Thoughts In Play (T.I.P)

The Most Precious Advice

2012-12-13T22:54:00.000+05:30

I first wrote this as an answer on Quora (Links: this and this), then thought of sharing it here as well. Since I am absolutely free these days and doing Quora overtime, you can be prepared to see more of my Quora posts turning into blogposts (if at all you check this blog, that is) in the next some days. By the way, this is my Quora profile, in case you are interested to see: http://www.quora.com/Sugandha-Banga

So the question was:
What is the best advice your mother ever gave you? Do you feel it has benefited you as an adult?

When I was less than 10 years of age, one of my biggest nightmares was the idea of marriage. To the extent that I would wake up and start crying in the middle of the night. The reason was that I was (or rather am, but with a better understanding of the real world now, unlike then) way too attached to my mother to even think about separating from her. Anything that could lead to a possibility of my separation from her would completely freak me out.

So one day I thought of taking it up with her. I told her about my fears and asked her one straightforward question: "Aunties say every girl has to get married one day. What do I do to change that? How can I live without getting married, forever?"

Somewhere in the back of my mind I had prepared a number of arguments to prove my point correct. I was ready for a debate I most expected would ensue. I was determined to make it clear to my mom that I am not getting married any time in life.

But to my surprise, none of that came into use. Rather, my mother smiled confidently and told me, "Learn, study, work hard and grow up to become a successful woman who can stand on her own and support herself ably, without needing someone else as a crutch. And then you can decide for yourself when, how and with who you want to get married, if at all you do." Of several other things, it put an end to my wedding nightmares.

Factually, she wasn't right. Goes without saying, she herself knew it. Here in India, we are still far from accepting such an open minded school of thought. Which is why marriage is the most hyped element in our country, to the extent that it is perhaps counted among the basic necessities of life (water, air, food). This is precisely why we are still struggling to relinquish atrocious and unfair practices characteristic to our patriarchal society—dowry, for one.

BUT, I still think that is the best advice any parent can give to her daughter. It certainly was the most important lesson I received from my mother. It told me that marriage is not the end of life. That irrespective of whether we are daughters or sons, we need to work hard in life and become capable people. That education and knowledge should be our most passionate pursuits in life. That we should not be scared of facing challenges or sit and cry about them. That there is a solution to every problem. And that our first aim in life should be to become self-made people.
That one lesson was a bunch of many lessons that unfolded one by one over the next some years and helped me develop a better understanding of life and womanhood.

My relationship with my mother has always been such that I trust every word of what she says, because she has never used lies to appease me. She always told me the truth. And if it was bitter and I was too young to take it, she would present it in a different light, with a solution that would inspire me to not get bogged down and instead work towards it. What could be a better way to raise a daughter?

Top Ten Annoying Mistakes Delhi Drivers Need To Stop Making

2012-12-12T14:12:00.000+05:30

I have an experience of around 2 years now of driving on Delhi roads. Okay, that's probably not the perfect way of putting it. I'm obviously no professional driver but being the eldest child in the family comes with its own downsides, doesn't it?
Although I am yet to get to see what driving in other cities is like, Delhi drivers sure need to revive their roadsense and revise their driving lessons before all of us end up bumping into each other. The 10 pointers given below come from some of my commonest observations of road bloopers I desperately wish people (read: Delhiites) do away with soon.

Overtaking unnecessarily: I don't know what is so adventurous about it, but I am now so used to seeing jerks who wouldn't mind risking their and someone else's vehicle by closely overtaking it even if there is a red-light signal that we have to stop by just some meters ahead or the road is badly jammed. Everytime someone does this I wonder how do I fall in the so-called category of "bad drivers".

Not being careful about other vehicles: Okay, maybe your car is old enough to not bother about some scratches or dents, but it isn't necessary that the others on the road think the same. Moreover, you never know how a small risk may turn into a disaster for you or someone else. So if there isn't enough space to drive your vehicle through, for god's sake, please DON'T!

Driving at the speed of a snail because you are busy on the phone: One, you are talking on the phone while driving which in itself is illegal (at least officially). Two, you think you own the entire road to use it the way you want, even if it means that the entire traffic has to honk and honk and follow you at a snail's speed. You aren't the prime minister or the president, so I am pretty sure you can't be that busy. So please do the world a small favor: Either stop somewhere and then take your call or keep driving and not take the call. I am sure "I was driving so couldn't pick the phone" is by all means a very valid reason to use later on.

Staring at a girl who is driving as if she is the first woman driver in the world: One, there are plenty of female drivers in the world now. Two, there are plenty of female drivers in the world now.
You know there is nothing extraordinary about it, so just accept it. Avoid those cold stares or sly smiles or shocked expressions or worse, remarks. Let them breathe free at least on the road.

Squeezing in your car or parking it perpendicular to another car in the parking lot: When parking your car, it makes a lot of sense to consider how convenient would it be for the neighboring vehicles to exit, for you to exit, for other vehicles to pass by, and so on—without hurting any vehicle, that is.

Parking your vehicle in the middle of the road: Is there anything else in this world as frustrating as getting late for work because some nincompoop doesn't love his car enough and hence doesn't mind leaving it on the road blocking way for the entire traffic? If you didn't get a spot to park your car, if you need to quickly go meet or pick up somebody, or if you can't resist smoking a cigarette or taking a stop at the pan-shop, my dear causative of all traffic mayhem, it is your problem, not our fault. Is this a fact so hard to understand?

Not making use of the indicator lights while changing lane: Please make use of the rear view mirror to judge when is it at least absolutely inevitable. If the road is more or less very empty, it still may be given a skip, but definitely not otherwise. You may think that you will be in the other lane in a matter of seconds so what's the need of signalling the indicator, but the consequences would show up only when you end up bumping into the vehicle just behind you.

If the person in front of you doesn't want to overspeed, just let him be: You don't want him to kill himself or others, do you? My driving instructor had told me one simple thing that I use as my motto, "Drive at a speed that you are sure you can handle even in an emergency situation, because anything can happen on the road any time." One should be very careful about accelerating and know when to stop, as per his convenience, age, experience, this and that. Just because you want to drive fast, you can't be disturbing others by honking them to death.

Beware of the jerks: There are way too many people on the road with way too different interpretations of road ethics. As frustrating as it may be, keep them ALL in mind. It is your duty. You may find an old man signalling you to stop for him to cross the road even when you are going at 50 kmph, you may find an animal coming out of nowhere all of a sudden, you may find a cyclist forgetting the fact that it is not as easy for you to quickly slow down as it is for him... you may find these and many more stupid people making your driving experience a real pain, but, bear all of it calmly and patiently and be prepared to come to a screeching halt or slow down as and when the need may be. This is another reason why it is important to not speed beyond your (and others') comfort zone. A driver needs to be responsible about himself as well as everybody on the road. You too don't want to end up running over someone, whether it was his fault or yours, I'm sure.

ROAD RAGE: The mother of all evil. It doesn't hurt to politely accept and apologize for your mistake if you have made one. Also, it doesn't help to cuss at the person in the next car because he probably didn't signal a lane change or was about to bump into you or whatever the case might be. Basically, that anger will do nothing of any use. So don't ignite and don't get ignited. Nothing could be more dangerous.

Chai, Chatter and Camp Dhanaulti — Part 2

2012-11-23T15:59:00.002+05:30

continued from Part 1

About the name of this series: Nothing beats a cup of chai when you're at a hill station. Chilly winds, snow-laden mountains always in front of your eyes, incessant chattering of everybody (including the teeth, with all the cold you have stepped into), and the only beverage that is both cheap and readily available... what could be a better way to become a chai lover? Only in India.

Kempty Falls
The downhill journey from Mussoorie to Kempty Falls took longer than expected, but not too long. Actually if you ask me, the only problem throughout the trip was with our estimations and expectations.

Tip: If short on time, do not make the mistake of randomly approximating on travel time and costs. We too had somewhere forgotten that we were on a hill-station and x kilometres there were different from x kilometres in Delhi. As a result, we were reaching every destination later than scheduled.

Once there, the twenty of us left the bus in two lots. I was in the second lot. It took us awhile to figure out what should we do. There are, what I may call, two “parts” of the Kempty falls. The main falls are the hub of tourist attraction. They lie well below the starting point, and need a good amount of time if you want to really enjoy them. The official check-in time at the camp was 12 PM and it was already well beyond that. Reaching late would mean an even more disturbed schedule, which we obviously wanted to avoid. After all, we were there for just two days. But we also didn’t want to entirely miss Kempty. Short on time and energy, we decided to climb up a few steps from the starting point and take to the smaller and less crowded 'version' of the Kempty. On reaching there, we saw the first lot already in water. That surprised us a bit.

TIP: When in a group, co-ordinate well, whether or not you are friends. Not just because it the general group-trip ethic, but also because you can also end up wasting a lot of time otherwise. Imagine if we had gone down instead, unaware that our friends were upstairs, how chaotic would that have been.

This part of Kempty was a relatively smaller area enveloped by rocks on three sides, but just enough for everybody to have a superb time. We were apprehensive about going inside water. It was extremely cold, yes, but we also didn’t want to wet our clothes. But then again it made no sense to simply stand there and watch. So without much ado, all of us, barring Vini (who generously played the role of our photographer), took off our shoes, rolled up our pants, and stepped inside the water.

We could beat Squirtle at splash wars

The first step chiseled the bone like anything! After that there was numbness. There were regions where the land beneath was too soft and succumbed to pressure easily. The rocks inside the water were particularly slimy and covered with algae. We had to be really careful about this as it could hurt real bad. On the whole, it ended up being a lot of fun. We avoided the splashing for a long time and just moved around taking some pictures. But then Ganga (no, not the river, but a friend of mine) spilled some water on me and in order to avenge for it, I took some water in my hands and splashed it on her. The water wet Lokesh too and as the classic cake-throwing scene in movies goes, one after another we ended up splashing water on each other.

At one point, I felt my feet immersing deeper into the damp earth beneath the waters, with everybody still indulging in the water wars. At that moment I made a serious face and told Ranjeet, who was standing nearby, “No, seriously, get me out of here first. I am going in!” That gave everybody a chance to pull my leg later on, but then yeah, as long as it saves your life, anything is worth it.
Given the cold, it felt insane to have to travel for the remaining part of the journey in jeans half wet. But then again, that’s what we did... or had to.

TIP: When going to see a water body like this for some fun time, it is better to wear slippers or floaters, than shoes. The feet may not dry up easily and might also be too dirty to simply wear your shoes on. Thankfully, I was wearing floaters. So while my friends walked the whole distance from Kempty to the bus barefoot, I didn’t have to. And that gave me a chance to pull their leg, “Bad deeds bear bad fruit! Boo!”

The journey from Kempty to Dhanaulti was a memorable time.

Towards Dhanaulti

It is already so difficult for me to describe a lifetime of an experience in words, but this part of the narration is all the more challenging.
In order to beat the cold and our messed up state, we decided to pass time in some way hopefully more interesting.
As far as the views are concerned, this was undoubtedly the most scenic portion of the journey. Ever heard of being “on cloud nine”? It was just that. Cloud nine, ten, and eleven, whatever you may say. We were literally floating over an ocean of clouds. Breathtaking views rendered us speechless. The hilly beauty that we had barely seen in Dehradun, was well below us now. And the feeling was inexplicable. We went higher and higher up, starting from Kempty, back to Mussoorie, and higher up from there. Every time we thought we had come “high enough”, the driver proved us wrong.

A Glimpse From Inside The Moving Bus. And Guess What, It's Only The Beginning Of The Journey

A couple of hours passed and the road didn’t seem to end, or bend! Had it not been for the games we played, it might have been difficult to bear the whole journey sitting in one position. We played the silliest games you can imagine—I, Chetna, Rishabh, Lokesh, Ranjeet, Ishaan, with some others joining in between. Starting with the mentally exhausting “memory game” (where you keep creating a chain of words, person by person, word by word), and then proceeding to intellectually less challenging games of childhood like “chiddiya ud”, “red hands”, “aloo chana garam” (a new game courtesy: Rishabh), and so on. The point in all games was to get to beat each other’s hands, simply because that alone was ultimate fun! Every time it was Chetna’s turn to get the beating, Rishabh rolled up his sleeves, and with a sly smile said, “Ab maza aayega, iske gaddedar haath hain” (this will be fun because her hands are cushiony). That was one of the funniest things said on the trip! Sigh.

It got difficult to continue playing after some time. There were more sharp and blind turns, hairpin bends, and steeper slopes. We got thrown from left to right and to and fro if we didn’t sit. Can you believe it; one or two seats even came off because of this?! That should give you a fair deal of idea about what the roads to Dhanaulti are like. As awe inspiring as the views are, the journey could be a tad difficult for somebody not comfortable with travelling in hill stations. Our ears felt blocked as the atmospheric pressure rose and some people began to feel uneasy; although, the uphill journey was way less difficult for them as compared to the downhill return journey. To add to the woes, the roads in Mussoorie, and more after it, are too narrow to take a stop. It would block the entire way if one did.

TIP: That is still no reason to avoid Dhanaulti, just make sure you have prepared well. Enough medicines, water, food, lemons etc. would be good to carry along. I was lucky to have made it through without either.

Around three hours, a lot of elevation, plenty of games (and hand slapping), munchies aplenty, many moments of peace, much tiredness, and a mountain of patience later, we reached Dhanaulti. Or should I say, we reached heaven?

Stepping Into Dhanaulti

FACT: Dhanaulti is the highest hill-station nearest to Delhi. I guess, it was our good luck that took us there.

Although I have been to quite a few hill stations (Solan, Manali, Mt. Abu, Nainital, Ranikhet off the back of my memory), Dhanaulti is unlike any place I have ever seen, far even from my imagination. I fear writing about it, for words are just not enough to describe the tranquil we experienced there.

Dhanaulti is a hill station very close to nature in its purest form. From what I saw on the way, some restaurants, a couple of luxurious resorts and the camp where we were to stay, are more or less the only things “commercial” about it. For campers, there comes a point on the main road beyond which any vehicle larger than a car cannot go. The downhill road that takes you to the main camp from there is kutcha and really narrow.

We stopped at a fork that split into two paths—one, the kutcha road that led to the camp, and second, the pucca main road of the hill station. By the way, I love coming across forks on the roads. They almost immediately ignite my writer instinct and philosophical gumption. I swear, had it not been for Robert Frost, I would have certainly written something on the lines of "The Road Not Taken". Or maybe it is Frost’s own masterpiece that makes me, and many others, assume so. It is so relatable.

We got off the bus and unloaded our luggage. I have little idea where the bus was parked after that. Actually, in all the excitement, it hardly mattered. As promised, in a matter of some seconds, the Camp O Royale people were there in the "kidnapper's car"—an old Maruti Omni—to escort us to the camp. They said they would be ferrying us in lots as they had only one car. Six of us, including myself, packed ourselves in the wrecky van. The others said they would like to trek down to the camp and asked us to take along all their luggage. In barely some seconds, we were out of the van and everybody’s luggage was inside it. All 20 of us began walking down the path with beaming faces, aching limbs, draggy footsteps, but above them all, revived senses.

Dhanaulti seemed, sounded, smelled and felt like something else, like a parallel universe. As the Camp O Royale website puts it, "It offers perfect tranquility amidst long wooded slopes of deodar, Pine, Oak and Rhododendron trees". Those trees were always beside us as we walked the path to the camp.

It was here that we realized what it means to breathe fresh, unpolluted air. The time was 4 PM but the weather was as fresh as an early winter morning—cold, but not cold enough to let the vivid fragrance of the flowers, the gushing of waters somewhere in the vicinity, and the coolness of the gentle breeze go unnoticed. The moment I stepped out of the bus, I had heaved a long sigh—not of relief, but of belonging—of belonging to the dazzle of nature we city-folk are so untouched by. It was at that moment that I believed in the concept of “love at first sight”. Except that this was love at first sight/smell/sound... everything.

to be continued...

5 Ways To Celebrate A Happy Diwali Without Crackers

2012-11-13T18:26:00.000+05:30

Don't worry, I am not going to ask you to stay away from crackers. I am sure that if you do burst them, you'll be already knowing how harmful they are. It's common sense. When lighting one matchstick produces enough smoke to make us feel slightly choked, it's evident what so many fireworks can do the environment. So I am not going to get preachy here. For one, this isn't the biggest harm man is doing to the environment. Two, I don't think I am wrong in believing that we've all enjoyed bursting crackers during Diwali up to some or the other point of time, some of us still do, some have given up for different reasons. And it's easy to preach the doers when you aren't one of them. I believe in letting everybody have their own space. Who am I to ask people to stop using crackers just because I don't prefer them? Inform them, but then let them decide what gives them more happiness. It's a personal choice after all.

In my opinion, let at least the kids learn on their own. If they find celebrating Diwali with crackers and fireworks fun, let them have it. Instead of trying to stop them against their will, try, instead, to teach them that excess of anything is bad. Don't take away from them moments that are most likely to become precious memories for them, don't you remember your own days as a child eagerly waiting for the evening puja to finish, so you could go out to burst crackers and light flowerpots with your parents and friends?

So that means we have three kinds of people now—those who have completely abandoned fireworks for Diwali, those who use them in moderate quantities, and those who are full on firework fanatics. If you happen to belong to the first of these three categories, then you might find this post interesting.

Five ways to celebrate a happy Diwali without crackers:

1) Decorate Your House Better Than The White House: Seriously, there is nothing girly about it. It's your place, and the way you treat it, to a great extent, defines who you are. Cleanliness is godliness, beauty is happiness. As much as you might hate it, you will love the outcome. So help your mom in the Diwali cleaning as far as you can. On Diwali, light up the house inside out. For once in a year, don the interior designer's hat for your own space, and I assure, you'll be proud of it.

2) Give Gifts, Get Gifts: Can't resist reusing them? No worries! It isn't the gifts exchanged that matter here, it is the ritual, the practice that does. When people who do not get to see each other the whole year, decide to visit each other and spend some time talking, eating and laughing, it strengthens bonds. You may or may not want or need them, you may or may not be fond of them, but it is always good to be friendly. Man is a social animal, they say.

And while you do this, your kids (if any), or you, will be most excited about various things like – getting to meet cousins and friends, predicting who will give the "best" gifts, unwrapping presents with an enthusiasm that will always be more than what shall follow (no matter how great the present may be), and above all, getting to eat the best foods one does not get the rest of the year.

3) Cook and Eat: I won't bore you by stating the obvious. Diwali is without doubt a foodie's dream come true. There is literally everything on the platter—dry fruits and nuts, chocolates, juices, sweets, chips, homemade delights, biscuits, cakes, and whatnot. You may be forty kilos, you may be eighty kilos, but Diwali doesn't come twice in a year, does it? Nor will your not eating fast food for one week or so reduce your weight. So as long as your health doesn't suffer, let the foodie in you indulge this Diwali.

And if you love cooking, what better opportunity do you need, than one where everyone around you is ready to eat anything edible that comes their way? A good foodie's greatest pleasure is food, a good cook's great delight is pleasing a good foodie. So buck up, take out all those recipes you had jotted down from watching television, and for once in life, go on to actually trying them.

4) Throw A Party: There couldn't be a better occasion than this to call over all your dear friends and relatives, and have a blast of a time. Sit together, play good games, share jokes and memories, sing happy songs, have good food and drinks, maybe watch a great movie, do creative stuff, and above all, DANCE! Show that one doesn't need to be good at dancing to have some fun, for it is all about letting yourself free.

5) DANCE, DANCE, DANCE: This might seem like an extension to point #4, but I think dance is a celebration in itself, and a festive occasion just compliments it really well. Uncle, aunt, mum, dad, grandpa, grandma, brother, sister, best friend, crush, love... basically anybody, or nobody! Just let the music play and dance like it is your last time. You will find bliss, and get to share it too!

I am publishing this post on a Diwali evening, so it might be too late, or too early (considering next year's Diwali). But I don't think you were waiting for me to tell you how to celebrate the festival, were you?

Eat almonds, avoid cashewnuts. Don't reuse gifts as gifts. Judge a present by its emotional value more than its monetary value. And study if your exams are coming up... sounds like an impossible Diwali, doesn't it? Heck, do whatever you want! :D

Here's wishing you a a very happy and prosperous Diwali. With or without crackers, I hope you have a safe and great one. Do let me know how you made your Diwali successful.

Adios!

Chai, Chatter and Camp Dhanaulti (A Travel Memoir) — Part 1

2012-11-09T03:59:00.001+05:30

“Without new experiences, something inside of us sleeps. The sleeper must awaken” – Frank Herbert

After awakening the 'sleeper' within me for two memorable days, I am back to living the same old mundane life that is making the awakened sleeper drowsy again. Needless to say, the feeling isn't exactly comforting.

On the Facebook group of our class, when I first suggested going for an immediate trip, many people thought it was impossible. To some extent, one of them was yours truly. Firstly, because ours isn't really a class where everyone has talked to everybody, not even where everybody knows everybody. Secondly, amid the soaring pressure of projects, upcoming exams, classes, CAT etc, it was difficult to convince people to think about utilizing the week that was going to be full of holidays, for something hopefully more worthwhile and refreshing. Thirdly, since it had to be a quick trip, and spontaneous to a great extent, we had to keep it short, yet exciting. That meant considering options closest to Delhi, yet different. Budget was going to be another factor, apart from the usual convincing sessions, distrust, lack of communication, consensus regarding the destination, and so on. Ten days after I first proposed a random 'Hey let's go on a vacation!' idea, I am happy to write, we had a great time camping at 2300 metres above sea level, experiencing bone chilling cold while we were hardly prepared for it, doing fun activities, spending quality time with friends, and above all, living in the lap of nature—literally.

Trust me when I say, it is a gigantic task to get a decent number of people to agree to a plan like this SO soon (within a week, that is). More so, when the plan is too difficult to execute without enough people. 24th of October was the night when we were to leave from Delhi. And till the very last hour of this date, it was unsure as to who all would be coming, when would we be leaving, when would we be reaching, what would we be doing, and so on. Basically all the whens, whats, hows, whos, and whys were foggy.

Where?

Since most of the guys were not interested in simply visiting a place and going around sight-seeing, and instead considered adventure sports in Rishikesh a better option—which most of the girls didn't find exciting since Rishikesh isn't exactly the most scenic place around—we needed a spot that provided a good balance between both. From Lansdowne (the nearest hill-station to Delhi) to Rishikesh to Mussoorie to Kanatal to finally Dhanaulti, this 'journey' of the plan itself was most unnerving. Every time the plan changed, somebody left and somebody joined. On the 22nd of October something really annoying happened and we had to again change the plan, much to everybody's frustration. I have got to mention that here.

I had searched for options for 'Adventure in/near Mussoorie' on the web and come across Camp Kanatal that is handled by Wildex. I asked Puneet to take over as a coordinator and he gladly did. So all the talks with the camp organizers and travel agencies were now handled by him. After getting a good approximation of how many people would be coming for the trip, Puneet finalized talks with the WildEx guys. On the 23rd of October, they were supposed to come and receive the advance payment from him in cash. On the night of 22nd, we were informed that they had given those tents to a corporate group that had come at the last moment. "Well, nothing was really finalized yet," they reasoned shamelessly, while offering discounted options for Rishikesh. There was no way we were going with these unprofessional, unethical and stupid people this time, even if they took us for free.

NOTE: Wildex, a big thumbs down to you! Nothing could be more unethical and unprofessional than what you guys did with us. You suck!

But as they say, whatever happens, happens for the best. While I might have given up after all the ups and downs, and this final jerk, Puneet was already working on getting the next best alternatives. He got to know about 'Hamara Holiday' and was suggested Camp O Royale, Dhanaulti, by them. Everything about it seemed more or less similar to Camp Kanatal. There was anyway no turning back after coming so close to the plan's execution stage. Our doubt was about Dhanaulti, the place. Is it as good as Kanatal seems to be? With some research and survey, we thought it definitely was similar to Kanatal.

We were wrong. Dhanaulti turned out to be way better (and higher) than not only Kanatal, but also what our imagination could have etched.

Who?

People were pissed off about the ever-changing things. Some backed out. Some others had pretended to join in initially but left on the same day. I am not sure about this but from what I've heard, they probably had plans of their own and just enjoyed spoiling ours. This should give you a good idea about why getting a group trip actually organized is one of the hardest challenges. But try to experience it some day, to get a feel of the sheer diversity in people.

After much dwindling, finally, 20 of us boarded the 27-seater bus that we had booked for ourselves. We bid goodbye to our confused and worried parents and left Delhi with cheers full of energy and excitement. 9 guys and 11 girls—we seemed like the icon of women empowerment!

Some hidden, some showing up—happy faces nonetheless

The First Leg Of The Journey

Unlike school picnics, the excitement here did not not last for long. The fact that half the people hadn't interacted much with the rest half before, showed up pretty well in all the bus journeys. The initial struggle to sing, dance, talk, play together died a slow death as we were automatically divided into two groups. But what matters anyway is that everybody still enjoyed in their own way. Besides, wasn't spending time with each other, getting to know each other and making this trip a memoir of our final year of college, the intent behind the trip?

Tip: When traveling in a group that is a mix of friends and just acquaintances, it is best to give everybody their space. You can ask everyone to join in, but insisting does no good, other than, at the worst, infusing a tinge of negativity in the environs. Let everybody do what they want to do—sing, dance, play, sleep, rest, talk, and so on.

It was difficult to rest inside the bus. Many people felt that there was something seriously wrong with the shockers. The ride felt too bumpy, too jerky. Maybe since it was just the beginning and we weren't yet used to it. The return journey was, thankfully, more comfortable.

Tip: When going for a group trip, particularly for a long journey, try to check the vehicle well in advance. It can create more trouble than you can imagine.

Somewhere near Muzzafarnagar, we stopped at a dhaba to have some tea and take a little break. We ended up realizing that winters were really in. I enjoyed the impulsive chattering of my teeth. After all, winters in Delhi come after quite long. What could be better than having a small cup of hot chai at a local dhaba, on a deserted road, in the freezing cold of past midnight, and with so many of your friends to share jokes and biscuits? Perhaps nothing.
We boarded the bus again to resume our journey.

Most of the people were resting by late night, the lights were out. I and my friend Vini, however, did not like the thought of simply sleeping. We thought we could do away with sleep for the two exquisite days we had actually come to enjoy. But, most of the other people did not agree. Some slept, some just closed their eyes. Some listened to music quietly. Some gossiped. Ahem.

Ganesan, who also happens to be our placement coordinator, suffered the deepest brunt of the bumpy ride. He has a migraine problem, but had not brought his medicines for the trip. From what he told later, the chemist was closed when he had gone to buy some medicines for the journey, and he made the mistake of assuming that since the problem hadn't troubled him for a long time now, it was less likely to get aroused again this time.

Tip: Never take any past/present medical problems lightly when going for a long journey. Always take along all relevant medicines, as well as some for the general problems like nausea, headache, fever, stomach ache etc.

With an hour or two past since we left the dhaba, we were now nearing Dehradun. And by then, Ganesan’s migraine problem was not only aroused, but worsening. He struggled to sleep, became utterly restless and writhed with pain. Everybody was deeply worried and looked for medical shops on the way. It was really late so there was none in sight. Much later, we had to make do with a local doctor who did not have the exact medicines for migraine but gave some pain killers. We stopped the bus at one point after that as Ganesan wanted to go out and breathe. It came as a shock to us when he emptied a bottle of water over himself in the chilling cold of the very early morning. It seemed like he had no idea what he was doing.

As a school-child, I had heard from one of my teachers how catastrophic a Migraine attack could be. In Ganesan, during those critical hours, I actually got to see a glimpse of it, and it goes without saying, it was unnerving. From one to all, we were all tense. Less than half an hour later, he came back into the bus and we started moving again, hoping to get the exact medicines in Dehradun, which was now half an hour away, in case his problem did not reduce. The driver was very co-operative and gave the 'bed' that belonged to his helper, to Ganesan. With one of his friends beside him all the time, he was finally able to sleep. That came as some sort of a relief to us as well. Who can see a classmate/friend suffer so badly?

Mark Twain has rightly said, 'If you really want to be sure about how much you love or hate people, travel with them'. Sometimes, the worst of experiences can strengthen relationships better than anything else. I guess, that has to be the best part about traveling with friends.

Dehradun

At dawn, we were passing by the forests of Dehradun. For those of us who hadn't been to here before, it made for a beautiful sight. It was still dark so not a lot was visible, but whatever was, looked exciting. We saw a couple of harmless, wild animals on the road ahead that ran between two spreads of vegetation, one on each side. There were dried up bodies of water—big and small, small hills that hid behind the tall trees, valleys not too deep and of course, fresh breeze that kissed our souls. When the darkness faded, we were in Dehradun’s main city. We could see hills on all four sides, but they were too far away to be awed by. The dense fog of the cold morning further concealed their view. And yes, Ganesan woke up and came out of his quilt around this time. At this instant, we fixed our gaze at him with desperation, like a tenth standard student gazes at the computer screen that is about to display his board exam's result. Ganesan gave his typical thumbs-up gesture and all of us smiled wide. After a night full of struggle, he was fine after all. Phew! In Dehradun at this time, people were barely out on the streets; shops, hotels, restaurants etc. were all closed. Life seemed calm and still. All of it made for a pretty morning, but we decided to have breakfast in the “Queen of hill stations”, Mussoorie.
Mussoorie

The real ‘feel’ of going for a vacation in the hills began to seep in only after we started moving towards Mussoorie. The best parts about traveling to hill stations by road are the picturesque views, the constant sensation of elevation, and the fear of the vehicle tripping over the narrow roads—each time the driver surprising you with his panache. The route to Mussoorie is probably as scary as the roads to most other popular hill-stations are. It being October, what we saw on the way were mainly beautiful hills laden with greenery and adorned by sunlight, shade, and clouds.

Some glimpses of the route to Mussoorie from inside the bus

It is difficult to find a stop for yourself on these roads. Since we had come in a bus, and the roads were wide enough to just let every vehicle travel, for breakfast we wanted to find a place where we would get ample space to park the bus. Mussoorie’s famous mall road was the only option.

The scenic view from the Mall Road, Mussoorie

When I stepped out of the bus, I once again felt that these two days were going to be slightly tough. We had probably underestimated the cold. It was a light sunny morning and we were almost all shivering whenever we did not stand in the sun. Or it could probably be the fact that coming from Delhi, most of us weren't in warm clothes.

Tip: Might sound like obvious but then that's what free tips are for, no? When you are pursuing a long journey from A to B, do consider any change of weather that is likely to surface, while deciding what to wear, what to pack, and what to keep on the top of the packing. Common sense, but very important.

Mussoorie’s mall road presents a beautiful picture of what a hill station should ideally be like. Walking along the road, with a stunning view of hills, mountains and the Dehradun valley on one side, and symbols of its commercialization on another—hotels, restaurants, shops and whatnot, apart of course from the remains of the walls of the mountain it might have been cut out of—one gets a good idea of what it means to experience “the best of both worlds”.

The mall road isn’t wide enough to allow even a small group of people to move with ease. From scooters to trucks, all sorts of vehicles pass by every few minutes. One, then, has to stand at the very edge of the road, patiently making way for them, lest their honking melts your ears. You can imagine what it would have been like for 20 of us as we walked in a train of pairs or triplets. I don’t know about the others, but as a very tired traveler, and one who longed for some quiet time to look at the beautiful view with peace, I found it very irritating. It was one of those moments when what you see is a complete contrast to where you are. But by the end of the entire journey, I was surprised to see how people who live in the hilly areas are so used to doing this—standing at the dangerously sharp edge of roads patiently, whenever the need may be.

The restaurant. In the picture: Not the four
of us mentioned on the right

We entered a decent restaurant to have our breakfast. We went on their first floor where the seating arrangements were done for four people each on one table. Chetna, Khushboo, Vini and I took one table. The weird seats stuck close to the table, and made placing ourselves on the cushioned chairs a task no less challenging than rock climbing.

I'd say, the time we spent there was as refreshing as it could be. The glass windows offered a good view of the mall road and the valley beyond. We joked a lot, took some pictures, and after a lot of thinking and discussion (as if we were at The Taj with a menu full of diverse options), ordered aloo paranthas for all of us. They were okay but tasted like the best thing on earth for us, the hungry souls.

There was only one waiter at the place, and he seemed fed up with his life. He messed up on a few orders, on the bills, and even more in his service. When Vini, who doesn’t like tea, complained to him that what he had given her was tea and not coffee, all he said was, “you said tea”. We told him that the tea hadn't even been touched, and there was no way we could all be wrong in hearing that she had asked for coffee, and again, all that he muttered was, “you said tea”. After repeating his dialogue five times very irritatingly, he said something to himself, took the cup of tea, threw it upon his tray, and left in a fit of rage. Certainly not the best service we had ever seen. The coffee that came after much ado, tasted bad and it took us awhile to calm down Vini, but then a little later, some group pictures in what seemed like a perfect “picture spot” on the mall road seemed to work well. Anyway, such small things happen everywhere and only add to the eventfulness of a journey.

Picture perfect. Almost. (Chhavi, Ganesan, Ishan missing)

With the appetite satisfied, we discussed about our next destination. Some people who were too tired and had been to Mussoorie before insisted on heading for the camp straight away. However, with mutual consensus, we decided to explore one more destination before reaching the Dhanaulti Camp—the very famous, 'Kempty Falls'.

to be continued...

How I Learned That Plagiarism Is Bad

2012-10-28T12:54:00.001+05:30

I can usually be found speaking strongly against plagiarism. My friends often pull my leg on this topic. Funnily though, it was plagiarism that helped me learn why plagiarism is bad. Here's how:

The first time our school magazine's content management team invited entries from us, I was keen to see my name below one of the contributions. Without bothering much, I simply lifted a poem from somewhere and submitted it. The teacher who was selecting entries then called me to her room and asked, "Have you really written this?" "Yes," I said confidently. "Well, if so, I must say your vocabulary is pretty good for your age," she said, obviously sarcastically. It pricked.

"Okay so you can probably tell me the meaning of this word 'mound' that you have used here," she said, pointing at that word in the poem written in my hand-writing. "Er, actually I don't remember it right now," I said sheepishly. "That's not possible if you used it here yourself," she told me sternly. "My father helped me with it," I tried to reason further, adding to the stupidity.

"Do you realize, somebody must have put in effort to write this poem, which you so easily submitted as yours?" the teacher asked me rhetorically, "you may go now," she told me, nodding her head in utter disapproval.

The embarrassment moved me, and I understood why what I did was wrong. I promised myself that I would not repeat the mistake.

The next time entries were invited, I penned down one article and one poem in Hindi, and one article in English—all of which were published in that year's edition of the magazine.

That was when I discovered that I can be good at writing. Ever since, and at least when it comes to written expression, I have never needed to yield to plagiarism.

Make mistakes to learn how to not make mistakes.

Umar, Sana, and a Broken Tale of Love

2012-10-14T14:34:00.000+05:30

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"If there ever comes a day when I have to choose between you and someone else, I will rather choose death. This is my promise to you, Umar," her words still echoed in his mind like yesterday. Four years of friendship in college followed by four years of intense courtship had brought them as close as two souls can ever be, he had assumed. All his dreams of living his entire life with his life, Sana, came crashing down like a pile of cards. The devotedly knit relationship of trust, faith, love, understanding and care, was now no more. He was torn apart between the past and the present, with no courage to foresee the future. All this, and more, had happened in a matter of hours, and minutes, and seconds, and milliseconds... and an eternity.

Four hours back when Umar had tried calling Sana, her father had bellowed at him, proudly informing him of her nikaah fixed for the next day. "Nikaah? This is not possible. You can't force her to marry someone else!" Umar had let out an outcry. "Force? We don't need to force her to understand the difference between a jobless poet and the richest businessman of our community, mister. Sana is getting married of her own free will. So you better quit now. Do you hear that? Quit! And dare not contact my daughter ever again!" were the last words Umar heard before numbness struck. Perhaps, the only respite for him was the fact that he was in Mumbai—a city where everyone is so occupied in their own lives that even his existence could be barely noticed, let alone his shattered world.

Lost in the memories of their past, he kept walking. He remembered the first time they had actually met in college—scolded by the lecturer for writing shayari for a prose-writing assignment. Beautiful as Sana was, he had secretly felt proud of having annoyed the teacher with his insane and purportedly rude arguments. Both got asked to leave the class for that day. What made them talk after that was the passion they shared for shayari. From Mirza Ghalib to the present day writers, they shared all the knowledge and passion they had for the art they both held close to the heart.

Days passed by and they came closer, sharing feedback for each other's writings, apart from food and time. Over time, Umar learned that Sana was the closest to himself he could ever meet. Sana, on the other hand, learned that Umar was the most talented writer and singer she could ever meet. She strictly made him do all his assignments, while he always surprised her by bringing the rarest of books she had ever wanted to read. He sang her favorite songs and ghazals. Jagjit Singh, Ghulam Ali, Shafqat Amanat Ali, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and the Wadali brothers were her favorites, he knew. She loved sufi and ghazal music, and always told him how his voice was perfectly suited to both. She was a bad singer, but he did try making her sing a couple of times—every time both of them ending up laughing hysterically. What he gave her in terms of music, she returned with her amazing hand at cooking. For each song that he sang on her demand, he charged a generous serving of kebabs, halwa, kheer or sewaiyyan prepared by her. "You are the Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan of these dishes— unconquerable and invincible," he used to tell her. And she would thank him with a little smile and blush. Living in the most rapidly changing and urbanizing cities of the world, Umar had never met a girl as shy, polite, compassionate and tied to her culture, as Sana. What made her all the more different was her quick sense of humor and "a brain sharper than the sword of Tipu Sultan"—as he would tell to her amusement. The two of them were similar and different in all the right places—the very reason why Umar had finally proposed to her one day, by reciting a piece of shayari that he had specially written for her. Sitting on his knees, he had then sung her favorite ghazal, 'Pyaar ka pehla khat likhne mein, waqt to lagta hai'. A teary 'yes' was all that Sana had been able to gather in the moment. In more than four years of knowing each other, that was the first time they hugged each other.

Trying to sew together the fallen beads of the past in his heart, Umar walked and walked, finally stopping at the beachside. He felt the cries of his soul deafened by the thunderous clamor of the waves. This gave him a strange kind of relief. Strange because inside his heart he very well knew, the relief was not only short-lived, but deceptive too. It did to him what a mirage does to a traveler in a barren desert—give false hope that the struggle shall soon end and a world of happiness would await him. But, what he also knew was that this was neither the first time when he was being deceived, nor the worst betrayal that he had received.

Ten months back, Sana's family had discovered her relationship with this "small poet who barely managed a hands-in-mouth survival". Umar wrote poetry in a few unknown magazines and newspapers. In worse days, he also took to singing in cafes and bars. He was a graduate in Urdu literature and had a couple of other, as Sana's father said, "more decent" career options to take up too, but he didn't. Sana had asked him not to. She was convinced that he was a truly gifted singer and writer. It was Sana who had made him promise her that he will never let the material world stop him from doing what he did best. "Not everybody is as gifted as you are, Umar. But if you still choose to be like everybody, it would be a disgrace to allah's blessings," she had said.

He begged Sana's father to give him some time, he could not afford to lose her. He promised to give his all in making her life comfortable and happy. But Sana's family did not budge. They rebuked him and explained to Sana that "life was not all about love". Sana, of course, did not agree. But neither she nor Umar was the kind to flee away. Sana was kept on house-arrest and for ten long months, the two lovers did not get to even see each other. All this while, Umar looked for better work, which he gradually found. He became a shayar, singer and writer of good repute. The world respected him, wanted him; while all that he wanted was the love of his life, Sana. Little had he imagined that ten months later, Sana's father would be informing him of Sana's marriage, fixed on her own approval. He felt choked, crushed, wrung, and dead.

Lost in an unceasing chain of thought and contemplation, Umar was, by now, walking along the shore, the howls inside him silenced by the thunder of the sea. A sudden stroke of breeze gently kissed his cheeks, making him sense Sana's presence beside him. The wet sand below his feet chiseled his bones and flesh, as it reminded him of the days when the two of them would spend hours making castles on the ever so crowded beach of Juhu. Umar preferred peace and privacy, but they came here because Sana loved the place. She loved to see the sun set behind the spread of the sea-waters. He loved the beam it brought on her face.

It wasn't just the fond memories that shook him. He genuinely felt her around, somewhere close, very close. As if he had never lost her in the first place. He saw her smiling, heard her laughing, felt her touching. The sun was setting and people had begun to vacate the beach. There was no one around him. Yet, inside-out, there was an utter bedlam. He tried to shut his ears to the eerie cacophony, but couldn't. It was like hearing someone wailing and someone laughing, all at the same time. He felt something penetrate him deep and intense. He felt life being sucked out of his body. Letting out a roar of a cry, Umar fell upon his knees and burst into tears. "You can't do this to me!" he moaned aloud. "SANAAAAAA!"

He lost control of himself. The feeling of having lost everything had finally sunk in. He finally realized that she was gone forever. He cursed himself for loving her so much that he didn't have the grit to utter even a word against her. Every time he thought of abusing her name, all that he could manage was, "Why, Sana, why..."

He got up and started walking towards the sea. He knew he could never hate her. He knew he could never get her. He knew he would always love her. It seemed meaningless to him to continue living in the dilemma. He was a corpse already. The corpse decided to end its life.

He struggled to walk against the wet sand and the force of the waves, but he kept walking. Deeper inside the sea, he paced his steps. He felt happy that the pain would soon end. But more than that, he felt happy that he was dying in the sea-water—it gave him an illusion of Sana being with him in his last moments. She loved water. Ever since he had come to the place, he had felt her around. Inside the sea, the sensation was even stronger. As long as it made him believe that she was with him, he did not bother. When suddenly, his feet hit against something.

He tried to jump over the obstacle, but couldn't. He fell down upon his face, close to Sana's. He went blue with fear.

He lifted her in his arms and carried her to the beachside. Her entire body was cold and morbid. He held up her hands to rub them warm. Her palms were painted with henna that was, perhaps, washed off too early. "The mehendi in my hands will bear only one name as long as I am alive—yours," he remembered her saying.

Her heart had stopped beating. She did not breathe. Umar cupped her face in his hands, urging her to wake up. "Sana, get up! Please!" But she lay there, lifeless. She was gone. This time, really, forever, for... ever.

"What have I done," he thought to himself. "I mistrusted her, thought of her as a cheat, blamed her! I dishonored our love. I dishonored my love. I dishonored Sana!"

"I am a sinner," his remorse cried. "How could I lose faith in her so easily? How could I even imagine that she could deceive me. Instead of trying to ensure that she was safe, that she wasn't being mistreated, I simply walked away. How could I damn all her years of devotion towards me in one snap? HOW?"

There was a tumult of guilt and regret inside him that burned every part of him. She lay there in front of him, the same beauty he had last seen ten months back. This time only, she was pale, and dead. He could not believe his eyes.

He took her in his arms and placed her face close to himself. He hugged her a final time before bidding her adieu. His eyes soared with tears and his soul shivered with fear... fear of the punishment he had decided for himself.

"I am a sinner. I deserve the severest of punishments," he talked to Sana's dead body. "I was killing myself because I knew I cannot live without you, my love. I was dying because I thought I did not deserve such pain and misery. But now, I do. I deserve this pain of separation, and more."

"Rest in heaven, my angel. I shall live. For living without you is the greatest punishment I can imagine for myself..." were his final words to the Sana who was no more.

"Dard" : A Short Scene

2012-10-07T02:43:00.000+05:30

{First-level auditions of a famous reality T.V show are on in full swing. The stage is set for the next contestant to take over. A large studio audience is present. The orchestra is ready to play along. The jury—a panel of two eminent musicians of the Hindi Music Industry (one male, one female)—too is ready. The jury is sitting right in front, with the audience at the back, both facing the stage. The contestant enters from the left entry point on the stage with a harmonium hung around his neck. He is dressed in old but traditional Rajasthani attire—pagri, angrakha, dhoti and kamarbandh. He is barefoot, and in a respectful gesture, bends to touch the stage before stepping on it.}

Contestant: (nervously) नमस्ते sir.

Judge 1: (with a keen look and a generous smile) नमस्ते, नमस्ते। क्या नाम है आपका?

Contestant: जी, भानुप्रसाद।

Judge 2: भानुप्रसाद जी, सबसे पहले तो मैं यह कहना चाहूँगी कि I love what you're wearing!

Bhanu: (clueless expression)

Judge 2: मेरे कहने का मतलब है कि आप जो ये पारम्परिक राजस्थानी पोशाक पहन के आये हैं आज, मुझे बहुत अच्छी लगी।

Bhanu: (blushes) जी, धन्य्वाद madamji.

Judge 1: भानुप्रसाद जी, आप करते क्या हैं?

Bhanu: Sir मै बसों और ट्रेनों में गाना गाता हूँ, अपना ये बाजा बजाता हूँ और लोगों का मनोरंजन करता हूँ।

Judge 2: Interesting. (To judge 1) I am so glad to see that our show is attracting such diversity of musicians from across the country!

Judge 1: I completely agree with you. (To Bhanu) हाँ तो भानु जी, क्या सुनाएंगे आज आप?

Bhanu: Sir मैं हमारे राजस्थान का ही एक बड़ा मशहूर लोक गीत है, केसरिया बालम, वही सुनाने की इजाज़त चाहूँगा।

Judge 1: अरे बिल्कुल। बस शुरू हो जाइये ! (To audience) Silence please!

(Bhanu starts with an aalaap. He sings the song, "Kesariya baalam aawo rey" for a total of 1.5 minutes, while playing his harmonium along. He starts nervously but slowly becomes more confident in his singing. The audience is clapping and cheering for him by the end of the performance. The judges are very happy too. At the end of the performance...)

Judge 2: भानु जी! कितनी सुन्दर अवाज़ है आपकी! बिलकुल राजस्थान की मिट्टी की याद दिला दी। वाक़ई, मज़ा आ गया आज आपका performance देख़ के।

Bhanu: (extremely excited) धन्यवाद madam ji, आपका बहुत बहुत धन्यवाद।

Judge 1: भानु जी आपकी आवाज़ में जो प्यार, जो भावनाएं हैं, वो सिर्फ हमारे लोक गीत में ही सुनाई पड़ सकती हैं। और harmonium तो आप और भी सुन्दर बजाते हैं। बहुत ख़ुशी हुई आज आपका गाना सुनके।

Bhanu: Sir... मुझे तो विश्वास ही नहीं हो रहा। मेरे लिए तो आप जैसे दिग्गज लोगों के सामने खड़ा होना ही बहुत बड़ी बात है। आपसे तारीफ सुनकर तो मेरा जीवन सफ़ल हो गया। (kneels in gratitude with teary eyes)

Judge 2: सफ़ल तो हमारा दिन हो गया भानु जी, आपका गाना सुनके। आपका शुक्रिया यहाँ आने के लिए।

Judge 1: भानु जी, buses और trains में गाकर लगभग कितना कमा लेते हैं आप?

Bhanu: Sir कभी तो दिनभर गाके भी एक रुपया पास नहीं बचता, और कभी दिन के पचास-सौ रुपये तक बन जाते हैं।

Judge 2: तो आपका गुज़ारा हो जाता है इतने में? परिवार में कितने लोग हैं?

Bhanu: Madam ji परिवार में तो बस मै हूँ और मेरी माँ हैं जो ज़्यादातर बीमार रहती हैं। यूँ तो जितना मै कमाता हूँ उतने में गुज़ारा कर सकते हैं, पर माँ की दवाइओ के कारण कुछ बचता नहीं। हमारे पूर्वज भी यही काम करते थे। जो भी कला हमें आती हैं, वो हमें पिताजी से मिली है। संगीत हमारे रोम रोम में बसा है, संगीत के अलावा तो शायद हम कुछ कर भी नहीं सकते। हम ख़ुद को ख़ुश नसीब समझते हैं की मौला ने हमें गाने का गला दिया है। कला उसने दी है, तो कला को मान भी वही दिलायेगा, ऐसा हमारा विश्वास है।

(Sad music plays in the background of the show)

Judge 1: आपके ख्याल जानकार हमें बहुत ख़ुशी हुई भानु जी। यही उम्मीद करते हैं की इस show के ज़रिये आपको और आगे जाने का मौका मिले, और हमारी देश की जनता भी जाने की हमारे देश में talent कहाँ कहाँ बसा हुआ है।

Judge 2: आइये भानु जी आ कर अपना medal ले जाइये। हम आपसे अब सीधा next round में मिलेंगे। आईये।

Judge 1: आइये भानुप्रसाद जी, आके अपना इनाम ले जाइए...

Judge 2: आइये भानु जी...

(Everybody speaks in chorus, "आइये भानु जी...")

***

"उठ जाइए, उठ जाइए, ज़नाब! मने तंग ना कर। अब उठ भी जा, काम पे नहीं जाना क्या। अरे train निकल जायेगी, उठ जा। उठ जा, उठ जा!..."

(Bhanu lazily opens his eyes to see his friend Ratan standing near him, peeping right into his face. He is visibly angry and frustrated. Dressed in the same traditional Rajasthani attire as Bhanu's, Ratan is holding a Sarangi against his shoulder.)

Bhanu: अरे तू के कर रहा है अठे!? (what are you doing here)

Ratan: जो सवाल मने पूछना चाहिए वो तू पूछ रहा है? तू ये बता कि तू अभी तक चारपाई पर लेटा के कर रहा है? तने याद नहीं, हमें 9 बजे की train में जाना था गाने बजाने?

Bhanu: (Very confused and puzzled) तो क्या मै TV program में गाना नहीं गा रहा था?

Ratan: TV program? हे म्हारा राम, तू और तेरे सपने। अब काम पे चलना है कि ना? या यहीं बैठे ख्याली पुलाव खाना है?

Bhanu: (still lost in thought) तू जा, मै आज नहीं आऊंगा।

Ratan: अरे पर क्यूँ?

Bhanu: वैसे ही, मने दर्द हो रहा है।

Ratan: दर्द? कैसा दर्द?

Bhanu: सपने टूटने का दर्द।

***

Top Myths About Entrepreneurship: #2

2012-10-01T01:45:00.000+05:30

Writing after SO long, phew!
This is the second post in this series.

MYTH #2: Entrepreneurs are unique!

Well, I don't like breaking your heart, but the truth cannot be changed. Yes, there was once a time when entrepreneurship was the 'road not taken', and when entrepreneurs were seen as people more adventurous than Bear Grylls. But those heydays are over, my friend. Today, if every second man is employed, every fourth man working in an IT company, then every third man must be running his own venture, or planning to turn his pastime activity (earlier meant to flaunt on his resume) into a full fledged start-up (to do away with the need to make a resume)... so say statistics from a survey conducted by the Standbored University. Okay, this one is a farce.

But yes, I do not really understand the hype around entrepreneurship. Isn't it merely a matter of personal choice? Whether I choose to serve a big company and get myself noticed, or go bottom-up—how and why should that be a criteria to decide how common or uncommon an individual I am? As a matter of fact, there are people who, due to various (although understandable) reasons, have to start out as entrepreneurs while they would have preferred a job (consider somebody with a weak academic background). Similarly, there do exist people who had all the zeal to become entrepreneurs but due to various (again, understandable) reasons had to get themselves stuck in a job (maybe they didn't get the support, or had too many responsibilities to take care of, and so on). How does that make one unique and the other not so unique? Aren't both of them working, in the end?

It pains me to see wannabe entrepreneurs labeling their counterparts who work in other organizations as "less adventurous" or passionate than themselves. It pains me to see people turning towards entrepreneurship for all the wrong reasons—"no need to serve anybody, it'll make me look cool, I'll be the next Mark Zuckerberg, I'll instantly make millions"—and so on. It pains me to see people playing with their career and life just in a bid to appear different.

Don't be this

What, maybe, started out as a break away from the herd mentality, is now the latest herd mentality. There are people who sit down at least once every day and force their brain to think something new. Whether or not the idea is innovative enough, and with absolutely no sense of direction, no knowledge and no research, they swiftly jump to the conclusion, "I shalt be an entrepreneur!" And how do they go about it? Probably by copying others. Or worse, looking for other entrepreneurial people to work under them—like a newly appointed chef at a five-star hotel asking little cooks to prepare the entire meal that is his responsibility, only for him to take all the credit later. Such absurdity.

I do not want to sound like a pessimist. More so, I do not like to sound like a pessimist. But those are what my observations have been. So even though I am not "old enough" to be striking off (some) others—probably older or more experienced than me—as shallow or disillusioned, all that I wish to convey is a small message. And that small message is this:

1) Become an entrepreneur because you have an idea that you're passionate about, rather than making up ideas to become an entrepreneur
2) Love your idea, your venture, your product... not the name, fame, or money that they bring (or that you wish they bring). These won't last forever unless you do the former
3) Do not overestimate yourself. Everybody makes mistakes, you are no exception. And mistakes are bound to be more if you try to turn a blind eye towards them
4) Drop off your ego, if any. It doesn't help anywhere in life, and certainly not here
5) Do a bit of research into the various aspects of what goes into becoming a good entrepreneur. A little knowledge is dangerous, said someone wise
6) It might even be a good idea to first get some experience working for somebody else (after you are done with point number 4, that is). I personally feel that it gives one the scope to make mistakes to later learn from. However mean that might sound, it is better to learn driving on someone else's vehicle rather than messing up with our own, don't you agree?
7) And lastly, innovate. If there is anything more important than hard-work in this highly competitive space, it has to be this—innovation, originality.

Those are traits that, I think, make "genuine entrepreneurs". Correct me if I am wrong, inform me if I missed something, curse me if I overdid it. (In case you do the latter, just be a little easy with the brickbats, you wouldn't like to see them go to waste as I'll be left still undeterred. :P)

P.S: Hope I keep writing from now on. College's final year's fight for a "dream-job" leaves the mind so cluttered and unproductive most of the time... no, that doesn't mean I'll decide to become an entrepreneur, duh!

The Untitled Story: Part 1

2012-08-12T13:45:00.001+05:30

"You should not be here so late in the night," I jolted to an eerie touch on my shoulder, while the undertone of the whisper sent a shudder down my spine. I turned around to find an old man's sullen eyes penetrating mine. Had it not been for the loud barks of two dogs who started quarreling in the vicinity breaking out just then, I fear what might have happened. As soon as the spell broke and I came back to myself, I decided to avoid his hypnotic eyes and lowered mine a little. His tattered shoes with the thumbnail peeping out of one came into sight. His clothes looked a hundred years old, although still not older than his hideous beard. I could barely make out that he wore a pair of trousers and a torn shirt, with tons of dust coloring them homogeneous. As if the odds of him being a real human being weren't less already, I noticed his skin color—a speckled mahogany with no signs of life. Flies swarmed all around him. How could I have been so ignorant.

My heart sank, throat went dry, limbs became numb, and the brain refused to signal any action. I thought I should run away, but my feet were cold, and heavy. I felt choked if I tried to speak. All along, my eyes didn't bat an eyelid, as if hypnotized. It seemed like I had lost all sense. I was trembling with fear.

"What are you afraid of, my child?" this time, his own voice broke the spell. "You," I mindlessly uttered. "Me? Haha!" he brayed, exposing two teeth, half-broken—all that he had. The leaves under his feet crumpled as he took a step closer towards me. I ran for my life.

Around one kilometer and an eternity later, I decided to slow down. My mind had been playing games all along, at times applauding me for my well-timed courage and spontaneity, at other times cursing me for being rude to the only sign of life I had found after hours of searching, thus losing the last opportunity to find a way out of the uncanny place I had foolishly chosen for my first adventurous outing—which, I secretly feared, could also be the last one. I damned the day my stupid friends decided to come for this trip, and more the day when I agreed. Those were two different days, by the way. I was never sure about the whole plan. Something in me was telling me that it is not right. Don't go, it said. Whenever I have ignored my instinct, I have ended up suffering.

When it comes to things and people, the most beautiful ones are also the most deceptive, and alluring. Man still doesn't know how to deal with mystery, how to ignore the unforeseen, the unpredictable, the dangerous. The beauty of this place had hexed me no end when I had seen it in the day. If only I had remained content with that, I would have saved myself this phantom of an experience.

I was still lost in deep thought and rumination when I felt something gooey clinging to my leg. It was slowly tightening its grip and sliding higher. There are times when you are so lost in your thoughts that your eyes freeze, limbs go numb, and you refuse to take action even if the brain signals you to. This was that moment of languid inertia, thanks to which, it took me a bit too long to look down. And when I did, I went blue. My body felt paralyzed again, but the inertia this time was more out of horror, than torpidity. I was transfixed. Never in life could I imagine that I could be so at ease seeing a deadly snake clasping on to my body. This trip sure was turning out to be full of surprises. I feared what might await me after this moment—if only I survive it, that is.

(to be continued...)

Top Myths About Entrepreneurship: #1

2012-07-06T12:24:00.000+05:30

Well, I am no CEO of XYZ Corporation, not even an entrepreneur in the real sense of the term. But, with some experience and careful observation of this domain, I do find myself opinionated about most things—which is what makes me write this article. (And of course, there's the fact that this is my blog. Humble me.)

Here are some of the top myths people have about entrepreneurship... where "people" includes entrepreneurs before anybody else. Take a look and tell me if you agree or not. @ Entrepreneurs, be polite in the bashing, please.

MYTH #1: Entrepreneurs don't have to work under anybody

Who says so? Entrepreneurs do. All of them. "We give a damn to the world, only we rule us!!" Sounds cool, no? Well to me, "Earth is square in shape" seems closer to the reality than this.
There are n (where n > infinity) number of challenges to be faced and overcome when an entrepreneur is starting out. But the biggest, undoubtedly, is, money. There is not a penny to be earned by the poor guy (or okay, girl) for a time longer than eternity. In fact, there is a probability of 1.1 that (s)he is destined to run in losses for years together. The punch is: how, then, do you expect them to pay anybody at all who will work under them?

The only exception can probably be online ventures/websites. But in reality, even that domain is impossible to ace alone, particularly if you are planning to stay and/or expand. Now when you're neither earning, nor have the money to pay others (obviously), how exactly do you get things done? Sample this:

I am the founder, CEO and what not! of, say, a web start-up. There is a simple, but crucial, task called "social media marketing". Probably the biggest fad in the marketing world today (more in the west than India), social media marketing is as important as unimportant it seems. It isn't something I'd proudly call my job, to be honest, but for any start-up, it is a necessary part of the whole marketing process. It includes handling all social media profiles—Facebook, Twitter, Quora, Github, LinkedIn etc, and trying to gain more visibility on social networks. So far, so good.
Now, as the CEO of my company, I am kinda... busy, you know. Actually, even if I am not, I have to pretend to be. So I need someone to do all this stuff for me. One day, I find someone good. Bazzinga!

I refuse to admit that this job requires as much time and effort as, say, web-developing, business development etc. But it is important still. What do I do? I try to appease this person. I'll praise his/her shitty poems, like their highly irritating profiles pictures, try to be friendly, show interest in their life, appreciate them in every little way, maybe take them out for treats, be on first-name or nick-name terms... and so on. What am I doing?! Business, silly. I am doing business.

This was just one example. Consider a huge team where I, as the CEO of my self-acclaimed "amazing start-up", have to constantly act all awwy with people just because I want them to do some not-payable jobs for my company. They think I'm so humble, polite, down-to-earth, etc. What I really am being? Nothing but a real mean and evil businesswoman in the making. Yeehaw.

Very mean. But let's just rewind this tape a bit. In doing all of this, is it really those innocent trapped rats who alone are the victim party? Am I not suffering anywhere, maybe unknowingly? I am. More particularly, my self-respect is. While on one hand my day goes in talking to VCs and angels and corporates, on the other hand, I have to be constantly wary of not upsetting these people. I can't say no to them for anything, for a long time. I can't scold them for not working... heck, I am not paying them a penny! Am I not, thus, subjecting myself to be constantly subdued by the "lower titles" of my OWN damn company, worse, at will? Hell yes I am.

In fact, that is the case with any business, perhaps. A Microsoft is a Microsoft not only because of Bill Gates anymore. Nobody can come this far all alone... NOBODY. Even the richest men in the world have to keep inventing ways to keep their "employees" happy, even before themselves. I shouldn't be surprised if I, as an entrepreneur, have to keep paying my team handsomely for a long time, while I bear the brunt of the losses... just because I have to keep trying.

Thus, if you're one of those daredevils who has this "I will rule myself!" misconception about becoming an entrepreneur, drop it at the earliest, I'd say. Think, innovate, be adventurous and kicked up, but do it all with complete knowledge, and awareness about what might await you next.

Myth#2 in the next post. Stay tuned.
Please, I meant.

He Got Drunk, He Got Sunk

2012-07-02T14:54:00.000+05:30

"Try it once!" they yelled at him.

"No, no!" he kept saying.

"Aren't you a man?" they challenged him.

He felt awkward, but kept protesting.

"Grow up, Bonjo!" they yelled.
"Only one shot!" they urged.
"Guys, no, please..." he kept begging,
When one of them rose up and,
His lips tasted booze, for the first time...

That was one day, today is another,
He hasn't stopped drinking since.
What they said would be an adventure,
Turned out to be a dangerous venture.
A caring brother and an obedient son,
Is what Bonjo once used to be.
Today people have a lot of fun,
Watching him spend nights on the street.

"What was his fault?" his ailing mother weeps,
"Innocence?" she questions, "or bad friends?"
"What is my fault?" she wonders often,
"That I brought up my son well,
"Only to be left in old age, alone?"

Fred, the guy who had forced him that night,
Is today an eligible investment banker
Mark, his closest buddy of those times,
Is America's most respected doctor.
Julie, the girl Bonjo loved the most,
Is happily married to a famous advocate.
Ziya, Bonjo's trusted confidante and pal,
Is a wealthy entrepreneur, owns a mall.
All of them, and more, were there that night,
When Bonjo was to taste his end.
What had seemed to them an amusing sight,
Is damaged today, beyond any mend.

I wish to tell all my readers and friends,
There is more to "life", than alcohol.
Eat, sing, dance, travel, and explore
Look around, there is beauty galore.
But don't cork yourself, like a bottle of wine
No, you won't get any better with time.
If you really want somebody to taste "life"
Take them out, make them happy, love truly
Do not, but, in the name of giving
Give them venom, make them unruly.

Bonjo got drunk that day
Bonjo is sunk today
And no one, but he, is suffering,
Apart, of course, from his helpless mother
Whose eyes are transfixed at the door, waiting.

Rendezvous With The Soul: A "Fictional" Mini-Autobiography

2012-06-29T20:40:00.001+05:30

We all have dreams, aspirations and fantasies that we wish were closer to the reality. But worldly life doesn't allow us to really "live on our terms", does it? This is a mini-autobiography, a work of fiction, a dose of philosophy on life and its ways... and so on. Perhaps, it doesn't really fall under one genre.

I realized that "being practical" takes away from us the ability to think beyond the limitations that the realities of human life impose. Don't we live under too many restrictions? Don't we have fears that stop us from experimenting? Don't we, because of this, end up missing out on a lot of good things in life? I had a little rendezvous... with the soul, and with the one "soul-mate" I never seem to lose faith in... no matter how hard I try.

******

I sat there on the moist grass, playing with beads of dew adorning its tips. The early morning breeze kissed my cheeks from both the sides, while my hair propped like happy little children, joyous and free, at times blinding my eyes that refused to bat a lid and miss the glory of the moment. I sat there transfixed, a tiny smile spread across my lips, for no reason whatsoever. I felt light. I felt uncluttered.

For the first time in life, I was alone, and wanted to remain so. For a moment, it sent a shiver of guilt down the spine. I have a beautiful family, a best friend, some close friends, and just friends—all of them to call "mine", in this large crowded world. What a blessing it is to have people to love and people to be loved by. But at that moment, all that I wanted was peace. All that I wanted was me. I wanted to live that moment for no one else, but me. Life suddenly seemed like it was mine. I felt selfish and I liked it.

And then, all of a sudden, thoughts began to pour in. Were they just thoughts? Or realizations, reflections of the reality I have safely ignored till now? I felt scared. The truth is bitter. And I, for once, was about to taste it.

Love...
People fall in love, then fall out of it, then fall in love, and again fall out of it... and so on. Hearts break, hearts meet. It's a rejuvenating feeling both the times. When in love, one learns how to be happy without a reason. When broken, one learns how to move on, one grows—in every sense of the word.
Where is love in my life? It is in the bonding with my family—it is etched in every thought about them, in every moment that I spend with them. Oh, don't I just adore them to the core!
But, what about the other side of love? The one that makes people's eyes go teary on hearing a touching and lyrical love song, the one that makes them want to look good for someone special, the one that opens for them an altogether new avenue of life to explore... doesn't it?
Where is it, where is that love in my life. I am glad I have never had a heart-break, god, it wastes so much time in people's lives, I have seen it well, from a distance. But, should the fisherman cease going to the sea for the fear of dying in a catastrophe? Have I given it a fair chance in life, one where I don't let my hyper-active brain interfere, at all? Perhaps no. Have I played too safe in life?

Career...
As a child, I imagined a lot. I imagined doing in life what I most love(d) doing—singing. I tend to picture everything, and thus, I saw myself playing some instrument artfully, while my voice played with the notes—striking the highest and lowest of them with utmost aplomb. Years later, I realized I enjoyed being in the center of the stage. I met a teacher who made me act—something I didn't know I could do, admittedly, quite well. I won't ever forget her, Mrs. Bimla Singh. She taught me that one doesn't ever show the back to the audience. She taught me that as long as we are on the stage, we do not have to stop acting, even if someone else is speaking. She taught me that we have to dress in a way that suits our character and the stage, even if we don't like it. With her, I explored a me that was hitherto hidden from me. I discovered new strengths and weaknesses in myself—like I perform better in front of a larger audience where I don't see faces while smaller audiences scare me more.
The feeling of discovering things new about yourself is so ecstatic that I can't explain. I loved my life, way back.
But, what did I make out of it? I haven't done what I enjoyed doing for over three years now, most probably won't even try again. All on the pretext of... "getting busy over time". How busy am I really? How busy does one have to be, to not do what makes them truly happy? Or, have I played a tad too safe in life?

Dreams...
The crux of life, of one's being. What are my dreams? To get a great job? To become a successful professional? To lead a life of luxury? Who am I fooling?
My dreams are fetched far beyond the limitations of the pragmatic and worldly life. I want to travel, I have loved traveling ever since I was a child. I want to see the most beautiful places on Earth, as well as the least beautiful ones. I want to experience the life of people in another part of the world. I want to explore the countless creations of the artist called 'god'.
I want to live in nature's bounty. I want to meet new people, I want to bring out the extrovert side of me. I want to sing and dance merrily. I want to express myself for the whole world to hear the lovely things I have got to say. I want to be doing everything that makes me happy. I want to be the one who chooses what I do next. I want to see life.
But, will I ever be able to live these dreams? I haven't had the courage to even admit that these are my dreams, up until now. Haven't I played too safe in life?

Passion...
What is my passion? Music, communication, creativity, innovation, and ideas: these are my passions. These are factors that can make me jump off my chair and say, "Eureka!" These are factors I look for in people who inspire me. Rather, these are what make people inspire me, move me, impress me. I would be better off doing something that can make me look forward to the coming day. I would be better off playing with fresh new ideas. I know myself in and out. I identify my hobbies, interests, and passions distinctly. Maybe, I would be better off implementing and investing in one of my own ideas. Such people are known as 'entrepreneurs' today. But, it is a lot of risk. Many entrepreneurs fail every day, most run in losses, some even go bankrupt. What if I fail so terribly that I would not be able to bounce back? What if crucial years of my career go into the making of nothing? Wouldn't it be a scary prospective for my family, to see me put my everything into what might not even turn out to be a stable career, while my fellows would be earning good money already, sitting in their air-conditioned cubicle inside some plush office. That's so not me, but that's going to be me. Why am I not ready to take the plunge? So what if I am a girl? Why am I playing all safe in life?

******

I was still lost in my thoughts when it began to drizzle. It was a bright morning and the sun hadn't begun to shine when drops of water hit me from the heavens above. I began to rise up and run to find shelter for myself. Just as I was about to move, the showers got heavier, wetting my hair. My feet, bare, stood upon the drenched grass that sent a chisel up the spine. Drops of water glided down my cheeks from the forehead, and I raised my arms up in gratitude. A generous smile lit my face as I closed my eyes, picturing him in front of me...

"So, you had been eavesdropping all this while?" I said with a sly smile. "I don't need to do that, my girl. You and I are one," he gently said. I fell quiet, but a moment later, gathered myself again, "So, what do you think is the answer to these questions?" "Would you care to listen?" he asked. "I am all ears," I said. He began...

"What you want, is what the whole world wants. Every day people come at my door with countless wishes and hopes. But in the end, you all want the same thing—to live life the way you want.
But, I haven't given such a life to any one of you. You do not have, my girl, a life where you get to travel, meet new people, sing, dance, experiment and what not. But, there always is somebody in another part of the world doing just that. And you know what he prays for? Peace, family-time, and, stability—a life like yours.

Yet, neither of you would be happy if I exchanged your lives, because something would still be missing. And, that is: satisfaction.
"I can give you everything you ask for, what I cannot give you is satisfaction. That is for you to attain. You have to understand that your life in the real world cannot be yours alone, because it never was. You came into existence because of somebody else, you were raised by somebody else. It was someone else who taught you all through your life, and someone else who helped you in your difficult times... and so on. Human life is not an independent entity. But at the same time, you alone have to pave the path for your happiness, or rather, satisfaction.
"If realism and idealism weren't different, your existence would bear no meaning, my child, you would have nothing to strive for. There is a lot in life waiting to be unraveled by you, and believe it or not, it is a large world, and a long life that I have created for you. Lose hope, not. Let yourself be, trust your efforts. Love, life, dreams, passion... you shall have them all.
"And yes, you don't have to play it safe in life... not all the time..."
His voice faded away sooner than his picture did. I opened my eyes to the glare of the sun and mumbled for the last time... "Thank you, God."

How To Become An Avid Reader: Task 2

2012-06-28T17:29:00.000+05:30

So, here we are, all my fellow lazy-chumps, gearing ourselves for the second task in this series... wait, aren't we?

Apparently, the first task got some 170 odd views. Good enough. Aren't we great at spotting articles that do not carry much to be read? No wonder we are on this series.

For those of you who do not know, I am a lazy reader (and I do not like admitting it all the time, so I won't update you again after this) and so, the not-so-lazy writer in me decided to teach me some lessons on how to improve. So here I am, moving ahead (at a turtle's pace, I know) and, err, talking to myself. Right.

In the last task, we did what? We listed down the names of all the books and websites that we have, or do, read. Now this is cool. We say we have hardly read anything of any use and spend our first day of this mission in enlisting stuff that we have read. *Slow clap* for all of us, people!

I am living in this illusion that I'm not alone here. So please excuse the collective pronouns. If you tell me, "Hey! It's just you who needs this post!", I... I... will not be able to comment anything further. :|

So here's the TASK:-

DECIDE YOUR FAVORITE GENRE!
Seriously, that's very important. Many people gave me suggestions after the last post. But how could they miss out on this one?!

Don't tell a non-reader, "Hey, try reading this book by so and so". If it was that easy to get him off his spot, he wouldn't have been a non-reader at all. Tell him why he should read, and then, how he should begin to read. Who has got the time! eh? Don't ever say that again.

So yes:

1. From the list that you prepared in task one, figure out what genre did you read the most. More importantly, which genre did you enjoy the most? Fiction? Philosophy? Economics and stuff? Or just romance? Just a small side note... if it's the latter most then it better be something classy. I am sure you wouldn't want to turn into a Chetan Bhagat and Co. fanatic, thus rendering all your efforts useless.

2. NOW ask your more able friends to suggest you reading material in that genre. Two precautions:

a) Choose the people you ask for suggestions wisely.
b) Not a bad idea at all to join a readers' community and look up reviews online. Do you realize, this is reading too?

My answer at the end of the task: My most favorite book till date is "The Kite Runner". "To Kill A Mockingbird" comes a close second. I am pretty sure, I love... innocence. Which is why stories of pure emotions, childhood, affect me most easily. I had tried reading "The Monk Who Sold His Ferrari" once but gave up halfway. It just didn't work for me. I guess I hate philosophy that is not subtle, and is instead preachy right into your face. So yes, my genre is fiction. And in fiction, stories that revolve around emotions, humanity, innocence, purity. If you have any suggestions for this, please do suggest.

How To Become An Avid Reader: Task 1

2012-06-07T19:29:00.001+05:30

I am not an avid reader, but I do realize that I ought to be one. One misses out on an unimaginable amount of knowledge assets by not being a good reader, and I want to correct that for myself. And, what better a time than summer vacations to do that! (vacations that precede the placement season... err okay.)

If interested, you can join me on my little journey by keeping up with this series that begins with this very post. Let us see how many days it will take us to really "get into the mode". I'll think of tasks for us on a timely basis, and if you choose to follow along, don't forget to keep me updated on the status of your progress, just as I will. A comment or two is all that it would take.

So, without further ado, let's begin with a very simple task for today.

TASK:-

1. Jot down the names of all the books that you have ever read—STRICTLY other than your text books. Bookworms are welcome, nerds aren't.

2. Next, you might want to list down names of websites that you regularly read. No, don't count in Wikipedia and the likes that come to your service as saviors in ass-on-fire times. Also don't count in those random pages that you once upon a time had stumbled upon, courtesy a link shared by someone. You know what I mean, don't you? In slightly exaggerated words, these have to be websites that will make you jump out of your chair thinking, "Oh, yes! I have to see what's latest on there!" So you will type their URL in the address bar, unless they are bookmarked, and then will get engrossed in reading them for maybe hours... though that is not very important as long as you are reading.

3. Now think, was that a tough job? Did it completely shake your memory completely out of its comfort-zone to make that list?

If yes, you are probably an ardent reader who has been reading ever since (s)he learnt to read. You probably don't "need" this post, but I'd still like you to read along and correct me at places where I might not be wrong or best opinionated. Why? Because you are the ruler of the state that we are yet to even enter!

If not, you and I need to work. And you know what, this series might just be a good thing to add to your scantly populated reading list.

My answer at the end of the task: Damn, I just realized I am a bad reader. Err obviously, that's why I am writing this post. I have read some thirteen novels till now, which are listed in my Goodreads profile (you might like to do that too)... to keep myself updated. Weird reason, I know.
And websites, I am not a regular reader of my own websites, forget the others. Oh damn, there's so much to strive for. But good thing, this is the best way I could use my vacations. So, bring it on!

Accomplishment: At least we now know how good or bad a reader we are, isn't it?

We shall overcome!

A Music-Video You Must See

2012-04-24T00:01:00.001+05:30

Creativity inspires me. Somebody recently shared this song on his Facebook page. I'm usually very lazy in clicking on stuff that comes up in my news feed. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if some day, while scrolling down the feed, I managed to unintentionally ignore God's own status update too. But that fine day, I was bored, and lucky too! Yes, discovering good music is really a matter of luck.

Anyway, the song is "Float", by Flogging Molly. I am in love with it ever since, alright. But, what's even more inspiring, apart from the lyrics, is the very amazing video—a very, very well executed animation. Do watch it once. There's nothing about this one that I don't find lovable. I am hoping that'd be the case for you guys too.

Some of my favorite lines from the song are:

"... sick and tired of what to say
no one listens anyway
sing, that's all you can..."

"... singled out for who you are
it takes all types to judge a man
feel, that's all you can.Filthy suits with bigot ears
hide behind their own worst fearslive, that's all you can..."

Give it a listen. The lyrics as well as the music as well as the video are worth watching out for. Goodbye for now. <Goes on to save the video in the "Favorites" folder>

ख़ुशी।

2012-04-13T01:15:00.000+05:30

क्या है ख़ुशी?

किसी के लिए उसका प्यार ख़ुशी है।

किसी के लिए उसका घर-बार ख़ुशी है।।

किसी के लिए दोस्त-यार ख़ुशी हैं।

किसी के लिए उसके ख़्वाब ख़ुशी हैं।।

किसी के लिए संगीत-कला ख़ुशी है।

किसी के लिए पूजा-पाठ ख़ुशी है।।

किसी के लिए उसका धर्म ख़ुशी है।

किसी के लिए उसका कर्म ख़ुशी है।।

यूँ तो ख़ुशी के नाम अनेक हैं,

पर सच तो यह है कि ख़ुशी बस... ख़ुशी है।।

यह न कभी आती है, न कभी जाती है।

जो पाना चाहे उसके तो मन में धड़कन सी समाई होती है।।

भूले भटके दुखियारों की, बस, नज़रों से ओझल हो जाती है ख़ुशी।

पर जो खोजने की कोशिश की जाए, किसी न किसी रूप में फिर प्रकट हो जाती ख़ुशी है।।

दो पल ठहर के तो देख, ख़ुशी कितनी ख़ुशी देती है।

कैसे जीवन-भर के ग़म एक मुस्कराहट में सिमटा सकती ख़ुशी है।।

बच्चों की किलकारी में, बड़ों की नादानी में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

फूलों की क्यारी में, सावन के ठण्डे पानी में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

चिड़ियाँ के संगीत में, सर पर पड़ती बीट में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

बेताले मनमौजी गायक के शौचालय से निकलते स्वरों में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

माँ की फटकार में, शब्दों के मीठे वार में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

स्वादिष्ट भोजन में, बढ़ते-न बढ़ते वज़न में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

आँखों में बसे सुन्दर चेहरे में, उसकी बार-बार कही 'ना' में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

लड़ते-झगड़ते फिर एक होते भाई-बहन के प्यारे रिश्ते में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

बचपन की मीठी यादों के मन में बसे पलों में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

अचानक याद आई पुरानी किसी बात पर फूटी मुस्कान में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

फिर लोगों की उठती उन शक से भरी नज़रों में भी,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

तुमसे नफ़रत करते किसी व्यक्ति के जीवन में मिले महत्त्व में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

बस की खिड़की से बाहर देखते हुए, अभिनेता होने का अभिनय करने में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

आते-जाते, चोरी-चोरी ख़ुद को शीशे में ताकने में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

आँखों की नमी में, आंसू पोछतें अपनों की फ़िक्र में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

जीत में हार में, प्यार में फटकार में,

हँसने में रोने में, जगने में सोने में,

ख़ुशी ही ख़ुशी है।

जो पाना चाहे उसके लिए तो ज़िन्दगी का नाम ख़ुशी है।

जो न पाना चाहे उसके लिए ख़ुशी में भी नहीं ख़ुशी है।।

अच्छा है या बुरा है, जब वक़्त बदलना ही है प्यारे,

तो तू किस बात के शोक में बैठा उदास है?

बुद्धि पर पड़े परदे को उठा और देख,

जो-जो चाहिए वो सब तो तेरे पास है!

अरे, नज़रें फ़िरा के देखेगा तो जानेगा, हर सिक्के के एक पहलू में ख़ुशी है।

बढ़ा तू भी अब एक कदम ख़ुशी की ओर, क्यूंकि तेरी ख़ुशी में औरों की ख़ुशी है।।

Friendship: What It Is and What It Isn't

2012-04-07T13:20:00.002+05:30

I personally believe that friendship is sometimes over-rated. People who are colleagues, classmates or room-mates, are bound to interact. That is how friendship begins. They spend more time together, discuss more things, help each other at times and share stuff... that is how friendship grows. But at the end of it, friendship—unlike love—is always conditional, of course, unless it imbibes love too! I have seen, felt and experienced it, when two people really love each other, or are fond of each other (and they don't have to be a couple for that), only that friendship is pure, selfless and divine. Sans love, sans fondness, sans affection, friendship is just a name for a more mechanical entity of the world—necessity.

The definition of friendship and its implications vary from person to person. What if two people with different ideals about such relationships become friends? Rifts are likely to take place, isn't it? No, it isn't. If two people really are good friends, if they can understand each other's point-of-view than merely accept it, the bonding will flourish with time. Don't know about you, but this is what I believe.

I, in general, am not a very friendly person. It is very hard, and easy at the same time, for me to really consider somebody as a friend of mine. My parameters are stringent, but few. I don't know how good or bad that is, but let me tell you one thing: it has helped me know people really well, so far. No, I won't take it if you say one shouldn't judge people. Who doesn't? In fact, it is a psychological phenomenon to form an opinion about somebody, to think what kind of a person they are, what are their vices and virtues etc. And when that 'somebody' happens to be a friend you spend a lot of time with, you are bound to know the person inside-out, and that is what often gets mistaken for being judgmental. Please note: only strangers judge you, friends just know you.

In this post, I publish my views about friendship—what it is and what it isn't. Some will agree with me, most may not; or the vice versa. Opinions, observations, feelings... whatever you may call them, they are mine and for me to keep. I don't intend to hurt anybody, but you may call this post my attempt to give a reality check to people who constantly crib about their friends not living up to their sky-high 'expectations'. I would say, it would be favorable for them a) to think how fair is it to expect from people they call 'friends', miracles which they themselves might not perform and, b) to think how good a 'friend' they really are.

Friendship: 12 things about what it is, and what it isn't—

Friendship is not necessarily a bonding between two similar people.
Friendship is when two people understand (and not just accept) each other better than most others, even if they are poles apart.

Friendship is not about doing each other's work or making sacrifices. (If one gives a sacrifice and the other accepts it, he or she sure cannot be a good friend. Real friends don't use each other.)
Friendship is when two people are always there to help and support each other, no matter what, no matter when.

Friendship is not just about consoling each other in times of distress and/or saying that you are sad for them.
Friendship is more about rejoicing in your friend's achievements, feeling happy for and proud of them.

Remembering the mistakes your friend might have made in the past and using the same as an all-time-ready weapon to win arguments is not what friendship is.
Remembering the good that they did or do for you is certainly what it is.

Keeping grudges, doubts and complaints about something within yourself, and discussing them with others is not friendship.
Clarifying them first with your friend and only then anybody else, is friendship.

Not liking it if somebody appreciates or compliments your friend is definitely not friendship.
Applauding your friend for good work, and most importantly, motivating them to do even better than they presently do, is the best part of a great friendship.

Friendship does not include disliking the other person yet sticking to him/her, just because the others are worse.
Friendship does include not disliking or hating the person even if there is something about them that irks or annoys you. Irritation is temporary, hatred is forever.

Friendship is absolutely not about always agreeing with each other.
Friendship is about taking it easy if the other person doesn't agree with you and not thinking that he/she is not as good as you because they differ. (Accept it, you wouldn't be friends with them if they weren't good people. And if they really are, what drew you to them in the first place?)

Friendship never was, and never can be, a formality or responsibility you are bound to bear when you don't want to.
Friendships are made at will and if the need ever be, given up at will... because you don't want to get into ill-feelings. Better over than bitter.

Friendship is not about constraining yourself because something might hit your friend. In fact, there is no such thing between good friends.
Friendship is about being as crazy, as wild, as stupid and as free as you want to be, in each other's company.

Friendship is not about secretly enjoying it when someone or something puts them down.
Friendship is about forgetting everything else and fighting for each other when the need be.

Good friends are not many.
The few that are, are worth a lifetime.

Allow me to say, everything else—and that really means everything else—is sheer pastime.

P.S: Agree/disagree? Let me know through the comments below.

5 Tricks That Will Make You Funny, or Lame, or Both...

2012-03-27T00:58:00.001+05:30

Always wanted to be the cool one in your gang? Need to develop a sense of humor to impress that girl? Find yourself boring and colorless? Yes? Do NOT follow these tips. They have been tried, tested and over-tested on poor old friends for ages now. Only Charlie Chaplin can make them look funny again. Or you could try, at your own risk.

1. Make horns on your innocent friend's head when a group photo is being clicked. HOW INNOVATIVE, NA?

2. When that ignorant little friend of yours is about to sit, pull away the chair. They'll be so amused by this uncommon prank that you will see the face turn red. Just remember that redness of the face could be a result of various feelings—embarrassment, shyness, amusement, hurt or... absolutely crazy anger.

3. Bark crap when the friend (our specimen for the whole dissection, that is) gets a call from home. So while he/she is nervously mumbling, okay mom-yes mom-no mom, you're shouting out at the top of your voice—oye, is it your girlfriend/boyfriend on the phone? Hangover not yet over, mate, why do you drink so much? Dude, your cigarrete's smoke if suffocating me! It's okay yaar, you will pass in the next exam... I hope.
Funny or not, one thing is for sure—yours might just be the next photo to be received on Bob Biswas's phone. Ahem... God save you after that.

4. When someone is telling you something serious, interrupt, "hey, look who is behind you!" Numbed and shocked when they turn around to check who it is, break out, "April fool banaya... hee-hee!"
TRUST ME, you'll be marked the king/queen of poor jokes and pranks for an eternity!

5. Alright now, your friend has committed the heinous crime of sharing with you a secret; that too a secret about who his/her latest crush is. Needless to say, you have GOT TO: hmm-hmmmmmmm each time the crush passes by, grin devilishly (and make it visible too) if the two happen to be talking or, say, exchanging notes, and most importantly, ask for a ransom (read "TREAT") everyday on the pretext, "should I tell him/her how much you like him/her!? After all I'm your only true friend!"
If your friend doesn't end up cursing the day he started thinking that you're his/her "FRIEND", I'll change my name to... umm... 'Sugandha'. Promise.

Yeah yeah, I know I'm so funny.

--
Enjoyed reading? Why not let me know? Drop in a comment below. And also, well, consider the like button. :P

Friends forever. Lovers?

2012-03-06T21:54:00.000+05:30

"I think I really like somebody," she yearned the other day, in a voice that was strangely innocent, but sulky.

"You, what?" he questioned in reply.

"I said, I LIKE somebody!" she said. "Is that so hard to understand?"

"Oh. Really?" he asked again, so simply.

"Look, don't mess with me," she warned, visibly irritated. "I am messed up enough already."

"You don't expect me to absorb something like this all at once, do you?" his now-irritated voice demanded. "And do you need a formal request now, to divulge more details on this?"

"Cool, don't yell at me! So I was saying..."

"That you like somebody," he interrupted again, or rather his impatience did.

"Precisely. Now if you could please shut your mouth for a while and let me speak?" she gave him one deadly look. "Oooh...!" he mocked. The usual two.

"There are a few qualities that we all look or dream for, in our special someone; don't we, Samarth?" he could notice a sweet smile light up her little face as she tried narrating her newly found feelings, all poetically. It was always a feeling so out-of-the-world for him, seeing her smile. But things were a little different right now.

"Oh hello, you've got to be quick! If you're going to swoon by the branches, dance around with the winds, sing romantic verses or do any of that ooh–lalala mellow girl-stuff, I am totally out!" With impatience at its peak, he went on, "As I'm curious, I admit."

"Alright alright," she continued, "I see all those qualities in him. I don't know him as a friend, nor is he one of those popular dogs all girls of a whole college will be after, but apparently, he is nice, as nice he ought to be, I guess. So I guess I like him."

"Aah, I knew it! I knew it that you wouldn't be able to escape my charm, like most other girls..." even as Sam pretended to smirk at the lame 'joke' he had cracked, he couldn't help looking deep in her eyes, as if hoping to read an answer his heart wanted to hear.

"Stop kidding Samarth! You've totally lost it these days," she urgh-ed.

"Lost what?"

"Your sense of humor that once used to be kinda awesome", she yelled lightly.

"Well, at least you admitted that I'm a funny man. By the way, what qualities of 'The-Him' do you like?" he asked.

"Well, he is witty, to begin with. Very witty. He writes well, expresses well, emotes well. From what I've seen, he comes across as someone sensitive, yet honest. He is into music, big time. Plays amazing guitar too, hehe... and most importantly, he is strong at grammar! You know how important that is for me, don't you. Besides, even though he is no Greek God when it comes to looks, but still, good enough to stay rooted. I won't talk of the intelligent, caring and all that stuff, 'coz I don't know him too well. So..."

All this while, Samarth, had been carefully listening to her, for though she didn't know, behind his amusement was a concern so intense, a grief so painful. He always thought he loved her, from the very core of his heart, every atom of his did. But never had he imagined he could possibly lose her. They were the best of friends, after all, closer than what two people not related by blood-connect, can be. So he had somewhere told himself, that they'd be the natural choice for each other, whenever it's time to take a stand, in future.

"So basically, I see in him the man I'd like to be with. The person I've always, not dreamed, but expected to be with!" she went on, not once caring to look at the moisture in his eyes.

"How close friends are you two? Strange I never sensed a thing. And I thought I was your best friend," the angst in Sam's voice was unavoidable this time, "And what's the problem then? If he is the 'one'?" he complained.

"Friends? Oh no! I just know him through a friend. You never sensed a thing because I never thought it could be anything more than just a crush. But then..."

"Then what?"

"I don't know WHY it hurts to know he has a girlfriend, a true couple they've been. Though perhaps, one of the reasons I began to like him was his immense love for his girl. Men who can really, whole-heartedly love one girl for such long a time, pretty rare, no?" she questioned, finally granting a look at his withered face. "Why the hell do you look so distressed, Sammy, been awake all night, huh? Checking out girls on Facebook or what?" she tried to tease him.

Do these girls really have no sense of humor, or is it just that they like hammering our wounds! She can like a random "him" who loves one girl, then why the hell can she not think the same about ME!' Samarth thought to himself. "Shut up you mean Meenal. I snored off the whole night, so keep your imagination aside. Dumbo," he lied to her, not that she seemed to know or care about it. For he had really been awake all night, thinking about her, about their friendship and more. On Facebook, hers was the only profile he checked all the time. The day Facebook actually did something to let people know of who check their profiles and how often they do, it'd get so easy to identify your admirers and crushes. Like this dumbo might just have known that way, what she means to me,' Samarth introspected on this pointless thought.

"So, what next?", he asked her.

"What? Nothing! Are crushes meant to be taken seriously? It'll pass..." she replied, casually shrugging her shoulders.

"I wonder what and who is it that you girls take seriously", he remarked.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Some time passed and neither of them spoke a word. Samarth thought Meenal was lost in thoughts about her Mr.X and Meenal... actually was. Till Samarth decided to get back to normalcy by acting cool.

"By the way, how did you get to know about him?" he asked her, though he didn't want to. Being Meenal's best-friend, Samarth thought she would expect some kind of interest in the matter, from his side. "Through Facebook," she replied.

Samarth's face showed interest once again. "What?" he asked with wide eyes. "Arey, I said Facebook. He is pretty popular there, you see. Reema was a mutual friend. I've been thinking whether or not to send him a friend request. So confused," she explained very seriously, as if teaching rocket science.

FACEBOOK! HA! he felt funny about the whole thing, really funny. Is this girl not as smart as I think she is? A Facebook crush! Hahaha! Samarth recalled Meenal say to him once, "You know, you are wiser and maturer than me." Her latest crush, to him, was testimony of the same.

"How many times have I told you not to weigh virtual life as an equal to real life, idiot?" his face finally bore the liveliness it was best known for. "I know, but, how do I help it?" she asked with a helpless expression, "am I responsible for the way I feel?" Samarth was amazed at the way he was not affected by her use of the word "feelings" for this thing anymore. She is a kid he thought.

"No you are not. I just hope that you grow up soon enough and stop taking the internet so seriously. It is so easy to be who you are not, there. So while you sit here thinking of Mr.X as a very meek and sweet guy, he might be busy eve-teasing, or say, ogling at a hot girl right now. But anyway, you are learning, you will get back to real life soon enough, I know," he spoke at length, hoping she would understand but knowing that she would not. "I don't know," she replied. "It's okay," he concluded.

Once she gets over her imaginative crushes or fantasies, and gets back to the real world, she would stop escaping the fact that she and I are more than best-friends. Silly girl... was his last, pleasant thought. A thought of reassurance, driven by the fact that he knew her better than anyone else.

To The One Who Watches his Children Suffer

2012-02-26T20:08:00.000+05:30

Before you read this short poem, I would like to mention that this was one of my diary-entries many months back—one of those things that are written and forgotten. I found it today while flipping through the pages of my estranged personal diary, and felt like sharing. More than the momentary grief or suffering, it speaks of a thought, a doubt that has often troubled me. I am not an atheist, not a theist too in the sense that I don't worship anyone or pray daily. Which often makes me wonder—if god does exist, should that be important anyway? Is it only me, or the people who pray daily, who follow some kind of religious or spiritual routine are really happier in life? Maybe it is because of the meditative aspect of the ritual, that is bound to induce peace into one's mind. But talking of a "god" in real, practical, rational terms... how important is it to show that you love him, respect him or perhaps, fear him?

Last night it so happened,

That I couldn't bring myself to sleep.

Frustrated, afraid, depressed and low;

Every minute I would begin to weep.

I looked up, with a gaze so blank,

And imagined what could be beyond.

Not the sky, the stars or the tainted moon,

But the power that rules both dusk and dawn.

"God!" I yelled, at the top of my voice,

"Why through this, do I have to go?

If you are the one to take care of me,

Why is your involvement, in my life so low?"

"I don't pray, don't bow before thee

—Every morning, like the others do;

Don't visit the shrines or chant your name,

Or make attempts to appease, the one that's you."

"But should that matter, for someone who is you

—called the 'Father' and humankind's guide;

—The one who rules us and this evil world

And to whose whims, we have got to abide."

"I am, but, human, oh mighty king!

And also one of your many children;

Why then, does my god not care,

That his child is grief stricken?"

"I am sorry, for I can't help but think,

That I am paying for not praying to you;

And for believing that you live in my heart,

So I need not pretend to worship idols as you."

"Fine, my lord, if that is how it is

If pretentious formalities are all that say;

But, I thought you are the generous one,

Who loves his children whether or not they pray."

With the pillow on my face, I cried out my heart

Venting all that had rested within

Realizing who the one I was messing with was;

I did, I admit, shiver within.

Things To Do On Valentine's Day: Tips for the single souls

2012-02-09T00:10:00.002+05:30

Are you single? No, don't flatter yourself thinking it's a cheesy question from me. It's for you to answer to yourself. Are you single this Valentine's Day? Yeah? Alright, this post is for you. Just in case you've been wondering what will I do on the 14th of Feb... sob sob! these tips might help you.
So, how can you spend the most-dreaded day (for singles) without cursing yourself for it? These are my suggestions:

1. Get proposed with gifts and chocolates and everything called "romantic" in front of your friends. Mysteriously: Not as crazy as it sounds. You're in college with your friends, listening to their woes and nodding at the fact that Valentine's Day is just bullshit (for obvious reasons) and suddenly somebody comes in—carrying a bouquet full of flowers, loads of exotic chocolates and a pretty card with lots of hearts here and there, hands it all to an astonished you and says in the softest tone possible... somebody has sent this for you. Alright, the guy isn't anyone but, so what! You just rendered your friends to the highest levels of envy! They'll be burning inside seeing the lovelies you have just received! So what if they were ordered by, ahem, you only. Who's gonna find out how lucky, (or crazy), you are!

Don't forget to write on the card: will you be my Valentine? —Anonymous. "Anonymous"—now THAT is important. Because a) You don't want this to be discussed ever again, lest they start finding loopholes in your plan and b) It's the safest bet, for both guys and girls, I say. Enjoy.

2. Sit at home and do... nothing: Boring? Reading a post that promises tips on how to spend the Valentine's Day, d'you think YOU really can call something boring? And sitting at home is not as uninteresting as it sounds. In fact it's... normal, just your regular stuff. Just lock yourself up in your room, tell your family that you'll be working on a very important project all day so DND. No access to any newspapers, nor to the internet and you won't even remember what day it is. Okay, that might be a little 'difficult'. Curse me not, for difficult is this post.

3. Facebook!!!!!: Why lose hope when Facebook is there! Your partner for years, a true soul-mate, it won't disappoint you this time too, for sure. If there is one website that can never exhaust of the options of things-to-do, this, it is. This!

Send out a bazillion friend-requests. Who knows, you might get your Valentine for the next year.
Browse through girls' pictures. "Like" them (even if you don't) and post comments like, "you look so sweet:)" (even if she is looking like a disaster and her smile isn't worth a single penny). Deja vu moment, guys?
Post philosophical status-updates talking about the love, which you do have. What is it? Aye, parents! You may or may not remember them on another day but on the Forever Alone Day they suddenly look like the most beautiful people you've been gifted with, no? Put up a status like: 'This love is superficial, friends. True love is the love you get from parents. Grow up!!!' (... ahan? You really think it's them who need to grow up, mister/miss pretentious? :P)
The funny status updates never fail. You could post, "gotta accept one of the million pending proposals, man. :D" and you'll emerge a winner. Because a) both you and the readers know you're kidding b) both you and the readers know what the truth is.
But at least, you get away with it... umm.. wittily!

4. Like all of 9Gag's "Forever Alone" pictures: Come on, you just find them a lot funny. Nothing personal. No no, no one will think it's your story. I hope.

5. Write a love story: Or a post to help others like you—or no, leave that out, only writers and bloggers can do that. In stead spend your time reading some of them. Ah, such a good option. Consider these posts by me. They became pretty popular when I wrote them. Although the stories, if you ask me, embarass me now. But they're on "love" nevertheless, might suit your taste. :P

6. Join the Shiv Sena: If none of the above works for you, this surely will. Being a Shiv Sainik gives you the official, unquestionable right to vent out your frustration at being single on those who aren't. Go about smashing windows, or maybe people's heads because they happen to have a date. In return you get a hundred reasons to state—why Valentine's Day is a crime according to our culture—and also that this is why you oppose it. (Yeah, whatever)

So, that was it. Five simple tips on how to spend the 14th of February differently. It's okay, it's okay, you don't have to thank me, haha. It is my responsibility to think in the benefit of my readers, come on, goodness comes to me naturally. :)
Just make sure you've clicked on the like button (which was dysfunctional for SO long, till only today:-/) of this post. Why? Well, because this Valentine's I'll be sitting in front of my PC counting my blog's statistics. To each, his own! :P

Sayonara!

What does democracy mean to me?

2012-01-30T01:17:00.000+05:30

Just as this question is propped before my eyes, I do what most people would do in their attempt to answer it, just for an ignition start: a Wikipedia search of the term "Democracy". As expected, I read the first line carefully and end up reading just that. The definition can't be clearer.

Democracy in its purest or most ideal form would be a society in which all adult citizens have an equal say in the decisions that affect their lives.

A number of words in the singlet strike me hard, causing a hodgepodge of political views and personal beliefs and the actual reality. The part that I, in particular, can't take my eyes off is this—"...in its purest or most ideal form would be..."
"Would be"—but it isn't. In its purest form—which, again, it isn't. You see what I meant when I said "the actual reality"?

Hello, dear reader. I come from India—a country popularly acclaimed as the "World's Largest Democracy". Though if you were to ask me, the title is anything but a reverend source of pride. Of all other things, it reminds me of our country's over/ever-growing population. That apart, I have grown to doubt its pragmatism more often than not. Because whether or not you agree, India—yes, the World's Largest so-called "Democracy"—hasn't exactly been very well all these years, not even close to that. Slightly unacceptable for a nation looked up to as the "largest" in what might happen to be the only reliable way of governance in this world, don't you think? Just what has gone wrong?

Quite recently here, people were strewn into two, or rather three, debating parties. One, that supported one Anna Hazare's Anti-Corruption Movement. Two, who didn't support... Anna's team and its fight, that is, not the cause of being anti-to-corruption. And three, obviously, who either didn't have a say or weren't sure or didn't care to have a say.
Anyway, so people worshiped them like devotees, at least initially they definitely did. For the supporters, every word by Anna/Team was etched on the stone. Anti-Anna people were, in fact, looked down upon as traitors. Well, not exactly; take it in a figure-of-speech manner and you'll get it. Anna kept fighting (read "fasting"). The first protest was a widely popular one: hefty rains in Delhi and a multitude of people waiting to welcome Anna—also considered by many as "another Gandhi"—outside jail, to later join him at the fasting venue, undeterred. People and the media roared, that this is how the public can make governments squirm in their seats, this is what a democracy can do... so on.
And thus, all that happened. But, it kept happening! People soon grew tired. Fasts, fasts and fasts. Brawls and issues within Anna's team, the government's own version of the much-debated Lokpal Bill (called the "Ombudsman" elsewhere) plus new questions being raised on its ingenuity and old people backing out from the revolt and the whole thing being seen as a sham being used by opponent parties and heck, what not!... all this further added to the doubts as to what the hell was going on. Suddenly, just SUDDENLY, it wasn't so cool to shout "I am Anna"; suddenly the picture was fading out. Fading to callous oblivion that had existed before the hype built up.
When the whole hysteria ended—which was only recently—I had a new opinion of my own: Eliminate all traces of intellect from "Democracy" and you arrive at the concept of "Mobocracy"—exactly what we are.
You know why? Because a country whose governance relies on its people is democratic, no doubt, but tends to be stupid just as well. Stupid, to say the least. Here's why: "People", in the real sense of the word, comprises a faceless crowd of individuals. And crowds move either east or west, they don't, and can't, settle for a middle-path, even if it is the correct one. What else do you think extremism is?
And so, be it an Anna Hazare suddenly propping up with a resolve to eliminate corruption by FAST means or something else, a change—any change—in a country like ours is bound to stir up things, but only for a while, only as long as it sounds "sensational". And thus comes into the picture the forever dwindling public, the janta—a long lost kin of one of Gandhiji's monkeys, perhaps. Except that at any point of time it either talks OR stays deaf OR becomes blind and so on. So when it talks, it just talks, without thinking, without looking and without understanding. And when it is quiet, nothing can move it. All in all, dumbness is a key characteristic of the public!

Why all this talk? you may ask. I tell you why, because the question is: what does democracy mean to me? And the answer is similar to that of Wikipedia. It means a lot to me, BUT, only in its ideal, pure form. All adult citizens have an equal say in the decisions that affect their lives—what could be more reliable? More responsible? More fair? But, idealism is idealism because it isn't the practicality. Ditto for the concept of Democracy—at least here, in India.

And thus I arrive at the concept of Mobocracy. If Democracy is the fantastic beauty, Mobocracy is its unintelligent alter ego, and also the stark reality. There is a reason why politics in India has dirtied itself and the system badly, a reason why good leadership is missing, a reason why corruption is fast seeping into the very roots of our foundation, a reason why, let's admit, we still don't seem to care enough. There is a reason why nothing is right about the "World's Largest Democracy".
You know what the reason is? I'll tell you what I feel: that we aren't a democracy anymore, no matter how much we claim it, we are, actually, being ruled by the mob. Mobocracy.

So, the gazillion political parties here have just one aim in mind—to please the mob, or at least, a majority of it. Votes matter, but the sad thing is, they are the only thing that seem to matter. Not development, not welfare, not progress; just votes. So if the mob has suddenly risen in support of the cause of a certain Bill, the government cannot dare to say a flat no. It'll rather say a yes and then, when the dumb mob has gotten confused enough out of its wits, pass their own version of it. For the people, with the people, by the people redefined.

And to make it worse, the mob doesn't want to think. A part of it has an opinion, right, but nobody really has the time to figure out what needs to be done and then freaking do it! Forget everything else, this is India, where 80% of the youth doesn't even go cast a vote! We'll sit at home, talk articulately about how this country is heading to nowhere (the way I am doing right now, yes, you can say so) and so on. Further, our patriotism and junoon shall remain dormant for as long as possible UNTIL one sheep decides to take the lead, for us to simply follow it... BLINDLY. That, my friend, is another facet of Mobocracy—the herd mentality.

I can croon for as long as I want to. I can complain as much as I want. But the truth is, while doing so, there is nothing fruitful that I'm leading to, doing nothing new. So I'll conclude with my final words on the topic "What does democracy mean to me?"

Like I said, democracy, in its ideal form means a lot to me, brings a lot of hope and somewhere, also looks like the only fair way of governance we can have; yet, the way its real picture comes out is dismal, to say the least. It comes with its own drawbacks, yes, but then... can we imagine being ruled by dictators? Can we imagine being enslaved by another nation, just because it happens to be more "powerful"? Can we imagine having a king who has to be worshipped, has to be appeased and whose word has to be considered the final word just because he happens to come from a "royal lineage"? NO! There is a reason why all this came to an end, a reason why people stood up against it, a reason why nations saw lives aplenty being sacrificed to become democratic, to become a country that is ruled by its people and not a handful of individuals, to become an entity where the leaders are under the people... all in all, to become nations run by PEOPLE. Just WHEN will we realize this? Just WHEN will we realize the power of our vote? Just WHEN will we try to find out who deserves to be our leader and who doesn't? Just WHEN will we have the heart to step in the dirt and wipe it off, instead of playing sidelined spectators? JUST WHEN WILL WE WAKE UP?

"ADVIA!" — A Short Story by Sigrun Srivastav

2012-01-29T13:35:00.000+05:30

Hi friends! This post is to share with you all an extremely beautiful and touching story that I first read back then in 7th standard. I'd like to tell you that it is a book named "A moment Of Truth" by Sigrun Srivastava containing "true stories from around the world" that brought me to it. The book was a prize, and thus an even more prized possession. The stories in it, lucidly written for children but drenched with emotions and life nonetheless, were awe-inspiring. But the best of them all is "Advia!". It was while reading "The Kite Runner" recently that I recalled faint memories of the book and "Advia!" as both the stories are based in Taliban occupied Afghanistan. It sends shivers down the spines to think what kind of a life commoners there would be living. Won't say more.
Thank god I found the book among my old things. I was trying hard but the word "Advia" just couldn't click. The whole story revolves around it. So don't look it up. I'd love it if you too would read this short story. I'm sure you won't be disappointed.

Tanvi says, “Forget it, Puja.” But I can’t forget it. The memory of the two men, hitting on the car window, rattling the door, shouting, “Advia, Advia”, still haunts me.

***

I hadn't decided whether I liked Afghanistan. I knew my father did, though he had been here for only four months, working as an engineer at the Khanabad Irrigation Project. My brother and I had stayed back in Delhi with my uncle and aunt. We had come to spend our holidays with my parents in the small town of Kunduz, not far from the Russian border. We had visited the historical place of Balk over the weekend, and were on our way back when everything began to oppress me: the stillness of the wild rocky mountainside, bare of any vegetation; the ghostly craters of rocks and stones flanking the road on both sides; the dust and the heat. I felt uncomfortable.

I looked at my brother, sitting next to me in the car. Suddenly he put into words what I had been thinking, “Look at this side. Isn’t it a perfect hiding place for dacoits?”
My mother started and shot a questioning glance at my father who laughed softly. Without taking his eyes off the road before him, he said, “I haven’t been long enough in Afghanistan to comment on that. But from what I have heard from my colleagues and experienced myself, I gather the people of Afghanistan are rather friendly and hospitable.” I met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. He smiled at me and added, “Oh, don’t look so frightened, Puja. We will soon be at Tashkurghan and from there it is not far to Kunduz.” And to change our mood he suggested, “Why don’t you all sing a few oldies for me?”

So we sang the oldies at the top of our voices, in an attempt to drive the blues away—the blues and the dacoits. After the next bend, before the road began to rise, my father slowed down and brought the car to a halt on the right side. “Nothing to worry about,” he assured us. “I’m checking the rear wheels.” He got out of the car. We opened all the doors to let in some fresh air. But the air that entered was hot and dry.

My mother picked up the flask at her feet and I wiped my forehead with my handkerchief. I wished we were back at Kunduz and I could take a long cool bath.
“Do you want some water, Puja?” asked Mother, I nodded and extended my hand, while my eyes travelled past her, up the road. What I saw made me drop the cup. Water spilled onto my jeans and the matting of the car.
“Puja,” scolded my mother.
“Idiot,” grunted my brother.

I continued to stare past my mother’s surprised face at two men rushing towards our car. The taller of the two charged at us. The other one limped behind awkwardly. Their eyes glittered menacingly from under their dirty turbans. Their ankle-length black coats, with long sleeves hanging at both sides, flapped around them like the wings of some monstrous bird. They were coming straight at us. I shrieked and pointed at them. “Dacoits, dacoits.” My mother turned around to stare at them, at the one swirling a stick above his head and shouting, “Advia!” My mother shrieked again. The, flask dropped from her lap. Drawing away from the window she whispered, “Rohan, Rohan, help!”

“Papa, Papa,” I shouted and flung myself across my brother in an attempt to leave the car from the opposite side. My brother pushed me back and said harshly, “Get back, Puja. Stop acting like a fool.” Then he was out of the door and calling to my father, “Papa, dacoits! They’re coming straight at us. Come back. We have to leave. Start the car, Papa. Hurry! Please!”
Sudhir banged the door shut and shouted at us, “Shut the doors. Wind up the window glass, fast.”

I pressed myself back into the seat of the car, paralyzed with fear. I kept staring at the two men advancing towards the car at my side. The taller of the two had already reached the bonnet. His left hand slid over the metal and touched my mother’s window. He shouted something.
“Wind up your window, Ma,” I heard my brother shout. “Lock the door, Ma. You must lock the door. Bring your window up, Puja. Do you hear?”

I did hear him. But his voice seemed to reach me from a distance. I wanted to move, wind up the window, but I couldn’t. I just could not move. I was aware of my father squeezing himself behind the steering wheel, slamming the door shut behind him. Winding up, he shouted, “Lock the doors! Lock the doors!” Then he turned the ignition key, once, twice. The motor started.
Automatically I reached out for the handle. My hand trembled as I turned it rapidly. My eyes were fixed on the face of the man who had reached my mother’s window and I did not notice the glass moving down as I turned the handle in the wrong direction. The man thrust his hands forward. By that time, I had realized my mistake and started raising the window glass. The hands were caught by the upward moving glass. He grabbed it, and clung to it, trying to push it down with great force. The glass inched up slowly, painfully. When finally it reached the top, it pressed the dacoit’s fingers against the frame. The man yelled and withdrew his hands. He banged at the glass with his fist and hammered the door with his stick. Then he dropped it and rattled the door handle with both hands. He shouted at my mother. His words sounded like “Advia”.
Then from behind the furious man, the other one emerged. He threw himself at my door, and tried to hit at the window pane with his fists. But there was no window pane. He hit me, almost. Then grabbing my arm, he pushed himself forward and with his bloodshot eyes flashing at me, he roared, “Advia, Advia, Advia!”

I stared at him, unable to move or speak. All I could do was stare into the dusty, bearded face and listen to the voice that shouted over and over again, “Advia, Advia. Lutfun mara dawa bitte.” He shook my arm and reached inside the car with the other hand. “Papa,” I shrieked.
Then I was thrown forward against the back of the front seat and bounced back again. The dacoit was jerked forward. He released my arm but hung onto the window. As the car gathered speed he fell into a run beside it, still holding onto the window frame with his left hand. His dirty face bobbed up and down as he kept on running and shouting, “Advia. Advia. Advia.” Over and over again.
And then his hands were gone, his hands, his face and his voice. Our car sped along the unmetalled road, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
I did not turn to look back. But Sudhir did. He cried excitedly, “We licked them. We shook them off, Pa. Wow!”

Then he looked at me disdainfully. “How dumb can you get, Puja? Don’t you know how to raise a window glass?”
“Stop picking on her,” murmured my father. “These things do happen in such moments.”
“But the dacoit almost got her by the throat,” shouted my brother.
“He did not,” I protested weakly.
“Well, if he’d had time to pull out his knife, you…” “Sudhir, please,” pleaded my mother. “Will you please stop that! Let’s thank God that we are all safe.”
“Okay,” mumbled my brother, and shot a last disdainful glance at me. He looked out of the window, then shook his head once more and cried, “We’ve licked them! Papa, you were great! You got the car started in a few seconds.” Those seconds had seemed an eternity to me.

“These guys,” continued my brother, “were out to get our watches and Ma’s chain. But we shook them off. We licked them!” Sudhir clapped his hands gleefully. But I wasn't pleased at all. I was on the verge of crying as I fought the voice still running through my head, “Advia. Advia.”
“Pa,” I said finally after we had had our dinner, “I would like to look up the word ‘Advia’. I wonder what it means?” “It means ‘hands up’,” stated my brother taking the last spoonful of kheer, “or ‘I’ll kill you!’ or...”
“Sudhir,” pleaded my mother. My father returned from the bedroom with a thick dictionary. It did not take him long to find the word, but it took him almost a minute to read it. His face was pale and his eyes looked troubled as he said in a flat voice, “Advia means ‘medicine’.”
For a long time no one spoke. Then my mother whispered, “Oh my God, oh my God,” over and over again.
I stared at her and at my brother and did what I had wanted to do all afternoon. I began to cry.

******

Love, Miracle and Adventure: Three life changing experiences

2012-01-13T14:46:00.000+05:30

Love, adventure and miracle: can there be anyone sans experiences of three such fantastic realms of life? Following are three priceless anecdotes that I saw flashing in my mind when these words came in front of my eyes. Needless to say, they are true and in fact, marked as fond remembrances in the form of pictures clicked by our first camera—the conventional "reel-wala" camera—an invaluable commodity for us in those days.
I hope, this post turns out to be as enjoyable for you as it is for me. The photos are products of the same old camera. Not very clear here though, as I didn't have a scanner.

1. LOVE: Mum, me and the Fancy-Dress competition

I was in the second standard then. A fancy-dress competition was announced as part of an important school function. Important, because it wasn't the regular stuff where one could simply volunteer and participate—rather, a teacher was doing the rounds of various classes looking for new interested 'talent', auditioning them and then selecting the ones who would get to take the stage in front of the whole school.

I have fancied the stage ever since I was a kid. So when I saw this opportunity coming my way, I couldn't resist. When the teacher came and asked who was interested in taking part, I was among the first (actually the only) one(s) to raise a hand. That felt good.

But when it came down to the auditions, I failed to impress. I don't remember a lot but she probably asked me to say a few lines, confidently. I fumbled; I was nervous as hell and clueless on how to go about it. Unconvinced, she politely asked me to go back to my classroom.

I was a shy child, a very shy child. But that didn't deter my wish to not let go of the chance that I saw coming. Sad and upset, I shared my grief with mum. The next day, she was in school, pleading to that teacher to guide me a little bit but let participate. "Bachche ka dil toot jayega," was her point. I think it is very embarrassing to be standing next to the one who is asking someone to do a, umm, favor to you. The teacher tried to say no, but mum asked her to give me another chance. (So Indian Idol-ish, I know!) As goes any fairy-tale, I did much better this time. My delivery of the lines—with mum's support and advice—turned out to be much better and convincing this one time. The teacher agreed and included my name in the list of participants.

With each practice—at school as well as home—I became better at it. By the way, it wasn't any rocket science that I was aiming at (a kid's fancy-dress competition, what else do you expect?) As decided by mummy dearest, I was going to "essay" the role of a TOMATO (can you imagine!) in the competition.

To make my entry the winning entry, mum came up with an excellent idea. Students of 2nd children actually had to just walk about the stage like, err, models. But mum wanted me to say a few lines. What were they? I still remember that funny little doublet. DO NOT laugh: लाल लाल टमाटर हूँ मैं, हर सब्ज़ी में डलता हूँ| जो भी मुझको खायेगा, लाल लाल हो जायेगा! On the D-Day, shit happened. Mum was to bring from home the costume. She wanted to dress me up herself and so was going to take a half-day's off from work to pay me a generous visit. Unexpectedly, that didn't happen. Not soon enough.

I kept waiting at the backstage, anxiously looking at other students—all decked up in the most hilarious costumes ever—going on the stage to give their "performance". First standard students and then of second standard, all went and came back. While I stood here, still waiting. My teacher told me that my turn was over and I couldn't participate now. I was shattered. (God, kids take a wind's blow to get hurt, don't they!)
By the time mum came, fifth standard (the 'big' students of those days) children were at it. Had it been today, when I am twenty years old, I'd have fought with mum. But in those days I was a very quiet kid. I just silently told mum that my turn was over. <insert sad face> Unaffected, she dressed me up as if the competition was still yet to begin and went to the teacher, again.

They had a little discussion/argument/whatever again and finally, this was the conclusion: Sugandha can go on the stage and give her "performance" along with the 5th standard kiddos (as suggested by mum) but she will not be eligible for the prize. I can't even explain how odd it was, going there after the "big kids". I mean, here I was, barely a few feet above the ground, walking in unexpectedly after the 5th standard "big kids". Before entering, there was another source of fret. I was to be the sole contestant who would be going on the stage alone. The advantage was that since the fifth standard participants were to use a mic, I got one too—unlike my fellows. So I went there, walked about and around and came in front of the mic, delivering my lines smooth as ever—forgetful of the fact that there was a huge audience sitting in the front and I was a late entry.

I heard the loud sound of applause cheering me from everywhere. My teacher appreciated me saying that I actually deserve the first prize. I don't know if it was really said to mean so or it was just another encouraging gesture for a little child; nevertheless, it was a proud moment. Elated and flying high in the glory of the moment, I looked up to that lady who had taken all the pain and made all the effort for this one moment. Standing in one corner, smiling and waiting for me, she planted a nice wet kiss on my reddened, tomato-ish cheeks. And I was, once again, reminded of the purest form of love(r) I have been endowed with. Who else, but this lady, could know what mattered to me more—the prize or the joy of seeing a dream come true in front of my eyes. She taught me how to be confident as long as you are doing your job right, she fought for me where it was a matter of her darling's dreams. The encouragement—actually the push—I got from her in the initial years of my making, helped me become confident enough to face an audience and/or speak my mind, forever in life. She was, and still is so, my most lovely mother.

2. MIRACLE: My brother who could walk again

"Miracle", I feel, is a hard-to-define term. What's miracle for me could be mere co-incidence for someone else. Having said that, I still believe miracles should keep happening. Just when we begin to think we have known enough and our logic and rationale can very well interpret and/or predict anything, something totally unexpected happens, shaking us to the coarse reality—there still exists a power more powerful that can twist things in a manner that'll leave us gazing in total awe and astonishment. Today when I see my brother—who is four years younger to me—go crazy playing cricket, I am reminded of a very difficult and testing phase of his and our life—especially so for my parents who have seen their first daughter pass away right in front of their eyes.

He was all of 6 years when doctors declared that he wouldn't be able to walk again. Disasters strike unwarranted and unpredictably. That night, he suddenly felt his legs becoming numb. On being asked to walk, he couldn't even stand up. He cried in pain and helplessly groaned. Mom and dad could hardly understand what to do. In the meanwhile, my maternal uncle came to the rescue to take him to the hospital—at 2 in the midnight. That night and for days ahead on stretch, my little brother and parents had begun to lose hope of seeing him walk again. I remember the times when that little child who was yet to know the meaning of life would say innocently, with a few tears of pain wetting his supple skin, "बहुत दर्द होता है| इससे अच्छा तो मैं मर ही जाऊं!" That broke our hearts. Seeing mom and dad break into tears he would then try to cheer them up. "Look ma! See, I am fine!" he would say while trying to stand up with support of the wall behind. Everytime he tried doing that, he would fall down miserably. Nothing pains more than seeing your dearest ones in pain; that too the youngest child of the house—this beautiful, innocent and an absolutely pure soul (and believe me when I say that) who had a heart of gold. Nothing pains more. Many days passed by in this suffering.

We lived in a rented house in those days. One day, the landlord's wife came upstairs to meet mom. She told her about a particular lady doctor in a particular hospital—Dr. Kulkarni of Kalavati Hospital's orthopedic department, as mom informs me. Apparently, the doctor had successfully rendered a relative of our landlady to absolute fitness. My parents visited this doctor with my brother in their arms. The doctor could do what nobody had been able to do till now—she detected the problem area, the disease. Few days before this calamity struck, my brother had gone down with a normal viral fever. New in that area, my dad had then taken him to the nearest clinic that was running inside the doctor's residence. One can hardly imagine the harm that a bad doctor can do unless one has actually faced the outcome. We surely did, especially my little brother. Dr. Kulkarni informed us that the 5-day course necessary to fight away viral fever had not been rendered effectively. The bad doctor had instead given my brother normal tablets used to get rid of a temporary fever. In the next few days following that, the viral fever—untreated and alive—attacked the lower part of his body, right where the legs meet the abdomen, thus crippling him.

It was a rare case. Thanks to the diagnosis, effective treatment could be meted out over the next few weeks—FINALLY. Some months later when my brother could walk again, he couldn't stop running and jumping about excitedly. It became a challenge to explain to him that he needs a few days' rest still. For the next some years, in fact, he was weaker than kids his age. Low appetite, weak muscles and easily tiresome. But by god's generous grace, all passed well. My father touched the doctor's feet that day. A benign lifesaver, she had been. It still sends shivers down my spine to remember that the doctor had said then, "Don't thank me, it is my job. Thank the one who you pray to. We are just the medium, he is the real doer."

Mr brother, on our first vacation after
he regained his health: Manali

Man can do wonders with his sciences and inventions. But without belief in that eternal guiding force, all innovation, all discoveries can fall flat. The next day, we paid a visit to the Gurudwara Bangla Sahib. Tears couldn't stop rolling out once again. This time, they were tears of joy and gratitude. Miracles happen.

3. ADVENTURE: "God save us from the Bheels", en route to Mount Abu

We were on one of our most beautiful trips of all time—to Rajasthan. Jaipur, Ajmer, Pushkar, Udaipur and Chittor had already been checked off on the list. The next and final destination on our itinerary was: Mount Abu. I was excited, as I had always wondered what a hill station in the desert land of Rajasthan would feel like. But there was a lot that fellows at our hotel told (read SCARED) us of. A lot.

The road route to the hill station is resided almost entirely by Bheels—a very prominent tribal community of our country. The first thing we did was cancel plans to cover the journey at night-time. There were several instances about tourists being robbed off money, jewelry and even clothes by tribesmen at night-time. Although if you ask me, traveling in the afternoon was no stress-buster either.

Every big rock that we saw on the roadside gave us the heebie-jeebies. We were told, these rocks are used to block the road at night so if a car comes by, the driver will have to get down. And that is how robberies took place. In day-time these rocks weren't used for this purpose so they just stayed there on the side to be used again at night. Some even had ropes attached, to be thrown from hilltops. Spooky much.

Every milestone that we passed made us heave a sigh of relief. The entire road was deserted. Somewhere you could see little kids of the Bheel tribe going to school. That was a soothing sight, making us think that these people were also humans like us. Such things were a good change as they let the elders change the topic. Both my parents being government employees, wondered whoever gets posted in such a lonely place would be smitten by bad luck for sure. "Can't be women," mom said. I agreed. Just for the heck of it. Like I cared, as long as the talks weren't Bheel-ish!

Just when things seemed to be getting normal, something happened, forcing us to fear the adventure turning into misadventure. On the road ahead we saw a huge rock placed right in the middle of the road.

So that dumb old rock squatting in the middle of nowhere freaked us out like hell, heaven everything. It felt a little stupid, shivering at the sight of something as un-alive as that. But the oh-so-unpopular fables couldn't be so easily ignored either. You won't believe it but for half an hour, we stood there. Goddamn stood there. Windows up, doors locked, eyes blank and staring at the rock. Discussions between my parents, my elder cousin who was accompanying us and the driver went on—to do or not to do.

Just then, four locals came by from the opposite direction. I saw them coming towards our car and informed the elders about it. Expressions changed all of a sudden from fear to... err... more fear. Secretly, I had wanted to see these much talked-about people—the Bheels. I imagined they'd look like the tribal people one saw on television—dressed up all colorfully and singing aloud jhingalalahoo. But no, I wasn't ever game for a robbery or... or... maybe something worse. Besides, these looked quite uninteresting. (Uninteresting—>Normal) Normal pant-shirt and stuff. Sheh!

They came and gathered around our car. Two on one side and two on another. One of them knocked at the driver's window. He said something too—obviously in their local language, Bhili. I so wish we could decipher what he was saying, because without that it all sounded like hololulu. Or maybe a dangerous warning to take out all our money and things! So here was this dark-colored (please don't think I'm a racist) man with three other similar looking people peeping inside our car with wide eyes, one of them knocking on the window as if it were made of wood, not glass and shouting out hololulu. Err, something like that. God, scary, was it!

With each passing minute, the knocks became louder, the eyes wider and the hololulu wilder. We sat still as that rock, transfixed in our position—as the driver instructed us to. Soon enough the Bheels got tired and began to move away. Talk about relief at its best! The driver finally muttered, "dekha dekha, kaam kar raha hai!". But lo! Those men didn't move away, instead they moved closer, to the rock. Holy mother of Jesus, what were they getting at!!!

All four of them joined hands in picking up that rock. Once they were able to do so, we freaked out a trillionth time! Were they going to throw it upon us/our car? Were they going to break open the car doors with it? What were they going to do with it??!! We were on the verge of jumping out of our skin!

Guess what they did. They... placed it back. Yes. On the roadside this time. You know what that means? That means they cleared the road for us. What the... ???

Before we could know what had happened, they were dusting their soiled hands with their clothes and beginning to walk away. OKAY. So had they just helped us? Is that what they had been trying to do till now, for SO long?? I suddenly felt the hololulu translating into, "kya hua ji?"

A picture of the Sunset-Point at
Mt. Abu that reminded me of
this incident. Love the fact that
I had the eye for it quite young. :)

Dumb-asses we. STILL didn't dare to go out and thank them. What if it is another trick? I am sure that was the question bugging everybody. We kept looking at them as they walked away, till they were no more visible. Only when the horizon seemed clear, we came back to our senses. WHAT THE HELL HAD JUST HAPPENED?!

As we started driving to Mount Abu again, I went into a perpetual thought process. So, are these people not bad actually? Are those stories mere rumours? If not, what could make people kinder than the "normal" people commit such crimes?

THAT LAST QUESTION there gave me the answer. "Poverty is the mother of crime", as someone rightly said. Yeah. Rightly said.

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