering alone. So I took some burden off him or her.

Besides I had no spectacular headline to think off.

My Holi is absolutely ‘thanda’. I am at home all squeaky clean while down below I see children and adults stuffing color onto their faces and mouths alike. I see colors of all hues and shades on the faces and teeth of persons who are enjoying it. These persons will remember today’s Holi even after today. Because they will be reminded about it when they see the colors on their food bite days from today.

In between all these celebrations I see some sparkling people. Not because some Aishwarya Rai had come in our society, but due to the fact they were covered in peculiar colors of Golden and Silver. Sparkling under the morning sun they were looking especially queer. They looked slated to play a warriors’ role in a play or something alike. These colors were not in vogue or maybe not available when I was young and playing Holi.

Suddenly you find projectiles in the form of balloons flying around, today they being more potent than our nuclear arsenal combined.

As more and more people get into the festive mood I find some people in a state of euphoria and ecstasy. They seem to be in some kind of drug induced trance. Such is the power of Holi in our country.

Before I can get into my patriotic mood completely, suddenly comes a splash of water. I think they have modified a household water pipe into a fire hose of some kind. And amidst all the drenched people in various colors you can’t help but notice two young eleven year olds just standing there with their mouths opened. I try to find the source of their reactions. I find the young boys are watching a pretty young dumb girl in T-shirt and jeans, all drenched. These poor boys are trying to comprehend the new information being presented to them by her.

All in a days work I guess.

The DJ keeps spinning his records. I wish to be in his shoes, partly because I love music and partly because I have just got new DJ software. I am wondering whether to go down and join the festivities or not. Just then my mom yells to pack my bags as I have to move out of town in a few days from now.

I stop wondering and start packing my bags.

Happy Holi.

Another day in the train.

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Sun, 05 Mar 2006 05:26:00 +0000

I come home daily tired and exhausted. Everyday has its own hassles. And traveling on Mumbai’s local trains can be a harrowing experience in a different way altogether.

Just a while back I was traveling in a local train, there was this man who was seemingly frustrated in the jam packed, bone crushing crowd. He had a ‘minor altercation’ with other fellow passengers. At that time I was standing in one corner and observing. Just to let you know that since the day I started traveling, not one day has gone by where there has not been a squabble in the train coaches. I wondered why…

In retrospect, there was no need to wonder. I find, in a cramped coach with almost three hundred to four hundred people on board, you can hardly expect anything else but for tempers to flare up. Many are in a hurry. Many have personal anguish written on their faces. One young college fellow is desperately trying to ward off other people and protecting his girlfriend by forming a cocoon around her. One fellow is practically wondering how to stand with one lunch box in hand and a file on the other and his bag hanging from his shoulders. Almost seven people are hanging precariously from one footbridge. Some of them hang there to get the fresh breeze; some just have no choice but to hang. Another fellow traveler is wondering how to reach out to his mobile phone which is ringing incessantly in the midst of this maddening crowd.

But as I stand there observing, my eyes fixed themselves on an old man. His wrinkles spoke of the years gone by. His eyes conveyed no particular emotion. An old woman was standing close to him, his wife, I assumed. He hand one hand round her shoulder. In the midst of all the noise, all the crowd, they were quiet. Their lips never moved. Both of them were staring out into the evening sun. Were they used to traveling like this, I wondered. Or were they too tired to complain? Or just maybe they chose to travel silently, a wise choice for an old couple.

As I dodge other people elbows, shoulders, bags and other things. I still cannot get my eyes off the elderly couple. How can they be so peaceful and quiet in this atmosphere? None were giving any regards to their old age. They too were being hassled by others. How can one be so nonchalant, so stoic in a way…..how?

While I was pondering this, the next station came. I got down, so did the elderly couple. Just out of curiosity I decided to follow them till the exit. They both, hand in hand were walking towards the exit. Still their eyes conveyed no expression, people still jostled by them, some shoving and pushing them along the way. Just then I find a faint smile on the old mans lips. His eyes were more purposeful, his movements, suddenly becoming co-coordinated. It looked as if some alien force had instilled some life in him. He waved to somebody. My eyes followed them. What had happened? How come this transformation? Just then I see a gathering of about ten to twelve people. A man bowed down and touched his feet, most probably his son. Same he did with his mother. I noticed that a tear drop had formed in the elderly woman’s eyes.

Now they seemed to be full of life. They took the small children in their laps and started playing with them. I could see them conversing, laughing, gesturing etc. One by one they boarded their Toyota Qualis and left. Their loud voices slowly trailed off. All was once as before.

A cold breeze had started blowing now. I just stood there. Pondering on the events I had just witnessed. I realized something. Something you all must have realized by now. Their hope had not diminished. Although they were old and haggard, they lived for their loved ones, and came back to them after their long and hard travel.

I smiled to myself and I started walking towards my house. The cool breeze was swaying over my face. I prepared myself for another harrowing day tomorrow.

Life suddenly seemed full of hope. It felt like it was worth living again.

Short Retrospective for this year

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Tue, 27 Dec 2005 05:35:00 +0000

I am really thinking hard, real hard.

The New Year is just around the corner and the least I can do for this year (before it turns to that) is to commemorate it in the form of writing. But what do I write?

Personally this year has been a mixed bag for me. The first half of this year was good, real good. Job offers galore, seminars, presentations etc… My creative best was in overdrive. I experienced personal satisfaction during the first six months. Good times reached its zenith in May. Then started the downward slide….

Come June and I had to leave college and all my friends and memories behind (some loans have yet to be paid, but I am entitled to being wicked, right?). Since then no Job has materialized and the icing on the cake was my OUTstanding, performance in CAT. I am definitely OUT of contention in good colleges. An episode to be best forgotten

Enough of cribbing!

Whether I will be celebrating or not, I can’t say. My group at present might have other plans. So in all probability I am going to be home on New Years Eve.

Don’t even know where the party’s at. Besides it is expensive. Besides I don’t have a date!

I hope that this New Year will bring more good things than bad. And I also HOPE that I will WORK towards making this year more fruitful for me.

Bhagwan, Allah, Christ….give priority to me this new year.

How good was your year?

A note on predictions

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Tue, 20 Dec 2005 05:28:00 +0000

The more I experience the more I am convinced.

I am sure a lot of you will relate personally to what I am writing below.

Predictions in the daily newspapers look nice, or at least worth a second look when something similar is happening in your life.

Any educated person looks at these daily news horoscopes at most at face value. Barring the Balaji Production House. But we have a prejudiced notion as to how we react, and when. If the horoscope readings remotely resemble to what we are experiencing, we think about it, react positively to it, and even hoping that the horoscope prediction comes out to be true. On the contrary, if something negative is written, then we rubbish it instantly. Some people go a bit further and loathe and abuse the whole horoscope and astrology practice.

Todays prediction for me.

Sagittarius : 'You maybe in a restless and irritable mood and this could affect your interactions with people. Work will bring satisfaction. Romance could go through some tense moments. Unexpected expenses are indicated.'

The first line is definitely not for me. But somehow I feel that it might be true. But definitely not to the extent of affecting my interactions with people. Work will bring satisfaction ? Definitely not for me. I am not working at present. And no other mental or Physical exercise either. Romance, er....Well no comments on that.

Now the last line is what prompted me to write this piece. Should I assume unexpected expenses as to the high fees I might have to pay for getting admission to an MBA ? If yes, then that's a good thing. Or should I assume that you will keep on filling forms but you will not convert a single call ! And that's bad. Isn't it ?

Maybe I should contact this person and get the specifics.

Your interpretations are highly welcomed. Maybe I will take out an average prediction out of all what you have to say.

Life's such nowadays.....

On fallen buildings and broken homes....

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Mon, 19 Dec 2005 08:28:00 +0000

Q) What is a vicious circle ? Give an example for it. (100 marks)

Ans. Vicious circle is a phrase. It is generally used when we observe a lot of bad things happenings or a lot of inconvenience is suddenly caused to us. When we try to find a cause, we realize one thing leads to other and ultimately it returns to the original problem. Thus creating a vicious cycle or circle.

Example you ask? In our country there is no dearth for example on vicious circles.

Case in point. The recent demolition drive on illegal structures in Mumbai and Delhi. Being a civil engineer I completely understand the inconvenience caused by illegal structures to society in general. And they need to be removed. But just how corruption is rampant in our society can be shown with this example of the vicious circle.

Public:

They want to make houses. No plan. Some have money,some take loan. Then what ? Go to the real estate agent, look for a property and buy it. I like it, I got the cash and finally I got the building. Some realize that piece of land is not for residential or commercial purposes, So what ? Simple. Take out more cash, and the formalities get completed in a jiffy. And 'HAMARA SUNDAR GHARONDA' is ready.

Government officers:

Always ready for additional resources (for the uninitiated, to be understood as bribe). So what if this is illegal? This is cash (yummy !!). Back then no hidden cams or sting operations, so no fear. They give me cash, I make them happy. It is a pure cause and effect relationship. Bribe goes to highest levels of the concerned department. But who gives a damn ?

Government at the state:

Know what all is going on. But as a pure HINDUSTANI, no reaction. 'chalta hai' policy at its best. But no action. Why to lose our vote bank ? So what if it is illegal. If they have no problem why should we ? (typical government attitude, to be expected even after hundred years !!)

Supreme court:

Last resort of the common man. Issues ruling in favor of the public. Illegal structures to be demolished. No two ways about that.

Losers:

1) Public, for their lackadaisal attitude. They should have researched properly. No excuses for that. You paid the bribe. You should be ready for the consequences.

2) Government officers, Should have known 'All good things must come to an end'. You put the finger in the pie now you burnt it. Expect a lot of court cases now (yummy !!)

3) Government at the centre, I am not coming to power next time.

See now ? All put blames on one another. Government is corrupt. But are we not too for assisting them ? And if you are not corrupt then you are a fool. You should know how to build a house better. Perfect example of hand in glove act and vicious circle.

End result :

General Public are big losers !! They suck !!

Wow !! I got full hundred on hundred

(Pssst......Ma'am don't tell anyone I paid you a hundred to give me these marks.)

Ganguly and More Ganguly

noreply@blogger.com (Tip) — Thu, 15 Dec 2005 03:12:00 +0000

It is not often that I comment, let alone write about Cricket. In a country obsessed by cricket we do have our fair share of cricket columnists, analysts, doomsayers and well-wishers. So adding to the plethora of cricket analysts doesn't really help.

But I had to write something.

The fact of the matter is Sourav Ganguly shouldn't have been dropped.

Even the most die hard Gangluy basher is agreeing to the fact that he is unfortunate. For a Senior player with the stature as Ganguly, he was treated rather shabbily.

Ok, I admit, he did not score as much as he could have. But did Gambhir score more? Maybe he is young. Alright. Parthiv Patel was young too. We lost the series to Australia in Australia because of his poor showing in the third test match. He went. Shouldn't Gambhir go too ? Not that I have any personal contempt for Gambhir. But the logic defies me. If he was to be treated shabbily, he shouldn't have been recalled in the first place.

Whatever anyone says, we have to give credit to Ganguly for his knock of 40 and 39. In face of adversity of the pitches and personal anguish alike, his knock were gritty ones. I won't go to mention his exploits as a player and captain, everybody knows that. And as our team won, he should have been given another chance. Wassim Jaffer, on the other hand may not get a chance to play in this series. It would have been wise to let Ganguly to at least play the full series.

Trust me that being insulted like this humiliates and hurts a lot.

Selectors, if you can act maturely please do. A third standard student is more wise than you nowadays or so it seems

Peace.